The odd thing about the recently concluded trip back to St. John's is how hard it was for me to find time to get online, or how uninterested I was in blogging when I could find the time. I was in Italy and on a boat in the middle of the Caribbean and I could find the time. In St. John's? Not so much.
Still, there are observations I made a mental note of to comment on when I found more time. And since I'm back in the Great White North I have, well, not that much more time to be perfectly honest. The Canadian Mixed Curling Championships is rapidly approaching and scaring the hell out of me, quite frankly. Still, here are a few things that I took back from Newfoundland.
1. The traffic in St. John's has, impossibly, gotten worse. I witnessed on a daily basis several acts of attempted vehicular suicide. I mean just staggeringly brain dead things. I mean, if you want to run a red light at the intersection by the Avalon Mall on Columbus Drive, well, it's your funeral. Hell, I was in Mount Pearl and in a long line waiting for the light to change. A woman was trying to turn right so I gave her a break and let her out in front of me. The son of a bitch behind me leaned on the horn that loud you would have thought I'd murdered his mother.
I was fully prepared to blame baymen for this decline in driving skills. However, it was pointed out to me that baymen have been coming into St. John's and fucking up traffic for decades. We've adapted to that, so it must be something else.
My best guess? Mainlanders. It's the influx of all this new money and newer people making things deeply weird. I've always said St. John's has some of the worst drivers in Canada, but if what I saw my week back home is accurate, we're easily approaching Montreal levels, which ought to be deeply concerning.
2. Somewhere in St. John's this conversation is happening (with apologies to Patton Oswald):
Businessman: You know, I've been think and it occurs to me that there's a real business opportunity here in town that people are failing to take advantage of. That's why I'm coming to you looking for money.
Banker: And what's that?
Businessman: Well, I've been wandering around downtown St. John's and I've noticed there's only 50 coffee shops down there. And I was thinking what downtown clearly needs is another coffee shop.
Banker (jumping up, excited): Stop drilling, you glorious motherfucker, you hit gold! Another coffee shop! Jesus, why didn't I think of that?
Seriously, folks. The coffee shop situation in St. John's, but especially downtown, is getting deeply weird. Coffee shops are going to outnumber bars pretty soon. And I think we can all agree that a drunken, hyper-caffeinated population is good for no one.
Although perhaps that does explain some of the driving I saw.
3. Wandering into the Rose and Thistle and paying $10 to see one of Canada's greatest singer/songwriters - Ron Hynes - essentially playing for beer money and having a blast, is surely God must be one of the great deals in Newfoundland, if not Canada.
4. The two most commonly heard conversation I had when I was back home? "So and so is now dead/dying of something horrible/is sick with something no one can figure out" and "Jesus, can you believe it? My house is now worth (inset some silly number here)."
Honestly, no wonder my grandfather is a bit depressed when it seems every second conversation is about either how he's feeling (not great) or who is dead now. And as for the housing, it's like a collective delusional mania has set in. "My house has gone up 50% in the last year! I'm rich!" Yes, too bad about that whole having to find another place to live problem after you've sold your house, though.
Craziness. And hey, it's not like anything possibly disasterous could happen with a housing bubble, right?
5. You know, I'm beginning to think there's just some kind of chaos field that surrounds Dups anytime he's in St. John's. In theory, going to George Street to catch the Idlers and the Discounts should be a simply enough thing. At no point should we have been subjected to three Shea Heights rejects doing some kind of hideous Newfie rap, and yet....
Apparently the opening act cancelled at the last minute and these three morons got to fill in. The brain scarring will never heal. Never. I read an article in either the Scope or the Current saying Newfoundland rap was about to take off. If this is the calibre, then it should be shot down now, quickly.
As we were fleeing the bar (without seeing either the Idlers or the Discounts) I asked the bouncer who they were. He wanted to know why.
"Because I want to warn the whole world how much these assholes suck."
"They do suck," he said.
"God yes," added a woman collecting money for the bands at the door.
Neither knew their names. However, if you see three white guys rapping, two of which are over-weight, avoid them. I would suggest violence, but that would be bad. You know, they might get all gangsta and shit on you. Or sic their ho's on yo ass and fuck you up. Word.
Last Five
1. General Joy - Tori Amos
2. Giddy up - The Hives*
3. 19th nervous breakdown - The Rolling Stones
4. Uncle Alvarez - Liz Phair
5. Fade together - Franz Ferdinand
Showing posts with label St. John's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label St. John's. Show all posts
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Friday, May 04, 2007
Growing up in the park
While the first few years of my life were spent bumbling around different parts of the city (Cowan Heights, the centre part of town, Maxse Street) I grew up in an area called Virginia Park. It's in the east end of town and is fairly unremarkable except for two minor claims to fame.
First, it was right next to the Janeway Hospital so you tended to see an above average number of sick kids attending my elementary school (Virginia Park Elementary) because it was convenient for parents with chronically ill children to live some place close to the hospital.
Secondly, it was built on the old Fort Pepperrell dump. Yes, my home was built on top of American garbage. I leave it to you to look for the symbolism in that. But it did occasionally provide amusement as somebody digging a deep hole in their backyard occasional came upon a 1940s fridge or some such thing.
The Park always was a strange idea. About one-third of the area was townhouses. Not everyone who lives in those townhouses were on social assistance or were lower income. In fact, you find a few people who have moved into those homes and have fixed them up quite nice. But let's not hedge our bets here – there were a lot of poor families residing in those houses. Some of them were nice people trying to get by. Some were scum.
The other two-thirds of the Park was filled with fairly solid middle-class homes. None of the houses were too flashy, for the most part (that went to neighbouring Bally Hally estates, which was the snooty area of town until King William went up). It was such an odd mix. I doubt there were many other subdivisions created with this kind of mix.
From ages five to seven I lived in the townhouses. Then we moved to the more middle class area of The Park. I'm not 100 per cent sure why, although I have my suspicions. Part of it was to be closer to the school. I recall my parents getting into a racket with the principal about how far I had to walk home for lunch. Part of it also had to do with the fact that even at age seven, and in a new subdivision, I think my parents were getting concerned about some of the kids on the street I was hanging out with. They were a rough crowd.
But there have always been rough crowds in Virginia Park. The school, a mismatched series of temporary buildings that have now been there for more than 30 years was routinely broken into, vandalized and set on fire more than once. There were "gangs" that operated and certainly you had to watch your step. I remember there used to be a small wood that separated my house and the school and The Plaza – which contained the library, a convenience store, a Mary Browns and a few other places.
The woods were mostly cut down by the late 70s. Partly to make room for a softball field and other recreational facilities (the field and playground was built. The rumoured swimming pool and tennis courts never appeared), but also because of all the drinking and drugs that were being done in the woods. There were also rumours of a sexual assault.
I never had any problems living there, which I attribute to dumb luck and whatever bizarre invisibility field that's protected me from serious harm throughout my life. Perhaps it might have had a touch to do with my parents, who were widely liked. My mom sold cosmetics and, as anyone who has ever met her will testify to, is a charmer. My dad was the mail man in the area, widely respected and liked (skip the joke about what happened to me. You will not even be the 10,000th person to make it in my life). The fact that he had a convertible since 1988 and nobody has ever fucked with it is proof of that. Dad just thinks he's lucky. I think he underestimates his influence.
But I walked out of the Park unscathed. Never was beaten up, never had any lasting psychological damage. It's a rough place, but there are certain rougher in St. John's.
So why this long winded discussion on where I grew up? Because I was chatting with one of my cousins out in Calgary the other night. He also grew up in the Park, but was six years younger than me. His mom, my aunt, still lives there. To call 2006 a terrible year for her would be an understatement. Health problems kept her in hospital for the better part of four months and we wondered sometimes if she was going to make it.
But she did and she's been doing a lot better recently and I know we're all relieved. However, I found out that in the last couple of days someone stole her car, did a little joyride in it, and then left in the Plaza parking lot where they promptly set it on fire. It wasn't destroyed, but did suffer a lot of interior damage.
So this set up is all basically so you can understand why, right now, I was to burn down swaths of the Park in fiery vengeance for this bit of fuckery. I'm not saying that anybody really deserves to have their car stolen and set on fire. And obviously the assholes that did it didn't know, and probably could care less, about the crap year she had. And yes, there are lots of nice, good, hard working people who live in the Park.
But you'll just have to pardon me for wanting to set these assholes on fire right now.
First, it was right next to the Janeway Hospital so you tended to see an above average number of sick kids attending my elementary school (Virginia Park Elementary) because it was convenient for parents with chronically ill children to live some place close to the hospital.
Secondly, it was built on the old Fort Pepperrell dump. Yes, my home was built on top of American garbage. I leave it to you to look for the symbolism in that. But it did occasionally provide amusement as somebody digging a deep hole in their backyard occasional came upon a 1940s fridge or some such thing.
The Park always was a strange idea. About one-third of the area was townhouses. Not everyone who lives in those townhouses were on social assistance or were lower income. In fact, you find a few people who have moved into those homes and have fixed them up quite nice. But let's not hedge our bets here – there were a lot of poor families residing in those houses. Some of them were nice people trying to get by. Some were scum.
The other two-thirds of the Park was filled with fairly solid middle-class homes. None of the houses were too flashy, for the most part (that went to neighbouring Bally Hally estates, which was the snooty area of town until King William went up). It was such an odd mix. I doubt there were many other subdivisions created with this kind of mix.
From ages five to seven I lived in the townhouses. Then we moved to the more middle class area of The Park. I'm not 100 per cent sure why, although I have my suspicions. Part of it was to be closer to the school. I recall my parents getting into a racket with the principal about how far I had to walk home for lunch. Part of it also had to do with the fact that even at age seven, and in a new subdivision, I think my parents were getting concerned about some of the kids on the street I was hanging out with. They were a rough crowd.
But there have always been rough crowds in Virginia Park. The school, a mismatched series of temporary buildings that have now been there for more than 30 years was routinely broken into, vandalized and set on fire more than once. There were "gangs" that operated and certainly you had to watch your step. I remember there used to be a small wood that separated my house and the school and The Plaza – which contained the library, a convenience store, a Mary Browns and a few other places.
The woods were mostly cut down by the late 70s. Partly to make room for a softball field and other recreational facilities (the field and playground was built. The rumoured swimming pool and tennis courts never appeared), but also because of all the drinking and drugs that were being done in the woods. There were also rumours of a sexual assault.
I never had any problems living there, which I attribute to dumb luck and whatever bizarre invisibility field that's protected me from serious harm throughout my life. Perhaps it might have had a touch to do with my parents, who were widely liked. My mom sold cosmetics and, as anyone who has ever met her will testify to, is a charmer. My dad was the mail man in the area, widely respected and liked (skip the joke about what happened to me. You will not even be the 10,000th person to make it in my life). The fact that he had a convertible since 1988 and nobody has ever fucked with it is proof of that. Dad just thinks he's lucky. I think he underestimates his influence.
But I walked out of the Park unscathed. Never was beaten up, never had any lasting psychological damage. It's a rough place, but there are certain rougher in St. John's.
So why this long winded discussion on where I grew up? Because I was chatting with one of my cousins out in Calgary the other night. He also grew up in the Park, but was six years younger than me. His mom, my aunt, still lives there. To call 2006 a terrible year for her would be an understatement. Health problems kept her in hospital for the better part of four months and we wondered sometimes if she was going to make it.
But she did and she's been doing a lot better recently and I know we're all relieved. However, I found out that in the last couple of days someone stole her car, did a little joyride in it, and then left in the Plaza parking lot where they promptly set it on fire. It wasn't destroyed, but did suffer a lot of interior damage.
So this set up is all basically so you can understand why, right now, I was to burn down swaths of the Park in fiery vengeance for this bit of fuckery. I'm not saying that anybody really deserves to have their car stolen and set on fire. And obviously the assholes that did it didn't know, and probably could care less, about the crap year she had. And yes, there are lots of nice, good, hard working people who live in the Park.
But you'll just have to pardon me for wanting to set these assholes on fire right now.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Obituary
Back in 1998 I tried to get a job with The Express. It didn't happen for a variety of reasons. Instead I ended up with the Packet. Which was an experience I was deeply grateful for. The Packet's editor, Barbara Dean-Simmons, is a good friend to this day and remains, in my mind, one of the finest journalists/editors in the province. I learned a lot about how to be a journalist at that paper.
But Barb always knew I wanted to go back to St. John's because that's where I'm from. And odds are I was going to work with The Express. During my time with the Packet, the paper's company, Robinson-Blackmore, decided to revamp The Express. After the Sunday Express folded the paper struggled along for several years as just The Express. But those around felt the paper could still be quite good, if not what it once was in its glory days. Rob Antle, now a reporter with The Telegram, was the editor of the new revamped Express.
I remember being quite impressed with the paper when I was still with The Packet. They did a nice job cutting out a new niche for themselves. They were a community newspaper in St. John's. Community newspapers often get a bad rap, and that's too bad. They serve a purpose and are often quite good. I mentioned the Packet earlier and that paper has more journalism awards, regional and national, than it does wall space. So did The Express. It's not all big news stories. Sometimes it's the little news, or the profiles of interesting people trying to make a difference in the community with the stories that others miss.
It's a hard job and people's don't respect you, although it's honest journalism. It's that much harder when you're in the capital city and "in competition" with a bunch of other major news outlets.
Eventually, in September of 2001, I got my shot with The Express. I didn't apply, I was asked to take the position of associate editor. I was very proud of that offer and proud to work with the paper. Hell, I had dreams of one day perhaps being editor of the paper.
That's obviously never going to happen now. The Express is gone, as of last week. It was losing money and anyone with an eye for how the media works could tell that. In the press release on Geoff Meeker's blog, it's said the paper folded because it had been losing money for quite some time, even before Transcon purchased it in 2004. But here's the thing, the paper was profitable in 2002.
Yeah, profitable. One of the bosses with the paper used to like making the reporters and sales staff sit down with him several times a year and show where the paper was doing well and where it wasn't. What need to be done better, what needed to be tightened up and where we were doing well. And in 2001, when I joined, it was close. Everyone was excited by how close they came to making money that year. And they nailed it in 2002. Profitable. Not a lot of money, but enough to finally make people think that the paper had turned the corner and that the big revamp had paid off. There was talk of running the paper twice a week. Spirits were high.
If I recall, things went down a bit in 2003. A dip in advertising due to fewer car ads, but most people felt that it was just a blip. That the paper could get it back the next year.
Then Transcon bought the paper in 2004, along with just about every other community newspaper in the province, with the caveat by the federal competition bureau to keep The Express and the Log printing, as long as it was viable. The Log is gone and three years after it was bought, The Express is gone. Not before it was gutted, humiliated and reduced to a pale shadow. Craig Westcott, one of the finest journalists in the province either bailed or was pushed, depending on your interpretation. I left for reasons that had nothing to do with what was happening at the paper, but scarcely a week goes by that I haven't told Cathy that I was glad that I got out when I did. And, of course, they laid off Donnie Power, probably the best sports reporter in the province, but not before they reduced him to covering stories they I personally consider degrading for a man of his talents and abilities.
And poor Steve Bartlett. I haven't spoken to Steve in months. For all I know he's pissed at some of the things I've written in this blog. All I know is he sweated blood for the paper, did everything he could to keep it going even when I'm sure decisions were being made above him that he must have considered disastrous. The latest being the ill-conceived notion of making The Express a "youth paper". It was never going to work. If I had been there I would have said it wasn't going to work. It was plain to see a year ago that it wasn't going to work. Yes, they spent money on a big revamp. You know what would have been a better use for all that money? Other goddamn reporter, something we all begged for, but never got. Instead, a flashy, useless, ugly and ultimately disastrous revamp. Colour me unimpressed with Transcon's "commitment."
It's conspiracy-minded paranoia to say that Transcon wanted to destroy the paper. However, it's naivete to say that Transcon particularly gave a damn about whether the paper lived or died. The Express, when I left, was a decent paper. A few tweaks editorial, such as another reporter, would have helped (when I left myself and Donnie were the only full-time reporters. Westcott was splitting his time between The Express and editing a mining magazine and an oil and gas mag. Steve was trying to keep the paper going and was often too busy to write). Something new in sales would have been good. And perhaps some fresh thinking to help the perpetual pain in the ass that was distribution would have been good. But that wasn't a paper on life support. Far from it.
How do I feel? I'm relieved that I didn't stay in St. John's and now be facing unemployment. I'm worried for my friends, and not just in editorial, but also those in layout and sales. I'm furious that this was allowed to happen.
I'm also pretty sure I just signed my death warrant for working in St. John's newspaper media. But to hell with it. I just saw a part of my life folded up and blown away. I'm not feeling the particular urge to say diplomatic things right now.
But Barb always knew I wanted to go back to St. John's because that's where I'm from. And odds are I was going to work with The Express. During my time with the Packet, the paper's company, Robinson-Blackmore, decided to revamp The Express. After the Sunday Express folded the paper struggled along for several years as just The Express. But those around felt the paper could still be quite good, if not what it once was in its glory days. Rob Antle, now a reporter with The Telegram, was the editor of the new revamped Express.
I remember being quite impressed with the paper when I was still with The Packet. They did a nice job cutting out a new niche for themselves. They were a community newspaper in St. John's. Community newspapers often get a bad rap, and that's too bad. They serve a purpose and are often quite good. I mentioned the Packet earlier and that paper has more journalism awards, regional and national, than it does wall space. So did The Express. It's not all big news stories. Sometimes it's the little news, or the profiles of interesting people trying to make a difference in the community with the stories that others miss.
It's a hard job and people's don't respect you, although it's honest journalism. It's that much harder when you're in the capital city and "in competition" with a bunch of other major news outlets.
Eventually, in September of 2001, I got my shot with The Express. I didn't apply, I was asked to take the position of associate editor. I was very proud of that offer and proud to work with the paper. Hell, I had dreams of one day perhaps being editor of the paper.
That's obviously never going to happen now. The Express is gone, as of last week. It was losing money and anyone with an eye for how the media works could tell that. In the press release on Geoff Meeker's blog, it's said the paper folded because it had been losing money for quite some time, even before Transcon purchased it in 2004. But here's the thing, the paper was profitable in 2002.
Yeah, profitable. One of the bosses with the paper used to like making the reporters and sales staff sit down with him several times a year and show where the paper was doing well and where it wasn't. What need to be done better, what needed to be tightened up and where we were doing well. And in 2001, when I joined, it was close. Everyone was excited by how close they came to making money that year. And they nailed it in 2002. Profitable. Not a lot of money, but enough to finally make people think that the paper had turned the corner and that the big revamp had paid off. There was talk of running the paper twice a week. Spirits were high.
If I recall, things went down a bit in 2003. A dip in advertising due to fewer car ads, but most people felt that it was just a blip. That the paper could get it back the next year.
Then Transcon bought the paper in 2004, along with just about every other community newspaper in the province, with the caveat by the federal competition bureau to keep The Express and the Log printing, as long as it was viable. The Log is gone and three years after it was bought, The Express is gone. Not before it was gutted, humiliated and reduced to a pale shadow. Craig Westcott, one of the finest journalists in the province either bailed or was pushed, depending on your interpretation. I left for reasons that had nothing to do with what was happening at the paper, but scarcely a week goes by that I haven't told Cathy that I was glad that I got out when I did. And, of course, they laid off Donnie Power, probably the best sports reporter in the province, but not before they reduced him to covering stories they I personally consider degrading for a man of his talents and abilities.
And poor Steve Bartlett. I haven't spoken to Steve in months. For all I know he's pissed at some of the things I've written in this blog. All I know is he sweated blood for the paper, did everything he could to keep it going even when I'm sure decisions were being made above him that he must have considered disastrous. The latest being the ill-conceived notion of making The Express a "youth paper". It was never going to work. If I had been there I would have said it wasn't going to work. It was plain to see a year ago that it wasn't going to work. Yes, they spent money on a big revamp. You know what would have been a better use for all that money? Other goddamn reporter, something we all begged for, but never got. Instead, a flashy, useless, ugly and ultimately disastrous revamp. Colour me unimpressed with Transcon's "commitment."
It's conspiracy-minded paranoia to say that Transcon wanted to destroy the paper. However, it's naivete to say that Transcon particularly gave a damn about whether the paper lived or died. The Express, when I left, was a decent paper. A few tweaks editorial, such as another reporter, would have helped (when I left myself and Donnie were the only full-time reporters. Westcott was splitting his time between The Express and editing a mining magazine and an oil and gas mag. Steve was trying to keep the paper going and was often too busy to write). Something new in sales would have been good. And perhaps some fresh thinking to help the perpetual pain in the ass that was distribution would have been good. But that wasn't a paper on life support. Far from it.
How do I feel? I'm relieved that I didn't stay in St. John's and now be facing unemployment. I'm worried for my friends, and not just in editorial, but also those in layout and sales. I'm furious that this was allowed to happen.
I'm also pretty sure I just signed my death warrant for working in St. John's newspaper media. But to hell with it. I just saw a part of my life folded up and blown away. I'm not feeling the particular urge to say diplomatic things right now.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Dinner and yoga
We have company this weekend. A pair of teachers from Rankin Inlet - Wendy and Angela - are in town to do yoga...there's an instructor up from down south conducting a workshop this weekend. And they asked if they could crash here. I know Wendy as she and her husband Jeremy went to our wedding. Since we're always glad for the company, we said sure. Granted, it's a challenge trying to fit four people and a very hyper-active little dog into an apartment this size, but I can always count on Cathy to defy the laws of physics and find more space when I'm sure there isn't anymore to be found.
I think the plan this evening is to out for a few drinks and some food. When you arrive in the "big city" from Iqaluit, clearly drinks, a sampling of the finer restaurants in town, and possibly a movie is required. This isn't sarcasm, by the way. If you've spend month and months in a community of only a couple of thousand people, or less, then when you get out then you really do need to get out and do a few things.
Myself and Cathy have already made a list of restaurants we need to hit when we're in St. John's. Zapatas, Magic Wok, Giovannis and Taj Mahal are the nicer ones. I suspect Swiss Chalet and Wendy's will also be needed to satisfy certain cravings. I throw it out to the masses - what are your recommendations for restaurants in town right now. The caveat is that if their menu is primarily seafood, we can't do it as Cathy is allergic. I know there are supposedly some nice sushi places in town, but they're a no go. We will probably need to try a few new places, especially since our beloved Duck Street Bistro is no more. We only have a limited time in town. These things need to be thought out carefully.
I think the plan this evening is to out for a few drinks and some food. When you arrive in the "big city" from Iqaluit, clearly drinks, a sampling of the finer restaurants in town, and possibly a movie is required. This isn't sarcasm, by the way. If you've spend month and months in a community of only a couple of thousand people, or less, then when you get out then you really do need to get out and do a few things.
Myself and Cathy have already made a list of restaurants we need to hit when we're in St. John's. Zapatas, Magic Wok, Giovannis and Taj Mahal are the nicer ones. I suspect Swiss Chalet and Wendy's will also be needed to satisfy certain cravings. I throw it out to the masses - what are your recommendations for restaurants in town right now. The caveat is that if their menu is primarily seafood, we can't do it as Cathy is allergic. I know there are supposedly some nice sushi places in town, but they're a no go. We will probably need to try a few new places, especially since our beloved Duck Street Bistro is no more. We only have a limited time in town. These things need to be thought out carefully.
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