Friday, December 12, 2003


Millennium Actress
Thanks to MK for reminding me that it's the Hector Berlioz bicentenary--crank it up!
Happy Birthdays to Jacqueline Waters
Drew Gardner
Deanna Ferguson
& Dan Farrell
Robbie Burns Night, Malaspina U-C Discovery Room
Syllabub, boiled baby, white soup, etc.
Mysterious ice balls falling from heavens: "'I'm not worried that a block of ice may fall on your head,' said Jesus Martinez-Frias of the Center for Astrobiology in Madrid.
'I'm worried that great blocks of ice are forming where they shouldn't exist.'"
Feral Children

Thursday, December 11, 2003

List of lists
A poem of mine from "Hammertown" is in the print version of the Literary Review of Canada.
PK's Web Rant and News Forum has good facts on the strike--
Being in a pen with a wounded bull.: "For instance, an American from San Diego is quoted saying: 'What bugs me about Canadians, if I may, is that they wear that damn patch on their bags, the Canadian flag patch. That way, they differentiate themselves from us.'"
Ferries on strike here, much typical hysteria in the media but here is the Marine Worker's Union site.

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

Pulpfiction Books has a mess of new books in for holiday browsing, and a new branch I didn't even know about!
Happy Birthday Olivier Messiaen--

“In my hours of gloom, when I am suddenly aware of my own futility, when every musical idiom – classical, Oriental, ancient, modern, and ultra-modern – appears to me as no more than admirable, painstaking experimentation, without any ultimate justification, what is left for me but to seek out the true, lost face of music somewhere off in the forest, in the fields, in the mountains, or on the seashore, among the birds.”

and Emily Dickinson--

The Birds reported from the South—
A News express to Me—
A spicy Charge, My little Posts—
But I am deaf—Today—

The Flowers—appealed—a timid Throng—
I reinforced the Door—
Go blossom for the Bees—I said—
And trouble Me—no More—

The Summer Grace, for Notice strove—
Remote—Her best Array—
The Heart—to stimulate the Eye
Refused too utterly—

At length, a Mourner, like Myself,
She drew away austere—
Her frosts to ponder—then it was
I recollected Her—

She suffered Me, for I had mourned—
I offered Her no word—
My Witness—was the Crape I bore—
Her—Witness—was Her Dead—

Thenceforward—We—together dwelt—
I never questioned Her—
Our Contract
A Wiser Sympathy

Continental Drift Cam

Monday, December 08, 2003 Writing Systems
via the mighty Plep--Aspects of the Victorian book
Canadian Poetry excellent historical resource
Horace, Ode 1.9 (adapted by Alan Ramsey):

"An Ode to Ph----

Look up to Pentland's tow'ring tap,
Buried beneath great wreaths of snaw,
O'er ilka cleugh, ilk scar, and slap,
As high as ony Roman wa'.

Driving their ba's frae whins or tee,
There's no nae gowfer to be seen,
Nor dousser fouk wysing a-jee
The byast bouls on Tamson's green.

Then fling on coals, and ripe the ribs,
And beek the house baith but and ben,
That mutchkin stoup it hauds but dribs,
Then let's get in the tappit hen.

Good claret best keeps out the cauld,
And drives away the winter soon;
It makes a man baith gash and bauld,
And heaves his saul beyond the moon.

Leave to the gods your ilka care,
If that they think us worth their while
They can a rowth of blessings spare,
Which will our fasheous fears beguile.

For what they have a mind to do,
That will they do, should we gang wud;
If they command the storms to blaw,
Then upo' sight the hailstanes thud.

But soon as e'er they cry -- 'Be quiet,'
The blatt'ring winds dare nae mair move,
But cour into their caves, and wait
The high command of supreme Jove.

Let neist day come as it thinks fit,
The present minute's only ours;
On pleasure let's employ our wit,
And laugh at fortune's feckless powers.

Be sure ye dinna quat the grip
Of ilka joy when ye are young,
Before auld age your vitals nip,
And lay ye twafald o'er a rung.

Sweet youth's a blyth and heartsome time;
Then, lads and lasses, while it's May,
Gae pou the gowan in its prime
Before it wither and decay.

Watch the saft minutes of delyte
When Jenny speaks beneath her breath,
And kisses, laying a' the wyte
On you, if she keap ony skaith.

"Haith, ye're ill-bred," she'll smiling say,
"Ye'll worry me, ye greedy rook;"
Syne frae your arms she'll rin away,
And hide hersell in some dark nook.

Her laugh will lead you to the place
Where lies the happiness you want,
And plainly tells you to your face
Nineteen nay says are ha'f a grant.

Now to her heaving bosom cling,
And sweetly toolie for a kiss,
Frae her fair finger whop a ring,
As taiken of a future bliss.

These bennisons, I'm very sure,
Are of the gods' indulgent grant;
Then, surly carles, whisht, -- forbear
To plague us with your whining cant. "
Happy Birthday Horace! (thanks Laurable)

Sunday, December 07, 2003

BULLITT locations--starts in 10 minutes!!
Snowball fight (shockwave)
North Bay News : "'The program is kind of like the pantheon of pop culture and it's nice to see Project Grizzly, which has already achieved cult status, enter the larger popular cultural arena,' Lynch said.

'Being part of The Simpsons will give Project Grizzly more of a mythic status while also giving it currency.'

Lynch said Canadians are “passive consumers” of American culture and of myths that “glorify” American heroes and values.

'Troy and his men aren't simply watching Robocop or the Terminator trilogy; they're attempting to live it. The Simpsons has its finger on the pulse of zeitgeist pop culture. And it takes a classic like Project Grizzly and transforms it even further through mainstream mythic consciousness,' Lynch said".