Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-aps!

A recent discussion concerning the validity and purpose of maps, and how they are biased was rather off-putting. Complaining about maps is a futile endeavor. Maps come in a variety of different shapes and sizes with many different purposes. Herein, it is illogical to disregard maps as for being “too subjective.” If one takes the position of somethings validity stemming only from how utilitarian and complete it is, one is bound to be perpetually disappointed. Everything created by man is in a way incomplete, no creation is entirely efficient or “useful.” It was pointed out it class how history is written by the victors—even further: literature is written from one point of view; films are not made collectively by their audience; and scary as it is, laws are passed by a select few. All of these examples show how biases invade all man-made things, and it is reckless to disregard any of the above for lacking total usefulness. 

Many maps shown during the aforementioned discussion had little to no purpose for everyday use, but were no less useful. Hitotoki (http://hitotoki.org/) allows for brief empathetic moments with strangers—the classic version allows for an even better experience. Biomapping illustrates the emotional responses of participants through “Galvanic Skin Response,” while they walk through a specific area (city or town). Neither of these will help someone in their daily routines, but illustrate something unique nonetheless.

Another blog, Cartastrophe (http://cartastrophe.wordpress.com/) shows examples of many cartographic errors. Most are chuckle-inducing, insightful, or strange (face mapping?). This blog shows how mistakes can be made, even if it is just in how a legend is created. The maps shown are not useless, just flawed. 

I guess the biggest problem I had with such negativity towards maps, is that such an opinion is either poorly developed, or illustrates an even more serious misconception: if it is possible to disregard maps due to their flaws and biases, is the same rationale directed towards their creators: people?

Sleepwalking in the City

“In west [Edmonton], born and raised—at the [Grovenor] playground I spent most of my days.”

The ‘city’ has been my home for the duration of my brief existence, coincidentally providing many ‘senses’ of the city, and memories from many different corners of the capital region; although, I also spent almost every summer just outside the city at my parent’s cabin at Alberta Beach. This 45 minute gap between Edmonton’s urban expanse and a small summer town evokes some of my greatest realizations about the city. 

After weeks of lake adventures with the local folk, the return back to the city would always give me mild culture—or rather ‘urban’ shock. Urban shock being a result of the sudden sensory overload from the wake of large groups of people. As city dwellers, we never turn the lights out, we walk past street lights, traffic lights, and storefront signs unconsciously; our cars, trucks, motorcycles, and buses all radiate sticky exhaust while whittling deep ruts into the city’s concrete arteries; we wake up in the morning, turn off our annoying alarm clocks, and set our autopilot functions on. 

As children, my sister and I classified people in two different groups: lake-kids, and city-kids (adults were simply excluded). This distinction comes from when either of us would bring a friend (read: city-kid) out to the cabin, and they would seem to stop functioning normally. This glitch in city-kids was over time decided to be a result of perpetual autopilot, and from a lack of spontaneity. 

Lake-kids know everyone from their block, to the next block, to the store clerk, to the librarian, and beyond. City-kids rarely know their neighbors on both sides. Lake-kids never bruise their knees on the same street, usually not even on a street—but off in some remote treed place. 

Unfortunately, lake-kids grow up to be adults just like city-kids. I have my own ruts I follow, the usual haunts, and have slowly shifted into autopilot—it’s hard not to, with Edmonton's urban sprawl, hectic schedules, and terrible winter transportation. I see the city through the window of the bus on my way to and from work or school, and if lucky, check out the river valley when weather permits outdoor excursions. I inhabit the city without many senses engaged: as a big, grown-up (somewhat), unconscious city-kid. 

I have already begun to question this existence, and hope through exploration of the local, I can find the adult, urban equivalent of a lake-kid once again.