Caitlin and Chloe Talk Gnostic

I overheard this hilarious bit of conversation between my daughters Caitlin (8) and Chloe (6) as they sat on the floor drawing this afternoon. It came right out of the blue:

CAITLIN: Mother Nature is God's wife.

CHLOE: If we have God in our hearts, then he had a ton of babies. In God's world, boys get pregnant.

CAITLIN: They'd be like, "Is it Mother Nature Junior, or God Junior?"

(Image from www.membres.lycos.fr)

I Went to See Hayden and Shotgun Jimmy at Mount Allison Last Night...

...and behaved like an obnoxious ass. Here's a representative sample of the evening's conversation:





ME (Loudly): Are you guys here to see Weezer? Oh man, this is gonna be so AWESOME! ROCK AND ROLL! WHOO-HOO!

CLEVELAND: Three of my ex-girlfriends walked in just now.

DAVE: I thought London was pretentious and expensive.

It isn't that Hayden was bad--he's a gifted songwriter, and his piano stuff was especially impressive. But the place was full of undergrad indie kids in scarves, argyle and tight corduroys, and I was feeling insecure about my age and belligerent about the fact that Sackville music scene has lately been overrun by lethargic, shoegazing faux geek androgynes.

Anyway, here's a Hayden track (with balls) that used to be on Muchmusic when I was in high school--back in the days when Much actually played things we used to call "music videos" from time to time. It takes a minute to load, but it's worth the wait:



(Image from www.hfxnews.ca)

The Fat Celt Wept

We're studying Japan and Korea in my grade 7 social studies class and this week, among other things, we've been talking about the atomic bomb. Yesterday I thought it would be a good idea to read Eleanor Coerr's Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes aloud to my students. Since I was in 4th grade the last time I read that book, I had forgotten just how sad it is. It's probably the saddest kids' book I've ever come across, after Charlotte Graeber's Mustard. So anyway, I got to the end, where it reads

The next time she awoke, the family was there. Sadako smiled at them. She was part of that warm, loving circle where she would always be. Nothing could ever change that.

Already lights were dancing behind her eyes. Sadako slid a thin, trembling hand over to touch the golden crane. Life was slipping away from her, but the crane made Sadako feel stronger inside.

She looked at her flock hanging from the ceiling. As she watched, a light autumn breeze made the birds rustle and sway. They seemed to be alive and flying out through the open window. How beautiful and free they were! Sadako sighed and closed her eyes.

She never woke up (Coerr 63).

and of course I had tears streaming down my face like a goddamn girl. Gah! I'm 6' tall, 240 lbs with a shaved head and a chinstrap beard and I'm crying like a baby in front of a bunch of preteens. All I could think to say was, "Sorry, guys, It's a sad book." It's part of my nature to be a sentimental mangina on the best of days, but I'm good at covering it up with my relatively scary appearance, deep voice and witty faux cynicism.

But not yesterday.

I'm not a "new age" guy. I'm not "emo." In fact, my wife can probably testify as to how insensitive I am. But I'm easily moved to tears by literature. That part in Chaucer's "The Knight's Tale" when a dying Aricte cries, "Mercy, Emilie!" gets me every time. Never before, however, have I gotten all weepy in front of a class full of kids.

I guess the point of this story is twofold: a) I'm a big, bald pussy; and b) If you're going to read Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes to a grade 7 class, practice in private and make sure you can get through it first.

Jezis Maria.

Old Dog, Old Trick

It's a shame the creationists and the evolutionists can't get along, because I think they could find a lot to agree on concerning the value of family.

I'll have to sober up a bit before I can render this one defensible. Colt 45 stimulates the heart rather more than the mind, alas.

Internet Wallowing

It feels good to bask in information like a manatee in water warmed by a Florida power plant. It's light but dense, ethereal yet efficacious. It's also easy to waste time in: browse, but don't actually read; poke, but don't say anything.

We Thought Pierre Got a New Car

Robyn: Ooh! Did you get a new car?

Pierre: No.

Robyn: We thought since it was the same colour as your old one that you might have decided to get another one like it.

Pierre (puzzled): It's not the same colour. My car is orange. This car is burnt orange.

The Nipples of Mother Hope Have Run Dry

So here I sit, trying to find a topic for this paper I have to write for tomorrow and getting nowhere. And as I pick through the readings from my class, hoping for the muse to whisper something worthwhile in my ear, I realize suddenly that I will be unable to hear her even if she does because there is a junior high marching band playing in the Knights of Columbus parking lot right outside my goddamn window. I'm not kidding. The xylophone carries the melody, and the rest is all drums except for the guy barking marching orders in French. I'm glad this is my last week of school, because they sound like they need a lot of practice.