I could have used some blåbärssoppa

Reading week has definitely been living up to its namesake, so the opportunity to get out and walk my partner’s map was a welcome one. 

First off, I was lost. Lost in Edmonton. Lost in a part of town I had never been to before. I honestly did not think this was in any way possible. 

After having brunch with some friends, I commandeered a ride to the Argyll Velodrome, where my journey was to begin—this in itself was an adventure, as no one in the car knew where we were going. Nevertheless, after many ‘80s hits had soundtracked our journey, we arrived. At this point, I hopped out of the car, waved goodbye to my friends and began what would be a very cold, yet refreshing, traverse through Mill Creek ravine. 

On my little excursion (to which I owe my toes an apology, as they were chilliest) I was presented with ‘The House of Broken Dreams.’ In the ravine there is an open plot where an abandoned house once stood. 

All that remains is this lamp post.

I also had several things in my map that are no longer there, or have changed drastically. These absences, rather than still-present things/objects/places was the first thing that my walk got my brain churning.

‘Place,’ as we discussed in class, is becoming (in my opinion) more and more a location with collective memory. Because, even though I never saw the ‘House of Broken Dreams’ I now know where it was, and have my own interpretation of it—a result of someone else’s sharing. 

This notion is strange, but becomes stranger when you consider other ‘places’ beyond Edmonton. Edmonton is a fairly young city, so when you think about all the things that have been drastically changed over many centuries (see the Hypercities map of Rome) it becomes impossible to define a city as ‘place.’ We will never be able to share all of our memories of a space with one another (our mapping assignment being an example) but rather, only fragments. I guess we can all share a collective awareness of the city, but not an understanding. We will always have different perspectives.

"Are cities just tumors of people on the landscape?"

When talking about how we move in the city this week, I had a nagging feeling that I had had a discussion about this long before we began our journey that is English 380. But I had not had any such conversation; rather, I listened to a conversation about the science of urban movement. This conversation was a podcast courtesy of Radiolab: an entire hour about cities.
I could go on about everything they talked about, but instead, check it out for yourself:

Radiolab: Cities

For those who feel an hour of podcast listening is too...time consuming, just download it and let the guys at radiolab accompany you on your next long bus ride or during any other menial daily task.

As for myself, moving through this city is a major pet peeve of mine on two fronts. Firstly, I suffer from what was recently described on CTV (National News, shout out to my man Lloyd Robertson) as 'sidewalk rage.' I ideally belong in one of the faster cities described in the podcast above, because I become irate when trapped behind anyone who is simply wandering.  I have actually thought about the need for two-story sidewalks, on for wanderers, and one with a predetermined minimum speed-limit, for those who actually walk with conviction.

Secondly, As for walking with or against the circulation of the city, I don't think 'dirt city' has a circulation. I find that sometimes when I am walking downtown, or down whyte—people are few and far-between. I find this even more in my own community, when out running through neighbourhood labrynths, I get the sidewalk all to myself (not complaining in this instance). I would suggest this might have something to do with our car culture, and its unavoidable obese effects—oops! Tangent.

I suppose the wanderers first described, are probably just victims of car-culture who have had the misfortune of finding themselves suddenly and inconveniently self-propelled.

I guess to sum up I don't think I move against the circulation of Edmonton; rather, everyone else seems to be moving against the correct-circulation. Our city has arteries clogged with toxic cars, and an excess of antibodies—antibodies of wanderers who struggle to navigate our city in a correct fashion.

Go fly a kite.

My expectations for English 380 are... nonexistent. Why? I didn’t expect much to begin with, as the course focuses on a city I have become increasingly disenchanted with. I have enjoyed most of what we’ve read, and was genuinely interested with our sample of creative cartography. However, I can’t say that my perception of Edmonton has changed to any great extent. 

Many people have been astounded by how little they know of minorities, and subcultures, and places in the city. And then people go on about how things are subjective or not, and like to theorize a lot. I was stoked when Minister Faust mocked academia. Personally, I don’t find much merit in discussing subcultures—or minorities. It would be much better to be told to literally go take a hike, and bring back some experiences to share. I have found a lot of discussions focusing on what people would like to do, and where they want to go. Statements of intent are relatively meaningless; rather, I applaud the people who share what they have done, things they have experienced within our short time together. 

I expected this class to be a lot more hands on, seeing as we are existing in the very object of our study. Hopefully our mapping assignments will be more exciting, but I can’t be sure. I don’t know what I will be mapping, as I don’t have any ideas of something that can be done within an hour—this brief tour of someone’s conceptual journey through space doesn’t go much beyond theoretical discussions, as it is more observational than experiential.  

Well, apparently my bowl was full of negative salsa while writing this post, time to do some dishes and look forward to whatever happens next. 

"The bigger the hair, the closer to god"

This week’s class discussion revolved around Darrin Hagen’s book The Edmonton Queen, a collection of stories from Hagen’s involvement in the Edmonton Drag scene since the ‘80s. With our class focusing on reading the local, we were fortunate to have Darrin be able to come and speak to our class. 

Discussion focused dominantly on the many facets of drag portrayal in present society, how drag culture has changed and the history of the queer community. Nevertheless, the relation to our purpose of reading the local is the step back and thinking about minorities of any capacity and their interactions with each other and the spaces they inhabit. Drag culture exemplified how spaces can be “owned” by a minority, as they control the majority of their claimed space’s happenings. In The Edmonton Queen, this space was Flashback—a bar of both grand and gritty conditions.  Hagen, then known as Gloria, would “own” the bar with his ‘girls,’ putting on spectacular shows, and delving into debauchery (go read the book, It is hilarious, sad, and eye-opening).

The anecdotes of his book illustrate how the underground, or in a more general sense minorities create spaces to exist in, where they can maintain their values and find camaraderie through community. However, and this is a big however, I don’t think it is necessary for minorities within the city to “own” an area. Public spaces, like Flashback are frequented by groups who identify collectively, with common goals and interests to band together. This can be said for any group of people, and the location is not concretely significant. Another example is the University of Alberta itself, or even English 380, reading the local. People convene in a regular place to work together for some purpose, regardless if it is embracing your inner woman, or reading a book about those embracing their inner women. 

In a way, I believe minorities do not “own” spaces, but they “own” their groups. When Flashback was empty, or when HC 1-7 empties its contents of English 380 students, they both stop belonging to the groups who inhabited them. Although the spaces may have calming abilities of providing familiarity and comfort, minorities can identify with one another in any place. Hagen describes the drag scene across North America, illustrating how minorities can find familiarity and comfort amongst their peers beyond walls. 

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.