One year ago, I sat on the verge of a page turn, in what was a significant chapter in the book of my life.

Hours away from boarding a plane to London, England, and my first overseas experience, I sat in my mother’s house in Calgary, nervous.

Waiting for me, across the Atlantic, was soul-searching adventure.  I had no fixed agenda; all I knew was that I would stay with my friend Alex at his flat for a few nights, and then I would be heading South to the African coast.

South, to Tunisia.

My sister Anika and her husband Nolan would accept me open arms, welcoming their stepbrother into their palatial home in Tunis.  My flight would land in the dark, Mediterranean night; my Pacific for the next 7 weeks.

Meanwhile, inside Tunisian homes, and on the streets in the South of the country, decades of suppression by authoritarian rule was about to erupt; the spark, the catalyst, of what would become known as the Arab Spring.

Only days after arriving, we would be abiding an army-enforced curfew; forbidden to venture out past dusk.  In Tunis’ city center, thousands of angry citizens will be seen protesting their government’s lack of transparency, and clashing with local police.

When President Ben Ali would flee the country to Saudi Arabia, abandoning 23 years in power, options are few.  We’d have to flee ourselves.

A quick exit is usually hard to make when tanks surround and shutdown an international airport.  This would prove to be the case in this instant as well.

Even when the airport would reopen its doors, and more importantly, it’s runways, we’d still have to drive through a gauntlet of uncertainty to get there.  While I’d be new to national emergency-level political strife in foreign nations, I still could figure out that a criminal incident is more likely to occur when there is a crack in power.
When I said gauntlet of uncertainty, I meant militia, police, and army.

Traveling over the holidays can be rough; the sheer volume of people trying to get somewhere else with as little stress as possible is sometime overwhelming.  But I couldn’t imagine ever trying to flee with 5 times as many people, all with one thing on their mind; get the hell out.

The cost of taking a series of trains from London to Italy, and then ferrying across the short straight from Sicily to Tunis would be more than I expected.  Instead, I’d chose to take advantage of the cheap airfare London offers and fly to Tunis directly.  By doing so, I advanced my arrival in Tunisia by a week.  Should I travel via train, I’d arrive on the outside, looking in.  Would I have thought that I’d be relying on Anika and Nolan for helping me escape?  Definitely not, but that’s what will happen.

Everyone on the plane will let out a collective sigh of relief as the wheels let go of Tunisia, and climb high above the Mediterranean.  Soon after, exhaustion will set in, and most of the cabin will fall asleep; nights of restlessness could finally be replaced by slumberous safety.  A spontaneous applause awaits our touch down in Frankfurt, cheers of joy and a sense of finality.  Yet, the real journey was only beginning in our departure city.

My blog updates would become news; the responses would trigger a change in me.

In a most incredible and unbelievable way, the path of my life will be forever altered by the abdication of an authoritarian.

One year ago, I had no idea what I was about to witness.  One year later, I’ll never forget.

I also was steadfast in my belief that the Canucks were going to win the Stanley Cup, due to my Olympic Magic deduction (yes, I said my, as I first noted the trend between Canadian Olympic host cities and their respective hockey teams winning years ago).

While those Stanlympic hopes were smashed like so many storefront windows, the Grey Cup championship by the Lions has caused me to notice another seemingly unrelated trend; in a year that a city hosts and plays in the Grey Cup game, as well as plays for (and ultimately loses) the Stanley Cup, the hometown team wins the Grey Cup.

While this has only happened twice, and in the same city for that matter, it is still a rare occurrence, subject to a multitude of probability.

Vancouver has performed the rare feat of winning the Grey Cup in front of it’s own fans twice (last week, and in 1994).  In the spring of this year and 1994, the Canucks hockey club lost the Stanley Cup final series.

The only other two teams to win the Grey Cup as host were the 1972 Hamilton Tiger-Cats, and 1977 Montreal Alouettes.  Hamilton does not have an NHL team to combat for the championship, so it does not factor into this trend.  The Als happened to win the Grey Cup despite the Canadiens capturing the championship earlier that year.

In the modern era, teams which lost a Grey Cup game at home are the 2008 Alouettes, ’02 Edmonton Eskimos, ’83 Lions, ’82 Toronto Argonauts, ’79 Alouettes, and ’63 Lions.  Prior to 1957, the Grey Cup championship was commonly hosted by Toronto’s Varsity Stadium, and was competed for by defunct teams, including the Navy and Air Force.  The aforementioned teams did not have an NHL counterpart lose the Stanley Cup the same year (the ’79 Canadiens won).

Though my Olympic Magic prediction did not come to fruition, perhaps this time around my research will hold up.  At the very least, it should be some time before the theory is tested.  Toronto hosts the Grey Cup next year, and the Maple Leafs haven’t contested for the Stanley Cup since 1967, and it doesn’t look like they will any time soon…

Part of me wanted to leave this update with the above cryptic message. But that’s more of a twitter thing…

I am pleased to report that the skunk I saved from McFlurry cup blindness (though failed to remove the domed lid), has been successfully rescued by diligent Vancouver citizens and transported to the Wildlife Rescue Association of BC.

In August, I happened across a helpless baby skunk wandering around the West End, crashing into the street curb repeatedly, thanks to the McDonald’s McFlurry cup stuck on her head.  Feeling adventurous (and still reveling from my birthday celebrations), I managed to coax Bubbles close enough to yank the cup off.  Suddenly able to see again, she darted off into the night, with the domed lid still attached to her neck.

A couple of weeks ago, I learned that residents in the West End had been trying to save the ever-maturing skunk from slowly choking to death.  Sadly, Bubbles (the nickname given to the skunk due to the dome-shaped lid affixed) was never able to remove herself from the plastic collar.

Taking matters into their own hands, a few citizens stepped up and were able to trap the skunk, so she could receive medical attention and be released back into the “wild.”

I learned of the happy news quickly, as friends called, emailed and linked me to the report.  The most appreciated message, however, came from one of the actual volunteers trying to save Bubbles.  Lynne Darby informed me that “the lid had caused severe injury to the skunk’s neck, which required 9 sutures to repair… “she” is living in Burnaby now, at the Wildlife Rescue Centre until the wound heals.”

To Lynne, and the rest of the goodhearted members of the West End community, I congratulate you on a job well done, as well as appreciate your efforts in preventing this animal’s untimely death.

I’m sure that their are many who will argue, “Who cares? It’s a smelly skunk in a densely populated area?”  The issue goes far further than just personal feelings towards skunks, it’s a commentary on the lack of respect shown by humans towards our home.  Careless littering instigated this, not to mention the non-biodegradable materials in the lid. If this were a stray dog, you can bet that a major effort would have been made to remove a choking hazard, potentially from a municipal government department. But Lynne and her colleagues trapped and delivered the animal themselves.  That’s dedication to your neighbourhood!

Many humans inhabiting our planet need to seriously perform a priority check.  At least start with respectful garbage disposing.

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Last week, without warning, nature called.  Actually, it was my friend Kim in Vancouver calling me.

“Hey Kim!”
“Oh my god, you HAVE to listen to this…” and she began to read aloud an article in the newspaper regarding a West End neighbourhood skunk slowly choking to death because of a plastic dome lid stuck around it’s neck!

The article explains further that volunteer rescuers engaged in a 2-hour standoff with “Bubbles” (the sickenly tragic and cute name some humans bestowed on him).

As my friend Derek and I encountered this animal relatively soon after his slow-strangle began, I would like to share some tips with ‘B Team’ on how to properly corral a wild skunk from Vancouver’s West End;

a) Don’t call him “Bubbles.” We referred to him as either “Skunk,” and later, “Todd.”

b) Why are you having “standoffs” with a skunk? The key to a successful encounter is to be coming home super-late from celebrating my birthday, and quietly coax it over with soothe calling, or gentle pavement patting.

c) If I know Todd, he doesn’t dilly-dally or mess around. He attacked the melted ice cream within that McFlurry cup with zest, I assume; he was fast to acknowledge that he needed assistance to “get out of another jam,” and reluctantly come to my voice within 5 minutes of meeting us; and he was quick to grow into the clear domed lid that I was unable to remove from around his neck.

The more I think of it, however, the more I question that we are talking about the same skunk… The Wildlife Rescue Association of BC says that this sort of thing is not uncommon, the newspaper indicated.

Is it entirely possible that 2 separate skunks, both wearing the same style, size and colour of coat, were seen walking in the West End with identical clear plastic dome-shaped cup lids around their neck?  It’s essentially the plot to the film “My Cousin Vinny” starring Joe Pesci and Marisa Tomei (garnering her Academy Award for best supporting actress).

I like to think that Todd went home that night, slept off the ice cream binge, woke up to a plastic dome around his neck with regret, and shamefully had to get his girlfriend to help him remove it.

Sadly, this “Bubbles” character might be an acquaintance of Todd’s (maybe they know each other from the bushes), but he went too far off the deep end before Todd could stop him from sticking his head into litter.

Those days are over for Todd anyways. He married that girl who stuck with him through thick and thin, even on that August morning when he hit rock bottom.  They now have 2 kids and live in Burnaby.

The moral of the story is that love will conquer all, and when you know you’ve got it, you hold on to it tight; tight as an ever-growing neck fits around non-biodegradable plastic lid waste.

Also, don’t litter. It’s despicable, and causes stories like this to be newsworthy.

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“Shanyn, I am so thrilled to call you my sister.  I never had one growing up, and now you are the only sister-in-law I have.  You are such a joy, and I get so excited whenever I get to see you.  I hope that in the coming years I’ll get to se more of you than I do now, because you are truly one of my favourite people.

Winessing the happiness that you and Owen have brought to Darren… you are an amazing presence, and I am so happy that you are now my sister.

(pause)

(Ahem) I hated Darren Fischer.  He was arrogant, self-centered, and an all around dick.  I was convinced that the nurses switched him at birth.  There was no way that this kid my older brother.

He was just weird!  He dyed his hair orange and then shaved it completely bald.  And then he’d throw on some wrangler jeans and head to school.  Or late at night, we’d be watching TV, and I’d get up to get some cookies.

(as Darren) “Corey, make macaronies”
“What did you say?”
“Make macaronies, you’re hungry!”
I was too perplexed to find out why he pluralised macaroni, so I went to bed.

Besides being odd, he was a bully.  I routinely had to run and hide in the bathroom, as it was the only door which locked.  My saving grace for about 9 months was when I found out that he stopped delivering flyers, and was instead chucking them into the garbage bin across the street.  At the first sign of a beating, all I had to do was loudly proclaim, “DAR-REN THREW OUT HIS FLY-ERS” in a sing-song manner, and it was crisis averted.

I never thought I’d have a brother who cared.  I was stuck with the prick.

Then we went to New Zealand.  There must be some magic in that kiwi water, because when he got back, he was a changed man.  He was actually intriguing and thoughtful, and considered my feelings.  It may be a coincidence that I was also strong enough to finally kick his ass…

I am truly honoured to be able to stand here today and toast him at his wedding.  What really makes me happy is that I wasn’t selected to be here because I am family; I can honestly call him one of my best friends.

I would never have thought this 10 years ago, but Darren, you are a great older brother.

Cheers!”

Happy Anniversary Darren & Shanyn!

When I was a boy in Calgary, there was a news story about a duck who had got himself stuck in the rings of a plastic six-pack holder.  Dubbed “Ed, the Duck,” he became a minor celebrity after people began routinely spotting him in the water around Prince’s Island Park.  I recall several attempts being made to catch Ed, but all were futile.  A man even jumped from a bridge several meters above Ed in an effort to help, resulting in a broken leg.  I can’t recall if that rescue was the mallard’s salvation, but the duck was eventually freed.

Last week, Humanity vs Animal Kingdom met again.

The clock was approaching 4am, and Derek (aka ‘the Shiv’) and I were a couple blocks away from my Vancouver West End apartment.  Up ahead, we spotted a skunk crossing the street.  It is very common to see skunks at night in my neighbourhood.  Most people will detour away from the creatures; I seldom do.  I know that as long as the skunk knows I’m there, and I don’t do anything to surprise it, I can pass within a meter of it without incident.

As we got closer, however, we could see that the skunk’s walk was very erratic.  This was due to it’s vision obscured by a discarded McDonald’s McFlurry cup, stuck on it’s head.  It was not going anywhere.  Even if skunks rely on their sense of smell, all this one was benefiting from was the aroma of melted Oreo ice cream.

I can’t equate how much my actions were based on empathy versus sheer spontaneity, but I knew that I had to help the skunk.  In the early morning hours of my birthday, I became a skunk whisperer.

Crouching down, I began to click my tongue and soothingly call out towards the skunk.  It kept walking into the curb, changing directions and walking into another curb.  The Shiv and I remained steadfast in our effort, though risky and stench-prone as it was.

After several minutes of beckoning and close-calls, the skunk finally got comfortable enough with our presence that I actually pet it (!) and got a solid grip on the cup and popped it off the plastic dome, which remained stuck around it’s neck.

I would have liked to have been able to remove the entire container, but the skunk quickly scurried off into the night.  While I wish I could say that I shared a moment with the skunk, that it gave me a quick glance as if to say ‘thank you, Corey, and happy birthday,’ I cannot.  I am very satisfied with the consolation of petting a wild skunk though! (and also wiping my hand onto the Shiv)

I know this seems like a very tall tale, especially given the circumstances.  However, thanks to wonder of mobile technology, and the Shiv’s wherewithal to capture the event, I present to you this photo taken moments before the skunk regained it’s vision:I’m also happy that I didn’t have to buy tomato sauce to douse the spray of skunk from myself.

Follow me on Twitter: @bowserings | Listen to my weekly humour podcast talk•fool•ery

Date of lunch:
Wednesday, August 24, 2011

The company:
Mary Warner, a Senior Consultant at public relations industry giant Hill & Knowlton Canada, in Toronto.  During the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics, Mary was tasked with providing assistance to the organizing committee (VANOC), specifically with the Daily Host Video web series at vancouver2010.com.  This position lead her to work at the studio where I was employed as an editor.  Mary also writes a uniquely original blog known as Lunch With Mary.  She reaches out to persons of interest, a wide array of professionals in differing fields and disciplines, and invites them out for lunch.  As she writes in the blog’s bio: “at these lunches I would be a sponge and absorb as much knowledge as possible and then share it…“  I have chosen to mimic her blog style for this entry.  What you see and read is a parody of Lunch With Mary.

The food:
We ate at The Sin Bin, on West 2nd and Alberta St; a sports bar in the heart of Vancouver’s False Creek neighbourhood renovation.  We shared an order of nachos and a pitcher of Granville Island Pale Ale.  The nachos were gigantic, and well worth the price; unlike many restaurants, The Sin Bin does not skimp on the cheese, which Mary and I agree is the most important factor in rating a nacho dish.  Total bill was $29, before tax.

The lunch lesson:
Mary was in Vancouver for a friend’s wedding.  Thanks to technology, we have remained in touch extremely easily, mostly via email.  This allows for conversations stemming from random, goofy observations, to serious, reality topics.  It’s not uncommon for us to email back and forth throughout a day or two a week, occasionally more. We met because of her communications background, shared an amazing, crazy working experience that was the Olympics, and stayed acquainted because we can.  Modern technology allows everyone a chance to sustain a pop-up friendship, as is evidenced by Mary and myself.

The lunch:
We had a great time quickly catching up, but since we have stayed in touch, we jumped from topic to topic, as one would do with a friend they see every day.  It reminded of my podcast talk•fool•ery, and the dynamic with my co-host Iris Dias.  Like Iris, Mary makes a living in communications, is funny, attentive, and opinionated.  Because of their shared traits, I was really hoping to have Mary guest on the podcast; alas, Mary visited while Iris was away on vacation.  Hopefully, there will be another opportunity in the future to hear Mary on talk•fool•ery.

In the year and a half since we last met, Mary has become an aunt, purchased a home with her longtime boyfriend, and had her blog, Lunch With Mary, picked up by Huffington Post Canada.  Lots of exciting news for an individual in a short period of time!  She was also promoted at her work, and explained a little more about her occupation.  On her blog, she always gives detailed notes on her conversations with her lunch guest; in this recollection, I am struggling to mention meaningful specifics.  As well, I didn’t approach our get together as she would with one of her lunches.  So give me a break.

Her blog’s creative, objective, and critical success is a major reason why I became a blogger.  When I was caught up in the Tunisian Revolution this past January, my blog transformed into autobiographical journalism.  After the extraordinary reaction I received, I realized that I missed storytelling; something that I haven’t done a lot of since I finished University.  From that feeling, the talk•fool•ery podcast was born.

You never know where and when inspiration will come, or what the source will be.  On Lunch With Mary, readers can see how each post’s guest impacted Mary’s life, and why she chose to sit down with them.  Not long ago, I was chatting with a friend about blogs with substance; when he mentioned Mary’s blog, I was pleasantly surprised!  He had surfed to it on his own, following a link somewhere.  When I told her of this, Mary was equally taken aback.  This just shows the power of connectivity. The same connectivity allowed us to become pals, but our shared quirky sense of humour, as well as the ease of communication, has forged a lasting friendship in the 18 months since the Olympic Games ended.

You can enjoy Mary Warner’s lunches at www.lunchwithmary.com, and www.huffingtonpost.ca/mary-warner

Follow me on Twitter: @bowserings | Listen to my weekly humour podcast talk•fool•ery

This evening, Pretty Woman was screened on a 3-storey, inflatable screen in Stanley Park; part of the continually wonderful Chevron Summer Cinema Series.  Last week, Jaws.  The week prior, E.T.  It’s a great Tuesday tradition to attend in my neighbourhood.

Having never actually seen Pretty Woman in its entirety, I was immensely entertained!  I was very familiar with the movie’s casing, however, as the image of Julia Roberts in those knee-high boots is burned forever in my mind by my teenage eyes.  But the film itself; never watched it.  Though if every romantic-comedy was this impressive, you would have far fewer groans at the mention of Rom-Com.

Being more of a Raunch-Com fan in my teens, I was naturally familiar with Dumb & Dumber; I saw it in the theatre, owned it on VHS, and have seen it countless times.  So, upon viewing Pretty Woman this evening, several similarities exist between the two films.

•The leading lady is a red head:  Julia Roberts and Lauren Holly are both beautiful and stunning women.  While their respective roles are in no way alike, Roberts and Holly possess amazing eyes and the kind of smile that lights up a room.  As well, audiences are teased with flashes of skin. ;)  (also, I was floored to learn that they share October 28 as a birthday! Thanks IMDb!)

•The premise mashes poor & desperate falling in love with rich & elite.  Jim Carrey (and later, Jeff Daniels) are both lovestruck with Holly’s character Mary, a wealthy socialite.  Same goes with Roberts towards Richard Gere (though the affection is reciprocated). Fast cars, early-90s fashion, and an awesome soundtrack are also part of the enjoyment.

•The classic glamour montage, to the tune of Roy Orbison’s Pretty Woman.  Yes, even Lloyd & Harry get the Julia Roberts treatment, as their sudden financial windfall assists them with glamming up for a formal occasion.  And while their transformation is ridiculously cheesy compared to Roberts’ elegant shopping experience, both musical sequences signify an important advancement of the film; for Lloyd & Harry, it means access to a party where they will meet up with Mary; for Vivian, it signifies her exit from prostituting, as well as gaining Edward’s increasing fondness.

If it’s not these examples, how did I manage to link these two films?

On our way out, I remarked to Lindsay and Fleur that my feet were getting sweaty from the wool socks I pulled over my other pair; upon which Fleur replies, “at least you had socks…”

I look down, and poor Fleur is wearing slip-ons; clearly not prepared for how cold it gets by Second Beach.  Click on this scene from Dumb & Dumber on YouTube:

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For instance, Ghostbusters, the 1984 science-fiction comedy (and my favourite film of all time), was screened in Stanley Park last night.  Due to inclement weather for outdoor movie-going (it was cold), my friend Robin and I instead watched a 2009 documentary called Transcendent Man.  The film centers around author/inventor/futurist Ray Kurzweil‘s projection of where humanity and technology are headed in the next 20, 30, 40 years.

His accuracies and accomplishments give his words real credibility, and while the technologic capabilities may be extremely advanced, seeing how the world has adopted technology in the past century allows for, at the very least, the concept to be plausible.

The audience is immediately drawn into the genius of Kurzweil with a clip from his appearance on the early 1960s TV game show, I’ve Got a Secret, hosted by Steve Allen.  A 17 year-old Kurzweil plays a piano tune for a panel of celebrity guessers.  His secret?  The music piece was composed by a computer, which Kurzweil invented.

Transcendent Man isn’t just a self-promoting vehicle for Kurzweil’s prophesies, however.  The film contains many experts from varying fields, who oppose or counter these predictions.  An interesting observation of this group of biologists, cybernetic professors, physicians, and religious men is that while they may disagree with Kurzweil’s view of the outcome of his beliefs, not a single person discredits the science, or inevitability, of technology.  Instead, they raise the arguments of when, how, or should; but not if.

The art direction in the documentary is masterfully crafted, utilizing wonderful visual aides to help grasp certain concepts.  One of my favourite pieces was showing how the speed of a microchip doubles every two years.  Featured early in film when Kurzweil is explaining his calculations, the imagery zooms out from a microchip, only to continue to zoom out again and again, in an endless cycle.

clip: Kurzweil explains Accelerating Technology, including the doubling microchip imagery discussed above.

After the film concluded, Robin and I discussed the history, patterns, and implications of man and technology at length.  I enjoy exercising that part of my brain, questioning and exploring the scientific.  It’s an opportunity to talk about things that I don’t often get to, being in the arts.  It also gives me chance to experience the understated brilliance Robin possesses; he calculated a complex series equations in a matter of seconds by picturing the math in his head!  It was silently brilliant, especially when I don’t see that on a day to day basis.  I’m sure it was routine for him, however…

Regardless of where a person may draw the line as to what is in our future, watching Transcendent Man will help in better understanding the course that human nature has taken, and how our experience shapes where we are headed.

I think about how as a species, we used to be spread out across the planet.  Over time, we have steadily increased our ability to communicate with each other.  We moved closer together into cities, invented means of transportation to physically connect one place to another, by water, over land and eventually through the sky.  The advent of radio and telephone, photography and motion pictures, stimulated our senses into receiving media not created from our own presence; we didn’t have to experience it first hand.  These technologies are then gradually accepted as common place.  Where a telephone was once rare, it eventually spread to all buildings, creating a network.  Then came the jump to expanding the network remotely via cellular phones; again, at first a rarity, now widely accepted.  Meanwhile, these devices which everyone carries around have advanced to the point where we are creating and receiving our own media, 24 hours a day.

It’s clear to me that the human condition is connectivity, our desire to share experiences with one another.  How much an individual chooses to participate is still a decision that can be made.  But for how long?

I highly recommend Transcendent Man for anyone with a curious mind about who we are as a species, and where we may be headed.  Anyone who watches this film will agree that one thing is for certain; humanity is remarkable.

Follow me on Twitter: @bowserings | Listen to my weekly humour podcast talk•fool•ery

I am a transplanted hockey fan; I grew up as a Calgary Flames booster, and always root for them to this day.  Having called Vancouver home for nearly a decade now, the Canucks slowly became my second team.  It seemed natural to adopt the team into my sports family, as I have embraced this city and all of its splendor.

I identify with the values and culture of Vancouver much more than I do with my hometown Calgary.  Each city is unique and has it’s charm; however, there are reasons why I have chosen to remain in BC long after my University career ended.

In 2003, while working my summer job in Calgary, I nervously listened to the radio as the International Olympic Committee announced the host city of the 2010 Winter Olympic and Paralypmic Games.  When “Vancouver” was read, I hollered and honked the horn of my company-issued truck.  While I hadn’t even selected a major at UBC yet, deep down I knew that I wouldn’t miss the opportunity of living in an Olympic city (my family moved to Calgary months after the ’88 Games, plus I was six).

In 2007, I moved into the West End, in the downtown core.  A working-class blend of old and young, families and singles, with different races, religions, and sexual orientations, the West End is the definition of a diverse, peaceful neighbourhood.  It is the type of place that when you walk down the street, you will encounter individuals that are different than you, and it’s not strange or weird, and certainly not wrong, because how someone else chooses to live their life has absolutely no bearing on how I choose to live mine.

One of the joys of my apartment is that I have a wonderful view of English Bay.  Each summer, the annual fireworks competition takes place from a barge moored off the shore.  Over the course of two weeks, alternating Wednesdays and Saturdays, 3 or 4 countries exhibit a 20-25 minute pyrotechnics show.  Hundreds of thousands of people line the beaches of English Bay, Kitsilano, Point Grey, and the North Shore to take in the colourful delight.

We, the residents of the West End, sacrifice the normal peace for 4 nights every year, knowing that scores of citizens from the outlaying areas of Vancouver and Metro Vancouver will converge on our neighbourhood.  We hope that disturbances are kept to a minimum, but always anticipate some property damage and drunken hooliganism.  It is during this annual festival of light when I learned of the term “Bridge & Tunnel Crowd,” in reference to these particular individuals.

B&T is a geographic label, designed at identifying people who need to cross a bridge or into a tunnel, to enter Vancouver’s downtown (and regionally, Vancouver-proper as a whole).  They are associated as bringing violence and unwanted aggression.

Every single Vancouverite who witnessed the deplorable acts downtown following last night’s Canucks loss had “B&T Crowd” either run through their head or emanate from their lips.  I do not like using labels, as labels often disable.  And while I enjoy saying that last sentence as a joke from time to time, it is awful that the community of troublemakers and ne’er-do-wells consistently besmirch the rest of the individuals of their respective suburbs.

Earlier this year, I witnessed the protests in Tunis, Tunisia.  Those people gathered en masse to finally put an end to years of authoritarian rule.  Hundreds died during weeks of clashes with the forces loyal to the regime.  Eventually, the people toppled the government and forced change in their daily existence.  The future of Tunisia is full of hope for a new generation.  Their success has sparked similar uprisings in neighbouring Egypt and Libya, as well as many other countries in the Arab world.

Last night, drunken, privileged Canadians turned over police cruisers, set them ablaze, broke store windows and looted them, fought with police and each other, in the name of the Canucks, a talented hockey team.  The future of Vancouver is marked with a black eye about her citizens.  The rioters success has sparked similar discussions about the original hockey-themed riot of 1994, both here and throughout the world.

The destruction and mayhem that occurred postgame has shamed Vancouver and tarnished the amazing goodwill we achieved during the Olympics last year.

Rioters:  The Tunisians fought for freedom.  What were you fighting for?  Hits on YouTube?  How many Likes you are going to achieve?

Shameful.  Embarrassing.  Disrespectful.  Idiotic.

Why is it that fans of the Flames and their provincial rivals, the Edmonton Oilers, can celebrate recent Stanley Cup game 7 losses predominantly peacefully, yet supposed passive, laid-back West coast “fans” of the Canucks have now begun a trend of being read the riot act in the same situation?

Vancouver hockey supporters already have a maligned reputation for myriad reasons, and the events of last night have made me question my membership in this group.  Some will say that I shouldn’t let the actions of a few reflect on the good of the many; this is advice that personally employ myself.  However, this wasn’t a few, it was premeditated, and it’s in the name of a hockey team.

My loyalty has been compromised, and I’m a steadfast person.  Congratulations, jerks.