Is Green Public Transit a Myth?

I wrote the following post defending my Morgan ownership some months ago. Today the National Post had a story on rethinking green transportation and what the Post essentially called the clean public transit myth.

This could not be right I thought, and I googled the facts in their story; So far I have found that there is a lot of support for their attack on public transit.

I also discovered that their reporter, Kevin Libin, may not have developed the story on his own. I found lots of sources confirming Libin's position, but these sources are old and one would think Libin should have been aware of them. This may be a case of the MSM ripping off the blogging community.

Here is a post from the blog Brad Ideas and here is a link to the National Post article. What do you think? (I have already received comments and some excellent criticisms.)

My original defence of my Morgan.

It’s not cool to defend cars. They are nothing but polluting, carbon-belching, resource-consuming pigs. For getting to the store, you’re better off walking – it’s better for your health and the health of the world – or so we are told. For getting to Toronto, rapid transit is the answer and not the car.

I found all the above very easy to write as I kinda believe it. The other day I walked home from Westmount Mall swinging my purchase at my side. I like walking but, and it is a big but, I also like driving.

There, I’ve said it. I like driving, and not just any old car – nope – one particular old car. My soon to be 41-year-old Morgan roadster. She’s a feisty one, so I wouldn’t call her an ‘old girl’ and I certainly would never call her a pig. Never. If she overheard such remarks, she might get her proper English knickers all in a knot.

But she is a cheap date. She is easy on the pocket and relatively easy on the planet. Think about it. For more than four decades this car, this hunk of steel on wheels, has been taking me from A to B and delivering great pleasure while doing so.

She is willing to go almost anywhere if asked. She spent a Christmas in Kapuskasing braving winter in the Arctic watershed. She took my wife and me to San Francisco in 2005. She took my mother grocery shopping in the '60s and she takes me shopping in St. Jacobs today. There is one place she won’t go, and I won’t take her, and that’s the auto wrecker’s.

I confess, I have sent quite a number of cars to wrecker’s. I even drove one right to the devil’s door and got nothing more in return than spare change. But, these were not Morgans.

Morgans are special and in ways that may not be immediately evident. Please bear with me as I explain. Morgans are simply made. A steel, ladder frame onto which a strong, wooden frame is mounted. The steel body sections are attached to the wooden frame. They are hand-built.

I know what you’re thinking: “Wood? This car has a wooden frame?” To which I reply, “Yes, and much of the wood in my car is original.” Wood is a fine building material and has been in use in canoes, planes and homes for years. When it does deteriorate, it is easily replaced.

The steel in my car is solid and tough and long lasting – as it is in most cars. Eventually, steel rusts. But steel, if you are skilled, can be repaired – fully restored to original condition. My car has been restored. The rusty, diseased metal was removed and new, fresh metal welded into place.

My power steering has never required repair but then my power steering is an oversized Brooklands Bluemel steering wheel. The large diameter wheel uses the power of leverage – mechanical advantage – and leverage carries a lifetime guarantee. The steering wheel itself is another matter. After 41 years it needs some attention.

I like to say that if you added up all the stuff my car doesn’t have, you’d almost have another car. Power windows, no. It doesn’t even have window cranks. Why? I have side curtains.

Power brakes, no. With a car that doesn’t weigh a ton or a tonne, take your pick, my disk and drum combination works just fine. Power door locks, no, and when used in the winter the exterior door handles never freeze. Why not? You guessed it; I don’t have them.

This summer the Morgan Motor Company is celebrating its 100th anniversary. Yes, they are still making Morgans and they are available in many parts of the world. A tangle of bureaucratic rules keeps them from being imported into Canada and has kept new ones from entering the country for decades.

Being a centenarian doesn’t mean the Morgan folk are not forward looking. They have a fine web site. And they have a new, experimental hydrogen model. Zero emissions model. Cars in the future will pollute even less than my little four-cylinder gas sipper.

Tomorrow’s cars will be close to 100% recyclable. BMW has already publicly stated this as one of their goals. According to an article in the Independent: “Once proper disposal of vehicles becomes legally enforced, financial advantages will be drawn by owners of cars whose producers have invested most in maximising the number of re- useable parts, and in designing cars that are easy to take apart.” BMW plans to be competitive.

In the future, if BMW is correct, cars will encourage the repair and reuse of parts just like my old Morgan does today. Such reuse and repair will create employment for skilled, knowledgeable people. Good folk will get good jobs. The fellows that keep my Morgan on the road are like family to me.

I have logged more than a hundred thousand miles in my Morgan. Being small hasn’t stopped it from being useful. Think Smart Car. It may not be able to carry a family of six but that was never its intention. (I saw my first Smart Car in Nice in the south of France and immediately went looking for a car rental shop. My wife and I needed a car for a day and the Smart Car looked perfect.)

We may have paved over a lot of the earth but please don’t try to foist the blame onto my little Morgan. She hates the large freeways. She’s happiest on narrow, older roads. She delights in finding a way from here to there that is slow but fun. If you are in a hurry to get somewhere, you might be better off taking the train.

That’s right; owning a Morgan actually encourages the use of rapid transit. But it also encourages runs to Shaw’s dairy bar south of St. Thomas for a chocolate malted milk shake or a Sunday morning visit to Telegraph House in Port Stanley for a lovely brunch on the patio.

Oh, one last thing, my Morgan doesn’t do drive throughs.
Cars, small efficient cars like these Morgans have a role to play when taking a green approach to life.

No new blogs till Tuesday

Some pressing stuff has come up and blogging has been pushed to the back burner. One important thing is picking up the Morgan in Toronto. The mechanics say she is healthy enough to come home on her own power.

I love a winter drive in that car. Possibly will blog on the joys of hypothermia on Tuesday. The English knew how to build car heaters that work forever. Whether working or not, they put out the same amount of heat. Brilliant.

Also, would like to look at the changes in how many people are looking at copyright. What exactly is creative commons? I used a CC image the other day and could not find the code for CC. I found copyright, the c in a circle, but not creative commons.

And what is pop culture? Does it exist? Do we care? My local newspaper thinks enough of it to have a pop culture expert on staff who asks such important questions as: What television program or televised event will still be being watched in a 100 years?

Brings back thoughts of Man with a Camera, Johnny Jupiter, Boston Blackie, My Little Margie, Our Miss Brooks... Most have faded from memory and it didn't take 60 years.

If you haven't checked out the video on a healthy baby making the leap from newborn into baby, it follows this post.

And if you are interested in the impending death of The Great Lakes fisheries, continue to scroll down and you will come to a little blurb and a link to the Digital Journal where I have posted an opinion piece. I can get hits in the thousands posting to the DJ and so for stories like the Asian carp it is a better forum for getting out the word.

Cheers,
Have a nice day,
Rockinon.

Healthy

Today there is a video addition to an older post looking at life's milestones. There's age 13 and becoming a teen, there's age 16 and getting your driver's licence, there's 21, drinking, and 65, retiring, and . . . and then there's one of the most important milestones — three months. Yes, three months is a milestone.

Check this short, 40 second video of Fiona at three months. Watch her eyes grow as she twigs to the fact that she and mom are about to play a game and then see the laughter from the fun. If you're a parent, there are certain very important things you look for as your baby hits the three month mark. A baby's laugher indicates good health and is just one more reason why it makes a parent laugh with joy.

Motor skills: At first Fiona was a Wobbly Head. But little ones are exercise crazy and all that vigorous stretching and by three months all that kicking and stretching is beginning to pay off.  She is beginning to hold her head high, putting her Wobbly Head days behind her.

Vision: Most newborns focus best on objects about 12 inches away, or the distance to mom's face during a feeding. But by age three months, according to the experts, Fiona is ready for art. The experts agree that Fiona is ready to appreciate more complex stuff, like intricate, geometric Navajo designs in rich earth-tones. Her preference for a big, beautiful red painting done by a friend in Montreal is real. I am not imagining things. (Whew!)

Hearing: Even newborns respond to loud noises; They blink, act startled, even frown. But today Fiona responds with noticeable discernment. She smiles — a relaxed, contented smile — especially when mom or dad are speaking.

Communication: At three months communication skills are definitely non-verbal but they are there nevertheless. There is a new tone to the cries, the coos. One best pay attention or soon the tone will take a nasty turn and Fiona gets downright insistent: "Now, listen up!"

When pleased the little queen will measure out a smile and if bored with the present company she will decide to entertain herself by blowing bubbles. Waving hands and wiggling feet can be quite captivating. If you are going to hold Fiona's attention you've got to prove yourself a more interesting companion than her ten toes. This is not as easy as it sounds.

Who would have thought that the ability to savour the pleasures of bubble blowing would be an indication of healthy development?

Which brings me back to the walks I take with Fiona down the hall. The experts say simple conversation, and my conversation with Fiona can be as simple as they come, lays the groundwork for language development. Describing sights, smells and sounds around the house is good. Fiona may not understand a word but she is a sensitive little thing and can pick up stuff from just the tone of your voice. (I've actually used a firm tone to ask her to stop crying and she has stopped. I immediately headed for the hallway and the art to reward her good conduct.)

Which brings us to the flip-side of all this. Babies reach developmental milestones at different ages but by three months one should consult the baby's doctor if any of the following red flags are flying:

• No improvement in head control
• No attempts to lift the head when lying facedown
• Extreme floppiness
• Lack of response to sounds or visual cues, such as loud noises or bright lights
• Inability to focus on a caregiver's eyes
• Poor weight gain

 Like I said, Fiona has passed some important milestones.  :-)

Are The Great Lakes fisheries doomed?

Asian carp have been making their way north up the Mississippi for more than a dozen years and those in charge are still formulating plans to protect The Great Lakes.

It is time to erect a barrier between the Des Plaines River and the Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal (CSSC) to stop flood water from carrying Asian carp into the CSSC. A quickly constructed sandbag barrier would be a start.

Connections between the Illinois & Michigan Canal and the CSSC should be closed. And until the waters are known clear of Asian carp, the locks leading into Lake Michigan should be closed and remain closed until it is certain that the electrified fish barrier actually works.

The time for proactive talk has long past and it is time for good old fashion action.

I have written an opinion piece for the Digital Journal on this imminent threat to the health of the valuable Great Lakes fisheries.
________________________________________________________
Photo credit: U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service

Library Magic

Years ago I covered a small, local magic show. The magician called a woman to the stage and, while we all watched, he had her carefully inspect three large, separate, silver rings. After thoroughly checking each ring, one after the other, the woman assured the audience the rings were solid; There were no gaps.

The woman went back to her seat and the magician proceeded to quickly link and unlink the rings.  At one point he swung the three rings, clearly firmly linked, above his head. He even engaged in a tug-of-war with a person in the front row. The rings could not be separated.

With everyone convinced the rings were now solidly linked, he pulled one free and tossed it offstage. He pulled the remaining two rings apart and held them high in the air, one in his left hand the other other in his right. He tossed the rings offstage to loud and enthusiastic applause.

Later, I had a chance to slip backstage where I saw the magician's open suitcase sitting with the three rings in clear view. I checked the rings. One had a large gap. The magician had tricked the woman into looking over one solid ring twice.

The trick's explanation was simple and obvious. It just took a lot of skill and experience to pull it off.

Which brings me to librarians: Years ago, when the paper at which I worked still had a proper library, I needed some information concerning an accident picture shot years earlier. I went to the library expecting that maybe, if I was lucky, they would have something on micro fiche.

I dropped off my request with the library staff and left. Minutes later one of the librarians stopped by the photo department. She had a copy of the published story, complete with published picture and she also had the original photographic print of the accident. The print still bore the blue crayon cropping marks left by an editor.

This was magic. A random image of a rather small news event and the library seemingly pulled it from thin air. I thought it seemed a nigh impossible feat. They couldn't possibly file nearly every image that appeared in the paper, could they? They would need an immense room in the basement and an absolutely mind-boggling filing system. Well, they had both. These librarians were good.

When I left the paper, I followed the path blazed by the librarians. Deemed redundant, computers could handle their jobs, they were all let go. Oh, some of the library operation was kept but not in-house; those library functions were moved to Toronto.

Sadly, the magic left the system with the exit of the librarians.

If an editor needed a picture of the London skyline, one published within the past year, and searched using "London", the editor immediately realized that almost every picture in the system has London in the cutline. If they added skyline to their search, they got a few hits but they might not find the recent image they needed.

With no librarians filing images, there were no consistent keywords being attached to the pictures. The shots were being tracked by whatever lines the photographer attached at the time the image was placed in the system. A skyline picture at sunset could be filed as London buildings at dusk or a red sky glows over London's downtown.

Out with all the skilled staff, out with the need for experience, out with all the highly paid jobs: My guess is that Quebecor believes one out of three ain't bad. Eliminating jobs is always a fine, profitable move. It seems Three Dog Night set the bar too high.

I wonder if a newsroom in China has librarians?

Photo by: Kevin Van Lierop © Creative Commons

The Not Geek Dinner

"Maybe dork would be a better word?"

I posted a little piece on London Daily Photo on the recent once-a-month Geek dinner held here in London, Ontario.

There are hundreds of daily photo sites, if not thousands, around the world and the Geek dinner evening is a perfect event to post to these forums.

In my post, I took mild umbrage at the use of the word "geek". I checked its meaning, and yes it was in my Canadian Oxford Dictionary, and the word did not describe the people at the dinner. It wasn't even close.

I received a humorous comment suggesting that maybe dork would be a better word. I laughed and read the comment to my wife who agreed but for the weirdest of reasons: when she was a teen, the kids with whom she hung-out twisted dork into a compliment.

These teens claimed, and possibly believed, that dork was a shortening of the name Dorcas, a woman in the Bible famous for her acts of kindness. A dressmaker, she made clothes for the poor in her village of Joppa.

Dorcas was a real “doer.” If she had an idea, she acted upon it. Not a wealthy woman herself, Dorcas gave not money but she gave of herself. If she thought of a way to help the needy, she immediately carried out her plan. She knew what she could do and she did it. She made clothes for widows, both young and old, for their children and for all in need in her community.

Greatly loved and respected, she busied herself with her good deeds. She did not strive to be an admired leader; She was not driven by ego. Still, in the end, she did become a leader in philanthropic causes.

When she died, the grief-stricken people of Joppa sent word to the Apostle Peter who was visiting a neighbouring town. When Peter arrived, he found Dorcas laid out for her funeral. Surrounding her were coats and other garments that she had made and freely given away over the years.

Peter looked around and saw the aged widows whose hands were too feeble to sew and too poor to pay others for their work; He saw the younger widows accompanied by children clothed by Dorcas.

Peter, his emotions touched, sent all from the room and then knelt down and prayed. God answered his prayers and Dorcas arose from the dead.

Since then, women throughout history have formed “Dorcas Societies”, holding to humanitarian ideals and engaging in various relief activities.

I don't believe these ladies, so influenced by the example set by Dorcas, were ever called Dorcs or Dorks. I think these teens were wrong. One might even say that they were being dorks but I won't.

There is a type of gazelle today called the dorcas gazelle. It seems, "Dorcas" is a female name of Greek origins, meaning "gazelle".

I like to think that these teens bounded lightly away, gazelle-like, escaping the taint of a nasty insult.

Infectious Art

The Jones New York women's fashions factory outlet is closing. Come January it will be gone. Like so many of the stores in the mall at the intersection of Wellington and Exeter Roads, it soon will be empty.

My wife and I stopped by there the other day. Retired, we seek out bargains and the Jones store was filled with them. Marked down women's wear, marked down again.

My wife tried on this and that and bought more this and that than I would have liked. I felt we couldn't afford it; We're retired. She felt we couldn't miss the bargains; We're retired. Ah, the same shade of grey but it looks different to each of us.

While my wife shopped, I took pictures. Surrounded by beautiful fabrics and clean light, I took out my little camera and set to work.

The staff watched, obviously curious. I got down on my knees for one pictures and stretched out over a round rack of dresses for another. I held my little camera up, down and rotated it diagonally.

Unable to keep their silence, they asked me politely what I was doing. I told them and I showed them the pictures on the camera-back monitor.

"Oh." They understood.

Now art was in the air. It filled the store and the staff was infected. "Have you looked outside?" A couple of the sales clerks were really getting into this and they had discovered their own art moment. "Those clouds won't last," they told me.

I slipped out the door into the parking lot. They were right.