Mrs. Cylbulski notes some acquisitions from one of the surfeit of garage sales in our neighbourhood. She picked up some LPs for me, but on the walk home abandons them in an alley, thinking I wouldn’t be interested.
“Oh? What albums?” I ask
“Strange Advance and …. What’s the matter?”
We spend the wee hours of Saturday morning driving around quiet alleys in search of martial harmony and a memory in an analog medium.
A sunny weekday morning in early June 1983, the loose end game of a high school schedule, and we ply into an early ‘70s Plymouth Fury, a goodly-sized apartment posing as an automobile, to drive up Mt. Seymour. But for the two chair lift operators, we appear to have the hill all to ourselves. Splitting into pairs for the last leg -me with Jim and his recent acquisition: a boom box of impressive size and specifications. Against a clean blue sky we float above the treetops, riding a slow moving wave of warm sunshine, crisp air, and a haunting tune carrying along the hillside. A carefree afternoon in the sun; a world away, punctuated only by occasional yelp induced by the sobering impact of well-hurled ball of loosely compacted slush.
Worlds collide, with all the attendant friction, disruption, and destruction.
The agglomeration of ugly clustered northwest of main and 2nd (the “Greater Village”?) is entering its 3rd stage -“The Creek” etc etc etc- and it’s metastasizing south, with development proposals in for the 1800 and 1900 blocks, an excavated pit on Sophia bordered by a now-evicted tenant’s flowers, the active destruction of the old Jantzen swimsuit factory to make room for the tower, the maker of shadows. There’ll be more: Aquilini owns most of the parcels in between. Disappearing Main Street gets more relevant by the week.
Downtown and the Post Office is on the chopping block, the province is ready to deprive all those new condominium inhabitants of a hospital, and even the CBC wants to join the seller’s market.
UBC proposes 145 square foot units –less spacious than the interior of 1970 Plymouth Fury- Surrey is “go” on a 50 story tower on its “civic plaza,” Brentwood is a massive construction site preparing for 10 new buildings, including a 53 story monster, and even White Rock –of all goddamn places- is “reviewing its official community plan.”
The political leadership is busy. Counting the proceeds of the sale of his home, he who occupies the mayor’s chair suggests “ a collaborative” solution, and takes policy cues from the likes of self-proclaimed “thought leader” Bob Rennie -a glorified car salesman legitimized by an investment portfolio comprised of expensive art and even more expensive influence.*
Bob says complaining about foreign investment is racist. Tell that to the Chinese officials running Operation Fox Hunt to repatriate fraudulently acquired funds laundered in Vancouver real estate.
Or the apparatchiks that freely acknowledge the presence and influence of Chinese money and that “[t]here is a huge stake for a lot of local people in keeping this thing going.”
And so a blogger at The Economist says were “mind numbingly boring.”
Day in, day out: it’s in my face or I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye or I walk through a shadow that had never been. The corrosive capital hard at work, the corruption at play, the worn and tattered façade masking a profound political failure, and the social and economic catastrophe that’s in the works. Mind numbing, sure, but boring it isn’t.
Not yet, anyway.
*Rennie’s capacity for self-aggrandizement is really pretty impressive. At the Jim Green memorial held at the Orpheum on April 15th, 2012, many a speaker waxed eloquently about Jim and the impact he had on their lives; Bob Rennie presented a slide show that prominently featured -who else?- Bob Rennie.