Today…

…I saw a pair of horse-drawn car­riages com­ing down the street. They pulled off, into a park­ing lot, to let the traf­fic behind them go by. Inspired by Rob Cock­er­ham’s mot­to (“Always bring your cam­era”), I snapped a cou­ple of pho­tos, pre­sent­ed below for your edi­fi­ca­tion. No, I don’t know where the car­riages were going. Yes, the dri­vers had cow­boy hats on.

2 carriages

Horse and Carriage


Tonight we are going to the “Out­side the Perime­ter”* show of the CBC’s Win­nipeg Com­e­dy Fes­ti­val. I’m quite look­ing for­ward to it.

_______________________________
* My name, not theirs.

Can’t Talk. Eating.

Some food-relat­ed tidbits:

  • I made banana loaf the oth­er day, with choco­late chips in it. It’s half gone. Delicious.
  • The Vel­vet Dip opened on Sat­ur­day. They have the smoothest soft-serve I’ve ever tast­ed, leagues above the stuff Dairy Queen pro­vides. (Though, if I did­n’t know about the Dip, I’d feel pret­ty stoked that the DQ was open again for the summer.
  • My sis­ter sent me a vin­ert­erte for my birth­day. As far as I’m con­cerned, food-wise, it’s one of the best things Ice­land ever came up with. I have to make the icing, but that’s no great hard­ship. As long as I still have some amaret­to for the flavouring…
    The best food to come out of Iceland.  Ever.
  • I think I’ll have to stop by the LC for some Black Wych, which is the best stout I’ve ever tast­ed. As far as I’m con­cerned, it even trumps Guin­ness. Mmm mmm good.

So. How was your week­end? Mine’s not done yet. I took Mon­day and Tues­day off this week.

Yeah, it’s a rough life.

Party party party

Sun­day School par­ty last night (real­ly). Well, sort of. One of the Sun­day School teach­ers (and her fam­i­ly) is buy­ing a house, and so this was the pre-house­warm­ing par­ty. It was an all-ages par­ty, and all the par­ty-goers just slept over at the hosts’ house (it made sense, logis­ti­cal­ly, since the par­ty was in Chater, which is about 20 min­utes out of town. Plus both of us had been drink­ing, so dri­ving home was­n’t in the cards).

Princesses of the tea party
Two of the princesses

A game of Rummoli
The card game where I lost, oh, eight times or so

At the end of a long day
It was a long day for some

Tonight: Oscar par­ty with a bunch of the folks from the Evans.

At the Evans
Evans projectors 

In like a lion

March 1st

…even­tu­al­ly.

They’ve been call­ing for heavy snow­fall all day. Warn­ing about it since last night. It final­ly start­ed at about ten to one this after­noon, just as I was get­ting ready to go back to work.

I snapped this shot from my office, through the win­dow, look­ing out on the park­ing lot and the entrance to the Music Build­ing. At one point there was enough snow in the air that I could bare­ly make out those trees (not the big pine on the right, the naked ones about a hun­dred feet out).

My par­ents, who had been plan­ning to stop in at my place on their way to vis­it my sis­ter in Cal­gary, have decid­ed not to come. I think that’s wise.

Sledding

Pat
^ That’s me! ^

So today we went sled­ding after church. It was a blast. More pho­tos at my flickr site.

Now I hope to do some writ­ing. Prob­a­bly some more in the sto­ry I was work­ing on yesterday.

Lat­er–1300 words. Not bad for an hour and a half. Chap­ter 1 is now com­plete, and it’s just shy of 3500 words. Nice!

Censoring Dennis Lee?

Some days, it just don’t pay to read the news.

CBC Arts: N.S. edu­ca­tors can’t see humour in ‘Brat­ty Broth­er’ poem

Review­ers of one of my favourite poems from my childhood–“The Brat­ty Broth­er” by Den­nis Lee–are hav­ing issues with the poem’s inclu­sion in a book dis­trib­uted to every first-grad­er in Cana­da to pro­mote literacy.

The poem, “Brat­ty Broth­er”, is a vio­lent poem and the humour of it escapes our review­ers. Some par­ents may also respond neg­a­tive­ly to the poem…

Per­haps the review­ers need to read this poem as a child would, rather than as a lit­i­ga­tion-fear­ing no-fun-allowed suit would.

Besides,

The poem is more than 30 years old and the poet him­self says he’s had noth­ing but pos­i­tive feed­back from par­ents, who actu­al­ly say the book helps kids with younger ‘brat­ty’ broth­ers under­stand that they aren’t the only ones hav­ing these problems.

Here is part of the poem, repro­duced from memory:

I dumped the brat­ty brother
In the shark-infest­ed sea,
By dusk the sea was empty
And the brat was home with me.

I wept, and hurled the brat­ty brother
Off the CN Tower;
He lol­loped through the liv­ing room
In less than half an hour.

Of course, when I read it, I sub­sti­tut­ed “sis­ter” for “broth­er”, as I have two sis­ters and not a sin­gle brother.

I mean real­ly.  What’s next?  Do we ban “Alli­ga­tor Pie” on the off-chance that some­one los­es a leg try­ing to snare some lunch?

Songs I could listen to on infinite repeat: #1 in a fairly short list

Here It Is Again” by Beautiful South

It opens with a head­long rolling bassline. Then a piano starts to tin­kle over­top of the bass.

Here it is again it’s so so mad
Turn­ing young and hap­py into old and sad
Here it is again just passed by chance
All the way to the lawyer from a slop­py dance
It was anoth­er hol­i­day argument
But she threw him into the sea
A glass bot­tomed boat pulled him up
His face was rot­ting in weed
It was rot­ting in weed, I’ve seen those peo­ple bleed
If it nev­er hap­pens well it hap­pened to me

Do you know who you love
Does any­body here have a clue
Just who they’re with
And it was glance by glance
And it was blow by blow
Did they know
Just who they loved

At some point the strings come in. I’m nev­er sure if they’re there before I notice them, or if they’re just insert­ed so smooth­ly that I don’t notice when it happens.

Here it is again in the same disguise
Clean shoes, smart tie and deep blue eyes
Here it is again and it makes you sick
Watch the blind man walk along with­out a stick
Heads he was a beau­ti­ful lover
Tails he was def­i­nite­ly bad
Heads you’re like no other
Tails just the best he’d had

You’re the best he’s had
You’re the best so far
All the way to the church from the back of a car

The voice is husky and charm­ing, but there’s a sense of urgency to it. You’re nev­er sure if it’s fear or anger or sor­row dri­ving the words. You just know that you need the song to go on longer. Maybe forever.

Do you know who you love
Does any­body here have a clue
Just who they’re with
And it was glance by glance
And it was blow by blow
Did they know
Just who they loved
Just who they loved
Just who they loved
Just who they loved
Just who they loved

And then you press rewind and lis­ten to it again, so loud that the bass threat­ens to destroy your cheap car speak­ers. Let ’em go. What a way for them to die.

Then you see the girl in the next car, giv­ing you a fun­ny look because she’s caught you singing along. Oh well.