Allied forces

Normally, dim circumstances are just that: dim. But one had a silver lining.

It happened during rush-hour traffic in north Toronto on a rainy night, last November. A public transit bus entered the centre lane from the median and stopped on a diagonal ahead of me. Not before the bus had scraped the driver's side of my car then with full impact, crashed into my front-wheel well.

Before I knew it, a revolving light swirled too-brightly in my rear-view mirror. I recognized a tow-truck and wondered what it was doing there.

Hearing a 'tap-tap' to my left, I rolled down the window as freezing raindrops slid in.

"Are you OK?" asked the bus driver in rain gear.

I told him I thought so.

"You know, I have the right of way," he added buoyantly before returning to his bus, diagonally ahead. I was puzzled.

Hearing another tap-tap, I again rolled down the window.

"Are you OK?" asked the tow-truck driver.

"I think so," I replied.

Ahead, passengers stepped off the bus. None appeared visibly injured. They were being shepherded by the bus driver to the side of the road, where another city bus had stopped to take them further on their journey.

Two hours passed. No reporting police were in sight. By then, I realized I had a companion: my camera. I normally don't travel with one over short distances. But I did that night for a light assignment the following day.

The camera was a soother. Using the dashboard as support, I began to shoot with a slow shutter speed. How ironic, I thought. The ad on the back of the bus read: "Minimize road rage." Was there a connection? I continued to click objectively as though I were documenting something interesting, as though the incident had not happened to me.

I should have been more aggressive. I should have gotten out and used multiple points of view. But my door wouldn't budge, it was cold and rainy, and I was too rattled to function normally.

Another two hours passed. I slid across to the passenger door, got out, and informed the tow truck driver that I was going to the bathroom at a Tim Horton's coffee shop across the street.

Returning to the scene of the accident, I saw the reporting police. Four and a half hours after the incident. Two young women in police uniform were speaking to the bus driver and a supervisor-come-lately from the transit company. The foursome talked a good while. I sensed my goose was cooking.

Tap-tap. Again I rolled down the rain-streaked window.

"So what happened?" asked the policewoman with an attitude as brittle as her chewed-off French manicure.

"The bus barrelled down the median before it switched lanes and hit me," I replied.

"Oh, REAL-ly?" she asked in forced disbelief.

Could she not see the obvious positioning of the vehicles? My anxiety grew. Was I being used as a scapegoat for the transit company? My suspicion gained ground. At the end of her procedure, the policewoman charged me for careless driving.

"You're at fault," she said with gusto.

Staff members of my auto insurance company were more thorough. So was their associate who came by my home to take a sworn statement. But the real angel was the tow-truck driver. Glen Witney of GW Towing had not witnessed the accident. But arriving within five minutes, he recognized the meaning behind the position of the vehicles after impact. It was a reality the policewoman chose to overlook.

"My job doesn't end with the accident," Witney informed me. True to his word, he provided testimony to the auto insurer. It bolstered the photographs and drawing I had submitted to the Claims Adjustor.

It took four months to process the claim. In the end, the insurer informed me that I was "not responsible for the incident as per the Fault Determination Rule 10.4." * My deductible was refunded.

Why didn't the policewoman know the rules of the road?

The trial for my "careless driving" is set for November 2, 2009. As partial evidence, I will enlarge the photographs of the scene, grateful again to a staunch ally: my camera. Consider keeping one in your glove compartment. It could be your only bright prospect.



* Revised Regulations of Ontario 1990, Reg. 668

Barbie's back

Barbie's 50. And she's still turning heads. Even mine as I arrived at a neighbourhood park last Sunday. Above, four Barbie kites fluttered in the clear blue sky as tweens, below, tugged the lines.

Mattel introduced its teenage fashion model at the New York Toy Fair on March 9, 1959. Ever since, Barbie has continued to "inspire several generations of girls to dream, discover and explore a world without limits — all without ever leaving home."

Has Barbie done that much for girls? I decided it was time for a straw poll and some word associations.

"Perfect body, perfect hair and perfect face," says Toronto teenager Cindy Glorioso, when she remembers what Barbie meant to her. From the age of two until she was 10, Glorioso collected 30 Barbies and 20 outfits. Most of them were given away in recent years, except for three Collector Barbies that were gifts from an aunt. Her mother, Irene, who never played with Barbie, recognizes their investment potential.

Memories of the plastic doll are mixed for 50-something Alison Rowe from Ottawa. Growing up in Caracas, Venezuela, she wanted a Barbie because two of her grade-school friends, both Americans, had the "it" girl.

"I was so excited as I opened the long, narrow box," Rowe recalls. But her heart sank when she saw the "ugly" brunette with side-glancing eyes and a bee-hive hairdo. A Barbie clone.

It got worse. Young friends were setting up their Barbies, accessories and "gobs of outfits, including a queen-like costume and a wedding dress," Rowe recalls. Whereas, she arrived for the play date with a brown paper bag from the local supermarket. It held her one Barbie and two dresses — one of which she made herself in sewing class.

“Just pitiful,” Rowe remembers. It was impossible to keep up. For one, American imports were costly. For another, her mother did not encourage her to play with a voluptuous doll. As a result, Rowe's earlier fascination hit the dust. Did Barbie care? Not at all. At the house of more adoring fans, she simply drove off in a red convertible with her boyfriend, Ken, and her BFF - Best Friend Forever – Midge.

Barbie's 50th anniversary has inspired more than just girls "to dream." The occasion marks a publicity blitz that is sure to increase sales. Shareholders could use the relief from that result. In 2008, the company lost 58 per cent of net income from a four-year high of $600 million U.S. in 2007.

Will the company generate strong sales beyond 2009? The Barbie timeline would indicate 'yes!' Mattel has proven to be a formidable marketer of its flagship product, ably responding to trends, even ahead of time. Witness Miss Astronaut Barbie in 1965 and Barbie for President in 2000.

Nationally and internationally, there are many more markets for Barbie, even though she does not always appeal to the buyers. Some mothers view the doll as a hook, creating a need to buy even more products and accessories.

"It's a bottomless pit," says Rowe. "Even if I could have afforded it, I wouldn't have indulged my daughter. I view Barbie as a meat market — giving girls the wrong impression."

No matter what your opinions are on the world-famous doll, one thing is certain: Mattel can sure think outside the long, narrow box.

No broccoli ... yet!

I confess.

Long after posting, I may tweak one phrase or another before republishing. That makes me wonder: Is there a rule in blogdom that stipulates commitment to a post once published? If so, I plead the low-readership defence. Turns out, I have an audience of ten. One of those readers is me. And I'm not complaining.

I'm also the push-button publisher of this blog called Exploro. That's kinda like saying I can do what I want. Kinda like what George H.W. Bush, the father of W., did with broccoli. Remember the foot-in-the-mouth comments from Bush Senior? I liked this one the best:

"I do not like broccoli and I haven’t liked it since I was a little kid and my mother made me eat it. And I’m President of the United States and I’m not going to eat any more broccoli. Now look, this is the last statement I’m going to have on broccoli. There are truckloads of broccoli at this very minute descending on Washington. My family is divided. For the broccoli vote out there: Barbara loves broccoli. She has tried to make me eat it. She eats it all the time herself. So she can go out and meet the caravan of broccoli that’s coming in."

--George Herbert Walker Bush (March 22, 1990)

For bloggers who respect the rules of traditional publishing, who never change what they've posted after the fact, well! I take my hat off. But I can't commit myself to pushing that button just once. At least, not without the option of editing - after the fact.

My position could change. Forcibly.

I suspect if I ever join Facebook for viral marketing and hordes of unknown friends, this blog might become better known.

"Hey, whatcha doin', changing things on us?" might be the feedback from my new FF (Facebook Friend) in Mumbai, followed by a Greek chorus in related time zones. All the while, I would be fast asleep as other FFs around the world agreed, ganging up on me.

Shamed by the market, I'd have to tow a more traditional line. I'd have to commit to a post once published. I might even have to start eating broccoli for breakfast. Let's hope that day doesn't come anytime soon.