At seven pm. SEVEN!

Which made this the saddest sight of the day on the walk home.

Farewell, brave little guys. Farewell.

Short blog post today, as I’m still battling a migraine. Just one day after hitting Inception with Motto and Kimmy. Coincidence?

Well, yes.

I’ve got a lot to say on the movie, but I’ll probably leave that for a weekend post. The Cliff notes: I enjoyed the vast majority of it. And it inspired me to write an idea that’s been sloshing around in the old decanter. That’s always a plus in my books.

But, rather than pressure building up because of excess inspiration, the headache is probably because I spent the day in the sun with my mic and recorder, talking with people at the Capital Ex parade. Meaning that my job was to go to the parade and talk to happy strangers about how happy they were. And then go back to the office to play with the sound.

So, I’m basically saying I think I won the day.

Anyway, I’m not in the mood for serious thoughts, so I’ll let Aly Thomson do the heavy lifting for me. She’s one of bright stars of my J-school class, and she’s keeping Halifax honest.

“A man who identified himself as Orville answered the door at Lund’s Tantallon home on Mon day afternoon — the property, assessed at $506,300, is regis tered to Lund and Orville McGil livray — and told a reporter that the councillor was sleeping. An hour later, the man said Lund wouldn’t be commenting on the advice of his lawyer.”

I have trouble seeing the need of including Lund’s property value. Moreover, I have trouble seeing the benefit in pointing out that Lund lives with a man. Remind me how these things relate to drinking and driving?

Oh yeah, Lund is a total alcoholic so he must be gay and rich. People love it when you lose, they love Dirty Laundry.

Now, I’m not with Aly 100% on this being a deliberate hit-job. I’m not sure the writer of the piece went out of the way to harm Lund’s reputation. But if fits in nicely with a conversation that Jeff Samsonow and I had the other day about journalistic bias. I think the vast majority of journalists really want to get out there and report the story perfectly objectively. And the vast majority of us will fail.

That’s because that journalists aren’t just reciters of facts – anyone who says otherwise is wrong, and is doing a huge disservice to the profession. If we just wrote facts, every story would be a bullet list of times, dates, people and quotes.

Instead, journos do research. We do interviews. We craft stories and supply narritives. And we do it all with limited space and limited time. So, the mere act of choosing who and who not to interview, what to include and what angle to chase a story from: these are all where bias rears it’s head.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying journalists have license to write one-sided stories. Just that we should be aware that no human being is ever going write something that is 100% objective all of the time. News consumers should be aware of this too.

There are, of course, ways to minimize the impact of this bias. Some have been around forever: like encouraging journalists to report accurately, fairly and to have the open mind needed to approach a story from an angle that might not come naturally to them. As well, people would be well-served to get their news from a variety of sources and in a bunch of different mediums.

This is made easier by the Web. And the web also gives us some bias-busting techniques that we didn’t have before. I look forward to the time when media agencies make use of the limitless space on the Internet to post full interviews – whether they be typed transcripts, or just the raw audio of a talk with a subject. Write your story, get it out there, but also give your audience the chance to look through your research and decide for themselves what the message is, and what is important. That, in my mind, is a better service to your readers than trying to jam a video camera in a print reporter’s hands in a desperate bid to be web-savvy.

Also, media companies should encourage journalists to dive in to the comment sections of the website and interact with readers. Let them ask questions about why they talked to this person over that one, or why they thought that quote was the right one to express the subject’s feelings. It sounds like extra work for an over-worked profession, but I don’t know many journos who wouldn’t welcome a chance to engage with their readers that way. We didn’t get in to this line of work for stable hours, good pay or job security. We did it because we think it is important to inform people. (Also, some of us don’t have any other marketable skills.) So, give us the chance.

But, I’ve lost sight of my original point, which had something to do about not writing a post today. Good job on that one. In closing: I love me some Aly Thomson, and she’ll be up on the blog roll as soon as I update it. Read her.

Alright, let’s not fool ourselves. This is the first post in a couple months. I’m starting to see it kind of like a TV series: sometimes we have a season finale and then it’s reruns for a couple months.

Problem is, I’m totally not ready for sweeps.

Anyway, I’ve moved to Edmonton again. Working at CBC radio until September. Old friends. Old sights. New experiences. That sort of thing.

I’m working downtown for the first time. As such, I take bus or LRT to work every day. A couple weeks ago, I set myself a challenge – I wanted to write a short piece about the bus ride home. But, I had to have the first draft done before the ride was over.

Well. I picked the right way to do it, as the ride took longer than usual. Here’s:

I’m watching a woman in a bright blue dress wave at disinterested cab while the heat drifts up from the sidewalk in sheets. The sun has long ago dipped behind the downtown office towers, but its touch lingers in the thick, humid air. Before the woman’s drama reaches the final act, my bus pulls up. Strangers and I crush together on the 71 Express.

The driver takes “express” seriously. I’m only a few steps down the aisle, dodging baby strollers and squatting backpacks when the bus lurches forward. I stumble – elbow connects with cruel glass, which shudders, and I tumble in to one of the scarred plastic seats. The bus has started slowing down before it was done speeding up. Brakes scream at the people standing at the next stop. I brace my shoulder against the window and hand against the seat before me.

Next stop: Old Strathcona.

The bus lurches, swerves and expresses down 100th street. Tall buildings and hotels are killed off as the driver angles the nose down the hill, surrounded by the lush green of the river valley. Below, the dark-green-light-green of the tree tops are broken up by the flat grass of a baseball diamond, where a tiny black speck rushes down freshly-chalked white. The wide blue sky to the east is devoured by the dark grey clouds that sweep in. A thick shadow marches in lockstep below, swallowing up the trees that line the muddy prairie river.

The driver punishes the gas, whipping down the hill. As we plunge deeper in to the valley, my face is forced to window. Through spots of hot breath streaked on the glass, I watch the strobing green leaves. We zip under a sleepy yellow traffic light. Molars vibrate in the back of my mouth and try to break free as we cruise over the grid floor of the bridge.

A lightswitch is flicked rapidly: the shadow of the bridge, in to the sunlight, under the overpass and then brightness once more.. The bus to hugs the smooth asphalt as the road branches to the left, and the green parks and yellow street signs melt back in to the thick green of the trees.

The 71 Express tears up the hill, and I watch in surprises as the path to Old Strathcona disappear to the right.

Suddenly, a thought: I wanted to get on the 70. Not the 71.

Next stop: Millwoods.

Well, the film company that made Downfall has demanded that Youtube take down the videos. And Youtube agreed, cleaning out piles of them. Even the one or two of them that were actually funny.

What did this accomplish? Well, really nothing. First, it’s not like it will stop people from making the videos. In fact, it’s already prompted people to make videos about the takedown…using Downfall.

I’m not even sure what the hope was. Sure, a copyright holder should get paid for their creative work – as a guy who makes his living (or at least, hopes to) off of his ideas, that hits pretty close to home for me. I doubt that those parodies cost the film company any money – no one has skipped out on watching Downfall because they already saw a clip of the Fuhrer whining cause he can’t play Resident Evil 5.

You’re not going to stop the Downfall meme, no matter how played out the idea has become. There’s a saying where I come from: Get used to it, Hitler. 

So, then, Neugebaur apologized, right? No, that’s stupid. What Neugebaur did instead was turn the incident in to a fundraising drive. Of course, it’s not like that’s an original move.

No, an original move is trying to get the voters to open up your wallets by showcasing your creepy lizard wife.

That’s right. The government is trying to…take over…socialism with…unborn….SERIOUSLY! What the hell is she looking at? Nothing is moving but her eyes, and they are doing their damnedest to bring up the average. It’s like a ventriloquist dummy having a seizure.

What the hell is going on behind the camera?

Oh. Okay. Nevermind then.

“If that’s the case, that is not good. It is not what we want to see,” he said. “I don’t think it’s a good promotion of sport values. If they celebrate in the changing room, that’s one thing, but not in public.”

Now, some people are a bit confused, wondering what the big deal is. So, I’ve compiled a helpful guide to clearly illustrate why this is such a problem.

GOOD:Time-honoured sports tradition:

BAD: Irresponsible degenerates ruining sport forever:

See, the women’s team forgot two vital things when it comes to surviving the wrath of the IOC and the dedicated finger-waggling sectors of the media.

Number one: Don’t act like men. If you feel the need to celebrate, please do so by drinking wine coolers. Or knitting. Or, how about walking five paces behind the men’s team with your gaze on the ground? ALWAYS ON THE GROUND.

Number two: Don’t act like “normal people.” Don’t you know that you’re athletes, and so everything you do must be squeaky clean. If you’re a college student superstar swimmer, don’t do what college kids do. If you’re a Canadian hockey player, don’t do what other Canadian hockey players do.

Yes, yes…I know that Marie-Philip Poulin, the 18-year-old forward who scored both of Canada’s goals (and seems to deserve a bit of celebration) was one month shy of being legal in B.C. So I admit that the beer that she had on the ice there probably corrupted her for life (far more than any that she might of consumed previously in Quebec, where she’s been above the drinking age for 11 months.)

Therefore, in fairness, I say we punish Poulin in the traditional Canadian manner for drinking underage: we give her a stern talking to about not getting caught next time.

Note: The National Post has some pretty good photos of the celebration. Check them out and weep for the children.

These grapes! They are sour!

Now, I usually like to deliver my criticism with a bit of humour. A few jokes. A healthy helping of sarcasm. Maybe a little bit of a dance. It makes it fun for all of us. (Or maybe, just me.)

But not tonight. No jokes. Because I am honestly disgusted.

Tony Caterina, you are acting like a child.
You are an Edmonton city councillor . Your job is to do your best for your constituents. The future of the LRT in Edmonton is an important subject.  And you should give it the consideration it deserves. If you’re against the plan, be against the plan. But if you vote the plan down, it should be because you think it’s not the right move. Not because Council made a decision months ago that made you sad.

Your performance tonight was the municipal equivalent of one seven-year-old telling another that “you can’t come to my birthday because you didn’t invite me to yours.” Which is perfectly understandable. For a kindergarten student.

You are a city councillor.

Look, sometimes we don’t get our way. Happens to everyone. But you don’t throw your hands up in the air and hold your breath. You do your job. And your job is to represent your ward. A ward full of other people. People who probably care about public transit it some way. At least, more than they care about the list of “things that mean people did that hurt Tony Caterina’s feelings.”

A lot of the reaction I’m seeing to your closing arguments have been along the lines of “oh, that Tony…” People will pass it off as you just being, well, difficult. It’s a reputation you seem to have gotten along the way.

I’m sorry, but it’s not some charming quirk. It’s unacceptable. It’s childish. It’s embarrassing.

Look. Next year, there will be elections. If you’re not interested in doing the job you were elected to do, you just shouldn’t seek re-election. Please. Leave it to someone who will actually vote on the issues based on the actual issues.

There are better things you can do if you want to rail hysterically and hold grudges until they fester into vendettas. Have you tried blogging? I hear it’s good for that kind of thing.

Oh. Well, maybe you can build model ships or something.

Update: As is the norm in the cases where Dave Cournoyer and I post the same topic, his post is more concise, far more reasonable and gives greater context. What are you still doing here? Read it.

Like any other project I work on, I thought the best way would be just to check on Wikipedia. But, nothing came up when I searched for “Ross Prusakowski.” So, I just clicked on the first link that Wikipedia recommended, and I changed a few things to make it fit:

In GATEWAY mythology, a ROSS PRUSAKOWSKI was a SNUGGLEBUM, water nymph, CUP DINOSAUR or mermaid-like ECONOMIST that dwelled in a UNIVERSITY OF ALBERTA. ROSS was considered a being of evil force. The ghostly version is the soul of a young COOKIE who had died ON or near THE INTERNET (many of these ROSS PRUSAKOWSKI had been murdered by SPORTS EDITORS) and came to haunt NASH; this ROSS PRUSAKOWSKI is not invariably malevolent, and will be allowed to DRINK in peace if HIS PINT is DELIVERED SWIFTLY . In most versions, the ROSS PRUSAKOWSKI is an unquiet dead FIRE TRUCK.

You’re welcome, Ross. My invoice is in the mail.