(Warning: there are two bad words in this post.)
The going away festivities from the night before had left me with a broken head and slightly dehydrated heart, so I was feeling fragile when we drove on to the ferry. Having finished school (forever[?]) a few days before and finished moving (not forever) a few minutes before, I pulled onto the Coho ferry with Sarah, headed for Port Angeles, WA with a station wagon full of stuff and a roof full of bikes. Our plan: to cruise the American west coast for a while (weeks? months?), looking for a place to lay our heads for a slightly longer while, and take some time to smell the roses along the way.
Leaving Victoria proved harder than I thought, though, in more ways than one. I tend to boast about the amount that I move, and with my last few have developed a smug sense of self-satisfaction at how smoothly it can go. This time, however, proved to be quite the scramble to vacate the apartment, tie up loose ends and catch the last southbound boat of the day from Victoria. While I wasn't entirely surprised at the rough go I had getting everything to fit in the car, I hadn't figured on having to mask a quivering lip and salty cheeks as we sailed away from the Island I had lamented more than once over the past three years. I'll try and save face by chocking the emotions up to the lingering effects of the previous night. Either way, though, at 4:00 on Thursday afternoon, I was headed for the mainland.
We camped in Olympic National Park the first night and headed south down US 101 the next morning. The Washington section of 101 has its share of Pacific Northwest greenery, but we both felt inclined to drive through the state at a utilitarian pace. We knew that Oregon and California would give us much cause to take our time, and looked forward to exploring those states at a gait so leisurely it might invite the middle finger from RV-ing retirees. Washington could be cruised through at a decent clip.
We arrived in Oregon late in the day on Friday and camped in Fort Stevens State Park at the extreme Northwest tip of the state. A funny thing about Oregon: one is prohibited by law from pumping one's own gas. Ostensibly this is to create jobs in the state, but if nothing else it adds some local colour to an out-of-stater's visit. Case-in-point: a conversation I had with an attendant at a rural gas bar on Saturday morning:
"Hey man, where are you headed?"
"Not sure. South is pretty much all we know. We're going to go at least as far as the giant redwoods in California."
"The redwoods are fucking bad, dude!"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah man. They blew my mind. There are trees that are as wide as from me to that building over there."
"Sweet. Looking forward to it."
"Yeah. I think they're prehistoric or some shit."
"Cool."
Heading inland from there, we made our way to Portland to check out the city and visit a friend of Sarah's. After getting caught in a hail storm and learning the hard way that there is a dearth of public restrooms in the city, we decided that the time might not be right for us and Portland to become acquainted. We enjoyed a great evening with an old friend and his wife and then headed back toward the coast late Saturday night.
As far as scenery, the Oregon coast has not disappointed. To our right has been crashing surf and the open ocean (I think it's the Pacific), and to our left have been hills blanketed with foliage so lush I've daydreamed about riding my bike atop the canopy, only to be snapped back to reality by the logging truck approaching me in the oncoming lane I have drifted into.
Sunday afternoon we arrived in Cannon Beach, where any well-cultured child of the 80's should know that The Goonies was filmed. We both felt initially drawn to the town, as it's a quaint seaside village where most of the shops have posted hours that include the words "around" or "ish." There are also striking similarities between Cannon Beach and Lake Placid, New York - a village that is near and dear to both of our hearts and has a similar resort vibe.
Upon closer inspection, however, Cannon Beach seems to be like the head cheerleader of coastal Oregon: it's nice to look at for a little while and is pleasant enough for a day or two, but eventually you can't help but realize it is a little too perfect. The meticulous landscaping, ultramodern vacation homes and picturesque storefronts came to give off an aura of the manufactured (despite the absence of chain stores), and the longer I spent in town the more I felt like I was in Disneyland for rich people from Seattle. Indeed, it looked like a village that had everything one could want, except for the sense that any real people actually lived there. There was enough distinct about it that I could maybe see myself enjoying the beach there for a summer, but I won't be surprised if I'm greeted by a Stepford wife the next time I roll into town.
Before departing Cannon Beach we sent some mail home. Now, one of the joys of our trip is not knowing quite where we're going, and not having anywhere to get back to. There is something at once liberating and guilt-inducing about having to shrug our shoulders when asked where we are headed either to or from, and in the past three days I think we have used four different home addresses. It can also add some flavour to even mundane activities such as mailing a letter. Here is the return address I put on a card that went in the mail box this morning:
99 Outback
BC Plates
924 HMR
Highway 101
West Coast
After the post office we contined south this afternoon. In light of the rather gnarly wind and rain that are pounding the coast, we've opted to move inside for the night. We're hunkered down at a Mom and Pop motel in Lincoln City, Oregon, hoping to be up and at 'em early tomorrow and camped somewhere cool tomorrow night. Private ownership is prohibited on the Oregon coastline, so there are heaps of prime camping spots lining the shore (the hippies finally got something right). I'll update when I can, and look forward to sharing more adventures as we move along.
Just don't ask me where I live.
Peace,
Hart
Monday, May 4, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
United Steelworkers of Montreal
This is a review I wrote for a show here in Victoria last weekend. It didn't get printed where I was hoping it would, so here it is.
Full disclosure: I freaking love this band.
------
It is a rare thing to see a band called back to the stage for an encore. True, we have all seen bar bands take three unconvincing steps to the left and milk a few seconds of cheering from the crowd before finishing a set. And the perfunctory dimly-lit five-minute lighter-raising break has long been a hallmark of arena rock. Really though, encores in these cases are surprise to no one. On the other hand, seeing a band legitimately punch-out for the night and start packing up their gear only to be called back by an unrelenting crowd they have worked into an irrational frenzy is the stuff of Springsteen legend. Springsteen and, apparently, the United Steelworkers of Montreal.
Midway through an exhaustive coast-to-coast and back again tour in support of their third full-length, Three on the Tree, the Steelworkers brought their gritty harmonies and firey finger-picking to Logan's on Saturday night as part of a double-bill with Edmonton's Hot Panda. Drawing heavily on the new material but also hearkening back to their previous two releases, the sextet offered up heaping doses of back-breaking, love-making and whiskey-drinking all served on a cobbled platter of bluegrass, folk, country, blues, gospel and early rock and roll. The genetics of each of these styles are blatantly apparent in the Steelworkers' musical aesthetic, to be sure. However, the band's real talent lies in its ability to chew it all up and spit it out in distinct four-minute installments that make you want to drink, punch, dance and cry - sometimes all at once.
The sermon-infused Jesus We Sweat and worker's lament Shot Tower, both from the new disc, were foot-stompers of the highest order. On the flip-side, the gentle sway of Son, Your Daddy Was Bad had many in the liquor-soaked crowd in a full-on waltz while frontman Shawn "Gus" Beauchamp paradoxically sang of jealousy, murder and revenge. Beauchamp's voice was smooth throughout and fit like a work-glove in between the ranges of his co-lead singers - the gravely and janitorial Gern F., and the high-harmonizing Felicity Hamer. In addition to assuming vocal duties, Hamer shone instrumentally, adding soothing accordion tones to arrangements that would include banjo and mandolin (Chris Reid), stand-up bass (Eddy Blake) and searing electric guitar (Matt Watson), in addition to the rhythm guitars of Beauchamp and Gern.
Having to share the bill this night, the Steelworkers were just hitting their stride as the clock struck midnight on their hour-long set. Despite their best efforts to convey that their time was up - coiling up cords, packing instruments away and shrugging apologetically - the calls for encore were genuine and unrelenting. The band was noticeably touched by their local reception as they reemerged for the heartfelt Place St. Henri from their 2005 debut Broken Trucks and Bottles.
"If we had two or three Victorias, we'd be West a lot more often," Gern was heard saying after the show. Indeed, it's been a year and-a-half since the band's first Victoria appearance, this being their second trip to the Garden City. That said, if supply-and-demand has taught me anything we should be able to hope for a Steelworkers return much sooner than that this time around.
Full disclosure: I freaking love this band.
------
It is a rare thing to see a band called back to the stage for an encore. True, we have all seen bar bands take three unconvincing steps to the left and milk a few seconds of cheering from the crowd before finishing a set. And the perfunctory dimly-lit five-minute lighter-raising break has long been a hallmark of arena rock. Really though, encores in these cases are surprise to no one. On the other hand, seeing a band legitimately punch-out for the night and start packing up their gear only to be called back by an unrelenting crowd they have worked into an irrational frenzy is the stuff of Springsteen legend. Springsteen and, apparently, the United Steelworkers of Montreal.
Midway through an exhaustive coast-to-coast and back again tour in support of their third full-length, Three on the Tree, the Steelworkers brought their gritty harmonies and firey finger-picking to Logan's on Saturday night as part of a double-bill with Edmonton's Hot Panda. Drawing heavily on the new material but also hearkening back to their previous two releases, the sextet offered up heaping doses of back-breaking, love-making and whiskey-drinking all served on a cobbled platter of bluegrass, folk, country, blues, gospel and early rock and roll. The genetics of each of these styles are blatantly apparent in the Steelworkers' musical aesthetic, to be sure. However, the band's real talent lies in its ability to chew it all up and spit it out in distinct four-minute installments that make you want to drink, punch, dance and cry - sometimes all at once.
The sermon-infused Jesus We Sweat and worker's lament Shot Tower, both from the new disc, were foot-stompers of the highest order. On the flip-side, the gentle sway of Son, Your Daddy Was Bad had many in the liquor-soaked crowd in a full-on waltz while frontman Shawn "Gus" Beauchamp paradoxically sang of jealousy, murder and revenge. Beauchamp's voice was smooth throughout and fit like a work-glove in between the ranges of his co-lead singers - the gravely and janitorial Gern F., and the high-harmonizing Felicity Hamer. In addition to assuming vocal duties, Hamer shone instrumentally, adding soothing accordion tones to arrangements that would include banjo and mandolin (Chris Reid), stand-up bass (Eddy Blake) and searing electric guitar (Matt Watson), in addition to the rhythm guitars of Beauchamp and Gern.
Having to share the bill this night, the Steelworkers were just hitting their stride as the clock struck midnight on their hour-long set. Despite their best efforts to convey that their time was up - coiling up cords, packing instruments away and shrugging apologetically - the calls for encore were genuine and unrelenting. The band was noticeably touched by their local reception as they reemerged for the heartfelt Place St. Henri from their 2005 debut Broken Trucks and Bottles.
"If we had two or three Victorias, we'd be West a lot more often," Gern was heard saying after the show. Indeed, it's been a year and-a-half since the band's first Victoria appearance, this being their second trip to the Garden City. That said, if supply-and-demand has taught me anything we should be able to hope for a Steelworkers return much sooner than that this time around.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Grad Speech
What follows are remarks I made when given the humbling and daunting task of giving a toast to my graduating class at some festivities last weekend (it was an awesome night, by the way). I figured I'd put it up here for posterity's sake, and perhaps to jog some hazy memories.
Oh, and kindly hold your "congratulations on graduating" remarks until the conclusion of the performance, being my last exam on April 23rd.
---------
I suppose a good place to start at a time like this, as we're nearing the end, is to think about the beginning. In our case, the beginning for us as a collective was the first day at the Fraser Building in September of 2006 (or 1997 for some of our esteemed co-op students). And as I looked around room 159 that first morning at all of my new classmates, sure much of what I saw was to be expected: one guy cussing like a sailor, another guy that the women were all fawning over and a woman with a rather over-the-top hairstyle. I knew, however, that I was somewhere special when I figured out that the guy who was cussing was my contracts prof., the apple of the ladies' eyes was teaching evidence, and the woman with the two-toned bright red hairdo is one of Canada's leading feminist legal scholars.
And I think those initial observations appropriately sum up a lot about the experience of going to UVic Law: things are done a little differently around here. From co-op to law center, Dean's barbeques to skit nights, and law games to lounge chats, while we may soon have the same letters after our names as other Canadian law students, we have definitely had a stranger trip in getting there. Indeed, it is the strangeness of the trip and our shared experiences over the past three years that bond us together here tonight.
That having been said, however, it would be naive of me to stand up here and say that we have become a group of 100 best friends. More than naive, such an implication would also be a disservice to the remarkably varied backgrounds and perspectives we all came here with and will soon be leaving with. The intimate nature of our faculty notwithstanding, it would be foolish to expect a group that ranges as much as we do in terms of academic priorities, extracurricular interests and personal and professional aspirations, to emerge at the end of three years as one cohesive unit.
In fact, there have been moments when the striking diversity of our student population has led to tangible friction. And I know that we have all had moments as individuals when we've felt that our own interests and perspectives have left us with the short end of the stick, whether in a classroom, at a wine and cheese or sitting in a lunchtime talk. The diversity and progression that this faculty seeks to embody, and the distinction that comes along with them, also bring their share of challenges. That we as one student body have continually sought to meet these challenges in the spirit of a peaceful co-existence with room for dissenting opinions, speaks to the intellectual integrity that we are leaving here with. We have not always agreed with each other, but I for one am grateful that I have spent the past three years in an environment where there are such engaging and intelligent people to disagree with, and where my personal views have been continually challenged by my peers. There is no harmony when everyone sings the same note, and I for one think that we have all made some beautiful music together.
And making music together - and you can take that however you'd like - is just one of the things people have used as a compliment to, or diversion, from our academic pursuits. Indeed, it would seem that for every class offered to us, there were two or three things we could do outside of class. For the athlete in each of us, there were the intramural leagues. The musicians and performers could always look forward to strutting their stuff at Lucky Bar for Air Bands or the Metro Theater for skit night. And for those who wanted a more direct link to the classroom, the ELC, IHRLA, UAWL, Outlaws, the Crim Law Club, the Black Law Students Association of Canada and others would bring any number of conference opportunities and lunchtime talks. In fact, if one were so inclined - and I know many of us tried - one's daily schedule could be chocked-full of entirely non-academic pursuits.
And then, of course, we had the social time that was entirely extra-curricular. And here again, there were as many different ways of enjoying social time as there were members of our class. For some of us, it meant hanging from the rafters at house parties, perhaps at the dearly departed Crap Shack, or having a drink or two out on the town. For others, it would be an afternoon walk with a classmate, perhaps a cup of coffee or a rousing game of Crainium on a Friday night. And of course there were the weekly poker games. Still for others, simply holding court in the lounge during the week would prove as socially enriching as anything, as we sat watching the world go by, drifting in and out of conversations with whomever would pull up a couch.
Indeed, having a strong social network - be it of family, friends, partners or pets - has been a crutch for many of us. I would find it hard to believe that there is a single one among us who has made it through the past three years without ever relying on someone else when the going got tough or the Property Law needed outlining. And for this we owe a debt of gratitude - certainly to our peers, but perhaps more significantly to the people who stood by us and offered a hand despite not subjecting themselves to the same sort of masochism that we chose to undertake when we walked into the Fraser Building for the first time.
But now with three years of classes, conferences and hangouts almost completely behind us, we sit here tonight on the brink of starting our chosen careers, whatever those may be. With these careers will come a whole new set of challenges and a new kind of prioritizing. The American poet R.A. Zimmerman warns of the character Ophelia, whose profession is her religion, and her sin is her lifelessness. Her profession is her religion and her sin is her lifelessness. I think that there's a valid warning in there for each of us as we leave here, regardless of what career path we may take. Whether we spend our working days at a home office on Salt Spring, a boutique firm in Kits or a sky-scraper in Toronto, we should all seek to avoid adopting our profession as a religion and committing the sin of lifelessness. Indeed, while our professional challenges are sure to be significant, perhaps the biggest challenge of them all will be staying human amidst the demands our careers will place on us. Remaining engaged in our communities - be it as a hockey coach, charity volunteer or simply as a good friend and neighbour to those around us - is something that we will each have to mindfully seek to do, so as not to fall victim to the traps of burnout, over-extension and self-absorption that are all too common in the legal profession. Higher education is an opportunity afforded to far too few in this world, and it is now the duty of each of us to contribute to the greater good in our own ways, so as to not squander the privilege we have enjoyed of spending three years studying the law and expanding our minds alongside a peer group whose talents and abilities are nothing short of remarkable.
We will also have a duty to uphold high standards of professional conduct. This, despite the fact that the prescribed standards we are to adhere to can sometimes be vague and offer little in the way of direct guidance. As such, it will be up to each of us to remain proactive and vigilant, constantly keeping ourselves in check to make sure that we are living up to high standards of personal and professional integrity. This will lead to moments of struggle for each of us, to be sure, but with the great honour of entering the legal profession comes the equally great burden of holding ourselves to the highest standards of ethics. Having the right to do something does not make it the right thing to do, and that is an important distinction we will all have to continually keep in mind. It is the cowardly lawyer who rationalizes conduct that violates good judgment and moral fibre by hiding behind ambiguous rules of professional conduct. Rather, constant self-regulation will be required by each of us, so that we are not fodder for a new generation of lawyer jokes.
But before we head on our merry way, we will raise a glass together tonight. The commonality of our experiences over the past three years have bonded us together, and it is now up to each of us to ensure that those bonds remain strong, cherished and nurtured as we move on with our lives and careers in the years ahead. Let us now lift up our glasses, class of 2009, and drink to the different roads that brought us here, the journey we have shared, and a future that is wide open.
Cheers.
Oh, and kindly hold your "congratulations on graduating" remarks until the conclusion of the performance, being my last exam on April 23rd.
---------
I suppose a good place to start at a time like this, as we're nearing the end, is to think about the beginning. In our case, the beginning for us as a collective was the first day at the Fraser Building in September of 2006 (or 1997 for some of our esteemed co-op students). And as I looked around room 159 that first morning at all of my new classmates, sure much of what I saw was to be expected: one guy cussing like a sailor, another guy that the women were all fawning over and a woman with a rather over-the-top hairstyle. I knew, however, that I was somewhere special when I figured out that the guy who was cussing was my contracts prof., the apple of the ladies' eyes was teaching evidence, and the woman with the two-toned bright red hairdo is one of Canada's leading feminist legal scholars.
And I think those initial observations appropriately sum up a lot about the experience of going to UVic Law: things are done a little differently around here. From co-op to law center, Dean's barbeques to skit nights, and law games to lounge chats, while we may soon have the same letters after our names as other Canadian law students, we have definitely had a stranger trip in getting there. Indeed, it is the strangeness of the trip and our shared experiences over the past three years that bond us together here tonight.
That having been said, however, it would be naive of me to stand up here and say that we have become a group of 100 best friends. More than naive, such an implication would also be a disservice to the remarkably varied backgrounds and perspectives we all came here with and will soon be leaving with. The intimate nature of our faculty notwithstanding, it would be foolish to expect a group that ranges as much as we do in terms of academic priorities, extracurricular interests and personal and professional aspirations, to emerge at the end of three years as one cohesive unit.
In fact, there have been moments when the striking diversity of our student population has led to tangible friction. And I know that we have all had moments as individuals when we've felt that our own interests and perspectives have left us with the short end of the stick, whether in a classroom, at a wine and cheese or sitting in a lunchtime talk. The diversity and progression that this faculty seeks to embody, and the distinction that comes along with them, also bring their share of challenges. That we as one student body have continually sought to meet these challenges in the spirit of a peaceful co-existence with room for dissenting opinions, speaks to the intellectual integrity that we are leaving here with. We have not always agreed with each other, but I for one am grateful that I have spent the past three years in an environment where there are such engaging and intelligent people to disagree with, and where my personal views have been continually challenged by my peers. There is no harmony when everyone sings the same note, and I for one think that we have all made some beautiful music together.
And making music together - and you can take that however you'd like - is just one of the things people have used as a compliment to, or diversion, from our academic pursuits. Indeed, it would seem that for every class offered to us, there were two or three things we could do outside of class. For the athlete in each of us, there were the intramural leagues. The musicians and performers could always look forward to strutting their stuff at Lucky Bar for Air Bands or the Metro Theater for skit night. And for those who wanted a more direct link to the classroom, the ELC, IHRLA, UAWL, Outlaws, the Crim Law Club, the Black Law Students Association of Canada and others would bring any number of conference opportunities and lunchtime talks. In fact, if one were so inclined - and I know many of us tried - one's daily schedule could be chocked-full of entirely non-academic pursuits.
And then, of course, we had the social time that was entirely extra-curricular. And here again, there were as many different ways of enjoying social time as there were members of our class. For some of us, it meant hanging from the rafters at house parties, perhaps at the dearly departed Crap Shack, or having a drink or two out on the town. For others, it would be an afternoon walk with a classmate, perhaps a cup of coffee or a rousing game of Crainium on a Friday night. And of course there were the weekly poker games. Still for others, simply holding court in the lounge during the week would prove as socially enriching as anything, as we sat watching the world go by, drifting in and out of conversations with whomever would pull up a couch.
Indeed, having a strong social network - be it of family, friends, partners or pets - has been a crutch for many of us. I would find it hard to believe that there is a single one among us who has made it through the past three years without ever relying on someone else when the going got tough or the Property Law needed outlining. And for this we owe a debt of gratitude - certainly to our peers, but perhaps more significantly to the people who stood by us and offered a hand despite not subjecting themselves to the same sort of masochism that we chose to undertake when we walked into the Fraser Building for the first time.
But now with three years of classes, conferences and hangouts almost completely behind us, we sit here tonight on the brink of starting our chosen careers, whatever those may be. With these careers will come a whole new set of challenges and a new kind of prioritizing. The American poet R.A. Zimmerman warns of the character Ophelia, whose profession is her religion, and her sin is her lifelessness. Her profession is her religion and her sin is her lifelessness. I think that there's a valid warning in there for each of us as we leave here, regardless of what career path we may take. Whether we spend our working days at a home office on Salt Spring, a boutique firm in Kits or a sky-scraper in Toronto, we should all seek to avoid adopting our profession as a religion and committing the sin of lifelessness. Indeed, while our professional challenges are sure to be significant, perhaps the biggest challenge of them all will be staying human amidst the demands our careers will place on us. Remaining engaged in our communities - be it as a hockey coach, charity volunteer or simply as a good friend and neighbour to those around us - is something that we will each have to mindfully seek to do, so as not to fall victim to the traps of burnout, over-extension and self-absorption that are all too common in the legal profession. Higher education is an opportunity afforded to far too few in this world, and it is now the duty of each of us to contribute to the greater good in our own ways, so as to not squander the privilege we have enjoyed of spending three years studying the law and expanding our minds alongside a peer group whose talents and abilities are nothing short of remarkable.
We will also have a duty to uphold high standards of professional conduct. This, despite the fact that the prescribed standards we are to adhere to can sometimes be vague and offer little in the way of direct guidance. As such, it will be up to each of us to remain proactive and vigilant, constantly keeping ourselves in check to make sure that we are living up to high standards of personal and professional integrity. This will lead to moments of struggle for each of us, to be sure, but with the great honour of entering the legal profession comes the equally great burden of holding ourselves to the highest standards of ethics. Having the right to do something does not make it the right thing to do, and that is an important distinction we will all have to continually keep in mind. It is the cowardly lawyer who rationalizes conduct that violates good judgment and moral fibre by hiding behind ambiguous rules of professional conduct. Rather, constant self-regulation will be required by each of us, so that we are not fodder for a new generation of lawyer jokes.
But before we head on our merry way, we will raise a glass together tonight. The commonality of our experiences over the past three years have bonded us together, and it is now up to each of us to ensure that those bonds remain strong, cherished and nurtured as we move on with our lives and careers in the years ahead. Let us now lift up our glasses, class of 2009, and drink to the different roads that brought us here, the journey we have shared, and a future that is wide open.
Cheers.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Something to Shoot For
It's been ten years since we lost my father. Ten years to the day since our family's final goodbyes at the bedside on a warm spring morning. And ten years since his hometown lost a man whose devotion to his community and neighbours was second to none.
And the city of Ottawa loved him, too. Trying to run even the briefest of errands around town with Drew Shouldice always took at least twice as long as one would expect. It seemed impossible for him to turn a corner anywhere in town without running into an old friend.
I have been wanting to write something about my father to mark this anniversary, but have been unsure as to what form it should take. This certainly does not need to be an obituary, and there is already enough written out there by people who lost loved ones at too young an age. I don't need to tell you that life is short and that each day should be lived to its fullest. Instead, I think I'll pass along what remains the most enduring lesson I took from the 18 years I had with him.
Granted, there was a lot that I picked up in observing how my dad lived his life. The importance of shaking a hand over throwing a punch, why we should remember people's birthdays, and how wearing a tie and walking with purpose can get you past almost any security guard on the planet were all tidbits I picked up along the way that have served me well to this point. Still though, there is one lesson that stands out above all others.
I have previously said that my father knew a lot of people, and this is certainly true. He also knew a broad cross section of folks - from cabinet makers to cabinet ministers - and never stopped making friends as he went. However, no matter who he was dealing with, and no matter what the context, my father treated everyone he came into contact with the exact same way. That is to say that his levels of respect and compassion never varied. This is the most enduring lesson I took from my father, and if it doesn't speak to the character of a man then I don't know what does.
Indeed, be it the cable guy, my friends playing road hockey or the mayor of Ottawa, Dad gave everyone the time of day, and was never too good to be friendly or too busy to be kind. If I were to read a transcript of my father's side of any conversation he ever had, I do not know that I would be able to tell you if he was talking to the new kid working at the grocery store or a decorated veteran of the second world war. And yet, he somehow managed to always be genuine as he did this, without talking down to people on the one hand or being too familiar on the other.
If this sounds like no big deal, I would ask you to do the same while you go about your day. The reactions you will get and the connections you will develop as you treat everyone you meet - everyone you meet - with the same respect that you would wish for yourself will show you that it is, in fact, a very big deal. That my father lived this way every day for his short-but-wide 52 years explains to me why there was a line stretching down the block from the funeral home in the days after he died, and why he is still sorely missed.
And so today and everyday I reflect back on this lesson, among others, and the man from whom I continue to learn. The path I have chosen differs from his, to be sure, but the principles remain and for that I am grateful.
Thanks, Dad. Tonight I raise my glass to you.
Peace,
Hart
Monday, March 16, 2009
Hart is Blogging
Ah the Facebook status. My generation's way of letting the world know all those things about ourselves that are too mundane to actually talk about in person...or on the phone...or in an e-mail...or in a Facebook message...or via wall posting. Yes indeed, with the status we have those little mental throwaways that we don't think warrant some form of communication higher on the interpersonal food chain, but are just too important to let slip into the ether. I myself have come to embrace the status update as a means of collecting the minute details of the lives of acquaintances, to be recalled in times of social awkwardness or when preceding a favour request.
It was with some dismay, then, that I witnessed the utter chaos that erupted in status boxes throughout cyberspace this past week as Facebook unveiled yet another new format. The dear old status box which prompted us by starting things off with a friendly "is," has been replaced by a Twitter-esque blank canvas asking "What's on your mind?". With these new developments all hell has broken loose on Facebook pages everywhere. The masses have been left to roam around their own profiles not knowing what form status updates are to take. We are now a lost updating generation, akin to millions of Wal-Mart shoppers trying to find low prices without the benefit a greeter.
In the interest of posterity and to preserve the concept of the Facebook status for future generations, I have decided to compile a list of the 10 most common status updates by category. I will present them here, on A Harty Meal, and also bury them in a time capsule under my Aunt Nancy's porch so that the relevance and art of the Facebook status will never be forgotten. There are some status updates that escape any of the following categorizations, I am aware, but such bold and reckless Facebooking does not warrant blog space and should not be encouraged under any circumstances, lest the terrorists win.
Two administrative details before we proceed:
1. I, myself, have been guilty of almost all of these. I am well aware of this and it means that I can refer to them as a friendly and self-aware co-conspirator and not a cynical outsider. My pointing out my guilt in all of this also means that Peter Loewen cannot do it for me, as I know that he would.
2. While there is inspiration here from real statuses, none are plucked verbatim. As for the names, so as not to arouse suspicion of whose statuses were particularly helpful in compiling this list, all of the names below are culled from the alphabetical list of Members of the Order of Canada, starting with A.
And now, on with the show:
1. The Weekend Update
Examples:
Irving is glad it's the weekend.
Alan wishes the weekend was longer.
Wayne is wiped. What a weekend!
I think that people who use this one lose sight of the facts that we all just had two days off, we all looked forward to them, and we all wished they were longer. Depending on who you ask, you can either thank the Jewish faith, Communism or Henry Ford for the concept of the 40 hour work week and, thus, the weekend. Any beefs about the length of said weekend should be taken up with one of the aforementioned, so I don't think that filing a grievance in your status will get you very far. The Weekend Update is only acceptable if you can also post an update stating "played an irreverent golf whiz in Caddyshack" or "is tired of being asked about my Sarah Palin impression."
2. The Workout Update
Examples:
Frances ran 10K and sure is feeling it!
Freda just did squats and pulldowns. Lats tomorrow if my back feels better.
Hey, we all want to keep healthy. Beyond that, we're all psyched that you're at a point in your life now where you spend more time at the gym and less time owning the hidden level on Tony Hawk Pro Skater for the original Play Station. It's just that, you aren't a professional baseball game, so there probably aren't any folks keeping score at home.
3. The Baby Update
Examples:
Robert just watched (baby's name) do (walk/skate/poop/other milestone) for the first time. So cute!
Irvin is taking (baby's name) out for a (walk/run/poop).
Ubiquitous among new parents, these status updates are often accompanied by the classic and precious "newborn as profile picture" maneuver or an elaborate "mobile uploads" photo album meticulously documenting the ride home from the hospital. Babies seem to have a way of hijacking Facebook profiles, though I have to admit to being a sucker for seeing a little head shielded by a tiny toque when I log in.
4. The Promotional Update
Examples:
Madeline-Ann is selling tickets to Signal Hill at the Pub Friday night! Ladies free before 10!
Anne-Marie hopes that you all come see her final opera performance of the month on Thursday night.
Hey, you do what you gotta do to get the word out. Your weekly "Ladies Night" status updates are starting to lose their effectiveness at this point, though, and given that I live on the other side of the country, I probably won't be there.
5. The Higher Education Update
Examples:
Michael is so tired after studying Constitutional Law all night. Who knew it was so complicated.
Anahareo's thesis just is NOT writing itself.
These ones are all well and good, but they lose points in the subtlety department. "Michael is in law school," or "Anahareo is working on a PhD" would have been just as easy and conveyed the point you were trying to make. (Crap, that reminds me, I have some law school work to do tonight.)
6. The Cry for Help Update
A.C. wishes it wasn't so hard.
Doris really doesn't know what to do, and misses him so.
Ever heard of "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" Sweet, so you are familiar with the concept of phoning a friend, then? We all have hard times, but in the interest of efficiency, let's cut out the middle man, save four of your friends the trouble of having to write "What's wrong dude/hon?" under your status and just ask someone to talk over a cup of coffee.
7. The Wedding Update
Examples:
Gerald can't believe the wedding is only three weeks away. So much left to do!
Ralph is getting fitted for a gown today. Eeeeeeeee so exciting.
See, I think these ones are a little rough, given that everyone who has been invited already knows about your impending nuptials. You'd be just as well writing "If you're reading this and don't have an invitation yet, we're not as close as you think." Ouch.
8. The Countdown Update
Examples:
John is eight more days!
Syl can't believe he'll be there in 12 days.
This has always been a popular one, and was one of the most common grammatical violators back when Facebook still forced you to put "is" in your status. People seldom tell you what, specifically, they are counting down to, however empirical evidence suggests that 97% of the time it is either: A) a visit to/from a boy/girlfriend or B) an all-inclusive tropical vacation.
9. The Are You Really Updating Your Status at a Time Like This(?) Update
Examples:
Violet is watching the sunrise over the Grand Canyon.
Raffi is standing at a urinal next to Barack Obama.
Bona is driving a stick shift for the first time!
Here we have people updating their status when they should probably be focusing on the task at hand. Granted, we all have moments that are so significant we just can't wait to share them with our friends, however there is something be said for living in the moment. Using the past tense on updates like these would not have compromised their awesomeness in any way, shape or form and would have meant that you didn't miss the pass of Hailey's Comet because your "U" key was sticky.
10. The Tired Update
Example (there is only one here):
Mira is tired.
Perhaps the most common update ever seen on Facebook. Thanks, Mira. Noted.
--
So that's the list. Feel free to add others in the "Comments" section below. Good luck with the new Facebook, have a pleasant week, and may your status always start with "is".
Peace,
Hart
It was with some dismay, then, that I witnessed the utter chaos that erupted in status boxes throughout cyberspace this past week as Facebook unveiled yet another new format. The dear old status box which prompted us by starting things off with a friendly "is," has been replaced by a Twitter-esque blank canvas asking "What's on your mind?". With these new developments all hell has broken loose on Facebook pages everywhere. The masses have been left to roam around their own profiles not knowing what form status updates are to take. We are now a lost updating generation, akin to millions of Wal-Mart shoppers trying to find low prices without the benefit a greeter.
In the interest of posterity and to preserve the concept of the Facebook status for future generations, I have decided to compile a list of the 10 most common status updates by category. I will present them here, on A Harty Meal, and also bury them in a time capsule under my Aunt Nancy's porch so that the relevance and art of the Facebook status will never be forgotten. There are some status updates that escape any of the following categorizations, I am aware, but such bold and reckless Facebooking does not warrant blog space and should not be encouraged under any circumstances, lest the terrorists win.
Two administrative details before we proceed:
1. I, myself, have been guilty of almost all of these. I am well aware of this and it means that I can refer to them as a friendly and self-aware co-conspirator and not a cynical outsider. My pointing out my guilt in all of this also means that Peter Loewen cannot do it for me, as I know that he would.
2. While there is inspiration here from real statuses, none are plucked verbatim. As for the names, so as not to arouse suspicion of whose statuses were particularly helpful in compiling this list, all of the names below are culled from the alphabetical list of Members of the Order of Canada, starting with A.
And now, on with the show:
1. The Weekend Update
Examples:
Irving is glad it's the weekend.
Alan wishes the weekend was longer.
Wayne is wiped. What a weekend!
I think that people who use this one lose sight of the facts that we all just had two days off, we all looked forward to them, and we all wished they were longer. Depending on who you ask, you can either thank the Jewish faith, Communism or Henry Ford for the concept of the 40 hour work week and, thus, the weekend. Any beefs about the length of said weekend should be taken up with one of the aforementioned, so I don't think that filing a grievance in your status will get you very far. The Weekend Update is only acceptable if you can also post an update stating "played an irreverent golf whiz in Caddyshack" or "is tired of being asked about my Sarah Palin impression."
2. The Workout Update
Examples:
Frances ran 10K and sure is feeling it!
Freda just did squats and pulldowns. Lats tomorrow if my back feels better.
Hey, we all want to keep healthy. Beyond that, we're all psyched that you're at a point in your life now where you spend more time at the gym and less time owning the hidden level on Tony Hawk Pro Skater for the original Play Station. It's just that, you aren't a professional baseball game, so there probably aren't any folks keeping score at home.
3. The Baby Update
Examples:
Robert just watched (baby's name) do (walk/skate/poop/other milestone) for the first time. So cute!
Irvin is taking (baby's name) out for a (walk/run/poop).
Ubiquitous among new parents, these status updates are often accompanied by the classic and precious "newborn as profile picture" maneuver or an elaborate "mobile uploads" photo album meticulously documenting the ride home from the hospital. Babies seem to have a way of hijacking Facebook profiles, though I have to admit to being a sucker for seeing a little head shielded by a tiny toque when I log in.
4. The Promotional Update
Examples:
Madeline-Ann is selling tickets to Signal Hill at the Pub Friday night! Ladies free before 10!
Anne-Marie hopes that you all come see her final opera performance of the month on Thursday night.
Hey, you do what you gotta do to get the word out. Your weekly "Ladies Night" status updates are starting to lose their effectiveness at this point, though, and given that I live on the other side of the country, I probably won't be there.
5. The Higher Education Update
Examples:
Michael is so tired after studying Constitutional Law all night. Who knew it was so complicated.
Anahareo's thesis just is NOT writing itself.
These ones are all well and good, but they lose points in the subtlety department. "Michael is in law school," or "Anahareo is working on a PhD" would have been just as easy and conveyed the point you were trying to make. (Crap, that reminds me, I have some law school work to do tonight.)
6. The Cry for Help Update
A.C. wishes it wasn't so hard.
Doris really doesn't know what to do, and misses him so.
Ever heard of "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" Sweet, so you are familiar with the concept of phoning a friend, then? We all have hard times, but in the interest of efficiency, let's cut out the middle man, save four of your friends the trouble of having to write "What's wrong dude/hon?" under your status and just ask someone to talk over a cup of coffee.
7. The Wedding Update
Examples:
Gerald can't believe the wedding is only three weeks away. So much left to do!
Ralph is getting fitted for a gown today. Eeeeeeeee so exciting.
See, I think these ones are a little rough, given that everyone who has been invited already knows about your impending nuptials. You'd be just as well writing "If you're reading this and don't have an invitation yet, we're not as close as you think." Ouch.
8. The Countdown Update
Examples:
John is eight more days!
Syl can't believe he'll be there in 12 days.
This has always been a popular one, and was one of the most common grammatical violators back when Facebook still forced you to put "is" in your status. People seldom tell you what, specifically, they are counting down to, however empirical evidence suggests that 97% of the time it is either: A) a visit to/from a boy/girlfriend or B) an all-inclusive tropical vacation.
9. The Are You Really Updating Your Status at a Time Like This(?) Update
Examples:
Violet is watching the sunrise over the Grand Canyon.
Raffi is standing at a urinal next to Barack Obama.
Bona is driving a stick shift for the first time!
Here we have people updating their status when they should probably be focusing on the task at hand. Granted, we all have moments that are so significant we just can't wait to share them with our friends, however there is something be said for living in the moment. Using the past tense on updates like these would not have compromised their awesomeness in any way, shape or form and would have meant that you didn't miss the pass of Hailey's Comet because your "U" key was sticky.
10. The Tired Update
Example (there is only one here):
Mira is tired.
Perhaps the most common update ever seen on Facebook. Thanks, Mira. Noted.
--
So that's the list. Feel free to add others in the "Comments" section below. Good luck with the new Facebook, have a pleasant week, and may your status always start with "is".
Peace,
Hart
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
62 Years Ago Today
73 centimeters of snow fell in Ottawa on March 3, 1947. This remains the single greatest day of snowfall the city has ever recorded. The next morning, the Ottawa Citizen ran three lines of text telling the story of firefighters pulling my grandmother on a toboggan to the front doors of the Civic Hospital. So began a truly wonderful life.
Happy birthday Dad.
Happy birthday Dad.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
The Old Home Place
My old house burned down Sunday night. You can see video of it here. The top floor was all that burned, but I would be very surprised if the rest of it is deemed livable again. It was a classic three-story Victorian with creaky hardwood floors, drafty windows and claw-foot tubs, and its top floor was my home for the final two years of my undergrad degree. Sure, it wasn't my childhood home, but it would be short-sighted to dismiss 46 Bridge Street in Sackville, New Brunswick, as simply a place where I lived for a couple of years in college. The years I spent there were two of the most formative I can recall, and many of the friendships that were developed in that very house remain pillars of who I am.
There were quad-occupancy apartments on each floor, with my buddies and I occupying the penthouse from 2001-2003 (and, funnily enough, my sister living in the middle apartment from 1998-2000). The pool table and the bar were already there when we moved in, and we made sure to exploit them to their full social and procrastinatory potential. I am a little bit sheepish now, recalling the vigor with which I pursued a stereotypical college-boy existence in apartment C, and the appalling standards of cleanliness to which I held myself, but I don't feel the need to make any apologies for having been good at being 21.
Which is not to say that the relationships developed in that house were forced, or existed only for the purpose of having drinking buddies. Sure, some of the friendships were specific to that time and place and have remained dormant since I moved out, but many others have not. As I stood at the altar next to a dear friend on his wedding day this past summer, I could not help but remember having "We Are the Champions" cued up when he came home to 46 C after his first date with the girl who would become the woman walking down the aisle. And next weekend I'll enjoy a ski trip here in BC with another former housemate: one whom I got to know better than I could have possibly imagined through interminable hours spent together without taking our eyes off the PlayStation.
Indeed, I was fortunate beyond my karmic entitlement when it came to the cast of characters I spent time with in that house. I learned more than I ever would have cared to about chemistry or knife-sculpting from my more academically motivated room mates, spent some electric Friday nights playing music with two generations of downstairs neighbours, and learned an awful lot about loyalty from the girls on the first floor.
I know that nothing is permanent - indeed, it is a truth in which I take much comfort. That having been said, the finality of 46 Bridge having burned is all too permanent, and is a tough pill to swallow. It chokes me to know that I'll never again be able to point to the bedroom where I worked on 8 courses in my final semester. Or the window that AJ rappelled out of one sunny May afternoon, putting his heel through the window on the second floor. Or the living room where Noel, Greg, Andrew G. and I would spend hazy nights trying to get under each others' skin in discussions about music, hockey or women (sometimes all three if we were feeling especially ambitious), while The Big Lebowski or a Dave Matthews Band concert video played in the VCR.
Perhaps there was nothing remarkable about the two hilarious and educational years I spent up there, but the fact that I am feeling more than a little twisted up about this tells me that I was blessed to have had a place to live that was truly my home, rather than a temporary collegiate abode. I think tonight I'll throw on a little Jimmy Swift Band and drink a cold bottle of Keith's, looking back on my days out East and raising my glass to the people who made those years what they were, and the big white house on Bridge Street.
Peace,
Hart
P.S. For anyone who may be interested - especially 46 Bridge St. alumni - donations to the students impacted by the fire can be sent to:
Mount Allison Students' Administrative Council
62 York Street.
Sackville, NB
E4L 1A4
There were quad-occupancy apartments on each floor, with my buddies and I occupying the penthouse from 2001-2003 (and, funnily enough, my sister living in the middle apartment from 1998-2000). The pool table and the bar were already there when we moved in, and we made sure to exploit them to their full social and procrastinatory potential. I am a little bit sheepish now, recalling the vigor with which I pursued a stereotypical college-boy existence in apartment C, and the appalling standards of cleanliness to which I held myself, but I don't feel the need to make any apologies for having been good at being 21.
Which is not to say that the relationships developed in that house were forced, or existed only for the purpose of having drinking buddies. Sure, some of the friendships were specific to that time and place and have remained dormant since I moved out, but many others have not. As I stood at the altar next to a dear friend on his wedding day this past summer, I could not help but remember having "We Are the Champions" cued up when he came home to 46 C after his first date with the girl who would become the woman walking down the aisle. And next weekend I'll enjoy a ski trip here in BC with another former housemate: one whom I got to know better than I could have possibly imagined through interminable hours spent together without taking our eyes off the PlayStation.
Indeed, I was fortunate beyond my karmic entitlement when it came to the cast of characters I spent time with in that house. I learned more than I ever would have cared to about chemistry or knife-sculpting from my more academically motivated room mates, spent some electric Friday nights playing music with two generations of downstairs neighbours, and learned an awful lot about loyalty from the girls on the first floor.
I know that nothing is permanent - indeed, it is a truth in which I take much comfort. That having been said, the finality of 46 Bridge having burned is all too permanent, and is a tough pill to swallow. It chokes me to know that I'll never again be able to point to the bedroom where I worked on 8 courses in my final semester. Or the window that AJ rappelled out of one sunny May afternoon, putting his heel through the window on the second floor. Or the living room where Noel, Greg, Andrew G. and I would spend hazy nights trying to get under each others' skin in discussions about music, hockey or women (sometimes all three if we were feeling especially ambitious), while The Big Lebowski or a Dave Matthews Band concert video played in the VCR.
Perhaps there was nothing remarkable about the two hilarious and educational years I spent up there, but the fact that I am feeling more than a little twisted up about this tells me that I was blessed to have had a place to live that was truly my home, rather than a temporary collegiate abode. I think tonight I'll throw on a little Jimmy Swift Band and drink a cold bottle of Keith's, looking back on my days out East and raising my glass to the people who made those years what they were, and the big white house on Bridge Street.
Peace,
Hart
P.S. For anyone who may be interested - especially 46 Bridge St. alumni - donations to the students impacted by the fire can be sent to:
Mount Allison Students' Administrative Council
62 York Street.
Sackville, NB
E4L 1A4
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