Number 2 child got to vote for the first time, so I took her along this morning to the “Voting Place” – really?! What ever happened to “Polling Station“? Another case of the English language being simplified and dumbed down for the hard of thinking? Winston Smith would find things easy here…
Anyway, she was fêted as if she were royalty (being a first timer), which helped make a positive impression I’m sure. I guess she looked like a noob. She commented on how laid back things seemed to be, but I pointed out how very meticulous the process actually was (they wouldn’t even begin to look for me in the register until her vote was in the box). I’m glad she actively wanted to take part in the election. It’s an important part of who we are as Canadians (when we’re not being British, or English or Yorkshiremen – well the last one is only me).
We even got stickers as we left announcing “I voted”. No lollipop though. I feel cheated…
This year, there’s no “good” candidates I felt – only an attempt to pick the least bad. The CBC had a natty online questionnaire which asked a few key questions and helped you see which party’s views were most aligned with your own. I gave it a go. Bad idea.
I was 56% aligned with both the Liberals and the NDP (the two leading parties in BC). 54% aligned with the Greens. So – not really a lot of help at all!
I was reminded of a Churchillism:
“Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.” (from a House of Commons speech on Nov. 11, 1947).
Despite that, yes – I did vote. Fingers crossed now. My part in the game is done.
At 8pm, we see who is steering the grand vessel that is BC.
Getting antsy for the up-coming Kate Nash show at Vancouver’s Electric Owl venue. Never been, but I’m reliably told it’s “cosy”. Probably a good match for her style which isn’t over-produced.
She’s got a third album out now, and it has some strong feminist messages. She’s also taken over as global ambassador for Because I am a Girl. I think it’s a great use of her celebrity status. She seems to manage to balance being girlie when it suits her and still being taken seriously.
Anyway, I’ve been listening to her new stuff which is definitely darker and a bit retro-post-punk in places, and along with that, her older stuff came up in the shuffle. “Birds” popped up, and reminded me of why I like Nash’s stuff. The lyrics are so observant. Hard to believe that she’s only 25 now, making her about 19 when she broke out with “Foundations“.
I loved the phrase from “Birds” as the new boyfriend attempts to express his feelings:
Right, birds can fly so high And they can shit on your head And they can almost fly into your eye And make you feel so scared. But when you look at them And you see that they’re beautiful That’s how I feel about you
For me it captured how clumsy new lovers are in expressing their thoughts. They stumble to find metaphors and allusions to how they feel, and end up sounding stupid.
This one struck a chord. Women can be really quite prickly and scary when you first encounter them. And yes – you sometimes can feel a bit shat on. When you get behind all that though and get to know them better (if you’re allowed to!) you might get the chance to see their real colours and appreciate the inner beauty. And then you’ll appreciate just being in their space and watching and listening. Every little movement. Every pout. Every small disaster they’ve overcome and want to recount. And you’ll come to appreciate that it was you they chose to share it with.
Anyway, they say if a bird shits on you, it’s good luck. (Not sure about having one fly into your eye though…)
“3am” was the first single from the new album. More failed relationship stuff. It smacks a bit of Billy Bragg/Kirsty MacColl to me. What do you think?
One minute I’m watching Lily Allen at Glastonbury in 2009, the next I’m watching Chairlift sing “Bruises” live. Such are journeys through the internet.
I’ve not heard this song in a while – enjoy it with someone you’d do handstands for.
The “dash cams” fitted in many Russian cars have kept youtube in steady supply of everything from stupid acts of road rage to meteorites landing on Earth.
Here though is a compilation of people helping each other – and other animals. Often in the depths of winter (or it could be the height of a Siberian summer, for all I know!)
Lots of ex-Scouts just itching to help old ladies cross the road… whether they want to or not.
I came across this series of photos of a young lad with Muscular Dystrophy. Cleverly illustrating the dreams from his sketchbook with everyday objects and deft camera-work.
Remember when Star Trek (the original series) was on TV, and you used to snigger when William (Canadian) Shatner used to start with “Captain’s Log…”?
[BTW - WordPress just offered to correct Shatner to Shatter, so I think that's good Karma for this blog entry...].
No? Just me then?
Oh well, I never assume others will read my entries anyway, so onwards we go into another dubious cul-de-sac of language. (Remember cul-de-sac mean’s the bum of the bag?)
Source: Karen’s Gallery – A bag’s bum
My Father-in-law is almost as bad (good?) as I am for finding books with dubious titles and pretexts. Today he found “Poo Log” by Anish Sheth and Josh Richman. I can’t imagine two people thinking it was a good idea for a book, but there you go.
We’re told it’s “A journal for recording and studying the wondrous uniqueness of various bowel movements. It includes reference charts, checklists, fecal facts, and illustrations.” How did I live this long without feeling the need to study and indeed compare my bowel movements to a chart? Now I know this is a cultural thing. In Germany, the toilet bowl is shaped so that rather than your crap dropping straight into the water, it is deposited on a little shelf until flushed away. I suppose this allows for the type of study, measurement and who knows what that this book seems to propose.
Of almost as much perverse interest is the “related” books that Book Depository offers to people interested in Poo Log. It naturally includes similarly veined books such as How to Poo at Work by Mats & Enzo – another double effort I note, as well as What’s My Pee Telling Me? also by Josh Richman/Anish Sheth and of course (how could they not?) The Pop-up Book of Poo (author’s undisclosed – very sensible on the whole.) But here’s the kicker… the list also includes Steve Jobs: The Exclusive Biography by Walter Isaacson.
Now – I’m certainly no fan of Apple (or for that matter Steve Jobs himself), but this seemed a little harsh!
Then I remembered Billy Connolly, and perhaps it made a little more sense…
Essentially he was working in very remote places in Africa, yet could always find Coca Cola for sale. This in places where basic healthcare was not available for kids. Only 1 in 5 was making it to their 5th birthday. Many died from diarrhea. He hit upon the idea of using the “dead space” between the bottles in the Coca Cola crates to piggy back on Coke’s distribution to these places without increasing transportation costs. Enter a very cleverly designed packaging to fit between the bottles.
Then though, it became apparent that the real driver was simple capitalism. Make it worth the while of all the distributors, and create the demand, and voila! Retailers were ordering the kits by the box-load – whether they went with Coke or not.
I have to say that the food was pretty good. The spelling though?! Interesting at the very least. It’s no connection at all with Bellagio (one g) in Las Vegas. There were no fountains or Dale Chihuly glass art.
Now I’m a big fan of Eddie Izzard‘s work. Mainly his stand-up, but also his straight acting. Up there with the best bits though is “Darth Vader in the Death Star canteen”. So famous in fact that it has been done in Lego and re-enacted word perfect by pre-pubescent boys a thousand times on YouTube. If by some fate of nature you’ve made it through life thus far without having seen it, try this video. If you’re well aware of Jeff, Sir Lord Vader of Cheam, then read on. Or eat cake. Your choice.
Now, I’d never actually heard of Penne Arrabbiata prior to Eddie Izzard, and I’ve never seen it on a menu. I thought it was one of those made up names. I once tried ordering the popular-in-Canada Alfredo sauce with my pasta on a trip to Northern Italy to howls of laughter and questions as to who in the name of all that is edible was this Alfredo chap?! Same with Latte – unknown in small town Italy.
Imagine my surprise then to see Penne Arrabbiata on the menu in Bellaggio’s. I opted in the end to share a proper Italian-style pizza (less crust than topping, unlike typical North American 2″ deep doughy monstrosities) with Mrs E., so can’t attest to the quality of the Arrabbiata sauce. Nor, I’m afraid can I attest to what a chocolate mouse tastes like. Even if serverd with ice-cream. Look carefully at Royal Chocolate in the photo…
Chocolate rodents on the menu at Bellaggio Café
Our waitress was very attentive but unfortunately it was other staff who delivered the actual orders. These others seemed to think it odd that we might want side plates in order to share our chicken wings, or regular plates off which to eat our pizzas. On the first attempt we were given teacup saucers!
The actual waitress, as I mentioned, was very attentive though. She was also English. Better – she was from Yorkshire. I know this because she told me so. Years ago, a French Canadian once told me that one need never ask if someone was from Yorkshire, as they’ll have already told you. C’est vrai! She’d married a bloke from Leeds it seems.
Over the space of our lunch we both politely circled around and determined our origins. I’d been in Canada 12 years, she 4. I was from “near Bradford” (in galactic terms at least – actually Silsden), she “from Doncaster”. My sister was born in Doncaster. Later, I said I’d spent my first 4 years in a village called Skellow, but couldn’t recall how close to Donny it actually was. It’s a suburb, she said. It’s where she’s really from! We agreed it was indeed a small world, and went our separate ways.
I just checked on Google Maps at what the old street looks like now. The one I spent my first four years on. Learning not to eat Play-Doh, alongside other life lessons. Watching the Vietnam war on black and white TV. The old house is still there – and yes: that’s the A1 in spitting distance over the road. The Great North Road built by the Romans, and used ever since for moving untold volumes of goods North/South in England. “Go play in the fast lane of the A1″ was a common repost when I was at school in later years. It really was incredibly possible…
Source: Google Maps – Where QE spent his very early years
Yesterday, my son joined me for another trip up The Snow Shoe Grind, up Grouse mountain. This is actually a hike up to the top of Dam Mountain, and despite having achieved the summit all but one of the 8 or so times I tried (I was on a timetable the first time I attempted it), I’d never seen the supposedly amazing views from the top. Despite the many adverts and photos, I’d also never seen “The Eye of the Wind” turbine up Grouse, except from a long distance, like driving over the Lions’ Gate Bridge.
But yesterday was a lovely day. Mid to high teens easily. We walked in T-shirts. The snow was terrible – like a snow cone mostly, and even like slushy porridge near the chalet where it was less protected from the sun. I think this will be the last snowshoe trip of the season. It was just too hard going in the slush. Even at the top, where arguably it should be coldest.
A lovely day out “bonding” with the boy too. Topped off with the traditional London Fog tea latte, and a fruit scone when we got back to the chalet. (He had chicken strips and chips). In places the snow was down to the tarmac, and the timing post for the SSG was poking out a good metre, rather than being buried under the snow like in previous times earlier in the season.
But you know what this means? The regular Grouse Grind is hovering just over the horizon!
Lions from the car-park
The ride to the start
Easter snow sculptures under way
The Panorama from Dam Mountain on a cloudless day
Eye of the Wind from Dam Mountain
English Bay looking eerily solid in the glare
The Lions peeping between the trees
Eye of the Wind. Been past it over a dozen times and never noticed it before! (Shrouded in low cloud).
Thanks to first-born for texting the happy news that left-handers die sooner than righties.
Great!
As if being born left-handed doesn’t bring enough lifetime trauma from using scissors, cups and everything else designed for righties. Now I learn I get to exit stage left sooner than contemporary righties.
