Ministry of silly walks...

It is hard to belief that there has been a time when television broadcasting was not ruled by commercially driven, narrow minded and short-sighted media tycoons. Those were the days when groups of loonies, no not Canadian dollars, were allowed to make programs that were irrelevant, idiotic but  a lot of fun to watch. 'Monty Python' was
such a group. Or still is, as there has been a revival this year. A series of theater shows. Well partly I must add because one of the original six members was beyond resurrection. The theater shows therefor were aptly named 'Monty Python Live (mostly): One down, five to go.' Howztat for self reflection. I must admit that their humor was not to everybody's taste and inevitably viewers were criticizing 
the broadcasting organization for spending tax payers money on such nonsense. But dare I say that those critics should have paid a bit more attention. They could have learned a thing or two. As it was, for example, the musical 'Spamalot' that opened the curtains to show a glimpse of future

consumer behavior. A lot of irritation and aggravation could have been avoided if only those critical viewers would have been less prejudiced and not so terribly pleased with themselves. And would have stayed tuned in of course, a minor detail. Saving the public from being bombarded with 'precooked meat' was not the only self proclaimed vocation.

As early as 1970, John Cleese warned the public for civil servants who do their utmost best to make life for the general public as miserable as possible. The City of Surrey has its own equivalent of the 'Ministry of silly walks' as I discovered one early morning. I was about to drive off in my PT Mobster when a yellow flier stuck under the windscreen wiper caught my eye. How wrong I was to think that an ambitious advertiser was the culprit behind it. That was not the case, it was a parking ticket. The obvious place to report oneself is the Police station I thought. Not in Surrey it isn't. I was advised to take my business to 'Concord Pacific', the organization in charge of all parking affairs. 'Ahh, I asked so that's the Ministry of silly walks?'  The duty officer as it turned out, had been among the critics who hadn't paid due attention in the 1970's, so I had to explain what I meant. And got a confirmation. It was not the only silly rule I found out. How about the prohibition to park within 5 meters of a fire hydrant? Yeahh, well but that's obvious, isn't it? Not always, it seems. Put the hydrant 4,99 meters of the curb and you create a great cash machine. Toronto tops the list with one of theirs having raked in $300.000,- in six years time. 

The question that begs to be answered is whether the parking ticket I received was rightfully given? After reading 'BY-law 13007', 'Except when permitted by traffic control device, no person shall stop, stand or park a vehicle on a highway other than on the right side of the highway and with the wheels parallel to that side, and were there is a curb within 30 cm of that curb', I think it was not. I was parked on the right, albeit facing oncoming traffic. But that was because the car was stuck in reverse I could argue, whilst demonstratively wearing a collar to relieve the pain in my stiff neck.    

And be warned. I spotted 'officer 10418' on the prowl for a few more parking offenders in the street this morning. The City of Surrey's 'Ministry of silly rules' is still fully operational... 

The gravity of graffiti

The Chinese have invented the art of printing. To be more precise, Pi Chang was the first one to print a few Chinese characters. But I  

think it is fair to say that the western world has more than caught up with the Chinese. Where the Chinese still scribble little drawings to express themselves we use a real alphabet that consists of quite a few different letters as well. Unfortunately I am afraid that I have to dampen my enthusiasm a bit. Our modern society is also home to a group of people that has not gotten past the use of primitive figures to express themselves. I for one often cannot make head or tail of it. The message that the messenger is trying to convey  goes completely over my head. This hasn't gone unnoticed by many graffiti artists who desperately search for ways to get understood and think to have found this in putting their scribbling on every conceivable place. Buildings, buss shelters, bins, lampposts, and even tramps are not spared by the graffiti artists. To me it is very much like raising ones voice when someone does not seem to grasp what is said. Speaking louder then helps. So when the artist is not understood, spray a few more will help. Yeah right. Not being understood seems to take on epidemic proportions by the look of it. Graffiti is everywhere, signalling a deteriorating society.  Or is it? 
 

I came across a little village that stubbornly resists the return to petroglyphs as a way of communicating. A village that even has beaten the graffiti artists to it by coloring in the obvious locations for the scribblings of these culprits. A marvelous job too as it is much more pleasant to the eye than the unreadable scribblings of graffiti artists. Wouldn't you agree?  
 



Even the sidewalks are not forgotten, be it that a different technique is applied to prevent premature wear by the many feet that step on them. And when the use of pertroglyphs is inevitable the result at least makes sense to common people. Or let me 
rephrase this, 

it is readable. The intentions of the artist are not always clear I must confess. It left me puzzled a few times. 

Not all is lost then. But let us not lapse into complacency and fully apprehend the gravity of graffiti...

  

To protect and surf

Who is your best companion? Nope, not your dog or your budgie. I wouldn't have guessed it either. It's the police. Really, according to their own slogan. I must admit that the answer put me on the wrong foot too. I remember vividly the last time I was stopped by the police. Friends? I didn't think so. The image that is solidly stuck in my mind is that of rather overweight people draped over the front seat of a police vehicle with their arm dangling out of the window, slowly driving through town. It will take a horse to pull them from their beloved patrol car. Or a 'Big Mac'. Thinking of it, I have a theory why police officers alternately drive a patrol car. It is obviously aimed at equally tanning both arms. Yep, otherwise it would be practically impossible for a police officer to be involved in an undercover operation. They would be found out instantly having only one tanned arm. Too bad because 'practice makes perfect' and it would save the taxpayer a lot of money. Things are different in Canada though. Patrol cars are not chasing their own tail around the town square but are parked and ready to go, should the need arise. Police District 3 in Surrey is obviously a very safe neighborhood as quite a few patrol cars

actually are in the starting blocks. And it wasn't supper time either nor was there a McDonalds in sight. Not so much in white Rock. To the untrained eye it may appear to be a tranquil little village. However, the RCMP are not that easily lulled to sleep and put their patrol car to its intended use. Patrolling. Patrol cars thus can be
frequently spotted cruising the busy center of White Rock. And their 'modus operandi' proved to be very effective too. Nothing happened while I watched. Police officers even take the effort to climb out of their patrol car
to mingle with the public. No horse or 'Big Mac' needed here. To 'protect and serve' is taken very seriously. With the police being this effective there is not a lot to do to keep them occupied all the time. Spending the time thus saved to wash ones car would be overkill. Not to mention the wear on the paint that it would cause. Rest assured, I have the perfect solution that would kill two birds with one stone. Have the police persons take up surfing. Not only would it make them quicker on their feet but it would also mean an expansion of their hunting ground into the pacific. Much needed with al them paddle boarders cluttering the waterways. Inevitably the slogan would need a slight modification to express clearly what proper and effective policing is all about. It would ideally read 'to protect and surf'... 

Let's get physical

Much has been said about youngsters nowadays and the time spent in front of computers. Or pushing buttons of their handheld electronic devices whilst intently staring at the screen waiting for something to happen. Sometimes quite the unexpected and not always positive for the individual concerned. It makes me chuckle or often laugh out loud at the sight of so much stupidity. I suspect that these individuals when knocking on the door of evolution were met with the message 'sorry we're closed, come back later'. And subsequently they must have gotten lost. It raises the question whether mankind is doomed to be overtaken by our predecessor the chimpanzee? Well, if this would be the case then certainly not all mankind I dare argue. Agreed, many individuals do not transcend the cleverness of a monkey as I can see around me every day. But there are exceptions. Youngsters that apparently have forsaken the digital world of bleeps and shiny gadgets and have returned to more physical ways to pass their time. Back are skateboard, BMX and scooter. 

Local governments, rather against their nature I must admit, have accommodated the need of the adolescents in their midst by building state of the art skateparks. Not the tiny 'half pipes' we often see as a result of a desperate attempt to keep up with changing times in the Netherlands, and which consequently are hardly used. Nope, the skatepark I discovered in Cloverdale is something else entirely and no exception here in Canada. The  saying 'a good beginning is half the battle' has not gone unnoticed either. Juveniles are lured into physical exercise at an even younger age. Under the supervision of their parents or grandparents for that matter, toddlers teach themselves all kinds of tricks that wouldn't have gone unnoticed in a monkey colony. I for one think this is a good thing. Not only are youngsters less inclined to turn into hooligans and destroy bus shelters, it also provides an opportunity to beat the chimpanzee on its home-ground. Physical exercise. If we can't outsmart them anymore I suggest we get physical. Olivia Newton John was far ahead of her time 35 years ago...

Twinning

Every person has a twin brother or sister. Someone who looks just like yourself. A lot of people belief that this is true. I for one don't. It would totally destroy my belief in fingerprinting for instance. And in the reliability of eyewitness statements. I found it to be applicable to locations however. And indications are plentiful. I have lost count of the number of villages, towns and cities I have traveled through that claim to be twinned to another village, town or city. Preferably in a far away place so it is hard or sometimes even impossible to check for the average bumpkin. Beating the trend, there are still places that are a bit more modest than most. White Rock for instance is such a place. A name aptly chosen as there is a giant boulder of this description lying on its beach. Draped
over the shores of Semiahoo Bay White Rock looks almost identical to Saint Tropez. But is there any mentioning of this striking resemblance? Nope. None. White Rock relies on its own strength I concluded. And this is not all. Brighton in the UK could also have been on the list of 'twinned-with' cities. Because White Rock has a pier of considerable length, quite similar to the one in 
Brighton. It is advised to bring sandwiches along for the long walk to the far end. A walk worthwhile making as you will find another ground for twinning there. La Quebrada, Acapulco would not have gone amiss on the list of 'twinned-with' cities as cliff diving is a rave in White Rock as well. Not withstanding the fact that the authorities are trying with all their might to put a hold to it. To no avail I discovered. And dangerous as well as other activities take place at the same time and in the same piece of wetness. Paddle-boarding for instance. To me, 'paddle-boring', would have been a much more appropriate name. What is the point of standing upright on a kitchen-door trying to move forward by stirring the water with a spade. Outboard motors have been invented to do just that and are much better at it. Even nature points out that standing tall is not the best way to move along the surface of a pond. No, paddling is best done lying on the water. All one has to do is be willing to learn from what nature puts on display. Geese for example. These feathered corks show how paddling is done properly and have also made it into a social event. 
 






Modesty is a good thing, I agree, but should White Rock want to boost the number of tourists visiting the town I have a word of advice. Translate the name White Rock into Spanish, 'Roca Blanca' should immediately draw the Dutch to this little gem. Dutchies like to flock to shores with Spanish names. If only the Dutch geese. Dutch farmers would be very thankful and they wouldn't have to be shot. The Dutch geese that is ...

Moving house

Camping was and still is a favorite past-time of many people. Primarily Dutch people I like to think. Close to 3 million Dutchies venture into France each year to spent their holiday and often on a campsite. Primarily lead by their wish to get away from the bleakness at home, a sunny climate is a must. And as it is within driving distance, France is their favorite destination. Why not go to England one could ask. Well, I can see why they veer away form the UK. Not only is sunny weather not always guaranteed, but one has to drop the metric system for inch, foot and pound and on top of that one has to drive on the left hand side of the road. Having said that, I realize that

driving on the left side is the least of their worries. It is what most Dutchies do at home anyway. Or in Germany, where the Germans think that 'NL' stands for 'Nur Links'. I can totally understand their confusion. 

Things are different in Canada. True, camping is also a favorite past time but Canadians like a bit of comfort. Therefore tents do not have a large group of followers. This may also have something to do with their position in the 'bear protection scale' rankings, when I come to think of it. It takes a grizzly little effort to rip through the fabric of a tent, be it 'ripstop' or not. So much for the guarantees of the manufacturers. No, hard shelled shelters are preferred by the Canadians. And there are many different shapes and sizes to choose from. Let us delve a bit further into this. The first step on the 'camphouse ladder' is the 'truck camper'. Or as I would like to call it 'the box'. Not like the boxes that are strapped to trucks and trailers but a box nevertheless. Normally chained to a pick-up truck. Nope, the pick-up truck does not come with the box. Possession or disposal of a pick up truck is recommended.

Moving up the 'camphouse ladder' brings us to the 'travel trailer'. Familiar to the Dutch albeit not quite in this size. A fair size pick-up truck is required with, you guessed it, the driving skills to go with it. Not many people fancy being the target of mockery whilst trying to back the trailer into the designated camping spot. Sounds familiar to many Dutch 'horsebox', ehh caravan owners I reckon. For those that have passed step one and two of the 'camphouse ladder' there is the 'fifth wheel' to consider.  'Humpback' is a much more appropriate name I think. 

Like their namesake they are enormous and have almost the same shape. Not a laughing matter I can assure you. Pulled by even bigger pick-up trucks it takes quite a skilled driver to maneuver them to their allocated place. And a campsite the size of Wembly Stadium. Quite different from the tiny 'stamp-sized' spots often allocated at campsites in 'la douce France'. But then, Canadians do have quite a bit more space at their disposal. Once put in position it must feel like one has moved ones house, and often to a much nicer place too. It is therefore that many Canadians prefer their camphouse to their permanent house which consequently becomes less permanent. Moving house seems to be the way forward. My word of advice is to choose your path carefully, as it often proves to be difficult to back up your 'humpback...' 

Gordon Gekko

One way to make an intercontinental flight a bit more bearable is to indulge yourself with the abundance of movies available. All that is asked is to push the button and relax. The latter being a bit of a problem when traveling in 'cattle class' obviously. Unless you're one of the tiny people or 'lengthily challenged' is the correct word I belief. It was thus that I stumbled on 'The Wolff of Wall Street' with Leonardo DiCaprio playing an outstanding role. Now, I have seen Michael Douglas playing Gordon Gekko in 'Wall Street' some years before and therefor couldn't help thinking it was all a flash back. After all, DiCaprio's physique is much better than Douglas's. I suspect that the release dates have been mixed up somewhere in the process. Having digested the entire movie, all three hours of it, I thought 'really?' The financial world can't be that twisted, can it? Mwoahh, maybe Hollywood overdid it a tiny bit but things are not operating as one would expect. And I have evidence to prove it too.

Before actually boarding a plane to cross the pond to Canada I tried to open an account with a bank in Vancouver. BMO seemed a good choice as an online opportunity was provided to the potential customer, me. After jumping through all the hoops which were held up for me in the process, I got to the final one. You know, the one that is normally set ablaze in the circus. It was only then that I was kindly asked to go to the local branch in Vancouver to activate my newly created account. Idiots. What's the point of opening an account online then ehh?  However, I had a fall back. Members of my family had moved to Canada in the early 1950's and being good Catholics I was now blessed with a whole bunch of cousins. One cousin's husband was so kind to open an account for me to transfer funds into. All done and dusted then. 

Not quite. Although I like Russians in general, I  don't feel like sponsoring them. I thus carried out three 'penny tests', to assure me of the fact that my funds would not end up in Mr. Putin's pockets. So much for the harmonization of global financial transactions. BMO and ING were obviously not on speaking terms. I was badly disappointed, to say the least.

Unlike the Netherlands where there are only a few mostly state owned banks, Canada has a wide array of banks to which you can entrust your money. Well, entrust is a bit to much I'm afraid. They're not sinkholes in which your money can disappear never to be found again but that's about it. Like in the Netherlands, banks think primarily about making money themselves. I would say start the presses, but the banks think it is better to rig the 'Libor interest rate' or to rip off pour home-owners that knock on the door to get a mortgage. Customers are aliens to bankers, something from a fairytale. Nothing much has changed since the financial crisis is my conclusion. But do we have to put up with all this? I think not. 

I have worked out an idea that will help us get rid of bankers. Why don't we convert to 'barter exchange?' The principle of it is really easy too. For instance I knit you a sweater from my own hear and in exchange for this you can slaughter the pig that I have raised. I can't stand the sight of blood anyway. Or, in exchange for you shoveling the snow of my driveway I will flock your off-spring when they misbehave. There you have it. No money changes hands. No banker would be able to get his foot in the door, not even when trained by Jehovah Witnesses. And they are good...

 

Inuits

Have you ever seen a TV show in which a person can do remarkable things. Like remembering when Apollo 13 landed on the moon. It didn't, as we know from Tom Hanks's flight into outer space. Or enumerate all the digits of Pi. Interesting? Most certainly. But it all pales into insignificance by the cleverness of the Inuit. Don't address these people by the name Eskimo as it is an insult to them. Now, an Inuit once could distinguish 100 kinds of snow. In 1965 that was. Could be the beginning of Alzheimer but in 1996 the number sank to ten and nowadays they only can distinguish three kinds of snow. I agree, due to global warming there is less snow so a few kinds must have gone extinct. Still more kinds of snow than we know of but not as impressive as their knowledge of some 50 years ago. And it gets even less impressive when I tell you that I can distinguish more than 20 kinds of ice. Well, ice-cream to be precise but that's just nitpicking.

On my travels I passed through a little town, found out later that it was Yarrow. No me neither. As my supper was about 115 km away and I had developed quite an appetite, I scanned the area for a way to quiet my rumbling tummy. Of course there is the healthy alternative to turn to and yes I found one close by. But then, an overdose of vitamin cannot be good for any human being let alone me, I decided. And what a coincidence. On the other side of the road I found the perfect alternative in the shape of a moose. Not that I was about to sink my teeth into one, but a moose nonetheless. A mighty moose even, I would like to add. It also provided the perfect means to demonstrate the assertion I made

earlier. Let me take you through the process to prove my point. The first question asked is how many scoops one would like? I don't care much for scoops but what I do care about is dripping ice cream that finds its way via my wrist and arm into my shirtsleeve. I thus ordered a cup of the size that I thought would suite me right. 'Three scoops it was then' the girl replied. Well, fill it up I said and we'll see how many scoops it takes. I picked the flavors 'black raspberry  cheese cake', 'coffee crunch', and 'caramel pecan fudge'.  'One or two spoons', the lady asked. A silly question I thought as one should never share ones ice-cream. It's bad enough that the ice-caps are melting so you should enjoy your ice-cream while you can. Having said that, miss P. would be the exception to the rule of course. After I had carefully spooned the contents of the cup into my mouth and it had found its way to my taste-buds, I was happy to declare that the ice-cream tasted exactly as it read on the label. This came as a great relief to the lady behind the counter I noticed. The labels could stay in place.

There you have it, distinguishing three different kinds of ice-cream put me level with the Inuit of present times I quickly figured out. I was not half bad at all. And that's not all. I can assure you that I can also distinguish orange, banana and pine apple. Howztat? 

While the Inuit are giving in on their discernment, I am working hard to improve mine. It is a rotten job I know but someone has to do it...