A08 December 31, 2010 The Richmond News
Opinion T H E
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EDITORIAL OPINION
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N E W S
Beware the Net effect
T
his week between Christmas and New Year’s is traditionally a time for families to gather. These days, however, there’s a good bet some of that gathering will be virtual rather than real. There are few spheres left that the digital world hasn’t touched. A holiday without iPhones, Blackberries, Facebook, YouTube and app downloads is almost as unthinkable as a festive dinner without turkey. According to recent trend spotters, Canadians spend more time online than people in any other country. Almost 70 per cent of us are online and more than 50 per cent are now on Facebook. Canada is also the only country where users logged an average of more than 2,500 minutes online a month — about 42 hours. That’s a lot of time spent hunched over our screens or phones. To be sure, we’ve benefited in many ways from being wired. The Internet can be a profoundly democratizing force, as examples like WikiLeaks and uploaded cellphone videos have proved. Social networking and Skype have allowed geographically distant families and friends to stay connected. But the Internet also has a dark side. Evil and stupidity also spread with alacrity online. It can eat up vast amounts of time. At its worst, our presence online detracts from being present in our real lives. The Internet is here to stay. But it brings with it lasting social changes. In our rush to the information highway, it’s worth a backward glance at what we’re giving up, as well as what we’re gaining. — North Shore News editorial
CHOICE WORDS
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R I C H M O N D
‘C’ word not just for sales
The Editor, Re: “Don’t blame immigrants,” Letters, Dec. 29. I couldn’t agree more with Suresh Kurl’s sentiments about the “offending” term “Merry Christmas.” She’s right, it is not the immigrant’s fault for causing the term “Merry Christmas” to be deemed offensive. It’s the fault of those who celebrate Christmas. They have done it to themselves. I celebrate Christmas, but have often felt self-conscious about who I wish a Merry Christmas to. I don’t believe these feelings were ever started by any immigrant I have ever personally met. Where did these feelings come from in the community at large? I don’t know. Perhaps it just filtered down as a reaction from the politicians and the members of the business community from a very small vocal minority who felt offended? Maybe it was the wave of political correctness that changed the landscape of what was deemed appropriate for the sake of the (very loosely defined) term of multiculturalism? I find it odd to see Surrey Mayor Diane Watts or Premier Gordon Campbell dressed head-to-toe in South Asian ceremonial wardrobe to help celebrate their festivities (which neither one celebrates within their own respective families) and yet you won’t hear either one publicly say or use the words “Merry Christmas” because of a self-imposed fear of offending. It’s an interesting sign of the times when the only way the word “Christmas” is used publicly, without fear of offending someone, is when it is followed by the word “sale” in the local store flyers. Ken Moffatt Richmond
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Remember when snow was fun? One of the saddest things about leaving childhood behind is falling out of love with snow. When I was a kid, I could be found with my nose pressed to the windows on every cold day from November to March, pleading with the heavens to release their white, frozen bounty. Now, I grumble resentfully if there’s so much as an inch on the driveway. As a child, I didn’t want just an inch, of course. I wanted feet, yards, maybe enough to bury the house so we’d have to tunnel to the surface. I wanted snow drifts high enough for sledding. I wanted glaciers on the horizon and mammoths and timber wolves prowling the suburbs. I was even known to implore the Snow Gods for more of the stuff, sometimes even through ritual dance (why yes, I was a weird little kid, why do you ask?). Snow is the most versatile and malleable substance known to kid-kind. You can make snowballs, snow angels, snowmen, snowwomen, snowanimals. You can march through new-fallen snow to write your initials in letters large enough to be read by passing airplanes. You can slide down it on the greatest sledding hill in Langley (still a secret known to only a few dozen folks, and involving only a small amount of trespassing). Best of all, you can build snow forts.
Matthew Claxton PAINFUL TRUTH
The typical kid’s snow fort isn’t that big. My brother and I typically constructed a couple twoor three-sided forts, often one for each of us, built just outside of convenient snowball tossing range. The average height of the walls was maybe two or three feet. If we got friends involved, the height and width might rise by a bit, and some minor architectural flourishes, like crenellations, might creep in. In our minds, of course, the snow forts were massive. The snow fort in my mind’s eye at age eight or nine would have required a dozen bulldozers, a team of architects and engineers, and several acres worth of snow to build. We’re talking about a multistorey structure complete with towers, battlements, a drawbridge, a moat filled with slush (and the deadly slithering ice-eels). I wanted armouries filled with snowballs and slush balls, and snow boulders that would be flung with catapults. There would be spiral staircases on which to have Three Musketeers-style duels with icicles. There would be murder holes, through which warm water
could be poured, destroying the enemy’s ammunition. Obviously, I never came close to building something that enormous. I worked on what seemed like sizeable snow forts, although now I wonder how high those walls really were. The best plan my brother and I ever hatched involved creating ice bricks by mixing snow and garden hose water in ice cream pails. Over a cold night, the slushy round bricks froze into a solid wall that lasted for several weeks after the rest of the snow had melted and the grass had started to grow again. A snowy winter is pure joy for a kid. For most adults, it’s miserable. Shovel the driveway, shovel the walk, brush snow off the cars. Drive slowly to work, avoiding the other loons who can’t drive in the snow. Some snowy morning someday, I really want to rekindle my love of snow. I’m going to step outside and take in a big breath of the cold, crisp air. I’m going to call in sick, and then I’m going to call my friends and tell them to do the same. Bring your ice cream buckets, bring your shovels. We’ve got a snow fort to build. Sometimes, you just have to get you priorities straight. Matthew Claxton is a reporter with sister paper Langley Advance.