- Enjoyed a long display of over a hundred of mine host’s wedding photos, with detailed commentary, despite the fact that I was at the wedding and am, indeed, featured in about 25% of the photos. But the babies dancing are cute.
- Led an animated discussion on the merits of the elephant versus the rabbit vibrator, pointing out obvious advantages of the former, to which Metro replied, “You know why elephants don’t pick their noses? Because where are you going to hide a 30-pound booger.”
- Devoured at least 750 ml of Sauvignon Blanc, followed up with some kind of pilsner, which is the order in which one should consume them, as by the time the gas from the beer has hit, one and one’s entourage are far too drunk to actually care anymore.
- Hit the mall. Trust me, in this town, that’s a big deal. Blogworthy indeed.
- Acquainted mine hosts with the fact that one of the premiere scrapbookers in the U.S. of A. is Blair, from Facts of Life, blogger Lisa Whelchel herself. Her blog’s not half bad, by the way, if you can stand happy Christian housewife types.
- Missed the Gawker Kristallnacht entirely. Bugger. Jessica‘s a better writer than Jesse, and snarkier, but what they really need is a proofreader, not a co-editor. Unless they’re still hiring. HI, NICK! Darling…
- Had nothing more than a crust of bread for breakfast AND lunch this morning. Shocking, really. Metro and Master Cowfish have a lot to answer for. For which to answer. Whatever.
- I’ve finally had it with middle-aged men who want to get into blogging but who insist on having their assistants do the writing, and subsequently letting the post ripen in their email inbox for a week, after which it is run through a character and interest removal algorithm before being posted, because they want to be part of this “New Media Thang.” Bust a sphincter, post a first draft, and see if your world really is insecure enough to fall apart as a direct result. Surprise me; I don’t think your life is that interesting.
- Getting cranky, time for bed.
Category Archives: Canada
Art Opening, Lucky Red
Lucky Red Presents:
New Work by MIRMY: Boxes made with real skeletons
Saturday, July 8: 8PM
For the past three years, Mirmy has been producing unique artwork incorporating skeletons and taxidermy, starting with members of the weasel family (which is surprisingly vast) then moving on to snakes; mostly cobras.
This, her latest collection, features boxes incorporating animal skeletons (2 snakes, a rat, cat, rabbit, skink, fish bat and a frog) as central figures. Always thoughtful, Mirmy has provided most pieces with handy open and shut doors in case sensitive or squeamish guests arrive to view your art collection.
Before the animal rights folks freak out, we’d like to advise people that Mirmy is a proud member of Minnesota Association of Rogue Taxidermists (MART): a group of taxidermists who adhere to a code of ethics regarding not killing living things for the purpose of using them in art.
An added treat for the evening will be a performance by Wendosa, who I am told are two charming young ladies, playing cow-punk in the Lucky Red courtyard.
All in all, a fine way to pass a hot summer evening. See you there.
xox
midnite
LUCKY RED
Union at Main…on the cutting edge of chinatown
What I did on my summer vacation: Part the First
- I dreamed I was cleaning out my ears with bobby pins. I’m sure it wasn’t the beer; it was the heat.
- I saw Rattlesnake Island, where Eddie Mansour came to grief, ultimately snapping and taking the staff of the Canadian Embassy in Lebanon hostage, because that is what you do when a clique of white good ol’ boys ruins your dream of a camel-shaped resort (with bonus pyramid!) on Okanagan Lake.
- Saw Eddie’s Castle (or Eddie’s Folly) the monstrously tacky, 70’s style, pink stucco B&B overlooking Rattlesnake Island, where Eddie slowly, and against all odds, recovered his wits and lost what remained of his fortune. If memory (of his autobiography, From Nuthouse to Castle) serves, several suites had circular beds, one was revolving, and of course there were heart-shaped jacuzzis. Available now for a round $1million, it looks as if it is haunted by the ghost of Robert Goulet: one balcony has fallen off entirely, sliding down the cliff face onto the highway. The once-beautiful view is marred by the semitransparent mist of organisms growing on the windows, and the land is slowly falling, piece by piece, into the lake. It would be a wonderful place to retire and slowly go insane. Perhaps I shall save up enough one day.
- I saw a double rainbow over Westbank and can now definitively state that the rainbow ends at Canadian Tire. Picture to follow.
- My only goals for this vacation were A) a sunburn and B) a hangover. A was accomplished the first day. And the second. I have high hopes that Winery Tour Day will allow me to tick off B as well.
- I can now identify, having towed it for several hours, a ’61 Nash Metropolitan.
Happy 4th of July!!!
We all celebrate in our own unique ways. Some of my friends to it by firing off fireworks, eating BBQ, and drinking pisswater. My family does it by making sure the cannons at Windsor are still pointed across the river. I do it by posting anti-Bush videos from YouTube.
My Neighborhood, for real
So, as you might already know by my blog irregularity, I am experiencing a power crisis. I am without electricity. In Canada, we call this “anhydrous” but you might call it any number of things, including inconvenient.
But among other things, it means that I only have electricity between midnight and five in the morning, when I can safely run a power cord to the outlet down the hall without anyone ratting me out to the building manager.
However.
There are those who could bust me. In my hallway, there is a youthful Chinese girl who is carrying on an affair with a man on one of the upper floors, but who doesn’t dare let her father, with whom she lives, know. So, every night about twelve-thirty, I hear her door open and the elevator going up. About three, it comes back down and she goes back to her room.
She’s not about to rat me out for using the power. It’s mutually assured destruction.
When I go out to unplug the apparatus, sometimes I see some unusual things.
It’s four-thirty in the morning. It’s the Downtown Eastside. Of COURSE I see some unusual things.
But among them I do not expect to see an actual scimitar. Apparently, instead of the tai chi ladies who practiced there last year, each dawn is welcomed by an actual, fucking, practicing fucking, samurai.
He’s out on the patio, practicing his moves. I am well aware it should be a katana instead of a scimitar, but what can I say, the man is versatile.
And armed.
Oh, who are the people in my neighborhood. In my neighborhood. In my neigh-bor-hood? Oh, who are the people in my neighborhood. The people that you meet each day?
The samurai has a big sword
Don’t mess with him or you’ll get gored.
He practices each day at dawn
Could skewer you just like a prawn.
‘Cause the Samurai’s a person in my neighborhood.
In my neighborhood.
He’s in my neigh-bor-hood!
A Samurai’s a person in my neighborhood.
A person that I meet each day.
Oh, trysting kids are scaredycats.
Their dad might find out, don’cha kno?
They sneak around, it takes real gumption
They can’t expose me: M. A. Destruction.
Oh, a Samurai’s a person in my neighborhood.
In my neighborhood.
In my neighbrhood.
And the trysting kid’s a person in my neighborhood.
They’re the people that I meet
When I’m walking down the street
They’re the people that I meet each day and, by silent mutual agreement, do not appear to recognize.
