Aretha Franklin

 

"She don't remember The Queen of Soul..."

Also: please check out what pdb highlights from Sam Moyn's speech at the human rights center at the University of Chicago. 

Re-watching WINGS OF DESIRE

Wings of Desir, a Wim Wenders film: one Jewish friend doesn't think much of the man or this film; another thinks Wings of Desire is particularly terrific. I belong to the latter category. 

Hey, look — it's an old friend!

Re-watching THE DIRTY DOZEN

A coaching buddy would, whenever he recovered from some malady that had left him bedridden, start watching Action movies. The Dirty Dozen will do just fine, thank you. 

"Champagne & Reefer"

Great video!

Re-watcing INHERENT VICE

Apparently I have a UTI.  I see people at the edges of my vision (among other things) so I may as well capitalize on this trippy condition and watch this again. Besides, any flick by PT Anderson (covering Thomas Pynchon!) is worth another look. 

What he said.

Things are not as they seem

Phil Harris was who he was, but at this juncture we can say, his marriage wasn't great. And Johnny Cash was notorious for being a horn-dog. 

But as I heard a character wiser than I say earlier this week,"Now, y'all without sin can cast the first stone."

"The Rhythm Of Life"

Yeah, baby!

Re-watching CORIOLANUS: THE MOVIE

Another easy re-watch for me. Ralph Fiennes and Vannessa Redgrave make a great Coriolanus and Volumnia. 

Re-watching HEAT

Heat is currently streaming on YouTube: 

Earlier wp thoughts on Heat are here. Heat shoehorns in a pre-24 Dennis Haysbert who proved on that show he could brood beautifully. 

The best review I read of Heat (from John Doyle I believe — the Globe & Mail link to Doyle's writing is here) said it pitted Protestant vs. Catholic values. Yahmdallah sez Dennis Haysbert got the USA ready for a black president here. 

Re-watching Oliver Stone's THE DOORS

I know this Oliver Stone movie messed up a lot of people at the time. But I kinda like it!

Re-watching BARTON FINK

Another easy movie for me to see again. But then I'd say that about almost anything the Coen Brothers have done. 

What is on the drummer's black T shirt?

I'm asking. The cleaest pause is probably 1:10. "Sympathy for the record..." but beyond that I really don't know. Maybe you do?

This is the guy who originally performed 

Smoke, Smoke, Smoke That Cigarette. 

I have no idea if he wrote the song

but I'm sure it kept him flush with cigarettes.

Re-watching BREAKING AWAY

An easy re-watch for me. Earlier WP words are here. 

Lou Reed's enemies...

...simply could not understand why he would say such mean things about them and not his friends, who were often worse. 

The book on the right is worth reading, also.

Re-watching GET SHORTY, the movie

In 1995 the movie of Get Shorty was kind of a big deal. I had already read the excerpt of the Elmore Leonard novel published in Rolling Stone magazine. 

The movie is a star-studded affair led by John Travolta, Rene Russo, Gene Hackman and Danny Devito. 

John Travolta & Rene Russo

Barry Sonnenfeld directs. Immediately after Get Shorty Sonnenfeld had a column in Esquire magazine. The pixie-dust (probably) won't rub off on you, but I highly recommend the movie. 

Red Rock Bible Camp and the Sekine bicycle, summer 1984

I took off a week to put my Sekine bicycle in the basement rafters next to the worktable and give the bike a thorough cleaning. I used kerosene and a stainless steel brush but it didn't matter what I used, I had a knack for making things worse. 

Memories are made of this

Meanwhile apparently I was missing the best camp all summer, the Teens Camp. One kid played a mean guitar and spent all week fighting the necessity of recommiting himself to Jesus and good music. I was told on his last night there he went down to the beach, shouted, "Satan get out!" and  bashed his guitar on some rocks. He rededicated his life to Christ, and got a girlfriend out of the deal. On the bus ride home he was ruefully shaking his head and restringing his guitar. 

And this was what I missed for a better night's sleep. 

Margruite Krahn

May 23 would have been my mother's birthday. She considered Margruite Krahn a protege. Margruite has the gift. 

. 

If you want to get in touch with Margruite try here

Martin Scorsese's KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON

One thing is sure: with Martin Scorsese the movie goer always gets a full buck's worth. 

The Foo Fighters' network TV debut

Re-watching THE NINTH CONFIGURATION

Ripped and brought to me via thumb drive by my lovely assistant. 

Most people didn't know what to do with this film — but Catholics sure did! (link, link)

Kim Shattuck & The Muffs

Kim Shattuck was taken from us way too soon. 

Wim Wenders

Photos by Wim Wenders (link). 

STAR TREK: GENERATIONS

Getting the script for Star Trek: Generations was a big deal. Computer nerds used phone-lines to download it. 

We newlyweds stood in line in Toronto on Yonge Street during the opening night. We met Glen Dias and his boyfriend, and I had a stainless steel container full of coffee and Bush Mills. 

At the time we thought Star Trek: Generations was pretty good, but the movie creators obviously had to get Captain Kirk out of the way. So he fell off a bridge onto some rocks and died. 

Kirk, meet rocks.

My wife and I watched Star Trek: First Contact in the theatre, but after that the Star Trek fun was over — until now.

Link: Grace Lee Whitney died eight years ago. I still miss her. The WP link is here. 

STAR TREK 6: THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY

I originally saw Star Trek 6: The Undiscovered Country  in Toronto in the theatre on Queen Street across from City Hall (fun fact: "the clamshells" are shown briefly in "Contagion," a Star Trek: The Next Generation episode). I was disappointed at the time. "Yeah, I get it," said a friend, "'Insert witty comment by Chekov,' etc." But Star Trek 6 is one of the better Star Trek movies.No "Logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end of it." But it was directed by Nicholas Meyer. 

And stars these guys.

STAR TREK 5: THE FINAL FRONTIER

I originally saw this in Winnipeg, on the opening night with Kaz. Star Trek 5: The Final Frontier was playing in the theatre on Portage Avenue around the corner from Eaton's. Wow, the movie was bad!

Take the franchise with you.

STAR TREK 4: THE VOYAGE HOME

People who haven't seen the movies should probably start here. It doesn't matter that those whales are as phony as William Shatner's hairpiece — it's a funny movie. 

Words that have entered the lexicon. 

STAR TREK 3: THE SEARCH FOR SPOCK

I first saw this in a Winnipeg theatre around the corner on Portage Avenue and down the stairs. Robin Curtis as Lt. Saavik took some getting used to after Kirstie Alley. Fortunately Christopher Lloyd was there to distract. 

"It gets worse..."

I saw this movie again at the University of Manitoba. Apparently I had not had enough. 

STAR TREK 2: THE WRATH OF KHAN

I originally saw this at Winnipeg's The Met. I really wanted Spock's death to be in the simulation at the beginning of the movie, but alas. I know Kirk's "What am I feeling?" speech really bugged comics artist Frank Miller. But director Nicholas Meyer single-handedly rescued the franchise. 

When the two-disc "collector's edition" DVD came out I bought it and insisted my wife watch the movie. Unfortunately, she insisted on saying,"Khan!" in bed. 

The gift that keeps on giving.

I still cry when Spock dies — sue me.

STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE

I must have lined up to watch Star Trek: The Motion Picture (STTMP) at the Capitol 1 Theatre in Winnipeg. I purchased the fotonovel in Abbotsford,BC,when I was staying with a buddy. I had a STTMP poster up on my bedroom wall in Winnipeg, MB. Persis Kahmbatta shaved her head for her role. In 1979 this was a big deal.

I dragged my poor father to see STTMP at the Winnipeg Art Gallery. The movie was just as slow as I remembered. With the extra footage(!) STTMP became a staple on Pay TV (or "FreeTV" as my buddy Kaz dubbed it — he had access to a scrambler). 

STAR TREK: FIRST CONTACT

The stars of the show.

I saw all these movies in theatres, back in the day., including this one. My lovely young bride saw this with me at the Fairview Mall in Toronto. 

It's funny what a viewer remembers from the first time. I remember Data shutting off his emotions and dropping like a stone. And I remember the Borg Queen's head and spine being lowered into her leather bodice. But beyond that not much. 

Star Trek: First Contact was going to establish Star Trek: The Next Generation as a movie going property. This motion picture was very good, and I thought so at the time, but the Next Generation movies lost me as a Trekkie. The television shows were better. 

THE DIPLOMAT

This is incredibly brainy stuff. On the relationship level alone the viewer can see why Kate wants to divorce Hal. The viewer can also see why she doesn't. And relationships are just the tip of the iceberg. 

"Do I have to wear a fucking skirt?"

Highly recommended. 

"Remember..."

Always. 

This photo never gets old...

The STAR TREK movies

I have the Star Trek movies on DVD. In an earlier era I ripped them  I got my lovely assistant to copy all these video files onto a thumb drive and bring it to me. Now I am (re)watching the movies. 

"He's not really dead,..."

Inaccessible to all

I live in a wheelchair — talk to me about accessibility sometime (it will be a slow conversation). 

Parking at the

Winnipeg airport, 2018

 I'm sure things have changed. 

Currently streaming...

...and watching: 

Bon Jovi

Had to listen to them in the gym today. Not sure why but I really hate this fucking band. 

Currenly streaming...

...and watching: 

John "Cougar" Mellencamp

The A&R guys must have had a field day with the name change. 

I remember where I was when I first saw this: 

Rammstein

Part The Matrix, Part Alien... and all Rammstein. 

Grace Potter, MOTHER ROAD, August 18 2023

Like, my daughter saw Grace Potter perform in Manhattan just before the pandemic hit, eh? 

Cage The Elephant

Luce introduced me to the music of Cage The Elephant. I like  'em! Maybe you do too:

Dreamin'

I still dream about my beautiful wife. Hey, maybe you do too. Or maybe you don't — either way I don't care. As Tom Waits says, "You are innocent when you dream."

Christian Service Brigade "Camporees"

The first one I attended was with Duke. The waters of Lake Winnipeg were roiling and in the darkness we skipped stones, sang songs by The Village People and got booters. 

A couple of years later when the Reimer family had moved to Winnipeg, Brian Dyck and I were Corporals in the church CSB. The CSB Captain was desirous we attend the Camporee, so attend we did. I have no idea why Brian and I were late but we drove into the darkened camping ground and found our tents. The Brigadiers were causing a ruckus while one of the Mucky-Mucks made the rounds with a flashlight. "If you boys don't quiet down I'll subtract points!"

"Who cares?' said a brigadier. 

Over the campfire the next morning we guffawed about this. "'Who cares?' Hyuck-hyuck!"

"I  care!" squawked our Captain. 

Now we were abashed. We practiced the final march in ernest. We unfurled the CSB flag and marched in unison. At the end of the parade our Captain was to turn and smartly salute the CSB Grand Poobah. 

What the Grand Poobah and we did not realize was our Captain had spent his childhood in Russia and was fed up with saluting. At the appropriate time we marched past the CSB Grand Poobah alright, but our Captain pointedly looked in the other direction. When we asked him about this he said, "Uh, yeah. There was a bird in that field that needed my attention."

Some years later I was the Captain of that battalion and awfully full of myself. We attended exactly one Camporee which was cut short by winds. I wasn't shedding crocodile tears — I had come to really dislike Camporees. 

Boy, it was windy! There were rumors of a tornado and the sky was black with topsoil. I sang Mark Heard songs to keep my spirits up.

The final episodes of a television series...

...used to be a big deal.

Magnum PI look out!

I can remember when the final episode of M*A*S*H ("Goodbye, Farewell & Amen") filled the Winnipeg Convention Centre and the last episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation ("All Good Things...") filled the Toronto SkyDome. I stayed home and spilled a glass of red wine on the beige carpet of our apartment. Our guest wiped this up while I watched TV (plus ça change).

And some people call us weird!

Dreaming of hockey

No. not the Maple Leafs who, I gather, played quite well but could not get past Sergei Bobrovsky, the goaltender for the Florida Panthers. Rather, this was a dream in which I spent time in the changeroom joking with the fellows and tying on the skates, before taking to the rink, flying around the ice and scoring, scoring, scoring (must have been a dream). At the very end I drove through the darkness, quickly drank a shot of whisky in my kitchen, took a short shower, then climbed quietly into bed beside my lovely, sleeping wife. 

It was like I didn't even have the stroke, only I did, because I was being especially careful. 

Here is Rob Zombie singing "The Great American Nightmare" (language warning) Happy Mother's Day!: 

KING OF THE HILL (KOTH)

In one episode Hank Hill and his buddies make fun of "Pops" not realizing they have become neighborhood "Popses."

Sigh c'est mois Hank. C'est mois. 

Or perhaps I should say, "Aquí igual"? 

And am I the only 3D character who has a crush on Peggy Hill? 

Apparently US Democrats would insist their candidate watch episodes of KOTH. John Kerry probably thought he had the "Hank Hill" vote, but we remember what happened to John Kerry don't we? 

"Just stick that in your ear and give it a tinkle!" Remembering Raymond Taavel

Ramond Taavel and I flunked many of the same courses at Ontario Bible College. When the snoring got to be too much I would take my mattress, then knock on Ray's door. When he answered, I would throw the mattress on the floor and sleep there. 

Ray was leader of The Young Liberals. He would go to a small room on the main floor and make long-distance calls on a black telephone. It looked to me like herding cats but Ray loved it. I have no doubt that he was a crackerjack advocating for LGBT rights. 

Ray also loved long, lingering hugs. I got fed up with them after a while, and pushed him away. 

I remember exactly where I was when I first heard of Ray Taavel's killing. This was on CBC Radio and I was driving north, keeping the car on the road. When I got home I phoned an old OBC friend and told him the news. "Ray Taavel?" he said. "How'd you stay on the road?"

It wasn't easy. I gather since then Raymond Taavel has become something of a cause célèbre. The Ray I remember knew how to have a good laugh. 

He was fond of quoting Benny Hill — "Just stick that in your ear and give it a tinkle!"

Raymond Taavel, 1962-2012

"Remembering" an OBC Proctor, part 2

 He’s still alive.

When I wrote it, I was all set to post my reminiscence. I had it pasted into the template and was hovering over the “publish” button, when it occurred to me that chances were he had an on-line obituary I could contribute to.

So I started Googling. And there was absolutely no sign that he had died. There weren’t many signs he was still alive, either — this guy has an astonishingly scant digital trail. Someone recommends his painting skills. It appears he and his wife live near ____. They attend a Baptist church up the road that posts its bulletins on-line. The ____s host a weekly Bible Study. It doesn’t look like they have any kids.

His father passed away some years ago, so that may have been the kernel that started the rumor. 

Anyway, I got his mailing address from Canada 411, then printed my “obituary” for him and sent it to him. I wrote a short letter explaining how this had come to be. I admitted that, memory being what it is, I had likely confused and conflated some of the details of our exchange — had he really seen Springsteen three times? Had he seen him at all?

Regardless, I said, it meant a great deal to me that I remembered him in this way. Such a short exposure has left such a resonant presence in my gallery of memories. I couldn’t say what any of it “meant,” but I was grateful to him, and I was grateful for him. And I hoped he was well.

I said this was not a bid for further correspondence, but if he felt like contacting me, this was how. I haven’t heard from him.

So there he is — one snail-mail letter richer, I am sure.

JUST US KIDS, James McMurtry, LIVE

"...not so skinny, maybe not so free..."

"Remembering" an OBC Doorman

At the end of my season in Bible college, my Spiritual Advisor sat down with me and discussed our time together, before he signed off on my required hours of Spiritual Service. I can't remember his name, and I doubt you knew him. He was in his 30s, one of the junior pastors in a warehouse church in downtown Toronto. He was doing "Street-level ministry," which was definitely my thing — or so I'd thought, up to that point.  

"I have to admit," he said, after stipulating this was meant to be heard in the spirit intended — he was speaking the truth in love, after all, as per Ephesians 4:15 — "you've been something of a disappointment." 

That was fine. He'd been something of a disappointment to me, also. But by this juncture I'd become weary of speaking altogether, and didn't see any point to returning the favour of his candour.

There'd been a winter night when he and I drove to a rooming house, to check in on a young woman who'd visited the church the Sunday before. At the end of that service, she'd stood up and declared she was giving her life to Jesus this very minute. We were there to follow up on that decision.

We walked up a dark staircase, then into a hallway that smelled of urine and boiled cabbage, as well as something faintly medicinal. He knocked on the first door. The old woman who answered said she thought the girl we were after might be in the last room on the left. "She shares that room with S___," she said. "They might both be sleeping."

The room was indeed dark. It can't have been later than seven. He hesitated, then knocked.

"Come in!"

There were two twin beds in the tiny room. We'd woken up both occupants, but one of them was the girl we were after. My Spiritual Advisor mentioned her visit last Sunday, and reminded her of the announcement she'd made. She remembered, alright. But we needed to know, she said, that she was also a junkie and a prostitute. Those were simply the unassailable facts. But, if we cared to, we were welcome to pray with her before we left her room, and she returned to her lifelong vices.

When my Spiritual Advisor and I got back into his car, I saw his hands were trembling. He gripped the wheel, but this didn't help. "That was pretty scary," he said.

I was surprised. This guy had been an all-in hippie from the beginning to the end of the '70s. He'd told me he'd worked a ship to Africa, where he disembarked and hitch-hiked into the interior, before hitch-hiking out and working another ship back to Canada. Something had changed him from that guy into this guy. What, and how? We prayed again, and he calmed down enough to start the car and drive me to a subway station.

From subway to bus to the Bible college took just over an hour. I spent that time, and many years after that, wondering how this guy and I could have the Son of God in our back pockets, but no reasonable means to address our most obvious personal deficits, never mind what we had just faced in this young woman fast-tracking herself into a pine box.

So I got back to the college late, sometime after 10:00, and you were the Proctor behind the desk with the key to the door.

Like this character from

The Cotton Club, only younger.

I signed myself back in ("SS time requirement with Spiritual Advisor") and noticed you were studying. You also had a cassette deck and were listening to Bruce Springsteen. This amazed me. It was the first I'd seen anybody in this building listen to Bruce Springsteen.

"The River," I said. "Great album."

You gave a slow nod. "Yep."

"You ever see him play?"

Another slow nod. "Three times."

"So he's as good as they say."

"Oh yeah."

"Who else you see? Anyone like him?"

"No way. Well . . . The Ramones, in a way. They're different, but you still get that, 'I can't believe this' feeling.

And so began a conversation about the unacknowledged Lords of Rock 'n' Roll.

A conversation that came to mind this weekend, when I drove to the lake and met with the usual gang of idiots from our Alma Mater. We went through the standard "Where are they now?" routine. Somehow your name came up, and I was shocked to hear you'd died. Was it the slow, impersonal dismantling of cancer? The sudden hot reaving of a traffic incident? Either way, it had been so long ago, nobody could quite recall. Cancer seemed likely.

It was the only conversation you and I ever had — the only one I can remember, at any rate. But the recollection of it as I returned home from the lake was enough to set my own hands trembling, so much so that I had to pull over and stop. I got out of the car, and spent a few minutes facing the water and the wind.

We were kids back then. And it wasn't even a full hour of rock 'n' roll chit-chat. But it was enough.

The world didn't seem quite so insane. I felt less alone.

It was a gift.

You should be acknowledged for it, man. You should know.

You should be remembered.

The Revivalist vs. the Buddhist temple

Ron’s house was near Greenwood and Gerrard. The Buddhist temple, with its enormous statue of Vasudhara, was on Gerrard Street West. On warm nights a man with a red-letter Bible would come down from the Revival Centre on Danforth Avenue and try to whip a few more people into the Sunday Night Service. I was always tempted to follow him but never did (says something about me, I'm sure). 

I thought this would make a great setting for a play or short story. 

What's a hungry boy to do?

THE SIMPSONS "Duff" song

My brother probably doesn't remember the Disney performances very well because after that he got his finger caught in the door of the family car in a McDonald's parking lot (very traumatic!)— but we exited the Winnipeg Arena singing "It's A Small World After All." I like The Simpsons version better: 

The Adventures of Pinocchio (1940)

My history with this movie: I am actually more familiar with The Further Adventures of Pinocchio TV series (and song!). But The Adventures of Pinocchio always loomed large large in my imagination. 

First there was Disney On Parade, which my little brother and I saw in the Winnipeg Arena in 1972. Disney On Parade leaned heavily on the movie, particularly the underwater sequences. 

And Pinocchio was included in the Disney storybooks, which my brother also received. In the '70s I read these from cover to cover, but The Adventures of Pinocchio received my particular attention. 

And then Disney saw fit to show The Adventures of Pinocchio on television, and to release the movie on VHS videocassette. By the time my friend swung by to hand-deliver the blueray of The Adventures of Pinocchio as a post-op ”get well soon” gift to our younger some of the lustre had worn off the movie. 

And yet I would still assert it is the best thing Walt Disney has done — by hand, no less. It can be streamed at Disney+. 

Who else's, really?

If you must have books this is the Amazon listing for the Oxford publication; this is the NYRB version; and this is the "Young Reader's" version, illustrated by Walter S. Cramp. I have no idea how any of them read — Carlo Collodi lived in another time — this post is about the movie, which is very good. 

 

Cycling in Toronto winter, 1990-1991(?)

The plan was to cycle on my Fisher mountain bike in the winter months and use the money I saved on subway expenses on Aikido lessons at the downtown Y. Instead I spent that money on beer and got tired of the cold and slipping around on the streets of Toronto, so I quit Aikido and started taking the Toronto Transit Commission (the TTC) again. Also, I only had to get dropped on my head by a Ukrainian once. 

Not that I bore him any hard feelings about the matter. We met on a TTC streetcar once. When he explained where he was from, I said, “So have you been to Edmonton?”

He smiled. “Those people are more Ukrainian than I am. And I was born there.”

I got used to Aikido lessons being held in the curtained gymnasium next to Morning Aerobics. In my head Randy Travis singing, "I’m gonna love you forever/Forever and ever amen" 

sounds more like: 

"I’m gonna love you forever 'HOOOAH!'/Forever and ever amen 'HAH!'" etc. 

Ah, sweet memory!

Jim, Winter 1989-1990(?)

Ron's was next to a ball-diamond. At night during the winter I would stand in the snow in the middle of the ball-diamond just for some sense of space. 

Jim from Britnell's lived around the corner with his daughter and British wife. In the winter I would schlep my guitar to their basement where Jim would teach me the C-major scale. “You can play solos with this scale. See?” I could not, but that hardly mattered. 

Jim had shoulder-length gray hair and a Cockney accent. He hated people who abided by class structures. One of the grimmest days of his life was when Peter Ustinov came by the store and his Publisher handler demanded Ustinov be addressed as “Sir Peter.”

“’Sir Pete,’”snorted Jim. “I’ll call him that, alright.”

Jim regaled me with stories from the 1960s. Jim missed the ‘60s — especially the sex. “You should have been there, Darrell. It was great!”

Jim slowed me around the Hogtown house. There were pictures of the young bride and groom looking very squiffey-eyed indeed. Wow, did they get stoned!

Eventually I found my way outside to the darkness and the snowy sidewalk where I pressed my face to the outside glass of a large window to a Chinese diner and watched a fellow coat thick rice noodles with a black bean sauce. I was very hungry but understood the food was not for me. 

For Jim this is John Lee Hooker playing guitar and singing "Big Legs, Tight Skirt": 

What I learned about soup-making from Don Ross

I once saw Don Ross perform at the Winnipeg Folk Festival. During a workshop he took his microphone and said to the older, black bluesman up the stage from him, "I'd just like to take this opportunity to thank you. That is what guitar playing is all about." At the time I was this guy — I thought Don Ross could play circles around the bluesman, but clearly Ross thought he had something to learn from this fellow. Ross eventually won an award for his acoustic guitar playing. 

Yeah, what he said!

Some years later I worked in the kitchen for Diana McConnell at the Cafe Rhythm & Books. Diana parked a bowl of my soup in front of Don Ross. I grabbed it back. "It looks fine the way it is," said Don.

 

"This way to the soup, ladies & gentlemen!"

"Oh no," I said in my best Basil Fawlty impersonation. "It needs miso paste."

I don't know what I was thinking. I had already been in the kitchen of Glen Dias, a soup god if ever there was one. I should have already learned that what gets left out is more important than what gets thrown in. But this was a lesson I would learn again and again — and Don Ross made it easier because he learned it first.  

Links: the Ptatarmigan site is here. Ptarmigan was some years before I met Glen Dias. Glen has done a lot since then. This is the Don Ross site. And because I link to them, the Christian Humanists hang wif Steve Taylor here. 

Necessity is the mother of invention — especially when cooking. Toronto 1989(?)

In Toronto when I first visited my future housemate Ron Russell, he opened the oven door and pulled out some macaroni & cheese. "You can have as much as you want," he said. "I ran out of flour and used BisQuick mix for the bechamel sauce."

I thought it tasted kinda good, actually. Regular baked m&c is sort of bland but this was kinda sweet. 

Like this was -- PROBABLY 

Lesson: use what's actually there — the eater may be pleasantly surprised. 

Waffles! Toronto 1989

During the winter of 1985 in Winnipeg I would hoof it over to a church-friend's house where his mother made us boys waffles and white sauce (this must have been a Mennonite thing — die Frieden das Glitch). 

No recipe. Flowers extra.

In Toronto when I got my first pay-raise from the Albert Britnell Bookshop I marched across Yonge Street to The Pots & Pan Tree to purchase a Vittorio "Belgian" stickless waffle-iron. I ate more than my share of waffles, but if you must make them I like my waffle batter yeast-raised with plenty of melted butter. 

But you should probably make something else — especially now. 

Link: Another Albert Britnell Bookshop memory. 

The home stereo! Fall, 1987

In the fall of 1987 I went with my buddy Kaz and purchased my home stereo system. This was in Winnipeg's Osbourne Village in an old building that had once been a house. The place smelled and the bearded salesman labored mightily, hooking thick cables to Angstrom speakers, etc. while parking me at the rear of a carpeted room where I sat in a stacking chair and listened to the glory of it all.  The receiver, CD player and cassette deck were NAD components. I paid by cheque and waited several days for the ordered changes to be made. 

I remember a friend coming down from a heroin high entering my tiny apartment (also in the Osbourne Village) and turning on my stereo receiver to listen to CBC Radio while I defrosted the refrigerator. 

That stereo was the bane of my existence. It was much too large for my purposes and burned very hot. 

"Just park by the apartment!"

I sold the cables to my Toronto housemate and replaced a woofer in one speaker twice — the second time the woofer was so enormous that I couldn't close the screen on the speaker cabinet. So I wasn't shedding any tears when the NAD receiver finally crackled its last. 

Today televisions sound better than my stereo ever did, and don't get me started on headphones. 

CDs definitely had their day, thanks to stereo shops. I bought and played the first Tracy Chapman CD as well as Robbie Robertson's.  ...Nothing Like The Sun by Sting and Love Over Gold by Dire Straits -- this was what I heard in stereo shops, so why not play the CDs at home and see if they didn't sound just as good? 

I might have lost the stereo habit, but I never lost the CD-buying one. (Just ask my poor wife!)

DUNE Part 2

"Catnip" I tell you!

Links: I kinda liked Part 1 here. I am old enough to remember when David Lynch took his name off of the DUNE movie. Sting and Kyle MacLachlan didn't have the luxury. But the movie got me reminiscing about the tuneless lady in white here. (If you're gonna sing around Mennonites don't be tuneless.) 

STAR WARS Games

Of course you check Metacritic, but if they're not cheeky enough there is always digg. 

Quality Time.