things a doin' where I do most of my stewin'

I hope you weren't getting used to somewhat relevant, thought-out blog posts.

Because my computer's acting silly again I'm trying to rid it of anything unnecessary so when I reformat there will be less to put back. With this in mind, here are some random photos with various words attached.

Let's start in my room.

As all of you must know by now, my bed is CONSTANTLY full of sexy babes.

This is just Toon and niXon snuggling. Sometimes they even let me in on the fun!

And by fun I of course mean moments of absolute terror.

What a dream puff!

With that in mind, sometimes I'm better off spending time alone, with a candle. Candles are great. This one was a gift I received at work. I gave a tour to the class and they appreciated it so much they candled me. Or they give one every year and I just won the candle lottery, either way, candle!

But candles can be dangerous. If you have one lit and say the wrong thing your room can EXPLODE! In my case the explosion resulted in most of my possessions being destroyed and a world of white descending on my being.

If this misfortune makes you sad dear reader, fear not! As luck would have it a small creature of indeterminate origins arrived to lead me on a magical journey.

He led me down a magical ladder.

Then along a magical tunnel.

So much magic going on.

And then POOF! I was in my room...woah.

POOF!

Amazing. In homage to the journey, the poofs, the magic and the world more generally, I made a nice little display dealy. It was originally going to be for Battle Beasts, but I figured the pebbles looked nice instead.

I'm actually in the midst of a few new things for my room. Beyond the floor there's a bit of a reorganization and decorating spree going on. Even considering a real bed, but that might have to wait for financial stars to align. Anyone in the mood to buy or donate a bed to my cause, I'm looking for comfort and a complete lack of bed bugs.

Also, everyone should watch this space (and others) for a possible room warming party in the relatively near future.

when you have a question about poetry ask a poet

Or at least read what they say.

Who is David McFadden? A Canadian poet who I had never heard of until today...what's the opposite of an oxymoron...internet research, and...

WOAH, THAT'S A TAUTOLOGY IF I'VE EVER HEARD ONE, AM I RIGHT PEOPLE?

Thanks to Monkey Farm his deets were sent my way.

She's in the midst of a poetry course right now so undoubtedly has all sorts of goodies she can share, but started me off with some great news, just the sort of thing I want to hear...

"Also we had a guest lecture in class last night and there was a brief discussion of clarity in poetry. He told us that there are levels of obscurity in poetry, and that the more you study it the more you can get out it. But he also said that the best poetry - the stuff that will stand the test of time - will have surface clarity, and then underneath that layer upon layer of complexity."

She then mentioned Mr. McFadden and was kind enough to send me a link to his book, recommending Margaret Hollingsworth's Typewriter as an excellent place to start.

-----

I was eating scrambled eggs in the Shamrock Restaurant

and the eggs tasted like Chinese food

so I said to the waitress I'm a person

who likes Chinese food but doesn't like

my eggs in the morning to taste like chicken fried rice

and she laughed and said it must have been

the green onions and suggested the next time

I come into the Shamrock for breakfast

I specify that I want Canadian green onions

with my scrambled eggs or I'll get Chinese again

and I said there won't be another time,

this is it, I'm a widely respected blah blah and blah

and well-regarded in the community too

and shouldn't have to subject myself

to such bad food. I'm finished, I said.

This used to be my favourite Irish-Chinese restaurant

in the entire West Kootenay

but this is it, I'm never coming back --

and through the kitchen door I could see

the Chinese chef covering his ears with his hands.

And so I went to pay my bill

and this is the really embarrassing part,

this is why I'm writing this poem

by hand, pencil on paper, because Margaret Hollingsworth's

typewrite has a three-prong plug

and all the outlets in the house are two-prongers

and her adapter is up at the college

and I begged her to let me cut the third prong off

so I could use her typewriter

because I had a simply overwhelming

desire to write this poem, and she refused

and I told...oh, never mind all that.

This is the embarrassing part. After complaining

so vociferously about the eggs I went to pay my bill

and discovered I had no money with me

so I had to go home and get my wallet

and bring it back to the restaurant

making myself a liar for having said

this is it, I'm never coming back.

The waitress was very nice about it all.

Is it hard to write poetry?

Yes, I would say it is. For instance

in this poem I didn't know whether to start

by talking about the scrambled eggs

or the Smith Corona. And I didn't have

a lot of time to think about it

because I simply had to start the poem,

it was that urgent,

and then you have to torture yourself

wondering if it's all right to write about

writing in a poem and you keep resolving

never again to write about writing

and you always break your resolve.

It's as if writing has a will of its own

and wants to be written about

just like Margaret Hollingsworth's

typewriter.

-----

Great stuff, so clear and seemingly simple. And the book was nominated for the 2008 Griffin Poetry Prize.

It's great when you find out you aren't alone. Others are pondering poetry's absurdities as well, and And AND, the introduction to McFadden's book compares him to Frank O'Hara (see the below post if you've already forgotten) in the first line! Oh universe, you are a tricky monkey.

Halloween

I had a costume. That's an important part of the evening. I was a mountaineer?

I found the sweater at a second-hand store on Bloor. It's for a cyclist, with fun pockets in the back for protein bars and drinks, so originally that's what I was going to be. But then I put on the hat, Fancy suggested a climber and I agreed. Also, the rope is such an easy prop and not one I have to carry all night.

A key consideration on Halloween.

Finally, nice gams.

Went to Comedy Bar, The Boat, then back to Comedy Bar and had a good time. Not a mind-blowingly awesome time, but a good time. The problem is being tired.

If you're tired you're less likely to pop out of the chair, bounce around the room and interact with people. It's one thing to interact with those you know, but it takes more energy to put yourself out there and start talking with new people.

So I guess the problem is being tired and not knowing enough people. Next time I'll be less tired, become the best of friends with EVERYONE then follow that up with an exhausted visit during which I'll reconfirm my newfound friendships by having low energy repartee and banter.

Can't wait.

We switched venues midway through the evening because Annie was due for a Sweatshop Hop shift at The Boat. We arrived, aerobicized and departed pretty quickly but there was still enough time for me to get my crush on. Just for an instant, just the one person and just as I was leaving.

Methinks my strategies around babes need some work.

And that's where not being so tired comes in. Right? Or, at least that's part of it. Sorting out my own muddled state and what exactly I'm looking for couldn't hurt things either.

Ah well. I'm sure I'll figure out what I'm up to soon enough. In the meantime there's lots to keep me busy. Tomorrow I'm off to Kingston for the day to meet with students and tell them how to write better papers.

Write better papers kids! I'll say. And they will giggle. Giggle and fail.

The Macallan

Wonder of wonders, I was invited to a classy event last night! Finally I understand why I have my hair cut by Enzo from time to time.

(insert photo of me standing around, looking casually delicious - never taken - here)

The event was a Macallan scotch tasting and as if that wasn't classy enough One Restaurant (Hazelton Hotel) was the setting and Matchstick played host. Toon was my hook-up and Deck was along as well. Smart girl that Toon, showing up at an event about 90% boys with 2 of her own.

(Toon has more photos - mostly her legs but I'm in there too - here, with the promise of more still to come)

Well. As long as she's happy.

We had the the pleasure of our whiskey guide Marc's knowledge, and 10, 12, 15, 18 and 21 year old vintages with which to wet our whistles.

Much to my delight geography featured heavily in the evening's information. Scotland to America and the north of Spain, we learned all about oaken varieties, cask manufacture and how distinct environments donate flavour to the drink through a woody medium.

Marc even gave us a chemistry lesson, the relative merits of ice cubes, ice balls and chilled Lake Ontario pebbles. Then threw in some economics as well, focusing on the impossibility of scotch soothsaying. Twenty-one years ago no one at Macallan could have predicted the recent scotch boom that has caused supply and demand conundrums the world over.

Heck, 21 years ago I was tidying up grade 1 art projects with Mrs. Kaufman, oblivious to everything save recess and what was in my nose.

Just like any normal red-blooded male, all the talk about barrel manufacture - bourbon in America, oaks in the north of Spain, 100 year plans for stave manufacture - got me thinking about maps.

Shocker! I know.

A map project that encapsulates the geographic spread of a bottle of scotch and the time it takes to come together would be fun. For that I'd need to think about ways to draw time alongside the spatial language maps are already so good at. There are examples, here's one of Napoleon's ill-fated march on Moscow, so I have a starting point. Don't know what the end result will be, but here's hoping for giggles.

Oh right...the tasting part. Delicious!

The 10 year old was smooth, as was the 12 but with more complexity (is that the word that makes me sound clever?). I found the 15 had more of a smoky edge, it strangely reminded me of some Islay malts. The 21 year old was mellow in an inexplicable and delightful way, one that I can't really remember but know I want to try again. Then the 18...ah the 18. Finally a scotch where I could taste the toffee, the fruit and the layers that all those people that drink the stuff are always talking about. And for the low low price of $289 a bottle!

Let me join you scotch drinkers! Give me money, then let me join you.

But seriously, as Mark repeated over the evening, there's no need to be a snob around scotch. If it tastes right for you, it's the scotch for you. There's so much variety in palate and preference, sometimes changing over the course of a day, to become too concerned with age and cost is to miss the point.

A great event! And to top it off they sent us home with a lovely little loot bag. Tumbler and samplers and tasting cards, oh my.

And I won the draw meaning + one bottle of the 10 year old for me!

Here's me bemused and confused, basking in the glow of applause that broke out (not just Deck) upon my name being announced.

I work hard.

I deserve it.

I think Toon was jealous, then she stole some when I wasn't looking. Thief! Damned thief that brought me to the event in the first place, therefore all is forgiven.

We were even taxi chitted all the way home. Given the evening started with a streetcar driver telling me I don't like being hailed like a cab this seemed like a nice way to finish up.

-some photos courtesy of the organizers

born to busk at rancho relaxo

If I was in a corn farming cooperative I'd want to call it Born to Husk. And then the other farmers would kill me.

But seriously folks.

Last night, Wednesday night, was a night for good times and good music at Rancho Relaxo. Born to Busk, Deck's band, were playing a set so despite an early morning wake-up for work I went out. And yes, I have settled on Deck, which is Toon's blog name for him but why reinvent the wheel?

Anyway, there are no pictures, good blogging me, but a good time was had by all. niXon was there (that's a new nickname and I think it's a good one for her because she is not a crook, just a candy fiend) as well as Chewy (damn this should just be the introduce a bunch of new nicknames post. This nickname came about because I am stupid and half deaf). This is Chewy's face. I'm really working my way into the Toronto blog scene now, I'll tell you what, what what!

There was an opening band, heavily influenced by The Killers. Their lead singer had a high school jacket that said Jets and that's all I have to say about them.

Then there was an outdoor adventure made amusing by a wee blond boy and his crack friendly female companions who kept telling him to Run! Run! Run! This was funny for a bit as he carried his chubby little body along with an amusing strait legged gait. Then he started coughing some dry long wheezy thing that should only come from a 70 year old 3 packs a day for the last 55 years kinda guy. I became slightly less amused.

And then there was B to B. I danced, Toon danced, Chewy danced, niXon bopped (she might have danced, I didn't see) and a bunch of other people flailed.

Then I went home with buzzing ears - why sound people? why so loud? - and was unable to fall asleep. Hey! Perfect.

No matter. I was up and at work on time. In time in fact for the morning meeting to hear, amongst other things, jeans aren't cool for work unless they are black and tailored. We need to look professional for the 8 year olds. My pants do have a hole in the bum, so I guess I was pushing my luck right from the start. Meh, I needed to get new pants anyway.

The end.

Good Bye TOMson

Another week, another going away party. This time though, it's for the guy over to the right. That guy!

What's wrong, can't see his face? That's because he is a mystery.

TOMson is heading out west, to take up a new position with GreenPeace. It's funny, you'd think with all those dirty hippies on the west coast they'd be able to find someone to fill their management position, but apparently not.

So now they're poaching our very own dirty hippies to help run things.

Greedy, greedy west coast. Don't you have enough dirty hippies?

Okay, that's enough attempting to raise readership through scandal and conflict. Who needs that stuff anyway?

Dirty hippies.

Cheese and Fancy were there, looking, I believe the term is non-plussed.

Fancy has no excuse to scowl, but Cheese...well her feet are broken. Slowly healing. This was the first time she'd been out since she had surgery and her feet were feeling a bit heavy and uncomfortable. We got her there slowly but steadily. One third shuffle, one third crutching and one third exhilarating piggy back ride. After all day on the bus yesterday I was happy for the exercise. At least she was able to pull off the plastic bag and enormous protective booty combo stylishly. I know I couldn't.

By framing the shot thus ways, with Daydream's hands, I turned it into art.

I've been claiming a lot of my photos lately are art. Hopefully I'm not getting too pretentious. If I am, someone smack my head (but gently so as not to hurt me).

The Golden Girl was there, wearing a colour for the first time (that I can remember). It turned her into a light fixture obsessed demon of some sort, but no one is perfect so that's okay.

Then a series of fingers and thumbs appeared.

Followed by a red Toon. Doesn't she look happy? She keeps saying she's really happy and I would tend to agree.

And after a whole lot of hugging it was time to go. Someone in this picture smells funny. My guess is it's me.

Bye TOMson. You'll be missed but not forgotten. Heck, I might even see you out and about tonight for nuit blanche.

Slippers' goodbye

I don't have much to say here. Really this post is an excuse to use some of Toon's pictures to liven up my blog.

The tall, bearded man in this photo is going away soon, so he had a party for him. It was nice of him to invite other people to his shindig. There was much musicianship and good times.

I'm only posting a few of Toon's pictures from the evening. If you want to see the rest, go to her place.

I chose to post this one to thank Toon for letting me use these. I didn't ask, but I'm sure it will be okay.

I took this picture.

This one too!

I used my powers of height to achieve this angle. If it was a yoga move it would be called Downward Babe. Note to readers: this is an optical illusion. Cheese and Toon are not the same height.

This last photo I feel is nice. I can't remember what we were going for but I like it. Because I'm so tired I look gruff. People will see this and think,

WOAH!

Not a fellow to be trifled with!

They will think that in very large, loud words because they are intimidated and know I am not one to take guff lightly.

Don't GUFF him, they will whisper. He won't abide it.

Aside from this sexy chest rub, the other highlight of the evening was a chat with a beautiful lady from Montreal. She is starting an MFA at York in dance. Hopefully she will not be busy soon and we can hang out.

brain election

I think my brain tries to predict the future.

I went to bed early last night, needing to be up for the St. Paul by-election. I took a while to doze off (surprise!), but when I did it was time for my brain to play Predict Tomorrow's Events, a fantastic game with millions in prizes.

My brain does this a lot. Often when I have to be up early, rather than wait for the alarm, I will wake up repeatedly from 4 or so on. The only reason I know what my brain is playing is because all this waking and sleeping lets me remember what I was dreaming.

Here is a run down of what my brain thought would happen today.

-I would be working a poll set-up in an old church

-I would spend most of my time in one of the pews looking through my backpack for distractions

-someone would be training us in the intricacies of electioneering (no one would listen to the drone)

-I would never see any actual voters

-eventually the wedding that was also booked for the church today (obviously) would start

-I would need to move myself to the back of the church so as not to be in the way (by-elections aren't that important)

-when the minister asks if anyone had anything to say one of the bridal party would speak. She thought the groom was a bit emotionally mean sometimes

-the bride wouldn't react in any way

-the groom would make a comical shrug and gesture with his arms, saying Me? I'm the best!

Good try brain, I said, but it's 6:37 and I'm getting up. No prizes today, but as thanks for playing please accept breakfast.

In reality, I biked up to Bathurst and St.Clair, getting nice and sweaty, then sat in a really warm room (the one I had training in before) for about an hour listening to a lady drone about what the DRO and the IA and the RO and the PC would be doing. There were a lot of us there and most of the people had apparently worked an election or two before.

I made a decision (I'm getting better at that, maybe I'll write a post about it!) to leave. If I stayed it would be at least until 1230 and if I was actually sent to a poll I'd be working until

9 PM.

I have a job starting next week and they seemed to have enough people to fill any voids, so I claimed sickness and left.

I do have a sore throat and a runny nose, so it wasn't even a lie. Also, I did something to me knee last night and if there's one thing that can ruin an election it's a gammy knee (see: 1842 election in Canada West between Francis and Jenkins) so my departure was for the best.

And now I get to have coffee with Toon!

Wednesday holidays

Summer's end is fast approaching and one mustn't waste any of it. I don't know what you would do, but if you're me you make an exciting journey eastwards with your friends!

All the way to Oshawa and it's pleasant beach and shoreline park environs. Oshawa? you say, The place of cars that once were but are no more?. And I say Yep, that's the one. It's on the lake so it has a beach.

And boats! Or at least one boat.

I always take pictures of boats when I'm travelling and it isn't like this one is any less cool just because it's tooting its way into Oshawa harbour, so here it is.

It's important to stay covered up when in the sun, apparently. I find this strategy also helps with my allure. You know the ol' keep 'em guessing gambit.

Because later, when you start doing handstands, or ninja kicks, or performing The Lake Dance, you want to make sure you have maintained your dignity.

The ninja kick and parts of The Lake Dance are very similar, but I assure you distinct.

As you might have guessed I thought the water was pretty swell. Cheese found it a bit too cold (note cringe in hips) and Ash and Slippers never even tried the darned stuff out.

But everyone agreed bocce was top notch.

And hanging out around the table time was also a popular activity. What's a one day vacation without some of that sweetness?

After all that we even went bowling. No pictures of that glorious occasion, but I assure you I was by far the worst. I did improve each game and think I broke 75 by the end.

Satisfied.

CNE me!

Last night was a trip to the fair!

Well, I'm sure the organizers of the CNE would consider it something more than that, perhaps THE fair. Calling it the Canadian National Exhibition puts at least a touch of grandiosity on the event. My expectation was the Owen Sound fall fair writ large and I was not disappointed.

The rides were bigger and there were more of them than back home, although The Zipper was there, as was the Gravitron 2000, renamed Spaceship 4000 just so they could get ahead of a few millennia. We rode some sort of spinning device, whose name eludes me, that spun us around and around, forwards and back, and best of all Cheese partook and did not barf. Later, after dark, we rocked the ferris wheel.

Food was not only plentiful but varied beyond belief. Could have had a 99 cent cup of spaghetti, but didn't. Eaten by the crew were; fries, perogies, corn dogs, waffle-ice cream sandwiches, hot dogs, dried sausages, bacon sandwiches and British chocolate...I think that's all. And all that barely scratched the surface. We didn't even try the chocolate covered bacon, but I guess you always have to save something for next year!

And of course there were way more games as well. There was some mightily intense mole whacking going on, along with rings that bounced off bottles and our one win of the night in the birth month/age/weight contest. Moggster took that one down and earned Barack Obama for her troubles. So many more games could have been played of course, but there was only so much money to be wasted and over sized animals to not be won.

Our last stop before departing was a beer garden, featuring ridiculously priced beverages for some and a 4 piece band playing whatever they were feeling. Jake on keys rocked and had our appreciation screamed at him periodically. I suppose that counts as us seeing a show at The Ex; apparently there are lots, just not when you go for the discounted evening rate.

So that's the CNE. Bigger and more varied than the fall fairs of my kiddydom and lacking the agricultural aspect, which I suppose is what the Royal Agricultural Winter Fair in November is all about.

brief summation of the weekend

This weekend thanks to a Manitoban-architect-babe (who I was going to call Barn but someone else already has so she has no nickname yet - Drive Shed? heh) I have discovered the joys of casual coffee on a bench at Ella's. {ed. I've since settled on The Golden Girl}

And by coffee I mean London fog or some other tea goodness. No coffee for this kitten. On Saturday I had a splendid sit and chat, then today I had a splendid solo sit and read. Even spoke with a nice lady about her dog. Keen gear!

I also finished my 100 level improv course this weekend. Starting 200 with Bad Dog shortly and I'm looking forward to it. I think I have a general grasp of what's going on and the whole letting it all hang loose and going for it is great. Undoubtedly closely related to my dancing style.

Serious this time. Bed. Now!

Dakota. Dancing. Face. Off.

Well, what more beyond the title needs to be said? The Beauties were on stage at the Dakota, the tunes were good and once I'd elbowed out a bit of space, there was even room enough on the dance floor.

And Sam Neill was there, as in Jurrasic Park Sam Neill.

I was bopping constantly, and had put in 2 solid, if brief, intense sessions already, just 30 second jobbies during the latter parts of songs. Just enough to get a sweat up, warm up my legs and get people wanting more.

Heh.

I was beginning to tire and was thinking one last song. I have no idea what it was and at first I didn't think it would be ideal for my particular brand of rock out. I was wrong. Danced so very hard. I don't think I have ever been more aggressive. I really felt like I was dancing to get rid of something. Something more than excess energy. Spooky.

Felt good though, being an angry thrashing body in the midst of all those people. Perhaps I was a spectacle but I was more about revelling in my own movement than anything else. Pleasant.

Dave tells me I was scaring an attractive blond who was trying to dance with me, but thought better of it when my uber aggression kicked in toward the end of the song. Oh well. Maybe next time I'll pay attention to such things.

In the meantime, bed.