According to algorithms, today is a leap day. This is the one day women are allowed, by social custom, to propose marriage to men. In other words, today women can 'pitch woo'.

At the clinic, we debated ways of celebrating the 29th of February. It seems that we are always looking for occasions to be festive for and with the clients. This usually translates into pizza or free socks and toques. I don't think they really care.

This is part and parcel of being a worker down here. You feel that it is your duty to make the lives of those you serve somehow more exciting, to offer them a reprieve from the daily grind of cracksmoking and getting punched in the face. But it never really works and the party just kind of fizzles out, leaving a bad taste in your mouth. It's partly because it's the staff doing the organising, partly because we have no money for a real shindig, but mostly because it's pretty depressing seeing homeless people try to have fun. In order to begin to have fun, they have to stop being homeless first.

Then again, the Poverty Olympics earlier this month were apparently a great success. So maybe it is possible. My dream is to hold a yearly parade, with floats and banners for downtown. We could march all the way to City Hall, and make them foot the bill.

My own way of celebrating this day is to go to two parties, one for dinner and one for dancing. I am also wearing a tie but that is less about celebration and more about drawing one's eye away from my otherwise shoddy clothing.

my failed failure

I never used to understand when people were able to read - and enjoy - nonfiction. Honestly, it completely eluded my ken. I couldn't grasp what was so interesting about facts when all I wanted to explore was ideas.
This was maybe what initially drew me to philosophy: the door into a world where people devoured ideas and considered the possibility that these ideas may actually be real. I wanted very much to jump into a room full of idea-swapping but it never ended up that way. Instead, I was forced to memorise the doldrum ideas of others and nitpick the reasons why his or her ideas were untenable. This nearly destroyed me. Now that I have some distance of years, and geography, I can safely say that I hate philosophy. Completely loathe it. I hated it back then but wanted so badly to be an 'academic' like other students in the program. I am not proud to say that I have never, ever read an entire philosophy text. In fact, I managed to cruise through some courses without even opening the assigned ones. I remember a professor pulling me aside during a final exam and informing me that I had only attended her course 4 times during the whole semester.
That should have been a sign for me. It was, I guess. I dropped out of Ottawa University 3 times over 5 years but still went back to finally get a degree that I cannot find in my closet. I even tried my Master's of all things. What a joke! I am so relieved my marks were never good enough to be accepted.
It's incredible, but when I started taking Social Work I was immediately drawn into its world. I read everything cover-to-cover, bought several books on various topics and read them in my spare time. But I am not an academic. I got a degree from a school I have never been to, I wrote half a dozen letters of complaint to the Dean, and mocked my fellow students daily.
Now I fall asleep reading about fucked-up street people and I love it. I could do this forever.

Lion Hotel

When I first moved to Vancouver and got a job in a mental health residence, I held this dream of moving into one of the hotels down here. I saw it as an opportunity to (a) save some money, (b) live a simple, introspective life and (c) get the hell away from that bitch of a girlfriend. Really, it was (c) that kept the idea in my mind for so many months.
Even now I find the hotels romantic, despite the bugs, drugs and thugs. There is an appeal to downsizing to one tiny room. Of course, I've kind of gone in the opposite direction life-wise, but I have no regrets.
Now that the landlord has turned the upstairs into a mini SRO, maybe I can add its photos to this collection.

Dadzone

Before I became a parent, I was sure that I would do things differently - with a sense of style. It was easy to judge other dads and believe them less involved or less creative than they could have been. Than I thought I would be.
I figured I would tell my daughter all sorts of stories, sing songs to her, watch her every move like a professor.
Now I find that 90% of what I say to her is either "hi", "hey", or a combination of the two (e.g. "hiyey", "hiya", "heyho"). Every once in a while I will get fancy and say "onka-bonka" or something.
Well, that's not entirely true. I have been teaching myself Tears for Fears songs in front of her, to her disdain.
I also wonder if sometimes she can tell that I have bad breath.

Biltmore Nites

Maybe it's time to pack in the party in me. I don't like waking up this way or feeling shame at the night before.
Or, maybe when the kid is 15, I'll have a resurgence and get invited out by younger co-workers.
Hard to believe some of the shit I used to do.

stakeout

It turns out our neighbour robbed a bank.

Tonight, my landlord came over and invited me to go upstairs. The place was trashed, presumably by the police who searched it 3 days ago. It's a nice size. Good view of the mountains. Poorly furnished. Lots of DVDs.
There was a search warrant beside the sink. It inferred that he was suspected of robbing a bank.

We're not having very good luck at finding a safe place to live.

Patrick Anthony

I have a dream of documenting all or many of the hotels in downtown Vancouver. They are in danger of getting torn down or renovated and I believe their charm is unmatched elsewhere in Canada.

Every work day I must enter about a half-dozen of them to track people down. I find the signs that people put up pretty awesome. My student has the opposite view and considers them abrasive and annoying. Here is an example from the Patrick Anthony building, at Hastings and Princess.