Advanced polling's on for the BC provincial election. Voter's card and proof of ID. Mark yer ballot. Done in five minutes.
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Pink Slip

So. Here's a pic of the pink snow I wrote about on Protag last week.

I'd started writing it as a kinda mental window opener. I'm not saying this right. My brain needed fresh air, after way too much of my Saturday last Saturday ended up used up doing the annual obligatory tax return.

Actually started writing what I wrote so I'd have something-anything at long last for a blog, for this here blog. But then it dawned on me the readership I have originated over on Protag. The blog isn't pulling the cart. Protag is.  

Let's just say this is me getting out and giving my little helping push.

Cactus Club Cauldron 2013

They re-lit Vancouver's Olympic cauldron last Wednesday night. Symbol of the 2010 winter games. Two weeks of Let's Party, promises, some kinda shiny legacy.

The cauldron's been re-lit since, for a succession of Canada Days. A civic to-do or two.

"The Olympic Cauldron will be lit on special occasions to celebrate major achievements and events." Says so on the accompanying plaque.

Last week they re-lit it for the grand opening of a Cactus Club restaurant. $5000 bucks for four hours. Plus the 5 percent administrative fee.

Sadly, it seems no IOC rep officiated. Busy, probably. Well, there's Sochi and Rio to make-over, now London's done.

You can read about it here.

From the comments after the story, I get the distinct feeling a mob of folks are still a mite peeved they weren't invited to the party.

Owed to Spring

Chucked out three versions I might've blogged here before this fourth.

First was too spiky. It's the end of another workweek. I haven't felt like bloggin' in...forever. Spiky wasn't a surprise.

Second was too purply. Too poetical. Edging over the knife-edge brim toward the precipice o' bottomless artistickal obscurity and black turtle-neckedness. I happen to know I'm quite unexpectedly sexy in black, but holding the requisite pensive expression only makes me look constipated, really.

Third was too much about the writing. About Last Joe, and me merrily plotting away just about all of it since NaNoWriMo. But me feeling good about it being Friday and I'd snapped a buncha cherry blossom pics was no good reason to go so far off topic.

Really, this is only about cherry coming into bloom along certain warmer sides of some Vancouver streets. And I've survived another winter to see the stuff.

Just Wanna Celebrate

Chelyabinsk Event

The headliner on Friday in real-estate crazy Vancouver...something about Donald Trump and his hair coming to town?...

In other news...A bus-sized space rock burned and boomed across the early morning sky over Chelyabinsk, population one million. For a few quick heartbeats, the meteor blazed brighter than the sun. Had it struck the earth it might've gone bang equal to 20 Hiroshimas.

The meteor air-burst perhaps 30 miles high. The shockwave damaged 3000 buildings in Chelyabinsk, shattered countless windows. 1100 people were injured, mostly by flying glass. People had rushed to windows to see...whatever it was...blazing brighter than the sun.

It's winter in Chelyabinsk. Minus-7 Celsius early Saturday morning. Shattered windows means for some folks it's as wintry cold inside as out. Emergency repairs are underway. Naturally.

One scary nugget worth paying attention to: a post-event statement blurted by one Russian nationalist, absolving the indifferent sky of any blame, and attributing Friday morning in Chelyabinsk to an American weapons test. Seriously.

And...De Donald's gonna build his tower in my Vancouver... .

Ché Guevara's $12.99 calendar's 75% off. Revolution ain't a big seller. I'm eying Sam Shaw's Marilyn Monroe, Che. Sorry.
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