More Spring Cleaning Fun

I was listening to an old mixed disc I made years ago, drinking a beer and wading through the boxed remainers of my life until now when I chanced upon a folder from the OAC Writer's Craft course I took nearly half a lifetime ago.

The writing was the same as all the writing I have found so far in my cleaning - touches of skill mixed with touches of pretension muddled with teenage angst and bravado. As Dylan sings, "But I was so much older then / I'm younger than that now".

Anyways, stuffed in the front pocket of this folder was an acceptance letter from York University. I never did take them up on that offer, though I thought of it. Instead, that summer, I worked for the military for a month and a half and then I hitch-hiked to Vancouver (strange travel suggestions are dancing lessons with god - k. vonnegut). I came back, took two morning classes, worked a combination of four jobs and then went to Laurentian the next year.

There's a part of me that wants to fill the forms out and send them in with a note apologizing for the delay and stating that I am ready now. Just to see what they say.

Strange

I've got Hockey Night In Canada on in the background. They're doing the national anthems. The singer gets most of the way through O Canada and stops singing, letting the crowd take up the song for a line or two. He then jumps back in and finishes it off.

I've seen this done at so many concerts that it's almost become a cliche. I have never seen this sort of thing done for the national anthem.

I guess I like it, though it seems a bit odd.

If a bomb was to go off in the hallway. . .

. . . I would be safe. My doorway is currently blocked by a barricade of full extra large garbage bags. Nothing short of an a-bomb will put a dent in that pile.

Now that I have guaranteed I will be working downtown for the foreseeable future, I've decided it's time to finally get off my ass and move somewhere closer/more interesting/less rundown. I put my two months notice in with the corporation that own the building and I have started the search for new digs.

While I will likely buy a condo somewhere eventually, I am looking to rent a place close to downtown for a while. I want to experience a downtown life that isn't bookended by hour-long subway and bus jaunts. I want to live near a neighbourhood bar again. I want to see more plays and bands and readings and all the things I pass on now because they are such a hassle to get to.

To make things easier when the time comes to move, I am reducing the amount of stuff in my apartment. Hence the garbage bags. I never really realized how much of a pack rat I was until today.

The books and cds, I can understand. While I have put a small dent in my library lately by donating two big plastic bins of books to the Barrie Public Library (most of them wound up in circulation, apparently), I will always have way too many books and cds. It's just who I am.

What I cannot explain is why I still have:
- games for Windows 95 computers
- worn out work clothes for a job I will likely never work again
- 10 chess sets of various styles and sizes (I'm parting with 6. I will explain why I still want 4 at some future date.)
- a Winnipeg souvenir spoon
- a game boy advance when I also have a DS
- a backgammon set with a "Chess Players Mate Better" bumper sticker on the side
- 2 sets of bedsheets I will never use again

The list goes on to include plenty of papers, trinkets and gizmos I will never need and, frankly, had not thought of in years.

I'm glad to be doing this. It's a hassle I have put off for way too long. Much like when I downsized my library, though, I find that it gets easier as you go. Once I start, it becomes a game to see how much I can get rid of. When I got rid of the books, I wound up slipping in some books that I really was not planning on parting with, simply because I wanted someone else to have the chance to enjoy them as much as I did.

I can't say today's cull has been quite as high-minded or quixotic, but I am feeling better already. The weight of my possessions had become too much. It's an odd notion, but it's true. I knew for a while I had lots of stuff I no longer needed but I could not bring myself to act because the job just seemed so large. It was easier to ignore it.

Well, it's time to get back to the bedroom. I'm through the worst of it, I think. With the new job and everything, I'm not going to have much time to move. Doing this stuff in advance should make things much easier.

My Gangland Past

I guess I will have to put off my tell-all memoir about living amongst the gangs of Jane and Finch for a while yet.

http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/arts/2008/03/05/2008-03-05_oprahs_mag_gushed_over_memoir_of_fake_ga-1.html

There people go, letting the facts get in the way of a good story.

Phew. . .

Just learned that American Idol is actually going to do the right thing and ignore the guy's past.

Good. Now I can safely go back to not caring about American Idol.

I feel better already.

A question. . .

How is it that one can work a legitimate, legal job and yet face possible expulsion from a game show on moral grounds? Why do we as a society allow this just because the job happens to be stripping? I mean, if we are to judge jobs from a moral viewpoint, wouldn't we be better off shunning the owners of payday loan joints? Or slums?

Apparently, there is a guy on American Idol who used to work as a stripper. Now I've only watched about 2 episodes of American Idol in my life. I have absolutely no interest in who gets chosen. I just get frustrated by all of this hypocritical moralizing. Who cares what the guy did for a living? How does this affect how well he sings?

It reminds me of the infamous "wardrobe malfunction" at the Super Bowl a few years ago. The incident occurred in the middle of a game where grown men basically attempt to tear each other limb from limb. After the game, the network aired the season premiere of a game show (Survivor) where people lie, cheat and connive their way to victory. For all that, we are told that the most immoral thing to happen that night was the sudden appearance of a woman's breast. How does that happen?

I'm not trying to defend stripping. I really could not care less, one way or the other. All I'm saying is that, if the job is legal (he was licensed), what right do we have to pass judgement?

Canuck Book 7 - The Architects Are Here by Michael Winter

I just finished book 7 in the Canadian Book Challenge.

Michael Winter's The Architects Are Here is a book I was really looking forward to loving. What was there not to love? After The Big Why, Winter returns to a story focused on his fictional alter-ego Gabriel English, the protagonist of one of my favourite books, This All Happened. Furthermore, the book is a road story of sorts, winding from Toronto to Newfoundland with stops and detours along the way. Again, this is something I normally love.

At the end of it all, the book did not live up to my expectations. It would be easy to say I set my sights too high, but I don't think this is the case. Mr. Winter is an excellent writer and there is some excellent writing in this book. It's just the story gets muddled in a series of outlandish coincidences and strange acts that did not always ring true to me.

To be clear, this is not a bad book. I enjoyed reading it. Gabriel English is one of my favourite fictional characters and I hope Mr. Winter returns to him in the future. It's just the story did not hold together as well as I had hoped. Near the end of the book, you get this feeling that the end is near. . . And then he pulls back. Then he builds another climax, then pulls back. You start to feel as if you're floating close to shore, feeling the waves push you forward, draw you back, then push you forward all over again. By the time you land on the shore, it feels less like a conclusion, then that you simply ran out of room.

With that said, I must make it clear that I do love his writing. There is a sharpness to it that I love. Like his fellow Burning Rock alumnus, Lisa Moore, Winter's writing style jettisons all extraneous punctuation to create a text that is very fluid. Dialogue mingles with description, thoughts with actions.

A long time ago, I read a review of one of his earlier books by a blogger who complained about this. She took the lack of punctuation to be a sign of disrespect for the language. It stuck with me all this time because I could not believe how wrong she was. To write the way Mr. Winter does, requires a great deal of respect for the language. He is not simply forgetting to put in punctuation. Instead, he is actively withholding the punctuation to better serve the story he is telling, in the way he wants to tell it. It works because he has taken the time to make sure it is done right.

For those unfamiliar with Mr. Winter's work, I would recommend picking up This All Happened first. Get yourself acquainted with Gabriel English and his world. After that, pick up The Architects Are Here. It's not perfect, but it tries.