The 29th I drove up to Ch’town with Shawn last night to see Wintersleep play at Hunter’s, listening to the new album on the way up there and even though it’s awesome I couldn’t help wishing some of the tunes had the feel and sound of the demos I had heard. We picked up Kat beforehand to grab a bite to eat at Pat & Willy’s and then we headed over to the Confed Centre after dropping her off so she could watch some reality show about fashion models. I guess Shawn knows what show it is because he watches stuff like that too. Shannon had invited us over to the ECMA office to hang out with her and some of her co-workers/friends before the Wintersleep show. It was fun and Shawn managed to get some free booze out of it but we stayed a little too long because we ended up missing the opener who was Basia Bulat. At the time I only had a vague idea of what she was like but after listening to some of her tunes on MySpace I’m really sorry I missed her play. We did end up getting there just in time to see Wintersleep setting up to play but the place was packed so there was no way in hell I was going to be able to see the band play. Watching Loel drum is worth the ticket price alone and Shawn managed to work his way into the tightly-packed throng only to get fed up and join us on the periphery. Thankfully, The Guy With Leo McKern Eyes was there to help make my night at a Hunter’s gig complete, and what would Hunter’s be without the random sound of breaking glass that cuts through crowd chatter and blaring music alike. I don’t go to bars much but it seems as though there’s an unusually high rate of occurence of beer bottles and glasses falling and smashing over the floor. I was able to ignore this and a good number of apparent douchebags for the most part and focus on watching Wintersleep play, or at least watching the occasional head bobbing above the crowd as they played. The show was great, I thoroughly enjoyed their performance but was waiting the entire time for Danse Macabre to show up on the set list. It didn’t but Shawn was 100% sure it would end up in the encore so we waited for them to come back out and hit us with a few more songs. I’m kicking myself now for not recording the first song but I wasn’t sure how much space I had left on my SD card for video and wanted to make sure I got my favourite song at least. Turns out by not hitting record for their first song I missed an opportunity to capture Basia and some of the her band join Wintersleep on stage for their cover of Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up”. I absolutely hate that song but it was hilarious, probably too hilarious, to hear them play it and be very much into it. They followed that “pop-gem” from a ’90s One-Hit-Wonder with two songs I did manage to record and post on YouTube: Migration and, as predicted by The Magnificent McNally, Danse Macabre, which they extended into an ten-minute-long epic. A perfect way to end the night. The 26th I don’t know what the general tastes of the public at large are but I take to enjoying the occasional helping of rice pudding and even tapioca. I’ve made rice pudding from scratch with varying degrees of success, and I’ve eaten many types of store-bought rice pudding and tapioca over the years. When it comes to tapioca, though, I’m accustomed to the generic pudding cup variety, though, I vaguely remember a red box of tapioca mix in the cupboard from my childhood and it seems to me that the typeface used may have been VAG Rounded. But I digress. I could reminisce at length about my relationships with different types and flavours of puddings from years past (and I will) but first I want to talk about Ambrosia Creamed Tapioca. I bought this can partly because “ambrosia” is a very ambitious word to use as a brand name, suggesting the can’s contents be fit for the likes of Zeus and his deity buddies over in Greece. Secondly, I very much like the design of the label as its quite pudding-y overall, and so I assumed the tapioca would be as tasty as the smooth, gloopy label suggests. What’s that saying about judging a book by its cover? First off, I’m not much of a fan of hot tapioca (except perhaps the stuff Mom made from the red box) so heating the stuff up prior to eating it seemed a bit foreign, an extra step I didn’t want to take to be honest, and actually just a big waste of time. The tapioca itself an oddly dark colour and right away I noticed an odd smell that I couldn’t quite place until I sat down with a steaming bowlful and took a few bites. Other than it not tasting very good in the first place, the smell is something I can only describe as “chowder-like”. It has that same odour that comes from canned chowders like Chunky Chicken Corn Chowder or even clam chowder for that matter. Not at all a scent being sweet and dessert-like as one would expect but more, well, like thick, milky chowders of the processed variety. Was the tapioca spoiled? Probably not. Was it some general smell that emanates from soupy, milky canned goods when heated? Could be, probably. All I know is this is not the tapioca for me and I don’t recommend it to any tapioca fans out there. I’ll stick to the gloopy pudding cup varieties. Continuing with this tapioca pudding theme, I’d like to now tie it in with a related pudding anecdote if I may. Back in the days of lunchboxes packed with plastic-wrapped sandwiches, juice boxes and granola bars, I was fortunate to, on occasion, have a bonus item included as my all-time favourite school lunch dessert: the Nestlé pudding cup. Back in the ’80s the pudding I enjoyed was in a metal cup with a pull-tab that made a very satisfying krinkly-pop sound when opened. Licking the lid clean of any trace of pudding was tricky as one needed to be careful not to cut one’s tongue on the sharp metal edges (probably explains why they use foil now). After that mildly dangerous ritual was complete, there was a small cup of pudding to be enjoyed, scraping it clean including under the rim’s lip and the groove around the bottom’s circumference. As slowly as one tried to savour the creamy pudding treat, the experience never seemed to last as long as one would like. That, and there never seemed to be enough pudding, though I’m sure those two observations go hand-in-hand. I can’t tell you how many times I wished for a never-ending pudding cup, it’s something I still wish for until this day. While I’m sure there were different brands using the metal cup approach, it was Nestlé’s pudding that was by far and without doubt the best out there. Vanilla, Rice, Butterscotch, and Tapioca were all pretty damn good but nothing came close to the deliciously unique flavour of Chocolate and Chocolate Fudge. I swear this was the best pudding I have ever eaten. Ever. I say unique because the texture was smooth and creamy, unlike the plastic-like glop in today’s plastic cups, and no other pudding had that special je ne sais quoi flavour that Nestlé’s pudding had. It’s beyond description. I haven’t had one of those especially delicious cups of pudding since elementary school except for one stand-out moment when I was in high school. At some point I became aware of the fact that the Green Gables around the corner form my house had Nestlé pudding in the metal cups, something I hadn’t seen in years. All I remember is asking my dad to make a pit stop there before our family headed out to visit my grandparents, which he did, and I went in and bought the only four-pack on the shelf. It wasn’t Chocolate or Chocolate Fudge but Tapioca instead, not the flavour I was especially fond of but it was in the metal cups. I proceeded to eat all four cups while sitting in the back seat on the way to Ellerslie with my brother and sister. As expected, I felt ill and while I’m sure there was some level of satisfaction in eating Nestlé pudding in the metal cups I didn’t capture that experience from a grade four lunch hour. So now my wish to have an endless pudding cup, a rather greedy wish in all honesty, has changed to a more modest one. I’d simply scale that back to a realistic wish for a few four-packs of each variety of Nestlé pudding in the metal cups with the pull-tabs. Okay, maybe a dozen of the chocolate kinds but that’s all. Really. The 18th Last Friday saw me getting up at 7:00 a.m. to catch a bus to Halifax with Nathan at 8:40 a.m. only to get to the bridge to find it closed to all high-sided traffic. It looked as though my plans for getting to Halifax to see Final Fantasy were getting the kibosh from some vents violents. We sat on the idling bus in Borden while the driver took forever to let people figure out their plans with shuttles and whatnot. All I wanted to do was get back in town so I could get my car and drive across; something I should have done in the first place. On the bus I was sitting behind Andrew and his girlfriend Alison who were also stuck on our fair isle and needed to get across to go see Final Fantasy. The more the merrier and the more to split bridge toll and gas costs too. With over two hours wasted by buses defeated by high winds, we hit the road around 11:00 a.m. and I quickly realized just how crazy the wind was. It was pushing, shoving and lifting the car, and freaking me out considerably on the drive across the bridge. The biblical rains that greeted us in New Brunswick pounded down nearly the entire way there and didn’t exactly make the windy drive there any less stressful. I think that drive took five years off my life. After an unplanned detour through Bedford, we eventually ended up in Halifax where I dropped off Andrew, Alison and Nathan in exchange for Shawn. We checked out some music stores and hung out at Bryanna’s apartment (complete with art students’ art and quirkiness, and Potato Cat) until we hit Mexicali Rosa’s for supper with Neil and their legendary buddy Strychnine (maybe Stricknine, I think his true name is Curtis Strickland in any case) joined us. From what I could gather he’s involved in gambling sites and enlightened us to how much Canadian lottery corporations are scamming us. With a belly full of enchiladas and deep fried ice cream, the four of us stood in line outside St. Matthew’s church waiting for the damn doors to open and let us in out of the cold so we could see Final Fantasy. We were eventually allowed into the warmth of the church and ended sitting four or five pews back from the front where we’d very soon be watching Owen Pallett playing for us in a dim and cozy house of worship. Unfortunately, we had to sit through a very long, boring song by the first opener, Nifty, whose ten-minute-long story was as boring as his half-hour song. It started off well with some very cool guitar pieces that he looped and added some layered vocal harmonies too. He was building up a song with improv loops, beats and bits of sound which was cool to see but it just went on and on and on. Granted I had only two hours of sleep under my belt but even if I hadn’t been sleep-deprived I would have been nodding off during his one-song set anyway. Someone fiddling with knobs and monkeying around on a laptop just doesn’t hold my attention as much as a musician playing an instrument. We since listened to his CD and he has some good tunes and a great voice but I just don’t think it worked well live. The next opener was Ken Reaume who filled the church with lush acoustic guitar picking and soft melodies. His finger picking was crazy good, I just wish we could have seen his playing better from where we were sitting. I guess his style would be a blend of folk, some flamenco and classical guitar playing but what the hell do I know about those styles of music? Then, with violin in hand, Final Fantasy made his way onto the stage where he blew us all away with his one-man-band-with-more-loop-pedals-than-you-can-shake-a-stick-at sound. It was amazing to watch him construct the songs by layering one piece after another into full compositions that hit you as if he had an entire string section behind him. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone perform who’s impressed me more. Singing, playing violin and piano, all while manning and coordinating everything between pedals and foot switches. The combination of the church setting, the sound of the violin and watching Owen put it all together really was moving. I can’t count the number of times I got goosebumps listening and watching him play. Needless to say, I’m glad I got tickets to see both nights of performances. Saturday started with me and Shawn meeting Ian and Holly for breakfast at Cora’s where I was jolted fully awake by a whamming thud. Turns out a old woman didn’t notice there was a panel of glass next to the doorway and slammed head first into it. Had it not been an old woman and had she obviously not been in pain and disoriented by it I think I would have burst out laughing. There’s no way that mighty head butt to the glass didn’t hurt because it was LOUD and I felt really bad for her. As for Shawn, though, he was looking away and biting his lip trying not to laugh because he’s a heartless bastard who thinks that an old woman doing a header into a wall of glass like a crow flying into a Windexed window is absolutely and painfully hilarious. Okay, it is pretty funny but in theory only, not so much when you have to look at the old dame holding her head and wincing while a bunch of confused patrons and staff members try to find out if she’s alright and direct her through the open doorway. After breakfast we headed over to some mall where I was greeted to what can only be considered Chocolate Heaven on Earth by a friendly girl offering me a free sample of fudge. It was a wondrous place called Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, full of the aroma of delectable chocolates, a multitude of truffles, mounds of fudges, a staggering array of ridiculous chocolate-covered apples and myriad other chocolatey delights. One such chocolatey delight was the sole item we had based our decision to go to the mall on, a cookie unlike any other that Bryanna had described in detail: a huge chocolate chip cookie layered with chocolate spread atop a stratum of caramel and rained upon by a colourful shower of Smarties. Had I not seen them in rows behind glass I still wouldn’t believe such a cookie could be. But it existed and I bought one. I also bought a pecan mogul (essentially a massive Turtle) and a hefty lump of creamsicle fudge. You know, because I need all of that. Just when a bag full of chocolate and fudge wasn’t enough, I went to Pete’s Frootique with Shawn later on and left with a bag full of an assortment of pop and drinks. Some liquid sugar to go with the solid sugar. It’s only right. My list of priorities for visiting Halifax was topped by seeing Final Fantasy in concert, the second on the list was getting some sushi. For dinner, Bryanna suggested we go to Dharma Sushi where I ordered what is now my new favourite type of sushi: yam roll. I have Holly to thank for that ordering tip. I’m more into vegetarian sushi than the raw fish kind but my Alaska roll with smoked salmon was damn tasty too, not to mention the spring rolls with shitake mushrooms. Shawn tried his first piece of sushi and even though the look on his face after Bryanna fed it to him would make it seem as though he didn’t like it, he actually did. It was good to finally satisfy my long-standing craving for sushi but I’m already craving it again and I think the Monsoon in Ch’town might be closed now. Halifax is a long way to go for sushi. Again we waited outside St. Matthew’s in the cold for the doors to open except this time Nadia, Bryanna’s roommate and a violinist herself, joined us. The Christmas Parade of Lights was wrapping up while we were in line so the crowds streamed past us and Final Fantasy’s van. We managed to get in the second row this time so we’d be able to get a better view of Ken’s guitar playing and Owen’s playing/foot pedal magic. Thankfully, this time Nifty played two songs, shortening his half-hour song from the night before, but it was only slightly more interesting this time around. Granted, I really do like the guitar and vocals from his songs, just not the length of them. Final Fantasy’s set was shuffled and changed too so we were able to get a sample of a few more new songs and hear him play the others differently than in the first show. Seeing Owen play two nights in a row and hearing the same songs again didn’t get the least bit old and I was blown away again by his performance. I managed to get some video of him playing “The CN Tower Belongs To The Dead” this time around (my favourite song and the first of his I ever heard) and my photos turned out marginally better sitting a few rows closer but not by much. I’ve never seen a classical violinist play live, definitely not from ten feet away either, and I really think I need to start going to see classical music being perfomed at places like the Indian River Festival or in Ch’town. I can't believe I’ve gone this long without experiencing classical (or classical-type-pop) music live. If Owen would play a show at St. Mary’s Church in Indian River it would be amazing. For now, I’ll have to settle on finding the closest place to PEI I can go see him next time he’s on tour but it’s within the realm of possibility that he’s play here, just not likely. Shawn, Bryanna and I grabbed a bus on Sunday to go get some breakfast with Ian and Holly again but the place we wanted to eat at was super busy so we headed down Quinpool and settled on a little spot called The Spartan Restaurant. It was busy as hell too but they managed to squeeze us into a small booth, and by “squeeze” I mean the other four squashed into the booth while I sat on some random chair the waitress dragged loudly all the way across the restaurant floor. She hastily placed our drinks on the table, when she couldn’t remember who ordered what she randomly threw drinks and orders at us and let us figure it out. When she decided to take our order she left Ian hanging in mid-sentence while she went to the table to our left, gave them their bills, came back only to then go to the table to our right, take an order and then come back for ours. I imagined “service” in all Greek breakfast spots to be this way: frenzied, blunt, and only loosely meeting the definition of the word service. At least the food (barring Holly’s, um, milk-like beverage) was good but we got the hell out of there as soon as the waitress told us she was too busy to write up our bills and to just tell her ancient, tiny, Greek mother (I assume) what we had. Uh, ok. What visit to the city would be complete without coming across a crazy person? Thankfully I got to see Mumble’n Mike wandering back and forth down Argyle Street while the lot of us sat in Uncommon Grounds in relative safety. Ian said the guy tends to yell and scream absolute nonsense at passers-by but today he came across as rather subdued, randomly talking to himself and mildly freaking out girls as they walked past him. Perhaps he takes it easy on Sundays. All I know is that my trip to Halifax ended with a tasty quote from a crazy man named Mumble’n Mike who said to strangers as we passed him on the street, “Yeah and what about a sour cream and onion flavoured restaurant?” The 14th The other day I made the mistake of impulsively buying a box of President’s Choice Double Chocolate Crunch cereal. I really couldn’t avoid it. I mean, the package design was so tasteful with a rich, dark palette and textured imagery that speaks so well to chocolate lovers. Just read the blurb on the side of the box: “A mix of crunchy chocolate granola clusters made with real cocoa and vanilla clusters containing luscious chocolate chips.” They also pose the obviously rhetorical question of “Is it a dessert or a cereal?” to which I answer, “It has FUCKING chocolate chips in it, you assholes! It’s a bloody dessert!” Anyone waking up in the morning and having a bowl of this as their first meal of the day really needs to re-evaluate their overall eating habits and possibly their health situation. It’s essentially a Count Chocula cereal for adults, which is ironic because an “adult” should not be buying any type of cereal that turns the milk brown. Its packaging is sophisticated with lean, clean and understated type combined with hearty, warm visuals that make you feel comfortable and let you know that it’s okay if you want to eat chocolate chips and drink chocolate milk for breakfast. Well, they got me alright—hook, line and sinker. The stuff is like crack! Don’t let those two healthy raspberries fool you! This chocolatey crumble is the work of the Devil. He’s on the PC payroll, you better believe it. I ravenously consumed two bowls of this in one sitting at 3 a.m. and immediately felt shame and regret. Five minutes later I considered having some more but somehow had the will to get out of the kitchen without looking at the box again. In the morning, I stayed away from the box and vowed I would get rid of it, find someone else to eat it so that it isn’t wasted, but how long can I resist the delicious, crunchy, seductive call of this chocolate crumble concoction? I dare not give in, for to give in would be my undoing. I’ll have to offer it to my father. He likes cereal. The 10th At the café this morning my breakfast was prepared by a 10-year-old and who knew Jaycee could make the best omelette I’ve probably ever eaten? The recipe is a well-guarded secret, though, I was made privy to it when he handed me the recipe on a Post-It (so maybe not that well-guarded). Not only was the presentation very well done but the egg was cooked to perfection, super-tasty and filled with some cheeses, chives and red onions. I’m not even a big fan of onions but they were cooked just enough to my liking. That omelette, along with some spicy chorizo on the side, made for a damn fine breakfast. I don’t know if it’s legal to have children working as cooks in a kitchen or not but they should make an exception for Jaycee, at least for making omelettes anyway. Tonight was the Music PEI Awards Gala at the Confed Centre to which I had a couple of comps but didn’t have anyone to go with. Sarah Jane accepted the invitation and we walked from the parkade over to the Confed Centre in the rainy, slushy weather. The show went off without a hitch, Lazy Jacks opened the show and Nathan went on last with Dale, Tom and James as a hypnotic background was spinning away behind them (watch the video here). Nathan snagged Best Album of The Year while Saddle River grabbed one for New Artist Recording of The Year and another for Bluegrass/Country Recording of The Year. Tim Chaisson raked in tonnes of awards but I think Nathan should have received Songwriter of The Year. There was an after-party at The Mack where I sat back with an orange and cranberry to watch Saddle River, Tim Chaisson and Nathan play their sets. When several types of pizza showed up I couldn’t have been happier considering the only thing I had to eat besides my omelette that morning was a piece of toast before I rushed to get to Ch’town in time for the awards. Free pizza—free anything—tastes so much better than food you have to pay for. Tasty as free it was. Considering this was my third night in a row of social activity I was surprised I wasn’t burnt out. Sarah Jane showed up for a bit and we sat up front with the Saddle River/Nathan Wiley/Summerside crew for the most part, I chatted away with Sue at one point as she contemplated hitting the dance floor, talked to Shannon about things other than Music PEI work, and otherwise had a pretty good time. There were after-after-parties as well back at The Inns on Great George where I ended up hanging out in a townhouse that the majority of Saddle River and their significant others rented for the night. A townhouse with three floors for $90 a night is pretty sweet and it was a nice spot too. I sat with Gill and Jill at the dining room table discussing ethical decisions surrounding removing body parts from the Spiderbaby while Mike and Troy did some Beastie Boys rapping in the living room. Even though I wanted to stay a little longer when everyone was playing and singing along to Alice Cooper’s “Is it My Body”, it was 4 a.m. and I was starting to get tired. The prospect of driving home when the roads were slushy didn’t appeal to me very much but neither did sleeping on a couch. Since the weather had turned mild I wasn’t worried about black ice and the like so I braved the roads and drove carefully until I ended up in the driveway at 5:30 a.m. At this point all I wanted to do was sleep—and sleep I did, though, I think I might need a month to recharge before I don my social butterfly wings again. The 9th Troy Little recently had his comic series Chiaroscuro published in a single volume by IDW Publishing (30 Days of Night, anyone?), and his book launch was held tonight at the Confed Centre. I have some of the comics but I wanted the big, beautiful hard cover edition for my collection. I headed up there to say hey, get a book signed and hang out for a bit. There were quite a few familiar faces including John, Gail and Jaycee, who was completely nuts and somehow was allowed to drink coffee and have some kind of sugary drinks. I drank far too many cups of coffee on an empty stomach and ended up getting completely wired while I talked to a bunch of people I hadn’t seen in quite a while and watched Troy do a sketch in everyone’s book during the signing. After I got my copy signed and was fully jittery from the free coffee, I headed over to The Olde Dublin Pub to grab a bite to eat with Nathan and Katherine, not realizing Saddle River was going to be playing a set. It was the second night of the Music PEI Awards weekend and there were showcases all night long at the a few of the pubs and bars. Catching Saddle River was a bonus event for the night because all I expected was to go to the book signing and then check out Nathan’s showcase at Hunter’s later on. When I got to Hunter’s, the place was packed and only got more packed as the night wore on. Tracy showed up while Tim Chaisson was playing, we chatted for a bit about her training as a vet and the fouler aspects of animal reproduction involving the collecting of a particular type of specimen from dogs and horses. I learned that the acronym “AV” doesn’t always stand for “audio-visual” like I'm accustomed to hearing because in veteranarian lingo it stands for “artificial vagina”. I’m learning something new every day! Nathan got up to play with his uncles and wailed out a bunch of fried lapsteel screaming on the first song that I’m sure had some people confused. While I stood up front with Tracy and her friend Dan, I looked about to see what foolishness or weirdness might be happening around me. One thing I noticed right away was that the Guy With Leo McKern Eyes was there, someone I hadn’t seen at a gig in quite a while, looking exactly the same as he did last time. I had hoped he would grow a goatee and start wearing a scarf to make himself look even more like the best Number Two from The Prisoner but I doubt he realizes he has Leo McKern eyes in the first place and would probably take offense to the notion that I think he has them. Speaking of strange eye behaviour, I noticed a couple dancing near the front and the girl was giving the dude the most intense dance-stare I’ve ever witnessed in my life. She did her regular type dance, nothing odd there, but she stared at the guy with such fierce, sexual intensity that it made me uncomfortable as a bystander from ten feet away. It was kind of creepy in a way. It was that type of unblinking, unwavering and intimidating staring that made it seem as if she was trying to mentally invade the dude’s head with threats like “Don’t you dare look away from me! If you so much as blink I’m going to force you to go at me in a most unnatural way in a stall in the women’s washroom!” What was even stranger was the fact that this attractive girl, who looked to be in her mid-twenties, was dancing with a guy who appeared to be the result of some type of chimera experiment involving the DNA of late-1970s Keith Richards and Bob Dylan. I couldn’t gauge the level of his oral hygiene to see if it was as revolting as Keith’s but if must have been pretty up to snuff to have a girl like that dance-staring him down. The 8th The first of three nights of the Music PEI Awards weekend kicked off at The Jubilee Theatre this evening with a songwriters’ circle hosted by Nathan and Rose Cousins. Jon Matthews and Tim Chaisson were in the line-up, Tanya came home from Haliax to play the show, and Mike filled in for Eddie Quinn so it was cool to see him play his tunes live. Not a bad turn-out but it definitely could have been better. Hopefully if they do another one next year it will grow to have a big laser show with crazy, trippy sound effects, choreographed to interpretive hand-to-hand combat scenes where a werewolf in a jean jacket fights tiny martians (played by dozens of running children in green face paint with antennae made from pipe cleaners and small styrofoam balls). That type of intermission show goes well with an acoustic guitar showcase, right? The 6th William Friedkin could probably have used this little girl to shoot the spider-walk scene that ended up being cut out of The Exorcist. This has to be the weirdest case of a parasitic twin I’ve seen in the news and the idea of a baby being born with eight limbs, to me, seems even freakier than if there was a second head or something. This is just fucked but the little girl couldn’t look happier. In the right-hand photo it looks like she’s just hanging out, laying back and taking a breather, chatting up the doctor about all the cool toys they’re letting her play with. Nevermind the fact that she’s absorbed her undeveloped twin and has an extra set of arms and legs. They named her Lakshmi, after the four-armed Hindu goddess of wealth, and the locals in her village revere her so I suppose that’s an upside. I just hope they don’t think less of her if the operation is successul and she’s able to wear regular-type pants. Just think of how messed up it would be to tell people later in life that when you were born you had eight limbs, that you were an octoped, but the doctors fixed you up all nice and good, and now you save so much time when it comes to clipping finger and toe nails. Plus the cost of socks, shoes and mittens was effectively halved; right there that’s quite a savings. The 4th Post-tropical storm Noel didn’t seem to have much of a punch, not around here anyway. The power didn’t even go out! Not that I’m complaining because I certainly would be pissed if I had to go for days without power like some areas of the maritimes. Funny thing is, the garbage bins didn’t even budge yet half a tree decided it was going to land on top of my car. Nothing broken as far as I can tell, just a few scratches. I’m just glad I didn’t park as far up the driveway as I usually do or I’d be picking twigs, leaves and busted glass out of my seats for weeks. Around 3am or so the phone started ringing off the hook from some number I didn’t recognize and then the doorbell rang which was definitely odd considering how crappy out it was. Turns out it was Sarah Jane and it wasn’t crappy out at all. Other than the wind, it was actually fairly mild out and there wasn’t any rain whatsoever. The reason for her showing up and needing a place to crash is a long and complicated tale but it’s good that she didn’t end up sleeping in her car because she probably would have had a damn good scare when that branch came crashing down. I was up most of the night listening to CBC’s coverage of the storm and the call-ins talking about what the weather was like in their neck of the woods. Some fisherman said that after the mildness passed their area that the temperature dropped nine degrees in five minutes or something crazy like that. One caller was staying at the White Point Resort where I stayed at during Contact East 2007 in Liverpool and said that the storm surges were going right up to the main lodge and beachfront cottages. I thought that was nuts considering how far back all of the buildings were from the water and up an embankment too. Some trees and branches were crashing down onto the cottages so they had to evacuate everyone into the lodge and now I’m curious to see how much different everything looks from when I was there just a month ago. I just hope the bunnies are alright. I know some of their beachfront burrows must be flooded for sure. This evening I went out for a walk to go see what Noel had done and you’d never know that a tropical storm had even blown through town except for a few branches here and there. The sky was completely clear and starry, and it was way colder than last night. A nice night for walking but not so much when you’re bald. I also decided to go for a walk so that I could drop off some homemade pecan brownies I made the night before to my parents because a) I ate 2/3 of the pan myself in less than a day, b) my mom had given me the chocolate to make them with, and c) I didn’t need any more fucking brownies. I ended up going down a street by the water tower that has a lot full of tall tree that make this little mini-forest. I had noticed over the summer the crazy racket made by the birds living in there and thought about recording it for no other purpose than to record it. As I walked by tonight their chirping was so loud I could hear it even with my earphones on. I took out my digital camera, walked a little way into the trees to record the audio, and stood there for a few minutes listening to the chirping, squawking and wing flapping of what sounded like hundreds of birds just above me. For the most fascinating two-minute audio clip ever of birds chirping in the night, click here. When I was leaving I’m pretty sure a guy was watching me from a window across the street. I can’t say that I blame him for wanting to see what I was up to but I can only imagine the conversation going on inside with his wife: W: “What are you looking at, dear?” M: “I’m not quite sure, honey. I think I see a bald, bearded man with glasses hanging out in the stand of trees over there.” W: “What’s he doing? I hope he’s not urinating in public like those kids did back in August.” M: “He’s not taking a leak, he’s…he’s standing there holding up something above his head and it’s glowing.” W: “Is it a flashlight? Maybe he lost something.” M: “He’s pointing whatever it is up at the trees.” W: “Maybe he lost something in the trees.” M: “He didn’t lose something in the trees! It’s not a gawdamn flashlight, Mildred, I think it’s one of those digital cameras all the kids are talking about.” W: “Maybe we should phone the police…” M: “We’re not calling the cops. I don’t know what he’s doing but there’s no flash going off.” W: “Maybe digital cameras don’t need flashes.” M: “Would you be quiet?! I think he’s leaving…wait, no. He’s looking at something on a screen. Ok, he’s putting whatever it in his pocket. I can see him a little better now. He’s wearing a hoodie and earphones. He looks like he’s about forty.” W: “Call the police!” M: “Oh, geez…I think he saw me.” W: “What…?” M: “It’s ok, he’s leaving. But if he comes back I’m going to march right out there and tell him to get the hell out of that set of trees and stop being such a creep.” W: “Ohhhh, Arthur…” M: “What?” W: “You know how much I like it when you talk about sets of trees.” So, yeah, their conversation probably went something like that.