Went with Marcel to a meeting on the civic elections. The at-large system has been declared the worst-of-all-possible systems for Vancouver so one of our city coucilers is going from neighborhood to neighborhood to generate dialogue on the proposed change to a ward system. Since such vocabulary has been peppering the local rags, Marcel thought it part of his civic duty to become literate in issues-speak.

As I'm flying more-or-less under the radar up here, it doesn't immediately concern me, but I sacrificed yoga and tagged along in the interest of spousal support (and the fact that I'm completely co-dependent and didn't want to do yoga without my bebe). Despite my spousal role (and co-dependence) I grumbled all the way: why are we doing the civil-duty thing over this issue? If we're gonna skip yoga, why not for something environmental or anti-war? It's cold and rainy. We have to take the bus? whine, whine, whine...

(I'm pretty sure by this time, Marcel was wishing I had gone on to yoga without him.)

Once we made it to the elementary school and into the gym, it wasn't so intolerable. On the floor, the criticism was primarily leveled against the first-past-the-post system that usually results in city councils made up of entirely one party. A particularly strong point was made that the ward system is probably the second-worst-of-all-possible voting systems as it maintains first-past-the-post weaknesses, but at a local level. The other system up for debate it the "mixed" system, which seems like a cop-out rather than a compromise: 4 city-wide councilers with 6 ward-elected ones. Can't you just see the two-tiered division in the city council with the city-wides lording over the neighborhood heads?

The best part was not the issue, but the gathering. I spent most of the night cannabalizing character traits for the SF piece I'm working on (which keeps wanting to be a script, but I've wrestled it into submission--for now). I think the seven-foot tall kindergarten teacher with impeccably manicured hands was the best... or the stocky, square-jawed matron with a soft, delicate voice--the kind of appearance you'd expect on a guard at a woman's prison and a voice you'd expect on a grandmother reading children stories to the neighborhood kids at the local library... or the fresh-out-of-gradute-work-in-poli-sci activist whose thin body was lost in his loose clothing... the hesitant balding man, whose head swayed when he was serching for the next word then would punctuate each sentence with an assertive nod--unless it was a question, which he would punctuate with a head tilt and raised eyebrows...
I love them all.... (burp)

I can hardly wait for the next meeting...