The Most Incredible Thing I Ever Ate Out Of A Dixie Cup With My Fingers

Believe it or not, this is one of the best things I have ever eaten. Cutlery wasn't available. I ate it with my fingers, and just looking at that disgusting glob gives me a powerful urge to try to make it myself...
I’ve heard the most powerful trigger of memory is the sense of smell, followed closely by taste. I’m inclined to believe that’s true. Several hours ago I was two hundred kilometers from where I now sit, enjoying a bowl of pea soup at my grandparents’ house. The first whiff of my lunch transported me six months into the past and fifteen hundred kilometers further away to my summer vacation in Thunder Bay, Ontario. The memory was so powerful, I’ve been thinking about it the whole drive home, and now I’m blogging about it. I speak, of course, of the last time I had pea soup –if you can call it pea soup. It was the most incredible thing I ever ate out of a dixie cup with my fingers.
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‘Twas the Night Before Christmas

A Visit From St. Nicholas (or, more commonly)

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas

by Clement Clarke Moore or Henry Livingston
(authorship disputed, as detailed here and here)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

– – –

Last night I was three paragraphs into a fairly long blog post about my many happy Christmases, and then I realized that I’d left it too late: You can write a tome about Christmas at the start of the season, but not at it’s end. Next year I shall write something personal about Christmas at great length in early December, but for now I will mark the occasion with this poem. My mother read this to my sister and I at least ten times every Christmas growing up. I’ll admit, I don’t remember all of these verses, and I think Mom Canadianized Happy Christmas to Merry Christmas, but the poem makes me feel safe and warm even now. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel a blanket tucked up to my chin. I didn’t make an attempt to do Christmas justice on this blog this year, but this is a contribution I can make from the heart to mark the day.

To everyone out there, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Avatar: The Future of Cinema

Ten years ago the Matrix changed the way movies were made. This weekend James Cameron’s Avatar has done the same. I’m writing this at two o’clock in the morning. I can’t sleep without at least trying to write down my impressions of what I just saw.

I really feel like I watched a turning point in pop culture. Just as there was a time before the Matrix introduced wire fu to the Western World and a time after it, so too will there be a time before Cameron’s vision became reality, and a time after it. Everyone is going to have to see this movie to participate in the zeitgeist. Every filmmaker is going to study the craft of it. There will be dozens of imitators of varying degrees of success, just as Star Wars inspired everything from Battlestar Galactica to Silent Running to the Black Hole. Most importantly, though, the magic is about to be injected back into a genre that has spent a decade and more back on its heels, rehashing, recycling, rebooting and reimaging the same material in an effort to stay safe in a volatile marketplace. Writers and directors are going to be able to dream again, and they’ll have Cameron to thank for that.
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Music Review: The Beatles on Ukulele, 2009

When I first started this blog I made a plug for what I consider one of the best sites on the Internet: The Beatles Complete on Ukulele. This site plans to cover the complete Beatles Discography on ukulele at the rate of one song a week by different artists in different genres.

It’s a brilliant idea, brilliantly executed, and it’s a shame that my earlier recommendation is now buried in my back log. To date, less than ten people have gone from my site to take a good look at what they have to offer. I’ve decided that needs to be remedied, and so I’ve decided I’ll periodically review their collection in the hopes that more of my readers will become their listeners.

1. — While My Guitar Gently Weeps covered by Dandelion Wine
released on the week of January 20, 2009

This is the perfect song to start off a ukulele-themed cover site. While My Guitar Gently Weeps is one of the best Beatles guitar tunes (putting to one side that George Harrison got Eric Clapton to do the heavy lifting on the track), and it translates very naturally into a ukulele ballad. A cello on the verses and an electric guitar on the bridge fills in some of the depth that the ukulele can’t produce, and the singer himself does a wonderful job of selling the lyrics. The essay that goes along with the song also sets the bar pretty high for what is to come: It’s funny, informative, eye-opening, and shows the site’s founders Roger and Dave have their ducks in a row musically, historically, and analytically. Despite being the first, this song is one of my firm favourites.

EDIT: I’ve just spotted this song has been recovered as of April 15, 2011 by John James. I’m afraid I don’t have a working link to the Dandelion Wine cover anymore. At a guess, I would say that Dandelion Wine’s later cover of I’m Looking Through You had the site organizers redo this entry.


2. — Oh Darling covered by Kathena Bryant
released on the week of January 27, 2009

This second cover is the first to introduce the idea of giving the song a setting independent of the original. In this case, Oh Darling is the story of a woman whose boyfriend is a mugger in New York. Upon her beau’s arrest, he begs her to stick by him through the lyrics of the song. It’s an interesting idea, and here it is done well. This song is also the first to drift from its original genre: It’s clearly an old-timey country crooning tune in Kathena Bryant’s hands, and she does a lovely, respectful job of it.

3. — You Never Give Me Your Money covered by Peter Buffett
released on the week of February 3, 2009

This one struck me as a challenge to cover, because it’s really a few half-finished songs mashed together (as often happened on the later half of the Abbey Road album). Peter Buffett does well with it. His version is, above all else, as easy to listen to as the original. It’s a wonderful translation of a wonderful song. The essay is pretty good too.
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My Pragmatic Take on Global Warming

Let me start off by saying I believe global warming to be true. I don’t care who sent what email about fudging the numbers in one report. I don’t care about statisticians fiddling with their data for dramatic effect during Al Gore’s power point presentations. I understand enough science to agree that greenhouse gases capture more of the sun’s energy. I also understand enough history to know humanity has had a profound impact on our planet.

Did you ever wonder why Iraq was once called the Fertile Crescent? Because ten thousand years ago it wasn’t a desert. Primitive agriculture ruined the top soil. That, and it was an area vulnerable to desertification.

Why does Lebanon revere cedar trees? Because it used to have forests of them like the redwoods of California. The Phoenician galleys made out of those timber sailed as far as Britain, and even circumnavigated Africa under Egyptian orders. Those forests are gone now. So are the forests of Northern Europe. So are the great White Pine and Red Pine forests of Canada. We’re doing it today with the rain forests.

Acid rain poisoned lakes all over the world. DDT pesticide got into the food chain, and it’s taken decades to get out. CFCs burned a hole in the ozone layer. The fallout from Chernobyl circled the Earth. We’ve swept the oceans clean of most fish. Tuna and cod are approaching a point of no return. When you see all those ways we have devastated the planet, how can anyone say that our cars and power plants aren’t capable of putting enough greenhouse gases into the atmosphere to change the way the world works?

I must also admit that global warming and cooling is a natural process. Our climate is not, and has never been, static. Mankind can and is aggravating the situation, but the idea that if we just scale back to the level of pollution we were putting out in 1990 worldwide we will have the climate of 1990 forever is laughable. The people who believe that just want to believe in a happy ending. Reality doesn’t always have one.

Ten thousand years ago where I’m sitting right now was under two kilometers of ice. Ten thousand years is the blink of an eye in geological terms. Earth has been much warmer and much colder than it is today. Even within recorded history we had a Medieval Warm Period that allowed agriculture in Greenland, and a Little Ice Age that saw Washington’s Army deal with snowfall in Valley Forge that even my grandparents’ home in Muskoka cannot match today.

When we talk about Global Warming as something that can be fixed, we’re deluding ourselves. That’s not to say that it isn’t something that can be dealt with. What we do has an impact throughout the world, and there are things we can do to make sure our planet continues to be able to support us without worldwide famines and dramatic population crashes. Let’s talk about those.
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Everything an Untrained Heterosexual White Male Knows About Dancing

Dancing is one of those things men are of two minds about: On the one hand, it is far too easy to seem effeminate or foolish when dancing in the eyes of your peers. On the other hand, it’s fun, and it lets you get close to women. It seems, then, that the pros outweigh the cons, as long as you do it right. You need to have self-confidence and own the situation. Men respect a guy who looks like he knows what he’s doing, and chicks dig confidence. Dancing, then, is a path to greater things, social acceptance, and a generally good time.

I’m probably one of the most uptight men of my generation. I had a rather Victorian upbringing, WASPish in its prudishness. I’ve fought against that for most of my adult life, but the results have been a mixed bag. That said, I would lay some small claim to being able to dance. A few weeks ago a female friend of mine –well into her cups– leaned across the table and slurred with great enthusiasm and sincerity, “You can dance, Geoff Micks! I mean, properly dance!”

I’ve been ruminating on that unlikely statement ever since, and now that I have it worked out into a narrative, I should probably put it up on this blog for you to enjoy.
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