I am writing you from an artists retreat in rural Burgundy.... I know, you probably want to kill me, and I if I were you, I would want to kill me too. It is quite idyllic here. I spend the day playing an antique Viennese piano in a great salon overlooking rolling hills dotted with cows... there is a ruined castle in the distance. Today it was sunny, and the light illumined the rolling hills and ancient stone buildings. I half expected sleeping beauty and prince charming to come riding over the hills with their retinue. I am situated near the medieval town of Vitteaux... On the surface, the town has not changed much since the 13th century.. in fact, the buildings are so dilapidated it is hard to believe that anyone lives in them, but aparently they are very valuable and very inhabitable. As we were driving through the centre of town, I remarked upon a beautiful half timbered building. I was told that it used to be the covered market where the farmers would bring their wares on market day. Now it is owned by the pharmacist who has turned it into, wait for it, a condom factory.
Apparently, Vitteaux is known for two things: horse racing (which has occured here since the 14th century) and the quality of its prophylactics. I am told that the birth control industry is a big employer in town. The other one is the mental hospital. The people o Vitteaux should be careful, because the first one might make the second one obselete! I also found it interesting to see that the "covered market" (condom factory) was decorated by a compelling portrait of the VIRGIN MARY. Does the pope know about all this?
Monday, February 27, 2006
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Paris... you do the math
So I went to the Paris exquivilent of 7/11 and bought raw milk Camambert, organic vegetable soup and a half litre of Bordeaux for about 12 dollars. This is about the same price of a coffee on the Champs Elysees. I think the Napoleonic code has something in it about a French citizen's right to cheese. A tourist's right to anything, not so much. Today, I am off to the Marais (the Gay/Jewish district... how convenient! It occured to me that they Canadian equivilent to this would be having a leather bar at the Promenade Mall in Richmond Hill... yes, Paris is different). I am having lunch with my great uncle Simon and his daughters. Yes, I have family in Paris (with the same last name even.... 'oh, hello, you're not in any way associated with the Schnitzers of the 3rd arrondisement in Paris are you...' 'Why, yes... yes I am... how did you know? Was it my pronouced cranial ridge?') Before that, I might stop by the Rodin museum. After that, I might have a psychological crisis dealing with issues of identity/family of origin, race, sexual orientation,etc. During, I will most likely eat well. Yesterday, I went to the Musée d'Orsay. I can tell you that impressionism is basically about colour and cataracts... but it is very very beautiful. To see all of Van Gogh's best paintings in a room the size of one's living room is quite the experience. And you can tell really good art from mediocre art by the use of colour and light. Rembrandt had it, Van Gogh had it, so did Da Vinci. Monet too. All their paintings seem eerily real, but are still paintings. Discuss. Any input from the blogger named 'mother' would be appreciated here.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Paris, day 3
Okay...well, it turns out that the people at le Metro have been thinking that I am a resident of Paris, because I have been buying really cheap metro tickets (5 euros for the whole day). Today, when I asked for my ticket, the woman looked at me suspiciously and said 'vous n'etes pas de Paris'... and I said..non... It turns out that tourists must pay double for metro tickets (is this their version of égalité?) ...but, she let me have the Parisian price, because I have 'un bon accent'?!?!?!? Um... calling My Fair Lady!!! On the way to les Invalides to visit Napoleon's tomb, I came across the Canadian Cultural centre... it was completely deserted, of course, and had a dusty cabinet with an exhibit called 'Prairie Writers' which consisted of tomes which I don't think had seen the light of day since 1972. Carol Sheilds was described as a 'New Voice' and the picture of her showed her sporting a lovely chestnut pageboy haircut. Okay... note to Canadian government: Try harder, or go home. The Canadian cultural centre is 2 blocks away from the largest collection of Impressionist art in the world (musee d'orsay) and 1 block away from les Invalides. An exhibition of 'art' which consists of a tv screen with a canoe on it AIN'T GONNA CUT IT.
Now I am off in search of food. I had this grand idea of cooking something, as my hostel has a kitchenette. Screw that. I am in Paris.
Now I am off in search of food. I had this grand idea of cooking something, as my hostel has a kitchenette. Screw that. I am in Paris.
Paris, day 2
Today:
Louvre. Mona Lisa. Rembrandt. You name it, I saw it. Except of course for the French painting exhibit, which is closed Thursday. I thought French painting is why they invented the Louvre in the first place.... That is like going to Starbucks and finding out there is no coffee on the menu today. Not that I will ever go to Starbucks again. And yes, it does exist in Paris, right by the Comedie Francaise, of all places.
I bought a last minute ticket to Don Giovanni at the Paris Opera (note: The Opera is always sold out. What you have to do, I have learned, is to stand on the steps outside the opera 1 hour before it starts with a sign that says 'achete 1 billet'... it worked in my case! ) It was at the old opera house, you know, the one with the Chagall ceiling... the one that bankrupted France. So, imagine, you walk into possibly the most decadent ornate 19th century building ever, sit in your plush velvet seat and wait. The sublime overture to Don Giovanni begins. Then the curtain rises. The powers that be in the Paris opera decided, in their wisdom, to set the opera in a locale that resembled the office set of Murphy Brown. Most of the characters were Janitors. Don Giovanni looked like a security guard. Needless to say, I was glad I had a shitty seat so I couldn't see most of the time.
Before that, I bought whole candied clementines at a pastry shop that has existed continuosly since 1761. Of course, I stumbled upon it. Note to self: large quantities of syrup-preserved fruit does not a good dinner make. I was feeling sick around hour 5 of Don Giovanni. The French like to take 30 minute intermissions so they can touch each other's scarves and smoke. Note: Only straight French man wear scarves. If you see a man in Paris wearing a bright pink ascot and carrying a man purse, he is probably straight. If you see a man wearing tight jeans and a parka, with spiky hair, he is probably gay. Yes, Paris is different... I bought a 'baba au rhum' today, which is basically a donut soaked in rum until it is squishy. Very nice. When they serve it to you, they annoint it with more rum from a crystal atomizer. I made the mistake of carrying it at an angle, thereby spilling syrup all over the patisserie floor. The proprietress looked at me and said 'monsieur! Votre baba!'... in a way that simultaneously said 'you are wasting precious syrup... the product of my toil', but also 'silly but cute foreigner, how amusing of you do this, yet still annoying' and 'I am in a state of shock because of your lack of manners'. Then she winked at me and took a puff of her cigarette. How nuanced. How oblique. How French.
Louvre. Mona Lisa. Rembrandt. You name it, I saw it. Except of course for the French painting exhibit, which is closed Thursday. I thought French painting is why they invented the Louvre in the first place.... That is like going to Starbucks and finding out there is no coffee on the menu today. Not that I will ever go to Starbucks again. And yes, it does exist in Paris, right by the Comedie Francaise, of all places.
I bought a last minute ticket to Don Giovanni at the Paris Opera (note: The Opera is always sold out. What you have to do, I have learned, is to stand on the steps outside the opera 1 hour before it starts with a sign that says 'achete 1 billet'... it worked in my case! ) It was at the old opera house, you know, the one with the Chagall ceiling... the one that bankrupted France. So, imagine, you walk into possibly the most decadent ornate 19th century building ever, sit in your plush velvet seat and wait. The sublime overture to Don Giovanni begins. Then the curtain rises. The powers that be in the Paris opera decided, in their wisdom, to set the opera in a locale that resembled the office set of Murphy Brown. Most of the characters were Janitors. Don Giovanni looked like a security guard. Needless to say, I was glad I had a shitty seat so I couldn't see most of the time.
Before that, I bought whole candied clementines at a pastry shop that has existed continuosly since 1761. Of course, I stumbled upon it. Note to self: large quantities of syrup-preserved fruit does not a good dinner make. I was feeling sick around hour 5 of Don Giovanni. The French like to take 30 minute intermissions so they can touch each other's scarves and smoke. Note: Only straight French man wear scarves. If you see a man in Paris wearing a bright pink ascot and carrying a man purse, he is probably straight. If you see a man wearing tight jeans and a parka, with spiky hair, he is probably gay. Yes, Paris is different... I bought a 'baba au rhum' today, which is basically a donut soaked in rum until it is squishy. Very nice. When they serve it to you, they annoint it with more rum from a crystal atomizer. I made the mistake of carrying it at an angle, thereby spilling syrup all over the patisserie floor. The proprietress looked at me and said 'monsieur! Votre baba!'... in a way that simultaneously said 'you are wasting precious syrup... the product of my toil', but also 'silly but cute foreigner, how amusing of you do this, yet still annoying' and 'I am in a state of shock because of your lack of manners'. Then she winked at me and took a puff of her cigarette. How nuanced. How oblique. How French.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
In Austria, they want you to taste the bread. In France, they want you to taste what is ON the bread.
This is a quote from a friend of mine... I was remarking on how good the bread in Austria tasted. This was after being almost poisoned by some questionable schnitzel at the canteen of the Tiroler Landestheater in Innsbruck... I am sorry for the delay in blogging, but finding an internet café in Paris is quite the challenge! Stores that sell nothing but goose fat? No problem.
Ateliers that custom make robes for the French Supreme Court? Done. When you do find an internet café, it is disconcerting to discover that they keyboards are completely different. So, a quick message takes forever, and ends up something like this: Hi mqm, I xm in Pyris....
DID I MENTION I WAS IN PARIS? I arrived on the overnight train from Strassbourg, and stepped out onto the street. It was still dark, and I was in front of what looked like l'arc du triomph. How fortuitous, I though. Well, I saw about 4 other similar monuments, when I realized that the French really like triumphal arches... I finally found the REAL arc de triomph, and it was quite the sight. I began to wonder about the French... how they keep building huge triumphal monuments to all the wars they have lost.... anyway, I am sure there have been books written about that. Paris is overwhelming. It is hard to believe that so much beautiful stuff is one place, but there it is. And Paris and Parisians will never let you forget that Paris is the centre of the world and you and I, mere mortals, are privileged to even breathe the same air. Perhaps this is why a continental breakfast on the Faubourg St. Honoré costs about 50 dollars. I am not kidding. I also found it interesting that the Presidential Palace is accross the street from the Versace store. Who is REALLY the head of state? Donatella Versace or Jacques Chirac? I decided to come here at the last minute. Yesterday at this time I was in a little town in Alsace... and I came here with no place to stay, and no map, and I survived. I am staying at a youth hostel in Monmartre. Monmartre is the Paris you read about. Little stores selling perfect food, and perfectly dressed couples walking arm in arm. Paris also has more police than I have ever seen. And the people downtown are creatures from a different planet. I think they were all born wearing designer suits. The men are 6'1 with slicked back brown hair and sharp features. The women are the same, but they wear suits. After a few stops on the metro, the people start looking normal again. It is true what they say. There is Paris, and then there is the rest of France.
When I arrived in Europe, I went to Austria, which was nice. Until you hear the people speak and realize that they have the same accent as Hitler. This isn't so bad, really, but when you combine this with people wearing lederhosen in front of street signs written in German gothic lettering, talking beside street signs that say 'Austria must remain free', it is sort of disconcerting. I am sure the people are very nice, though. Here is the main difference between France and Austria:
In Austria, if someone has to perform a minor task, they will look determined. Even if they only have to buy a loaf of bread, they will walk with purpose to the bus stop, and wait nervously until the bus arrives. In France, a woman could be delivering the secret of the H bomb to the Iranians, and you would think that she is going to the hairdresser, or on a date, or on some secret rendez-vous that only she and her lover know about. There are more differences, but I am out of time! Salut!
Ateliers that custom make robes for the French Supreme Court? Done. When you do find an internet café, it is disconcerting to discover that they keyboards are completely different. So, a quick message takes forever, and ends up something like this: Hi mqm, I xm in Pyris....
DID I MENTION I WAS IN PARIS? I arrived on the overnight train from Strassbourg, and stepped out onto the street. It was still dark, and I was in front of what looked like l'arc du triomph. How fortuitous, I though. Well, I saw about 4 other similar monuments, when I realized that the French really like triumphal arches... I finally found the REAL arc de triomph, and it was quite the sight. I began to wonder about the French... how they keep building huge triumphal monuments to all the wars they have lost.... anyway, I am sure there have been books written about that. Paris is overwhelming. It is hard to believe that so much beautiful stuff is one place, but there it is. And Paris and Parisians will never let you forget that Paris is the centre of the world and you and I, mere mortals, are privileged to even breathe the same air. Perhaps this is why a continental breakfast on the Faubourg St. Honoré costs about 50 dollars. I am not kidding. I also found it interesting that the Presidential Palace is accross the street from the Versace store. Who is REALLY the head of state? Donatella Versace or Jacques Chirac? I decided to come here at the last minute. Yesterday at this time I was in a little town in Alsace... and I came here with no place to stay, and no map, and I survived. I am staying at a youth hostel in Monmartre. Monmartre is the Paris you read about. Little stores selling perfect food, and perfectly dressed couples walking arm in arm. Paris also has more police than I have ever seen. And the people downtown are creatures from a different planet. I think they were all born wearing designer suits. The men are 6'1 with slicked back brown hair and sharp features. The women are the same, but they wear suits. After a few stops on the metro, the people start looking normal again. It is true what they say. There is Paris, and then there is the rest of France.
When I arrived in Europe, I went to Austria, which was nice. Until you hear the people speak and realize that they have the same accent as Hitler. This isn't so bad, really, but when you combine this with people wearing lederhosen in front of street signs written in German gothic lettering, talking beside street signs that say 'Austria must remain free', it is sort of disconcerting. I am sure the people are very nice, though. Here is the main difference between France and Austria:
In Austria, if someone has to perform a minor task, they will look determined. Even if they only have to buy a loaf of bread, they will walk with purpose to the bus stop, and wait nervously until the bus arrives. In France, a woman could be delivering the secret of the H bomb to the Iranians, and you would think that she is going to the hairdresser, or on a date, or on some secret rendez-vous that only she and her lover know about. There are more differences, but I am out of time! Salut!
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Seattle - Day 1
I have come to the conclusion that America is a fantastic place if you have money. The Seattle Symphony plays in Benaroya Hall... an accoustically superior environment, where the music is glorious (last night it was the extremely talented and gorgeous Nikolaj Znaider playing the Beethoven violin concerto) and there is generally a moneyed and contented audience. Breakfast at the IHOP is another matter entirely.... You get the sense of a lot of people left behind....
This is a divided country. After crossing the border, we passed a car that had bumper stickers that said "Pray for our Troops" and "God Bless America"... only minutes later, another car was festooned with pro-choice stickers and a big "less Bush" bumpersticker. Interesting.
But the clubs here are fantastic. I went to this place called "Vogue" where men in wedding dresses danced to 80's hits, and everyone was in sort of a goth state of mind. Then it was off to this place called "The Cuff"... and I will leave that to your imagination.
Anyway, I am at a youth hostel and my time internet time is running out. Off to watch the Met auditions... my friend is singing, and I think she has a very good chance!
This is a divided country. After crossing the border, we passed a car that had bumper stickers that said "Pray for our Troops" and "God Bless America"... only minutes later, another car was festooned with pro-choice stickers and a big "less Bush" bumpersticker. Interesting.
But the clubs here are fantastic. I went to this place called "Vogue" where men in wedding dresses danced to 80's hits, and everyone was in sort of a goth state of mind. Then it was off to this place called "The Cuff"... and I will leave that to your imagination.
Anyway, I am at a youth hostel and my time internet time is running out. Off to watch the Met auditions... my friend is singing, and I think she has a very good chance!
Friday, February 10, 2006
Haiku for Thursday
Today, it was sunny in Vancouver. Millions of vitamin D- starved beings emerged squinting from their "designer ocean-view lifespaces" (which on planet Earth are known as condos)... In honour of this bi-annual event, I have composed an haiku:
Glorious sunrise
Casts pink shadows on the waves…
A bird shits on me.
Glorious sunrise
Casts pink shadows on the waves…
A bird shits on me.
Leaving on a Jetplane
Well, I have photocoped my Julia Child recipes for Duck a l'Orange and chocolate mousse, and have ziplocked my passport in a baggie, so I guess I am ready to go?
NOT. I am loathe to spend money on buying material objects that I actually need. I always go through this before I travel. Perhaps it is the Eastern European Jewish thriftiness that was lovingly transferred to me in utero ... or my absolute unwillingness to be practical. Spending a shitload of money on good food, well that is another matter entirely. Sexy leather lace up dress shoes? No problem. Seven dollars for a bar of chocolate? "But it was made by capuchin monks who bless the cacao beans with their healing touch!" What I cannot abide buying are things like SENSIBLE WINTER BOOTS and COMFORTABLE YET AFFORDABLE BACKPACKS. Ick Ick Ick. Well, I WILL NOT BE SEEN ON THE STREETS OF INNSBRUCK WITH A BRIGHT BLUE MEC BACKPACK. I would rather die. And if that makes me an insufferable diva, than so be it. "Yes, I'd like to make a reservation for lunch at le Tour d'Argent. My name? Oh, you won't need it. I'll be the one hauling the purple battered rolling suitcase with the Canadian flag. ..... hello? Are you still there?"
Okay. Sometimes it takes writing things down for one to realize how ridiculous one is being.
I apologize. I am going to Europe, and I can't fucking wait. I will wear my mec backpack with pride... and I will also wear a beret.
Liberté! Egalité! Fraternité! Riots! Vive la France!
More soon.
"L'Hobbit Heroïque"
NOT. I am loathe to spend money on buying material objects that I actually need. I always go through this before I travel. Perhaps it is the Eastern European Jewish thriftiness that was lovingly transferred to me in utero ... or my absolute unwillingness to be practical. Spending a shitload of money on good food, well that is another matter entirely. Sexy leather lace up dress shoes? No problem. Seven dollars for a bar of chocolate? "But it was made by capuchin monks who bless the cacao beans with their healing touch!" What I cannot abide buying are things like SENSIBLE WINTER BOOTS and COMFORTABLE YET AFFORDABLE BACKPACKS. Ick Ick Ick. Well, I WILL NOT BE SEEN ON THE STREETS OF INNSBRUCK WITH A BRIGHT BLUE MEC BACKPACK. I would rather die. And if that makes me an insufferable diva, than so be it. "Yes, I'd like to make a reservation for lunch at le Tour d'Argent. My name? Oh, you won't need it. I'll be the one hauling the purple battered rolling suitcase with the Canadian flag. ..... hello? Are you still there?"
Okay. Sometimes it takes writing things down for one to realize how ridiculous one is being.
I apologize. I am going to Europe, and I can't fucking wait. I will wear my mec backpack with pride... and I will also wear a beret.
Liberté! Egalité! Fraternité! Riots! Vive la France!
More soon.
"L'Hobbit Heroïque"
Monday, February 06, 2006
Internationale
Sometimes, nothing fits the bill like a stirring rendition of the Communist/Socialist anthem, The Interationale. The following site has versions in languages from Albanian to Yiddish. I especially like the Russian one: http://www.hymn.ru/internationale/index-en.html. The Internationale was featured in the movie "Reds" starring Warren Beatty, Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson... It is a must see. Nicholson plays Eugene O'Neil, so all you Winnipegers enduring O'Neil fest should watch it to get an intersting perspective. Also, the score is by Stephen Sondheim. It doesn't get more gold plated than that!
le Haiku du jour
This is a haiku I wrote a couple of weeks ago when pondering the election... I voted for Hedy Fry... I was walking down the street, and saw an advertisement for a social called "Thank God its Fry-day"... it was a fundraiser at the gay club Numbers complete with strippers, drag shows and a slave auction. I thought to myself... voting for a woman who has a party like this is a great way to say "Fuck you Stephen Harper!!!" So, my logic may be flawed, and I think I am actually a socialist, but there it is. On election night itself, I drank champagne and ate fettucini alfredo... I thought, since it was my last meal, it might as well be good. But, I didn't have to worry... We didn't elect a Conservative government. We just unzipped Stephen Harper's pants. Half way. Actually, I shouldn't be so smug... the government is being sworn in tomorrow, and those people are capable of anything...
Hedy Fry and Svend...
Crazy kook or jewel thief?
I think I’ll vote green.
Hedy Fry and Svend...
Crazy kook or jewel thief?
I think I’ll vote green.
Sabbatical, day 1
I just thought I would share some insights into my day today.
I have decided to take a little break from singing. It is funny, but a week ago, I would have never thought in a million years I would be doing this, but there it is. I have realized that I have sacrificed a lot of things in order to pursue singing, and I think it is time to take stock of things and live life to the fullest. Next week I am going to Europe on an impromptu trip.. I decided to do this and arranged everything in 2 days. I am accompanying a dear friend as she does some auditions. I am also staying with my friend's parents at an artist's retreat/farm in rural France. They have cows! I think I am scheduled to plant trees there, among other things! Other than that, I am going to go to Paris. And I have not planned anything else.
As my mom the university professor says, everyone needs a sabbatical. So, I know you are dying to know how I spent my first day... well, it was a very interesting:
I was going to go to the gym, but I decided to forgo physical torture... after all, this is all about new beginnings! Instead, I developed dance routines while listening to an internet radio station ("gay boyfriend radio" at live365.com... the most "Mary music on the net.) Then I vigorously
bleached the ceiling of my bathroom ( I am my mother's son) ... I think that burns as many calories as the stairclimber.
I then went to Commercial drive to meet my friend for lunch. We went to this Turkish restaurant/performance space called Rime. The food was delish and we drank sage tea and listened to experimental jazz. My friend is a "artistic decathelete"... she is silmultaneously pursuing photography and music, and all the ways those two interact. Of course, we were the only people in the restaurant (except the hip and trendy hemp-clad girlfriends of the band members alternately swooning in extacy and feeding their children morsels of baba ghanoush) so we had to feign interest, when really all we wanted to do was chat......
Turkish food is very interesting, and if you haven't tried it I urge you to.... The flavours are very complex yet subtle, and the use of spices is intriguing.
Then, I went to Value Village. I haven't been in a year. I had almost given up on le village, but I found a great ralph lauren windbreaker that went perfectly with my outfit. I now feel like a real Vancouverite... this is the first rainproof garment I have bought. I guess I was in denial.
After this, I went to my other friend's house in North Vancouver, and we ate Thai food and watched the superbowl. Mostly, I just counted the number of times the announcer said things like "tight end" and observed their cat.... but I always have a great time at their house. We always laugh and eat and are very silly.
On the way home, I was walking by Christ Church Cathedral, and I noticed all these people going inside... well, it turns out that every Sunday, they have the service of Compline, which is the last service of the day. So I went. My friends, this was my kind of church! Incense, bells,
processions of men in white robes with candles singing gregorian chant... the music was very beautiful..... I have always loved Gregorian chant... in grade 8 I used my Bar Mitzvah money to buy chant and Renaissance church music cds. I know. Well, this was the Chanel suit of church services, I'd say.. classic, timeless and quality all the way.
And that was my day!
I have decided to take a little break from singing. It is funny, but a week ago, I would have never thought in a million years I would be doing this, but there it is. I have realized that I have sacrificed a lot of things in order to pursue singing, and I think it is time to take stock of things and live life to the fullest. Next week I am going to Europe on an impromptu trip.. I decided to do this and arranged everything in 2 days. I am accompanying a dear friend as she does some auditions. I am also staying with my friend's parents at an artist's retreat/farm in rural France. They have cows! I think I am scheduled to plant trees there, among other things! Other than that, I am going to go to Paris. And I have not planned anything else.
As my mom the university professor says, everyone needs a sabbatical. So, I know you are dying to know how I spent my first day... well, it was a very interesting:
I was going to go to the gym, but I decided to forgo physical torture... after all, this is all about new beginnings! Instead, I developed dance routines while listening to an internet radio station ("gay boyfriend radio" at live365.com... the most "Mary music on the net.) Then I vigorously
bleached the ceiling of my bathroom ( I am my mother's son) ... I think that burns as many calories as the stairclimber.
I then went to Commercial drive to meet my friend for lunch. We went to this Turkish restaurant/performance space called Rime. The food was delish and we drank sage tea and listened to experimental jazz. My friend is a "artistic decathelete"... she is silmultaneously pursuing photography and music, and all the ways those two interact. Of course, we were the only people in the restaurant (except the hip and trendy hemp-clad girlfriends of the band members alternately swooning in extacy and feeding their children morsels of baba ghanoush) so we had to feign interest, when really all we wanted to do was chat......
Turkish food is very interesting, and if you haven't tried it I urge you to.... The flavours are very complex yet subtle, and the use of spices is intriguing.
Then, I went to Value Village. I haven't been in a year. I had almost given up on le village, but I found a great ralph lauren windbreaker that went perfectly with my outfit. I now feel like a real Vancouverite... this is the first rainproof garment I have bought. I guess I was in denial.
After this, I went to my other friend's house in North Vancouver, and we ate Thai food and watched the superbowl. Mostly, I just counted the number of times the announcer said things like "tight end" and observed their cat.... but I always have a great time at their house. We always laugh and eat and are very silly.
On the way home, I was walking by Christ Church Cathedral, and I noticed all these people going inside... well, it turns out that every Sunday, they have the service of Compline, which is the last service of the day. So I went. My friends, this was my kind of church! Incense, bells,
processions of men in white robes with candles singing gregorian chant... the music was very beautiful..... I have always loved Gregorian chant... in grade 8 I used my Bar Mitzvah money to buy chant and Renaissance church music cds. I know. Well, this was the Chanel suit of church services, I'd say.. classic, timeless and quality all the way.
And that was my day!
Friday, February 03, 2006
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Two Vancouver Haikus to celebrate the end of January!
Well, it has now officially become the wettest winter in recorded history. In honour of this, I am presenting not one, but two haikus for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy!
Botoxed buxom blonde
Buys tapas for her Dashaund.....
Welcome to Yaletown.
Walking through the rain
I am soaked but I look great!
I can’t wear gore-tex.
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