I've said it before but: the sky is the colour of wet concrete and just as heavy. I've cracked the window to let the smoke from my cigarette escape and cold air creeps in from outside. I'm drinking soy milk in my coffee beause I know it's better for me. The words that used to come fast and furious now hobble in through the open door in my head one at a time, sometimes days apart. Do I need to tell you how draughty it is in here, in my head? How tempting it is to close that door? But if I do, what am I? Not a writer, that's for sure.
So how does a writer, who hasn't written in ages, start writing again? Well, apparently he begins by pilfering his own material and then degenerates into question asking. I suppose he could, if he were so inclined, fall back on that old writing axiom: write what you know. Though I have to confess, I've always thought of that as a fallacy. Who wants to read fiction about drinking coffee, job hunts and going to the bathroom? Not me.
Still, for our purposes it seems like as good a place as any to start. We'll start with non-fiction in the hope that it gets that cliched metaphorical ball rolling.
So, what's happened lately?
Well, Canada has elected another Conservative minority--that was pretty stupid. The most shocking thing about that, at least from my perspective in my riding, is best illuminated by information gleaned from candidate profiles in my local newspaper. What gave me hope before the election was that the Liberal, NDP and Green Party candidates for Chatham-Kent all said that the important issues facing Canadians were jobs and the environment. All three suggested creating "green jobs" in a fabulous bit of two-birds-with-one-stone philosophy. Imperfect? Yeah. Better than nothing? For sure.
The Conservative incumbent, on the other hand, said that the issues that most concerned him as a Canadian were crime and our nation's role in Afghanistan. I remember reading the relevant passeges out loud to Stephanie and laughing. I figured that if the candidates' views reflected those of thier respective parties the Conservatives had no hope. Crime? Our role in Afghanistan? Most of the Canadians I know realise that with the economy the way it is, crime can only get worse and that the answer to that is jobs.
The answer to Afghanistan is even simpler (I recognise that job creation is easy to say and difficult to do--but why else to we elect these cats?) and it goes a little something like this: get the fuck out. If we were doing some good there, if the country was truly stablizing, if terrorism were actually evaporating I might sing a different tune, but at this point we're just doing our continental nighbour's dirty work. And let's face facts: we're doing it badly.
So a record low 59% of registered voters came out to elect the wrong party. And, if I'd not let optimism get a stranglehold on me, I'd have been able to call that. It all has to do with this book I keep joking about writing: How the Right Ruined Canadian Politics by "Uniting".
The trouble is that there are three parties on the left for liberal-minded folks to divide thier votes between and only one party on the right, monoplozing the conservative vote. Of course, I use the term "conservative" loosely. When you examine thier fiscal moves since coming to power they actually appear to be very liberal--or rather, neoliberal in that horrible Milton-ian sense of the word.
As far as the piss-poor turnout goes, it's not hard to understand why Canadians are disillusioned at voting, particularly the young. It's easy to feel detached from our political process when Stephen Harper petulantly changes his position every week or so and Dion prances about posing for pictures trying to create an image for himself as the ultimate environmentalist--I mean, a husky named Kyoto? I'm sure there's a "wag the dog" joke there that my writer's block won't let me make.
Then you have Jack Layton, jockeying for position between the two; the leader of the party that was supposed to be about everything but playing politics doing nothing but playing politics. And for the record, I'd prefer not to discuss Elizabeth May or her party because my mom always told me that if you can't say anything nice you should keep your damn mouth shut.
Despite my stand on Afghanistan, is it wrong of me to wish Ignatieff had been elected Liberal leader?
Let's see what there is to be said after the first week of November when the shape of North American politics will be a little more clear.
So I suppose some people are going to want a review of the punk show I went to on Saturday. And I guess I ought to say a little something; even though what I can say is limited. At a show with three poppier punk bands and two ska bands this embattled veteran of hardcore finds little to say. I will, however, do my best to review the show quickly.
First off, I can't comment on the opening band at all. Any criticism I offer, constructive as it may be, would be viewed as a vicious attack. I will say that it's bad form for a band who has no original songs to sell T-shirts. I remember the old maxim: songs before stickers. These cats have obviously never heard it and jumped well beyond the sticker stage.
So be it.
The next band, Cambridge, was definitely not my cup of tea. A little on the poppy side, a bit boring to me. I suppose they were tight and talented, but that doesn't mean much when you're just ripping off the Lawrence Arms.
Up next was The Rucks who, as usual, tore the roof off. Truly they are a blazing band in a scene still struggling to find some fire. Thier upbeat, singalong streetpunk (while not my thing) still managed to get me into the pit--somewhere I haven't been in eleven years. These three guys manage to mix up the sound of something like the Swingin' Utters with just enough of a classic Sham 69 sort of feel to make them pretty singular and noteworthy.
At this point I pretty much stopped listening to the music and focused on drinking. I did manage to stand up and take in a couple of songs by The Corporation who closed the night with some ska-core that would probably please fans of Against All Authority. Again, not at all my thing, but well done nonetheless.
All in all I didn't feel like I wasted my seven bucks, but I long for the day when Sarah of Death Rattle Industries brings me some hardcore I can sink my teeth into. Hey, Sarah, if you're listening: The Endless Blockade, Reprobates, Black Ships, Black Birds... oh hell, just gimme a call.
That's all folks. I wish I'd had the will or the time to do a little eulogizing on George Carlin, but fuck it. That piss-poor novella of crap above is all I can manage today. Maybe things will get better tomorrow.
So how does a writer, who hasn't written in ages, start writing again? Well, apparently he begins by pilfering his own material and then degenerates into question asking. I suppose he could, if he were so inclined, fall back on that old writing axiom: write what you know. Though I have to confess, I've always thought of that as a fallacy. Who wants to read fiction about drinking coffee, job hunts and going to the bathroom? Not me.
Still, for our purposes it seems like as good a place as any to start. We'll start with non-fiction in the hope that it gets that cliched metaphorical ball rolling.
So, what's happened lately?
Well, Canada has elected another Conservative minority--that was pretty stupid. The most shocking thing about that, at least from my perspective in my riding, is best illuminated by information gleaned from candidate profiles in my local newspaper. What gave me hope before the election was that the Liberal, NDP and Green Party candidates for Chatham-Kent all said that the important issues facing Canadians were jobs and the environment. All three suggested creating "green jobs" in a fabulous bit of two-birds-with-one-stone philosophy. Imperfect? Yeah. Better than nothing? For sure.
The Conservative incumbent, on the other hand, said that the issues that most concerned him as a Canadian were crime and our nation's role in Afghanistan. I remember reading the relevant passeges out loud to Stephanie and laughing. I figured that if the candidates' views reflected those of thier respective parties the Conservatives had no hope. Crime? Our role in Afghanistan? Most of the Canadians I know realise that with the economy the way it is, crime can only get worse and that the answer to that is jobs.
The answer to Afghanistan is even simpler (I recognise that job creation is easy to say and difficult to do--but why else to we elect these cats?) and it goes a little something like this: get the fuck out. If we were doing some good there, if the country was truly stablizing, if terrorism were actually evaporating I might sing a different tune, but at this point we're just doing our continental nighbour's dirty work. And let's face facts: we're doing it badly.
So a record low 59% of registered voters came out to elect the wrong party. And, if I'd not let optimism get a stranglehold on me, I'd have been able to call that. It all has to do with this book I keep joking about writing: How the Right Ruined Canadian Politics by "Uniting".
The trouble is that there are three parties on the left for liberal-minded folks to divide thier votes between and only one party on the right, monoplozing the conservative vote. Of course, I use the term "conservative" loosely. When you examine thier fiscal moves since coming to power they actually appear to be very liberal--or rather, neoliberal in that horrible Milton-ian sense of the word.
As far as the piss-poor turnout goes, it's not hard to understand why Canadians are disillusioned at voting, particularly the young. It's easy to feel detached from our political process when Stephen Harper petulantly changes his position every week or so and Dion prances about posing for pictures trying to create an image for himself as the ultimate environmentalist--I mean, a husky named Kyoto? I'm sure there's a "wag the dog" joke there that my writer's block won't let me make.
Then you have Jack Layton, jockeying for position between the two; the leader of the party that was supposed to be about everything but playing politics doing nothing but playing politics. And for the record, I'd prefer not to discuss Elizabeth May or her party because my mom always told me that if you can't say anything nice you should keep your damn mouth shut.
Despite my stand on Afghanistan, is it wrong of me to wish Ignatieff had been elected Liberal leader?
Let's see what there is to be said after the first week of November when the shape of North American politics will be a little more clear.
So I suppose some people are going to want a review of the punk show I went to on Saturday. And I guess I ought to say a little something; even though what I can say is limited. At a show with three poppier punk bands and two ska bands this embattled veteran of hardcore finds little to say. I will, however, do my best to review the show quickly.
First off, I can't comment on the opening band at all. Any criticism I offer, constructive as it may be, would be viewed as a vicious attack. I will say that it's bad form for a band who has no original songs to sell T-shirts. I remember the old maxim: songs before stickers. These cats have obviously never heard it and jumped well beyond the sticker stage.
So be it.
The next band, Cambridge, was definitely not my cup of tea. A little on the poppy side, a bit boring to me. I suppose they were tight and talented, but that doesn't mean much when you're just ripping off the Lawrence Arms.
Up next was The Rucks who, as usual, tore the roof off. Truly they are a blazing band in a scene still struggling to find some fire. Thier upbeat, singalong streetpunk (while not my thing) still managed to get me into the pit--somewhere I haven't been in eleven years. These three guys manage to mix up the sound of something like the Swingin' Utters with just enough of a classic Sham 69 sort of feel to make them pretty singular and noteworthy.
At this point I pretty much stopped listening to the music and focused on drinking. I did manage to stand up and take in a couple of songs by The Corporation who closed the night with some ska-core that would probably please fans of Against All Authority. Again, not at all my thing, but well done nonetheless.
All in all I didn't feel like I wasted my seven bucks, but I long for the day when Sarah of Death Rattle Industries brings me some hardcore I can sink my teeth into. Hey, Sarah, if you're listening: The Endless Blockade, Reprobates, Black Ships, Black Birds... oh hell, just gimme a call.
That's all folks. I wish I'd had the will or the time to do a little eulogizing on George Carlin, but fuck it. That piss-poor novella of crap above is all I can manage today. Maybe things will get better tomorrow.
