I don’t ask much in this life.
No special consideration.
Just treat me like His Majesty
Of a friendly OPEC nation

Even when I was very young I knew that Mose Allison was very cool. So cool that I often did not understand what his lyrics meant, and wondered if I needed to indulge in some sort of chemical assistance in order to figure them out.

To make a long story short, I didn’t look for chemical insight into the mysteries of Mose’s lyrics; instead I waited for a little life experience to shed some light on exactly what this venerable bard of urban blues and jazz was communicating.

Turns out a lot of it is pretty funny. Slapstick is how he has described it, though I think it is more satire, bundled up with wry social commentary, philosophy, and the wisdom that can only come from living. Which possibly explains why Elvis Costello (who along with Van Morrison, Bonnie Raitt, the Clash, the Who, and many more has covered Mose’s music) once called him Professor Mose Allison.

Your molecular structure is really something swell.
A high frequency modulated Jezebel.

His voice hasn’t got a whole lot of range–though in its sweeter moments it is strangely evocative of Chet Baker’s–but Mose knows how to get the most from it with his clever lyrics and trademark intonation, even after well more than half a century of performing. He will be 79 this November, and he still tours a good part of each year. His appearance at Capilano College this past Monday, June 26, was in connection with the Vancouver Jazz Festival.

Although he was born in Mississippi and lives on Long Island, the concert emcee introduced Mose as part of the festival’s Tribute to New Orleans. Truth to tell, Mose is every inch the silver-haired, courtly southern gentleman. Were he to don one of the “proper jackets” they keep on hand, and change out of his Reeboks, he would look perfectly at home at Galatoire’s Friday lunch, though I imagine he wouldn’t have much time for that sort of thing, what with his piano, his Reeboks, and the road waiting.

The Performing Arts Centre at Capilano College was sold out, with extra chairs added in many available nooks and crannies, and when Mose walked on stage, the audience was truly happy, and got happier as the night progressed.

For two hours, Mose gave us handful after handful of his own songs, including Top Forty, I Looked in the Mirror, Getting There, What’s Your Movie, Your Molecular Structure, You Can’t Push People Around, Hello There Universe, Was, Ever Since the World Ended, Putting Up With Me, and Monsters of the Id, along with covers of other American song writers including Willie Dixon, Duke Ellington, and Jimmy Davis, one time Louisiana governor and composer of You are My Sunshine.

It was all good. High points of the evening included a whistful Do Nothing Till You Hear From Me, a melancholy You are My Sunshine, and a bittersweet rendition of Was. I also loved Monsters of the Id and Ever Since the World Ended. Hell, I loved it all, perhaps especially chortling at the lyrics that used to mystify me.

Ever since the world ended I don’t go out as much.
People that I once befriended just don’t bother to stay in touch.
Things that used to seem so splendid don’t really matter today.
It’s just as well the world ended. It wasn’t working anyway.

Clearly Mose has spent a lot of time alone with his piano, his playing style a compendium of influences from country through honky tonk to blues and jazz and, here and there, classical. If you didn’t know he’d taught it all to himself by ear you would swear he’d had plenty of classical training. Mose sat ramrod straight at the piano and got exactly what he needed from it, all the way from delicate phrasings to arpeggios to powerful percussive sounds, in a style not unlike those of New Orleans’ Dr. John or Harry Connick Jr.

Occasionally Mose crooned into the mic between stanzas, and he was always in communication with his longterm Vancouver sidemen, bassist Rick Kilburn and drummer John Nolan. Both are extremely able musicians, and the crowd loved them almost as much as they loved Mose, who provided them with plenty of opportunity for solos.

Most of the time at concerts I start to shift in my seat about halfway through the second set, but not this night. I was delighted to be there right up to the end of his second encore number, Tumbling Tumbleweeds, after which, a little like Mose’s songs, I was both happy and sad as the audience rose to give Mose his second ovation.

And then it was over and Mose was on his way, maybe to a litte roadhouse somewhere, and then again maybe to another concert hall. Either way, I think he’ll be happy. Don’t feel too bad if you missed Mose this time. No doubt he’ll be back this way again in another four years or so, and he’ll be better than ever.

Recent trips to Seattle and Portland have reminded me what Technology Evangelist, a recent visitor to Vancouver, learned the hard way.

Decent washrestrooms are hard to come by in Vancouver. I grew up calling them washrooms, but decided some years back that asking strangers where the washroom was made me sound like a yokel.

The conveniences I visited in Seattle and Portland were almost invariably spotless, with ample supplies of TP and seat covers, and nary a drop of water on the counters. On the other hand, the restroom at the Cafe du Monde in New Orleans looked like something out of Trainspotting, and that was before Katrina.

In Vancouver one grows used to counters covered in mini ponds of water, stray hairs everywhere, and navigating an obstacle race to avoid attaching TP to one’s heel. More proof of what a world class city we are, I guess.

There are, of course, the hotel restrooms which Technology Evangelist may not have discovered. The Four Seasons lobby restrooms, for example, are close enough to the Pacific Centre Mall, if one gets a call from Nature that must be heeded, to make the trip worthwhile.

I only frequent PetroCan and other petroleum-based restrooms when I absolutely have to. As for Starbucks, most of their restrooms, like their espresso, will do in a pinch. Some are better than others. Sit down in a good one and within a trice someone is jiggling the doorknob, looking for a decent place to pee.

More Christopher Walkem triva, courtesy MotherCorp and the public purse.

I hope you like the new site design, which is based on the Benevolence theme I was using at the Wordpress site.

Your commments and feedback are welcome…especially concerning stuff you like and stuff you don’t like about the design.

Now it’s time to learn how to use this less babyish version of Wordpress software.

When delivering something a few weeks ago to a client whose office is in an industrial park, my ears were assailed with mournful howling as as I got out of my car. I had parked beside a Honda Ridgeline pickup.

The source of the howls was a sad and lonely German short-haired pointer who had confined himself to the cargo bed. We made eye contact, and I tried to send the right sort of comforting noises his way. But, sad or not, he had marked out his territory. When I moved an inch too close for his comfort, he transformed instantly from sad mutt to foreboding beast, snarling, raised hackles, and all.

My client told me the pointer had been there for the past few weeks, rain or shine, whining and howling the hours away and standing guard over his master's brand new toy. Tenants in the park were losing patience, and some were ready to call the SPCA.

There are more than 50,000 dogs living in Vancouver, a city that was last year named the second most dog friendly city to visit in North America. Modern Dog, a magazine that is a paean to the urban doggy lifestyle, was dreamed up and is still published here in Vancouver.

Perhaps my colleague “AJ”, is a more typical Vancouver dog owner than is the aforementioned Ridgeline driver. When AJ takes her dog, Raven, to work, she doesn't leave her in the car.

Raven is a border collie cross, mainly black, with big pointy ears. She is also a bit of an old soul. It is easy to tell she is glad to see you even though she doesn't bark, whine, or jump all over when you walk in the door. Instead she sidles over, gives her tail a bit of a wag, and sends out a friendly, welcoming vibe. Then she goes back to her blanket and continues gnawing (quietly) on her rawhide bone.

Unless of course you call her over for a bit of a pat, which she likes, but not too much. Raven is the antithesis of a needy, slavish mutt, and she is soon back to her blanket and her rawhide bone. On top of it, she's good looking, and being part border collie, smart, too. A winsome dog with great doggy boundaries.

AJ, understandably, adores Raven. So when Raven comes to work with AJ, Raven gets a special walk time. AJ stays in the office and works hard while Raven goes out with a professional walker from Four Paws Vancouver who takes Raven to run and play and frolic with other dogs at Pacific Spirit Park, Spanish Bank, and other off leash areas. Professional walkers cost more than babysitters, which is why AJ stays in the office and works so hard.

Friday, June 23 is Take Your Dog to Work Day, a day that has been spun as an opportunity for dog owners to inspire others with the "very special human-canine bond". Tips for human companions on this special day include how to reassure the boss, how to prevent the carpets from being stained, and how to remind everyone nicely that Friday really isn't a day to do too much work anyway.

As for me, I slave away every day, including Friday and don't have the time or space in my life for a doggy companion. If I had to have one, I'd want one just like Raven. But with my luck I'd end up with one that had the brainpower of that Ridgeline pickup driver.

Vancouver Mayor Sam Sullivan is well known to have two arrows in his mayoralty quiver. This is twice as many as Larry Campbell's safe injection site achievement, of course, but neither man's mayoralty vision could be described as big picture thinking. This week, Vancouverites were witness to both of Sam's political objectives, namely the Eco-Density Initiative and the “”Triple R” Roles, Relationships, and Responsibilities review.

The Eco-Density Initiative aims to decrease Vancouver's ecological footprint and increase sustainability by establishing an Eco-Density Charter, Eco-Density Forum, and Eco-Density Toolkit. Sam, of course, didn't design this initiative all on his own, though some of his more vociferous critics will accuse him of attempting to to take the lion's share of the credit. Whatever his critics may say, no one can take away the value of Sam's commitment and the leadership he and Council can provide.

Council's commitment and leadership may have been taken for granted by Sam, however, if this item in the Globe and Mail is correct in reporting that Sam has kept most of Council out of the loop during the development of the initiative.

On the Triple-R front, although Sam was dissuaded by his NPA colleagues from disbanding advisory committees prior to the review, he did manage to enlist some impressive, high profile participants to sit on the Review Committee. Chair May Brown, and members Milton Wong, Darlene Marzari, Allan Tupper, and Vince Verlaan sat on the committee along with City Manager Judy Rogers and City Clerk Syd Baxter.

According to the report's executive summary, the review committee concerned itself with issues of governance, codes of conduct, and the expression of the highest values that the City of Vancouver holds concerning the way its business is to be conducted.

On Saturday I had a spare five minutes, which I decided to spend flipping channels. My aimless flipping ceased, however, when I came upon city council show that Shaw TV provides as a community service.

Heather Deal was asking questions about the intent of the Triple-R committee's recommendations. Her questions were mainly answered by May Brown, with occasional input from other committee members. There was one question, concerning gifts to elected officials, for which Ms. Brown appeared to not have much of an answer.

Previous practice required any gift over a value of $80 to become City property. The committee had upped these ceilings, so that councillors could retain gifts valued up to $200, while the mayor could retain gifts valued up to $500.

Ms. Deal wanted to know why there was a discrepancy in the values of the gifts which councillors and the mayor may keep. Ms. Brown could only say that the committee thought those amounts were appropriate, but not why.

I don't really understand. It makes sense that the mayor's job commands a higher salary, but not that the person in the mayor's chair should be able to keep more lolly than his or her Council colleagues.

Apparently this didn't make sense to Ms. Deal, or to Mr. Cadman either. Sparks will likely fly over this, and over unresolved issues concerning Sam's management style, at the next council meeting.

Once upon a time I believed anybody who could hand-code standards-compliant HTML and design tableless CSS-based layouts could do a lot. That was before I knew anything about php, blogs, and ajax-based Web 2.0 applications, all of which have reminded me, again, of one of my main life lessons: I can't do it all.

So, with the help of a talented programmer, who came along at just the right time, I've been in the process of moving this blog over to its own space on the web at vancouveriste.com.

Not that we're there yet. I've spent most of my available time this weekend fine-tuning a stylesheet that serves some fonts in larger sizes on the test blog on the server than it does on my machine, with out much luck so far in achieving the effect I want.

At some point in the process I deleted some image files from the server, and, realizing my error, immediately FTP'd replacements, to no avail. The test blog will not serve the images I replaced, even though they are exact copies with exactly the same names, in the exact same sub-directory I deleted them from in the first place. At least that's the way it looks to me.

If I were doing this all on my own I would be bald right now because I would have torn out all my hair. Instead I'm merely going (slowly) gray. But I know it will all work out in the end. Most things do.  

I had dinner at Vij’s with an old friend last night. It was our second try; our first attempt, which occurred on a Saturday night just after 6 pm a few weeks earlier was, not surprisingly, unsucessful. We could have had dinner at Vij’s that Saturday night, provided we were willing to wait a couple of hours, but we were more famished than patient and so we didn’t.

Last night, we arrived just past 5:30 and found we had had many tables to choose from. Ten minutes later, every table was occupied and the line had begun to form outside.

Dinner began with the usual complimentary chai and appetizers. The first, a spicy, warm potato pancake, was quite wonderful; the second, a spicy casava chip, perhaps a little less so. Nonetheless they did the job, smoothing the sharp edges of appetite and brightening anticipation of the dinner being created in Vij’s smoothly orchestrated kitchen.

My friend and I shared a first course of California prawns in spicy mango reduction, which was accompanied by perfectly done naan. The prawns were plump and juicy, and nicely complemented by the mango reduction, of which there far more than was needed. A very good dish, though I would probably be prone to try something different on a return visit.

Our main course consisted of the now-legendary lamb popsicles and a vegetable dish, both of which we also shared, family-style. What is there to say about the lamb dish, which has been such a mainstay on Vij’s menu for so long, other than that it was well executed and delicious? The fenugreek cream sauce that accompanies the dish is unbelievably rich and unbelievably good.

Grilled vegetables on indian noodle with lentil pilaf and almonds was approximately what our vegetable dish was named on the menu. In a way, it was even a bit more complex than it sounded, being a heaping bowl full of seasonal vegetables, including plenty of crisp asparagus and other seasonal veg, atop a mixture of vermicelli, lentils, and whole, raw almonds. This dish went nicely with the lamb, though the vermicelli was an odd addition that really didn’t enhance the dish other than, perhaps, to provide proteins that complemented those in the lentils.

Service was charming and attentive, as it always is. Despite the burgeoning line up outside, we were encouraged to order a pot of tea and stay longer. In the end we didn’t, partly in deference to the patient hungry hordes, but more because my friend and I were having an earnest conversation, and what with her soft voice and the din of happy diners, I was having difficulty hearing her.

We left, as we had arrived, greeted by Vikram Vij, as always the welcoming host attired in his elegant kurta. I realized when I first saw him that it had been some years since I’d been inside his restaurant. Vij’s, which first opened in 1994, is such a success, and such an insitution among Vancouver restaurants, that it became an easy habit to drive up Granville, check the length of the line up outside, and when it was invariably too long, put off dinner at Vij’s until we could get there earlier. Vij’s, after all, would always be there.

Yet there was something in Vikram’s face last night that made me wonder. Vij’s is a resounding success, as is next-door Rangoli. Will restauranteurs as talented as the Vijs continue to be happy making seasonal adjustments to the Vij’s and Rangoli menus and preparing endless platters of lamb popsicles, or is change in the wind?

New Brighton Park, which nestles north of the PNE grounds and west of the Second Narrows Bridge in east Vancouver is the city's only waterfront park east of Main Street. In 1991, design objectives identified New Brighton as an informal picnic area and passive recreational space and Hastings Park as an appropriate locale for organized sports facilities.

Since then, members of the East Hastings community and the Hastings Conservancy have worked together with the City, volunteering countless hours to see the greening of Hastings Park and the natural restoration of New Brighton. A significant aspect of these efforts has been the eventual daylighting of Hastings Creek, formerly a salmon stream, through Hastings Park to the salt marsh at New Brighton's beach.

The Vancouver Parks Board, however, seems to have other plans, namely beach volleyball, the tremendously popular sport that is perhaps best known for its elite female players who generally wear about 25% of the fabric sported by their male counterparts.

The Field Sports Federation would like to see beach volleyball courts on the east side of town, and New Brighton seems to be their favoured choice. Unfortunately, the Parks Board is recommending construction of the beach volleyball courts right next to the salt marsh and overtop the terminus of Hastings Creek.

Members of the Hastings Park Conservancy are understandably concerned about the proposed location of the courts. There are other neighbourhood concerns as well. New Brighton's location makes it challenging and not entirely pleasant to walk to. Parking at New Brighton is extremely limited, and already very crowded during the summer, when the proposed courts would get the most use. The nearest public transit stop is several blocks away at Renfrew and Eton Streets, on a route that runs less frequently than average.

Community and Conservancy members would like to see Beach Volleyball courts constructed in a more appropriate location and have suggested several neighbourhood parks that already offer programmed sports. Among these is the the north end of Hastings Park, just north of and adjacent to Empire Bowl, which would afford a great view of water and mountains.

The Parks Board Planning Committee will hear submissions concerning construction of beach volleyball courts at New Brighton at 7:00 pm, Tuesday, June 20. Call 604.257.8451 before noon on June 20 if you plan to attend or speak at the meeting.

Those who cannot attend can let members of the Planning Committee know what they think via email or telephone. Committee members are Korina Houghton, Allan de Genova, and Spencer Herbert.

We went to the Red Door on Granville Street for dinner one night last week because the Bread Garden on Burrard and 1st had closed.

It was a weeknight, demi-famille ocassion—three adults, one a parent, another (moi) a picky eater, and two moppets aged six and eight—that made one of those groups where the most middle of the road eatery generally offers the most flexibility and the fewest regrets.

But Spectra Group's Bread Garden has seen better days, and is attempting some sort of transition. It appears to be closing and/or renovating many of its locations including the one on Burrard. And so we decided to try Spectra Group's newish Red Door Restaurant, which occupies the old Bread Garden space on Granville.

In the olden days, before Expo 88, the best Chinese food in Vancouver was to be had at the three mysterious restaurants that were called in English the Red Door, the Green Door, and the Orange Door. These rooms would be freezing cold in the winter and insufferably hot in the summer, and the only remedy in either case was steaming cups of tea and steaming platters piled high with food prepared in the Cantonese style, not only for the diners immediately behind the doors, but also for gentlemen in the murky rooms behind the kitchens who lived to gamble their nights away.

This new version of the Red Door is in some way trying to capture some of that allure, but there is really no similarity in the dining experience or the ambiance. Spectra's Red Door has the kind of ambiance that can only come from a professional restaurant designer with a limited budget. The room is done up in mainly black and red, with light fixtures oddly reminiscent of an almost kitschy Asian style. There is a smattering of white here and there, notably on the bar stools, and tapestry, riffing on the “oriental” theme, that covers the banquettes and booth seats…well almost all of them.

For some reason, perhaps because we announced there would be children in our party, or perhaps because the design budget got a little tight towards the end, Mr. V. and I were seated on the north side of the restaurant where the banquette was made from plywood painted shiny black, a rather austere arrangement that provided little comfort.

Although the room was only about one-third full when we arrived at 6:30, it was noisy. Echoes of conversation bounced off the wooden floor and ricocheted throughout the room, joined by the cacophony of clashing woks and an oddly discordant throbbing disco back beat from the sound system. It was unpleasant, but not so loud as to block out thought or conversation.

Our server was obliging and sweet, with an unremarkable demeanor. The shiny black mandarin-style blouse that is Red Door regulation apparel for servers looked a bit incongruous with her European features, and did nothing to dispel the growing suspicion that we were in an ersatz Asian restaurant.

Likewise the menu, which, despite our intensifying stomach rumblings and the Red Door's attempt to feature a selection of the now-stylish small and large plates that riffed on a pan Asian them, did little to inspire. I usually know exactly what I want to eat within seconds of perusing a menu, but the Red Door's menu bored me to distraction.

Mr. V. and I agreed that with kidlets joining us our dinner selections would revolve around noodles and pot stickers, so for a quick starter that promised a bit of heat we ordered the sambal shrimp. These were barely edible. The complexity of sambal was nowhere to be found though the spicing was intense, and what with the shrimp being burned black in places and just past their best before date, it was a dish to forget.

Although the Red Door offers a children's plate featuring chicken, rice, and veg, the restaurant doesn't offer anything to keep kids occupied. Our young dinner companions, who found description of the children's plate boring, are old enough to converse, draw on napkins, and find their own way to the restroom. But it would be a challenge to keep very young children from melting down, acting out, and throwing easily accessible containers of chopsticks on the floor and around the room.

The progression of noodle and rice dishes that we subsequently ordered were for the most part non-descript. The Yang Chow fried rice was not bad, containing plenty of (fresher) shrimp and some barbecued pork bits that were nicely seasoned with five-spice. The fried rice had a very pleasant, almost authentic smoky flavour. The pot stickers were a bit plumper than average, being generously filled, and the kids enjoyed them. The rest of the meal was unremarkable, not as bad as the “sambal” shrimp starter, but with an overwhelming resemblance to “Western-style Chinese” food.

Which leads me to the overwhelming question…why did the Red Door bother? Its location is within spitting distance of both West, Vij's, Cru, and Bin 942 among others. Why develop a restaurant that sells very average, minimally authentic Asian dishes in a city esteemed for having the best Asian cuisine outside of Hong Kong, and then plopping that restaurant on a street that gets plenty of cred for fine dining?

The answer was obvious after a quick review of the drinks menu. Beer, cocktails, and wines were available in abundance, with selections seemingly made for a crowd with limited libation experience. Wines were classified by adjective. Red Door offers “big, full, and round” reds and whites, “aromatic, juicy off dry whites,” and “elegant and lush” reds among other adjectival groupings, and top out at $72 for a Kenwood Jack London California cab-sauvignon.

The Red Door is more a restaurant concept than an actual restaurant. The Bread Garden space was available for experimentation. The Red Door's main aim seems to be to sell as much booze as possible to customers who either don't know or don't care whether the food they are eating is authentic, ergo office parties and convention guests, and small towns and suburbs, where the Red Door may be arriving soon.