A essay on reading Coriolistic Anachronisms - A Vancouver Blog

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Oct 21
   Vintage! This is a random post. The year was 2007...

Vancouver has grown into me, it has slipped under my skin and become part of me. I talk to it and it responds. I can feel its moods and I know some of its secrets. We confide in each other, casually, as friends exchange impressions on their daily routine.

But now I am suddenly trying to see the city through someone else’s eyes. Ironically, after two years working in the tourism industry, it’s the first time I completely immerse myself in that perspective. Hundreds of questions arise daily, trying to imagine what she will see, what she will think. The smallest things I take for granted can now be redrawn into possible surprises or exclamation marks.

What will she think of the innumerable coffee shops? Will the fancy Caffe Artegiano win with its classic elegance, or will it be the funky decor of Trees Organic Coffee, or the busy JJ Bean on Commercial Drive? Will Granville Island’s public market appeal to her cooking spirit or is it too pretty and not spontaneous enough to match the real European markets? Will Stanley Park have the same magical effect on her it has on me, erasing the urban core from my conscience in as little time as it takes to walk a block or two? Will the Seawall and its mesmerizing views make her stare in awe? Will the outrageous richness of Yaletown’s waterfront be too much to accept or will it just be an urban feast for the eyes? What will she think of Lynn Canyon, which I consider to be the most beautiful spot in the lower mainland? Am I just biased about it or is the magic real? Will she see the colors I see in our West Coast sunsets, how will they compare to eastern ones? Will the sight of a graceful harbour seal poking its head through the calm waters of Coal Harbour make her smile and point like I still do? Will she laugh at people respectfully waiting for the signal to change to cross an empty street, at passengers thanking the bus driver when leaving, at girls waring flip-flops in the autumn rain? Will she share my childish excitement when riding the gondola up to Grouse, and when overlooking the Greater Vancouver at night? Will she enjoy the Seabus ride to North Van, and the False Creek Ferries, unavoidable floating links between here and there in our city surrounded by water?

What will Marie think of Vancouver? I almost wish I was in her shoes, ready to discover the city all over again. But she’s bound to like it. Vancouver has beauty everywhere one looks, and beauty is what makes Marie tick. And me too.

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2007-10-21 19:12 • Posted in Always: & Vancouver:

3 Comments

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  • 1 - Marie says:

    « Does this mean I can bring my flipflops??? So...when it rains in Canada and girls wear flipflops, is Canada so clean that no mud flicks onto the backs of their legs??? - because if that is true I’m moving now.

    I can’t wait to see your city.

    And I thought you didn’t like...ticks...:-) »

  • 1.1 - Vince answers:

    « Well, no, nothing is that perfect. The flips still flick mud on the chicks’ legs and no, I don’t like ticks. ;-) »

  • 2 - Anonymous says:

    « Don’t worry, Marie is running through life with the eyes of a child.
    She will love you both.
    ;-) »

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We now go back to current chronological entries:
Aug 9

Read as if you were singing. Words have a sound and a story to tell. They can be music to the inner ear and they can charm an audience. But they must be savoured. Most of our reading is flat. We absorb text in a linear fashion where quantity and information only are valuable. Our silent reading doesn’t recognize punctuation nor does it attempt to reproduce intonation. Yet there is so much more hidden behind the grammar. To write is to hum a new melody; for the readers not to sing along is a big waste of time and beauty. A paragraph wants you to pause and catch your breath. A question mark hopes for a raised eyebrow and a couple of tones up. A coma suspends words in mid-air like a wave the bow of a ship. A period is a brick in a high wall, small but essential to the structure. Some words are rounded and soft, they flow like water and caress the ear like the touch of a feather. Others are harsh and angular, forcing the throat to act as an amplifier and casting shadows as they are spelled. It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words. Indeed. However a few words well chosen and skillfully blended together paint a splendid picture; read them out loud and the picture comes alive. Words are magical.

 

2007-08-09 21:22 • Posted in Schtroumpfissime:

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  • 1 - Marie says:

    « Shtroumpfissime..it’s interesting (alarming)how it takes me a while to notice things, so I clicked, and found Sunsets and Reds and more Vince-thinkings.

    I was thinking, looking at some of your Cayman pictures a while ago, that words are superfluous, and of course, in that context, they are. But your words are very good. The paradox of happiness and the submerging of carnage in the matrix of reality. There’s so much to read. Yay. Thank you. »

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