Except for an ornate, arabic plate that I picked up at a Strathcona garage sale in the summer, everything I bought this year came from a shop within a Six Acre radius, either because I'm lazy or I just happen to live in the best shopping district in Vancouver. Birdhouse (for Milou) from Nood. BuenoStyle cameo necklace and Vancouver Matters from Dream. Northern Ireland: A Soldier's View from Macleod's. Big Book of Fashion Illustration from Sophia Books. Sketchbook from Opus. Milk Factory from Occupied. Coconut Records from Nouvelle Nouvelle. Scary Clowns book from Salamagundis. Portrait by Andrew01 who works out of the Dominion Building.

The ion beams that flow through the connected series of tubes that make up the internet aligned once again today as I found myself shaking hands with a man who moments earlier had been calling me a fascist and a terrorist supporter! It was Narvey! In the flesh! There we were, standing in the pouring snain talking calmly about meeting up for coffee after we had just exchanged words with only Hastings Street and the VPD separating us. He said something about terrorism and I said something about King David Hotel. It was only later as Kris Krug crossed the street to shake hands with a familiar face did it click. I started to recall the post that started our inter-spat so long ago and made the connection.

I wasn't intending on compiling a list of Vancouver's Finest FAILS until it hit me, literally. Coked-up, suburban, small-dicks, invading Downtown in all their popped-collar glory, pissing in our alleyways; overcome by the stimuli of the big city and drenched in pheromones they feel they must prove themselves to each other by thumping their chests. Like a kitten who first sees a bee and thinks its a bird, prancing around with self-pride, oblivious of the coming sting.

These are the pussies who race their Acuras down city streets, killing innocent bystanders and fleeing the scene. These are the pussies that shot Lee Matasi. These are the pussies that beat their wives. These are the pussies that swarmed the black haired, bearded, harmonica man of Gastown in my alley last night. I am not the strongest man, but I am fiercely passionate and quick-tempered. My father taught me to stand up for the weak and defenseless. He told me stories of Bobby Sands, Kent State, and Sitting Bull. And so to my probable detriment, I will fight.

In Inuit folklore there are hundreds of words for snow. After last night I feel qualified to begin an attempt to catch up. It wasn't sleet, or freezing rain. What was it? Snain. Say it. Say it in the most nasal Fran Drescher whine possible. As thousands of Metrotown shoppers were stranded, it began to snain and the Big Melt was on. Days earlier of course, we had the Big Dump, invoking memories of childhood snow forts and bumper skiing down 134th street. But my nostalgia faded into frustration as the extent of our FAIL was to be revealed. Our California Coaster shit the bed, as switches jammed with slush. We couldn't even keep the Trans Canada open. We suck so bad at snow. So bad. People! SHOVEL YOUR SIDEWALKS!!! I know you people try your hardest to warm the place up, bailing out auto companies and whatnot, but keep in mind, all that melting Arctic ice has to go somewhere. Climate change means just that; change. The whole thing gets knocked out of wack; cold ocean currents, changing wind patterns, and a shifting jet stream. We probably need more than 2 ploughs.

Gentrification is the bogeyman of Vancouver planning. You want to improve the lives of people without displacing any, but you don't want to scare away developers. The affects of gentrification can be ameliorated by demanding social offsets, such as the case with Woodwards and initially with Millenium Water, but for every Woodwards that opens there is a Dominion Hotel that closes. Gentrification is what enabled the Westend to become one of the most livable cores in North America, yet its also responsible for the small-dog showcase lounge known as Yaletown. RAVCO selected Cambie (and for Granville) for a good reason, but not everyone has bought-in as villagers fight for comepensation while The Rise sits half empty.

Invariably the shiny monster of gentrification has moved eastwards; from when Kits was a hippy haven up to the Uptown-isation of Mount Pleasant. As always, the small businesses that are The Foundation (get it?) of a neighbourhood get penalized for making it livable. This time, the venerable Antisocial is being forced to close its doors, after the same happened toDadabase just around the corner. So now there's a Starbucks in Uranus, Monsoon has been swept away, and the sun has set on Aurora Bistro; begging the question, Is Fraser the new Main?