Normally I’d be typing this at home in mine and Joe’s apartment – which is a lot like a meat-locker with comfortable furniture – but, even our basement apartment is not cool enough to work in right now.

So, I got myself organized and came to the library for 9:45 a.m. figuring it probably didn’t open until 10 a.m. When I arrived, already hot and a little uncomfortable in the early morning heat, I saw a huge crowd of people standing before the glass doors looking anxious.

My first impression was that I was in a George Romero film, but this time looking at things from the zombie’s point of view.

A bunch of slightly sun-sticky shamblers, hands clutching plastic protected books with bar codes on the front chanting “Books….air conditioning…”

I was surprised at the assortment of people desperate to get into the library so early. A strange looking man with a little suitcase on wheels, a young man who looked like a smaller version of David Bowie during his Ziggy Stardust days, and any number of students with heavy looking backpacks.

The glass doors slid open and we all went inside, some people rushing to favoured reading tables and others directly to the toilets.

I hunted around for a table where I could plug my laptop in and do some work, and found a great table on the first floor. Window view, shaded by the overhang on the building and wonderfully quiet. Then I discovered a huge mess of what looked like rebar with a plug at the end that lead directly to some dead outlets.

Damn. Bye bye window seat.

I headed to the information desk and after waiting for the woman there to stop her personal conversation with a fellow employee she looked at me. I asked her where I could find working outlets in the library and her helpful answer was:

“There are seven floors in this building, one of them is bound to have something.”

The look on her face clearly said, “What do I look like – an information desk?”

I took the escalator to the next floor and asked a woman at the desk there – she was much, much nicer and pointed me to the desk I’m using now. The only bad part is that it is directly over the kid section and there are no less than three crying children making their displeasure known.

So, I have some pretty serious doubts about getting any work done, but the people watching is nearly as interesting.

Two desks behind me is an older gentleman reading a newspaper, the desk to my left (across a small opening surrounded by glass and metal railings) is a rather serious looking young man staring intently at his laptop. I wonder if he is writing a similar blog post about the “weird red-head who keeps looking at me.”

I kind of hope so actually.

To my right are tall metal shelving units filled with books about writers. From here I can read the spines of a few: A Writer’s Ireland, The Idiot’s Guide to English Literature, Eliot, Joyce & Company.

And, to make things even more interesting there is a man setting up across from me with his HUGE Mac notebook. I mean, the screen must be 19 inches at least. He also just taken off his shoes – bare feet on the public library carpet. Ew.

Oh well, there is some comfort in knowing that I could get a medical book and look up the symptoms for athletes foot without too much effort.

I approached with a smile on my face and offered to take a picture of the two of them together.

The gentleman smiled back – a little hesitant to hand his camera over to a complete stranger. I set my purchases on the ground and he shrugged, grinned and handed me the camera as his wife came over.

“This nice young lady said she’d take our photo!” he said. His accent seemed to be somewhere from the southern United States.

His wife smiled and started pointing out what she’d like for me to get in the photo with them.

I took two pictures, including the boats and mountains, and handed the camera back.

“You Canadians are so nice!” the wife said.

The husband laughed and said, “I’m moving to Canada! You guys are just so sweet and helpful.”

I couldn’t help but laugh myself – it’s the old Canadian stereotype: we’re polite and friendly. However, if making that stereotype a reality for visitors to Vancouver makes their day, I’m happy to do it.

I wished them a good visit and as I picked up my things and started towards home, I heard them offer to take another couple’s photo in-front of the ships. “‘That nice young lady took our picture and we’d like to do the same for you.”

The other couple happily accepted and I continued on. I have to admit to feeling absurdly happy; it really is the little things that count.

I finished a long contract about two months ago and have written nothing since. I wrote almost nothing while I was contracting too.

Here’s the issue: I have a tendency to be consumed by my work. I go to work, I give pretty much all I’ve got and then I go home and I continue to think about work. I fret over everything – even (and maybe especially) the things I have absolutely no control over. I talk about the project and its issues ad nauseam, I spend time puzzling over possible solutions,  I often sleep poorly because I keep waking myself either thinking of work or dreaming about it.

In short, over the course of my last contract, I became my job and drove my husband up the wall.

Enter the multi-talented Nicole Sheldrake and the Vancouver Innovation Camp.

Innovation Camp, to quote the website, is the place where you will learn to “challenge assumptions, connect ideas, embrace failure and see problems as opportunities for creative solutions in order to take your entrepreneurial venture to the next step. Our workshops are hands-on learning opportunities which engage learners through real life situations and challenges – no lectures.”

No lectures? Doing something creative instead of just talking about doing something creative? Count me in.

I needed a creative kick in the pants anyway.

Innovation Camp delivers exactly what it promises; I learned some really valuable lessons:

1. I am an anal retentive planner who is not always very comfortable with half-baked, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants plans. Yesterday, for the final activity, I had no choice but to go along with this approach (and I had great teammates who basically said “You go freak out over there and we’ll come get you when we’re off and flying. Everything will be fine.”) And you know, it was fine. I joined in, still feeling a little iffy about half-formed plans and then just improvised on the fly with everyone else. Everything worked out great and it was a lot more fun than following a pre-made plan to the letter.
2. Promoting ideas and building on them – especially the ideas that aren’t yours – is a great way to generate even better ideas with a team. Being told “No.” or being the one to say it to every idea ever stifles future ideas, makes people angry and unmotivated and will completely kill a project. Worse, the project won’t die, but it will be weak and boring.
3. Allowing team members to use their strengths and strengthen their weak points is the best way to build a great team. I’m a lousy negotiator – I’m too abrupt, and I have no qualms about walking away from what I feel is a poor deal and that burns bridges. After watching some of my teammates negotiate successfully, I learned a few things and tried again. I was only negotiating a trade of peanut M&Ms for some cheddar Sunchips, but you have to start somewhere right? Besides, those Sunchips were delicious.
4. Gut instincts count for a lot. If you are really certain that the final product will be unclear to the intended audience, say so before it’s presented. Presenting something confusing to people and knowing they have no idea what you’re on about is not a good feeling.
5. A ball of wool has A LOT of potential (trust me on this, it just does) and if a ball of wool can generate discussion, make people happy, add value to someones life (even if only for a few minutes) and be the catalyst for awesome ideas – imagine what you can do!
6. We need more freedom – we are not our job titles or our paycheques. So I don’t make $80,000 a year or own a car or my very own tiny condo…who cares? As one of my teammates said “You can cry in a BMW, or smile on a bike.” (I know, I know, the choices are not quite that black and white, but to have those things – I’d have to make myself unhappy. I don’t want any of that stuff that badly).

In addition to learning useful things, I met some great people that I will definitely have future contact with. Will we band together and start our own business? Maybe. Will we stay in touch and support each others endeavors?  We will if I have anything to say about it.

Innovation Camp was exactly what I needed – without it, this post would not exist. I would still be sitting in front of the blank screen thinking “I have to look for proper work. I must bring home a big, fat paycheque from somewhere. I must swallow my hatred of the 9-5 world and be an adult.”

I would still be paralyzed by a sense of duty to something I really don’t like – and what use is that really? My workaholic tendencies add no value to my life or the lives of the people I care about.

So thank you Nicole, and fellow teammates – you’ve made a big difference and given me the courage I needed to start moving forward instead of just talking about it.

As a recap, Ms. Knight is miffed that TransLink did not run transit later than usual on Halloween night while she and her “posse” were out “getting their drink on”. Apparently sobering up in the wee hours of a cold November morning while dressed in a slutty, cold-weather-inappropriate costume kind of sucks.

Ms. Knight also complains that TransLink is more concerned with impressing visitors for the Olympics than its own citizens (and unfortunately, that’s probably true) and that McDonald’s has more sense because they stay open late to take advantage of all the drunk people with the munchies.

I don’t disagree with the assertion that public transit should be available late at night for people too inebriated to drive – that’s one of the great things about public transit – but how late is late enough?

Vancouver, a city that tags itself as “world class” (and don’t get me started on that misnomer), has transit that stops running pretty early considering how late the night life in downtown Vancouver runs. Any city that is truly “world class” (I’m looking at you Berlin) has a 24-hour transit system in place – or at least one that runs until 2 or 3 a.m.

And let’s face it; a cab ride from downtown Vancouver to say Burnaby, Surrey or Port Coquitlam etc. can get pretty expensive – and that assumes you can find a cab driver who will take you anywhere if you’re drunk. Most cabbies, quite reasonably, don’t want drunk people in their car.

That being said, TransLink’s operating hours are not exactly a secret. TransLink didn’t just spring this on an unsuspecting public for Halloween – the hours are clearly posted on their website along with maps of every route and time tables for every single stop. Their website isn’t easy to navigate (the maps are hard to get to), but the information is there.

Perhaps the reason TransLink doesn’t run later isn’t just that they don’t care about the citizens of Vancouver, or that they are financially constrained but, perhaps they don’t wish to be perceived as supporting “getting your drink on” at clubs. I bet they also don’t want to clean up the resulting mess of a bunch of drunks with food from those captains of industry at McDonald’s off the bus seats and floors.

Another good reason for transit not to run late: TransLink performs maintenance on buses and train lines at night to ensure that everyone gets a safe ride during their hours of operation. It seems TransLink is damned if they do and damned if they don’t. Terminate service at 1 a.m. – people complain. Run transit 24-hours and do the bare minimum for maintenance and repairs – people would complain.

Knowing that Ms. Knight, perhaps you should have planned your night out a little better. And that goes for the “other 200 people” you mentioned and the “hundreds of people trapped downtown” every Friday and Saturday night. You could have done any of the following before headed out dressed as a “slutty version” of anything:

• Rent a hotel room together.
• Share a cab to the closest house and crash.
• Plan your time accordingly and make sure you’re on the last bus home.

These ideas are not beyond your intelligence.

Just for the record, I find it very hard to believe that the same people get “trapped” downtown every weekend. Is their ability to remember when the buses stop running hampered by the amount of alcohol they consume? I could see that happening once or twice, but every weekend? Give me a break – if that’s really the case, then those hundreds of people are morons who drink too much.

I suppose your next argument would be cash flow – but, if you can afford to pay cover charges at clubs and pay more to get drunk at said clubs; you can afford to share the cost of a hotel room or a cab.

Your “bleary eyed $2.50” is hardly an inducement for incurring the extra expense of running transit an hour later.

I’ve seen drunken people on transit here – it’s not pretty: loud, obnoxious, reeking of booze (and, in one case, urine) and a river of vomit under the seats. I sure didn’t envy the poor driver who had to hose down and disinfect the bus that night. I wonder if he appreciated those party-goers $2.50?

Your right to pass out on the bus, be a drunken nuisance, or throw up on yourself does not trump TransLink’s policy of providing their employees with a safe and puke-free environment in which to work.

Ms. Knight, as the Events and Student Life Director for the Kwantlen Student Association, couldn’t you find something more important and pressing to write about? This article – written in association with your position at Kwantlen, gives the impression that being inebriated and unable to get home is part of the routine for Kwantlen students. Also, as someone who is in charge of events and student life, you do a poor job of planning your own events and life if you can’t manage to catch a bus out of downtown by 1 a.m.

I’m even more surprised that the Chair and Director of Academic Affairs thinks this is an appropriate story to have associated with Kwantlen.

How would you feel about a $2.50 donation towards finding something resembling journalism at Kwantlen?

Many of my family members have struggled with (and beaten) colon cancer, ovarian cancer and other below the belt issues – help me reach (and exceed!) my $300 goal by going to my personal page and making an online donation.

A $10 donation (super easy and totally safe) will get you a tax receipt – and I promise there will be photos of me in my fancy pants on the streets of Vancouver.

If you have suggestions for costumes – tell me in the comments! It has to be tasteful and cover all my naughty bits (there will be children there after all) but I’d love to hear the creative things you come up with!

Wherever you are, whatever you celebrate; have a safe and happy holiday!

Prop 8 – the musical.

I would have embedded the video, but WordPress was not willing to co-operate – the above link will take you directly to the video.

Anyway, please go watch this – it’s hilarious (Jack Black as Jesus!), Neil Patrick Harris sings (awesome!) and they give you information about how to support the LGBTQ community (do it!) and with any luck, defeat Proposition 8.