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Twin towers call out for art

"Now that's just ridiculous," I thought, momentarily flashing back to those long, soul-sapping drives across the prairies.
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"Now that's just ridiculous," I thought, momentarily flashing back to those long, soul-sapping drives across the prairies.

On a clear day, driving west out of Kenora, Ontario, if you squint and look hard, you can just see the tops of the Rockies in the far, far horizon. If the weather stays nice, you'll be seeing them for the next three or four days. The only thing of visual note between you and them are several hundred grain elevators that puncture the landscape like excited missile silos standing on guard for thee.

The elevators and grain silos of the prairies strike a chord of grounded familiarity at the core of all true Canadians. They are the exclamation marks of success of countless waves of pioneers, immigrants and, of course, modern day agribusiness. They are Canada's fruited plains. Or, perhaps, Canada's grained plains. Whatever.

But I wasn't in the prairies. Wasn't even in the Rockies. Where I was, was the downhill side of Mons, coming into town from Alpine, trying not to pay much attention to the mayhem happening on the west side of the road. But there, on my right, like transplanted hallucinations were grain silos.

"Cool," I thought. "Think global, eat local."

As fond as I am of the 160 Kilometre (100 Mile) Diet, my affection is hypothetical, slamming up as it does against the realities of agriculture in the Great White North. Until energy prices climb high enough to make international commerce a quaint memory or global warming lets us grow bananas in the Fraser Valley, eating local will always be a sparse smorgasbord. "When they pry my olive oil from my cold, dead fingers," etcetera, etcetera.

Citrus, exotic spices - does anyone still consider pepper exotic? - scotch and chocolate are reason enough to abandon any but the most Quixotic attempt at exclusively eating local. Still, with the very verdant lands upstream of the Fraser delta, large greenhouses and Pemberton potatoes, one could eke out a diet more well-rounded than Whistler's bears enjoy, if leaving one susceptible to mid-winter screaming rages at the sight of yet another flavourful variant of turnip casserole with a side of flaccid carrots.

So for a moment, my thought was indeed, "Cool. Someone's growing grain locally. I wonder what kind." Wheat? Why would they? Canola? Ditto. Momentary giddy distraction pondering the medical marijuana storage capacity of an erection like that.

Drawing closer, I thought I might find an answer. Lettering began appearing on the side. Maybe that'd shed some light on it. Con-Agra? ADM? B.C. Wheat Board? First letter E, then D, I... oh yeah, I'm reading it backwards.

A-I-R L-I-Q-U-I-D-E. Air Liquide? New French airline?

"Oh mother of...." Traffic piled up behind me as I sat mesmerized. I felt a bit like the apes in 2001: A Space Odyssey when they encounter the first monolith. What is this thing plopped down in an otherwise familiar landscape. I quickly scanned for fins or hissing, escaping gasses, a downed rogue rocket perhaps. Naw, too stubby, too upright, not to mention there are two of 'em. "Oh dear... it couldn't be... it is."

Freakin' gas tanks for our hydrogen PR busses!

I remember a few years ago when I was suggesting one solution to the impasse we'd seemed to reach in our efforts to build affordable, employee housing would be to decommission the muni works yard north of Nesters and convert it into a trailer park. With that flat expanse of asphalt, water, sewer, power and a camouflaging stand of tall trees between it and the highway, the site just screamed out for a trailer park. Cheap living, eh Bubbles?

But councillor Wake, a good friend and strong advocate for employee housing shot me down. "Max," he said with even more exasperation than usual, "we can't build something that ugly in this town, let alone along the highway."

Guess again Timmy.

Our new twin towers are the cherry atop the sprawling sundae of B.C. Transit's new bus compound, their garish lettering advertising Air Liquide, the insult to our injury. Inquiring minds want to know, so I asked: is this in keeping with Whistler's sign bylaw?

The semi-official answer was, "Probably." That's a probably in the same way those ugly Olympic venue signs are probably a violation, as in we probably can't do a damn thing about it. Kind of like we couldn't do a damn thing about where B.C. Transit decided to build the terminal.

Okay, I can live with that. There are always exceptions to rules and the bigger the stick you swing, the more exceptional you are.

But how about a little moral suasion?

Dear B.C. Transit and Air Liquide:

Welcome to town. As soon as you're settled in, we'll come by with cake. Love the new building. Sort of Ikea-modern but without any of that fussy decoration to make it look a little less industrial. And the tanks? Nice touch, really one-ups a flock of pink flamingos or platoon of lawn jockeys as accessories go. Can't wait for the billboard advising passersby this installation is, in fact, the bus terminal.

But about those tanks. Doesn't brilliant white strike you as a little, how should I put this, harsh? Oh, I know you've done your best to blend into the natural surroundings and just be one of the new locals in the hood, but maybe we should consider a different colour scheme for those tanks. Whaddya think?

We have a lot of underemployed artists in town. I'm sure we could put together an Olympic or hydrogen themed contest to decorate the tanks, maybe help 'em dissolve into their background a bit more. Trees would be nice. We're pretty down with trees, having used them to accessorize most of the rest of the town. Snow scenes? Nice for much of the year but a bit out of place in our globally-weirded summers.

Perhaps you didn't know but as a town, we have this aversion to tasteless signs, advertisements, billboards. So much so we're willing to forego - you're not going to believe this - the revenue we might make signing the bus shelters and sides of the new busses. I know, I know... but it's the path we've chosen. Weird town, eh?

If you don't like the artist idea - and who's to blame you, they'd probably come up with some trompe l'oeil thing that looked like one of the tanks was developing a fissure with a nascent explosion about to rip it apart and blow an Olympic-size hole in the landscape or something ghoulish like that - maybe just a few gallons of forest green?

Anyway, I'm sure you'll do the right thing. Thanks. Oh, and can't wait to ride the new busses.

Sincerely,

Max