A Look at my CD Collection, Part 9: Daniel Ash (and David J)
Got distracted by various things. Life is busy, and I have been neglecting my blog. I took an extra long weekend last week and have another long weekend this weekend. Every weekend ought to be long, if you ask me. Anyway, because I have nothing better to write about and because blogging expectations have rarely been lower, I continue with a series of self-indulgent posts.
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Bauhaus disintegrated into several subsequent (and less interesting) parts starting in 1983, when the band first broke up. Bauhaus reformed many years later, but I have no idea what is happening now. I will save my discussion of Bauhaus, Peter Murphy, Love and Rockets, and Tones on Tail for later. But now, I have to talk about Daniel Ash and a little bit about David J, both of whom were members of Bauhaus.
I would describe Daniel Ash's first solo record, Coming Down (1991) as a mediocre affair. I got this CD free from CFNY. I got lots of freebies from CFNY over the years. I was never comfortable with calling this station The Edge. To me, this station died when it stopped being The Spirit of Radio. Sadly, it is now owned by Corus, and has been reduced to a crappy radio station, just like all of the others.
Coming Down isn't terrible but it isn't great either. A highlight for me is the title track. I also like the guitar lick in Daniel Ash's This Love too. The sad truth is that I haven't played this CD in probably 15 years, which says a lot. Perhaps I should sell it. Not surprisingly, I have no other CDs from Mr. Ash.
Having said that, I was less impressed with David J's solo work. I picked up the Candy on the Cross EP and was quite interested to learn that he covered one of my favourite John Cale songs, Antarctica Starts Here. This track did nothing for me, and I think that the sad experience of listening to that EP scarred me and prevented me from buying any more of his music. Maybe that's unfair, and I guess I ought to investigate his other music.
The truth seems to be that Love and Rockets and Tones on Tail are better than Daniel Ash of David J on their own. The same is true of Bauhaus, a band that is far greater than the sum of its parts.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Trip Recap, Part 6
Still in Zurich...
It's funny how some individuals have problems with certain things. Maybe you are squeamish about small birds; maybe you are scared of heights; maybe you are unable to use a cork screw; maybe you have problems opening and closing locks...well, European locks at any rate.
Imagine having meandered around Zurich, stopping here and there, checking out the scene, withdrawing funds from Swiss bank accounts, when suddenly, deep within the Zurich University Botanical Gardens, an urge to micturate overcomes you. Naturally, you would seek out the facilities, which, in our lucky case, happened to be dead ahead of us.
So, my traveling companion heads straight for the small building which appeared to house toilets. There were three doors. Suddenly, I had flashbacks to Monty Hall's Let's Make Deal. Will she take door number one, door number two, or door number three?
First, she heads of door number one and either pushes it or pulls it, but the door doesn't move. She moves on to door number two and either pushes it or pulls it, but the door doesn't move. Note that she either pushed or pulled, rather than attempting both directions. I was standing back, admiring the view of the city, as the gardens are raised and one got a rather good view of Zurich. The third door had a set of keys dangling provocatively in the lock. I hadn't noticed this until I turned to see C. turning the key in the lock, back and forth, round and round.
Of course, I had seen these lock manoeuvrings during our stay in Paris, at the impossibly small apartment. I neglected to mention that the door to that apartment had three locks. My companion, I realized, is European-lock-challenged. North American locks seem to pose no problems. It's the turn-left-two-and-a-quarter-turn type of lock that seems most confounding.
Suddenly, we hear banging and clanging and panicked screams from the inside. Within a few short seconds, she had managed to lock a workman in his office and was unable to unlock the door. I imagined that the Swiss gentleman must have been worrying that we were locking him in so that we could make off with various botanical samples, or worse.
I hurried over the scene, and freed the man, who looked completely stunned after having been confined to his office by two strange Canadians. His expression suggested that he needed an explanation, and my companion tried to comply, but then he looked decidedly non-impressed. I suppressed the urge to tell him that this is what happens when you leave you keys in the lock, but I was afraid of being expelled from Switzerland. He removed the keys from the lock and went back into his office. I hope he learned his lesson.
After rescuing the man, I wandered over and pushed or pulled on the door (you know, like tried both directions) of what appeared to be the female can and it opened. With her bladder empty, we were able to continue on through the foliage.
Still in Zurich...
It's funny how some individuals have problems with certain things. Maybe you are squeamish about small birds; maybe you are scared of heights; maybe you are unable to use a cork screw; maybe you have problems opening and closing locks...well, European locks at any rate.
Imagine having meandered around Zurich, stopping here and there, checking out the scene, withdrawing funds from Swiss bank accounts, when suddenly, deep within the Zurich University Botanical Gardens, an urge to micturate overcomes you. Naturally, you would seek out the facilities, which, in our lucky case, happened to be dead ahead of us.
So, my traveling companion heads straight for the small building which appeared to house toilets. There were three doors. Suddenly, I had flashbacks to Monty Hall's Let's Make Deal. Will she take door number one, door number two, or door number three?
First, she heads of door number one and either pushes it or pulls it, but the door doesn't move. She moves on to door number two and either pushes it or pulls it, but the door doesn't move. Note that she either pushed or pulled, rather than attempting both directions. I was standing back, admiring the view of the city, as the gardens are raised and one got a rather good view of Zurich. The third door had a set of keys dangling provocatively in the lock. I hadn't noticed this until I turned to see C. turning the key in the lock, back and forth, round and round.
Of course, I had seen these lock manoeuvrings during our stay in Paris, at the impossibly small apartment. I neglected to mention that the door to that apartment had three locks. My companion, I realized, is European-lock-challenged. North American locks seem to pose no problems. It's the turn-left-two-and-a-quarter-turn type of lock that seems most confounding.
Suddenly, we hear banging and clanging and panicked screams from the inside. Within a few short seconds, she had managed to lock a workman in his office and was unable to unlock the door. I imagined that the Swiss gentleman must have been worrying that we were locking him in so that we could make off with various botanical samples, or worse.
I hurried over the scene, and freed the man, who looked completely stunned after having been confined to his office by two strange Canadians. His expression suggested that he needed an explanation, and my companion tried to comply, but then he looked decidedly non-impressed. I suppressed the urge to tell him that this is what happens when you leave you keys in the lock, but I was afraid of being expelled from Switzerland. He removed the keys from the lock and went back into his office. I hope he learned his lesson.
After rescuing the man, I wandered over and pushed or pulled on the door (you know, like tried both directions) of what appeared to be the female can and it opened. With her bladder empty, we were able to continue on through the foliage.
Monday, March 22, 2010
A look at my CD collection, part 8: Anjani - Blue Alert
Finally, changing topics...
Q: What kind of a 76 year-old-man dates a 51 year-old-woman?
A: Leonard Cohen
I kind of hate Leonard Cohen, with his constant cadre of women and his perfect songs. Damn him all to hell. Blue Alert is what happens when you pair the best song-writer of the 20th Century with a good voice. It's a jazzy affair, but I think the lyrics are stronger than the music. There is something not quite right with the musical direction on the album, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's that the mellowness overwhelms the lyrics to such an extent as to make the songs anemic. But, I am not a jazz expert by any means.
Finally, changing topics...
Q: What kind of a 76 year-old-man dates a 51 year-old-woman?
A: Leonard Cohen
I kind of hate Leonard Cohen, with his constant cadre of women and his perfect songs. Damn him all to hell. Blue Alert is what happens when you pair the best song-writer of the 20th Century with a good voice. It's a jazzy affair, but I think the lyrics are stronger than the music. There is something not quite right with the musical direction on the album, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's that the mellowness overwhelms the lyrics to such an extent as to make the songs anemic. But, I am not a jazz expert by any means.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Sometimes, Doctors are Wrong
Soon after visiting my brother in the hospital, he developed a fever. This turn of events seemed to strengthen the belief that the doctor had been quite correct. Everyone thought that this would be the thing to end it all, but then something almost miraculous happened.
After ten days of unconsciousness, he "woke up." This is amazing, unexpected news, but it is not exactly as good as is sounds. He cannot speak. He can only open his eyes for a few seconds at a time. His is so weak on the right side, that he cannot really move his right arm. He cannot swallow, meaning that they have to keep a tube in his throat. He cannot eat because his stomach will not function properly and nothing is kept down. He is on oxygen. Of course, since he cannot speak, it is unclear if he is suffering from any brain damage, aside from the obvious speech issue. He did manage to shake his head in reply to some questions.
What lies ahead, should he continue to come out of this, is months of rehabilitation and a long, slow recovery. I am not sure that recovery is the correct word since he will most likely have limited mobility and a poor quality of life. The doctor emphasized that my brother remains in grave condition and that he is very ill. The doctor is uncertain what lies ahead. In fact, his original prognosis might still hold true.
So, again, we wait.
Soon after visiting my brother in the hospital, he developed a fever. This turn of events seemed to strengthen the belief that the doctor had been quite correct. Everyone thought that this would be the thing to end it all, but then something almost miraculous happened.
After ten days of unconsciousness, he "woke up." This is amazing, unexpected news, but it is not exactly as good as is sounds. He cannot speak. He can only open his eyes for a few seconds at a time. His is so weak on the right side, that he cannot really move his right arm. He cannot swallow, meaning that they have to keep a tube in his throat. He cannot eat because his stomach will not function properly and nothing is kept down. He is on oxygen. Of course, since he cannot speak, it is unclear if he is suffering from any brain damage, aside from the obvious speech issue. He did manage to shake his head in reply to some questions.
What lies ahead, should he continue to come out of this, is months of rehabilitation and a long, slow recovery. I am not sure that recovery is the correct word since he will most likely have limited mobility and a poor quality of life. The doctor emphasized that my brother remains in grave condition and that he is very ill. The doctor is uncertain what lies ahead. In fact, his original prognosis might still hold true.
So, again, we wait.
Sunday, March 07, 2010
I Have two Brothers but I am Brotherless
My brother is going to die.
It's almost impossible to describe the overwhelming sense of sadness in that hospital room. With my sister, step-mom, my brother's step-daughter, and her child, we stood around trying to make sense of it all. Five days after his hemorrhagic stroke, he is still unresponsive. The doctor described two possible outcomes. The less likely is that he will surface and, in the best possible scenario, will de disabled and have massive brain damage. The other - more likely scenario - is that he will slip into a coma and die of something else, like an infection, perhaps pneumonia. So certain is he of this outcome, that we all agreed with a "do not resuscitate" plan. In short, my brother is going to die, but we don't know exactly when. It could take hours or days or weeks or longer. But, the timing is irrelevant: my brother is already gone.
The average hospital bed is not up to the task of containing a 475+ pound man. By some estimates, he is over 500 pounds, but that won't last, not in a hospital bed, especially since his stomach no longer functions: the food forced into him by a tube is regurgitated immediately. My brother fills the bed completely, like a child lying in a bed made for a toy doll. Cables and tubes connect him to an array of medical instruments: a heart rate monitor, a blood pressure cuff, two IVs, and a respirator with its long tube running down his throat.
Throughout the day, I experienced a deep sense of guilt and anger. My brother is such an asshole. It's difficult to write that about a family member, one who is on the verge of death, but he is an asshole and it has always pissed me off. I was supposed to be his friend. I was supposed to be close to him for my entire life. We were both supposed to have kids who would play with each other and come over at Christmas. We were supposed to go to the beach together. Or, he was just supposed to be around, to be an unconditional friend, to a part of my life. Instead, he bailed on his entire family, after being a jerk when he was an adolescent.
His three kids (the first of whom came when he was only 16) were sexually abused; the mother and step-father were sent off to prison, the kids being distributed to various foster homes, never to be seen again, though we are looking for them. Sure, he paid some child support, but only after court orders, and then that dried up when he went on a disability pension. He made no effort to find them. He didn't try to obtain custody after the trial when their step-father was found guilty of sexual assault and the mother found guilty of permitting it to happen.
I am angry with my brother for ruining so much of my childhood. From his violent behaviour toward me to the theft of family possessions, he was a complete bastard. What can you say about someone who would steal from his own family? At least my other brother, the one who left home when I was 4 years old, never stole from us. He sold drugs and paid the price, and then I never really saw him again. He disappeared and I have seen in a handful of times, and only twice in the past 25 years, maybe 5 times since I was four years old. It's like he was never my brother. He is a mystery to me and I can't even say that I know him.
In the hospital, staring at him in the bed, I was inexplicably on the verge of tears, for a man I never liked, for a man that failed to be a brother, who was a terrible son, a lousy human being, and a disinterested father. He spent his life barely able to survive, finally ending up a on disability pension because he was too obese to work. He has sleep apnea, hypertension, diabetes, asthma, troubles with blood clots, and a weak heart. By all accounts he ate massive amounts of unhealthy food and had an immense passion for smoking. I still insist that this is the outcome he wanted: he wanted to be pitied, to be the village freak, and he did it. In the end, I might compare him with Ignatius J. Reilly, but without the creativity, or maybe Homer Simpson, but a Homer without any sense of responsibility or love for anyone other than himself.
You may think this uncharitable, but it's true. The way he spoke clearly indicated that he loved attention. If he was sick, everyone knew about it. Everyone knew how many pills he had to take each day because he displayed them in his apartment for some sort of pitying effect.
After a conversation with the doctor, we went to have lunch, and then drove to his apartment. It's difficult to think about him as being dead, when his is still alive and breathing, but we were forced to investigate the bills, to pay the landlord the overdue rent, to plan for the emptying of the apartment.
The floor around his bed is scarred with burns from cigarettes that fell through his hands as he drifted off to sleep. Miraculously, there was never a fire. He gave up smoking six months ago when he needed oxygen. The bedroom has six oxygen tanks; he has a night-time breathing apparatus. Another oxygen machine sits in the living room. I looked around the dismal place and was stunned to see a shelf of family photographs.
I didn't speak to him over the past 25 years, maybe once or twice. I was angry with him and could never understand how my father could have forgiven him so easily. My mother too. But, I guess that's what parents do. Standing there, staring at the photographs, I began to feel angry with myself for being the holdout, especially when my sister said she had been speaking with him recently. And then, I saw two photos of me and my two kids (whom he has never met) on a shelf along with recent photos of my sister. My sister had sent him photos and he ran out to buy frames so he could display them.
I felt like such an idiot. In the back of my mind, I always assumed that our paths would cross, that we would speak again, that we could forget all of the garbage of the past, but now that's impossible. He is dying in a hospital, and I am pissed off, but I am not sure if I am angry about him dying or for him failing to be a brother. How is it that I ended up with two brothers who walked away from their family and never tried to keep in contact with any of us?
I got back in the rental car and headed back to Toronto, feeling a profound sense of loss for a brother I hardly knew.
My brother is going to die.
It's almost impossible to describe the overwhelming sense of sadness in that hospital room. With my sister, step-mom, my brother's step-daughter, and her child, we stood around trying to make sense of it all. Five days after his hemorrhagic stroke, he is still unresponsive. The doctor described two possible outcomes. The less likely is that he will surface and, in the best possible scenario, will de disabled and have massive brain damage. The other - more likely scenario - is that he will slip into a coma and die of something else, like an infection, perhaps pneumonia. So certain is he of this outcome, that we all agreed with a "do not resuscitate" plan. In short, my brother is going to die, but we don't know exactly when. It could take hours or days or weeks or longer. But, the timing is irrelevant: my brother is already gone.
The average hospital bed is not up to the task of containing a 475+ pound man. By some estimates, he is over 500 pounds, but that won't last, not in a hospital bed, especially since his stomach no longer functions: the food forced into him by a tube is regurgitated immediately. My brother fills the bed completely, like a child lying in a bed made for a toy doll. Cables and tubes connect him to an array of medical instruments: a heart rate monitor, a blood pressure cuff, two IVs, and a respirator with its long tube running down his throat.
Throughout the day, I experienced a deep sense of guilt and anger. My brother is such an asshole. It's difficult to write that about a family member, one who is on the verge of death, but he is an asshole and it has always pissed me off. I was supposed to be his friend. I was supposed to be close to him for my entire life. We were both supposed to have kids who would play with each other and come over at Christmas. We were supposed to go to the beach together. Or, he was just supposed to be around, to be an unconditional friend, to a part of my life. Instead, he bailed on his entire family, after being a jerk when he was an adolescent.
His three kids (the first of whom came when he was only 16) were sexually abused; the mother and step-father were sent off to prison, the kids being distributed to various foster homes, never to be seen again, though we are looking for them. Sure, he paid some child support, but only after court orders, and then that dried up when he went on a disability pension. He made no effort to find them. He didn't try to obtain custody after the trial when their step-father was found guilty of sexual assault and the mother found guilty of permitting it to happen.
I am angry with my brother for ruining so much of my childhood. From his violent behaviour toward me to the theft of family possessions, he was a complete bastard. What can you say about someone who would steal from his own family? At least my other brother, the one who left home when I was 4 years old, never stole from us. He sold drugs and paid the price, and then I never really saw him again. He disappeared and I have seen in a handful of times, and only twice in the past 25 years, maybe 5 times since I was four years old. It's like he was never my brother. He is a mystery to me and I can't even say that I know him.
In the hospital, staring at him in the bed, I was inexplicably on the verge of tears, for a man I never liked, for a man that failed to be a brother, who was a terrible son, a lousy human being, and a disinterested father. He spent his life barely able to survive, finally ending up a on disability pension because he was too obese to work. He has sleep apnea, hypertension, diabetes, asthma, troubles with blood clots, and a weak heart. By all accounts he ate massive amounts of unhealthy food and had an immense passion for smoking. I still insist that this is the outcome he wanted: he wanted to be pitied, to be the village freak, and he did it. In the end, I might compare him with Ignatius J. Reilly, but without the creativity, or maybe Homer Simpson, but a Homer without any sense of responsibility or love for anyone other than himself.
You may think this uncharitable, but it's true. The way he spoke clearly indicated that he loved attention. If he was sick, everyone knew about it. Everyone knew how many pills he had to take each day because he displayed them in his apartment for some sort of pitying effect.
After a conversation with the doctor, we went to have lunch, and then drove to his apartment. It's difficult to think about him as being dead, when his is still alive and breathing, but we were forced to investigate the bills, to pay the landlord the overdue rent, to plan for the emptying of the apartment.
The floor around his bed is scarred with burns from cigarettes that fell through his hands as he drifted off to sleep. Miraculously, there was never a fire. He gave up smoking six months ago when he needed oxygen. The bedroom has six oxygen tanks; he has a night-time breathing apparatus. Another oxygen machine sits in the living room. I looked around the dismal place and was stunned to see a shelf of family photographs.
I didn't speak to him over the past 25 years, maybe once or twice. I was angry with him and could never understand how my father could have forgiven him so easily. My mother too. But, I guess that's what parents do. Standing there, staring at the photographs, I began to feel angry with myself for being the holdout, especially when my sister said she had been speaking with him recently. And then, I saw two photos of me and my two kids (whom he has never met) on a shelf along with recent photos of my sister. My sister had sent him photos and he ran out to buy frames so he could display them.
I felt like such an idiot. In the back of my mind, I always assumed that our paths would cross, that we would speak again, that we could forget all of the garbage of the past, but now that's impossible. He is dying in a hospital, and I am pissed off, but I am not sure if I am angry about him dying or for him failing to be a brother. How is it that I ended up with two brothers who walked away from their family and never tried to keep in contact with any of us?
I got back in the rental car and headed back to Toronto, feeling a profound sense of loss for a brother I hardly knew.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Brother
My estranged brother has had a stroke. This is both odd and not odd. It is odd because he is young, only 17 months older than me. On the other hand, he is morbidly obese and he leads a very unhealthy lifestyle. (You can read more about my brother here and here).
He remains unresponsive in a hospital bed, about to be shifted to a different hospital where a neurologist can examine him. Initially, we were told that the prognosis is grave. Currently, I have no idea and am just waiting to get the updates.
My estranged brother has had a stroke. This is both odd and not odd. It is odd because he is young, only 17 months older than me. On the other hand, he is morbidly obese and he leads a very unhealthy lifestyle. (You can read more about my brother here and here).
He remains unresponsive in a hospital bed, about to be shifted to a different hospital where a neurologist can examine him. Initially, we were told that the prognosis is grave. Currently, I have no idea and am just waiting to get the updates.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The Olympics, a few words...
In the spirit of athleticism, I spent most of the last four days on the couch watching the Olympics. Too bad I had to go back to work. Well, there was a break long enough for a trip to the theatre to see Up in the Air.
Thank God we got a gold medal. I was sick of hearing that we had never won on home soil. It was as if that was all the reporters could find to talk about. The media kind of sucks, when you think about it. The media pumps up medal hopes to a point of hysteria. How is that fair to the athletes? You would have thought that gold in the men's downhill and men's 500m speed skating were guaranteed. Give it a rest.
And, a word to Brian Williams about math. He suggested that Canada has gone 33 years (or so) without winning a gold. That is stupid. The Olympics have not been running continuously in Canada since 1976.
What else? Dale Begg-Smith is a loser, a loser who made a fortune creating malware that might have infected your computer. I have never seen someone so upset with a silver medal. What a suck. Stay in Australia.
More later.
In the spirit of athleticism, I spent most of the last four days on the couch watching the Olympics. Too bad I had to go back to work. Well, there was a break long enough for a trip to the theatre to see Up in the Air.
Thank God we got a gold medal. I was sick of hearing that we had never won on home soil. It was as if that was all the reporters could find to talk about. The media kind of sucks, when you think about it. The media pumps up medal hopes to a point of hysteria. How is that fair to the athletes? You would have thought that gold in the men's downhill and men's 500m speed skating were guaranteed. Give it a rest.
And, a word to Brian Williams about math. He suggested that Canada has gone 33 years (or so) without winning a gold. That is stupid. The Olympics have not been running continuously in Canada since 1976.
What else? Dale Begg-Smith is a loser, a loser who made a fortune creating malware that might have infected your computer. I have never seen someone so upset with a silver medal. What a suck. Stay in Australia.
More later.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Trip Recap, Part 5
Skipping ahead to Zurich, here's something you would never see in Toronto: a bar under a freeway. It worked. It's really difficult to explain why this worked and I am not sure how such a thing would be received in Toronto. I tried to imagine such a place under the Gardiner, and I couldn't.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
A Look at my CD Collection, part 7: Aidan Baker, including ARC
Several years ago, I picked up a copy of ARC's Feral and was really impressed. Later, I made sure that I checked them out when they played at C'est What? (on August 19th, 2003). My CD collection contains:
A couple of these were free downloads. It's Thursday, but it really feels like Friday because I am taking tomorrow off and Monday is Family Day, so I am looking ahead to a four day weekend. What I am trying to say is that I have not the energy to try to describe the music. Also, I just got back from an hour of lunchtime yoga, and I feel all bendy and relaxed. My fingers are not responding well to the task of typing. But, here is a good review of Feral.
Baker likes to use looping techniques on various instruments, notably the guitar, but also the flute, for example. If you like this kind of treatment, you might like it, but this is not the kind of music you would sing along to or dance around the bedroom to while putting away laundry. It's more complex than that.
Oddly, everyone I spoke to at the Ambient Ping that evening assumed that I was a musician. I am not sure why. Perhaps ARC is musicians' music or perhaps it's that musicians seem to have more of an open mind when it comes to music than your average iTunes shopper. It really kills me, as I have often said, that people only want to buy a song or two from a CD. I have always been an album man. If there are only one or two good songs on an album, I wouldn't buy it. I still listen to albums, rather than songs, but I do occasionally put the iPod on shuffle to see what kind of magic might happen.
Why, just yesterday as I was walking with the iPod, I heard European Son by the Velvet Underground followed by Bowie's Queen Bitch and then Bauhaus covering Bowie's Ziggy Stardust. That was quite the playlist. Sometimes, the shuffle seems to be possessed and every other song is from the same artist, which is odd.
Baker is a poet too, and has published a few volumes. I am not familiar with his writing. He has an extensive discography. Check out his Wikipedia entry for those details.
Happy Friday and have a good weekend.
Several years ago, I picked up a copy of ARC's Feral and was really impressed. Later, I made sure that I checked them out when they played at C'est What? (on August 19th, 2003). My CD collection contains:
ARC/Aidan Baker - Repercussion (Piehead Records 2002 Series – Volume 1)
ARC - Feral
Aidan Baker - Concretion
Aidan Baker - Cicatrice
Aidan Baker - Within the Final Circle
Aidan Baker - Ichneumon
Aidan Baker - Tense Surfaces
Aidan Baker - Dance of Lonely Molecules
A couple of these were free downloads. It's Thursday, but it really feels like Friday because I am taking tomorrow off and Monday is Family Day, so I am looking ahead to a four day weekend. What I am trying to say is that I have not the energy to try to describe the music. Also, I just got back from an hour of lunchtime yoga, and I feel all bendy and relaxed. My fingers are not responding well to the task of typing. But, here is a good review of Feral.
Baker likes to use looping techniques on various instruments, notably the guitar, but also the flute, for example. If you like this kind of treatment, you might like it, but this is not the kind of music you would sing along to or dance around the bedroom to while putting away laundry. It's more complex than that.
Oddly, everyone I spoke to at the Ambient Ping that evening assumed that I was a musician. I am not sure why. Perhaps ARC is musicians' music or perhaps it's that musicians seem to have more of an open mind when it comes to music than your average iTunes shopper. It really kills me, as I have often said, that people only want to buy a song or two from a CD. I have always been an album man. If there are only one or two good songs on an album, I wouldn't buy it. I still listen to albums, rather than songs, but I do occasionally put the iPod on shuffle to see what kind of magic might happen.
Why, just yesterday as I was walking with the iPod, I heard European Son by the Velvet Underground followed by Bowie's Queen Bitch and then Bauhaus covering Bowie's Ziggy Stardust. That was quite the playlist. Sometimes, the shuffle seems to be possessed and every other song is from the same artist, which is odd.
Baker is a poet too, and has published a few volumes. I am not familiar with his writing. He has an extensive discography. Check out his Wikipedia entry for those details.
Happy Friday and have a good weekend.
Monday, February 08, 2010
ZF's Perfect Frittata Recipe
The perfect frittata starts with a chicken. Oh, and if you don't have any idea what a frittata is, let me enlighten you. It's evidently of Italian origin and normally made with eggs and chopped vegetables or meat. It's probably best just to look up a few recipes, and then try this one as it is the best one.
So, as I was saying, the perfect frittata recipe commences with a chicken. So, first you buy a nice chicken and take it home. You will want a dead chicken, unless you are fond of killing things. Slather some olive oil and sea salt on the chicken and set the bird aside. (If you have a preferred chicken recipe, please follow it. Alert: don't put potatoes in with your chicken because they don't belong there. If you really want potatoes, roast them in a separate pan. And, for the love of God, don't put plain white potatoes in the frittata!).
Step two: cut up lots vegetables. And, by this I mean parsnips (remember to cut out the woody cores), carrots, sweet potatoes (yams), one or two onions, and squash. Alert: please use butternut squash. Most other types of squash are inferior.
Put the vegetables in a large roasting pan. Remember I said to cut up lots of vegetables? We need extra for part two of the recipe, so cut up lots and use a large roasting pan. I use a pan large enough for a turkey or a medium penguin. Throw in the vegetables along with sea salt and olive oil.
I like to give the vegetables a head start, so pop them into the oven for ten minutes or so at 375 and then throw the bird on top and cook until done. When I was a younger man, I hated recipes that said "cook until done." How the hell are you supposed to know what that means if you have never cooked before? I am so over that now, so I can say things like "cook until done" and laugh at those who have no idea what it means.
Now, eat your chicken and vegetables, but remember that we have to save some for the frittata that you will make the next day.
After dinner, go to bed. Well, I suppose that you will have to clean up the kitchen first, and put the leftovers in the fridge. Get out of bed the next day. Now, you can either have the frittata for breakfast, brunch, lunch, or dinner. Yes, it is that versatile. If you are having it for breakfast or brunch, start making it when you get out of bed. Otherwise, cook up some bacon and eggs for breakfast and do this later.
OK, so here is the recipe.
Chop up some bacon. Use half a package or a third of a package. This all depends on how many leftover vegetables you have and how big of a frittata you plan to make. Throw the pieces of bacon into a cast iron pan and cook until crisp. Once crisp, remove from pan and place the bacon on a paper towel.
Retain some or all of the bacon grease in the pan and add a sliced onion and garlic. When these have partially cooked, add a zucchini (cut in rounds) and a red or orange or yellow pepper (cut in slices). Alert: please do not use green peppers. This is an inferior pepper. And, remember a green bell pepper is simply an immature red pepper. It's like eating a green banana. You want a ripe red bell pepper or its luscious cousins, the yellow or the orange. Oh, and you could add broccoli, but I only do that if I have no zucchini. It's OK, but I think it's not as good as using a zucchini. You could also use asparagus.
Once the vegetables are nicely on their way, add the leftover vegetables from the chicken. Stir it up and let it all warm through. Beat some eggs in a bowl. The size of your pan and the amount of vegetables will determine the number of eggs. It could be 5, 6, or 7 or more. Don't include the shells. Add a bit of milk (soy milk, please) and some pepper. You won't need any salt.
Pour this over the contents of the pan. You may find that you will need an extra egg. If so, beat one up and pour it in. It's probably best to cover the pan with a lid to help it cook through the middle. When it looks cooked on top, just stick a knife in to make sure you don't have any gooey egginess inside.
Now, you will stick the pan under the broiler in your oven. I put in in for a short time, and then sprinkle the bacon over the top. Some of you people who are addicted to cheese may want to add the congealed breast milk of a hairy 2000 pound animal, or even parmesan. Feel free to ruin it, but I would prefer if you didn't. Don't burn it.
Cut it and serve it, perhaps with a salad on the side, if this is a lunch menu item.
And, there you have an easy recipe.
By the way, you can use the leftover chicken in any number of ways. I like to make chicken salad. Mmmmn, mayo...
The perfect frittata starts with a chicken. Oh, and if you don't have any idea what a frittata is, let me enlighten you. It's evidently of Italian origin and normally made with eggs and chopped vegetables or meat. It's probably best just to look up a few recipes, and then try this one as it is the best one.
So, as I was saying, the perfect frittata recipe commences with a chicken. So, first you buy a nice chicken and take it home. You will want a dead chicken, unless you are fond of killing things. Slather some olive oil and sea salt on the chicken and set the bird aside. (If you have a preferred chicken recipe, please follow it. Alert: don't put potatoes in with your chicken because they don't belong there. If you really want potatoes, roast them in a separate pan. And, for the love of God, don't put plain white potatoes in the frittata!).
Step two: cut up lots vegetables. And, by this I mean parsnips (remember to cut out the woody cores), carrots, sweet potatoes (yams), one or two onions, and squash. Alert: please use butternut squash. Most other types of squash are inferior.
Put the vegetables in a large roasting pan. Remember I said to cut up lots of vegetables? We need extra for part two of the recipe, so cut up lots and use a large roasting pan. I use a pan large enough for a turkey or a medium penguin. Throw in the vegetables along with sea salt and olive oil.
I like to give the vegetables a head start, so pop them into the oven for ten minutes or so at 375 and then throw the bird on top and cook until done. When I was a younger man, I hated recipes that said "cook until done." How the hell are you supposed to know what that means if you have never cooked before? I am so over that now, so I can say things like "cook until done" and laugh at those who have no idea what it means.
Now, eat your chicken and vegetables, but remember that we have to save some for the frittata that you will make the next day.
After dinner, go to bed. Well, I suppose that you will have to clean up the kitchen first, and put the leftovers in the fridge. Get out of bed the next day. Now, you can either have the frittata for breakfast, brunch, lunch, or dinner. Yes, it is that versatile. If you are having it for breakfast or brunch, start making it when you get out of bed. Otherwise, cook up some bacon and eggs for breakfast and do this later.
OK, so here is the recipe.
Chop up some bacon. Use half a package or a third of a package. This all depends on how many leftover vegetables you have and how big of a frittata you plan to make. Throw the pieces of bacon into a cast iron pan and cook until crisp. Once crisp, remove from pan and place the bacon on a paper towel.
Retain some or all of the bacon grease in the pan and add a sliced onion and garlic. When these have partially cooked, add a zucchini (cut in rounds) and a red or orange or yellow pepper (cut in slices). Alert: please do not use green peppers. This is an inferior pepper. And, remember a green bell pepper is simply an immature red pepper. It's like eating a green banana. You want a ripe red bell pepper or its luscious cousins, the yellow or the orange. Oh, and you could add broccoli, but I only do that if I have no zucchini. It's OK, but I think it's not as good as using a zucchini. You could also use asparagus.
Once the vegetables are nicely on their way, add the leftover vegetables from the chicken. Stir it up and let it all warm through. Beat some eggs in a bowl. The size of your pan and the amount of vegetables will determine the number of eggs. It could be 5, 6, or 7 or more. Don't include the shells. Add a bit of milk (soy milk, please) and some pepper. You won't need any salt.
Pour this over the contents of the pan. You may find that you will need an extra egg. If so, beat one up and pour it in. It's probably best to cover the pan with a lid to help it cook through the middle. When it looks cooked on top, just stick a knife in to make sure you don't have any gooey egginess inside.
Now, you will stick the pan under the broiler in your oven. I put in in for a short time, and then sprinkle the bacon over the top. Some of you people who are addicted to cheese may want to add the congealed breast milk of a hairy 2000 pound animal, or even parmesan. Feel free to ruin it, but I would prefer if you didn't. Don't burn it.
Cut it and serve it, perhaps with a salad on the side, if this is a lunch menu item.
And, there you have an easy recipe.
By the way, you can use the leftover chicken in any number of ways. I like to make chicken salad. Mmmmn, mayo...
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Blogger Fail
Well, you know when you have failed as a blogger when you receive email like this:
Well, you know when you have failed as a blogger when you receive email like this:
More importantly, what has happened to your blog? It used to be hip (like the Simpsons) now it's not (like the Simpsons). Perhaps you can inject some life into it by writing entries under a series of "guest contributers" such as "Lionel the 30-Year Old Bedwetter" or "The Fetus." Just a suggestion.I am not sure about writing guest entries myself, but I'd be happy to entertain posts from guest contributors. Send them on.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Be Careful what you Ask for
The temperature in my office soared to a crazy 80.6 degrees after hovering around 61 degrees for weeks. This, after it was fixed, and fixed a bit too well, if you ask me. Still, I'd rather work in the 80s than the 60s. I couldn't really type with cold hands, but in this heat, I am all limber, but craving a piña colada and wondering where my sandals are.
After leaving my office door open, and permitting some of the heat to flow out, it drops a bit, but it is still a bit too hot. I'd hate to complain, and be thrust back into the ice age.
On the downside, the high temperatures force me to remember to put my lunch in the fridge, something I normally forgot to do, but with such cool temperatures, it mattered not.
Oh, and I think (as I crack a yawn) that the warm temps are causing me to tire more quickly that when it was cold. I need to create space under my desk to sleep, like George Costanza. That would be sweet.
The temperature in my office soared to a crazy 80.6 degrees after hovering around 61 degrees for weeks. This, after it was fixed, and fixed a bit too well, if you ask me. Still, I'd rather work in the 80s than the 60s. I couldn't really type with cold hands, but in this heat, I am all limber, but craving a piña colada and wondering where my sandals are.
After leaving my office door open, and permitting some of the heat to flow out, it drops a bit, but it is still a bit too hot. I'd hate to complain, and be thrust back into the ice age.
On the downside, the high temperatures force me to remember to put my lunch in the fridge, something I normally forgot to do, but with such cool temperatures, it mattered not.
Oh, and I think (as I crack a yawn) that the warm temps are causing me to tire more quickly that when it was cold. I need to create space under my desk to sleep, like George Costanza. That would be sweet.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Heat!
Finally, I have heat! My office has been cold, very cold, as cold as 60 degrees, necessitating the wearing of a fleece. It was so cold, I had difficulty typing. I hated coming back to my office, preferring to stay wherever was warmer, like my bed. But, finally, after some visits from the folks who are supposed to fix things, it is fixed.
The dude climbed into the ceiling and noted that the vent to my office was closed. He opened it and I can actually feel the heat coming in. It is so nice. Of course, if it gets too warm (unlikely in this brutal building), I might need a nap. Wait, I need a nap anyway, owing to the difficulty I had in sleeping last night.
I am generally a good sleeper, taking no longer than a few minutes to fall asleep. But, last night, the hours ticked away and nothing. I hate it when that happens. So, I am yawning. In fact, I am yawning while I type this, but at least I am warmer. No more long underwear in my office!
Finally, I have heat! My office has been cold, very cold, as cold as 60 degrees, necessitating the wearing of a fleece. It was so cold, I had difficulty typing. I hated coming back to my office, preferring to stay wherever was warmer, like my bed. But, finally, after some visits from the folks who are supposed to fix things, it is fixed.
The dude climbed into the ceiling and noted that the vent to my office was closed. He opened it and I can actually feel the heat coming in. It is so nice. Of course, if it gets too warm (unlikely in this brutal building), I might need a nap. Wait, I need a nap anyway, owing to the difficulty I had in sleeping last night.
I am generally a good sleeper, taking no longer than a few minutes to fall asleep. But, last night, the hours ticked away and nothing. I hate it when that happens. So, I am yawning. In fact, I am yawning while I type this, but at least I am warmer. No more long underwear in my office!
Monday, January 11, 2010
A Dream
Last night, I had a dream that I was hangin' out with David Bowie. I am not sure if we were friends, but I was in his house, helping myself to beverages from his fridge, which had doors at both front and back, I gather so that nothing got lost in the recesses of the appliance. And, the fridge was situated in such as way so that you could approach it from two sides. Talk about conveniences.
After eying a nice, cool drink, I suddenly was only able to find small cold medicine vials and other things that appeared to be homeopathic substances. I never did find my drink, and then Iman came into the kitchen and I decided to find out where David went.
The end.
Last night, I had a dream that I was hangin' out with David Bowie. I am not sure if we were friends, but I was in his house, helping myself to beverages from his fridge, which had doors at both front and back, I gather so that nothing got lost in the recesses of the appliance. And, the fridge was situated in such as way so that you could approach it from two sides. Talk about conveniences.
After eying a nice, cool drink, I suddenly was only able to find small cold medicine vials and other things that appeared to be homeopathic substances. I never did find my drink, and then Iman came into the kitchen and I decided to find out where David went.
The end.
WTF?
At lunch, I stood in line behind a youngish-looking university student as she paid for her $1.00 can of pop. I have yet to understand why people drink diet pop (or even regular pop for that mater).
I considered that topic for a moment and was then stunned as I watched her pay for her purchase. After tax, she was looking at a massive $1.13 bill. Out came the debit card.
Seriously? She used a debit card to pay for $1.13! I never use any kind of plastic if it's under $10. I bet her transaction fee was 50 cents. For a brief moment, I considered paying for her drink, but that feeling of chivalry (or whatever it was) passed quickly.
This was on my way back from checking out some lingering sales. I am in a clothing crisis and really need to add to my wardrobe in a bad way. I am not done yet, though I picked up two shirts and two pairs of pants.
At lunch, I stood in line behind a youngish-looking university student as she paid for her $1.00 can of pop. I have yet to understand why people drink diet pop (or even regular pop for that mater).
I considered that topic for a moment and was then stunned as I watched her pay for her purchase. After tax, she was looking at a massive $1.13 bill. Out came the debit card.
Seriously? She used a debit card to pay for $1.13! I never use any kind of plastic if it's under $10. I bet her transaction fee was 50 cents. For a brief moment, I considered paying for her drink, but that feeling of chivalry (or whatever it was) passed quickly.
This was on my way back from checking out some lingering sales. I am in a clothing crisis and really need to add to my wardrobe in a bad way. I am not done yet, though I picked up two shirts and two pairs of pants.
Friday, January 08, 2010
On Books and Trophies
My bookcases are overflowing. I have boxes of books in a closet that I have not unpacked since the last move because I have no shelf space for them. I acquire new books frequently. I may have finally figured out why I have so many books.
While watching Dexter the other day, I was hit with an interesting insight, which may or may not be original. Dex finds his way into a serial killer's house and notes the killer's collection of trophies. These were award plaques hanging on a wall for various projects he had undertaken that correspond with and commemorate his kills. If you watch Dexter, you will know that Dex has his own collection of trophies. I thought about that while thinking about the Kindle and book piracy and music downloading.
I have zero interest in the Kindle or any other eBook reader. To me, an eBook reader is about as exciting as a lump of coal. I have always loved the tactile experience of reading: turning the pages, holding the book, appreciating the design, deciding if the font is a good choice, touching the paper. Much of that disappears when a book is transformed into ones and zeros. I think that sucks and it could well mean that the end of the world is upon us. I feel the same way about music: I like to own the CD, not an inferior digital copy.
For some reason, I do not necessarily feel this way about movies or TV shows. These have always been disposable to me. Although I own some DVDs, I don't have an urge to collect them, unless they are absolute favourites, like Seinfeld, or are ludicrously cheap, like Strangers With Candy (the movie), which I bought for $1.99.
I have often wondered why I like to own books. I rarely read library books and I rarely borrow books from others. I like to own books. Here's another curious fact: I rarely read books twice, though it has happened (Brave New World, for example). So, why do I own them? Well, there I was watching Dexter and then it occurred to me that perhaps I get the same pleasure from having shelves of books as Dexter does from having a bunch of microscope slides with drops of blood. Both are trophies.
I can look at my shelves and feel a certain sense of accomplishment, a certain sense of erudition (though that is arguable), and a certain sense of my own history from what I see lined up. Of course, if that were truly the case, I ought to eliminate the books I attempted to read but stopped from boredom or frustration. But, I suppose they are also part of my reading history. There are, of course, those books I have acquired but never got around to reading. Maybe someday, my pretties, maybe someday.
My bookcases are overflowing. I have boxes of books in a closet that I have not unpacked since the last move because I have no shelf space for them. I acquire new books frequently. I may have finally figured out why I have so many books.
While watching Dexter the other day, I was hit with an interesting insight, which may or may not be original. Dex finds his way into a serial killer's house and notes the killer's collection of trophies. These were award plaques hanging on a wall for various projects he had undertaken that correspond with and commemorate his kills. If you watch Dexter, you will know that Dex has his own collection of trophies. I thought about that while thinking about the Kindle and book piracy and music downloading.
I have zero interest in the Kindle or any other eBook reader. To me, an eBook reader is about as exciting as a lump of coal. I have always loved the tactile experience of reading: turning the pages, holding the book, appreciating the design, deciding if the font is a good choice, touching the paper. Much of that disappears when a book is transformed into ones and zeros. I think that sucks and it could well mean that the end of the world is upon us. I feel the same way about music: I like to own the CD, not an inferior digital copy.
For some reason, I do not necessarily feel this way about movies or TV shows. These have always been disposable to me. Although I own some DVDs, I don't have an urge to collect them, unless they are absolute favourites, like Seinfeld, or are ludicrously cheap, like Strangers With Candy (the movie), which I bought for $1.99.
I have often wondered why I like to own books. I rarely read library books and I rarely borrow books from others. I like to own books. Here's another curious fact: I rarely read books twice, though it has happened (Brave New World, for example). So, why do I own them? Well, there I was watching Dexter and then it occurred to me that perhaps I get the same pleasure from having shelves of books as Dexter does from having a bunch of microscope slides with drops of blood. Both are trophies.
I can look at my shelves and feel a certain sense of accomplishment, a certain sense of erudition (though that is arguable), and a certain sense of my own history from what I see lined up. Of course, if that were truly the case, I ought to eliminate the books I attempted to read but stopped from boredom or frustration. But, I suppose they are also part of my reading history. There are, of course, those books I have acquired but never got around to reading. Maybe someday, my pretties, maybe someday.
Thursday, January 07, 2010
A Look at my CD Collection, part 6: Apostle of Hustle
Well, I hope I am not boring you with these musical excursions. If I am, so be it. So, on to Apostle of Hustle (as much as I hate to link to a myspace Page; is there anything uglier than myspace?). By the way, I am still in the A section.
Andrew Whiteman, the guy who formed Apostle of Hustle, is also the lead guitarist for Broken Social Scene (note that I opted against linking to myspace). By the way, more about BSS later. In my opinion Folkloric Feel, the first A of H Album, is the best one, and Folkloric Feel is the best song. You might disagree with me.
I read somewhere that Andrew Whiteman dated Feist for a while. I think this was before she appeared on Sesame Street. I don't keep up with celebrity gossip as it takes too much brain power. I walk around in a state of blissful ignorance. I can confirm that ignorance is bliss. I am ignorant about so many things that my life is almost pure bliss.
And now, a very weird video from Apostle of Hustle:
Well, I hope I am not boring you with these musical excursions. If I am, so be it. So, on to Apostle of Hustle (as much as I hate to link to a myspace Page; is there anything uglier than myspace?). By the way, I am still in the A section.
Andrew Whiteman, the guy who formed Apostle of Hustle, is also the lead guitarist for Broken Social Scene (note that I opted against linking to myspace). By the way, more about BSS later. In my opinion Folkloric Feel, the first A of H Album, is the best one, and Folkloric Feel is the best song. You might disagree with me.
I read somewhere that Andrew Whiteman dated Feist for a while. I think this was before she appeared on Sesame Street. I don't keep up with celebrity gossip as it takes too much brain power. I walk around in a state of blissful ignorance. I can confirm that ignorance is bliss. I am ignorant about so many things that my life is almost pure bliss.
And now, a very weird video from Apostle of Hustle:
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Church Bulletins
I don't normally post this type of thing, but I found this to be rather hilarious. I have no idea where they came from.
Thank God for church ladies with typewriters. These sentences actually appeared in church bulletins or were announced in church services (Summer, 2008 Release).
-----------------------------------------
The Fasting & Prayer Conference includes meals.
-----------------------------------------
The sermon this morning: 'Jesus Walks on Water.' The sermon tonight: 'Searching for Jesus.'
-----------------------------------------
Our youth basketball team is back in action Wednesday at 8 PM in the recreation hall. Come out and watch us kill Christ the King.
-----------------------------------------
Ladies, don't forget the rummage sale. It's a chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.
-----------------------------------------
The peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been cancelled due to a conflict.
-----------------------------------------
Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community. Smile at someone who is hard to love. Say 'Hell' to someone who doesn't care much about you.
-----------------------------------------
Don't let worry kill you off - let the Church help.
-----------------------------------------
Miss Charlene Mason sang 'I will not pass this way again,' giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.
-----------------------------------------
For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs.
-----------------------------------------
Next Thursday there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the help they can get.
-----------------------------------------
The Rector will preach his farewell message after which the choir will sing: 'Break Forth Into Joy.'
-----------------------------------------
Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days.
-----------------------------------------
A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall.. Music will follow.
-----------------------------------------
At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be 'What Is Hell?' Come early and listen to our choir practice.
-----------------------------------------
Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.
-----------------------------------------
Scouts are saving aluminum cans, bottles and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.
-----------------------------------------
Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered.
-----------------------------------------
The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility.
-----------------------------------------
Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM - prayer and medication to follow.
-----------------------------------------
The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon.
-----------------------------------------
This evening at 7 PM there will be a hymn singing in the park across from the Church. Bring a blanket and come prepared to sin.
-----------------------------------------
Ladies Bible Study will be held Thursday morning at 10 AM. All ladies are invited to lunch in the Fellowship Hall after the B. S. is done.
-----------------------------------------
The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.
-----------------------------------------
Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back door.
-----------------------------------------
The eighth-graders will be presenting Shakespeare's Hamlet in the Church basement Friday at 7 PM. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.
-----------------------------------------
Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance.
-----------------------------------------
I don't normally post this type of thing, but I found this to be rather hilarious. I have no idea where they came from.
Thank God for church ladies with typewriters. These sentences actually appeared in church bulletins or were announced in church services (Summer, 2008 Release).
The Fasting & Prayer Conference includes meals.
-----------------------------------------
The sermon this morning: 'Jesus Walks on Water.' The sermon tonight: 'Searching for Jesus.'
-----------------------------------------
Our youth basketball team is back in action Wednesday at 8 PM in the recreation hall. Come out and watch us kill Christ the King.
-----------------------------------------
Ladies, don't forget the rummage sale. It's a chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.
-----------------------------------------
The peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been cancelled due to a conflict.
-----------------------------------------
Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community. Smile at someone who is hard to love. Say 'Hell' to someone who doesn't care much about you.
-----------------------------------------
Don't let worry kill you off - let the Church help.
-----------------------------------------
Miss Charlene Mason sang 'I will not pass this way again,' giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.
-----------------------------------------
For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs.
-----------------------------------------
Next Thursday there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the help they can get.
-----------------------------------------
The Rector will preach his farewell message after which the choir will sing: 'Break Forth Into Joy.'
-----------------------------------------
Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days.
-----------------------------------------
A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall.. Music will follow.
-----------------------------------------
At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be 'What Is Hell?' Come early and listen to our choir practice.
-----------------------------------------
Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.
-----------------------------------------
Scouts are saving aluminum cans, bottles and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.
-----------------------------------------
Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered.
-----------------------------------------
The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility.
-----------------------------------------
Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM - prayer and medication to follow.
-----------------------------------------
The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon.
-----------------------------------------
This evening at 7 PM there will be a hymn singing in the park across from the Church. Bring a blanket and come prepared to sin.
-----------------------------------------
Ladies Bible Study will be held Thursday morning at 10 AM. All ladies are invited to lunch in the Fellowship Hall after the B. S. is done.
-----------------------------------------
The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.
-----------------------------------------
Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back door.
-----------------------------------------
The eighth-graders will be presenting Shakespeare's Hamlet in the Church basement Friday at 7 PM. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.
-----------------------------------------
Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance.
-----------------------------------------
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
A Look at my CD Collection, part 5: Alexisonfire
Alexisonfire is a so-called post-hardcore group from St. Catharines, Ontario. I picked up a copy of Watch Out! for a few dollars a while back. I listen to it from time-to-time, but it's not in high-rotation because it isn't the kind of thing you would throw on while kicking back with your favourite novel or when hosting a dinner party. But, it's rather good for the iPod. For some reason, I prefer listening to music that has an edge on the iPod. Maybe it gets me in motion and gets me there faster, unless I am on a train of plane. In those cases, I usually select something quieter, like Brian Eno or maybe something like Bob Dylan.
By the way, the group is pronounced like "Alexis On Fire."
By the way, the group is pronounced like "Alexis On Fire."
Monday, January 04, 2010
The Best of Zydeco Fish 2009 (You might also enjoy: best of 2008, 2007, 2006; 2005; 2004; 2003)
Well, here it is, my annual list.
1) Shining 'cross this dark highway where our sins lie unatoned - On music and cycling in winter, sort of.
2) Gran Torino - A review.
5) The Numbers - The stats on the European vacation.
6) Shopping with the Ancient and the Insane - I don't think I have ever gone back on a Friday.
7) Trip Recap, part 2 - Musings about a free, but tiny, apartment.
8) C@#* Explosion! - Wifi craziness.
9) On Jacket Holding, Photography, and the AGO - No, I have not been back
Well, here it is, my annual list.
1) Shining 'cross this dark highway where our sins lie unatoned - On music and cycling in winter, sort of.
2) Gran Torino - A review.
3) Pink - The colour, not the singer.
4) Damn those Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses - I hate religion.5) The Numbers - The stats on the European vacation.
6) Shopping with the Ancient and the Insane - I don't think I have ever gone back on a Friday.
7) Trip Recap, part 2 - Musings about a free, but tiny, apartment.
8) C@#* Explosion! - Wifi craziness.
9) On Jacket Holding, Photography, and the AGO - No, I have not been back
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Stopping to Pull up My Socks
It's been so long since I've owned a real, insulated pair of winter boots, that I had forgotten something elementary: one's socks tend to slip off inside the boot while walking and when removing the boots. I am having flashbacks to my childhood days. It's irritating to say the least. On the other hand, my feet have never been so warm. In fact, while walking in -20 degree weather this morning, my feet remained warm, almost too warm. Is it possible for boots to be too warm? It might be.
So, this is the last thing I will say about these new boots. Reluctantly, I go back to work on Monday :-(
It's been so long since I've owned a real, insulated pair of winter boots, that I had forgotten something elementary: one's socks tend to slip off inside the boot while walking and when removing the boots. I am having flashbacks to my childhood days. It's irritating to say the least. On the other hand, my feet have never been so warm. In fact, while walking in -20 degree weather this morning, my feet remained warm, almost too warm. Is it possible for boots to be too warm? It might be.
So, this is the last thing I will say about these new boots. Reluctantly, I go back to work on Monday :-(
Friday, January 01, 2010
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Trip Recap, Part 4
It rained and puddles formed below the Eiffel Tower. For some reason, I decided against going up the Eiffel Tower. After all, I have to have something to do the next time I go to Paris, right?
Lots of souvenir hucksters were actively selling paraphernalia round the tower. I even saw a couple of guys pack up and flee when the cops came. I wondered if they were illegals or simply unable to pay the fine, whatever it is for selling shit without a vendor permit.
Anyway, the tower is quite awesome.
It rained and puddles formed below the Eiffel Tower. For some reason, I decided against going up the Eiffel Tower. After all, I have to have something to do the next time I go to Paris, right?
Lots of souvenir hucksters were actively selling paraphernalia round the tower. I even saw a couple of guys pack up and flee when the cops came. I wondered if they were illegals or simply unable to pay the fine, whatever it is for selling shit without a vendor permit.
Anyway, the tower is quite awesome.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Trip Recap, Part 3
The view from the first place we visited (extended family), but didn't stay. Instead, we dragged our bags around the corner to the smallest apartment in the world.
Soon after snapping this photo, we walked to the Eiffel Tower, which I am sure you have already noticed, is at the top of the frame. Visiting what is arguably the most iconic edifice in Paris, was a great way to start the vacation.
I did have a quick nap in this apartment, which was nice, but way too short.
The view from the first place we visited (extended family), but didn't stay. Instead, we dragged our bags around the corner to the smallest apartment in the world.
Soon after snapping this photo, we walked to the Eiffel Tower, which I am sure you have already noticed, is at the top of the frame. Visiting what is arguably the most iconic edifice in Paris, was a great way to start the vacation.
I did have a quick nap in this apartment, which was nice, but way too short.
Friday, December 18, 2009
A Look at my CD Collection, part 4 - Laurie Anderson
I acquired a cassette copy of Home of the Brave years ago from a friend (Thanks Pete). At the time, I was fascinated by the guitar playing of Adrian Belew, who showed up on the three glorious King Crimson albums in the 1980s, and many more later on. The first of that trilogy (Discipline) remains as perhaps my most favourite album of all time, but more on that another day. Anyway, Adrian plays some wicked guitar on Mister Heartbreak and Home of the Brave.
Later, I added some Laurie Anderson vinyl to my collection, most of which I still have. Yes, I am old enough to remember vinyl. I regret selling some of my records when I became infatuated with compact discs, mostly because early digital mastering really sucked, but it has gotten better. Still, there is something about the warmth of a vinyl recording that is lacking on CD.
The most perplexing thing about Laurie Anderson is not her weird music; that, I like. The first track of hers I ever heard was O Superman and I couldn't really believe what I was hearing. I still think this song is awesome and I continue to appreciate the bizarreness of it. I have included the video below, thanks to YouTube. As I was saying, the most perplexing thing about Laurie Anderson is that she married Lou Reed. I am a huge Lou Reed fan and I have all of his albums and those of The Velvet Underground too.
(see other posts about Lou: one, two, three)
So, although I like Reed's music, isn't it generally agreed that he is somewhat ugly? Who am I to judge?, you might ask. Good point. Someone once said that beauty is only skin deep.
Anyway, I have three Laurie Anderson CDs and some vinyl. I like her music very much.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Remembrance of Things Past
With the temperature hovering around minus 11 Celsius, and knowing that by cycling, I would create a wind chill on top of whatever the wind chill was this morning, I dressed warmly for the ride in to work. The choice of clothing included my new Caribou Sorel boots (good to minus 40 degrees), a winter coat, (suitable for cycling), and two additional layers below. I pulled on my Hot Paws mitts that have never failed to keep my hands warm. Below my helmet, I wore one of those furry hats with the earflaps. The only thing that was cold was my face, and I can't do anything about that because a scarf causes my glasses to fog up and then freeze, leading to a potentially dangerous situation.
I wheeled around the corner and the fist thing I saw reminded me of my youth. A high school student ambled along in nothing more than a hoodie. He had no mitts or gloves, no hat, and no boots. He reminded my of my winter high school days, but even then, I elected to wear mitts and a coat. I just avoided hats, mostly because I hated to disturb my nicely coiffed hair.
I reflected for a moment about how old I have been feeling recently. Happily, I noted that I don't really care if anyone sees me wearing a hat anymore, just as long as it lacks those ridiculous pom-poms. I hate pom-poms, and I have previously owned hats that forced me to hack off the dumb pom-pom. Who created this abomination anyway?
I wheeled around the corner and the fist thing I saw reminded me of my youth. A high school student ambled along in nothing more than a hoodie. He had no mitts or gloves, no hat, and no boots. He reminded my of my winter high school days, but even then, I elected to wear mitts and a coat. I just avoided hats, mostly because I hated to disturb my nicely coiffed hair.
I reflected for a moment about how old I have been feeling recently. Happily, I noted that I don't really care if anyone sees me wearing a hat anymore, just as long as it lacks those ridiculous pom-poms. I hate pom-poms, and I have previously owned hats that forced me to hack off the dumb pom-pom. Who created this abomination anyway?
I wonder if this kid will be found later, frozen and blue. I would have said frozen in s snowbank somewhere, but there really isn't any snow to speak of in Tdot at the moment.
Because I have nothing else to write about ...
Africanesque
Africanesque is a fabulous introduction to African music, containing roots music and well as other genres, like European fusion. It represents many, but not all, African nations. But, unless you like African music, you probably wouldn't like this.
It's often difficult to recall when or why I have acquired certain CDs. I have no memory of when I bought this one, but I think I picked it up on the basis of its price, since I had no idea who any of these musicians are. The CD contains traditional North African musical styles fused with Arabian, Middle East grooves and European electronica. Some tracks are better than others. It's not a brilliant collection, but it's not too bad.
My goal for today is to finish my Christmas shopping.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
ZF has a New Pair of Boots
Yup, I bought a pair of Sorel Boots. My feet have never been so warm. As a matter of fact, as I cycled home this evening, I wondered if perhaps they were too warm. But, the temperature will drop lots more, and I will be grateful for the superior warmth of these fine boots. Sorel ought to pay me for such an endorsement.
Yup, I bought a pair of Sorel Boots. My feet have never been so warm. As a matter of fact, as I cycled home this evening, I wondered if perhaps they were too warm. But, the temperature will drop lots more, and I will be grateful for the superior warmth of these fine boots. Sorel ought to pay me for such an endorsement.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
A Look at my CD Collection, part 2 - John Hudak
I downloaded two releases (legally) by John Hudak with -1348- from The Internet Archive some time ago. The Internet Archive is a great source for all kinds of things, especially music. If you are a Dead Head -- and I am not -- you should definitely check it out.
I am really interested in musical experiments, and I am fond of minimalism, drones, and repetition. That's not to say that I don't enjoy a fine melody, because I do. There is something about extended drawn-out soundscapes that contain very little in the way of variation. Of course, this reminds me of a dinner party I had at my house once for an association of which I was president. I put on Steve Reich's Music for Eighteen Musicians, thinking that it would be a pleasing accompaniment to dinner and conversation. About 15 minutes into the piece, someone (perhaps the secretary or the treasurer) complained that the music was giving her a headache. Good thing I hadn't put on Gavin Bryars' Jesus Blood!
Reich's piece has much more going on in it that I require. There have been times when the drone of a piece of machinery has struck me as the perfect piece of music. I also like symmetrical structures. If you add these two together, it says a lot about what I like photograph, normally. Brian Eno's Thursday Afternoon is a fine example of ambient minimalism. It's 61 minutes of perfect music, and not just for Thursday afternoons. I also like noise, or music from the avant-garde that employs dissonance and atonality. There are lots of examples of this genre, of course, but to give you some examples, I would suggest the music of John Cale and Tony Conrad from the Inside the Dream Syndicate years, as well as the music of Lamonte Young right through to Sonic Youth and Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music.
I think I am getting sidetracked.
Since I really do not like listening to music on a computer, I burned the two John Hudak releases to CD. They are:
-1348- and John Hudak - Tacitus Journey
-1348- and John Hudak - The Idiot
I downloaded two releases (legally) by John Hudak with -1348- from The Internet Archive some time ago. The Internet Archive is a great source for all kinds of things, especially music. If you are a Dead Head -- and I am not -- you should definitely check it out.
I am really interested in musical experiments, and I am fond of minimalism, drones, and repetition. That's not to say that I don't enjoy a fine melody, because I do. There is something about extended drawn-out soundscapes that contain very little in the way of variation. Of course, this reminds me of a dinner party I had at my house once for an association of which I was president. I put on Steve Reich's Music for Eighteen Musicians, thinking that it would be a pleasing accompaniment to dinner and conversation. About 15 minutes into the piece, someone (perhaps the secretary or the treasurer) complained that the music was giving her a headache. Good thing I hadn't put on Gavin Bryars' Jesus Blood!
Reich's piece has much more going on in it that I require. There have been times when the drone of a piece of machinery has struck me as the perfect piece of music. I also like symmetrical structures. If you add these two together, it says a lot about what I like photograph, normally. Brian Eno's Thursday Afternoon is a fine example of ambient minimalism. It's 61 minutes of perfect music, and not just for Thursday afternoons. I also like noise, or music from the avant-garde that employs dissonance and atonality. There are lots of examples of this genre, of course, but to give you some examples, I would suggest the music of John Cale and Tony Conrad from the Inside the Dream Syndicate years, as well as the music of Lamonte Young right through to Sonic Youth and Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music.
I think I am getting sidetracked.
Since I really do not like listening to music on a computer, I burned the two John Hudak releases to CD. They are:
-1348- and John Hudak - Tacitus Journey
-1348- and John Hudak - The Idiot
These releases contain hints at some of the things I mentioned above. You might not like it, but you just might. Hudak's discography is quite long and he has made appearances on many other recordings, if you care about that.
Three more days of work, and then I am off until January 4th :-)
Three more days of work, and then I am off until January 4th :-)
Monday, December 14, 2009
1-Speed Bike: Droopy Butt Begone!
This was the first release (2000) from Aidan Girt, the drummer from Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Exhaust. I believe that he played drums on the first release from A Silver Mt. Zion entitled: He Has Left Us Alone but Shafts of Light Sometimes Grace the Corner of Our Rooms.
For this release, Girt re-used some of his old beats. He cut them up, looped them, and added some field recordings. The last thing you will hear is the sound of a toilet flushing to compliment the final track, Any Movement That Forgets About Class Is A Bowel Movement.
Constellation records describes the CD as follows:
The heart of the record finds slow loping beats ebbing and flowing around a beautiful palette of melodic figures and harmonic whirrs on “Just Another Jive-Assed White Colonial Theft”; a sustained hip-hop groove anchoring the playful sample stew of “Why Are All The Dogs Dying Of Cancer” and the house-inflected beat workouts of “My Kitchen Is Tiananmen Square.” linkI couldn't have said it any better, so I won't even try.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Some Recent Reads
OK, so here are a bunch of mini reviews/comments on some of the books that I have read recently, which probably means within the last couple of months, or so. I am sure that I have missed a few.
Justin Cartwright - In Every Face I Meet
I still fail to understand why Justin Cartwright is not more famous. He ought to be. This book was short-listed for the Booker Prize. It didn't win. I am not certain that it should have won. It's good, for sure, but not his best. I still prefer White Lightning, but this is certainly a good book. I'll give it an 8/10.
Jess Walter - Citizen Vince
I don't normally read crime fiction. There might be crime in the fiction I read, but the genre is not something I normally check out. I can't really say why that is. It just is. So, I read Citizen Vince mostly because I liked what was written on the back cover. The blurb mentioned sex, drugs, prostitution - all good things, really. It mentioned mobsters and a cross-country chase. While it is true that all of these elements are part of this book, I have to say emphatically that the blurb is over-written. That's not to say that I was disappointed. After all, the book is a lot more subtle than the blurb would have you believe. The protagonist is not such a bad guy, for a bad guy. He's truly reformed, though still earning some money on the side by means of a few illegal activities. So, yes, he's a bad guy doing bad guy things, and yet we like him in a noirish way. He's alright, in many ways, and one feels for his plight. The book is alright too, but I wouldn't suggest that you read it. I would suggest that you read the blurb and then decide if you want to read it. Just remember that the cover copy is over-written. I give this book a 6.5/10. If you are one of those crime fiction readers, you would probably rate it higher, maybe even an 8.5/10.
Paul Quarrington - King Leary
Paul Quarrington could be my favourite Canadian writer. Sadly, he has been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. I have read many of his books and recently read King Leary while on the train to Montreal. Leary won the Stephen Leacock Memorial Medal for Humour. Stephen Leacock was a funny Canadian writer who wrote lots of funny things, by the way. This book is probably deserving of the award, as it is funny and a good read. But, I have very little to go on, since the only other Leacock winner I have read is Jake and the Kid by W.O. Mitchell, but that was really read to me in public school by the teacher a long time ago. I tried to read Barney's Version, another Leacock winner, but found it unbearably boring. My fav Quarrington novel has to be Whale Music, but his best piece of writing is The Boy on the Back of the Turtle. I give King Leary 8/10.
Jim Thompson - After Dark, My Sweet
I don't normally read crime fiction. Wait, I already said that. This book, however, might better be described as pulp fiction, but not in a Tarantino kind of way. It may be that Jim Thompson has been overlooked as a writer, despite the evidence that he was on to something. This book was made into a film. I know, that's not really a good indicator of a book's relative value, but it is interesting to consider, especially when you note that other Thompson books were filmed as well. These books include The Grifters and The Getaway, which was filmed twice, I believe, the first time by Sam Peckinpah.
Anyway, I liked this piece of noir pulp fiction and I am thinking that I should locate the film. I'll rate this book a 7.5/10.
Louis de Bernières - The War of Don Emmanuel's Nether Parts
This book is a satirical, magical, and hilarious look at a fictionalized nation in South America. The writing is so genuinely terrific that it is a difficult book to put down. Other words that might describe this book could be zany and beautiful and violent. At the heart of this book is a parody of third world banana republics, filled with unusual characters and with hilarious yet poignant observations. It might not be everyone's cup of tea, but I loved it. I have almost finished the second book in the trilogy: Senor Vivo and the Coca Lord, which is funnier that it's predecessor. The third and final book in the trilogy - The Troublesome Offspring of Cardinal Guzman - is waiting for me on my bookcase. The first two books in this trilogy deserve a rating of 9.9/10.
Don Delillo - Falling Man
I never thought that it would happen, but Don DeLillo has finally penned a novel that I did not like. Sure, there are the usual pieces of genius and his poetical use of the English language, but this book left me unimpressed. Let me just say that the dialogue irritated me. No one speaks the way they do in this book. It doesn't mater who the character is, everyone speaks in a jarring, fragmented fashion that is difficult to accept. I appreciate what DeLillo is trying to achieve, but I am not convinced that he pulled it off. For that, I have to give this a 6/10.
Graham Swift - Out of this World
This is perhaps a minor work from Swift and, while I think I enjoyed it, it really didn't stay with me. I have no complaints, no praise, and not much at all to say about it. The book is fine, but not at all out-of-this-world. If you are planning to read Swift, better start somewhere else, say with Last Orders. 6.5/10 for this one.
Gao Xingjian - Buying a Fishing Rod for My Grandfather, Stories
OK, so here are a bunch of mini reviews/comments on some of the books that I have read recently, which probably means within the last couple of months, or so. I am sure that I have missed a few.
Justin Cartwright - In Every Face I Meet
I still fail to understand why Justin Cartwright is not more famous. He ought to be. This book was short-listed for the Booker Prize. It didn't win. I am not certain that it should have won. It's good, for sure, but not his best. I still prefer White Lightning, but this is certainly a good book. I'll give it an 8/10.
Jess Walter - Citizen Vince
I don't normally read crime fiction. There might be crime in the fiction I read, but the genre is not something I normally check out. I can't really say why that is. It just is. So, I read Citizen Vince mostly because I liked what was written on the back cover. The blurb mentioned sex, drugs, prostitution - all good things, really. It mentioned mobsters and a cross-country chase. While it is true that all of these elements are part of this book, I have to say emphatically that the blurb is over-written. That's not to say that I was disappointed. After all, the book is a lot more subtle than the blurb would have you believe. The protagonist is not such a bad guy, for a bad guy. He's truly reformed, though still earning some money on the side by means of a few illegal activities. So, yes, he's a bad guy doing bad guy things, and yet we like him in a noirish way. He's alright, in many ways, and one feels for his plight. The book is alright too, but I wouldn't suggest that you read it. I would suggest that you read the blurb and then decide if you want to read it. Just remember that the cover copy is over-written. I give this book a 6.5/10. If you are one of those crime fiction readers, you would probably rate it higher, maybe even an 8.5/10.
Paul Quarrington - King Leary
Paul Quarrington could be my favourite Canadian writer. Sadly, he has been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. I have read many of his books and recently read King Leary while on the train to Montreal. Leary won the Stephen Leacock Memorial Medal for Humour. Stephen Leacock was a funny Canadian writer who wrote lots of funny things, by the way. This book is probably deserving of the award, as it is funny and a good read. But, I have very little to go on, since the only other Leacock winner I have read is Jake and the Kid by W.O. Mitchell, but that was really read to me in public school by the teacher a long time ago. I tried to read Barney's Version, another Leacock winner, but found it unbearably boring. My fav Quarrington novel has to be Whale Music, but his best piece of writing is The Boy on the Back of the Turtle. I give King Leary 8/10.
Jim Thompson - After Dark, My Sweet
I don't normally read crime fiction. Wait, I already said that. This book, however, might better be described as pulp fiction, but not in a Tarantino kind of way. It may be that Jim Thompson has been overlooked as a writer, despite the evidence that he was on to something. This book was made into a film. I know, that's not really a good indicator of a book's relative value, but it is interesting to consider, especially when you note that other Thompson books were filmed as well. These books include The Grifters and The Getaway, which was filmed twice, I believe, the first time by Sam Peckinpah.
Anyway, I liked this piece of noir pulp fiction and I am thinking that I should locate the film. I'll rate this book a 7.5/10.
Louis de Bernières - The War of Don Emmanuel's Nether Parts
This book is a satirical, magical, and hilarious look at a fictionalized nation in South America. The writing is so genuinely terrific that it is a difficult book to put down. Other words that might describe this book could be zany and beautiful and violent. At the heart of this book is a parody of third world banana republics, filled with unusual characters and with hilarious yet poignant observations. It might not be everyone's cup of tea, but I loved it. I have almost finished the second book in the trilogy: Senor Vivo and the Coca Lord, which is funnier that it's predecessor. The third and final book in the trilogy - The Troublesome Offspring of Cardinal Guzman - is waiting for me on my bookcase. The first two books in this trilogy deserve a rating of 9.9/10.
Don Delillo - Falling Man
I never thought that it would happen, but Don DeLillo has finally penned a novel that I did not like. Sure, there are the usual pieces of genius and his poetical use of the English language, but this book left me unimpressed. Let me just say that the dialogue irritated me. No one speaks the way they do in this book. It doesn't mater who the character is, everyone speaks in a jarring, fragmented fashion that is difficult to accept. I appreciate what DeLillo is trying to achieve, but I am not convinced that he pulled it off. For that, I have to give this a 6/10.
Graham Swift - Out of this World
This is perhaps a minor work from Swift and, while I think I enjoyed it, it really didn't stay with me. I have no complaints, no praise, and not much at all to say about it. The book is fine, but not at all out-of-this-world. If you are planning to read Swift, better start somewhere else, say with Last Orders. 6.5/10 for this one.
Gao Xingjian - Buying a Fishing Rod for My Grandfather, Stories
Are these really stories? They feel more like random pieces of prose. I suppose that they qualify as both. This is an entertaining book and it's extremely well-written. It's enjoyable, but I didn't think too hard about what I was reading. The words just flowed over me and I absorbed them. 8.5/10
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Wet
So, I cycled today, which may have been a mistake. I discovered that my boots are no longer water-proof and so my feet were swimming in cold water by the time I was less than halfway through my ride. I have a dry pair of shoes in my office, which I am wearing without socks. I hope the socks dry before my cycle home, but it probably will make no difference, since the boots have no chance of drying in such a short period of time.
It's a shame because I bought a crazy-ass pair of boots that are good to minus 40 and water-proof. In fact, I used them to shovel the wet wintery sludge from my sidewalk this morning. I felt that they were too cumbersome to cycle in, but they would have been a much better choice. Fashion should never trump comfort. That fashion can lose out is a sign of age, if you ask me. By this logic, I am not yet old.
I remember walking the 1.5 KM trip to and from high school in minus 20 or worse weather and foregoing a hat. I was too concerned that someone would see me. Dumb, you say and I agree. On those days when it was even colder, I would take the route less travelled, with my toque on, taking a risk that someone would see me, and then removing the hat for the last part of my journey, as I closed in on the school. Yes, it was dumb, but I never got any frostbite. Oddly, I wore my hat after school during winter track when we ran around the frozen streets, but I guess the coach prevailed upon us. At least I am now comfortable wearing a hat, so maybe I am aging after all.
OK, well, maybe I can dry my socks using the hand dryer in the bathroom ...
So, I cycled today, which may have been a mistake. I discovered that my boots are no longer water-proof and so my feet were swimming in cold water by the time I was less than halfway through my ride. I have a dry pair of shoes in my office, which I am wearing without socks. I hope the socks dry before my cycle home, but it probably will make no difference, since the boots have no chance of drying in such a short period of time.
It's a shame because I bought a crazy-ass pair of boots that are good to minus 40 and water-proof. In fact, I used them to shovel the wet wintery sludge from my sidewalk this morning. I felt that they were too cumbersome to cycle in, but they would have been a much better choice. Fashion should never trump comfort. That fashion can lose out is a sign of age, if you ask me. By this logic, I am not yet old.
I remember walking the 1.5 KM trip to and from high school in minus 20 or worse weather and foregoing a hat. I was too concerned that someone would see me. Dumb, you say and I agree. On those days when it was even colder, I would take the route less travelled, with my toque on, taking a risk that someone would see me, and then removing the hat for the last part of my journey, as I closed in on the school. Yes, it was dumb, but I never got any frostbite. Oddly, I wore my hat after school during winter track when we ran around the frozen streets, but I guess the coach prevailed upon us. At least I am now comfortable wearing a hat, so maybe I am aging after all.
OK, well, maybe I can dry my socks using the hand dryer in the bathroom ...
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
The Road (The Movie) - Two Ratings
If the success of a movie is to be measured by how faithfully it translates the written word to the big screen, then The Road deserves a score of ten out of ten. The cinematography is sublime. The disintegrating post-apocalyptic world is rendered hauntingly and precisely. It's a grey world with little to no colour. It's a depressing landscape filled with dead trees, an ashen sky, burnt out cities, and roving bands of cannibals. All of this is impressive and faithful to my reading of the book.
The plot, too, follows very closely that of the book and I have no issues with omissions or minor changes. For this, I give the movie a ten out of ten and would argue that this film is the best possible adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's novel. But, that doesn't necessarily make it a good film. At the conclusion of the film, C. assessed it at 6.5 out of ten. She might be right.
I really like the novel. It is a gripping story and I read it compulsively. Good books don't always make good movies, and The Road is a prime example of that phenomenon. So, while it may well be a great book, the movie just doesn't work. Still, I would give it a 7.5 because I liked the novel so much.
With the exception of Wonder Boys (as I often mention), I generally prefer the novel to the film adaptation, and so it holds true for this film too. Read the book; skip the movie.
If the success of a movie is to be measured by how faithfully it translates the written word to the big screen, then The Road deserves a score of ten out of ten. The cinematography is sublime. The disintegrating post-apocalyptic world is rendered hauntingly and precisely. It's a grey world with little to no colour. It's a depressing landscape filled with dead trees, an ashen sky, burnt out cities, and roving bands of cannibals. All of this is impressive and faithful to my reading of the book.
The plot, too, follows very closely that of the book and I have no issues with omissions or minor changes. For this, I give the movie a ten out of ten and would argue that this film is the best possible adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's novel. But, that doesn't necessarily make it a good film. At the conclusion of the film, C. assessed it at 6.5 out of ten. She might be right.
I really like the novel. It is a gripping story and I read it compulsively. Good books don't always make good movies, and The Road is a prime example of that phenomenon. So, while it may well be a great book, the movie just doesn't work. Still, I would give it a 7.5 because I liked the novel so much.
With the exception of Wonder Boys (as I often mention), I generally prefer the novel to the film adaptation, and so it holds true for this film too. Read the book; skip the movie.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Down with Twitter!
My experiment with Twitter ended a few weeks ago. I posted my last so-called tweet is late October, and now, I move on for many reasons.
1) Twitter is a dumb word.
2) Tweet is even dumber.
3) 140 words is too short for anything but a semi-grammatical grunt.
4) I kept attracting unsavory followers offering hidden links to scandalous sites.
5) Twitter is continually over-capacity.
6) I am all for Web 2.0, but Twitter's purpose is to limited that I only ever see things like: I am about to take a dump; I am off to the to store to buy condoms. In other words, it is a constant source of useless micro-information.
7) I don't need constant reminders that people lead boring lives.
8) I already have a few Ego 2.0 outlets, and don't need another.
9) I really think Twitter inflates one's perceived sense of importance.
10) Twitter would have been much better if I had thought of it and had given it a good name.
I hope Twitter dies and soon. Down with Twitter!
My experiment with Twitter ended a few weeks ago. I posted my last so-called tweet is late October, and now, I move on for many reasons.
1) Twitter is a dumb word.
2) Tweet is even dumber.
3) 140 words is too short for anything but a semi-grammatical grunt.
4) I kept attracting unsavory followers offering hidden links to scandalous sites.
5) Twitter is continually over-capacity.
6) I am all for Web 2.0, but Twitter's purpose is to limited that I only ever see things like: I am about to take a dump; I am off to the to store to buy condoms. In other words, it is a constant source of useless micro-information.
7) I don't need constant reminders that people lead boring lives.
8) I already have a few Ego 2.0 outlets, and don't need another.
9) I really think Twitter inflates one's perceived sense of importance.
10) Twitter would have been much better if I had thought of it and had given it a good name.
I hope Twitter dies and soon. Down with Twitter!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Gormenghast
Recently, I read the first two books in Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast trilogy, Titus Groan and Gormenghast. I really have no idea why these books are classified as fantasy. I shy away from the category, lest anyone think that I spend my time in dark basements playing Dungeons and Dragons. I have never played Dungeons and Dragons and don't want to start. Let me also say that I have never read Lord of the Rings, so I can't really make any statements about it, beyond what I know about the films. As you might recall, I had a hard time staying awake during the first two films and didn't bother with the third. Even typing that statement about LoR made me very tired. This is just to say that I am not very knowledgeable about fantasy.
I came to Gormenghast accidentally, having seen part of the TV series years ago, but then forgetting about it and not remembering what it was that I saw. Such is my sieve-like brain. Anyway, I read the first book on the strength of some really fabulous recommendations from many respected people, including Robertson Davies and Anthony Burgess, whom I greatly admired. To my amazement, there is very little that is fantastical about these books (or, perhaps I really do not understand fantasy). Having just read some Dickens, I would suggest that they fit more easily into that genre. They are gothic and grand and thoroughly Dickensian, but maybe better written. It's clear that Peake is a poet for his prose is indeed poetry.
Naturally, I had to watch the British mini-series after reading the books. I am somewhat disappointed. Except in the case of Wonder Boys, I always find that the book is better than the film or mini-series. The Gormenghast books are vastly superior to the mini-series and I was left feeling a bit betrayed.
About the series, I will say this: I liked the casting, generally, but hated the music completely. I found the numerous plot changes to be irritating. I realize that certain things need to be edited out to fit running times and commercial breaks, but leaving out characters and changing fundamental plot elements baffles me. I found myself becoming irritated by these many changes and hoping that perhaps someone with a greater sense of loyalty to the books will one day make a faithful adaptation.
Recently, I read the first two books in Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast trilogy, Titus Groan and Gormenghast. I really have no idea why these books are classified as fantasy. I shy away from the category, lest anyone think that I spend my time in dark basements playing Dungeons and Dragons. I have never played Dungeons and Dragons and don't want to start. Let me also say that I have never read Lord of the Rings, so I can't really make any statements about it, beyond what I know about the films. As you might recall, I had a hard time staying awake during the first two films and didn't bother with the third. Even typing that statement about LoR made me very tired. This is just to say that I am not very knowledgeable about fantasy.
I came to Gormenghast accidentally, having seen part of the TV series years ago, but then forgetting about it and not remembering what it was that I saw. Such is my sieve-like brain. Anyway, I read the first book on the strength of some really fabulous recommendations from many respected people, including Robertson Davies and Anthony Burgess, whom I greatly admired. To my amazement, there is very little that is fantastical about these books (or, perhaps I really do not understand fantasy). Having just read some Dickens, I would suggest that they fit more easily into that genre. They are gothic and grand and thoroughly Dickensian, but maybe better written. It's clear that Peake is a poet for his prose is indeed poetry.
Naturally, I had to watch the British mini-series after reading the books. I am somewhat disappointed. Except in the case of Wonder Boys, I always find that the book is better than the film or mini-series. The Gormenghast books are vastly superior to the mini-series and I was left feeling a bit betrayed.
About the series, I will say this: I liked the casting, generally, but hated the music completely. I found the numerous plot changes to be irritating. I realize that certain things need to be edited out to fit running times and commercial breaks, but leaving out characters and changing fundamental plot elements baffles me. I found myself becoming irritated by these many changes and hoping that perhaps someone with a greater sense of loyalty to the books will one day make a faithful adaptation.
Monday, November 16, 2009
C@#* Explosion!
So, there I was, walking down a peaceful tree-lined street in Toronto, just minding my own business, when I shoved my hand deep into my pocket and pulled out my iPod Touch. Ah, I love this fine piece of equipment. It's smooth, shiny, and wonderful to hold. I inserted the earbuds into my ears to fire up the tunes.
Remembering that wifi was still enabled, I decided to turn it off, so as to save some battery power. As I was doing this, I noted the names of the wireless networks in this fine neighbourhood. There were several nondescript Bell networks with boring names like BELL127; there were a few people who had applied names to their networks, like Lisa this or John that, and many such derivatives with a few pet names thrown into the mix, and possibly a superhero or two.
But then I saw a most curious wireless network called - get ready for this - Cock Explosion! I am not lying. Lots of thoughts passed through my head, like, what if his mother comes to visit and wants to hop on his wireless network with her little pink netbook?
Dude's Mom: "What's your network name?"
Dude: "Cock explosion."
Dude's Mom: "What?"
Dude: "Cock explosion."
Dude's Mom: "You're network is called cock explosion?"
Dude: "Yeah, cock explosion."
Dude's Mom: "Why would you call your network cock explosion?"
Dude: "Why not? Cock explosion is a great name. It's very visual."
Dude's Mom: "I'm afraid to ask what your network key is..."
I am sure that his dad would understand all of this, but not his mom. A colleague told me a similar story about a network in NYC he encountered that was called something like Porn-Loving Bi-Girl. A father would understand that too, but not a mom.
But, back to the story. You see that I made the assumption that this is a network operated by a male. I mean, what women would called her network Cock Explosion? I can think of a few good names for a racy female network, and this doesn't make the list. CG later suggested that perhaps it belonged to an escort who was very good at her job. I am not convinced, but I give him marks for coming (if you'll excuse the gratuitous use of that word) up with alternative suggestions.
My immediate reaction is that this guy must be a porn hound. I imagined him (but not in any great detail) ending up like Quagmire, once he had discovered the wonders of broadband. Now, there was no way to figure out which house this Cock Explosion was emanating from, and even if I knew, I would have steered well clear of it. There were no obvious signs anywhere as to which of these properties was home to Cock Explosion. I couldn't see any Farrah Fawcett posters in the windows, at any rate. I detected no one furiously closing curtain or blinds. It was all peaceful, but I wondered, if I stood there long enough, if I would be able to hear any cock explosions. I decided that this was not a good idea, and resumed my journey, up to a pub to meet two friends and have a beverage.
So, there I was, walking down a peaceful tree-lined street in Toronto, just minding my own business, when I shoved my hand deep into my pocket and pulled out my iPod Touch. Ah, I love this fine piece of equipment. It's smooth, shiny, and wonderful to hold. I inserted the earbuds into my ears to fire up the tunes.
Remembering that wifi was still enabled, I decided to turn it off, so as to save some battery power. As I was doing this, I noted the names of the wireless networks in this fine neighbourhood. There were several nondescript Bell networks with boring names like BELL127; there were a few people who had applied names to their networks, like Lisa this or John that, and many such derivatives with a few pet names thrown into the mix, and possibly a superhero or two.
But then I saw a most curious wireless network called - get ready for this - Cock Explosion! I am not lying. Lots of thoughts passed through my head, like, what if his mother comes to visit and wants to hop on his wireless network with her little pink netbook?
Dude's Mom: "What's your network name?"
Dude: "Cock explosion."
Dude's Mom: "What?"
Dude: "Cock explosion."
Dude's Mom: "You're network is called cock explosion?"
Dude: "Yeah, cock explosion."
Dude's Mom: "Why would you call your network cock explosion?"
Dude: "Why not? Cock explosion is a great name. It's very visual."
Dude's Mom: "I'm afraid to ask what your network key is..."
I am sure that his dad would understand all of this, but not his mom. A colleague told me a similar story about a network in NYC he encountered that was called something like Porn-Loving Bi-Girl. A father would understand that too, but not a mom.
But, back to the story. You see that I made the assumption that this is a network operated by a male. I mean, what women would called her network Cock Explosion? I can think of a few good names for a racy female network, and this doesn't make the list. CG later suggested that perhaps it belonged to an escort who was very good at her job. I am not convinced, but I give him marks for coming (if you'll excuse the gratuitous use of that word) up with alternative suggestions.
My immediate reaction is that this guy must be a porn hound. I imagined him (but not in any great detail) ending up like Quagmire, once he had discovered the wonders of broadband. Now, there was no way to figure out which house this Cock Explosion was emanating from, and even if I knew, I would have steered well clear of it. There were no obvious signs anywhere as to which of these properties was home to Cock Explosion. I couldn't see any Farrah Fawcett posters in the windows, at any rate. I detected no one furiously closing curtain or blinds. It was all peaceful, but I wondered, if I stood there long enough, if I would be able to hear any cock explosions. I decided that this was not a good idea, and resumed my journey, up to a pub to meet two friends and have a beverage.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Carrie Prejean
Why is it that every loser on the planet has been on Entertainment Tonight but not me? I deserve to be on that show as much as these other mercenary fame-hunting idiots. Quite honestly, I don't know who most of the people are on the show, but the whole experience is like a train wreck. I mean, the cult of celebrity has come to a point where the so-called celebrities are nobodies. If you don't believe me, just check out Dancing with the Stars. This is the best they can do? The definition of star has fallen to such a point where even I qualify as a star.
Now, after that preamble, we come to Carrie Prejean. I have a vague memory of Carrie Prejean saying something ludicrous and sexist about same-sex marriage. She is a right-wing homophobe. I just read that she had used some of her pageant winnings from the Miss USA pageant to buy breast implants. I guess she has to prepare for a career in porn, should this beauty thing not work out.
Then there was a breach of contract and a settlement of some sort, and now she is selling her book. I can tell you that even if I were trapped in a space ship for three or four months on my way to Mars with only her book for a distraction, I would not read it - well, maybe for a laugh, but reading it would probably lead to permanent brain damage.
Serendipitously, I clicked on a CNN video of her being a jerk on the Larry King Show. Have a look as the spoiled brat has a tantrum on the air:
Talk about a little princess. I have to say that the word inappropriate was an inappropriate choice or words. And then, I discovered that there is a sex tape. Big deal. I suppose she is trying to keep up with Verne Troyer. I mean, who doesn't have a sex tape? Even I have a sex tape.
I am angry with myself for giving this small-brained so-called beauty pageant queen with a face like a razor blade even more publicity. The good news is that she will suffer the ignominy of having her book remaindered soon.
Why is it that every loser on the planet has been on Entertainment Tonight but not me? I deserve to be on that show as much as these other mercenary fame-hunting idiots. Quite honestly, I don't know who most of the people are on the show, but the whole experience is like a train wreck. I mean, the cult of celebrity has come to a point where the so-called celebrities are nobodies. If you don't believe me, just check out Dancing with the Stars. This is the best they can do? The definition of star has fallen to such a point where even I qualify as a star.
Now, after that preamble, we come to Carrie Prejean. I have a vague memory of Carrie Prejean saying something ludicrous and sexist about same-sex marriage. She is a right-wing homophobe. I just read that she had used some of her pageant winnings from the Miss USA pageant to buy breast implants. I guess she has to prepare for a career in porn, should this beauty thing not work out.
Then there was a breach of contract and a settlement of some sort, and now she is selling her book. I can tell you that even if I were trapped in a space ship for three or four months on my way to Mars with only her book for a distraction, I would not read it - well, maybe for a laugh, but reading it would probably lead to permanent brain damage.
Serendipitously, I clicked on a CNN video of her being a jerk on the Larry King Show. Have a look as the spoiled brat has a tantrum on the air:
Talk about a little princess. I have to say that the word inappropriate was an inappropriate choice or words. And then, I discovered that there is a sex tape. Big deal. I suppose she is trying to keep up with Verne Troyer. I mean, who doesn't have a sex tape? Even I have a sex tape.
I am angry with myself for giving this small-brained so-called beauty pageant queen with a face like a razor blade even more publicity. The good news is that she will suffer the ignominy of having her book remaindered soon.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Shopping with the Ancient and the Insane
I took last Friday afternoon off to get some stuff accomplished prior to a busy weekend. First, I decided to do the grocery shopping. What's going on with Friday afternoons in grocery stores? Why are so many weird people allowed to be in public on Friday afternoons?
Immediately upon entering the store, I was confronted with a man who seemed to like talking to pumpkins. He then turned to me and discussed the prices of produce as compared with all of the other local stores. Pumpkins, he assured me, were cheaper here than in the other shops, but then he seemed a little perplexed that I did not buy any, but then neither did he. Pumpkin man moved sideways to examine the butter nut squash and he tried to persuade me to buy one, which I did, because I needed one. He then went off to have a conversation with the avocados.
I had to wait to select apples, because someone had unfolded his flyer across the entire bin, as if it were his personal table. And, let me tell you, all of these people were armed with flyers, man. They were buying items simply because they were on sale. How else do you explain someone buying liver? I know, some of these people are from that age group that still believes that liver is good for you. Suckers!
I put my earbuds in and walked the aisles with a great deal of difficulty because Friday shoppers seem to have no understanding of how to park one's cart so as to let others pass by. I was stuck behind a woman accompanying her blind husband who, quite frankly, was squeezing the mangoes a bit too hard. I felt worried for the melons in the next bin. Is it possible that he thought that he was at home and that those mangoes were really his wife's ... ? Well, never mind.
I continued around, marveling at the toothless hoards drooling over the saltines, the aged ambling about with able walkers, one of whom was sniffing chicken wrapped in plastic, and those who seemed to have no business in a grocery store whatsoever.
I quickly skirted the near riot by the Depends, and then made my way to the check out, where the person in front of me had all of her credit cards declined; she had no cash to speak of with her. Quickly, I backed out only to end up behind some belligerent jerk who argued over the limits. For some reason, he wanted more than 10 cases of pop.
So, my new rule is to avoid Friday afternoon shopping, unless I have no choice.
I took last Friday afternoon off to get some stuff accomplished prior to a busy weekend. First, I decided to do the grocery shopping. What's going on with Friday afternoons in grocery stores? Why are so many weird people allowed to be in public on Friday afternoons?
Immediately upon entering the store, I was confronted with a man who seemed to like talking to pumpkins. He then turned to me and discussed the prices of produce as compared with all of the other local stores. Pumpkins, he assured me, were cheaper here than in the other shops, but then he seemed a little perplexed that I did not buy any, but then neither did he. Pumpkin man moved sideways to examine the butter nut squash and he tried to persuade me to buy one, which I did, because I needed one. He then went off to have a conversation with the avocados.
I had to wait to select apples, because someone had unfolded his flyer across the entire bin, as if it were his personal table. And, let me tell you, all of these people were armed with flyers, man. They were buying items simply because they were on sale. How else do you explain someone buying liver? I know, some of these people are from that age group that still believes that liver is good for you. Suckers!
I put my earbuds in and walked the aisles with a great deal of difficulty because Friday shoppers seem to have no understanding of how to park one's cart so as to let others pass by. I was stuck behind a woman accompanying her blind husband who, quite frankly, was squeezing the mangoes a bit too hard. I felt worried for the melons in the next bin. Is it possible that he thought that he was at home and that those mangoes were really his wife's ... ? Well, never mind.
I continued around, marveling at the toothless hoards drooling over the saltines, the aged ambling about with able walkers, one of whom was sniffing chicken wrapped in plastic, and those who seemed to have no business in a grocery store whatsoever.
I quickly skirted the near riot by the Depends, and then made my way to the check out, where the person in front of me had all of her credit cards declined; she had no cash to speak of with her. Quickly, I backed out only to end up behind some belligerent jerk who argued over the limits. For some reason, he wanted more than 10 cases of pop.
So, my new rule is to avoid Friday afternoon shopping, unless I have no choice.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Trip Recap, part 2
What was I saying again? Oh yeah, I never argue with free.
One's senses always seem to be heightened when one takes to the streets of a new city. Cities smell different. They look different. They feel different. Dragging my suitcase over to the world's smallest apartment, I keep noticing how weird everything was. I blame part of that on sleep deprivation. So, over to the apartment, from one tiny elevator to another tiny elevator, past a smoking dog.
I am not claustrophobic, but this free apartment is insanity. Now, if someone gave me title to this apartment for all time, for me to use whenever I dropped into Paris, I might say no. Free accommodations are fantastic, and I never say no to free, but next time I just might.
Once the bed was unfolded, the entire room was filled, save a small alleyway around the perimeter. Now, you might think that would be OK, but the roof had a serious pitch on the east side, upon which I bashed my head several times. Of course, I am well accustomed to head bashing, and have reduced my brain cell count by a factor of ten over the years, so I ought to be used to this, but it turned old very quickly.
To stand at the sink (yes, there was a sink in this room) meant that one had to tilt one's head a good thirty degrees to port and stand as far west as possible. Below the sink were an assortment of pots and pans, but bending over proved problematic. Next to the pots was a small bar fridge. Above the fridge sat a two burner hot plate, but I feared actually using it without a good deal of scrutiny because I felt that the sloping ceiling, skimming the tops of the pots, would burst into flames at any second.
Believe it or not, they managed to fit a shower stall in the room, right at the entrance. Aside from when I was sleeping, this was the most comfortable spot in the room, but I did keep smashing my arms against the enclosure and usually managed to accidentally turn the water off a few times during each shower. So, we had a room not much bigger than a double bed, a sink with bar fridge and shower stall. Oh, and there was no bathroom: the whole place was a shower room, really, what with the steam flowing out of the shower stall. I just had to hang up my shirts and let them steam.
So, to use the facilities, one had to trip down the hall (bonjour here, bonjour there, along the way) until one came to a toilet room. Now, if I stood in front of the toilet to micturate, the entire quadrangle became intimately acquainted with my anatomy. There are no secrets in Paris, I guess. If one had to sit, they quadrangle people got a view of the back of your head. No big deal there.
There was no sink in the toiletroom, but there was a sink that looked positively Roman outside, or you could walk back to your room, tilt your head 30 degrees to the port side, and wash your hands there, but jumping into the shower was actually easier. If you hung your towel and clothes correctly, you could get a good motion going and be fully clothed with just a few twists and turns and grunts and almost no bruises.
What was I saying again? Oh yeah, I never argue with free.
One's senses always seem to be heightened when one takes to the streets of a new city. Cities smell different. They look different. They feel different. Dragging my suitcase over to the world's smallest apartment, I keep noticing how weird everything was. I blame part of that on sleep deprivation. So, over to the apartment, from one tiny elevator to another tiny elevator, past a smoking dog.
I am not claustrophobic, but this free apartment is insanity. Now, if someone gave me title to this apartment for all time, for me to use whenever I dropped into Paris, I might say no. Free accommodations are fantastic, and I never say no to free, but next time I just might.
Once the bed was unfolded, the entire room was filled, save a small alleyway around the perimeter. Now, you might think that would be OK, but the roof had a serious pitch on the east side, upon which I bashed my head several times. Of course, I am well accustomed to head bashing, and have reduced my brain cell count by a factor of ten over the years, so I ought to be used to this, but it turned old very quickly.
To stand at the sink (yes, there was a sink in this room) meant that one had to tilt one's head a good thirty degrees to port and stand as far west as possible. Below the sink were an assortment of pots and pans, but bending over proved problematic. Next to the pots was a small bar fridge. Above the fridge sat a two burner hot plate, but I feared actually using it without a good deal of scrutiny because I felt that the sloping ceiling, skimming the tops of the pots, would burst into flames at any second.
Believe it or not, they managed to fit a shower stall in the room, right at the entrance. Aside from when I was sleeping, this was the most comfortable spot in the room, but I did keep smashing my arms against the enclosure and usually managed to accidentally turn the water off a few times during each shower. So, we had a room not much bigger than a double bed, a sink with bar fridge and shower stall. Oh, and there was no bathroom: the whole place was a shower room, really, what with the steam flowing out of the shower stall. I just had to hang up my shirts and let them steam.
So, to use the facilities, one had to trip down the hall (bonjour here, bonjour there, along the way) until one came to a toilet room. Now, if I stood in front of the toilet to micturate, the entire quadrangle became intimately acquainted with my anatomy. There are no secrets in Paris, I guess. If one had to sit, they quadrangle people got a view of the back of your head. No big deal there.
There was no sink in the toiletroom, but there was a sink that looked positively Roman outside, or you could walk back to your room, tilt your head 30 degrees to the port side, and wash your hands there, but jumping into the shower was actually easier. If you hung your towel and clothes correctly, you could get a good motion going and be fully clothed with just a few twists and turns and grunts and almost no bruises.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Trip Recap, part 1
It's funny how I spent three weeks in Europe and haven't really said much about it. So, I guess it's time. Speaking of time, I am aging. Years ago, I took the night flight to London and, when I arrived, I continued throughout the day even though I did not sleep on the plane. By the way, I am envious of those who can sleep on trains and planes. I can't do it. Anyway, years ago, I popped off the plane in London, and engaged with the city. I slept later, as usual. It was no big deal.
This time, I was whacked after the flight to Paris. I could barely keep my eyes open. Eventually, I decided to take a nap, and left instructions to be woken in 1.5 hours. I woke up in a daze and stumbled around the apartment as if I hadn't slept for days. I was confused, couldn't think straight, and hardly knew where I was. But then, I looked out the window and saw the Eiffel Tower and the traffic on Rue Montparnasse and quickly figured it out. So, the lesson to be learned is that I am getting old. Crap
The good news about the flight is that Air Canada came up with very good gluten-free food options that were also free of dairy! I was quite impressed. Ages ago, when Air Canada offered no such menu choices, I requested a fruit plate, thinking that such a menu item would contain fruit. Sure, there was a bit of fruit, but the thing came with a baguette, half a pound of cheese, and a piece of cake. In what universe is that considered to be a fruit plate? The poor fruits were seriously outnumbered by glutinous substances and congealed bovine slime! But, back to the story.
This trip to Europe was so many months ago, I can't even remember what we did on day one, other than transport our bags to the smallest apartment I have ever seen. Really, it was a room, a closet, in fact. It was so small, that to rent the place would be illegal according to the various laws of France. But, it was free, and I never argue with free.
It's funny how I spent three weeks in Europe and haven't really said much about it. So, I guess it's time. Speaking of time, I am aging. Years ago, I took the night flight to London and, when I arrived, I continued throughout the day even though I did not sleep on the plane. By the way, I am envious of those who can sleep on trains and planes. I can't do it. Anyway, years ago, I popped off the plane in London, and engaged with the city. I slept later, as usual. It was no big deal.
This time, I was whacked after the flight to Paris. I could barely keep my eyes open. Eventually, I decided to take a nap, and left instructions to be woken in 1.5 hours. I woke up in a daze and stumbled around the apartment as if I hadn't slept for days. I was confused, couldn't think straight, and hardly knew where I was. But then, I looked out the window and saw the Eiffel Tower and the traffic on Rue Montparnasse and quickly figured it out. So, the lesson to be learned is that I am getting old. Crap
The good news about the flight is that Air Canada came up with very good gluten-free food options that were also free of dairy! I was quite impressed. Ages ago, when Air Canada offered no such menu choices, I requested a fruit plate, thinking that such a menu item would contain fruit. Sure, there was a bit of fruit, but the thing came with a baguette, half a pound of cheese, and a piece of cake. In what universe is that considered to be a fruit plate? The poor fruits were seriously outnumbered by glutinous substances and congealed bovine slime! But, back to the story.
This trip to Europe was so many months ago, I can't even remember what we did on day one, other than transport our bags to the smallest apartment I have ever seen. Really, it was a room, a closet, in fact. It was so small, that to rent the place would be illegal according to the various laws of France. But, it was free, and I never argue with free.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Take a Walk on the Wild Side
I bought two pairs of shoes last weekend in Montreal. On Saturday night, we had a couple of drinks at Bily Kun, and met up with a friend from TO. Damn, it gets cold early in Montreal. Winter must suck in Montreal.
I bought two pairs of shoes last weekend in Montreal. On Saturday night, we had a couple of drinks at Bily Kun, and met up with a friend from TO. Damn, it gets cold early in Montreal. Winter must suck in Montreal.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
ESL-isms
I know a woman who collects funny ESL sayings. I think she started this because her mother referred to the the HMV music stores as HIV. I knew another person who called a hangover an overhang. Hilarious indeed. A colleague just sent me an email, and instead of saying, "no one can remember anything," she wrote, "No one can remember everything!" I can't argue with that, can I? Anyway, this reminds of a Bruce Cockburn album called You've Never Seen Everything. So true.
I know a woman who collects funny ESL sayings. I think she started this because her mother referred to the the HMV music stores as HIV. I knew another person who called a hangover an overhang. Hilarious indeed. A colleague just sent me an email, and instead of saying, "no one can remember anything," she wrote, "No one can remember everything!" I can't argue with that, can I? Anyway, this reminds of a Bruce Cockburn album called You've Never Seen Everything. So true.
I AM NOT SAFE
Check out this freaky email message I received in two different email accounts:
I have grown accustomed to all manner of spam that insults my intelligence, like that from Nigerian Princesses, who think that they need my help to cash a cheque. It's ludicrous. But, threatening someone with assassination (or, accasinatation) is going too far, if you ask me.
But, what really irritates me is illiteracy. I know that spammers routinely misspell words to get past spam blockers. So, if it were up to me, I would construct an email filter that blocks any messages with more that a few spelling errors or grievous errors in syntax.
Maybe someone could do that for me. Please!
Check out this freaky email message I received in two different email accounts:
From DIGO GROUPS izubeidat@psi.uned.es
Sent Monday, October 12, 2009 12:30 pm
Subject YOU ARE NOT SAFE
with respect to you i signed a contrate deal to accasinate you, but my feeling's wont allow me to do that because of your personality. please reaply me now.for forther information.I expect you to reaply withen 3 days of reciveing this message.
I have grown accustomed to all manner of spam that insults my intelligence, like that from Nigerian Princesses, who think that they need my help to cash a cheque. It's ludicrous. But, threatening someone with assassination (or, accasinatation) is going too far, if you ask me.
But, what really irritates me is illiteracy. I know that spammers routinely misspell words to get past spam blockers. So, if it were up to me, I would construct an email filter that blocks any messages with more that a few spelling errors or grievous errors in syntax.
Maybe someone could do that for me. Please!
Friday, October 09, 2009
Comments Comments Comments
I am not certain if I am busy or distracted or lazy, but, as you may have noticed, I have not gone out into the blogosphere and left a trail of pithy comments for ages. You may have also noticed that I have not posted very much lately either, and that is because I am either too busy or too distracted or too lazy. You see, the post is part one, and then one has to turn around and leave a trail of pithy comments all over the blogosphere, a task I currently find too troublesome since I am either too busy or too distracted or too lazy. This is odd, really, because no blogger should feel that s/he can't blog simply because s/he feels that s/he will fail to uphold the other end of some tacit social obligation. So, that's that. I plan to post more soon. As for commenting, we will see how it goes.
I am not certain if I am busy or distracted or lazy, but, as you may have noticed, I have not gone out into the blogosphere and left a trail of pithy comments for ages. You may have also noticed that I have not posted very much lately either, and that is because I am either too busy or too distracted or too lazy. You see, the post is part one, and then one has to turn around and leave a trail of pithy comments all over the blogosphere, a task I currently find too troublesome since I am either too busy or too distracted or too lazy. This is odd, really, because no blogger should feel that s/he can't blog simply because s/he feels that s/he will fail to uphold the other end of some tacit social obligation. So, that's that. I plan to post more soon. As for commenting, we will see how it goes.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Owls
As I was walking down the street, a bird fell out of a tree and landed on my shoulder. It was difficult to see it, because of where it chose to alight. Have you ever tried to look at your shoulder? I could feel its feet, gripping my flesh, making me a bit nervous. Just then, I looked to my right and noticed two other birds on a branch right near me. Clearly, they were siblings. I had no idea what kind of birds these were, and I felt foolish, because I should have known.
As I was deep in thought, trying to put a name to these birds, a man walked past carrying a black bear. I asked him if he knew what these birds were. They were owls. Yes, owls, but they looked like they had been bred with penguins. I panicked, ducked a little, looked to the sky, fearing I was about to suffer the same fate as Lord Sepulchrave, 76th Earl of Groan. My companion, to whom I hadn't paid any attention until then, clearly had no such fear. All I could think to do, once I had noted that the sky was clear, was to take these orphan birds to some sort of animal hospital or bird sanctuary.
I strapped them to my bike, and headed out, finally finding such a place. However, when the warden of the bird sanctuary inspected my owls, he concluded that they were stuffed. Indeed, as I ripped open the plastic bags that I had sealed them in, I agreed that they were plushies. But, as he left to finish building his grand piano, these owls became more animated and then I realized that they were hungry. Seeing no mice or other types of rodentia lurking about, I found apples in a neighbouring farm. I stole some apples from the hens, and fought my way into the dusty road (feeling a bit like the father in The Road, who finds ash-covered apples in a dead orchard), and tried to orient myself.
I decided to head south, toward the amber light, and then my son woke up and woke me up too. It was 4:55, and I never got back to sleep, but I heard the little one sawing logs for the next two hours, while my brain obsessed about things, like why I couldn't get back to sleep.
As I was walking down the street, a bird fell out of a tree and landed on my shoulder. It was difficult to see it, because of where it chose to alight. Have you ever tried to look at your shoulder? I could feel its feet, gripping my flesh, making me a bit nervous. Just then, I looked to my right and noticed two other birds on a branch right near me. Clearly, they were siblings. I had no idea what kind of birds these were, and I felt foolish, because I should have known.
As I was deep in thought, trying to put a name to these birds, a man walked past carrying a black bear. I asked him if he knew what these birds were. They were owls. Yes, owls, but they looked like they had been bred with penguins. I panicked, ducked a little, looked to the sky, fearing I was about to suffer the same fate as Lord Sepulchrave, 76th Earl of Groan. My companion, to whom I hadn't paid any attention until then, clearly had no such fear. All I could think to do, once I had noted that the sky was clear, was to take these orphan birds to some sort of animal hospital or bird sanctuary.
I strapped them to my bike, and headed out, finally finding such a place. However, when the warden of the bird sanctuary inspected my owls, he concluded that they were stuffed. Indeed, as I ripped open the plastic bags that I had sealed them in, I agreed that they were plushies. But, as he left to finish building his grand piano, these owls became more animated and then I realized that they were hungry. Seeing no mice or other types of rodentia lurking about, I found apples in a neighbouring farm. I stole some apples from the hens, and fought my way into the dusty road (feeling a bit like the father in The Road, who finds ash-covered apples in a dead orchard), and tried to orient myself.
I decided to head south, toward the amber light, and then my son woke up and woke me up too. It was 4:55, and I never got back to sleep, but I heard the little one sawing logs for the next two hours, while my brain obsessed about things, like why I couldn't get back to sleep.
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