Soaking Smokers CF Miley, Opinions Editor Last week, I saw two people smoking out- side of the southeast first-floor doors, just under the day-care playground. I hap- pened to be looking in their direction when the strangest thing happened, a bucket of water came barreling down and soaked this guy. I was stunned, and looked up to find out where this “mystery water” had come from. I’m a naturally analytical person, so I pieced together an explanation almost immediately. When it’s sunny, people tend to smoke wherever the heck they want, so long as they’re outside. Normally, ?’'m all for this. Not so in this case. When we smok- ers smoke on the veranda, one floor down from a day-care playground, our smoke wafts up and f into the pink lungs of the playing kids. That’s not cool. What is needed is some signage where smokers can actually see it, something other than the usual, “No Smoking” signs. Something in plain language, like, “No Smoking. Kids Playing Above.” The day-care > has made some signs, but they are a long, thin things, hung from a railing way up high, and are unreadable from the offender’s location. If people under- stood that their smoke was bothering playing children, they would smoke elsewhere. P’ve personally heard the day-care workers telling people not to smoke down there for over a year. So, someone finally took matters into their own hands, and in an act of pure vigilanteism decided to throw a bucket of water on the offending smokers. Thank the Goddess I didn’t get soaked, or a bunch of children would be in counseling right now deal- ing with the vicious beating they saw their beloved instructor take at my hands. Either that, or I would have marched up there and soaked the person right back. But I got the message, “Don’t freaking smoke down there because the kids are breathing in your smoke.” In the future, ’m going to look up before I light up. Science Matters Getting Heard is Harder Than Ever David Suzuki, The David Suzuki Foundation This year marks my 25th as host of The Nature of Things. Recently, an interviewer asked how television programs have changed over a quarter of a century. Reflecting on the answer, I think that the changes in programs mirror changes in society. . The Nature of Things began as a series in 1960 and is the longest-running series on CBC today. From Anik 1, our first communications satellite, to the birth control pill, test-tube babies, computers, genetic engineering, pollu- tion, and climate change, the series has brought important issues to a large and loyal Canadian audience. You could say the program has been an electronic bridge, connecting Obuober § 18/2000 the country and keeping us abreast of the consequences of science when applied by industry, medicine, and the military. In contrast, the United States has never had a sci- ence program in prime time on any of the major networks! Since I began my television career, there has been an explosive growth in the number of competing channels, to say nothing of computers and the Internet. And since remote controls came along, viewers have become mighty continued on page 10 Thanksgiving Lisa Leblanc, OP Contributor When you think “Thanks,” what do you think of? Do you think, thanks for a sunny day? Thanks, Whoever’s Up There, for dropping me off in Canada? That I got into school? As you ride the escalator up to the SkyTrain do you think, thanks that I don’t have to walk home? As [roll up the escalator to the SkyTrain, I am three years old again, mesmerized by the steel rods under my feet. As the stairs flatten to fit through the crevice under the floor at the top, I’m transported back to Woolco in another time, gripping my mother’s hand tightly so she can yank me back out of the black abyss, if need be. As the undulating metal morphs before my wide - eyes, I’m panicked that [ll forget to step off. Maybe Ill trip or T’ll be too slow. I’m terrified that when we get to the top somehow I'll disap- pear under the floor with the stairs. My toes are very small. They could easily get wedged in between the floor and the metal steps as they dis- appear. My soft pink toes wouldn’t stand a chance MT et ih against the power of the gears and grinding motors returning the steel stairs to the bottom. The rest of me would just get sucked right under the floor to who knows where! And I think I know where. At home we have a Medical Encyclopedia with lots of diagrams. Apparently, (according to the Encyclopedia) inside our bodies are small elevator shafts run by miniscule men in tiny hardhats. They transport food from our mouths to our stomachs and beyond. I guess that explains the rumbling noises that come from our stomachs. Maybe tiny eleva- tor men work the gizmo that runs the escalator stairs, too. If I did get sucked into their under- world, maybe I would be something like Gulliver—a captured giant, maybe kept as a slave. I could spend the rest of my life exploited as their giant workhorse, hauling those escalator stairs up and down like Sisyphus eternally push- ing his rock uphill. And what would I eat down there? Those tiny men couldn’t have enough food for all of me! These days, when I get to the top of the esca- lator, 1 do somehow manage to jump off every time. As I near the top, I still want to reach for my mother’s hand, though, but I can’t. She’s been gone for quite a while now. I think about those tiny men hidden in the floorboards and I say thanks to no one in particular. Just thanks for a moment that makes sense. Ut coin