Lobla-bla-bla-bla-blaw

This afternoon, I'll be doing one of my first official storytelling gig at the new Loblaws down on St. Jacques. Apparently, the Loblaws has a wee community centre attached to it and they do events with organizations in the community. Today, the Fraser-Hickson library is sponsoring a storytelling session for the kids at 1:30 pm. They will be showing up with their sleeping bags, will get some drinks and snacks, and settle down (hopefully) for a few stories.

I tried to find some French storytellers, but Christmas is a busy busy time and no one was available. I'm just starting to get to know the tellers in French circles, so I didn't have too many people to call upon. The session is supposed to last for 1.5 hours, which is really long for storytelling. I'll probably take a break after 45 minutes, maybe play a game, and then have the kids tell their own stories.

Wish me luck! This should be fun. Here's a list of the stories I'll be telling:

Koji the Selfish Boy (Cambodian)
The Month Men
Crumbfest
The Selfish Giant (W. B. Yeats)
La Befana
King Zar and his Six Friends
Jack Cured the Doctor (Appalachain)
A Wise Little Girl (Russian)
How Maui Snared the Sun (Hawaiian)
The Ghost with One Black Eye
Lugae's Sun
Koji the Troublemaker
The Rusty Nail Soup
The Stonecutter

Do these stories sound familiar to anyone? I tried to pick stories that were appropriate for the season, but I also threw in some others that I know kids will like. Anyone have any favorite stories to share?

Thank the Gods for Artists

I'm off to the Arts and Crafts fair at Bonaventure with the illustrious D and the irrepressible S, looking for Christmas presents. Of course, I still haven't make my list (or checked it twice) but I'm hoping I'll just be inspired by some of the things I see.

Last year, I bought most of my gifts at this fair and they were all hits. The downside is that things tend to be a bit pricey, but at least they are unique.

Of course if I see anything for D, I'll have to sneak back into the place later on and get it. I'll be paying close attention to what she looks at, gapes and gasps at, and if she attempts to shoplift anything. Hey... if sweet innocent Winona can do it, anything's possible.

Ye Gods... I hope she doesn't have a thing for those big ticket items. It can be tough to impress when she's pointing at a Faberge egg and you surprise her with plastic dancing flower (batteries not included). No amount of red ribbon's gonna make that present sing quality.

News: I got an interview for a possible contract on Tuesday. Please think good money-making thoughts for me around 10h30. Mama needs a new pair of shoes...

The Holiday Rush

I've been picking up little gifts here and there for friends and family, but what I need to do is make a list. Of course, it doesn't help that the money is steadily depleting. Damn the Employment Insurance people for their infernal delays. I think this holiday season, it'll be alot of symbolic gifts. Little Yuletide IOUs and an apologetic smile.

Of course, it doesn't help that I never know what to get for my family. Having not lived with them for over 10 years, I've kinda lost track of what they're doing and what they'd like to have. I can't very well give my mum Body Shop bath oils and my dad aftershave lotion every frickin' year.

When I was a kid, I remember trying so hard to find something they would like, but without consulting my mum or dad. I wanted to show that I had insight into their character by getting them the perfect gift. This translated into a Dart Board (that eventually got hung in my closet (and it's still there), a set of rickety shelves that I cobbled together in my father's workshop, and a game of Scrabble (which I now own because a year later, I found it still sitting in its original shrink wrap).

Maybe the Yuletide season isn't about getting practical gifts at all. Could it be the gesture is more important? Yeah... even I know how much that sounds like a rationalization.

But I do so love giving gifts during this season, even more than I like receiving gifts. Yuletide is one of those times (other than birthdays and anniversaries) when you get to show certain people how much you appreciate their presence in your life. It makes it socially acceptable to be expressively nice under the guise of holiday spirit.

But just for the record, thanks to you, my dear readers, for taking a moment of your time to read the ramblings of an old man. May the best of the holiday season bless you and yours!

Weekend Roundup

Aside from the flames shooting out of my toaster oven on Saturday morning (and the resulting sulfuric barrage), this was a pretty good weekend.

On Friday, R and I went to see Stuart Maclean at the Salle Wilfred-Pelltier at Place des Arts. That hall is enormous and the attendance must've been around 1500. Imagine. Thousands of people who listen to the CBC and paid a pricey (but worth it) fee to see a storyteller. It warms my heart.

This is the second time I see Stuart Maclean in concert, the first being at Theatre Quatre Sous earlier this year with Arin, Ron, and Ceri. My thoughts of that show were lukewarm, mainly due to Maclean's choice of musical guests. Maclean himself was excellent as usual.

But in this show, he went with a more jazzy quartet of musical talent, which was not only wonderful to listen to on its own, but it also enhanced Maclean's own storytelling. The theme of the evening was Christmas at the Vinyl Cafe and the stories were all newish (at least, I had never heard them before). I was only semi-disappointed: I was looking forward to hearing the story about when Dave cooked the Turkey).

If you were at that show (and I know Stephen, Dina, Arin, and Ron were there), you may have spotted me. I was sitting in the third row from the stage on Stage Right. There were two moments you may have recognized me:

• When Stuart took off his jacket, I let out a "whoop". He looked over to me and said "You're not fooling anybody."
  
• At the end of the show, I believe I was the first person to lead a standing ovation. Stuart turned to me and gave me a slight bow, which I returned. 'Twas well-deserved, I assure you.

On Saturday night, I had Eric over for an evening of chat, tea, and Chicken Run. It's always nice having friends over.

And then on Sunday, I met up with D for an evening of French storytelling at Le Sergeant Recruiteur with featured teller Eric Gauthier. Eric was in fine form that night and I was pleased to rehear the Le Roi de la Patate story. Eric has given me permission to translate that story (as long as I give him credit), so it was good to hear it again.

We then braved the cold to head out to Hurley's to catch Gary, Tim, and Jim, who as usual, did not disappoint. I'm still trying to figure out what D meant when she said "Patience is a Virgin". It might shed some light if I provided some context for that statement, but for the life of me, I can't remember what that was.

All in all, a fantastic weekend. Great fun, great people. How was yours?

Cough Cough

The yellow gunk is sulfur. It's gotten into everything, in every nook and cranny. And the walls right under the dish cabinet are brown and blackened. I'm glad I grabbed the fire extinguisher instead of my digital camera, but for a second there, I hesitated. Drat.

I haven't inhaled this much sulfur since my days at a high school science fair. *hack*hack*

I didn't know bread was considered flammable

Well... this is weird start to the day. I was making breakfast this morning and put two pieces of bread in the toaster. I don't usually eat bread, but I broke down yesterday and decided on a treat.

My toaster can be a bit wonky. The toast either comes out just warm or burnt. I was in another room when I heard an odd sound from the kitchen. At first, I thought it was Newton who was getting into something he shouldn't be. You can imagine my surprise when I saw flames shooting out of the toaster oven.

In hindsight, I guess I could've just taken a fork and dumped the flaming toasts into the sink, but without thinking, I reached for the fire extinguisher and gave the toaster oven a quick blast. The flames died instantly in a yellowy puff of smoke. Now I gots me some cleaning to do 'cause a corner of my kitchen is covered in yellow gunk. Ick.

In other news, I went to see the Stuart Maclean Vinyl Cafe Christmas show last night (third row from the stage!), but I'll tell you more about that later. Quick review: much better than the last show he gave in Montreal. More on that later.

The Nutcracker

I was watching the tube the other day and saw an ad for the return of the Nutcracker at Place des Arts. Just this ad brought back a rush of memories, which is surprising when you consider that I never saw the Nutcracker live on stage before. Of course, I know the story and I've seen the animated versions of the classic tale, but I had never seen it performed live.

Not that I didn't have my chance to see it. When Nancy and I were dating (about four years back now), she adored the Nutcracker. She made a point of seeing it every Christmas. But in the three years we dated, I never once went to see it with her.

As I look back on it now, I don't understand why I refused to see such a classic being performed. I can't really remember my reasoning behind not sharing this thing of beauty with the woman I loved. I guess I was just being a stubborn jerk, which was unfortunately the case in those days. Oh... I can still be a stubborn jerk nowadays, but the difference is that I'm actually trying not to be.

There was also Grease: The Movie which I refused to see with Nancy: another victim to my rampaging stubborn jerkness. So many mistakes, so many regrets.

All this nostalgia is probably due to the fact that I finally heard from Nancy after almost 1.5 years of silence. She's married to a wonderful man (or so I've heard from her and others) in the states, they've bought a farm house (*drool*), and she's living a fine life. I truly am happy for her.

Maybe I'll go see the Nutcracker performed on stage this year. Maybe I should because it's a classic. Maybe I should because it would help me make up for lost time.

And maybe I'll learn something about a person I once loved and lost.

Taras will hate me for this


Which Sesame Street Muppet's Dark Secret Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Grover on Ecstasy You're funny, you're loveable, you're entertaining, you like to call yourself "Super Grover!"--You're obviously on ecstasy. But that's why we love you. Be careful, ok?

Thanks to Bevie who turns out to be "Bert & Ernie's Gay Love Affair" (as I always suspected).

Monster-mashed metaphors

I hereby dedicate this posting to all those brave folks who got through the NaNoWriMo competition last November. Please tell me you didn't write anything like this:

======================================
Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a tumble dryer.

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.

McMurphy fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a paper bag filled with vegetable soup.

Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.

Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the centre.

Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left York at 6:36 p.m. travelling at 55 mph, the other from Peterborough at 4:19p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the full stop after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

The thunder was ominous sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.

The red brick wall was the colour of a brick-red crayon.

Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

The plan was simple, like my brother Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for while.

"Oh, Jason, take me!" she panted, her breasts heaving like a student on a 31p-a-pint night.

He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter."

She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a lamppost.

The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free cashpoint.

The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.

It was a working class tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with their power tools.

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a dustcart reversing.

She was as easy as the Daily Star crossword.

She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature British beef.

She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.

Her voice had that tense, grating quality, like a first-generation thermalpaper fax machine that needed a band tightened.

It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall.
==================================
Thanks to Carlene who thought I would be amused by this list.

Weekend Roundup

In hindsight, being a judge in the STC Tech Pubs competition wasn't so bad after all. We met with all the other judges on Saturday and reviewed the publications we had all be analyzing over the last couple of weeks. It made for interesting discussions about what we each thought was effective or distracting.

Besides, spending time with other technical writers is just fun. We tend to be a colorful bunch.

On Saturday night, C and I tried to watch a film, but a day of judging tech pubs had just worn us out. Ironically, even though I was teasing C about the dangers of falling asleep during the movie, I was actually dozing in and out. Oops.

On Sunday, I met up with E and friends at Chez Cora for brunch. After combing the length of Cote des Neiges in the bitter, bitter cold, D and I finally found the place. We sat near the window at the front of the resataurant which seemed to be experiencing some kind of Drop-Zone effect.

People seeme to be constantly dropping things all around us. Pens, coloring markers, change... they all ended up on the floor near our table. But the topper was when our waitress brought me the fruit cocktail drink that I had ordered. If you've never seen one of these, the cocktail is about eleventeen fruits all puréed together in a tall glass with a straw. When the waitress got about 6 inches from my table, she lost her balance and the drink went flying off the tray.

It's interesting how time slows down during impending doom. We all saw the tray dip, the glass sway from side to side, and we each felt like we had all the time in the world to reach out with a drawn-out "Nooooooooooooooooo". But we didn't move and the glass went tumbling downwards, spreading puréed fruity goodness all over the table, the chair, and D's coat. Amelie, our waitress was highly apologetic.

That afternoon, E and I watched the extended version of the LOR DVD on her surround sound system. Neat! Now the movie is over three hours long, but the extended and extra footage makes for an even better film. Yay! When I saw the movie in the theatre, I nodded off during the river scene (right after they get their elven gifts). During the DVD viewing, I started to feel sleepy at about the same moment. Interesting or not, three hours is a loooooonnng time to watch anything.

And then last night, I headed out to le Sergeant Recruiteur for an evening of French storytelling. The storyteller's were doing a tribute to my friend Mike Burns, an Irish teller who tells in both English and French. It was interesting to see how the tellers made Mike's stories their own (as I said to Eric, "tu l'as completment Gauthierisé, son histoire!").

And then we were treated to an hour of Mike telling his Irish stories in Quebecois French. He's got a bizarre Franco-Irish accent, but he's still as spell binding telling in French as he is telling in English.

I was also honoured by Denis Gadoury when he asked me if he could tell a story that he heard me tell last year. Now I didn't write "Ti-Fleur and the Magic Fiddler" (it's on my CD), so Denis didn't need my copyright permission to retell the story. He just felt it was more respectful to ask me since I was the teller he heard it from.

It sure is nice to be treated as a respected teller by others whom I respect and admire for their talent.