With the recent Biltmore shenanigans and the mayoral election almost upon us, I felt it was time to talk about a story that I've been following for awhile and that's really started to piss me off. I'm not a crazy party-junky (anymore) and I don't want to stay up until god-knows-what hour in the morning standing on the street preaching incoherence and peeing on the sidewalk (again, not anymore), but would it kill this shitty city to have later closing hours?

It is summer 2009, after the September Riots. Vancouver has just been destroyed by an earthquake, and is now an island. VANOC claims the Olympics will go ahead, despite heavy damage to venues. International aid is sparse as the world deals with the collapse of the American Economy, triggered by the assassination of its first black president whose economic isolationism caused China to sell off its Treasury Bonds.

Someday your steps will become crowded
Your angles shaved down
Your steel grip loosened by curious roots
Massive meeting halls made from the remnants of stadiums
Wrought-iron twisted into playful shapes
Rain-water collecting purposefully amongst the rubble
Families huddled under the ominous green-glass glow of empty condos
The tyranny of geometry ignored by gangs of wild children
Carrying new flags, new dreams, swinging wildly on loose-ends
Spitting at passers-by

Continued from here.

As you walk under the tangled concrete limbs of two Skytrain lines and the First Avenue viaduct, where the mythical Crested Myna once roamed, you come across a place called The Picnic. I've always been hesitant to tell people about The Picnic for fear of 'heating up' the place for the many talented graff artists who take advantage of the Burlington Northern train lot's lax security. There is a big security camera on a pole immediately as you approach the area, but its usually pointed towards the Rocky Mountaineer and CN side of the lot. Not only are local bombers up on display but so are tags from all across America. Also, if you look closely at the train cars you'll notice some smaller scribbles, usually in grease pen or chalk, called monikers, written by hobos and railroad workers. Also, look for magic mushrooms in the fall that gather along the rotting wood railway ties. Exit through a hole in the fence at the back of Kirmac Collision.

Update: wacqueline posted an excellent link to a Vancouver Magazine article, outlining both Ladner and Robertson. It can be found here.

Since we learned a little bit about Peter Ladner last week, it's only fair to find out at least a little about the man who holds the top spot for Vision Vancouver. Once again, I can't say that I know the man, or much about him personally. I did see him buying various berries at the Kitsilano Farmers Market, so if that counts for something, there you go.

I wasn't planning on this walk, which is the great thing about drifting, and I didn't take any psychogeograpic notes, but at 84 photographs I realized that this slideshow, one day's worth of snaps, is a good study on its own. Most of these photographs are on the south alley of Hastings, but I do cross over when I get to the train tracks at Raymur. The light lately has had an eery orange glow to it (did China use huge fans to blow all their pollution across the Pacific for the Olympics?), so the mood was enhanced. Also, there is about an hour missing (I was at Taxes rehearsal!), but you'd want to time so that you're walking back at about 8. Generally the walk offers a sampling of graffitti, drugs, prostitutes, incense, community gardens, shadows, slanting sheds, and the tranquility of light industry. Enjoy.

Instead of a Vancouver History today, I wanted to write about the current mayoral campaign. With all the Eby and Robertson boners flying around here at BeyondRobson, I thought I would ask the question on none of our minds: Who the F#@K is Peter Ladner?