Category: Absurdities

War means fighting.  Fighting means killing.  Killing means dying.  I love war movies.  And if you’re not killed you may still require medical attention.  If you’re dead you don’t need medical attention.  I think this is true even if it isn’t a movie.

You wouldn’t even know this place is here.  I didn’t.  It’s tucked in a corner of what is currently Canadian Army 39 Brigade Group Headquarters which is in that building that used to be the HQ of the old RCAF Station Jericho Beach, Vancouver BC Western North America Planet Earth.

The Station got so old they gave it to the army.  The army’s leaving before too long and so is the museum and the building is coming down.  At least that’s my prediction.  Until then, she’ll be waiting.

Also known as the “Bowmer-Shoebotham” Museum.   Doesn’t matter.  You can’t get in without an appointment.  Military Medical Museum  You just have to phone ahead.  We knew someone on the inside and just waltzed in, guns blazing.  If you like your military museums small to the point of cramped, and jam-packed floor to ceiling, this one’s for you.  It’s a bit of work but, like victory, it’s worth experiencing.

There’s been an enormous amount of work put into the museum.  One of the founders and present curator is Lieutenant-Colonel Adrian French CD, who, in his present configuration, is an accommodating older gentleman in blue blazer and light grey pants.

The “CD” designation indicates the “Canadian Forces’ Decoration” bestowed on personnel who’ve been hacking it in the military for at least 12 years.  I get the distinct feeling Lt.Col French hacked it for a lot longer than that.

 

The gentleman on the right is not Lt. Col French.  That is Mr. Bruce Holvick.  A few snapshots doesn’t do the place justice either.  Nothing could do that.  The museum needs a larger space and how about all those white mannequins?  Ain’t they got no black mannequins?  Aside from that it was a pretty interesting visit.

We’ll be right back…

 

It’s difficult to determine, occasionally, what’s going on. Depending on where you are in your life, and who you’re working for, if it should happen that you’re working for anyone. What I mean is maybe you don’t need the money. That would make you one of the lucky ones.  But most people work for somebody.  Occasionally, at least around here,  it’s the University of British Columbia.

There’s something wrong.  There has to be.  Strange news.  I’m talking about the updates this past weekend re former creative writing professor and department head Steven Galloway by the fine investigative reporting of Marsha Lederman in the Globe & Mail newspaper.  The accompanying story is that Madeleine Thien, 2016 Governor General Awards fiction winner, finalist for the Man Booker 2016 literary prize and short-listed author for November 7th’s Giller Fiction Prize in Toronto, has requested of the famed university that they divest themselves of all and every mention, image or account of her due to the institute’s actions and moves on Mr Galloway.

This is very weighty stuff.  There’s obviously something rotten in the state of the Great University.  If only it were that simple.

An injustice has occurred.  And this story isn’t going away.  It doesn’t matter what Galloway did or didn’t do.  He was the victim of atrocious bungling by individuals that, I’m quite sure, actually think they’re very intelligent.

What I’m trying to say is that there are many beautiful, wonderful, talented people at the university.  There are also instances of, depending on what you experience, some who, although in positions of power, lack what we Britishers and British Columbians used to call the common touch.  And by that I mean lacking, among other things, in common standards of decency. Decency seems to be an imperilled concept these days.  What’s decency?  This isn’t happening to me so why should I care?

No mistake.  There are some weird people at the Great University, but what would you expect?  That’s what college is all about!  But there’s instances.  I’ve experienced it myself out there.  It’s what led to my departure after a decade and a half.  The thing that burns my ass right now is how could this institution, hugely dependant on public money, our money, have gotten so lost on how to treat people?  As if it doesn’t matter how people are treated.

There’s something sick and demented about this filthy story and at it’s core is a disturbing lack of leadership.  I’ve seen it.  Nobody’s pushing too hard at the university and a great number of people, particularly on the administration side, are making very comfortable livings that they haven’t done very much, certainly not anything outstanding, to deserve. Some types just get lucky.

The Arts have never meant much at UBC.  It’s certainly not the first thing anybody thinks about when you mention the place.  If it’s not law, medicine or economics, who cares? Madeleine Thien is probably the best writer ever to come out of there, and when somebody of this person’s stature sends the message she has it very obviously indicates something serious.

Mr. Galloway has an opening to lay a serious legal challenge to his take-down and I hope he pursues that option when he feels the time is right.  He’ll be up against very powerful forces.  After all, there’ll be a lot of people around worried about the Great Institution’s reputation.  That’s if they know what that word means.

University of British Columbia Halloween!  Yeah!  A very scary place!

Tuum est, by the way, is the motto, or was, of the university in question.  “It is yours”.  Maybe it’s been changed to “It is ours, not yours”.  If anybody can help out with the Latin on that the site would be much obliged.

Classic rain, classically falling. Classic wet streets. Umbrellas. Classic. Classic rainy traffic. Classic incessant rain, coming down incessantly. It’s incessant. Classic sound of rain hitting things, plopping onto things. People. Buildings. Classic puddles. Classic wet clothes, jackets and coats and raincoats. Simply classic.

Glad we got that settled. I’m trying to be brilliant all the time but I’m just living my life too, you know? You have to do something. You have to drive over to Main Street for a meat market roast and hit the bookstore right next door for that volume of poetry you’re now apparently looking for.

The shop didn’t have it. Wait. Right now let’s just check “Chapters” over here at Broadway and Granville. Back. Looks like not. What the ****. They had Kevin Spenst’s “Jabbering With Bing Bong” when I needed it, or thought I needed it. “The News” was published five weeks ago. Where is it? Rob Taylor.

“I write for free for myself but I don’t write for free for money earning entities. I won’t donate my work to the corporation but I will work for the corporation.”
“We can offer you nothing down and no prospects of anything, but plenty of nothing.”
“I’ll take it, and thanks for the opportunity.”

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October 25, 1916. I mean 2016. You know what I mean. 12:32 am.
Dithering with sending a story to a local contest. Deadline is tomorrow at 5 pm. I mean today. Later today.

I wish I’d known years ago what the pursuit of literature really entails. Even if you publish your book, aside from the succès d’estime and a couple of reviews here and there, if you’re lucky, the game is over very quickly. A few libraries buy your book, and a few are sold in stores and online and then the whole thing is over.

I now fully understand why the vast majority of creative writers are hooked to some sort of school. Because for the vast majority there’s absolutely no money in literature. So people become teachers, some of them creative writing teachers, inviting new generations of hopefuls to the worst game in the world. Doesn’t matter. Nobody asks you to waste your time in literature. You do it for the luv.

Later that afternoon. I see that Madeleine Thien has won the Governor General’s Award for fiction for “Do Not Say We Have Nothing”. She deserves it. I’ve said she’ll win the Giller and the Booker too.

Did I mention the October 15 edition, Saturday, of the Globe&Mail’s “Books” section carries a half page ad for the book? The ad quotes a mere four reviews. One from the Globe & Mail, one from the New York Times, one from The Guardian over there in England, and one from the Vancouver Sun. Mine. So I must write damn good copy, but the last little while, possibly longer, I don’t feel like much of a writer. I wanted to publish novels too, darnit.  Shucks.  Thus far it’s zilch.

I’m in Zilch City here and the rain is really coming down. Zilch is known for sparse accommodations, execrable food and nothing to do day or night. You can’t get anything in Zilch. There’s no gas stations and not even a convenience store. Zilch is a little piece of dirt with a puddle in the middle of it. A lot of people really hate this town.

Cheer up, Steve. You’ll never be Madeleine. Remember? She was born the year you dropped out of creative writing.  Years later she didn’t drop out of the same program at the same school.

Later. Like 3:57 pm later. Well, Madeleine didn’t win the Booker. Paul Beatty did. Who? Paul Beatty. The winner was announced within the last hour or so. The prize was handed out by the Duchess of Cornwall. The who? You know, Prince Charles’ bride. Camilla, mate. Camilla.  Madeleine’s still a shoo-in for the Giller November 7.  You read it here.

Just finished reading all four or five articles on Paul Beatty in “Guardian Books”, the Booker winner from America who I’d never heard of before about an hour ago. Looks like his “The Sellout” is pretty fair stuff. I’ll put it on my list with last year’s Booker winner “A Brief History of Seven Killings”. Marlon James.

Sins gid.