StreetRag ::: An Urban Notebook

White House White Light

Sun, 15 Nov 2020 12:11:02 -0800

A Saturday night wander through the neighbourhood always yields interesting sights. Houses in various stages of decrepitude, new abodes with warm lights and soft couches. Apartment blocks of various vintages, garages with yellow light creeping under their doors. The mixed density and quality of a central neighbourhood.

The blinding white house of Holyrood

One house caught my attention. It was impossible to not see this house. I saw its light from a few blocks away, and I thought it was an arena at first. I was nearly shocked to see it up close. A cool-white siren of LED light on an otherwise dark residential street. It was almost…I don’t know…obnoxious, maybe.

Lighting the exterior of a single family home with an excess of high-lumen 4000k LED fixtures seems rather unfriendly (aggressive, even), don’t you think? Maybe tone it down to 3000K and dim the fixtures down a notch or two? Your neighbours will thank you! Aside: I could rant about homeowner responsibility but I’ll leave that for another day.

All petty judgment aside, this house was the highlight of my Saturday wander. A beacon of non-restraint.

— Michael Gravel

Strathcona Balcony

Fri, 13 Nov 2020 08:11:48 -0800

I almost missed it. Walked right past the place and didn’t notice at first but then the lights caught my eye. Then the tree. Then the joy of the scene – this hohum Strathcona apartment block with its old brick and new balconies suddenly alive with early Christmas lights.

Strathcona balcony with tree

I love this kind of stuff. People making beauty in small ways. My kudos to you, third-floor embracer of the season.

— Michael Gravel

Friday Morning Breeze

Fri, 06 Sep 2019 09:09:14 -0700

Cool on my skin as I walked the avenue with a coffee in hand. Getting to be that time of the year when the morning commute happens in darkness. All good. Plenty to see on these days. Little warm windows into people’s lives. Everyone waking up in their own time. Work still happens on Fridays, sadly. I’d gladly hang out and watch the sun come up and listen to the neighbourhood get its day going.

83 Street in the AM

Hope your weekend is breezy and light.

— Michael Gravel

The Couple II

Wed, 04 Sep 2019 08:09:40 -0700

Sat behind them on the 15. Not “together”, but it looked like a budding romance. Her with fake eyelashes, him with perfectly coiffed hair. Both beautiful in profile. Watched them all the way up 109 street as the bus I was on tag-teamed with the 8 up the street. Wondered how they’d walk when they got out under this perfectly-lit morning, how they’d look at each other.

Not a beauty, but alright.

Just bumping down 118 on my way to the office. Buildings of utility everywhere. Brick, stone, siding. Nothing pretty. Nothing all that bad. No coffee yet. No time no venue. Time for work.

— Michael Gravel

The Morning Maw

Sun, 01 Sep 2019 12:09:03 -0700

Friday, yawn, bumble to the bus stop with a coffee in hand. Trip over some construction detritus on the way over. Street’s down to 1 lane in each direction and the crosswalks have been demolished and replaced with those strobe blinkers – not the best, but that’s what we have. Hit it, at the stop. Woman with her head in her phone – yes, this our natural posture and proclivity these days – and I am sympathetic: the morning is gray, the weekend is nigh, and we’ll soon be shivering out here on this temporarily broken street.

The recently severed railroad spur into Dominion Industrial.

Rumble through the neighbourhood, cross the river to downtown. 15 minutes to my transfer point. Big avenue. Guy over there carrying a big duffel, like the one my father brought home from his stint in the Navy. Hauls it around like it’s no big deal – thick pipes, paws for hands. Might be nursing a medium-strength hangover.

The bus arrives, orange glow in the flat morning air, queue to get on. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden so I mistakenly jump the unofficial queue – the one that is recognized but not strictly enforced. First to arrive at the stop is the first on the bus. Oh well, plenty of time for me to correct.

We slide down 104, up 109, up Princess Elizabeth. I’ve got my ‘phones on – some sort of moody instrumental piece that flows into the next one. I step off close to work and wind my way through Dovercourt. Dominion Industrial now, all torn up, all under construction, the railroad tracks snipped, no more service spur line, no more occasional train horns in the neighbourhood. All that asphalt chewed up and forgotten, steel rail discarded in the swale, the crossing lights that haven’t worked for years reposing in final disuse in the gravel railbed. I say a word of goodbye for the Dominion spur line.

Job: Touch my fob to the sensor and damned if I didn’t have another cup and damned if it wasn’t a great day.

— Michael Gravel

Avenue 6am

Wed, 02 Apr 2008 12:04:56 -0700

6am on the avenue. Early for everyone except the school goers and the early work arrivers. It’s fucking cold. Isn’t it about time March escorted her shivering, bony ass out of here and made way for April’s daffodil kisses? The coffee wranglers just opened. Lucky for me, ‘cause a day isn’t a day without a shot of the oil first thing. Large, 2 and 2 up. Nary a nod from the coffee kid behind the counter. Bowie on the stereo and I step outside. Wind hits like a cheek-bound papercut. The orange “don’t walk” hands and whiteman “do walks” seem frozen in their incandescent utility. Tripe-like Dodge 1 ton dually clobbers past and throws stones up everywhere, one of them barely misses my skull and hits the cafe window. Motherfuckers and their trucks.

Whispery. Lack of voices out here. Just caught a glimpse of a shitbox Toyota dead in a back alley. Cobraheads are curved and throwing off the light; sun’s coming up. Exhaust in the air. Tap my foot at the corner. Guy walks up beside me. His cellphone rings. Innocent maybe. The prick busted my dawn.

— Michael Gravel

Overheard on the 4 Westbound

Mon, 31 Mar 2008 12:03:10 -0700

“Bitch took my smokes last night.”

“Really? What a cow.”

“Yeah, no shit. ‘Course that don’t matter ‘cause I stole her car last week.”

“When did your car die?”

“Last week, plucked and fucked. Tie rods shot, needs a new water pump. Cocksucker.”

“My uncle fixes shit. Maybe he could take a look at it.”

“Maybe…”

“Wanna drink tonight?”

“Only if you’re payin’, douchebag.”

“I paid last time, bitch.”

“Kidding, llama face.”

“Llama face? What the hell?”

“Yeah, you know, face like a fucking pack animal.”

“Dude, you’re fucking weird.”

“Hey, I ain’t the one tryin’ to skip out on buyin’ the booze.”

“I ain’t buyin’ this time.”

“I’ll buy. Dozen?”

“Make it 18. Long week.”

“Smokes. We need smokes. Grab some smokes, too. Pay you back later.”

“Whatever.”

— Michael Gravel

Cigarettes and Aspirin

Fri, 28 Mar 2008 12:03:23 -0700

She’s wearing a white knee-length jacket that somehow looks out of place. On the corner with cracked white hands and a weathered face. She’s crossing the same street that I am. A touch below zero out here and she’s 50 maybe. The little white man appears and we cross the street, me trailing slightly behind. Down the street, while walking, she fishes a bottle of aspirin out of her pocket. Gracefully places one in her mouth and then throws the bottle back into her pocket. Reaches into the other pocket, pulls out a pack of smokes. Yanks a zippo, lights up, snaps the lighter back into her pocket. I get the impression that I am witnessing a set of refined and practiced movements, honed over years. She continues to walk gracefully down the block, white coat trailing and cigarette dangling casual-like from the left hand. Every 20 seconds or so, hand reaches for mouth and a drag is pulled in. Exhale up and to the left. She makes it look effortless, as if she was born with a DuMaurier in her hand.

We get to the end of the block and she’s crossing again. So am I. She gives a quick glance back to me, as if to say, I know you’re watching. Butts out the cigarette with her heel. We wait for a few seconds and the walk light turns white. She walks on unconcerned, another aspirin (or whatever) down the hatch. That white coat almost looks tragic in the whiskerbreeze. I contemplate a left turn. I go.

— Michael Gravel

The Pain of Millgate

Wed, 26 Mar 2008 12:03:23 -0700

Millgate’s all about the dew rags (do rags?) today. Guy who just stepped off the 60 has one. Dude over there in the shadows is sporting one as well. Tough guys everywhere in this shithole. Brisk spring day, but more like late winter with the visible breath and chattering teeth. Smashed-up can of Coke on the ground, dewrag #1 kicks it across the bus runway. Pulls a pack of menthols from his jacket and lights one. Smoke hangs from his lip as he adjusts his shades and pulls up his baggy-assed pants. I check my watch and realize that the 8 is late for the 3rd day in a row. That bastard toque-wearing driver must be on glue or something. Maybe it’s not his fault but I think it is. Dewrag #2 maintains his cool, leans against a concrete pile. White earbuds dangle; taps his foot almost imperceptibly. I find a dime on the ground and lament the days when a phone call could be made for a quarter, and then I contemplate the dearth of phone booths.

The 8 finally hauls its stinky ass into the station and docks. Grizzled grin from the driver. Give him a nod and find a seat at the back. Both dewrags get on and sit nearby. #1 whips out a cellphone and #2 starts chewing gum. I cue up Dylan and go back to what I was doing.

— Michael Gravel

Mitchell Industrial Park

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 06:03:12 -0700

The wife and I took a little jaunt a few days back to shoot some night time photos of one of my favorite areas of the city: The west end industrial parks. They are fascinating places to me. Don't ask me why. It's weird. Anyways, here's a slideshow. Enjoy.

Some Saturday night dates we are, huh?

— Michael Gravel