Artistic Footprint

Call me crazy here, but I must have missed the consumerism boat. I hate Christmas, I own a used vehicle, I sleep on a foamie in a room. I live for work and work to live. I don’t have any debt which probably makes me one of the richest Canadians. Which brings me to my next period of angst. I’ve spent the last 3 days researching and number-crunching for a “new” truck that I could afford, and have had some interesting experiences, all painting a bigger picture about what makes us all consumer whores.

I have recently noticed that a lot of my friends and co-workers have a lot of nice things. Key words lots and nice. And on the grander scale, I notice older folks with way more super expensive things. I feel subjected and pressured into aiming for those goals – it seems that everyone wants to be rich. But then I ask: How the HELL do these people afford such things? I mean I make some decent coin (modest, but still a surplus I feel) and there is no physical way that my wallet could stretch more than $500 in rent and the upkeep of a simple car.

After spending hours in car dealerships (lying about my income and budget) I have found out how. People borrow. Like a lot. The concept of owning something before you own it is just customary in the west. For example, a truck I looked at costs more than I make in a year, and yet somehow this dude in a leather coat and fresh hair says I can have it TODAY for $400 a month, and he says it’s MINE.

This may be simple in principle, but consider the structure of the everyday person. After highschool you go to university and drop $30,000 for an education that statistically you are unlikely to use, and probably pay off until you’re 35. At the same time you try to afford a vehicle at roughly $15000 – which really only lasts as is for no more than 6 years. This of course doesn’t include the mortgage of $200,000. And ontop of all this debt there’s inflation, asset depreciation, maintenance, and taxes in the double-digits. And even worse, the value of these assets is not even in your control. One person in Ottawa can sign a paper that curve-balls your financial plans and leaves you with nothing but debt.

There are people out there that just make money on money, like collection services who buy debt at increased rates, stock investors that play games, banks that give money away that they don’t have and gain immeasurable interest on loans…

This is how we operate in a capitalist system. If no one is buying, then no one is making money. This is why the government bought out corporations and devised plans to make people spend more money that they didn’t have – just to keep the system running. Adding more to the national debt. The concept of buying out a private corporation with taxpayer’s money IS by definition, communism. I laugh at the fact that General Motors was briefly a state-owned company in the most capitalist country on the planet – but no body says anything!

Can this be linked to resource depletion? overpopulation? climate change? Considering that even a quarter of the worlds population has this kind of mindset and these kinds of transactions are happening immensely large and immensely fast, I think so.

I can’t stand being in debt. being in debt means that you are a negative to someone – be it a friend, parent, or a company – you are a liability. You literally own nothing or at best small percentages of nothing. – Which means that you are enjoying the fruits of luxury at someone else’s expense. The problem is that the person you owe to WANTS you to owe them money, because they make money from your interest! If every citizen has their part in national debt, who do they answer to? Who pays for it? Who do we hurt to pay it off?

These luxuries should not exist – not for our population and not for our comforts. Life is supposed to be hard, and when it is, you learn to appreciate it a lot more.

[View with PicLens]

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I’ve spent the last 6 years living in or visiting the mountain skyline of Vancouver. As anyone would comment, the west is the best impression is immediate and addictive. I, like others, have made the long trek to be immersed in its endless adventure, instant escape, hidden corners and impossible views. Vancouver has made me love monthly downpours and the expectation of always being wet. Sunny days to me are a shocking anomaly that strikes my spatial sense with awe, but almost makes me feel uncomfortable without the solitude of fog and the wrappings of a soothing and healing curtain of rain.

The familiarities of the City of Glass are dynamic with the comings and goings of short term visitors. Hostels are always full and the airports are always busy. It seems that with the rush of people wanting to immigrate to its awesomeness has driven the native Vancouverites out; the people that had this pocket of the world to themselves have been naturally assimilated through commerce and tourism. With the passing of the Olympics, the BC government has given birth to fortresses of tourism and foreign investments to exploit the diverse wilderness, excitement, and landscape.

It’s a rarity to be at a party or bar or concert and find a surplus of home grown BC folk. The majority of my friends are not from here. This either means that the immigration of foreigners has forced them underground with a bad taste in their mouths, or that they simply have been diluted by the population of new folks.

Conversely, in Hogtown, the most criticised and trashed city, lies the citizens of the old opportunity of business and industrial wealth. Toronto was in direct contact with its people, not a storefront for industry, there was no posh veneer face to the inner workings of an operation, it was a clash between the two. Commuters from Steeltown would conduct business in the structures that they designed at home and travel on the trolleys and subways that were built just hours away. Toronto was the corporate hub that ran the nation more so than the capitol, where Vancouver, Calgary, and Montreal seemed like outreaching fingers of Toronto’s power. There was a pride and arrogance in a Toronto businessman’s step as he grasped his subdivisions by the binder-spine and made changes that affected all Canadians.

Now, Toronto is the Lost City. Many of its children have left to pursue a life of clarity and cleanliness, and none have stopped to look back. But I have. Grabbing some street meat from the vendors on Front Street, walking past the colossal venue that once housed Joe Carter and Roberto Alomar, I can still see the line-ups of people in blue and white waiting under a summer sunset for the game at 7, shadowed only by the Tower that epitomized the prowess of Toronto’s might. Even still I tune into the Dean Blundell show and the History of New Music. I (almost) miss the endless parking lot of traffic and city artery intersections unheeded by the workings of a rusting crazy homeless man dancing in their path.

Onwards I grabbed the subway and listened to the grinding and screeching metal as I headed to Dundas Square. In the station, floor tiles have been cracked for years and never repaired. Tacky-coloured walls are covered with soot and tar from the seemingly haunted trains that have been running since Trudeau. Business execs, highschool students, officers, waitresses, and labourers all ride in the same seats, no division to separate their wealth, race, group size, or health. They have never needed a route map or station name, their commute almost autonomous. You could look at the face of any of these people and imagine what they’re thinking about; the hockey game, the bitter winter, the wife’s grocery list, university GPA’s, or an eastern domestic beer.

Both in Vancouver and Toronto, 15% of the citizens are Canadian. The difference is that in Toronto, all of the people all have a sense of belonging. People move with purpose and direction. No matter where they are from, what they look like, or who they are, they seem to have a secondary characteristic that defines them as Torontonian.

Vancouver is a very clean city. The Transit system is new, computerised, and clean. Sketchy neighbourhoods are rebuilt to be refreshing and exciting – to flow tourists in and scare drug-addicts and homeless out. Images of the coast’s wildlife are projected on street signs and raingutters, reminding us of how close we are to nature here. The people walk the streets with a bewildered look, they ride the train twice, they seek niches of comfort and en route they keep to themselves with headphones and newspapers so as to avoid conflict; their final destination a quaint hipster café.

I’m not too sure what I’m trying to say here. Perhaps one is that there is a certain rawness to Toronto that forces its people to recognize that the world isn’t all peace and bliss, and that the world is not hidden behind some expensive drapes. Toronto has also taught me to see an inner beauty and to feel a longing for its character and people. Perhaps we should all look back on our homes and forget the harsh bandwagon titles we give them, and appreciate the friends, family, and culture for making us who we are.