Sunday, 8 December 2013

"Outta my way! I think."

Freddie and I walked over to the new place this afternoon. I had a particular goal in mind, which I'll get to anon. For now, I'll just say that this goal made me more than usually put off by the slow, sludgy rivers of weekend traffic flowing along 12th Avenue. This was the view looking west:

Overhead, gulls were swooping and squawking, and I had some second thoughts about my comments on the "One Less Car" bicycles I photographed yesterday. Today I was thinking they're not so obnoxious after all. Traffic is obnoxious! Our desire for convenience and independence at any cost is obnoxious! (And, yes, I do include myself in that "our" — I might not have a car, but I'm hooked on convenience in plenty of other ways.)

This was the view looking east:

But down at 10th Avenue, this confab of cyclists was going on (damn my faulty zoom function!). No slick gear to be seen. Just regular commuter bikes and a motley assortment of panniers and jackets. They looked to be heading to some event together and were trying to figure out the best route. It warmed my heart ...

... as did this bus with the unreadable "Happy Holidays" signage on the front.

Anyway, Freddie and I walked on to the new digs, with the goal of dealing with .... this:

That behemoth of a pickup truck? It's parked in our parking spot. The one that came with the condo we recently purchased for an obscene amount of money. Which precipitated an inner dialogue that went something like this (though in a much more confused sequence) ...

Hey, asshole, that's our spot. Bugger off. 
Uh, Heather, you don't have a car. Why should you care about the spot? 
It's the principle of the thing. And besides, we told the flooring guys they could park there.
Big deal. They found street parking. 
I know. But it's the principle!
Principle? Weren't you the one who was waxing philosophic just last week about the impossibility of owning space?
Yeah, but I wasn't trying to occupy that woman's frickin' stairwell; I just wanted to photograph it!
Maybe this truck is completely innocent; maybe one of your neighbours knows you're not there yet and offered the spot to visiting relatives.
But shouldn't they ask first?

And so on. With the result that I was neither entirely miffed nor entirely blasé about the whole business. I did take photo evidence of the licence plate, for possible towing purposes:

... and I left a message under the wipers, asking the owner to please get in touch if he/she would like to use the space and, in the meantime, to please move the truck. Polite, or passive-aggressive? I dunno.

I left a similar note on our storage locker, inside the building, which has been mysteriously occupied by several framed paintings, some cans of propane, and a pair of crutches.

Here's Freddie, restraining himself from running amok through the Nativity scene of St. Augustine's Church ...

And here's ol' Jonathan Livingston, still swooping and squawking above it all ...

Have a groovy week, everyone!


  1. Freddie looks like he belongs in that scene. I'm going to have to reread a few of the gospels to see if a dog gets mentioned.

    1. And, lo, in the City of Bethlehem, there was no room at the Inn, for the innkeeper's Labradoodle had savaged all the bedding in pursuit of a pot-bellied pig.


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