Steven Brown

Call of the Wild

It’s been a long time. It’s always a long time but it’s been a long time. And there’s been enough redundancy. Redundancy gets painful. It’s unproductive. We can’t have it. So I took the walk. I went down there. It was way out back, down the slope to the grassy meadows where once again I was in the midst of the mysterious white dogs. They were happy to see me and I could see there’d been a few additions and one or two subtractions. All are in good condition. They’re well cared for, the food is nutritious and the medical care first rate. We communed and I took counsel and yes, samoeyddogs are climbing up. Blaise Cendrars is still right.

Here’s what the hounds told me in all their white fluffy glory. “Treats! Treats!” Time has changed nothing. Five years. You call we haul.

Yes it’s too bad about the rock. Its impenetrability is not an asset. Nothing can get in. What comes out isn’t worth saving. Why do men do this to themselves? When does it end? Crazy bump-heads. They’re everywhere. What is the upside? I’ve never seen a thing but I continue sufficiently haired although I’m older than this loser. Give it up, man. It’s over. It’s so over, baby.

Miller likes to point. I’ve noticed this. He likes to point things out. I like to point things out. I’d like to point out that anybody who listens to this dope needs help. Looking at you, Don. Image is Eric Lee/New York Times by the way. Credit due where credit due. Brilliant. No, you can’t make this stuff up. Don’t get me started. Please. Don, don’t. Mr. Invincible playing with fire like a wee one. I think I was six when I played with fire. Predictable results. Anyhow nobody died which isn’t always the case. It’s too bad. Who are these people?

Don points all the time but never at what should be pointed out. We’ll see about this. That Vance dude, eh? Simmering self-loathing up there on the heights with Steve-o. World beaters. There’s no other way of looking at it. Hackers, four-flushers, princess of ineptitude, Marco the magnifico. You go right down the line. The calibre of genius is unmatched. Is no be resist.

Boundary Bay

Monday. Went for another drive this afternoon just, you know, to kill some pathogen time. We took the Laing Bridge and then the Number Two Road Bridge through Richmond down to Steveston Highway, turned left, hooked up with Highway 99 and drove south to Exit 23 which took us into the Boundary Bay area and the end of the road where there’s an access point to a 13 km gravel trail death march if you feel like it along the actual Boundary Bay. I knew nothing about this and was momentarily concerned. What else around here didn’t I know about?

Boundary Bay Airport wasn’t far so we decided to go over there, found the sparsely attended parking lot and exited the car again to take the air. Never been to the Boundary Bay Airport. There’s no scheduled flights. It’s all flight training and charters but there is among other buildings a large WWII vintage aircraft hanger, certainly one of the few left in the country and it looks well maintained and is still in use. There’s a fairly new small terminal building with a licensed café to the right as you walk in and a long check-in counter a little to the left of the “No Admittance” doors that take you out to the runway and taxiway areas.

The terminal was all set for Christmas, decorated trees, wreathes and long green garlands strung up. We thought it a bit early, not even being Halloween yet, but our feeling that this was a bit dubious was short lived. On the far left of the check-in counter stood three American flags side by side on their own freestanding poles, confirming for my companion, who knows about these things, that some movie or TV shoot had just wrapped here and this Christmas stuff was all props, which explained the three large box trucks just outside lined up on the road between the parking lot and the terminal.

All the tech gear looked like it had been loaded up and all that was left were these mildly disorienting Christmas decorations. Just earlier I’d seen the last in line truck of the three with it’s back door rolled up when someone’s employee was out there and it was mostly empty. But nobody I could see was pushing it too hard out here today. Perhaps it was coffee time or just the secret ways of the movie business.

As a matter of fact it’s just occurred to me the whole check-in counter was also part of the set. We need to dig into this, friends, and find out how the little terminal looks normally. The half-walled off restaurant area had a ten dollar minimum per person advisory in effect, which sounds like the movies. A large jug of liquid pathogen killer on a small round table was explained, as usual, with a “Please Sanitize Your Hands Before Entering” sign. We elected against the restaurant but I was able to visit the Men’s and with these pills I’m taking that really was the fulfillment of Boundary Bay Airport for me.

There’s an interesting and fairly recently established “history walk” you might call it also between the parking lot and the terminal building. The Airport really got its start because of that above alluded to most murderous war in human history, and so it does have this history which is worth preserving.

There’s a sizable granite slab, upright, with large commemorative plaques on both sides as well as four all weather historical information boards complete with black and white images down each way on the walk. The airport trained over 4000 air crew during the last big war as part of the Commonwealth Air Training Program, so that’s interesting. Boundary Bay Airport was it’s own little, self-contained town at that time.

Then a train was going by a short distance away to the north complete with its lonesome train whistle call and I turned to watch for a half minute or so as the train chugged by. Luv trains.

No, that check-in counter is a permanent component of the terminal. The Airport advertises itself as a “Fixed Base Operation Services for Corporate and Private Aircraft” and, as we discovered, makes itself available for location “bookings”. Many productions you’ve heard of have done shooting here. Now we know too. The history walk is known officially as an “Interactive Exhibit” and has been in place a year and a half. You can’t beat that. czbb .com

First Nations Summer

October 2. Today’s tally from John Hopkins University is thirty-four million four hundred seventy-one thousand two hundred and four confirmed cases global. 7,328,273 United States. 164,359 Canada. 1,025,815 deaths global, 208,642 United States. 9,430 Canada. British Columbia today has a reported 162 new confirmed cases, up markedly from numbers in July and August. That is also of course partly due to much increased testing of individuals.

Today the great and much loved president of the United States himself came down with a dose. He is much despised even in his own party, such as it is now, but he got the power, man, and we got the power with him so we stayin cause is all about the power, you know? The power is everything. Power, man. It’s power. The sweet man this afternoon was choppered over to Walter Reed Hospital in DC from the Casa Blanca as a “precaution” and is going to be lying low a few days unless it’s forever. There are a great many who wouldn’t miss him. He could be the most despised guy on the planet. Others love him although few if any can understand it beginning with the lovers. He’s a dark enigma and now he has a slight temperature. Hang in there, prez! The hate’ll keep ya goin!

October 4. “The writer duly notes that I am about the same age as the editors of the paper but that I have obviously done myself in by not having gone to college. In a sense, for a conventional writer the reviewer was right. It is probably a good thing that the dwindling company of twentieth century readers and the hugely expanding company of writers share the same syllabus. Although the voluntary reader will have read many books that schoolteachers will never have heard of, he may not know all of their required reading. Required reading! I have noticed over the years that those who go on to become teachers or critics—or even novelists or poets of a hyphenate kind—tend, as time passes, to dislike, even resent all literature. But then the secret worm in their brazen apples is careerism, which kills off the amateur or the dilettante, the very best sort of reader, if not writer.” –Gore Vidal. “Palimpsest”. 1995.

Been saying the same thing for years. That must make me smart. There’s an absurd number of writers in stark contrast to the scarcity of readers. And careerism, in an overwhelming number of cases, is the end of any real literary interest. Bubblicious creative writing mills. Cue the outrage.

It’s moving with the times. It’s going with the flow. It’s staying in your lane and playing your position. As always, it’s a bit of an experiment. It’s First Nations summer. New concept, same comfortable old clothes. Cue the spirit bears. This block editor as it’s called is a bit different but different is good. We can do different. It’s called being flexible. Do the rhyme do the time. Translation pending.

Fine late breaking flowers courtesy CS Nicol

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