"Things That You Love About Edmonton"

This can be found in SUB.  Only this morning did I stop to take the time to photograph it on my phone.  "Things you love about Edmonton"... I find it amusing that this category boasts the fewest responses.  More than anything, though, I feel like this representation of Edmonton is rather empty and minimal.  It's easy enough to name things or places within the city that we enjoy, much like we did at the beginning of the year in this class.  It's much harder, however, to think about the city in a different way, to see beyond the physical places that exist to see the underlying construct of the city and to understand what it really means to be an "Edmontonian".  These people clearly should have taken this course.

Further giggles at the fact that "summer activities" is listed.  What about winter activities?  I find that this plays into my presentation a bit --- Edmontonians ignore half of our identity (no one cares to remember the winter and how *different* it is here!), hence our ambivalence.

I also just wanted to thank everyone for their wonderful ideas and insight into the city -- the course wouldn't have been nearly so interesting or informative if it wasn't for the many brilliant minds in the room. =)

A Hypothetical Archive of Evolving Edmonton Concepts

As we discussed, an archive is a collection of items and documents that has a sort of specificity and says something important about a place and its history.  It is a museum of origin. Being ignorant of much of Edmonton's history, my hypothetical archive of Edmonton will be one of my evolving ideas of the city from this class.

The first "item" - A white out.  Marking the beginning of this course, January was a stormy-white month, and the class as a whole was lost in this desolate storm that engulfed Edmonton.  We didn't know where to go… We had no idea what to think of the city.  We were lost.  This is the beginning of the journey - this is the blank slate upon which a concept of Edmonton will be built.

Secondly - A pair of shoes.  In walking, we give purpose and meaning to the city.  We write stories by wandering, the splashing of puddles through which we tread adds literary flare - onomatopoeia (Foucault).  Walking in the shoes of others, along new paths, along their maps, we begin to relate to their experiences, feelings, and memories.  Memory is part first person, and part collective (Lippard) - memory makes spaces into places.  Wandering Edmonton will help us to define the city in a way we desire, and wandering the mapped spaces of classmates connects memories into a meaningful network upon which Edmonton as a hometown and place may be recognized.

Then - A wig.  The unlikely glamour of Edmonton's secret life, called upon by Darrin Hagen.  Edmonton can be what she wants to be; we can make alterations to our city through the actions we take and the spirit we embody.  Recalling Minister Faust, he advised us to write what we know, but change what we will - make Edmonton exotic and exciting.

Penultimately - The river.  Intrinsically tied to the history of Edmonton, Alice Major acknowledges the North Saskatchewan as a bearing for the city.  Yet, discussed in class, we avoid her current by building high bridges to cross her.  Could this be why we feel lost?  Is this the source of disconnect between city and city-dwellers?  We have become ignorant of our roots.

Lastly - A man with a buffalo head.  Inspired by Raymond of The Garneau Block, the man is Death himself.  We need to be conscious of Death's presence and the inevitability that he will come so that we may choose actions and paths for ourself.  Recalling Sartre from a class last semester, man is the sum of his actions, and we are condemned to freedom once we acknowledge that we are responsible for our own actions.  In our freedom, we can wander, we can share stories, we can sculpt Edmonton into everything we want in a city.

Thus, we are left in white out once again - Another blank slate.  But this time we do not fear and scorn it.  We embrace it and begin to paint Edmonton for ourselves through our memories, actions, imagination, and new-found knowledge.

Scatter my Dust and Ashes

It’s dusty outside.

Gazing through the south-facing window of the Cameron Library pedway, white specs can be seen littering the air, slowly drifting downwards to blanket the city.

dust |dəst|

1 tiny particles of earth or waste matter lying on the ground or on surfaces carried in the air

- poetic/literary: a dead person’s remains

Drab.  Dusty.  Dead…monton.

It’s no wonder we all feel like dying around this time of the year, if we don’t feel dead already.  The dust of our dead souls has suppressed vivacity.  It’s spring and it’s snowing.

I don’t know what I should have expected, really.  The end of March marks the end of midterms (which students have been writing since the first week of February).  Freedom beckons, the light at the end of the tunnel… Until the realization dawns upon you that you still have a term paper to write, a major project to start finish, a schedule to build for next year, and final exams to look forward to.  How considerate of Mother Nature to parody my mental anguish.  Really sets the mood.

Do you know what I hate most about this place?  This university?  No one does anything.  Sitting in a high traffic area such as I am right now, there are a few people stuffing their faces, several with their noses in books or on laptops (myself included), and only a select few people socializing.  Glimpses of any present socialization reveal talk about marks, profs, papers, equations… and usually this chit-chat happens only briefly, in passing, or while waiting at the microwave to heat up food.  So that they may, too, stuff their faces in solitude.

This institute is set up to drain us of our lives and our souls.  And our money.  It costs about $6000 per annum to enroll in classes, most of which are ultimately irrelevant to what you want to do with your degree.  You want to specialize in cellular biology?  Make sure you pay to take this physics course on mechanical motion that for which you’ll never have a use.  Yet 30 000 people have bought into it.  30 000 dead souls haunt campus everyday, meandering absent-mindedly from place to place, devoid of the vibrancy, empathy, and individualism that characterizes humanity.  Or at least used to.

So much emphasis is on the number, not the knowledge.  Believe me.  I’ve scored considerably high in some courses, and I have no idea what the hell was going on during the lectures, and anything I might have learned has since been lost.  And let’s face it, there are some real idiots around here who somehow pull off the grades required to make it through their degree.  This isn’t a learning institution.  It’s the beginnings of the prophetic zombie apocalypse.  Well, not really.  But let me explain further.

High schools having freshly borne us from their coddling wombs, we’re thrust into this mini-society full of options and expected to make choices.  Here’s the catch – before you can specialize in a field of interest, you have to be generalized.  If you think differently than other people or have different interests, you either suffer for your curiosity, or you cope.  Take the uninteresting and overly general introductory courses.  Give the profs what they want.  Don’t stand out.  Don’t ask stupid questions.  Just fit within the mean and you’ll be fine.  Average is “in” this year.  C’s get degrees, right?

But excellence is the goal – strive for the 4.0.  Why the fucking numbers again?  Is there no better way to assess intelligence, interest, and creativity within the subject?  Okay, but what if you are really just confused and need some help with a difficult concept.  Your professors’ class hours are inconveniently placed within other enrolled classes, and your classmates couldn’t give two shits about your mark, especially when the class is curved.  Nobody wants to help the competition.  Egotistical bastards.

The result?  Tepid, insipid, socially detestable and boring people.  And these people we unleash upon our city.  Then, we complain about the monotony and dub ourselves Deadmonton.  How… creative.  Our minds aren’t permitted to flourish; we’re stuck in this perpetual storm of whiteness, sameness.  And thus, we have drawn the white sheet over ourselves.  The self-proclaimed dead.

When will spring come?

The death of the river flow as the North Saskatchewan freezes over marks the figurative death of Edmontonians.  When the flow frees itself, it takes a flood come spring to cleanse the dust from our souls and to reawaken the humanity within us.  Deadmonton is somehow forgotten and replaced by River City.


I've been frustrated with the university lately.  Probably because of exams, assignments, projects, and building a schedule (I find that building a schedule as an English major is an incredibly painful process).  Anyway.  I opened up my word program yesterday and just started to rant.  This is what came out.  It kind of connects to ideas we were discussing in class about the U of A and if it represents Edmonton or stands alone.  It's also somewhat tied to what I wrote last week at the end.  Not really related to what we've been doing lately, but I thought I'd share it nonetheless.

"Thoughts from Home" by Charlie McDonnell

So... I subscribe to Charlie McDonnell on youtube.  Some of you may know him.  He's from England and is "internet famous" for painting himself purple and drinking ketchup and doing a few other kind of stupid things.  His latest video, however, is all about his hometown of Bath.  He mentions how it's a beautiful place, and as such, many tourists will come to see its marvels.  But he didn't want to show his viewers *that* Bath.  He wanted to show them *his* Bath.  I thought it related pretty well to what we did with our maps of Edmonton.

"Thoughts From Home" by Charlie McDonnell

River City

The river not only defines this city – it consumes it.

After months of ceaseless snowfall, Edmonton is beginning to be released from her entombment.  The snowdrifts no longer stand harsh and jagged along our walkways and streets, but have a saggy appearance about them as they become dissipated by hopes of impending spring.

The city wishes to live again.

Rivers rush down their loose gravel beds, diligently laid out by city workers, and pool into newly formed lakes within the asphalt.  The banks to either side of these numerous rivers are muddy brown and wet, standing in proud contrast to the white sheet that has been drawn over the city during its hibernation.  Although the river-ways may be perilous for commuting this time of year, it is an assurance that we will thrive again soon.  We are the River City.

… And the rivers will run dry to join their mother, until we forget yet again what it is to be alive come October.

Upon reading the piece by Mike Davis, I was really drawn to this conflict between humanity and nature, and how it's difficult for the two to coexist.  The article mentioned a constant battle against the reaches of nature, whether it be fought by weeding gardens, pruning trees, or outright clearing of nature to make room for more urbanity.  Building upon the idea of Edmonton being a River City, I wanted to reflect Davis' ideas in terms of the river in defining Edmonton's unique urban nature.

Word Game

"In the Movie Eat. Pray. Love. The Heroin is in search of a word that encapsulates herself after playing a game to find a word that is Rome (It turns out that word was Sex). London's was Stuffy and New York was Ambition. What is Edmonton's word? I'd say Connected but I'm biased being at NOW! and all! :) ~Pagers"

So... I follow 102.3 Now! Radio on Facebook, and the other day, the radio host Rebecca Page posted the above statement.  I thought it was kind of interesting and related pretty well to 380!

What do you think Edmonton's word would be?  I say "cold"... my boyfriend says "grey"... If I had to pick a more serious would, I could settle for "diverse"?  What do you think!?

More debate on taboo words...

 I posted a link to a blog post that my boyfriend wrote a while ago about censorship.  I pointed out to him that, despite his love of swearing and cussing, he still uses some words and treats others as taboo.  This bothered him, and he sought to answer why this is the case, even for him.  This is his latest entry concerning word use/meaning and censorship/taboo.  This is still somewhat relevant to "Why is Squaw Such a Bad Word?"...

An Obscure Blog - The Earring and the Makeup

He was hesitant about posting this one because he fears it will be misinterpreted or that people will take offense when he means none.

Nostalgia Map

Here's a link to my map assignment!

Pride

... When someone from Edmonton makes it big, many Edmontonians become fiercely proud and supportive of them.  Gretzky comes to mind, though I was never an avid hockey fan.  I went to Ross Sheppard High School, the same school that Olympic gold medalist Jamie Sale attended.  Jens Lindemann, world class trumpet player, was in high school with my parents at McNally.

Why are we so immensely proud of these Edmontonians that have made it big?  Is it that Edmonton could be finally put on the map, that we could be good for something?  Or is it a hidden hope that we all have the potential to escape the city and move onto bigger and better things?  On what is this proud founded?  Is it misplaced?

Censorship

"Why is squaw such a bad word?"  Some would argue that it's not... This is a blog post that my boyfriend wrote regarding censorship that I feel is moderately applicable to our discussion regarding McIlwraith's piece and the idea of censorship of information/words and taking offense to words that other people use.

An Obscure Blog - [censored]