2005 Postscript
A parable, to sum up.
You’re burning through minutes on your cellphone and elsewhere, putting the bumper of your champagne-silver 2003 Tahoe against the bumper of the 2001 Grand Cherokee ahead of you.
You wonder when these traffic problems are going to change. The fools at city hall have been raising overpasses—along with the mill rate—for years. How many more intersections will have to be put to the knife before you can slice your way home as quickly as those years when you lived downtown?
You inch your way along, like a guinea worm making its way out of a host through a muscle in the leg—an unnatural point of egress, to be sure—until you make the exit lane to your R1 single use neighbourhood.
R1. These days city blocks don’t multitask like they used to. That would be like asking a barber to sing, or a singer to dance. If it weren’t for zoning, there would be nothing to prevent a convenience store from sprouting up in the middle of your neighbourhood, or a grocery store, or a pub.
You squint for your house number—there it is—and pull into the double attached. You can hear the engine from your spouse’s car still throwing off pings like a script kiddie’s first runtime. Your other half doesn’t always beat you home. In fact, it’s usually a good humoured race, or would be, if it weren’t for the mood-spoiling traffic.
You leave the stereo tuned to CJAY 92—Calgary’s Best Rock!—since you like to listen to their morning DJ banter during your hour long commute. In any event, you’ll probably be back in the driver’s seat again tonight for some errand or another.
You check the clock as you step into the kitchen. Supper will have to be something quick, as The Amazing Race will be on soon—damn traffic! You set 900 grams of mixed protein, carbohydrates and hydrogenated oil on high in the microwave, and settle into your La-Z-Boy sectional for an hour of unscripted globetrotting adventure.
Dispose of the dishes, zip out to the closest strip mall for the morning’s milk (to the tune of CJAY playing a new or old Nickelback hit), check your email, brush and bed. Back in the driver’s seat tomorrow, bright and early.
Another year shot to hell.
ev · PDDCCXXXVI
December 28th, 2005 at 8:07 am
Wow, I’m depressed now.
You’ve captured exactly why I live in a downtown neighbourhood, and not a burb. I like the fact that a poured Guinness (or other libation), multiple single-location restaurants, and a locally-owned convenience store are within a five minute walk.
What’s a DJ, anyways?
December 28th, 2005 at 4:11 pm
That was beautiful man…
January 4th, 2006 at 7:42 pm
Ugh, sounds like Chicago.
January 12th, 2006 at 6:37 pm
Bee-ing in the hive sucks!