Halloween is approaching. It's the season of scary stories about haunted locations, and Vancouver has its share. Gather 'round kids and listen to a spooky tale: The Curse of 1133 West Georgia.
Steve Burgess is an accomplished freelance writer who lives in Vancouver. He is a two-time winner of Canadian National Magazine Awards and his book Who Killed Mom? made the 'Best of 2011' lists of both the Toronto Star and Globe and Mail newspapers.
Steve Burgess Tweets
I don't know if artist Lawrence Paul Yuxweluptun was trolling when he suggested our province needs a new name but if so, well played, sir.
At this point we all think we understand advertising. You turn on the TV and there's an ad for a truck. They want you to buy the truck. They display the happy, active, popular, good- looking person you will be once the truck is yours. That is the advertising we all know and understand.
How things change. When Prince William visited these parts in 1998, he arrived as the hottest thing on wheels — a bashful teen idol drawing shrieks from the girls in the waiting crowds. The young royal had, as is customary for 15-year-old lads, quite a lot of hair.
I’ll bet when Vancouver Mayor Gregor Robertson closes his eyes at night, he drifts off into happy dreams of Paris. Not the food, the wine, or the cuisine, lovely as those can be. He must surely dream about the bikes. Paris’ Velib bike-sharing program is almost everything Vancouver’s new Mobi system hopes to be.
Maybe I should apply for a job with Apple — I don’t do jack, either.
Like countless tourists, I have taken dozens of pictures of swans on Lost Lagoon in Vancouver’s Stanley Park over the years.
It occurs to me that I must be getting old. I am so old I can remember when there were gas stations all over Vancouver.
Drop the balloons, sound the trumpets. Once again, Vancouver has been anointed by the Economist magazine as one of the world’s most livable cities. We made No. 3 behind Melbourne and Vienna. No. 4 and No. 5 incidentally were Toronto and Calgary. I am guessing Vienna squeezed past Calgary based on the availability of schnitzels.
I was recently watching the Olympics — fencing. Specifically, it was sabre. There are three kinds of Olympic fencing — epee, foil, and sabre — as I’m sure you know. Everybody knows that.
I’m big in Japan. I only hope international stardom does not change me too much.
The Rio Olympics are almost upon us. But trouble is bobbing to the surface. For one thing, a body was recently found floating in the bay near the sailing venue. Aside from the general horror of that fact, imagine if one were to float across the finish line in the top three.
What a July. For the past couple of weeks, the phrase “breaking news” has made many of us flinch like whipped dogs. Shocks and horrors have piled up so fast that by Friday you can barely remember Tuesday’s outrage. And that was before the Republicans officially nominated Donald Trump.
Kids: The next time your parents say you can’t become a millionaire while playing polkas on the accordion, you just set them straight. Because Walter Ostanek just did.
As if dodging stray drones wasn’t problem enough, commercial pilots flying into YVR should probably watch out for sky-high house prices.
As the long-awaited Vancouver bike-share program finally prepares to roll out, a remarkable new scientific study is shedding light on the nature of the human animal.
The Game of Thrones season has ended. It’s more like the English Premier League season than the NHL, in the sense that there are no playoffs.
Remember the pot-bellied pig craze? Back in the ‘90s, a lot of people started keeping them as pets — adorable little miniature pigs. Designer pigs, really.
When I was just a toddler, our family moved to Regina. It was 1960. The kid who lived across the street would eventually become my brother’s best friend. But the first time the two boys met, they got into a fight. “Hi,” the neighbour boy introduced himself. “I’m Rick Howe.”
How did Bill Clinton become president of the United States? The 1992 election may have been decided four years earlier in 1988, when George Herbert Walker Bush was elected president. Among Bush’s most popular campaign lines: “Read my lips — no new taxes.”