The 31st
Turns out I was a bit hasty in making my comments about the lobster trap sign I took a photo of the other day. Tracy brought it to my attention that the sign doesn’t read “Lobster Traps’s” but, in fact, reads “Lobster Traps $5.00”. What I thought was an incorrect use of an apostrophe and unnecessary letter S is actually a poorly rendered dollar sign and the number five. I guess the zeroes aren’t just splotches that go with the random carpenter-type pencil scribbles next to them. My sincerest apologies to the lobster trap sign painter.
Though, while I may have been wrong about the wording of the sign, I am still confused as to why they double-underlined “AT” and stand firmly by my criticism of this type of incorrect emphasis.
The 29th
Shawn and Bryanna are home visiting, and I picked them up to join Nathan and Greg at the theatre to go see The X-Files: I Want To Believe tonight. To anyone who hasn’t seen this movie yet I give this piece of advice: skip this movie and watch seasons one through five again. If you want a good dose of The X-Files you’re not going to find it in this movie. I Want To Believe? Try I Want To Be Refunded.
As a huge fan of the series I was looking forward to seeing Mulder and Scully on the big screen again, and thought the standalone story for the flick was a good approach. They could shed most of the old references to the series to focus on the fundamentals of the characters and the type of storytelling they used for the one-off mysteries between the series’ mytharc episodes. While the basic plot could have held up well as a story, the entire movie fell flat and was a huge disappointment because it lacked an eeriness they could have easily played upon by delving into what the baddies were up to. Not only that but they threw in too many references to the characters’ motivations from the series that were completely unnecessary for this story line, and wrote too many long scenes for Mulder and Scully about their opposing faiths and beliefs. That being said, I do think Duchovny and Anderson did a great job reprising their roles, and I liked her performance especially.
A lot of scenes also fell prey to the characters’ so-called “insightful” moments that were anything but “insightful” and actually just pure, conveniently-inserted luck. Many scenes could have been erased from the script altogether to focus more closely on the case at hand and less on the study of characters that have already been studied fully over the nine seasons of the series and first movie. What was being investigated could have been explored in much more detail and made more insidious than it was. Instead the movie was dulled by too many long scenes of Mulder and Scully lovingly butting heads, and a supernatural psychic element that was bland and uninspired. Plus there’s a scene with a photo of George W. Bush that is so shamefully bad and out of place that it really comes across as the work of amateur filmmakers in a spoof movie. Even in a goofy episode in the series the shot and corny sting would have been groaningly bad.
While it was a let down, it was nice to see the two of them in what was essentially a glorified episode, to catch the inside references to the show and hear a Mulder joke or two but Carter and Spotnitz missed the creepy, sci-fi, supernatural target by a long, long mile. Their weirdo idea unfortunately never blossomed into a big, freaky plot—something they were able to accomplish and did well in the forty-minute episodes. Too bad.
The 28th
Dinner and a movie was this evening’s grand plan. I took a spin out to Victoria-by-the-Sea with Tammy to hit up The Landmark Café for some grub, but my motives went beyond just eating at a nice little café in a picturesque seaside community. My main goal was to pay a visit to the Island Chocolate Factory for some delicious, chocolaty treats. Other than being a great old building with a lot of Victorian charm full of antiques and such, it was also full of goodies and smells of the chocolate persuasion. We both split on a box of chocolates, and I got a piece of some kind of truffle cake to have as a snack later but, because of a looming reservation up the street, we had to be in and out of there so quick that I didn’t get a chance to have the one treat I was really hoping to get: their Factory Coffee. Maybe I’m remembering it wrong but I’m pretty sure the mug comes lined with chocolate, the coffee is topped with whipped cream and shaved chocolate and the spoon is dipped in chocolate that slowly melts as you stir your coffee. Damn, I wanted that so badly.
We got a little table at the café, which was packed, and ordered from their limited menu of meals that all sounded good. Tammy ended up with a gigantic salad full of all sorts of fat, juicy veggies that looked so good I had to take a photo. I got a thick slice of meat pie which came with a caesar salad with homemade dressing and a slice of cantaloupe. I wouldn't have figured cantaloupe to be a good addition to the plate but it was and I realized just how much I like cantaloupe in the first place. They should make mini cantaloupes so I don’t have to buy a big one which would no doubt partially go to waste. I also just realized how much I like the word cantaloupe itself. Cantaloupe.
Dessert for me was technically already sitting on a take-out plate in my car but I decided to get a different dessert to eat right then. I forgot to take a picture of my strawberry rhubarb crumble with vanilla ice cream but it definitely tasted as good as it looked.
We left the little village and any chance of me getting a Factory Coffee behind as we became Ch’town-bound so we could pick up Kira to go see WALL-E, which opened with short entitled Presto featuring a vaudevillian magician who’s constantly being foiled and frustrated by a clever, un-cooperative rabbit. Not only was this a brilliant and hilarious “motion-picturette” but the end credits were a graphic designer’s typographical wet dream. All of the credits were incorporated into a series of beautifully designed broadsides full of slab serifs, beefy grotesques, slender sans, elegant didones, rules, ornaments and other “circus type” devices that the camera would zip across up close. They even went so far as to let the subtle detail of letterpressed paper come through. It was gah-geous.
I don’t know why I tend to avoid going to see these big, animated extravaganzas from Pixar and the like. I guess I found most in the past to be too much for kids, but Pixar really did a fantastic job with this film. Not only did the animation blow me away with its level of realism and imagination, but they managed to give a little robot so much expression and perfect body language that he completely supported the first twenty minutes or so of the film without a single word. His vocabulary after that didn’t go much beyond one word anyway but the movie held up perfectly well with a mono-syllabic, lovable, trash-compacting robot.
I thought the movie offered a lot more than amazing visuals and adorable characters though. While the story had all the right elements to capture kids’ imaginations, there was a whole other level to the story that was full of social commentary and pop culture references that appealed to adults. If an animated feature can wow people with masterful visual effects, memorable characters and a script that goes beyond simply giving cutesy characters a bunch of cheesy one-liners then I think they have a good chance to become a solid classic, which I think this movie will be. Like The Iron Giant, I definitely feel that WALL-E is by far one of the best animated features I’ve seen in recent years and think it deserves many an Oscar in addition to being put on the short list of of timeless animated masterpieces. Seems like robots are the key element in great animated movies.
Unfortunately, my bladder didn’t want to stick around for WALL-E’s end credits which I heard told a story through a montage of artistic styles that I wished I had seen. Oh well, there’s always DVD.
The 27th
My late night bike ride took me up behind the hospital where I just happened to catch two dark points in a field silhouetted by background lights. I stopped my bike and could just barely make out the shape of a fox sitting in the grass who eventually became curious enough to wander out onto the street where I was standing quietly watching him. Turns out he was just a little fella and he warily approached me, probably thinking I had food, but always kept a safe distance.
He was good enough to pose for a few photos and when he padded off down the street I slowly followed him and watched as he spent his night leisurely laying on the grass or chasing bugs. He never seemed scared of me, just cautious and never getting very close. There were a few times, though, where I was able to get close enough to record him acting ridiculous for minutes on end while he dug around for some sort of bug in the dirt and pounced down on it with his two front paws over and over. It was hilarious and he didn’t seem to care very much that I was only a few feet from him while he did it, only acting sketchy if I made a noise or running off momentarily if a movement spooked him.
It was a very calm and quiet 3 a.m. which made hanging out with a playful fox in the hospital parking lot and nearby fields very tranquil and relaxing. I must have spent the better part of an hour following this little guy around, him never seeming very concerned about me always being on his trail snapping photos, until he finally jogged off and disappeared into the night.
I headed back downtown for home, snapping photos of random things along the way, and thinking that there really isn’t anything quite like being out at four in the morning in a small town on a nice, quiet summer night. Too bad there aren’t more of these in a year.
The 26th
Andrew and Amanda invited me out to a beach fire they were having at Twin Shores and when I found myself sitting on the couch with no one around and nothing to do the prospect of a beach fire versus a night of channel surfing seemed to be the winning choice. I hopped in the car and found my way down the secret path to the beach where there were several fires burning, around which I couldn’t make out anyone I knew. I wasn’t about to approach each fire like some lurking weirdo so I headed back to my car defeated after the pointless drive and search.
I figured while I was out that way I should stop in at the Cat’s Meow by Cabot Park to see the kitties but when I got there all I found was a raccoon cautiously peering out of the cat house door at me and not one kitty in sight. As I drove away one little guy sat on the lawn watching me leave but I wasn’t about to get out and chase him down just for the sake of petting a lone, skittish kitty. My evening searches were fruitless for finding friends and felines.
On the way home I did stop to take a picture of this sign. I didn’t have any clue what it said as I zoomed past on a darkened country road but I had a feeling it was worth turning around for. Turns out it was a typographical nightmare of the type I love snapping pics of.
Not only does it have a pluralized word that incorrectly uses an apostrophe and unnecessary letter S but the word “AT” is double-underlined, putting the emphasis entirely in the wrong spot. Were people just throwing money randomly in the yard or leaving it at the end of the driveway when they were purchasing lobster traps?
The 25th
Tonight saw Greg, Nathan, Kyle and me heading down to the fancy rink to take in another summer wrestling extravaganza. Cory joined us in line and it was evident right off the bat that this UCW event wasn’t going to be held in the rink but, oddly, in one of the large conference rooms. Nothing screams wrestling like carpeted floors and acoustic tiles twenty feet overhead. No matter, wrestling’s wrestling as long as there’s a ring and turnbuckles and people in stretchy outfits. We took our seats and awaited the parade of lame characters as anticipation and excitement built in the sparse crowd doing their best to fill the, ahem, conference room.
But this event brought a particular excitement along with it, for a legend of ’80s-era WWF would be making an appearance. Yes, it would be none other than that jet-black greaser hair-sporting, mutton-chopped, guitar-smashing, southern-drawling icon in the sequined jumpsuit known as The Honky Tonk Man. He’s cool. He’s cocky. He’s bad. He’s…standing at the merch table in a track suit?
Within moments I spotted the main attraction for the night in an outfit most unbecoming of him at the merch table. My first glimpse of Honky Tonk Man! Oh joy! Rapture! He must be saving his glittery get-up for his match later in the night, I thought. Patrick and Tammy had joined us for a body slamming good time, and with that the first match was set to begin.
Some forgettable dudes named Sidewinder and Zero something or other kicked things off, and it was at this point I noticed a fat kid in the front row wearing a wrestling mask and who would later prove to be fairly entertaining in his own right as he got swept up into the action. All the while, though, I kept wondering if they made those masks in adult sizes. Sadly, I was fully prepared to join the masked wrestling fan club for the night. Thankfully, I didn’t but only due to the fact that they didn’t have one in my size.
After the first match, like a nuclear-powered blast from the future, there entered a poppin’ and lockin’, dancin’ and Hasbro trademark-infringin’ robot from stage left named Transformer Shockwave. His outfit had little lights, and laser thingies on his shoulders along with what Greg later pointed out to be those UV counterfeit bill readers. Cheesiness aside but also due to it, this guy actually had the best costume of any wrestler I had seen in the last couple of years at these indie wrestling events. His mask and chest plate came off to reveal a full, faux-metal body suit he could wrestle in while his rival was just some French guy in stupid pants whose name I forget and therefore is now referred to by me as French Pants. That’s probably a better name than the one he picked anyway. It was probably Shediac Sheldon or Danny Dieppe.
They chose to entertain the crowd with a mix of rasslin’ and a bit of a dance-off, I guess you could say. Clearly, these two were meant to be pleasers for the younger audience members and didn’t cater to the sophisticated tastes of the more mature patrons of the wrestling arts like myself, as evidenced by Shockwave inviting a little kid into the ring after the match to teach him how to dance like a robot. Apparently his mission is to return one-thousand years into the past to instruct children on how to break dance poorly.
The next match featured the fairer sex in a showdown between 21st Century Fox and Portia Perez. Fox just walked around being crazy, acting like a coward, and eventually losing the match to the dazzlingly-agile crowd favourite Perez. With prowess and confidence on her side, Portia won both the match and our hearts.
The break following their bout gave me a chance to easily convince “Thumbs Up” Kyle Ellsworth to ask for a photo with Portia before Honky Tonk Man emerged from the dressing room to pose for $10 Polaroids in the ring. The sad thing was that he was the one taking the money and throwing it into a gym bag on the mat, and he probably had to make change for people too. Shockwave was in the ring at the time; he’s a robot who can compute numbers and stuff so he should have been the one the handling money. Plus robots are honest.
The great thing about it was the fact that Honky looked to be genuinely happy posing with the kids. It actually was kind of heartwarming to see him with a big smile on his face as he made some kid’s day one Sir John A. at a time. If I were at the age when I was seriously into wrestling, being able to pose with a big name from the WWF with his championship belt slung over my shoulder would have been the coolest thing ever. This thought occurred to me as I returned to my seat and I convinced myself that even now it would be pretty cool and utterly classic to meet and be in a photo with Honky and his belt. As I told myself $10 was well worth the price of the Polaroid and decided I’d go up and join Honky in the ring, the opportunity passed me by as I looked up to see that picture time was over and he was heading back to the dressing room. I guess by that time there were no more takers and he must have had enough of standing awkwardly in the ring, looking around and wondering, “Anyone else?”
My disappointment over missing an amazing photo op was soon lessened by what I considered to be the main reason I was watching wrestling in a conference room: to see the man who is arguably considered to be the Greatest Intercontinental Champion of All Time wrestle live in-person. Eschewing his track suit and fanny pack in favour of his slimming, black jumpsuit with embroidered silver note ornamentation, he entered the ring with an enthusiasm that energized the crowd. This is the Honky Tonk Man we all came to see, and he even lip synced along to his classic theme song from his WWF days. Not quite the same as playing the song on guitar and singing the song but he gets points for effort anyway.
Like the dance-off earlier, a singing contest developed between Honky Tonk Man and some other dude with a “warning crotch” pants design named J.J. “Killer” Bee or something stupid like that. Needless to say, HTM’s lip syncing gave him the clear, albeit a dishonest, perceived advantage over Stripy Pants, and Mr. Tonk made no attempt to mask his disdain for his opponent’s terrible singing. They concluded their stage-stealing performances with some trash talk and then got down to the important wrestling business at-hand.
Striking a pose that was at the same time deadly serious and endlessly comical, Honky Tonk Man set in motion the struggle between good and evil in the square circle. Much of the match seemed to lean in favour of the younger lad in the striped codpiece until the tide began to turn and Honky Tonk Man, sequestering the energy from every fibre of his being, reached deep within his soul to find the resolve and strength he needed to rise up and overtake his foe.
Cornering J.J. against the turnbuckles and towering over him from atop the ropes, Honky Tonk Man saw fit to pound down upon his face, demonstrating for his inexperienced adversary the awesome force that is The Honky Tonk Man. As expected, HTM went on to win the match after laying into the young pup and taking his rightful position as top dog. At that point, my evening was complete. I had seen Honky Tonk Man live in action and I could return to my life as a content and fulfilled individual. There was still a final match yet to come but, in my mind, Honky Tonk Man should have been the closer for the night. He is the shining star of the independent wrestling circuit if you ask me. Why hasn’t anyone asked me this?
The main event pitted Titus and his dreadlocks against the pride of Stratford, PEI and the only guy who actually looked like a real wrestler: “Kowboy” Mike Hughes. These were the heavy hitters for the night and the action alternated between high-impact wrestling closer to what one might see in the big leagues, and the typical cocky, intimidating hero versus the cowardly, deceitful villain routine. At the height of a body slam or similar move, one of them nearly smashed into the projector mounted on the ceiling just above their heads.
Just think about how upset the business person, prepared with a carefully-crafted Powerpoint slideshow with pre-installed clip art, would be come Monday at the mid-afternoon presentation to the board had some sweaty back crushed and rendered useless the expensive projector. Something like that could cost someone that well-deserved raise or promotion that hinged on the success of that person’s tightly-produced presentation featuring colourful, three-dimensional pie charts, graphs with different coloured lines, bulleted lists that use little dingbats like stars or hands with a pointed finger instead of dots, and a bevy of typographical choices for each slide consisting of various arrangements of type using no less than four system fonts in the same layout. Another inch higher and someone’s boss (who was hoping to be impressed by the new guy sent down from head office) might never have been sold on his revenue-generating, productivity-raising , morale-boosting multimedia proposal with fancy transitions and the use of a cleverly-inserted Dilbert cartoon about resource allocation. That boss not getting to see Dilbert’s funny tie, that new guy not making a good impression and sweating like a pig in heat…it would have been tragic, and I bet that’s something those wrestlers would feel pretty bad about.
Hughes won the match despite a crippling bloody nose and the crowd went as wild as a crowd of that size can get. Overall, it was another great evening of wrestling and I fear it will be the last of such events for this summer season. It made for a great closing act, though, having Honky Tonk Man as part of the evening’s roster so I can look back upon this night with fond memories in the days to come. And should the longing for independent wrestling at a local arena or conference room overtake me during the bleak winter months ahead I shall need to but look back upon this photo to remind me of better times and be hopeful knowing that summer will return again, and, with summer, there shall return wrestling.
The 23rd
The Vegan Heavyweight. I can’t really explain this photo except to say that Kyle ran into these two guys in Halifax who are hobo-types but, for some reason, they each have wrestling belts. They graciously let Kyle pose with them and when he showed me this pic on his cell phone the story of how Shawn and Bryanna had seen these very same dudes around the city came up. I had to get a copy of this to send around because hobos with wrestling belts make absolutely no sense whatsoever. I’d love to know the story behind these guys and their wrestling bling.
The 22nd
Tammy invited me out to her place in Lot 16 to play board games with her, Mike and Patrick, and apparently her mom’s cat, Miss Mew, wanted in on the action too. Well, perhaps more just sitting in the box one of the games was in than participating in the game. If she wasn’t in her makeshift cardboard bed she was meowing for someone to put her up on top of a tall cabinet for some reason. Cats are weird.
The 21st
After much eager anticipation, I went to see The Dark Knight tonight and…holy top-notch movie, Batman! This blew Batman Begins out of the water, in my opinion. From the very get-go they established just how much of a psychotic, criminal mastermind The Joker is, and Heath Ledger gave this version of the villain a spot-on slant for this film—that being the menacingly nuts kind. That and the haphazard, smeared make-up and disgusting, lumpy facial scars doing their job to bring that extra bit of crazy to the character. The buzz about his performance was well-deserved because he completely stole the movie with his portrayal of the psycho in purple, with that subtle but perfect lick of the lips. I couldn’t get enough of this guy. Deranged and threatening, ominous and under-played, or outright cuckoo hilarious. But that dark, demented kind of hilarious where he dresses up like a nurse and blows up a hospital.
Other than his unintelligible, annoying grumbly voice, Christian Bale did another great job as Batman but he was over-shadowed by Ledger and didn’t have nearly the same impact in this film as he did in the first. Same goes for Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent/Two-Face but while he was an integral character, was a good choice for that split character and had some crazy amazing make-up there was just no topping Ledger.
There was some techno-foolishness at the end but it in no way compared to the foolish plot point at the end of Begins, and while I loved the first film everything overall felt much larger and more memorable in this one. The development of The Joker’s character and the types of havoc he created I thought were perfect, some with their clever little twists. A psychotic, unknown madman bent on pure anarchy who has it out for good, ol’ Bats. I thought this later line summed up his no-frills approach to destruction and chaos rather nicely:
“See, I'm a man of simple tastes. I like gunpowder…and dynamite…and gasoline! Do you know what all of these things have in common? They're cheap!”
It really is too bad that Ledger died, obviously, because he was a fantastic actor, was far too young, and had a family so it is tragic, that’s for sure. Minor in comparison, having him reprise this role again would have been nice to see. An Arkham Asylum opening scene and inevitable break out really would have been something.
The 19th
Here are the results of my afternoon in the kitchen: two strawberry rhubarb custard pies cooling while I was drooling. I need pie about as badly as I need a punch in the throat but at least one of them is for my parents. No telling how long mine will last. They weren’t quite the same as the pie they had at The Landing—I wish mine would have set a little better—but they’re pretty damn tasty nonetheless. This may or may not be a good thing but I still have a tonne of rhubarb left to use for something so the forecast is calling for more pies with a chance of rhubarb crisp.
The fellas, apparently known officially as Sweetheart Jim and The Brothers Grimm, were playing today at Spinnakers for, as expected, a crowd of mostly senior citizens and couples with children. There were some familiar faces that were nice to see and, unfortunately, some others that weren’t for various reasons I won’t go into. But even though the venue isn’t my cup of tea, the band and the tunes are still worthwhile going out for and it was nice to be outside for a change. Greg, Nathan and I ate dinner at The Deckhouse with James and Gill after the show and I’m regretting having eaten only a basket of sweet potato fries for dinner. I’m thankful for the appearance of sweet potato fries on a slew of local menus as of late because they are, after all, the fries of the future (especially with spicy mayo for dipping) but I just can’t eat deep fried foods like I used to. Ah, the good old days of three-piece fish and chips followed by a deep-fried Mars bar, and only feeling extremely full instead of extremely ill. Now it’s just both.
The 18th
I headed up to Tyne Valley to see James, Nathan, Dale and Tom play at The Landing tonight and to get a bite to eat while I watched the show with Greg, Sharon, Debbie and Blaine. The food was pretty good but the dessert I ordered was mighty good: homemade strawberry custard pie. After a slice of that and a suggestion from one of the owners, I now know what I’m going to be making with the strawberries and rhubarb I have here.
The band played a great set with a bunch of James’ tunes (which were nice to hear live for a change) plus a cool version of “Riders on The Storm” with Dale singing, The Munsters theme and a Beatles intrumental song I can never remember the name of. Mike got up to play for a song or two after he, Tammy, Rob and others showed up later on. It was great that so many people showed up and filled the tiny spot, I just wish we could get a place like The Landing in Summerside they could play at. They play at Spinnakers tomorrow which will be good because I can just bike downtown to see them but it’s a whole other thing seeing them play outdoors for a bunch of bluehairs and kids.
I noticed their menus made ample and improper use of apostrophes. They were rampant, in fact. Each header had entirely misplaced punctuation denoting some sort of ownership: SALAD’S, PIZZA’S, APPETIZER’S. Why do people give in to the urge to use apostrophes for pluralized words? I can sort of see how everything being in uppercase letters might make someone want to stick an apostrophe at the end but it doesn’t make any sense at all. SALADS reads the same as salads. Stuff like this drives me crazy. It probably doesn’t help matters that I’ve read Eats, Shoots & Leaves, reinforcing my stickler tendencies. I’m sure the stuff I write could be easily ripped to shreds by just about anyone but the inconsistent use of apostrophes on the menu should logically be forcing people to order onion ring’s, battered mushroom’s, mozza stick’s and frie’s.
I seriously should be putting my energy into something more constructive than a pub menu punctuation critique.
The 16th
It was time again to bust out the Spanish grill in Laine’s backyard for food roasting and other fire-related activities. I sat around the fire with Laine, Michael, Greg and Sharon roasting marshmallows and making S’mores with the Nutella and graham crackers Sharon brought over. Between eating S’mores and roasting marshmallows I also slathered cracker after cracker with thick layers of Nutella for the few fleeting moments I felt my sugar intake got a little marshmallow-heavy and decided to focus instead on keeping it to a strict combination of just graham and hazelnut chocolate fondant.
What summer evening out-of-doors where the scent of burning wood hangs in the air would be complete without setting off fireworks in a French school’s parking lot? Greg and I had lit a few little ones in the driveway but it was time to move on to the large munitions cache we had at our disposal. There were the familiar bangs, screeches, and showers of sparks but there were actually a couple of surprising gems in the mix that I wish I had more of. This begs for an answer to one very important question: When will PEI legalize the sale of fireworks for its residents? Perhaps never and perhaps that’s good because it would certainly diminish their novelty value if I could walk to the corner store and drop ten bucks for a quick pyrotechnics fix. Though, I wouldn’t complain if I could get my hands on some Sonic Booms somewhere closer than Melrose, New Brunswick.
The 15th
I went out for a bike ride tonight armed with my digital camera whose long exposure setting I just became aware of and was itching to put into action. I ended up on the covered steps of the church by the high school where I tested it out before continuing on towards downtown in behind the car dealerships, then ending up climbing the steps of the lookout tower along the boardwalk. I took some more pics with mixed results, nothing that was by any means good, but it was nice to know this little camera is so chock full of goodies. From the lookout it was either a breathtaking view of the back of Wendy’s/front of Staples or the moonlit harbour in the opposite direction. I took pics from both sides but there’s obviously something more attractive about a clear sky, bright moon and expanse of reflective water.
One thing I liked about being up in the lookout tower at night was that even though it’s right on the downtown waterfront flanked by box stores and fast food chains, it seemed oddly peaceful and secluded somehow. I half had the urge to go borrow a sleeping bag and see if I could camp up there all night without getting arrested, or even discovered for that matter. And while the idea of curling up in the corner of the seawind-buffeted tower had a certain cozy appeal to it, adult logic prevailed and I made my way back home instead where I slept in a ground-level bed protected from the elements and early-morning exercise enthusiasts.
The 13th
It had been a while since I was last up to visit my grandparents for the night and driving up west to see them on a lovely evening seemed like a very good idea indeed. When I pulled up in the yard I could see the garden was coming along nicely, and knowing the work that goes into growing a garden it makes me wonder how my ninety-two-year-old grandfather still has the energy to get out there after all these years. There wasn’t much that appeared quite ready to pick but I made sure go out behind the shop with a knife to gather up a generous amount of fresh rhubarb before I left. I’m sure I’ll be able to find something to make out of it that’s full of sugar, butter and other things I don’t need.
My stays up west are always far too short but we did get a chance to play some cards last night, and I enjoyed relaxing in the front porch today while chatting with my grandmother and looking at all of the old toys they still have kicking around from when I was a kid. Some of the toys are in pretty rough shape but the big, green plastic army truck still finds a place in the box along with the metal fire truck with the crank bell, and the bow-legged, plastic cowboy with the chipped paint and missing hat.
While out there I noticed a robin flying into a tree in front of the porch windows and found her nest with a couple of eggs in it after she flew away. Robin eggs are, well, pretty because of that nice shade of blue, which got me wondering about why that was and after doing some research (i.e. spending three minutes reading some Google results) it sort of seems no one really has a good answer for why they are blue and not some other colour. But why not blue, I suppose. It's been working okay for them so far.
The 11th
A few years ago I worked a bit with Fresh Media and since that time they’ve become even more successful, hired a bunch of talented full-time staffers, expanded their cool orange office of bricks and beams by 300%, received all sorts of awards and nods, and continue to do great work. They were nice enough to invite me to their Five Year Anniversary Party today where I caught up with them and some folks from college, poked about their stylish offices, and had a really great time.
Amid the minimalist décor, balloons, and hubbub, a three-tired celebratory monument stood atop a silver table like some kind of psychedelic snowman from some hippie’s acid flashback. They had this zany orange and white cake designed for the party that looked like big, bubbly slabs of polka-dotted Play Doh topped with a big number five and a wiry explosion of orange and white moons. It made me want one to have as a decoration but I’m sure I’d just end up eating it like we all did at the party. It was tasty, that’s for sure, but the layer of marzipan that was used to give the cake that soft, doughy look was mighty rich and chewy. Fine for a small piece but I don’t think I’d dare go for seconds for fear of contracting instant super diabetes.
Not only did they have a wacky cake and all sorts of yummy snacks, they also had multimedia displays all over the place showcasing their work and staff, nifty “Fresh” t-shirts for their guests, and some of the coolest business cards I ever did see. Their whole identity is based around this energetic and fresh orange style which translated into some snazzy, tactile cards that not only used a beautiful application of metallic ink but the substrate was one of the most appropriate specialty papers one could imagine for this company: a thick, orange, wrinkled paper with rounded corners that felt very much like the peel of an orange. I couldn’t stop handling it and tilting it to catch the sheen of the ink. Oh, you clever people and your costly (but well worth the price tag) premium business cards.
It was fun to hang out and chat with everyone, see the new faces at Fresh Media again, and I hope they have another successful five years and then some! Congrats, Melody and Rob!
The 6th
Today was Shawn’s birthday and even though he’s living over in Halifax now Kira suggested we get a cake to celebrate his birthday anyhow. I picked one up from the Superstore that a friendly bakery dude personalized for the occasion, and then I adorned it with the many faces of Shawn before hitting Thunder Cove to have a bit of a beach birthday party with Kira, Nathan and Kyle, but, sadly, sans Shawn.
It would be the first time I got to hang out with Kira since she came home for the summer which is pretty ridiculous if you ask me seeing as she’s only in Ch’town. Speaking of ridiculous first timey things, tonight was also the first time Nathan tried fries with the works after living on PEI near dairy bars, pubs and greasy spoons for only thirty years or so. More blasphemous than ridiculous actually. Me and Kira met up with him and Kyle at Frosty Treat before hitting the beach; events going from delicious to disgusting back to delicious again as we came across the skeleton of some animal on the beach (ribs, anyone?) before busting out the birthday cake.
Other than eating cake and enjoying an evening at the beach, the agenda for the night somehow ended up including burying Kyle under a massive pile of sand and transforming him into a sexy beach lady, complete with rock nipples and other anatomical additions. Poor, trusting Kyle had to rely on Kira to feed him his cake so as to not undo all of their hard work of turning him into the sultry lady of sand and seaweed.
As the sun began to set and Kyle reverted back to his manly self, we got a fire going for a nice, relaxing night by the water which would hopefully be just the second of many more before the end of the summer. Ultimately, the evening came to an end because Kyle’s a big baby and had to get up early for some job at the hospital where be has to do things with removed rectums and other fleshy bits from people. We left the remaining cake for scavenging tourists to eat. What a treat for them that will be!
The 5th
It seems somewhat hard to believe that The Blind Boys of Alabama actually played a show here in S’side at the fancy rink, but even more surprising is that the place was absolutely packed. Neil, Nathan, Greg, Kyle and I made our way down to a number of the conspicuously vacant floor seats even though I’m fairly sure our tickets were for the stands. Why no one else was heading down to the floor was beyond me so I was all about taking advantage of those empty seats.
The Grass Mountain Hobos opened the show with some foot-stompin' bluegrass before the Blind Boys in blue filed onto the stage and put on a helluva show. They were crazy good with their harmonies, belting out the tunes and injecting some humour into the show, too. Jimmy Carter was the highlight of the night, though, coming out into the crowd and running around with more energy than I’ll ever have, and he’s in his eighties. Even though they tended to do a lot of sitting down and taking turns, they put on a high energy show and I really enjoyed their performance. I can only imagine what the guitar player and bassist told the Boys after the show, though, about who they could see in the audience: hundreds of stiff, white folks too self-conscious to clap and sing along.
After the show while we were walking out to the car, we ended up right behind the Female Khan and her husband/significant other where we could watch her tightly permed Khan hair bounce seductively on her shoulders. If only I could have gotten some clearer photos to share with the world.
The 4th
Nathan, Neil and I drove out to Penderosa Beach to meet up with Kyle, Cory and their buddy, Alex, who were out there camping on the beach. Since Penderosa has a bunch of private property and cottages before you get to the beach, some lady came along and told us that we’d have to leave because there’s no public parking in that area. That left us no choice but to head down to Thunder Cove in hopes of finding those three campers somewhere at one of the fires far, far down the beach. Luckily, we found them hanging out fireside listening to a staticky crank radio whilst enjoying various alcoholic beverages.
This was my first official beach night of 2008 and even though the weather was great, the fire was burning well, and there weren’t any annoying, drunken teenagers trying to infiltrate the camp, it wouldn’t be complete without a few fireworks. The louder the better, too, as I hoped it would disturb the people that didn’t let us park at Penderosa. Not that I blame them for kicking us trespassers off the grounds but they, with their private ways, had to pay for inconveniencing us by putting up with our loud and disrespectful beach goer ways.
The 1st
I decided not to bother going up to Ch’town to see Nathan’s set because it would mean I’d have to miss the fireworks up there when people came home after the show and then miss them here because we’d be on our way back when they’d be lighting them here. I can’t have a Canada Day without watching fireworks, even if they are the meager ones the city has every year.
I biked down to Green Shore to watch the fireworks by myself and there were actually a few different kinds in the display this year but they always suffer from the start-and-stop syndrome which makes it difficult to know when you can leave without missing anything. Several times there were long pauses that had me and quite a few other people making our way from the park only to have the sky light up behind us with a bang or two, then it would do it again and again…and again. I think a lot of people just get fed up and figure they’ve seen enough anyway and hope to beat some of the traffic by leaving a few minutes before everyone else. The inconsistent firing of the fireworks is frustrating enough in its own way, I would hate to be stuck in a long line of cars afterwards for that fifteen minutes worth of sporadic pyrotechnics.
