Long Gone Ping Pong

I have neglected you. But I haven't forgotten. I have been away. I have been busy. I have been trapped under a mess of pipes and culverts that fell off the back of a big truck when it hit a bump by me and my bike on the freeway and I was trapped for 7 days and 6 nights and I came away with no major injuries, just more pipe dreams. Pipes burst.

In the past month I have done much, seen much, thought much, laughed much, loved much. In the past month I have not ate much, slept much, jogged much, wrote much. Teeters totter and frowns make brows furrow and tails lodge themselves between legs and we all think that by buying reusable shopping bags and reusing them that we will keep the world from collapsing like a whoopee cushion with a faulty mouth piece. But that isn't the piece we are most concerned with. The plastic bags hurt our hands. We are children. Little, little children. Children only care about the environment so long as there is a colouring contest. I am not. I do not. So be it.

Witnessed The Frames. The fire department was hired the next day to hose the puddles of melted faces and tears that had collected on the floor of the theatre. To this day I remain mystified. I am working on an article for elsewhere about such things. If it is ever finished I will let you know. It is not quite as romantic or heartfelt as the show might have been. I rounded some of the sharper edges with 120-grit sandpaper to make my mush a little more palpable for the pallet, but don't let that stop you.
I bought Nirvana in a church for 3 for $1. On cassette. I am going back today to buy a life-sized portrait of Jesus and a Group of 7 Paint-by-Numbers that an old woman did in the home before she died. She used to paint ceramic birds to put on her mantle. But her house burnt down when her husband died of a heart attack in the attic when he was 69 and she was rushed to an old folks home where ceramics of all sorts are banned (the elderly had been eating the dwarves) so she had to settle with Group of 7 Paint-by-Numbers. I say this with certainty. When she died--bitter and confused, osteoporotic and bat-shit insane--she was disappointed that her life had come down to Group of 7 Paint-by-Numbers. This was not the life she had envisioned for herself when she was a precocious corn-miser. She'd be beautiful and bold. She's old, wrinkled, and sat painting trees with bold brush strokes (#7) and luminous colour wheels of fortune (#4) Can you blame her? Probably not. But you should. It could have been worse. She could have paid $35 to see Modest Mouse be miserable. Man Man were a consolation prize. But consolation prizes, parting gifts, and booby prizes are for losers. Losers.

Then when it comes down to contemptible withered old street performers you let them ride. The elderly have taken enough of your shit for one day. One day.
One second reviews:
Toronto Dance Theatre: huh?
Grindhouse: Rodriguez: Sucks. Tarantino: Sucks less.
Toronto Symphony Orchestra: Medium Great.
Hot Fuzz: Delightful.
Who Loves the Sun: Hilariously shitty.
Elephant Man: Sucks.
The Frames: Holy shit wow!
Man Man: Great.
Modest Mouse: The opposite.
We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank by Modest Mouse: Not so much.
Hollywood by Bukowski: Amazing.
Barfly: Not as good as the novelization.
Casino Royale: Old fashioned Bond.
Matt and Kim: Outstanding.
Matt and Kim by Matt and Kim: Likewise.
Japanther: Sucks.
DD/MM/YYYY: Try hard.
Are We Not Horses by Rock Plaza Central: Stuck in my head.
Le Restoraunte Vieux Port: Grade A Alberta Beef.
Manhattan: Delicious.
Annie Hall: Ditto.
Lose All Time by You Say Party! We Say Die!: Good some more.
Mean Girls: Not so bad.
Ongiara by Great Lake Swimmers: Glorious.
The Cost by The Frames: Worth it.
David Bowie: Finally.
Crashing Klezmer Parties: Sounds better than it is.
Margaret Atwood: Slightly more than expected.
Jian Gomeshi: Dumber than a dude in a vest.
Catherine Kidd: Yawn.
Life of Pi: Insufferable.
Restoraunte Lajoie: Mixed bag of yum.
Buffalo Bill's Burgers and Wings: Brown bag of yuck.
Cafe Republique: Best burger ever.
Calgary Flames: Suck.
Vancouver Canucks: Suck slightly less.
Lester's Smoked Meat: Smokin'.
Can't Go Back by Papercuts: Not like a papercut at all.
Working: Overrated.


I will try, try, try to do better. For your sake. No promises however. Never any promises ever. But I have found mixed bags of lost treasures to share with you. I will dole them out dutifully to take stock of the places I have been and what the weather was like when I was there. Maybe later.

1 comment:

farmer said...

Hey, that wife you aren't married to isn't Japanese! But she might be a red deer with eight legs and suction cup fingers. Nice blog. Check mine:

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