I was recently wondering if using candle light as a main household lighting source could be a viable and environmentally friendly alternative. After doing a little research on the web, I found an interesting article with a hilarious - and completely non-scientific - conclusion that I reproduce here:

 « ... But if enjoyment of a candlelit dinner leads a couple to go to bed earlier than usual, they will have saved lighting and heating costs for the later part of that evening - which would surely outweigh the difference in environmental cost between candle and electric lighting over dinner. And if that should happen to lead, in turn, to two one-person households becoming one two-person household, with consequent long-term reductions in heating and lighting needs, I think we can say candles can indeed prove to be environmentally friendly as well as, er, friendly. »

The full article can be found here. It seems that in essence, the candle solution isn’t that good. Most candles are made of paraffin wax derived from crude oil, thus becoming tiny global warming factors of their own. If, in addition, we take into account the production and transportation impact on our environment, it appears electricity might remain a lesser weevil.

Next, I’ll look at using coffee machines as a household heating system.

The streets are wet, reflecting the night in an offset version of itself. Faces are blurry, paces are hurried to places far buried. It’s a time for hunting when predators are preys and the weak grow strong. Alcohol is everywhere, flowing through veins and into brains, pouring out of nightclubs and shooting stars out of control. Strides are hesitant, minds are diluted, hearts easily broken as promises are forgotten.

A taxi driver, hailed at the last minute, slams on the brakes and stops in the middle of an intersection as if on a mission to save the planet. His ride stumbles to the car, fumbles to find the door and crumbles on the back seat, trying not to throw up.

Perched on vertiginous high heels, a women rushes by, her ankles tired and giving sideways as she lights a cigarette. Her make-up has dripped and her hair no longer reigns. The evening has had no mercy and drinking turned out to be bad medicine. Time to pick up the pieces and glue her mask back together.

Teenagers walk up and down the street, making up for their lack of self-assurance with a lot of noise and ridiculous outfits. They are learning fast to play the game, leaving behind their scoundrel ways, looking forward to scandal days. They think it gets better from here. They hope they will soon become who they believe to be tonight.

Couples stroll by, showing all degrees of homogeneity. Some hands are held, others clutched or turned into fists. Secrets are exchanged, no matter what the cost. Lies are told while the truth is hindered by darkness. But the truth comes out, too, when shadows stretch out to be longer than real and the rain has washed prudence away. All those couples represent, through their absolute imperfection and their ephemeral nature, the essence of this night and of all nights.

Every-one-is-looking-for-a-soul-mate. The quest takes on many different paths, assumes many different identities, under many different flags. But in the end all the abuse, the excesses, the exaggeration, the mistakes, the hurting, the savagery, the yelling, the crying, the pain and the obscurity of the night have but one single mission: finding peace in someone else’s company. Hearing an echo to one’s deepest tidal waves. Having no longer need for a night out in the street.

The night seeks only the light of a day.

Everything in life seems to be a matter of perspective. Things are different seen from above, from below or from the inside. From before and from after. Bird’s eye, fisheye, eye level, eyes closed. Are there as many universes as there are points of view? Will the things here ever match the stuff over there that’s like, you know, a bunch of different things? Could I be more precise?

 « To be is to do » - Socrates

 « To do is to be » - J.P. Sartre

 « Do be do be do » - F. Sinatra

 [From the French movie Subway, among other sources]

On passe sa vie à partir, en dehors et en dedans.

On traverse des oh! et des bah! - les premiers créateurs, les seconds générateurs de départs.

On s’éloigne lentement de la famille, on laisse derrière le sourire des amis, on délaisse les lieux qui pourtant nous sont devenus familiers. Le quai d’une gare, un port désert sous les tropiques, la salle d’embarquement d’un aéroport quelque part, ne sont que tremplins et issues de secours. Nous décidons un beau jour de saborder une relation et de partir. Nous quittons un mariage, nous laissons quelqu’un, et quelques-uns nous laissent. Étrangement, il semble que la totalité de ces départs soit présente en nous, à chaque instant.

La vie est une suite endiablée de départs, impromptus ou calculés, mais jamais oubliés. Ils s’accumulent, au fil des années, comme autant de bouteilles dans un cellier égaré. La plupart des souvenirs de tous ces endroits, ces gens et ces histoires, vieillissent remarquablement bien - prenant du panache avec le temps qui passe, comme autant de grands crus qui ne seront jamais dégustés.

C’est la somme de toutes ces fuites en avant qui dessine notre présent. Ironiquement, un C.V. ou une carte de visite devraient donc, pour bien nous représenter, raconter cela plutôt que nos diplômes. « Je suis qualifié pour ce poste parce que j’ai plus de 100 départs à mon actif. J’ai quitté ma ville natale, mon pays, j’ai tout laissé derrière moi, abandonné plein de possibilités à peine ébauchées, quitté beaucoup d’emplois, aussi. Je retombe toujours sur mes pieds. Je suis donc prêt pour un nouveau départ. » Eh oui, le mot départ semble donc pouvoir s’utiliser dans les deux sens, n’est-ce pas ironique? On prend un nouveau départ en sachant au fond de nous-mêmes qu’il se terminera un jour ou l’autre par un... ancien départ.

...

Moi aussi, j’avoue que je transporte chaque jour avec moi une série de départs contradictoires tous plus colorés les uns que les autres, nostalgiques, intenses, fatidiques et motivants. Ils m’accompagnent, me hantent et aussi me « tiennent chaud pour le temps qu’il me reste ». Ce sont un quai désert du port de Guam au petit matin, la tour de contrôle de l’aéroport international de Toulouse Blagnac, une ruelle poussiéreuse du pueblo de Rioja dans le nord du Pérou, la piste en gravier de l’île de Petit Caïman, celle en dur de San Salvador aux Bahamas, une minable chambre d’hôtel à Patong Beach en Thaïlande, un Combi Volkswagen chargé à bloc en haut de l’Allée des Rosiers, une route de terre boueuse devant une maison de bois dans la jungle Costaricaine, une adorable petite maison du Bay Area en Californie, et puis un aéroport, un autre aéroport, encore un aéroport et toujours un aéroport…

Dans chacun d’eux j’ai laissé quelques plumes, un peu de moi-même qui demeure à jamais en suspend dans l’éther d’une adresse, d’une date ou d’un cœur. Mais je me suis aussi généreusement servi, puisant à pleins souvenirs dans la puissance du moment et emportant au creux de moi d’entières brassées du bois sec de la vie, prêtes à raviver un feu quand la lumière baisse et que le froid s’immisce, pour faire briller une ancienne larme et générer un nouveau départ.

On passe sa vie à partir, en dehors et en dedans.

From home, a 10 minutes walk takes me to the Aquatic Center False Creek Ferries landing. The funny bathtub-looking boats cross False Creek every few minutes headed for various destinations; I chose the western most one, Museums, to go shoot the sunset - and then walked back to Granville Island to catch the ferry back home. Chilly, windy night. Great skies. And even a fun swell on the 2 minutes crossing. What more could one ask for?

They come in the deepest night, riding tall horses dressed in black metal mesh and aged leather. Their run echoes like an angry wind building up over a desolated plain before throwing itself into the chasms of a narrow canyon. The riders need no armor for they are almost invincible, yet they all wear one, having always done so. But not a glimpse of light gets reflected off of the mighty apparel. Swords are forged out of reddish steel as hard and sharp as black diamonds, shields crafted from the very core of centennial tree trunks and helmets fitted with a narrow visor hiding their true face to the world. The horses are wild and the riders are proud. They know no fear. Their coming weakens all but the strongest heart. And they need raise neither sword nor voice, for their eternally dreaded appearance is all that’s necessary for the curse to be spelled.

They are the Knights of Doubt and they ride on the wings of a storm called Defeat.

He who lowers his guard, she who lets the fire die, they who have walked in the darkness for too long, will fall prey to the riders. They will be taken silently, one by one, systematically. And it is said that:

Once fallen to the dark Knights of Doubt, for their silent return will he always look out.
Twice shaken by the storm of Defeat, forever weak will he be on his feet.

So what will you do when you suddenly wake up covered in sweat and surrounded by the shadows of a once familiar den, only to hear the wind crying to you through walls and windows that the knights are coming? Throw fresh wood in the fire, light up candles everywhere, double-lock the doors and secure the shutters, and wait? Or put on your warmest and most comfortable clothes, grab a torch or a lantern, slam the door open and step out into the night towards them, to greet them in the fields rather then with your back against a wall? You see, therein lays the only remaining question, for they will undoubtedly come. Or could that be the answer?

What do I do when I miss the underwater realm so much it becomes almost painful? I take a walk to the Vancouver Aquarium, of course. I visit fishes (sic) in cages to forget I live in one. It’s a sad visit, always moving, yet always fun. I like to think that if some humans would rather live in an extreme urban environment such as downtown Vancouver, in tall glass aquariums and with all the sacrifices but also the extraordinary advantages it implies, maybe the same goes for marine mammals. Maybe not all of them are caged. Maybe there are business-minded dolphins and young single professional belugas who would rather live a happening life close to us with guaranteed meals, wi-fi and stardom. But then again maybe not.

This is my new playground, my front backyard. Out for a quick walk at sunset, I strolled along a beach exposed by very low tides. Right across from home is a lonely stone sculpture guarding the bay like a giant transformer watching out for aliens. (This Inuksuk standing by the water of English bay has inspired the 2010 Winter Olympic Games logo; it was given to the city for the 1986 World Expo and has since become a protected site.)

My good friend Silvia is traveling through the Peruvian jungle right now and since this is the 21st century, she manages to send some pictures regularly to tease us - sigh. What must have been her surprise when she came across my brother, all the way down in the southern hemisphere, somewhere near Iquitos. Great shot of a fast-moving subject!

 [Click on the eye to see for yourself]

The much awaited Internet Explorer 7 browser has now been out for a while and my stats show that up to 30% of IE browser users have upgraded to version 7. The gap between Firefox and IE will probably be bridged and it seems the new IE will do a much better job than its predecessors. I had, however, been quite mad at IE7 since its release because it was making some of my IE6 CSS hacks fail; I couldn’t install IE7 on my laptop to work on those issues - not wanting to loose IE6 as my main testing platform - and had to bite my tongue. Well, my nails.

Then today I found this very clever way to run IE7 as a standalone browser WITHOUT loosing IE6. The trick isn’t perfect and some features don’t work, but for compatibility testing purposes, it’s a miracle. So I got back to my failing CSS hacks; the main problem seemed to be with the famous !important trick. Researching the issue, I came across an article mentioning that if IE7 now recognizes !important correctly, all IE version still ignore !anything. I had my new hack; I replaced all my !important by !ie7hack and we’re back to normal. Cheap trick, but eh!

So for those of you using IE7, the blog’s main menu is now back. Alleluya!