Archive for March, 2008

The Navigator Man

March 17, 2008

what

After school on Friday I was lounging around the house, trying to dream up something to do. Outside. Darina’s seasonal depression was knocking and I knew from experience that we had to get things moving to save the day. After considering our options and rejecting a few other adventures, we decided on Lynn Canyon and its not-so-famous suspension bridge, which is often lost in the shadow of that other tourist trap on Capilano Road.

lynnbus

The photo above was taken at the exact moment Darina realized she left her bus pass at home. After heading back to grab it, we hopped on the bus and discovered that Brock had lost the bus tickets he just bought five minutes earlier. The bus driver was mildly resistant, but I think Brock’s disbelief was convincing, because the disappearance of the tickets was so magical he found them up his sleeve later.

barocka

A really nice man who probably thought we were tourists because of the cameras we were slangin gave Brock two more tickets and that put Darina in a bit of a better mood because she loves random acts of kindness (“I could tell he was very kind when I first looked at him. Plus he was gorgeous!”).

gorgeous

It was a pretty grey day and I decided to shoot some black and white film. Because Darina and Brock dressed in bright colours I regretted the decision right up until I got the roll developed. When I saw the results I was pleasantly surprised.

bridge1

bridge2

The last time I was at Lynn Canyon was a field trip in elementary school and it was pretty hectic. This go around we were definitely the only people there. We jumped around on the bridge and wandered through the forest before walking back to civilization and catching the bus-seabus-skytrain-bus home.

creepin

When we were crossing the water back to the South shore, we spotted a man and his daughter taking transit home from skiing at Grouse. Darina, already in a much better mood, immediately fell in love with his little girl. She was so in love, the second they walked into our Skytrain car she told him straight up, “You have the most beautiful daughter in the world.”

To which he replied, “You should see her mother.”

What Would The West Coast Be Without…

March 17, 2008

onelove

Hugging salt and pepper shakers. Only Darina.

When I Grow Up…

March 15, 2008

M7king

I want to be this guy.

(Note: This is not my photo. I found it on the internet somewhere and stashed it away for a rainy day. I wish I could credit the sniper, but that’s life.)

The Moral of the Story

March 14, 2008

terry

I was lying in bed last night thinking about this blog, and I was having a crisis of confidence.

The last thing I wanted when I started out was another burden in my life, but I was happy to give it a shot, and I was fairly confident things would go well. It hasn’t become a burden, but I was thinking about the time I spend on it, what else I could be doing with that time, and what it’s all worth.

After rolling it around my head for a bit I realized what the problem was. When I decided to commit to this, I considered the daily writing exercise to be an upside, and I’ve mentioned this a few times in past posts. The problem with a daily writing exercise is that eventually everyone runs out of things to write about.

But I was just looking at things the wrong way. This blog should be a daily storytelling exercise. I consider myself more of a storyteller than a writer, and everything I’m learning including photography, video, layout, and web design is geared towards becoming a better storyteller.

What put me to sleep was the realization that if I’m telling true stories, which is what I want to improve at, I’ll never run out of material. The world never runs out of stories, this was never a writing exercise, and it’s all still worth it

Wise Men Say

March 12, 2008

3am

Late at night, when it rains hard, you can hear the city roar. Every drop pounding every inch. Dripping: gliding: flowing: splashing: roaring again.

It almost hides the silence.

There are no sirens. There are always sirens. Never bothersome; only noticed in their absence. Police Headquarters, Vancouver General, and the Downtown Eastside disappear.

You hear everything because the heat is building controlled and the windows are always open.

Humans puking, cats screaming, cans clanking. Rain falling.

When the rain calms, the sirens begin again.


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