- Andrew
Monday, December 24, 2007
Ali in Her Kerchief and I in My Cap
... are just about to settle our brains for a long and well-deserved winter's nap. Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse, 'cause everyone else has vacated the house, and the moon on the puddles of rain everywhere is producing what I would describe as a glare. Our Christmas tree's looming all sprucey and huge, and we seem to be too tired to even watch Scrooge, but we wanted to say, ere we turn out the light, happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
- Andrew
- Andrew
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Self Portrait, ca. 1973
I took an art class when I was seven or eight years old. I'd mostly forgotten about it but my parents brought me my old sketch pad on their recent visit. This is me in my Cub uniform. I wish I could still draw like this.
Also, Uncle Scrooge.
- Andrew
First Big Blizzard
Crossing the frozen baseball diamond
Against the blowing snow, our eyes
Were drawn down
Out of the white that vanishes context,
Massacres colour and shape in an ever-changing blur,
And into the revealing white
Of pure, bright reflection.
It was strange to be so blind, lost.
We felt a little frightened,
I think,
And pictured ourselves on rubber yoga mats
Or home in bed,
Lying awake with closed eyes,
Dreaming ourselves here,
Showing up at your Christmas party
Already half drunk.
- Andrew
Against the blowing snow, our eyes
Were drawn down
Out of the white that vanishes context,
Massacres colour and shape in an ever-changing blur,
And into the revealing white
Of pure, bright reflection.
It was strange to be so blind, lost.
We felt a little frightened,
I think,
And pictured ourselves on rubber yoga mats
Or home in bed,
Lying awake with closed eyes,
Dreaming ourselves here,
Showing up at your Christmas party
Already half drunk.
- Andrew
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Been a Long Time, Been a Long Time
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time! Has anybody heard this guy's recent album of duets with newgrass starlet, Alison Krauss? I imagine it would sound like, "Rollin' rollin' rollin' rollin'! Aieeeeeee keep on rollin'! Oh my Jesus! Rollin' in mah sweet bay-EE-ay-EE-ay-EE! Ay-EE-ay-EE-aaaaaay-by's.... ... .... AAAAAAHHHRRRRRMMMS!" But from all accounts it's actually quite good.Anyways, what's mostly been up with me is that I had a birthday last weekend. It was my fortieth, so kind of weird, but mostly really fun. The big surprise was that my parents flew in from Toronto on Thursday night and were already in the restaurant where Ali and I were going when we got there. Poor Alison was unsure how I'd take it, as I normally am against surprise parties, but this was not a party, just a surprise, and a really nice one, at that. We had a great dinner with them, then they came bowling with us and a bunch of friends the next night, and on Saturday we accompanied them to the Farmers' Market and wandered around downtown. I don't generally get to spend much time alone with my folks, and especially not on my own turf, so it was really sweet of them to do that. About the best birthday present I could get.
Cliff came out and bowled left-handed, on account of his broken collarbone. Didn't seem to prevent his team from kicking the other team's pants.
As usual, Ali's not in any of the bowling pictures 'cause she took them all.
So, other than that weekend of shenanigans there hasn't been a whole lot worth telling about. A rather disgusting amount of my time has been devoted to getting my computer working with the fancy new iPod Alison gave me. I had to get a new operating system (thanks, Apple) but the latest one won't work on my dinosaur of a three-year-old Mac, and then I didn't have a DVD drive,... Ugh, you really don't want to know, I'm tellin' ya. Plus, there've been shows and work and chores keeping us plenty busy, so I don't even have any great new music or movies to recommend to you. I did get an anthology of the year's best comics from Krista for my b-day and discovered plenty of mind-blowing stuff in there. It was curated by Chris Ware, creator of the Acme Novelty Library, so pretty much everything in there was fantastic. It got me all excited about comics again, and I've decided to try doing a comic story. When I was a kid I thought I'd end up drawing cartoons as a career. Right now I'm a graphic designer, which is not far off, when you think about it. It's all about a fascination with the communicative possibilities of words and pictures. Now if only I could actually draw...
And, oh yeah, speaking of comics, I received my first issue of The Shambhala Sun, Halifax's own internationally acclaimed Buddhist magazine, in the mail on my birthday, and whose illustration should grace the table of contents but Mark Alan Stamaty's? It's a very large piece that spans two pages in a fascinating article on the "new atheists" (Dennett, Dawkins, Hitchens, et al.) and how those interested in more contemplative, less dogmatic religious experiences might respond to their science-is-all-we-need attitudes. Just the kind of stuff I've been wanting to read, and as a bonus I learn that Stamaty's alive and well and still producing high quality work (though I thought the illustration could have used a few tiny little guys with fish coming out of their pipes).
As for Alison, she's been busy getting ready for her friend Alicia's wedding. It's next weekend and Ali's the maid/matron of honour. She's working like a maniac on this toast she'll have to make, and in fact I have to print out what she's got so far so we can go over it together and squeeze the maximum entertainment value out of it.
But let me just say before I excuse myself (Coming, Ali!) that we might get a second-hand piano. Very exciting. I'll tell ya more next time. Gotta run now!
- Andrew
P.S. Oh, now I'm really in trouble, but I forgot to ask whether anyone had heard that the real reason Celine Dion cancelled her show in Halifax was that her husband read some negative press about it in the Daily News and the two of them became very upset. They've decided that Halifax is not a "hip" (read "cornball") enough place for them, and the city has actually been taking some blows from entertainment media rushing to La Voix Abominable's defense. It's really just too funny. I can't understand how she could have gone this long without realizing that there are many, many people out there who think she stinks. No one could possibly be that sheltered, could they?
Monday, November 26, 2007
We're Here, We're Queer, We Still Don't Drink Beer
Well, Ali does occasionally. And queer in the broader, less euphemistic sense, it goes without saying. NTTAWWT. So many things to tell you about because it's been awhile because there are so many things to tell you about. But not yet. Soon. I promise.
- Andrew
- Andrew
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Marvel's Newest Supervillain
In all my wise-assery, I forgot to mention that Ali got laser surgery done on her eyes yesterday! She won't have to wear glasses anymore. Pretty miraculous. But right now, she's supposed to use her eyes as little as possible, so the curtains are all closed and she's sitting around listening to music in sunglasses.
- Andrew
Let's Hope It's Kenny G.
Celine Dion has decided not to come to Halifax after all. She was recently booked to play an outdoor concert on the Commons next summer, à la (aux?) The Rolling Stones. At first the powers that be just told us that some big act was going to be coming, causing massive-scale rumours and speculation about AC/DC, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, and just about any other exciting musical entertainers of whom you can think. Then they announced that it was in fact the big C, and the entire city fell into a cyclically tripolar mood of depression, hilarity, and anger. I had a fun preoccupation for a few days trying hard, with next to no success (except see post title), to think of an act I'd less like to see than The Francowhippet.
But now the fun's over. Her people say that the Commons, as a venue, cannot handle her "elaborate production needs" (e.g. a non-ironically interested audience). "'It's like Lucy pulling the football away from Charlie Brown,' said Mr. Adams, the councillor [and self-admitted non-fan] for Spryfield-Herring Cove." I.e. we are Charlie Brown and Celine is the football we can no longer hope to kick squarely and with all our might. Our reverse snobbism thus thwarted, there's nothing left for Halifax to do now but hang our heads and grumble about grapes whose sourness we never even got a proper chance to complain about before the point became moot. Except I guess we are still promised some large and popular act in The Smirk's stead. How camp will it be? How embarassingly melodramatic? How overall cringeworthy? These are burning questions only time can answer.
- Andrew
But now the fun's over. Her people say that the Commons, as a venue, cannot handle her "elaborate production needs" (e.g. a non-ironically interested audience). "'It's like Lucy pulling the football away from Charlie Brown,' said Mr. Adams, the councillor [and self-admitted non-fan] for Spryfield-Herring Cove." I.e. we are Charlie Brown and Celine is the football we can no longer hope to kick squarely and with all our might. Our reverse snobbism thus thwarted, there's nothing left for Halifax to do now but hang our heads and grumble about grapes whose sourness we never even got a proper chance to complain about before the point became moot. Except I guess we are still promised some large and popular act in The Smirk's stead. How camp will it be? How embarassingly melodramatic? How overall cringeworthy? These are burning questions only time can answer.
- Andrew
A Fantasy Story
One day, in a weird land beyond imagination, it was and will forever be snowing. But it was also not snowing. The great wizard, Falafla-Flarngio, unscrewed a lightbulb, and this was a sign that there were ghosts in his liver. It was just as the old woman had predicted.
- Andrew
- Andrew
Sunday, November 04, 2007
It Is a Sad and Beautiful World II
A couple of weeks ago, my dad's sister died of cancer, which she'd had for a year. I haven't really known what to say about it, partly because I feel like I never knew her very well. Maybe that's just how you feel when someone dies and the chance to know them better is gone. But it's not entirely gone, because then all these people you've never met come out of the woodwork and tell you all these things you didn't know about the person, and it's kind of nice. Sad but nice that you learn how great someone was after their life is over.
Not that I didn't know my aunt Chooch was great. We all did, and were maybe a little intimidated by her greatness. We needn't have been, as she was a very warm and genuine person. But she was also a fiercely unique artist and a passionate advocate for the arts, with no time for foolishness while she accomplished wonderful things with her conviction and determination. Nothing done in any kind of half-hearted way — that sort of person. Very inspirational to me. I was inspired by the way she lived and by her art, but more specifically by the great birthday and Christmas presents she gave me. Books, mostly. I can probably ascribe a pretty large portion of my interests in nature, science, philosophy, and of course art to the just-challenging-enough-to-be-forever-fascinating books I got from her over the years.
There was a funeral for her in New Brunswick last Wednesday, which I didn't attend. I'll be going to a larger memorial service, probably in the new year. My dad has posted a bunch of links to articles about Chooch on his blog.
I was thinking about my aunt and life and death when we went to see The Darjeeling Limited, Wes Anderson's latest film. His movies always make me sort of sad in a pleasant, humanity-loving way, and this one was no different. It's about three American brothers who meet up in India to rebond by going on a vaguely spiritual journey by train. It's really good. Less far-fetched, plot-wise, than most of his films, but just as quirky and gorgeous and warm. Owen Wilson is great, as usual. I think the knowledge that he recently attempted suicide, coupled with my aunt's passing, left me a little sadder than usual. Greatness in our species is much rarer than we like to tell ourselves.
But here's some. I don't know if you remember, but a few posts ago I put up a scan of Mark Alan Stamaty's classic Village Voice comic strip, MacDoodle Street. Well, the other day in a comic store, Alison noticed a children's book called Who Needs Donuts? by Mr. Stamaty, and we immediately bought it. The pictures, being on large pages, are even more detailed than those in MacD St. I haven't even gotten halfway through it yet, because I'm savouring it, but so far it's just incredible. The more you look at it, the weirder it gets. I hope these scans give you some idea. Of course, you'll want to click on them for larger versions.
I recently discovered a Blogger blog that is nothing but scans of book illustrations, found elsewhere on the internet. It's fantastic. You could spend days just randomly poking around on this thing. There's really no rhyme or reason to it — just exquisite and/or fascinating pictures, mostly quite old. It's definitely going on the old links list.
Here's a slightly less exquisite illustration, featured on one of the more cynical billboards I have ever seen. There are at least eight of them around the city, and this one is just around the corner from our house. Many people have died in wars throughout Canada's national evolution, so think about it while you drink some vodka. Hmm? Connection? No, no, we're not honouring anyone monetarily or in any specific way like that, but we just thought it was our responsibility as a vodka company to remind people about the sacrifices that have been made for us all. And also parenthetically about drinking vodka, of course. Oh yeah, and John A. MacDonald was a Canadian hero too.
And finally, bowling. We did some. It was lots of fun. Went for the candlepin this time, which for any non-maritime readers means you roll five-pin-sized balls at ten pins that are close to cylindrical in shape so that there's lots of room for the ball and/or flying pins not to hit non-flying pins. For this reason, you get three balls to knock down the pins, instead of only two. Scoring is the same as ten-pin, only it's possible to get ten in a frame without getting either a strike or a spare.
There was plenty of victorious gloating...
... and defeated head-bowing.
And then Charlie's Angels showed up just in time for the Moonlight Bowling (lights out except for some blacklights and a disco ball).
Looking fine, ladies!
- Andrew
Not that I didn't know my aunt Chooch was great. We all did, and were maybe a little intimidated by her greatness. We needn't have been, as she was a very warm and genuine person. But she was also a fiercely unique artist and a passionate advocate for the arts, with no time for foolishness while she accomplished wonderful things with her conviction and determination. Nothing done in any kind of half-hearted way — that sort of person. Very inspirational to me. I was inspired by the way she lived and by her art, but more specifically by the great birthday and Christmas presents she gave me. Books, mostly. I can probably ascribe a pretty large portion of my interests in nature, science, philosophy, and of course art to the just-challenging-enough-to-be-forever-fascinating books I got from her over the years.
There was a funeral for her in New Brunswick last Wednesday, which I didn't attend. I'll be going to a larger memorial service, probably in the new year. My dad has posted a bunch of links to articles about Chooch on his blog.
I was thinking about my aunt and life and death when we went to see The Darjeeling Limited, Wes Anderson's latest film. His movies always make me sort of sad in a pleasant, humanity-loving way, and this one was no different. It's about three American brothers who meet up in India to rebond by going on a vaguely spiritual journey by train. It's really good. Less far-fetched, plot-wise, than most of his films, but just as quirky and gorgeous and warm. Owen Wilson is great, as usual. I think the knowledge that he recently attempted suicide, coupled with my aunt's passing, left me a little sadder than usual. Greatness in our species is much rarer than we like to tell ourselves.
But here's some. I don't know if you remember, but a few posts ago I put up a scan of Mark Alan Stamaty's classic Village Voice comic strip, MacDoodle Street. Well, the other day in a comic store, Alison noticed a children's book called Who Needs Donuts? by Mr. Stamaty, and we immediately bought it. The pictures, being on large pages, are even more detailed than those in MacD St. I haven't even gotten halfway through it yet, because I'm savouring it, but so far it's just incredible. The more you look at it, the weirder it gets. I hope these scans give you some idea. Of course, you'll want to click on them for larger versions.
I recently discovered a Blogger blog that is nothing but scans of book illustrations, found elsewhere on the internet. It's fantastic. You could spend days just randomly poking around on this thing. There's really no rhyme or reason to it — just exquisite and/or fascinating pictures, mostly quite old. It's definitely going on the old links list.
Here's a slightly less exquisite illustration, featured on one of the more cynical billboards I have ever seen. There are at least eight of them around the city, and this one is just around the corner from our house. Many people have died in wars throughout Canada's national evolution, so think about it while you drink some vodka. Hmm? Connection? No, no, we're not honouring anyone monetarily or in any specific way like that, but we just thought it was our responsibility as a vodka company to remind people about the sacrifices that have been made for us all. And also parenthetically about drinking vodka, of course. Oh yeah, and John A. MacDonald was a Canadian hero too.And finally, bowling. We did some. It was lots of fun. Went for the candlepin this time, which for any non-maritime readers means you roll five-pin-sized balls at ten pins that are close to cylindrical in shape so that there's lots of room for the ball and/or flying pins not to hit non-flying pins. For this reason, you get three balls to knock down the pins, instead of only two. Scoring is the same as ten-pin, only it's possible to get ten in a frame without getting either a strike or a spare.
There was plenty of victorious gloating...
... and defeated head-bowing.
And then Charlie's Angels showed up just in time for the Moonlight Bowling (lights out except for some blacklights and a disco ball).
Looking fine, ladies!
- Andrew
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Happy Hallowe'en!
We had the annual pumpkin-carving contest at work again yesterday. This year each team was to come up with something related to the theme of witchcraft. Here were the results.
Far left was Dorothy's house landing on the Wicked Witch of the West, whose legs you can see sticking out beside the Yellow Brick Road. I guess the sparkler was just for added visual punch. The next one in was a very clever diorama of a woman being burned at the stake, with little sculpted pumpkin-flesh logs in a pyre shape over an LED candle simulator. My team did a Frank Sinatra pumpkin, complete with a recording of "Witchcraft" playing from within. And the winner on the right was a cauldron that didn't require any extra props and utilized all parts of the pumpkin in very clever ways, including the guts as ooze boiling over the side. A very successful contest, over all.
After work, Ali and I went out for Thai food and a movie, in celebration of our anniversary. Mystery Train was playing for free at the Dalhousie Art Gallery, as part of an ongoing Jim Jarmusch film festival every Wednesday night. It was as good as I remembered it, but unfortunately someone neglected to turn on the English subtitles which are meant to accompany the storyline of two Japanese teenagers who visit Memphis, comprising the first third of the movie. As a result, sometimes you could tell what they were talking about, but other times there were long soliloquies where you could make up just about anything. I asked esteemed Halifax critic, Ron Foley MacDonald, the man in charge of the event, about the subtitles afterward, and he claimed there are none, and, more ridiculously, that Jim Jarmusch never puts subtitles in his films and that's half the fun of them. Remembering parts of some of the more soliliquizational bits from when I first saw the movie in the theatre some twenty years ago, I called his bluff and had him check the subtitles menu of the DVD we had just watched, only to see the options: 1. Italian, 2. French, and 3. None. I still haven't figured out what the heck happened, but I hope the problem is solved before they show Night on Earth next week! (Explanation for non-nerds: Night on Earth takes place in five different cities and contains dialogue in French, Italian, German, and Finnish.
WUNH-waaahh!)
- Andrew
Far left was Dorothy's house landing on the Wicked Witch of the West, whose legs you can see sticking out beside the Yellow Brick Road. I guess the sparkler was just for added visual punch. The next one in was a very clever diorama of a woman being burned at the stake, with little sculpted pumpkin-flesh logs in a pyre shape over an LED candle simulator. My team did a Frank Sinatra pumpkin, complete with a recording of "Witchcraft" playing from within. And the winner on the right was a cauldron that didn't require any extra props and utilized all parts of the pumpkin in very clever ways, including the guts as ooze boiling over the side. A very successful contest, over all.
After work, Ali and I went out for Thai food and a movie, in celebration of our anniversary. Mystery Train was playing for free at the Dalhousie Art Gallery, as part of an ongoing Jim Jarmusch film festival every Wednesday night. It was as good as I remembered it, but unfortunately someone neglected to turn on the English subtitles which are meant to accompany the storyline of two Japanese teenagers who visit Memphis, comprising the first third of the movie. As a result, sometimes you could tell what they were talking about, but other times there were long soliloquies where you could make up just about anything. I asked esteemed Halifax critic, Ron Foley MacDonald, the man in charge of the event, about the subtitles afterward, and he claimed there are none, and, more ridiculously, that Jim Jarmusch never puts subtitles in his films and that's half the fun of them. Remembering parts of some of the more soliliquizational bits from when I first saw the movie in the theatre some twenty years ago, I called his bluff and had him check the subtitles menu of the DVD we had just watched, only to see the options: 1. Italian, 2. French, and 3. None. I still haven't figured out what the heck happened, but I hope the problem is solved before they show Night on Earth next week! (Explanation for non-nerds: Night on Earth takes place in five different cities and contains dialogue in French, Italian, German, and Finnish.WUNH-waaahh!)
- Andrew
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Right Back Atcha, Sweet Feet!
Happy thirteen and all those in between! Many more to come for Beauty and the Bum.- Andrew
Friday, October 26, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Rawk
Last week was the Halifax Pop Explosion, a big rock festival that happens in town every year at this time. Most of the good local bands played, and a bunch of acts from out of town and around the world came to show our little isolated peninsula the current state of international indie rock. It's usually a weekend-long event, but this year it ran for five days.
The highlight for me and a lot of other people I've since talked to was a loud and energetic performance by this Japanese band called Zoobombs. I didn't really know anything about them going into the show, but remembered seeing a video of theirs on MuchMusic's "The Wedge" about ten years ago or so and thinking it was pretty exciting and then not being able to find out anything about them and soon forgetting about them entirely until I found out that they were playing at this year's HPX. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the lead singer and guitarist, Don Matsuo, was basically a Japanese Matt Murphy, quickly whipping the crowd into a frenzy with his hot guitar playing and intense, frantic manner. "Everybody! Everybody!" he kept shouting, apparently seeing no reason to elaborate. Another surprise was that even though they often slipped into funk-inspired rhythms and riffs, it didn't make me feel gross like it does when white bands do the same thing (Talking Heads excluded, of course). Why is the funk somehow less offensive when attempted by a Japanese band? I'm not sure, but their apparent worship of manic energy over technical precision played no small part, I think.
Anyway, if you ever get a chance to see these guys (actually three guys and a girl, the latter pretty hot stuff on the distorted drony keyboard), you should definitely take it. Their live show is really inspiring and exciting and fun. I bought their latest CD from Matta, the parenthetically mentioned keyboard player, and it's a live album recorded in Toronto so the energy and excitement I witnessed is happily captured. Here's a sample. I can't help but suspect they've been somewhat inspired by legendary German 70s band, Can, though they're not listed in the influences on the Zoobombs MySpace page. But Don was definitely channeling Damo Suzuki at times. And it's not just a Japanese thing, because at other times he sounded like Malcolm Mooney, Can's original singer. Check out this Damo track for easy comparison.
In other music news, I was in HMV the other day, looking for a particular Jonathan Richman album (they had none whatsoever, surprise) and this song started playing where the main part was a really nice, harmonically simple but rhythmically complex electric piano line, and my ears perked up to check it out. It was quite groovy and I was enjoying it a lot before I realized that it sounded kind of familiar. In searching the corners of my brain, trying to figure out where I'd heard it before, I suddenly stumbled on the very weird feeling that it was actually a recording of me playing a melody I'd created on my own Wurlitzer. And then I realized that it was a track from the upcoming Buck 65 album and the weird feeling was accurate. It sounded great! Feels pretty good to be digging your own material without knowing that's what it is.
- Andrew
The highlight for me and a lot of other people I've since talked to was a loud and energetic performance by this Japanese band called Zoobombs. I didn't really know anything about them going into the show, but remembered seeing a video of theirs on MuchMusic's "The Wedge" about ten years ago or so and thinking it was pretty exciting and then not being able to find out anything about them and soon forgetting about them entirely until I found out that they were playing at this year's HPX. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the lead singer and guitarist, Don Matsuo, was basically a Japanese Matt Murphy, quickly whipping the crowd into a frenzy with his hot guitar playing and intense, frantic manner. "Everybody! Everybody!" he kept shouting, apparently seeing no reason to elaborate. Another surprise was that even though they often slipped into funk-inspired rhythms and riffs, it didn't make me feel gross like it does when white bands do the same thing (Talking Heads excluded, of course). Why is the funk somehow less offensive when attempted by a Japanese band? I'm not sure, but their apparent worship of manic energy over technical precision played no small part, I think.
Anyway, if you ever get a chance to see these guys (actually three guys and a girl, the latter pretty hot stuff on the distorted drony keyboard), you should definitely take it. Their live show is really inspiring and exciting and fun. I bought their latest CD from Matta, the parenthetically mentioned keyboard player, and it's a live album recorded in Toronto so the energy and excitement I witnessed is happily captured. Here's a sample. I can't help but suspect they've been somewhat inspired by legendary German 70s band, Can, though they're not listed in the influences on the Zoobombs MySpace page. But Don was definitely channeling Damo Suzuki at times. And it's not just a Japanese thing, because at other times he sounded like Malcolm Mooney, Can's original singer. Check out this Damo track for easy comparison.
In other music news, I was in HMV the other day, looking for a particular Jonathan Richman album (they had none whatsoever, surprise) and this song started playing where the main part was a really nice, harmonically simple but rhythmically complex electric piano line, and my ears perked up to check it out. It was quite groovy and I was enjoying it a lot before I realized that it sounded kind of familiar. In searching the corners of my brain, trying to figure out where I'd heard it before, I suddenly stumbled on the very weird feeling that it was actually a recording of me playing a melody I'd created on my own Wurlitzer. And then I realized that it was a track from the upcoming Buck 65 album and the weird feeling was accurate. It sounded great! Feels pretty good to be digging your own material without knowing that's what it is.
- Andrew
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Wish we could be there to celebrate it with you. I hope the day there is nicer than the meteorological mess we've got going on here. If so, I REALLY wish we could be there.In case you happen some time in the near future to come into the possession of a potential, but thoughtlessly unspecified, piece of literature or music, and are wondering how this potential should best be actualized in a birthday-appropriate (i.e. enjoyable, entertaining, fun) manner, here's a couple of suggestions:
Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace, is a hilarious, insightful, LOOOONG novel (with many, many footnotes) about entertainment and addiction and the problems of post-modern living in North America. I'm finally past the halfway point myself, and still enjoying it and ripping it off as much as when I picked it up a year and a half ago.
100 Days, 100 Nights, by Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings, is a contemporary album of soul that is not an album of contemporary soul, meaning that it actually sounds like soul music and not some pyrotechnical diva belting out vocal gymnastic routines that display her lack of soul. This woman's been around since the 70s, but only recently started making a name for herself, and she's GOOD! Think Aretha Franklin or Tina Turner.
Breaking the Spell is Daniel Dennett's most recent book about materialism, consciousness, evolution, and meaning, both linguistic and life-related. This one addresses religion — how could it have evolved and what good does it still do us, if any — and makes a nice, clear-headed, slightly less reactionary though no more apologetic companion-piece to his friend Richard Dawkins's The God Delusion.
Finally, I hear the latest Bruce Springsteen album is quite good. I'm not usually a fan, don't know about you, but Alison just heard it and claims to be converted. I know you like some of those intense, gravelly-voiced singer-songwriters with something important to say.
Of course, should you be granted the opportunity of choosing a new book or CD, I realize that the choosing-to-fun ratio in such cases can easily be at least .50. These suggestions, therefore, should be taken only as such, and represent no greater legal or moral liability than, for instance, an enthusiastically bellowed "Happy birthday!"
Happy birthday.
- Andrew
Monday, October 15, 2007
Update on Cliff
He did break his collarbone. All the way through. Plus a couple of other fractures. There was a possibility of invasive surgery to make sure it stays in place, but he's opted instead for a sling and a prayer. There'll be no drumming for quite awhile. And it turns out it was a tripup from his shoes, and not any kind of macho never-say-die attitude, that sent him sailing racquetfirst into the next court over. I still feel bad, though.
- Andrew
- Andrew
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Shows and Other Disasters
It's been awhile since I've blogged, and I don't want anyone to get the impression that this is all we've been doing during that time or anything, but I have to admit we've been watching quite a bit of these video collections called TV Carnage. They're these compilations of random scraps of really terrible television, but put together in a pretty hilarious order. Sounds stupid, I know, and of course it is, but Ali and I got fairly addicted for awhile there. Seems like any time you turn on the TV you're going to see total crap anyway, so why not watch the crap that someone has selected as representing the absolute crappiest? Here's a couple of the "better" things we discovered. I think they're both from the same show, which I regrettably never saw when it was on.
And speaking of questionable performances, I played a recorded show with Al Tuck yesterday, opening for Ron Sexsmith. Pretty cool. It was part of a series called "Pop In Sessions," which are short shows played in a local recording studio and filmed for later release on the internet. Buck 65 did one recently that I guess was mind-blowing, though I didn't see it or even hear about it happening at the time. Here's one by Brent Randall and His Pinecones that turned out really well, in my estimation.
Anyhow, so this show went OK, I guess, although I think we've played better. But Al's recently moved to Sackville, NB, so there wasn't much opportunity for rehearsal. There was also some awkward tuning between tunes and a song that had to be started over due to technical problems in the sound booth. Every time I looked out at the audience to get a sense of how it was going over, they seemed to have expressions of concern and even fear on their faces, sort of like when you drive by a potentially horrific accident on the highway and can't help but looking even though you're pretty sure you'll wish you hadn't. It was kind of making me giggle a little. I've since been assured that everyone was just engrossed in the intensity of Al's lyrics. I'm not entirely convinced, but I guess you'll be able to judge for yourselves when the show comes online.
Oh yeah, and Ron Sexsmith, he has GIGANTIC hands! Before the show, he was playing this song on the piano and it was really nice and I recognized it as one my mom used to play when I was a little kid, so I asked him when he took a break what it was, and he told me the name even though I forget it now and said that it was something he'd always liked as a kid because it sounded like vampire music and asked if he'd ever met me before because I looked familiar but I said I didn't think so, as if there was actually a little bit of doubt about it, don't ask me why, and then I introduced myself and held out my hand and the hand that it ended up meeting halfway between us was GIGANTIC! It was also very limp, with almost no grasp at all actually, possibly because Ron, who seems like an especially sensitive and caring individual, worries that people whose hands he shakes will be afraid, if only briefly, that their own hands might be inadvertently crushed upon envelopment in his GIGANTIC meatloaf of a manual appendage.
And speaking of crushed bones, Alison and I were playing some tennis this afternoon with Meg and Johanna and Cliff, when Cliff dove for a particularly tough shot I now wish I hadn't hit to him and fell onto the concrete, breaking his collarbone. We had to call an ambulance for him and pull his partner, Angie, out of her yoga class to come to the hospital. She's promised to call us to let us know how he's doing. It was very upsetting. Cliff may now be out of commission for up to six weeks! Poor guy. He'd just been starting to go to the gym regularly, too. And this is pure selfishness speaking, but as he's the drummer in the band at present known as Lowlands, that project's going to move along even slower than usual. Bummer.
I'll keep you posted.
- Andrew
And speaking of questionable performances, I played a recorded show with Al Tuck yesterday, opening for Ron Sexsmith. Pretty cool. It was part of a series called "Pop In Sessions," which are short shows played in a local recording studio and filmed for later release on the internet. Buck 65 did one recently that I guess was mind-blowing, though I didn't see it or even hear about it happening at the time. Here's one by Brent Randall and His Pinecones that turned out really well, in my estimation.
Anyhow, so this show went OK, I guess, although I think we've played better. But Al's recently moved to Sackville, NB, so there wasn't much opportunity for rehearsal. There was also some awkward tuning between tunes and a song that had to be started over due to technical problems in the sound booth. Every time I looked out at the audience to get a sense of how it was going over, they seemed to have expressions of concern and even fear on their faces, sort of like when you drive by a potentially horrific accident on the highway and can't help but looking even though you're pretty sure you'll wish you hadn't. It was kind of making me giggle a little. I've since been assured that everyone was just engrossed in the intensity of Al's lyrics. I'm not entirely convinced, but I guess you'll be able to judge for yourselves when the show comes online.
Oh yeah, and Ron Sexsmith, he has GIGANTIC hands! Before the show, he was playing this song on the piano and it was really nice and I recognized it as one my mom used to play when I was a little kid, so I asked him when he took a break what it was, and he told me the name even though I forget it now and said that it was something he'd always liked as a kid because it sounded like vampire music and asked if he'd ever met me before because I looked familiar but I said I didn't think so, as if there was actually a little bit of doubt about it, don't ask me why, and then I introduced myself and held out my hand and the hand that it ended up meeting halfway between us was GIGANTIC! It was also very limp, with almost no grasp at all actually, possibly because Ron, who seems like an especially sensitive and caring individual, worries that people whose hands he shakes will be afraid, if only briefly, that their own hands might be inadvertently crushed upon envelopment in his GIGANTIC meatloaf of a manual appendage.
And speaking of crushed bones, Alison and I were playing some tennis this afternoon with Meg and Johanna and Cliff, when Cliff dove for a particularly tough shot I now wish I hadn't hit to him and fell onto the concrete, breaking his collarbone. We had to call an ambulance for him and pull his partner, Angie, out of her yoga class to come to the hospital. She's promised to call us to let us know how he's doing. It was very upsetting. Cliff may now be out of commission for up to six weeks! Poor guy. He'd just been starting to go to the gym regularly, too. And this is pure selfishness speaking, but as he's the drummer in the band at present known as Lowlands, that project's going to move along even slower than usual. Bummer.
I'll keep you posted.
- Andrew
Friday, October 05, 2007
Yuck
I feel like crap today. I'm at work right now, in the sense of physical location, but my brain is so curdled and my eyes are trying so hard to close themselves that I don't feel like stretching the prepositional attitude out into any further senses. Plus, I keep seeing this guy in the corner of my office.
Should I be worried?
- Andrew
Should I be worried?
- Andrew
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Quickie
Pizza's here for dinner and we're about to start watching the season's second episode of The Office, but I want to get a quick post on here as part of my quit-ruminating-about-it-and-just-do-it-scrappy-style philosophy I'm trying out sporadically.
Ali and I just played some tennis in a surprise doubles match with our friends Jenny and Sarah, who happened to be there too. It was super duper fun and we're planning to do it again.
Work's been insanely hectic. I've already logged over 40 billable hours this week, and there's still a day to go. Last night in bed my head was surrounded by a buzzing and vibrating energy field that was radiating into and out of it. Some people pay good money for such experiences, but this one wasn't pleasant.
I sent some people emails asking them to sign a petition for the Chinese government to step in in support of the Burmese protestors. Hope no one was offended. Seems like a fairly important and uncontroversial cause to me. There's demonstrations going on all around the world at noon on Saturday.
OK, pizza's getting cold and Johanna's on her way over (recently back from Europe) to watch TO with us and Krista. Hope it's a good one!
- Andrew
Ali and I just played some tennis in a surprise doubles match with our friends Jenny and Sarah, who happened to be there too. It was super duper fun and we're planning to do it again.
Work's been insanely hectic. I've already logged over 40 billable hours this week, and there's still a day to go. Last night in bed my head was surrounded by a buzzing and vibrating energy field that was radiating into and out of it. Some people pay good money for such experiences, but this one wasn't pleasant.
I sent some people emails asking them to sign a petition for the Chinese government to step in in support of the Burmese protestors. Hope no one was offended. Seems like a fairly important and uncontroversial cause to me. There's demonstrations going on all around the world at noon on Saturday.
OK, pizza's getting cold and Johanna's on her way over (recently back from Europe) to watch TO with us and Krista. Hope it's a good one!
- Andrew
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
In Which He Pouts a Little
Lately Ali and I are feeling kind of "off" Halifax. ("I've gone off London this week. It doesn't do anything for me," says the pouty and foppish fashion photographer in Blowup.) It makes me feel spoiled to admit it, as I really don't know where else could be any nicer. I guess the students all being back has something to do with it. And the recent upturn in random violence. I suppose mostly we're both just feeling in a bit of a rut. Fall's always a good time for a big change.Speaking of The Fall and depression and fashionably aloof young Englishmen, last Friday we attended the Atlantic Film Festival screening of Control, the new biopic about Ian Curtis from Joy Division, who committed suicide at the height of the band's power. It's really well done: gorgeous black and white; fine acting, especially by Sam Riley as Curtis and Samantha Morton as his long-suffering wife; based on the book written by the latter (character, not actor). And lots of Joy Division songs are performed in the film, which has been making me feel like listening to nothing but ever since. That insistent bass, those robotic drums, that dark, Wire-like guitar... such a perfect environment for Curtis's brooding baritone to feel its way around in. This one's a particular favourite. I've already started working on a JD-inspired song called No Comment: "No one ever comments / On his wiseass blog / Makes him feel unwanted / Like a pedagogue."
In other film-watching news, we've lately rented the complete series of Sister Wendy's Story of Painting and are really enjoying it. I don't know whether you've ever seen it, but this super-loveable nun with awful glasses, horrible buck teeth, and an Elmer Fudd voice takes you through art history from her own personal perspective. She's so passionate and full of sympathy and joy it's infectious, and one soon finds oneself very emotionally involved. Well, these "ones" do, anyway. Marveling at a Brueghel depiction of peasants sitting in front of a fire, she notices that the lady "warming her underpants" turns her face slightly away from the men, who are "warming their, well, lack of underpants."Oh, and the softball playoffs were last weekend, as I believe I'd mentioned. We lost every game. No one seemed to mind much, though, I must say. It managed to be a pretty fun day of ball.
And now Alison's considering playing next year. She's a bit of a natural pitcher, like her man. We went out for some batting practice with Meg before dinner tonight. Won't be able to do that for too much longer. I can't believe next weekend is Thanksgiving! Oh well, bring it on, I say. I've had enough of summer's light fun and tomfoolery. Time to get down to some serious contemplation in a cold dark room. Now that's what I call a good time.- Andrew
Friday, September 21, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Dump
I've been meaning to do a post about how busy I am, but I haven't had time.
Played a show at the Music Room with Erin Costelo last Saturday.
Recorded some more with Al Tuck.
Finished Alan Watts' The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are. I'd read it as a teenager, but forgotten how inciteful it is. Probably one of the more influential books in shaping my life. Probably could have just read it over and over instead of a lot of the various metaphysical stuff I've read since.
Lately I'm obsessed with Nancy comics.
Worked myself into a literally nightmarish state over a used car sale print ad that over two weeks became so cluttered with junky visuals and starbursty exclamations there's no communicative architecture whatsoever, let alone hierarchy of meaning. In my dream the ad is the surface of a pond under which I'm drowning as there are no spaces where I might come up for air.
Realized that some people probably couldn't see the animated GIF I'd put on the last post, and must have wondered what all the fuss was over an admittedly Escherian but quite lifeless cube in a cube drawing. Well you'll just have to trust me that your mind would be verily blown if you could see the way it perpetually turns itself inside out and outside in. Seriously, dude. If Escher were alive today, he'd be working in animation. Or Lego®.
Currently reading Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities, wherein Marco Polo describes the cities he's seen to Kubla Khan, whose domain they ostensibly comprise. Only it becomes apparent that the cities being described are fictitious and all based on Venice. Each description is only a page or two, some banal but poetic, and some quite fantastic. Calvino uses the format as an excuse to spout off about human nature. It's fascinating.
Softball playoffs are this weekend, starting at 8:00 in the morning on Saturday. Ah hope we wee-uhn!
- Andrew
Played a show at the Music Room with Erin Costelo last Saturday.
Recorded some more with Al Tuck.
Finished Alan Watts' The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are. I'd read it as a teenager, but forgotten how inciteful it is. Probably one of the more influential books in shaping my life. Probably could have just read it over and over instead of a lot of the various metaphysical stuff I've read since.Lately I'm obsessed with Nancy comics.
Worked myself into a literally nightmarish state over a used car sale print ad that over two weeks became so cluttered with junky visuals and starbursty exclamations there's no communicative architecture whatsoever, let alone hierarchy of meaning. In my dream the ad is the surface of a pond under which I'm drowning as there are no spaces where I might come up for air.
Realized that some people probably couldn't see the animated GIF I'd put on the last post, and must have wondered what all the fuss was over an admittedly Escherian but quite lifeless cube in a cube drawing. Well you'll just have to trust me that your mind would be verily blown if you could see the way it perpetually turns itself inside out and outside in. Seriously, dude. If Escher were alive today, he'd be working in animation. Or Lego®.
Currently reading Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities, wherein Marco Polo describes the cities he's seen to Kubla Khan, whose domain they ostensibly comprise. Only it becomes apparent that the cities being described are fictitious and all based on Venice. Each description is only a page or two, some banal but poetic, and some quite fantastic. Calvino uses the format as an excuse to spout off about human nature. It's fascinating.
Softball playoffs are this weekend, starting at 8:00 in the morning on Saturday. Ah hope we wee-uhn!
- Andrew
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Me & Doug go way back.
(He just doesn't know it yet.)
I'd really like to see someone who's writing about this kind of stuff from a scientific/American philosophical viewpoint find a way to allow some room for spirituality or even a little mysticism, without tipping over into the totally kooked out camp. I guess there's a general and justified fear of organized religion among academics these days. Still, I'm trying to figure out a way to land Hofstadter as one of my MySpace friends, so I can try out my Motivated Book Exchange (see this blog post) idea on him. Got some borderline New Age literature I think would really open up some new territory for him. Plus it'd be super cool to see what he would think I need to read. I think he'd be a perfect celebrity endorsement to get in on the ground floor of what I still believe will be a huge phenomenon.
- Andrew
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Stuff You Need to See
Things have been pretty hectic at work this week, meaning there hasn't been much going on during free time, besides watching movies and sleeping. Alison had a photo shoot to go to in LaHave this morning, assisting with shots of the sunrise. She had to get up at 3:30 in the morning to get there! Ugh.
One of the movies we saw was Year of the Dog, starring Molly Shannon from Saturday Night Live before it got totally terrible. It was a really good character-driven comedy, and quite an admirable stretch for her. We also rented the remastered special edition of Meatballs, Bill Murray's first movie and the one that would win him a place in Alison's heart and wallet. It was of course even cornier than we remembered, but also surprisingly funny every time Mr. Murray was on the screen, and even sort of heart-warming. My favourite line was a random bit of encouragement during the hot dog-eating contest scene: "Every day, I am eating more and more hot dogs."
Finally, here's an outrageous site that my coworker tipped me off to today. WARNING: Although there's no visually gross or graphic content, this site represents a very sick concept and will make you very very angry. I'm still not sure whether it's a joke. My friend claims not, but check out the testimonials. I can't read them in a non-sarcastic way. In the FAQ section, they claim to be legally protected under religious freedom laws. If this is in any way serious, it's a pretty good argument against those laws.
- Andrew
One of the movies we saw was Year of the Dog, starring Molly Shannon from Saturday Night Live before it got totally terrible. It was a really good character-driven comedy, and quite an admirable stretch for her. We also rented the remastered special edition of Meatballs, Bill Murray's first movie and the one that would win him a place in Alison's heart and wallet. It was of course even cornier than we remembered, but also surprisingly funny every time Mr. Murray was on the screen, and even sort of heart-warming. My favourite line was a random bit of encouragement during the hot dog-eating contest scene: "Every day, I am eating more and more hot dogs."
There's been some tennis going on, too. Our friend Jeff is visiting from Toronto for a week, and he came out to play some mixed doubles last night with us and Meg. Good, sweaty times.
Finally, here's an outrageous site that my coworker tipped me off to today. WARNING: Although there's no visually gross or graphic content, this site represents a very sick concept and will make you very very angry. I'm still not sure whether it's a joke. My friend claims not, but check out the testimonials. I can't read them in a non-sarcastic way. In the FAQ section, they claim to be legally protected under religious freedom laws. If this is in any way serious, it's a pretty good argument against those laws.
- Andrew
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Q: What are the effects of a week in isolation on the communication skills of an already verbose individual?
OK, here's all about our week in the woods on the river by the sea. I'll try to keep the narration to a minimum, but I've just had a nap and am now drinking a cup of coffee, so we'll see how it goes...
When our friends Angie and Cliff drove us out to the cottage it was raining, but it cleared up almost as soon as we got there, so we walked around on Risser's Beach, which is just a mile or two away. I found out that they made it home without getting lost, despite my terrible directions, so that's a huge relief.
The cottage was right on the river that is "Petite Riviere," looking across at the marshy side of Risser's. That evening another friend, Jill, came from another cottage in Mahone Bay to spend the night with us. She brought along an old friend of hers from Toronto, Tiina (the one on the left), and we had a really nice time with them wandering around the rocks and beaches the next morning. And they took a picture of Ali and me together before they left, an impossibility for the rest of the week.
It was a super comfortable cottage, and even the beds were not much harder on the back than our one at home. I still say nothing beats a futon. There was a mouse there too (not pictured), but it mostly didn't bother us too much. Well, OK, it did scrabble around in those books quite a bit, and once we saw it climb right up the wall, floor to ceiling, which was fairly horrifying. But there were a couple of days when we didn't see it at all. Of course, it made up for it on the last day by running around all over the place like an attention-starved child.
For some reason, there was a portrait on one of the walls of Lou Reed as a young child.
We did a lot of this.
And a lot of this. Together, we ploughed through five books, which is really good considering the weather was hot and sunny every day except the first and last. Ali read Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, which I'd eaten up at the cottage last year, and then a book about cat behaviour by Desmond Morris, of The Naked Ape fame. She's been putting her new expertise to the test on Buster, with amazing results. Except for the solos, his electric guitar work is almost road-ready.
I, meanwhile, finished my first Haruki Murakami novel, Norwegian Wood, which was a little disappointing. I guess it was a sort of sweet, semi-autobiographical coming of age tale, but the fact that every female character wanted to go to bed with the protagonist was kind of offputting. Plus everyone was always committing suicide. Weird.
Then it was Life of Pi. Johanna had given it to me for my birthday, and it started out very compelling but then became religious and preachy, and I'd put it down for quite awhile. Another friend of mine, however, urged me to continue with it, so I did and boy, was I glad. Once the pontificating was over, the story was a wild ride of adventure, humour, and horror. Not for the squeamish, this book, and I'm not sure a cottage in the middle of nature with a mouse running around was the best place to read it, given all the nightmarish zoological details it contains, but I still really enjoyed it.
Unfortunately, the author gets briefly preachy again at the end, presenting [SPOILER ALERT] what I would call the literary argument for belief in God. It goes something like: since God's existence or non-existence makes no factual difference to the way the world is, and since we can't prove it either way, shouldn't we just believe the explanation of the universe that is the best story (i.e. the one where God made everything and continues to express His will through the natural world)? I believe Kierkegaard subscribed to an argument similar to this one, though it was much more subtle and entwined with other ideas. There are many problems with it, but the chief ones are the highly questionable judgment that The Bible is a better story than the one which scientists and atheistic philosophers have come up with, and more importantly the fact that BELIEF in God's existence actually does make a hell of a lot of difference in the world, thank you very much! In that sense, this novel makes a pretty good lead-in to Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion, or probably any of those other God-bashing books which are so popular right now, in that it gives you a personal sense of what the atheists are up against, in case you thought they were just setting up straw men in order to knock them down.
[SPOILER (and bore) ALERT OVER] Anyway, the END end, after the little sermon is over, is quite cute and clever and generally satisfying. If it weren't for the nightmares it gave me, I'd recommend the book without reservation.
And then the other book I read was Brave New World. Everyone's forced to read that in high school, me included, so I won't go on about it, except to say that I don't know what compelled me to read it again, but I'm glad I did, as it's much funnier and more expectation-frustrating than I'd remembered. Also, Aldous Huxley seems, in 1932, to have coined the phrase "bell-bottomed trousers"!
We biked to this funny little museum on one of the LaHave Islands one day. We always visit it when in Green Bay. It's housed in an old church, and it makes me think of the poem "Church Going" by Philip Larkin. Probably just because we always arrive by bicycle.
There are plenty of spectacular sights in the area.
One day we went for a long hike southward along the coast, all the way to Broad Cove. It's a hefty hike anyway, and there were plenty of stops for nature appreciation and photo ops.
This is what I was taking a picture of. There were bees all over those thistles!
And this is what I looked like after I got the picture I wanted.
In Broad Cove, we'd hoped to get a cup of coffee before turning back, but didn't see anywhere to do that. In fact, the whole town seemed to be about six houses and a little beach. There was one other couple on the beach when we sat down to eat the remainder of the lunch we'd brought and dip our feet in the water. We were pretty exhausted and were trying to figure out whether the highway would present a shorter return trip. The only problem with that idea was that we'd ridden the bikes part of the way and left them in the woods, so going back via the highway would mean walking the extra few miles to the bikes after returning. It was a really hot day and the whole decision was just making us more pooped.
Then the other couple got up to leave and we asked them what time it was. A conversation ensued, and in the end they offered us a ride back to the cottage, as they were headed in that very direction! Lucky. It was their fifteenth wedding anniversary and they apparently liked Frank Sinatra a lot because that's what was blaring in the car the whole ride back. They were very nice, though [Why 'though'? Are Sinatra fans known serial rapists or something? - ed.], and it was a bit of a treat to have a conversation with someone other than ourselves.
Back at the cottage, we changed into our bathing costumes and walked to where the bikes were, grabbing a couple of coffees at the canteen on the way. Then we biked back past the cottage to Risser's Beach, where we immediately plunged our exhausted bodies into the heart-attack-inducing Atlantic Ocean. It felt great. I lay on the beach reading for awhile while Ali continued to body surf. Or at least her head did; that's all I could see in the foam, eyes closed and teeth grinning. When we finally rode back and checked out the map in the cottage, we figured out that the day's adventures had comprised about 20 km of walking and cycling. Slept well that night.
Then, the next day, we explored a trail in behind the big hills on the opposite side of Green Bay Road from the river. It was a little wild and unused (a porcupine guarded the entrance), but it generally ran alongside the property edge of the pastures the hills serve as in the daytime. At one place, the path went right up to the edge of the farm's fence, and we saw that cows were eating very nearby. They heard and saw us and started running in the opposite direction. But we called to them and told them it was OK, and they actually turned around and decided to check us out. There was one cow who was the bravest, and the rest just kind of followed her. It was sort of scary when the whole herd started walking right up to us, but also very cool. They were completely gentle, and let Alison take some glamour shots of them.
There's one other thing we did a lot of at the cottage, of which it's impossible to get a photo, and that's listen to the radio. At first we could only get the Bridgewater pop station, CKBW. They play an interesting assortment of contemporary music with a few unexpected wild cards, but it's generally the same songs every day and it soon became monotonous. Then we found CBC 2 and that was the end of CKBW. Classical music around a hot woodstove is pretty nice, but even more of a treat was our discovery of the late night show "The Signal". It's hosted by Laurie Brown, whom I remember fondly from her "New Music Magazine" days in the eighties, and they play just the greatest mix of mostly downtempo, contemporary, hipster/weirdo music, with a tonne of Cancon. Very enjoyable. We started listening to it every night.
One night the show's theme was musical inspiration, and Laurie was talking about Björk. I'm a huge Björk fan, so I began listening intently. As an aside, I'm also a huge Joni Mitchell fan, and though I'm familiar with most of her work, she has a huge catalogue, so there are some albums I've never gotten around to. The Hissing of Summer Lawns was one of those albums until very recently, when I decided on a friend's advice to pick it up and check it out. I'd always liked the cover art, and the music on it turned out to live up to it, in some surprising ways.
Specifically, much of the album is very contemporary-sounding. I always knew Joni was ahead of her time, but on this record she's got some weird keyboards and rhythms going on that I never would have expected from her. The song "The Jungle Line" seems especially prescient, and every time I heard it I kept thinking, "This could be on Björk's latest album. It reminds me a lot of her single, 'Earth Intruders' [see video below]."
Was it just the primitivism of the Burundi beat (ahead of its time in the Joni Mitchell song; alluding to the beat's popularity as part of the now-popular-again sound of eighties post-punk in Björk's) and the visual similarities between the new video and the old album cover? I felt there was also some correspondence going on with the interesting low keyboard sounds and the almost amelodic melodies. But I had no proof.
However, and now my aside/soliloquy is finally over, I was informed this night by Ms. Brown that Björk was also, in fact, a huge Joni Mitchell fan, and had had an almost mystical relationship with the album Don Juan's Reckless Daughter as a young teenager. She could sing the entire album when she was in her first punk rock band. This was VERRRRRY interesting to me! But the kicker came when Laurie went on to introduce a recent recording, by Björk, of a Joni Mitchell song for a Joni Mitchell tribute album that just came out, and it turned out to be "The Boho Dance" from Summer Lawns!
So now I have a mystical relationship with "The Signal" and we've been listening to it in bed every night ever since. Too bad it's on so late — I have to turn it off after 40 minutes or so or the missus hits me over the head with a rolling pin.
Anyways, that's our trip. I guess I didn't do very well with the minimal narration thing, but I kind of thought that was how it would go. Sorry. Next time I'll try to be less manically opinionated, and I won't use any adverbs.
Seriously.
- Andrew
When our friends Angie and Cliff drove us out to the cottage it was raining, but it cleared up almost as soon as we got there, so we walked around on Risser's Beach, which is just a mile or two away. I found out that they made it home without getting lost, despite my terrible directions, so that's a huge relief.
The cottage was right on the river that is "Petite Riviere," looking across at the marshy side of Risser's. That evening another friend, Jill, came from another cottage in Mahone Bay to spend the night with us. She brought along an old friend of hers from Toronto, Tiina (the one on the left), and we had a really nice time with them wandering around the rocks and beaches the next morning. And they took a picture of Ali and me together before they left, an impossibility for the rest of the week.
It was a super comfortable cottage, and even the beds were not much harder on the back than our one at home. I still say nothing beats a futon. There was a mouse there too (not pictured), but it mostly didn't bother us too much. Well, OK, it did scrabble around in those books quite a bit, and once we saw it climb right up the wall, floor to ceiling, which was fairly horrifying. But there were a couple of days when we didn't see it at all. Of course, it made up for it on the last day by running around all over the place like an attention-starved child.For some reason, there was a portrait on one of the walls of Lou Reed as a young child.
We did a lot of this.
And a lot of this. Together, we ploughed through five books, which is really good considering the weather was hot and sunny every day except the first and last. Ali read Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, which I'd eaten up at the cottage last year, and then a book about cat behaviour by Desmond Morris, of The Naked Ape fame. She's been putting her new expertise to the test on Buster, with amazing results. Except for the solos, his electric guitar work is almost road-ready.I, meanwhile, finished my first Haruki Murakami novel, Norwegian Wood, which was a little disappointing. I guess it was a sort of sweet, semi-autobiographical coming of age tale, but the fact that every female character wanted to go to bed with the protagonist was kind of offputting. Plus everyone was always committing suicide. Weird.
Then it was Life of Pi. Johanna had given it to me for my birthday, and it started out very compelling but then became religious and preachy, and I'd put it down for quite awhile. Another friend of mine, however, urged me to continue with it, so I did and boy, was I glad. Once the pontificating was over, the story was a wild ride of adventure, humour, and horror. Not for the squeamish, this book, and I'm not sure a cottage in the middle of nature with a mouse running around was the best place to read it, given all the nightmarish zoological details it contains, but I still really enjoyed it.
Unfortunately, the author gets briefly preachy again at the end, presenting [SPOILER ALERT] what I would call the literary argument for belief in God. It goes something like: since God's existence or non-existence makes no factual difference to the way the world is, and since we can't prove it either way, shouldn't we just believe the explanation of the universe that is the best story (i.e. the one where God made everything and continues to express His will through the natural world)? I believe Kierkegaard subscribed to an argument similar to this one, though it was much more subtle and entwined with other ideas. There are many problems with it, but the chief ones are the highly questionable judgment that The Bible is a better story than the one which scientists and atheistic philosophers have come up with, and more importantly the fact that BELIEF in God's existence actually does make a hell of a lot of difference in the world, thank you very much! In that sense, this novel makes a pretty good lead-in to Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion, or probably any of those other God-bashing books which are so popular right now, in that it gives you a personal sense of what the atheists are up against, in case you thought they were just setting up straw men in order to knock them down.
[SPOILER (and bore) ALERT OVER] Anyway, the END end, after the little sermon is over, is quite cute and clever and generally satisfying. If it weren't for the nightmares it gave me, I'd recommend the book without reservation.
And then the other book I read was Brave New World. Everyone's forced to read that in high school, me included, so I won't go on about it, except to say that I don't know what compelled me to read it again, but I'm glad I did, as it's much funnier and more expectation-frustrating than I'd remembered. Also, Aldous Huxley seems, in 1932, to have coined the phrase "bell-bottomed trousers"!
We biked to this funny little museum on one of the LaHave Islands one day. We always visit it when in Green Bay. It's housed in an old church, and it makes me think of the poem "Church Going" by Philip Larkin. Probably just because we always arrive by bicycle.
There are plenty of spectacular sights in the area.
One day we went for a long hike southward along the coast, all the way to Broad Cove. It's a hefty hike anyway, and there were plenty of stops for nature appreciation and photo ops.
This is what I was taking a picture of. There were bees all over those thistles!
And this is what I looked like after I got the picture I wanted.In Broad Cove, we'd hoped to get a cup of coffee before turning back, but didn't see anywhere to do that. In fact, the whole town seemed to be about six houses and a little beach. There was one other couple on the beach when we sat down to eat the remainder of the lunch we'd brought and dip our feet in the water. We were pretty exhausted and were trying to figure out whether the highway would present a shorter return trip. The only problem with that idea was that we'd ridden the bikes part of the way and left them in the woods, so going back via the highway would mean walking the extra few miles to the bikes after returning. It was a really hot day and the whole decision was just making us more pooped.
Then the other couple got up to leave and we asked them what time it was. A conversation ensued, and in the end they offered us a ride back to the cottage, as they were headed in that very direction! Lucky. It was their fifteenth wedding anniversary and they apparently liked Frank Sinatra a lot because that's what was blaring in the car the whole ride back. They were very nice, though [Why 'though'? Are Sinatra fans known serial rapists or something? - ed.], and it was a bit of a treat to have a conversation with someone other than ourselves.
Back at the cottage, we changed into our bathing costumes and walked to where the bikes were, grabbing a couple of coffees at the canteen on the way. Then we biked back past the cottage to Risser's Beach, where we immediately plunged our exhausted bodies into the heart-attack-inducing Atlantic Ocean. It felt great. I lay on the beach reading for awhile while Ali continued to body surf. Or at least her head did; that's all I could see in the foam, eyes closed and teeth grinning. When we finally rode back and checked out the map in the cottage, we figured out that the day's adventures had comprised about 20 km of walking and cycling. Slept well that night.
Then, the next day, we explored a trail in behind the big hills on the opposite side of Green Bay Road from the river. It was a little wild and unused (a porcupine guarded the entrance), but it generally ran alongside the property edge of the pastures the hills serve as in the daytime. At one place, the path went right up to the edge of the farm's fence, and we saw that cows were eating very nearby. They heard and saw us and started running in the opposite direction. But we called to them and told them it was OK, and they actually turned around and decided to check us out. There was one cow who was the bravest, and the rest just kind of followed her. It was sort of scary when the whole herd started walking right up to us, but also very cool. They were completely gentle, and let Alison take some glamour shots of them.
There's one other thing we did a lot of at the cottage, of which it's impossible to get a photo, and that's listen to the radio. At first we could only get the Bridgewater pop station, CKBW. They play an interesting assortment of contemporary music with a few unexpected wild cards, but it's generally the same songs every day and it soon became monotonous. Then we found CBC 2 and that was the end of CKBW. Classical music around a hot woodstove is pretty nice, but even more of a treat was our discovery of the late night show "The Signal". It's hosted by Laurie Brown, whom I remember fondly from her "New Music Magazine" days in the eighties, and they play just the greatest mix of mostly downtempo, contemporary, hipster/weirdo music, with a tonne of Cancon. Very enjoyable. We started listening to it every night.
One night the show's theme was musical inspiration, and Laurie was talking about Björk. I'm a huge Björk fan, so I began listening intently. As an aside, I'm also a huge Joni Mitchell fan, and though I'm familiar with most of her work, she has a huge catalogue, so there are some albums I've never gotten around to. The Hissing of Summer Lawns was one of those albums until very recently, when I decided on a friend's advice to pick it up and check it out. I'd always liked the cover art, and the music on it turned out to live up to it, in some surprising ways.Specifically, much of the album is very contemporary-sounding. I always knew Joni was ahead of her time, but on this record she's got some weird keyboards and rhythms going on that I never would have expected from her. The song "The Jungle Line" seems especially prescient, and every time I heard it I kept thinking, "This could be on Björk's latest album. It reminds me a lot of her single, 'Earth Intruders' [see video below]."
Was it just the primitivism of the Burundi beat (ahead of its time in the Joni Mitchell song; alluding to the beat's popularity as part of the now-popular-again sound of eighties post-punk in Björk's) and the visual similarities between the new video and the old album cover? I felt there was also some correspondence going on with the interesting low keyboard sounds and the almost amelodic melodies. But I had no proof.
However, and now my aside/soliloquy is finally over, I was informed this night by Ms. Brown that Björk was also, in fact, a huge Joni Mitchell fan, and had had an almost mystical relationship with the album Don Juan's Reckless Daughter as a young teenager. She could sing the entire album when she was in her first punk rock band. This was VERRRRRY interesting to me! But the kicker came when Laurie went on to introduce a recent recording, by Björk, of a Joni Mitchell song for a Joni Mitchell tribute album that just came out, and it turned out to be "The Boho Dance" from Summer Lawns!
So now I have a mystical relationship with "The Signal" and we've been listening to it in bed every night ever since. Too bad it's on so late — I have to turn it off after 40 minutes or so or the missus hits me over the head with a rolling pin.
Anyways, that's our trip. I guess I didn't do very well with the minimal narration thing, but I kind of thought that was how it would go. Sorry. Next time I'll try to be less manically opinionated, and I won't use any adverbs.
Seriously.
- Andrew
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