No, the blog isn’t dead. It hasn’t even gone into hibernation. The reason for such blatant blogging inactivity on my part is a rather productive one: I am redesigning the web site from scratch.

Ironically, Coriolistic Anachronisms isn’t being touched, having received a recent face lift which I’m still pretty content with. But everything else, especially the photo galleries, will morph. At the heart of the new site is a Flash-based set of galleries embedded into an HTML exoskeleton. I am using the brilliant SlideshowPro for this and have had to brush up on my Flash programming skills (but like bow hunting and biking skills, they never completely go away. )

The very slick Shadowbox remains both as this blog’s main slideshow engine and as the new site’s HTML page navigator. The guestbook, its script having been abandoned by the creator and criticized for its security flaws, will have to go or be replaced, I haven’t decided yet. Many new photos will populate the galleries and old ones will be removed.

Last but not least, the web site URL is going to change completely. I’ll take this in stages, using a redirect at first to allow for a seamless transition, and I will post many a reminder to upgrade your bookmarks. Photo-xposure.com has done its time, paid its dues and served its purpose. In comes the new king. It will probably simply be based on my name (boring I know, but logical as a portfolio tool.)

A new section will take advantage of my yet untapped SmugMug account and will offer options for buying digital photos and prints online.

This will be, all in all, a major upgrade. So please bare bear with me, arm yourselves with patience and watch for the announcement when I go live. It should be before Christmas. I hope.

I don’t know about you but I will be having a blast this week-end. Should your own outlook be bleak, you can watch the following very interesting videos from TED: Arthur Benjamin: Lightning calculation and other « Mathemagic » and Hans Rosling: Debunking third-world myths with the best stats you’ve ever seen.

Oh but are you, maybe, unfamiliar with TED? It stand for Technology, Entertainment, Design and describes itself as « The annual conference now brings together the world’s most fascinating thinkers and doers, who are challenged to give the talk of their lives (in 18 minutes). »

It’s official. Having received unconditional support from my readers today (all three of you, thank you), I have decided to come forward and run. I want my entry into the political race to be a memorable event and I am confident you will all support me through to the finish line. I promise not to pace myself and will win this with hard work, honest sweat and a few energy bars. Here are, hence, my single-day campaign and a one-on-oneself debate while I run for Prime President of Canada as head of the New Maniac Party.

Dear fellow Canadians,

Together, we shall turn green.

On this day of National Elections and while ballots are still going into the urns, I urge you, as a nation and a responsible people, to urgently reject other candidates and previous votes accumulated today, and to elect me, Vincent Mounier, as Canada’s new Prime Minister. While my arguments will be powerful and my policies irresistible, should you find yourself wondering « Why must I vote for you? », I will first give you the short answer: because I, too, would do it for you.

Not convinced yet? Consider this: I have a bald head like Peter Garrett. I own a Canon Camera. My First Lady will be the prettiest and smartest ever to throne. I hate ticks and pigeons but love all other animals. It was my idea not yours. All of which are undeniable qualities for the above mentioned title. Furthermore, I can solemnly promise you, here and now, that I will never lie*, cheat or deceive you, and that I was rated by a local survey as the best candidate among those living on Harwood Street in Vancouver on an east facing 15th floor carpeted apartment, to run for such office.

Now that I have convinced you, let’s get down to business. The NMP party is the ultimate cure to our country’s (and the whole world’s, for that matter) existential crisis. I single-handedly will fix our environmental, economic and cultural issues. (By cultural issues, I am mostly referring to a national weakness towards Celine Dion, who must be silenced not only because of her obvious relation to my Liberal opponent but mostly to prevent additional rainy days in British Columbia.)

To achieve this, I have already drafted 156 laws that will become effective as soon as you eh-lect me tonight. Do not fear, laws are the skeleton of a country, they sharpen its justice system like a sword-maker his blade. Here is a non-exhaustive list of my pledges to you, Canadians and Canadians (this speech was written in French, the use of masculine and feminine being lost in our translation for the English-speaking minority):

• Anti-Tick-and-Pigeon Bill Number 13b: this project will outlaw pigeon and tick presence in public spaces, just like it was so successfully done with smoking. We will open a trade agreement with Italy and Vermont, shipping our surplus of the former to Venice and the latter to the Appalachians.

• Grouper, Wild Salmon, Killer Whale and Nudibranch Protection Act: This is just the right thing to do and take the word of someone who’s actually hugged a grouper, we will get plenty of affection and good vibes in return. (N.B. The nudibranch population hasn’t been reported as endangered yet but they are just too cute to resist and they might sell very well as an aphrodisiac to the Japanese, if we control the market.)

• Broccoli Incentive and Tax Adjustment 348.48: by lowering taxes for families of 4 and over who grow their own broccoli, we hope to convince most of the population to eat well and disregard rumours that the wonderful vegetable causes chronic shutter trigger, a rare photographer disease. This will obviously scratch two itches with the same nail and contribute to our relief efforts towards the on-going US Liberal invasion.

• Motor Vehicle Regulations Amendment, 2008c: SUV’s, trucks, planes, sports cars, gas lawn mowers and barbecues on wheels become the object of a special exponential tax. The more you use them, the harder you get nailed. Don’t think it’s unfair, I will be hit as hard as everyone else. I cut my grass at least twice a week, and I like to cut it under my opponent’s feet every other day. The tax money will be used for special research projects. While I am not at liberty to discuss the specifics, I can tell you that they will involve the application of quantum physics to Friday Night Pottery Classes, as well as an attempt to have the Bottlenose Dolphin genus and species changed from Tursiops troncatus to Molson inebriatus. We got a sponsor.

And the list goes on. But make no mistake about it, we are green. Our traffic laws will turn you green. Our party golf tournaments will aim for the green. Please send our headquarters a check for the amount of $CA15.95 when voting, and my staff will be delighted to send you my new eBook containing a complete list of these laws and their applications, as well as a 120-page brand new report on my favourite techniques for obtaining and retaining electors, and as a bonus, you will get, free of charge, a 10 page booklet on a secret technique to legally deduct the cost of this package from next year’s taxes.

Plus, if you vote within the next 30 minutes, you get, absolutely free, a signed copy of my soon-to-be bestseller « The power of Power, a Powerful Story of Power and How to Get, Keep and Sell It. » Green hardcover. 234 pages.

Don’t wait. Vote now. Vote Vince. Before it’s too late. Let’s show the world that Canada knows a good maniac when it sees one. Avoid turning the blue tide into a red one, jump to green. Vote NMP.

Addendum - Message from the First Cat, Don Estorbo de la Bodega Verde: We’ll also rid you of dogs and send them to Asia. People can eat them there, it won’t be a waste and they can come back as baby formula. (He has a big mouth but his heart is where that mouth is. A pellet bowl.)

* Promise not to lie exclusive of, and not limited to, political white lies, signature of International Treaties, meaningfully kissing babies, next campaign headlines and official party position on the use of unapproved electronics after plane take off.

It’s 9:00 AM and already, I feel sad. Today is Election Day. Canadians will choose themselves a new puppet. My sadness comes from the dull knowledge that none of the candidates likely to win are really any good, or colorful, or righteous. None of them, in my eyes, seem able to steer Canada into a better lane. They will not keep us out of foreign war zones nor will they turn our country into the change leader it could be.

It was found in a survey this year that 15% of Canadians would rather give up their Federal Elections ballot to vote instead in the upcoming US elections, and I am one of them. The choices we are about to make at home appear so insignificant compared to those about to be cast south of us. Ours will likely, this time again, be of no consequence to our way of life, all major parties having lead surprisingly similar campaigns. If they all mostly agree about their goals, this will be an election of faces and personalities, and I don’t like any of them. US elections, on the other hand, are likely to affect not only every American’s life but the entire world.

So my sadness probably resonates with the Earth’s. She cries in pain and watches our pitiful battles for the privilege to pillage and plunder her, to rape and to murder her children, to abuse a power we never were granted in the first place. It must be such a ridiculous spectacle.

Could we possibly wake up from our trance and act before it’s too late? What Canada needs right now isn’t another « political leader ». We have had those forever, and they have all played the same subdued role, keeping us warm, keeping us fed, keeping us nice and in the shadow of our southern big brother. What we need today is a good maniac. Someone willing to risk everything in order to radically change our way of life and place Canada on the cutting edge of reform, a leader in environmentally-savvy, economically innovative initiatives.

Yes, it would be a huge risk to take, it would shake everyone’s long-acquired habits and comfort. What, I can only drive around in my giant SUV every other day? (It’s been done in Mexico City.) What, I can actually buy myself an environment-friendly, alternative-powered vehicle? (They have been invented for decades, but the oil companies were in bed with car manufacturers.) What, I have to pay an extra tax on junk food and processed crap? (Why not, it would favour local farmers and improve our kids’ health.) What, I must own a bike and ride it to work to pay less taxes? (Sure, and you might even get used to it.) What, I must donate so many hours of my life a week to community projects? (Yeah, that way you’ll bitch less about the homeless and will actually stand a chance of improving your neighborhood the way you really want it.) Heck this is not a Communist regime, I want Harper back! (Too late, he immigrated to the US and is dealing arms with ex-President Bush.)

Granted, there would be a lot to loose to such a gamble if things went wrong, a country’s economy turning to a volatile and fragile sand castle in times of change. But make no mistake about it, we are loosing it all as we speak, any way. Just ever so softly we have numbed ourselves to the fear, and if death is creeping in at an increasing speed, it’s under the blessed cover of willful ignorance. Just like stranded mountain climbers on their last bivouac, we are drifting into our final sleep as the cold seizes our limbs and inches towards the core. Except this time, the killer is heat.

And none of the major candidates this year have promised to reverse that. But they will address the $100 tax rebate. I expected no less.

It was late. The day drew to an end as I drove away from the partial sunlight of red flooded fields towards the mountains, and menacing clouds were gathering up to greet me into the evening. There wasn’t much traffic on the road - the only people out and about probably being chronic Sunday shoppers. I crossed New Westminster, following the Fraser River for a while and then headed north to Port Moody. Moody indeed was the sky when I got there; dark, convoluted clouds clung to the peaks that tightly surround Indian Arm, shrouding them in a tight pale robe. I dashed right through the town and turned uphill through a residential neighborhood, bound for the end of the road. Houses grew scarce, rain began to fall and the world turned black. It was a strange day to visit Buntzen Lake. I would, however, be likely to find some peace by its shores on such a lonely night.

I parked in an almost empty lot as a few people rushed back to their cars, escaping the deluge. But as I was walking towards the water through magnificent trees, camera safely tucked into my jacket, I could feel the rain easing up; it seemed that against all odds, the sky might have had exhausted its anger for the night. When I reached the shoreline, merely a few drops were still troubling the mirror-like surface of the lake and while clouds still hung on to the slopes of the mountains above, a clearing was in the making at the opposite end of the valley and some blue sky timidly appeared. The light was uneven, complicated and fragmented. There was a slight flavour of my Alps in the air.

I walked around for some time, taking pictures, breathing in the humidity, listening to the forest noises and noticing an absolute absence of nearby civilization, except for an odd generator across the lake. By Buntzen Lake, deceivingly close to Vancouver, one can feel isolated and forget about the city. I looked around, perplexed, attempting unsuccessfully to reconcile the two worlds that were elbowing each other in my mind, like kids competing for the attention of an adult. Here I was, mostly alone in a beautiful mountain setting, with the City of Glass nearby and the Pacific Ocean’s water just on the other side of a ridge. But then there I wished I had been, far to the east in an urban urchin of incredible size, an ant amongst millions of other ants, finding beauty in the company of just one.

Nothing is ever perfect, except, maybe, imperfection. But I sure wished Marie had been there.

Three years ago in fall, after finding mesmerizing pictures of it on a blog, I set out to shoot the cranberry harvest in Richmond. I’ve been going back ever since and it’s become a pleasant ritual, one that reminds me not only of leaves soon turning gold and approaching winter, but also of the evolution of my photography path. I shot the first season with my old trusted Canon G3, the second with the 400D and this year’s with Abetoo, my new 450D and IS lenses. Without a doubt, I’ll come back next year with a 1Ds Mark III. So what if it costs the price of a used car? I’ll be rich and famous.

As a reminder, cranberry harvesting is the yearly act of collecting all those pretty little red berries and sending them on their way to your can of juice. It’s an autumn routine that takes anywhere from a few days to a couple weeks of intensive work. The fields are first flooded, sending the ripest berries floating to the surface; the rest are mechanically shaken loose. They are then gathered tightly with long floating rubber nets and pulled to a corner of the field like a giant red tide. There, a powerful spray of water pushes them up a conveyor belt and they are loaded into trucks, while men keep herding the berries in, threading through 2 or 3 feet of fruit-covered water.

It makes for rather surreal scenes and color is everywhere. Red of berries, blue of sky (when the weather cooperates!), green of surrounding fields, and the multicolored turbans of the workers. I began, 2 years back, by trying to capture contrasts and the overwhelming reddish glow of the scene. By now, I have become more fascinated by nuances and textures, and the human factor. Hence, most of the shots today are portraits. Cranberries are nothing without the men who harvest them. It’s not such a difficult endeavour, it would seem, but rather a matter of patience.

« A huge field like this, one of the men tells me, could be harvested in a single day if we have enough labour. That’s about 9 truck loads. Right now we only have 2 trucks, so it will take a couple of days. » The flooded field he’s waving at proudly is larger than a football field. The men are happy to pose for the pictures; the poor boogers probably figure they will end up on some newspaper cover. I’m glad I don’t have to explain. Corio-what?

After watching the harvest for the third time, I still find myself drifting into a fantasy world. The red parterre reminds me of a bubble-gum ocean through which grown-ups would plow endlessly, oblivious to the magic, busy, resigned. How relevant a comparison to life in general…

Here’s a sneak peak at the full gallery, 30 pictures in all, to be featured on the new web site.