Apologies to the seven people out there who are not related to me by blood and who read this blog on a semi-regular basis. The week has been filled with travel, bad leases, car theft, and very little hockey news. Also, had I known that hating a right-wing journalist with the writing level of a six-year-old would attract 127 times my regular readership, I’d have dropped out of poem school and started hating Christie Blatchford ten years ago. As in all things, it’s too late. Here’s some stuff for a Wednesday promising of fall.
Quotes of the Week
“He’s not drunk, his head just does that.” – anon.
“I wonder if I don’t like that kind of music anymore, because I’m not single and depressed.” – anon.
“All those quotes are real. Except the ones I made up.” – anon.
“Thanks for the ¾ Creemore!” – anon.
“Who the hell am I kidding myself.” – anon.
“You’re an idiot.” – anon.
On a Train
Why is it children are so precious?
I mean, what is it about them
that we consider precious.
If I was to spend the entirety
of a train ride from Toronto
screaming up and down the aisles
dropping my drinks on the other
passengers. Reeking of urine
and bravado. I’d be arrested.
This isn’t an assumption.
I’ve proved it.
That Spring we spent in our backyard,
when we had moved the TV onto the deck,
so we could play hacky sack and watch
the Sens lose to the Leafs. Again.
That was a good Spring.
Canada on a Terrasse
Over pints, we tried to decide
what Canada was.
And Jean said, bpNichol and wheat,
like he does for every discussion
not about the Habs.
And the other Jean said, Halifax in the late summer
just before Labour Day. With lobster,
and sweet corn-on-the-cob.
And the other Jean said, the thing just above the US.
And we sighed, and ordered more
beer, and lit more cigarettes.
And I said, that taste of the playoffs,
the quiet of my folks’ lake at dusk,
the smell of winter leaving.
And, of course, I was right.
When I was 21 and stupid, I worked at a restaurant in Vancouver with a girl who had cancelled her pending nuptials with a guy because he didn’t like Sloan. When I asked her if that didn’t seem a little shortsighted, she replied: “Have you ever listened to Sloan? They’re fucking awesome.” Well, she was wrong. Sloan is not awesome. But this song does not suck, and it came on the radio as I was driving the other day. Terrestrial radio. Like with aerials and frequencies and morning shows. Old timey.