Domestic Whatever: Crochet and Uncrafty Beer

I missed my usual Thursday date for these posts because I was in Toronto, seeing friends, but Friday also ends in "day", so this is close enough for me. I'm still recovering from the holiday knitting, so the needles haven't been touched in a few days except in the most minimal way. You know, stockinette socks with self-patterning yarn. Not even finished, not worth a photograph. So here's what I've been doing with hooks instead:

Short and Sweet from Stitch 'N Bitch Crochet: The Happy Hooker. A little, lacy cotton coverup, the perfect thing for Ontario's current windchill factor. Well, no, but I had this Mission Falls 1824 Cotton hanging around, giving me a guilt complex. It was a discontinued colour, so it was on sale, and since it was a yarn I had always wanted to use I bought 10 balls of the stuff- though the colour confounds. It's not quite terracotta, it's not really desert brown, it's the colour... of impulse purchasing. Or, according to the shade card of the now entirely discontinued yarn, "musk." It's been in my house for years, and after thinking about turning it into a drab utilitarian bag, I settled on this pattern. Not that my wardrobe largely features "musk" in any form, but I think it could find its place over a summer dress.

And this week's beer: Hop City's Barking Squirrel Lager. I found this in the LCBO and wondered what Hop City's deal was- I didn't remember seeing it on the Ontario Craft Brewers site. But it met my current beer requirements ("Anything but another IPA"), so I grabbed a can. Now, with the benefit of Google, I've learned that it's Moosehead's attempt on the craft beer market. The Creemore to its Molson, if you will, or the McCafé to its McDonalds. But I'll give even not-so-crafty beers the benefit of the doubt. Conclusions: not as hoppy as the brewery name and label promise, nor as flavourful overall as one could hope, but a respectable lager. Be wary of all that though, as I'm dealing with some leftover congestion.

When it comes to fake craft beers, I like to see major breweries offering better brews to the masses. But I would rather have them do so openly, rather than taking taps away from real craft breweries,or outshining them with larger marketing budgets. Still, I think good taste will often win out over good label design, which may be why, even two years after its launch, Hop City still has less space on LCBO shelves than Mill Street products.

What I Did On My Christmas Vacation

I spent my Christmas full of goodwill towards men and snot. I got a cold over the holiday, and provided a handy memento mori to my family, as a kind of short Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. "Ye too shall wither and die," I implied, while sitting in my room going through tissue after tissue. And also reading through that olde Yuletide favourite, Joan Didion's Political Fictions. Maybe a series of icy essays about the American political climate from 1988-2000 will never replace A Christmas Carol, in spite of their flawless diction. But with Newt Gingrich threatening to bring the worst parts of 1994 into the still-innocent 2012, it was timely. My cold is nearly gone, but a strange nostalgia for Bill Clinton's presidency remains.

Happy Holidays!

Pick your seasonally appropriate greeting.
Smitty and I wish you all that and more!

Domestic Thursday: Resting Mittens, Flying Monkeys

Oh God, Christmas knitting. I'm ready to convert so I never go through this madness again. Anyway, here are two sets of mittens- both versions of Elizabeth Zimmerman's Mitered Mittens from The Knitter's Almanac, and both made with Ontario yarns- that were mailed out to BC a few days ago. The red ones are, once again, Briggs and Little Tuffy in Red Mix, and have longer cuffs. The whites ones are made from Upper Canada Village yarn. It's spun on-site using fleece from the village's own flock, so think of it as the fibre equivalent of last week's beer.

The pattern has you knit the hand, then make the thumb by snipping one stitch and unravelling the others. Eeep. I did it this way, reluctantly. Apologies to my friends if the thumb spontaneously explodes once they put them on. Between this and her love of garter stitch (the devil's stitch!!), I'm not sure I trust Elizabeth Zimmerman.

Pattern: Lace Cable Socks by Véronik Avery, Knitting 24/7
Yarn: Lion Brand Sock Ease in Circus Peanut
Since we're on the topic of garter stitch, these lace cable socks, with their garter stitch heels and toes, are now completed. And not a moment too soon, as most of my knitted socks are hanging by threads. Literally. Well, they're not hanging, but patches have been worn down to the polyester. Now my feet can be chipper and warm in these orange socks.

Something that may not make me warm, but will definitely make me chipper is The Flying Monkeys Smashbomb Atomic IPA. Made with Citra hops and varied malts, including Crystal malts, this is a pale ale that drinks like a bubblier version of last week's Black Creek IPA. The taste reminds me a lot of Florida-fresh grapefruit, and the assorted malts keeps things chugging along smoothly enough that the 6% AVA goes by unnoticed. Before you drink too many, check out the brewing information on The Flying Monkeys site. You'll learn just how often and how much hops were added, that is, at all possible times and in great volume. And now we finally have an answer to the question of which beer would go best while watching The Wizard of Oz.

The Iron Lady Trailer: Queen Elizabeth with Hairspray

The trailer for Dark Knight Rises came out, but you already knew that, didn't you? In all the hubbub, the trailer for The Iron Lady was also released, and I'll be interested to see how well it reflects the finished product. Growing up as the daughter of a man of progressive tastes, I was raised on a steady diet of gritty British social dramas of the 1980s. Acceptable video rentals were children's cartoons... or anything directed by Mike Leigh, Ken Loach and Stephen Frears, so Margaret Thatcher was my childhood boogeywoman. As Voldemort was to other kids, Thatcher- and to a lesser degree, Ronald Reagan- was to me. So I was surprised to see a trailer that made the Iron Lady out to be the heiress to the Virgin Queen. It makes me think of the spot for Elizabeth: The Golden Age more than My Beautiful Laundrette. If a filmmaker has a different ideological bent than mine, I suppose he can find more heroism in Thatcher's story than I can, since I think of her as a viper in pearls. But any movie, no matter how conservative, that casts the Falklands War as some sort of grand, just war I find both morally and factually questionable. Not that I was any great fan of the Argentinean junta, but as Jorge Louis Borges said, the Falklands War was like "a fight between two bald men over a comb." Well, it seems that the director, Phyllida Lloyd, has chosen to add driving strings to that comb fight.

Book Pile for December 18

Yep, it's that time of month again. From top to bottom:
1. Pop Business Book du Jour: Boomerang: Travels in the New Third World, Michael Lewis
2. Can Con NF: Ethical Water, Robert William Sandford and Merrell-Ann S. Phare
3. Wannabe American Sophisticate Tome: Political Fictions, Joan Didion
4. Future Novel: After Many a Summer Dies the Swan, Aldous Huxley
5. Future Future Novel: Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons

Domestic Thursday: Felting and Black Creek Historic Brewery

Pattern: Winter Slippers by Véronik Avery in Knitting 24/7
Yarn: Cascade 220 in Tangerine Heather
This one's a Christmas present, so I won't say who it's for. But I'll just hint that it's for somebody who always deserves to have warm feet. And who I hope only has feet about an inch longer than mine, because she wasn't here to try them on.

Pattern: Canadian Fusion Mitts by Greenelf Designs
Yarn: Briggs and Little Heritage
These appeared on the blog months ago, or at least a quarter of the completed set did. I actually finished the knitting for these guys while still in Victoria, but loved my roommates too much to inflict the smell of wet wool on them for a few hours. So it took me this long and a move to get around to felting them. I came close to overfelting them, but I'm sure they'll relax with a few wears. And, my God, they are warm.


I like to think of this week as A Very Special Episode of Domestic Thursday, because this week I'll be talking about... divorce. No. Actually, I'll be chatting about one of Ontario's most interesting breweries and the intrigue of cask-conditioned ale. Carry on. Black Creek Historic Brewery brews them like your (great-great-great-)grandfather used to, since it's part of a historic village dedicated to life in 1860s Ontario. The brewmaster, Ed Koren, even has to dress the part, but that doesn't stop him from being incredibly friendly. You can pay the village admission price and buy growlers filled with the village-made brew, or spend a few bucks more for a full tour with tastings. Bottled Black Creek Historic Brewery ales are also available at the LCBO, but they're brewed in a more conventional manner by two other breweries, including Flying Monkeys, to accommodate the higher volume.

If you're used to drinking lager right out of the fridge, cask-conditioned ales will BLOW YOUR MIND. They're unpasteurized, unfiltered, and undergo a secondary fermentation in the cask from which your growler is then filled. Some differences: you have to drink it fairly warm so you taste the flavour and not the cold, it's cloudy, and it's barely bubbly. I brought home the India Pale Ale, since its flavour was a complex citrus instead of a hoppy roundhouse kick to the jaw. Being too fond of modern dental care and not having my XX chromosomes stop me from voting, I've never wanted to live in an earlier century. But cask-conditioned ale is one thing worth dragging into the present.

A Tribute to Alpha Flight: Fighting for Peace, Order and Good Government

Alpha Flight. Northstar is on the far left, Guardian is second from the right and Puck is the little guy at the bottom.

Whatever may happen under the new Canada-US border agreement, we will still be sovereign when it comes to superheroes. You don't know about Alpha Flight? Think Captain Canuck is our only hero? Please, Alpha Flight is like ten Captain Canucks. Or at least one Captain Canuck (Guardian, aka James MacDonald Hudson) and nine other assorted Canadian stereotypes. Created by John Byrne in 1979, Alpha Flight first tried to retrieve Wolverine for the Canadian government, as they probably had to cut 30 arts grants to afford that adamantium skeleton and wanted it back. Eventually they branched out of cameos in X-Men and into their own series, which waxes and wanes in and out of existence as the circulation figures permit. They're in an off period at the moment. Alpha Flight's latest series was canceled in October. But it's a team worth looking into, to see which Canadian traits are deemed essential for consumption by our neighbours down south. These traits include, apparently, short, hairy bouncers from Saskatchewan named Eugene (Codename: Puck). I'm not sure what to make of that. But I will take pride in Northstar, aka Jean-Paul Beaubier, who was one of the first openly gay characters in mainstream comics. Although a separatist could argue that he was Québécois, and not Canadian, I will maintain that Alpha Flight is one of those rare places where the two solitudes are reconciled.

Patrick Chan And Figure Skating Drama

THE CANADIAN PRESS/Jacques Boissinot

There's a lot of drama in sports, but there's no sports drama like figure skating drama. For one thing, there are sequins. Canada had some recently, when a months-old interview with Patrick Chan surfaced on Reuters. Chan said he felt unappreciated in Canada, and compared it to the support he likely would have experienced competing for China. The Canadian public... proved him correct by largely reacting with indifference. But I could have predicted the response of people who did care, like this Globe and Mail letter writer:

"His reflections on how much more support he might have if he were skating for China seem insensitive to the fact his parents were fortunate to leave an oppressive Communist regime and find a welcome home here."

This may be all the defense I can muster for someone who gets to wear a "billowy red shirt and black slacks accented with slashes of red" as part of his day job, but the insensitive thing might be comparing his thoughts on which nation claps louder for a triple lutz to ignoring an oppressive regime. The real question may be how much any country should care, or pay for, athletics programs that seem to function as the bragging chips of nationalism. But that’s a question that could fairly be asked of any amateur athlete, and not just one whose parents happen to be Chinese. Overall, this all takes away from the real news in skating: Half of the French ice dance couple was dressed like an honest-to-Set mummy for their free skate. My word.

Domestic Thursday: Socks, Tea Cozy, Winter Beard

Pattern: Acorn Tea Cozy by Véronik Avery, in Knitting 24/7
Yarn: Briggs and Little Tuffy in Red Mix
I promised my friend Joel a tea cozy. About 20 months ago. First I knit one, then I knit another. I'm still not proud of the second one, which I should have really knit with the yarn held doubled to produce a stiffer fabric. But if I balance the top just so, it will still stand up and look acorn-like instead of flopping over. I mailed this to Belgium anyway, where Joel has traitorously decamped post-graduation. Hopefully he won't take this as some kind of veiled commentary on his virility, of which I am happily ignorant.

Another pattern from Knitting 24/7 that at least seems destined for greater success,are these Lace Cable Socks. I'm a little wary of the garter stitch toe and heel, but I'll give Ms. Avery the benefit of the doubt. For now. *Gives squinty eye in the general direction of Montréal.*

And here's this week's beer, the Winter Beard Double Chocolate and Cranberry Stout from Muskoka Brewery. This is the beer I was hinting about last week, the rare chocolate stout brewed with actual dark chocolate and real cranberries, along with the expected chocolate malt. The result is heavy on the caramel flavours, with a cocoa kick. I smelled the cranberry but didn't really taste it. The ABV is a decent 8%, which explains why my Mom went from disliking to loving the beer after one glass. Even if you don't want a heavy, sweet stout this Christmas, it's worth buying to hang the adorable bottle on your tree as a kind of awkwardly oversized, perhaps semi-depressing, decoration.

Book Covers I Have Loved: Eat Me, Kenny Shopsin

This is one of my favourite cookbooks, and it has one of my favourite covers. But Eat Me is not the book I cook from the most. Of its 288 pages, I have made only three recipes. But it changed my life. In a world of tomes about El Bulli and Pollan-penned tracts about our diets, I was beginning to stress out about dinner. A casserole? Laziness! Buying pre-made kimchi instead of fermenting it myself? Shameful! But Kenny Shopsin, the foul-mouthed, philosophic cook, showed me the light with four letter words. You make good food, don't use shitty ingredients, find some shortcuts and don't give a fuck about the fat content.

He also came up with the idea of mac and cheese pancakes, so he's clearly a genius. And his daughter, Tamara Shopsin, shows that it's in the genes with this beautiful cover. The perfect, bright colours, the fun font, and the cut-out egg with the pull tab. It tells you not to pull, but of course Kenny would and you should too. Instead of the title and author info, you'll see a plate of breakfast.

My Team, Mon Amour

This post was inspired by something ridiculous I read on Grantland. Bill Simmons got a letter from a reader who compared the Buffalo Bills to a bad relationship. And I quote (in part), "You know, the kind where you are dating a guy and he eventually becomes comfortable with you and feels like you are such a good pal he no longer has to impress you by buying gifts and taking you to nice dinners and next thing you know you are in a relationship that is so non-exciting you decide to break it off." Which made me think- what if I described all of my favourite sports teams as oddly specific and extremely detailed boyfriends? Read on to see what happens when a simile is pushed too far.

Hi, honey(s)! (Photo: Andy Lyons/Getty Images North America)

NFL
The Green Bay Packers: They're like that boyfriend you have that perfect relationship with, and it irritates everybody else. Eventually you take the irritation nationwide by being profiled in the "Vows" section of the New York Times. You'll say stuff like "I always admired his/their integrity, notably the fact that they are the only publicly owned team in the NFL" and they'll say stuff like "She was always there for me, we could collectively talk to her for hours" and then there would be a picture of you getting married in Central Park or whatever. Some years might be rougher than others, but you'll always work through your problems with a package vacation at a Sandals resort.

NHL
The Montreal Canadiens: They're like that French-Canadian boyfriend you had in university, who wore scarves really well and came from a preeminent Montreal family, but had a lot of baggage. Now and then he would have a meltdown and destroy your apartment, or maybe just a part of Rue Ste. Catherine. Every year you figured would be *the* year, but he never really brought home the hardware and eventually you stopped expecting him to. Now you dodge his calls.

NBA
The Memphis Grizzlies: They're like that boyfriend you had because you were both 10 and you thought the drawings of angry grizzly bears on his duotang revealed a tortured soul. He had a rat tail and you held hands by the chainlink fence. Then his dad got transferred to an office in Memphis right after Christmas. You're not sure what he does now, he might have been on strike for a while, but you're sure that's he's long since stopped spelling "neighbour" and "colour" with their proper u's.

MLS
The Toronto FC: They're like that high school boyfriend you dated for no other reason than geographical proximity. Eventually you broke up when you went to school in another province, and he started working at Milestones Bar and Grill.

MLB
N/A: You don't have a baseball team/"boyfriend." You hate baseball. If baseball teams have to be boyfriends, then you are an out and proud baseball lesbian.

Canada's Hollywood... is South of Wawa

In the two or so years since graduation, I have lost the habit of reading academic writing. So it was no surprise that I ended up mired in the swamps of Canada's Hollywood. I checked it out expecting a breezy discussion of Canadian filmmaking, and found instead a rigorously-researched, footnoted and factchecked inquiry into the history of governmental involvement in Canadian film. There were even... tables. I shouldn't have let myself be fooled by the gold foil on the cover. I should have checked the spine. The University of Toronto Press imprint would have been fair warning.

But persevering was rewarding, if you count the gift of guilt. The guilt of my weak support for Canadian movies, in particular. I'll see about one every month or two, compared to dozens of American or European films. There's no reason for it, I've seen Canadian movies I've liked. Great ones like Léolo and Mon Oncle Antoine. And ones that aren't great, but you can't help liking more anyway. Like South of Wawa, which has some lovably inept hockey scenes and tonnes (yes that's metric, we're in Canada) of smalltown Ontario. How can anyone resist a movie whose tagline was "Endless Love - Passionate Dreams - Cream-Filled Donuts"? Apparently some of the raters at IMDB could. But don't listen to the haters, watch it yourself. If you do, I personally vow to see every Canadian movie that comes my way. Whether that includes American movies starring Ryan Reynolds, I leave you to decide.

Domestic Thursday: Whoopie Pies and Stout

American Thanksgiving has passed. The piped-in carols have arrived. The Christmas season is upon us. Truth is, I have always loved Christmas, in spite of my atheist cred. But even those who don't get as excited as I do by the sight of holiday specials on the TV schedule likely appreciate the baked goods and booze. Recently, I made a recipe that combined them both.


Meet Gingerbread Whoopie Pies with Rum Filling, the star of this week's domestic Thursday. The cookie base comes from this McCormick's recipe, which uses lemon crème for the filling. I ignored that part. Not nearly boozy enough. Instead I found a recipe online for rum buttercream icing, which seemed like an awesome idea, especially since I had some Kraken Spiced Rum in the cabinet. With a slightly I've made these twice this season. Paired with a Dark and Stormy made from the same bottle of rum, they've been making my spirits bright and it's only the first of December. Just imagine how jolly/bloated I'll be when the 24th comes around.

Instructions:
Cookies: This recipe, with some minor alterations:
3 cups flour
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
pinch of cloves
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup butter, softened
3/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/2 cup blackstrap molasses
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Filling: Slightly adapted from this recipe:
1/2 cup softened butter
1 package powdered sugar
4 tablespoons rum
2 tablespoons milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1. Mix dry ingredients (flour, ginger, cinnamon, baking soda, nutmeg, cloves and salt) in a medium bowl. Set aside. Beat butter and brown sugar in a large bowl with your mixer until nice and fluffy. Add molasses, egg and vanilla; beat well. Gradually beat in flour mixture on low speed until well mixed. Press dough into a thick flat disk. Wrap in plastic wrap. Refrigerate 4 hours or overnight.
2. Preheat oven to 350°F. Shape dough into 1-inch balls. Place 2 inches apart on baking sheets lined with parchment paper. (I've found I've had better results getting cookie spread, and thus more manageable cookie sandwiches, if I press the balls flat-ish before baking.)
3. Bake 8 to 10 minutes or until edges of cookies just begin to brown. Remove and cool completely. COMPLETELY. Otherwise your icing will melt all over the place.
4. Beat butter for the icing with a mixer until nice and creamy. Slowly add about a cup of the powdered sugar, beating slowly until blended. Add the liquid ingredients (rum, milk, extract), beating until blended. Add powdered sugar until you get the consistency you like.
5. Assemble whoopie pies by taking one cookie, topping the flat side with a decent amount of icing, then adding another cookie on top. Then eat.


And here is this week's domestic beer, the Smoked Oatmeal Stout from Trafalgar Ales and Meads. Since my last experience with a smoked beer was like drinking a liquified charcoal briquette, I was wary. But this was only subtly smoky, and as hearty as any good stout. While we're on the topic of stouts, I was shocked to find out that most "chocolate" or "coffee" stouts are rarely brewed with either of those foods, with the flavour coming from the darker roast of the malt instead. There are exceptions, and I hope to talk about one of them next week. But oatmeal stouts are brewed with real oats, which makes them smooth instead of particularly oat-y. So, drink this or McAuslan's, and you won't be drinking A PINT OF LIES.

Guilty Graphic Pleasure: Frankenstein Agent of S.H.A.D.E.

Is it possible to describe something as a "guilty pleasure" without condescending to the object you find so pleasurable? I ask because I have been searching for a better term to describe Frankenstein: Agent of S.H.A.D.E., one that makes it clear that I both acknowledge its silliness while deeply respecting Jeff Lemire's writing. Yeppers, R-E-S-P-E-C-T even though it contains such gems as:

"Khalis took out the spider-like forms on this continent, but we still need to take care of the ogres and the sea monsters before this thing makes it to Earth!"

In fact, especially because it contains sentences like that. Frankenstein: AoS is smart in the way Raiders of the Lost Ark is smart- it distills something essential about old-fashioned entertainment, tempered with enough modern humour so the result is something fresher than a simple pastiche. Think Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos, with the cast of the Munsters instead of human soldiers. Max fun.

Save Our T-Shirts First: The Made in America Store

Thanksgiving is a day of tradition and ritual for Americans. And Black Friday is a day of tradition and ritual for some Canadians, that is, my family. On Thursday Americans carve a turkey, and on Friday the Hunters order fried chicken. On Thursday Americans give thanks, and on Friday the Hunters curse LSU's irritatingly deep football team. On Thursday many Americans ignore the troubling colonial baggage of the holiday, and on Friday the Hunters ignore the moral bankruptcy of the NCAA, the BCS, and the culture of collegiate athletics in the US as a whole. But on both days all parties watch football, because that is the American way. And if you don't love it... you can leave it!


That's a product from the Made in America store. Store motto: "Because China is a Long Drive to Work!" Store location: Elma, NY. There were ads for this place during commercial breaks on Buffalo, NY television, so it's not an elaborate Internet hoax. There's really a faux-Colonial outlet where you can buy confusing (but 100% American-manufactured) shirts that have a picture¹ of the flag-raising at Iwo Jima and the slogan: "The United States of America... Love it or leave it!" But leave what? Iwo Jima, which is a Japanese island? Shouldn't that ellipsis be a colon? Perhaps not? Ah, questions.


But while I would love to sit here and play smug Canadian about this store and its products... I can't. Well, at least I can't until I mention this artwork depicting Jesus comforting a crying Santa in front of a memorial to the victims of 9/11. That's just whack. But the store is a reaction to a real problem, as the manufacturing sector has crumbled in the US, taking the middle class down with it. Writing up a protectionist shopping list may not be the solution to the problem. And a quick glance at the online store shows just how untenable it would currently be- ladies wanting closed-toe shoes are shit out of luck, for starters. The only footwear they sell "for her" are the Okabashi Maui Hot Pink Sandals. But this store's existence is still a sign of engagement with the problem, even though direct political action might be more efficient than purchasing a pair of Maui Hot Pink Sandals before a long, cold winter.

There's also an emotional fulfillment that the Made in America store is selling, along with its t-shirts. In oh so many ways, the MIA store aesthetic of stars, stripes, and servicemen is the complete opposite of Etsy's "put a bird on it"² look. But deep down, the motivations of shoppers may not be so different. Not only is it easy to go through life without making anything yourself, it's almost required. And without those manufacturing jobs, you may not be making anything at work either. Divorced from the labour needed to produce stuff, even though not from the labour required to buy it, we value our stuff less. We don't feel connected to the stuff. But through these two means, shoppers can experience that connection with our stuff again just by "knowing" the maker. At the MIA store: an imaginary community decided by the country of manufacture. In Etsy world: the redheaded chick with the severe bangs who makes felt hedgehogs.

1. Actually, it may be a photo of a stature of the iconic photo of the flag raising at Iwo Jima, which is just confusing to write.
2. Portlandia, IFC.

Arkham City and Bonus Bats

Buy one, get one free

An interesting thing I've noticed in TV commercials: In spots for the video game Batman: Arkham City, the 1994 movie Batman Forever is being offered as, essentially, a bonus feature. Buy the game and the Schumacher flick is yours to download and keep in the cloud... if you haven't torrented it already. I'll admit that video games aren't really my bag, but that has more to do with my upbringing, where they were banned, than with any assumptions I hold regarding their artistic merit. I'm no Roger Ebert. Theoretically, I think video games could be art, but I still think it's unfortunate to package a feature-length film as an extra on something that's not even a movie.

First, because I'm not sure how much use the players of Arkham City and the pleasures (interactivity, control) I'll assume it brings will have for the very different pleasures of a film (surrender to spectacle, rubber nipples on batsuits.) Second, because it seems vaguely insulting to sell a separate creative enterprise as the superfluous add-on of another. My favourite DVD extras are those, like documentaries or commentaries, that comment on the work itself. Even when manufacturers throw in another film as filler- God bless public domain- it's usually at least an earlier, silent version of the same story. I don't know. I just have this vague dread that it's setting a bad precedent. And that I've spent too much time worrying about a movie that features Jim Carrey in Spandex.

Domestic Thursday: Squid, Cables and Ginger Beer

Whoah, did another week really go by? It seems that today is Thursday, which means it's once again time to get domestic in here. My week hasn't been too eventful, the highlight (or lowlight) being a botched interview Wednesday morning. Everything I learned in the past year fell out of my head and slithered away halfway through. Only a slimy trail of shame was left. I would dwell upon it all- what am I saying? I do! I do!- but as the saying goes*... "Onward and upward with the arts."


First up: this year's Christmas card theme is "A Squid Fails at Christmas." Also, pink. More specifically: "Shades of Holiday-themed Papers My Mom Wouldn't Use, and So Donated to Me." So far the series has four cards with four different doodles. They confuse my Mom, which means I'll be giving her the oddest one (I'm seeing 3D flocked tentacles) for Christmas.

Also, the back of my Beatnik sweater is finished and in the process of being aggressively blocked. If it's still too small when it dries, I might just concede defeat on this New Year's Resolution and start my Owls sweater.

Finally, more domestic beer fun: Mill Street Brewery's Traditional Ginger Beer. Not to be confused with the Jamaican kind of ginger beer that you use to make a Dark and Stormy (the drink of champions.) Instead, it's beer first, with a kick of ginger second. It's not nearly as distinctive in its ginger notes as the version you can buy from Phillips, seasonal whims permitting. But it's still a well-balanced spicy beer, and I'm sad I tracked it down just at the end of its annual run.

*Yes, I already said this on Twitter. It's like "Keep Calm and Carry On", but it doesn't appear on so many throw pillows.

More Domesticity: Muskoka Brewery Mad Tom IPA

Another domestic thing I forgot to mention yesterday- beer! One of the best things about returning to my home province has been discovering its wide world of local brew. I do miss biking to the Phillips brewery to get my two growlers (nicknamed Rock'em and Sock'em) filled up, and in the process living up to a certain BC stereotype. This week's selection, Muskoka Brewery's Mad Tom IPA, is a nice reminder of all that. West Coast brewers love their hops, and this IPA has enough of them to make your face scrunch. Well, at least mine. I enjoyed my glass, especially once the initial bitter taste faded and a strong citrus taste came through, but I couldn't pound it all night. I could, however, go for a pint of this with drunken noodles from a Thai restaurant.

Domestic Thursday: Juliana Wrap and Some Sweaters

I am now booking Thursdays on this blog to talk about matters domestic. Not politics domestic- check out Rabble.ca for that, I guess. But if you've long felt that the one area Rabble was truly lacking in, between its columns from union leaders and coverage of Occupy Toronto, was knitwear photos, check here once a week. Knitting, baking, sewing, I have a lot of free time and so you can expect a lot of completed projects. Hopefully.
First up, an accidentally "artistic" composition (got a little excited with the image filters there) of my first completed crocheted object, the Juliana Wrap made using two hanks of Montoya Beach Space Dyed linen yarn in Blood Red. The yarn has a really lovely drape post-blocking, though it spewed half of its dye into the water during the process. Below you can see me wearing the scarf. I kind of love the tassels. They're almost tacky. But not quite.
Flouncing around in the scarf keeps me from focusing on other, less-pleasant fibre-related business in my life.
This pile of knitting in need of steeking and finishing for example. Over a year has gone by and I still don't have the courage to cut the yarn.
And this cabled tragedy, a version of Knitty's Beatnik boatneck sweater, doomed as it is to be too small. I can only knit on, hoping some really aggressive blocking can solve the problem.

Book Pile for November 16

1. Creepy CanCon Reading: Ravenna Gets, Tony Burgess
2. Normal CanCon Reading: Canada's Hollywood, Ted Madger
3. Current 19th Century Novel: Middlemarch, George Eliot
4. "Yes, I Joined a Book Club, Shut Up" Novel: Annabel, Kathleen Winter
5. Current Graphic Fiction History: The Horror! The Horror!: Comic Books the Government Didn't Want You to Read!, Jim Trombetta

Behold the Cloonling: Three Ryan/George Films

Of the past three recent releases I've watched, one starred Ryan Gosling, another George Clooney, and the third co-starred them both. I'm sensing a theme, let's call it The Societally Prescribed "Thinking Women's Sex Symbol" Film Festival, James Franco flicks optional. Anyway, this season's TWSS programming was Drive, The American and The Ides of March. The first two share some gross plot similarities (professionals redeemed and compromised by the love of a good women) and some fine differences, and will likely also make a fine compare and contrast essay for a film studies course in a few years. American versus European settings, youth versus age, ideals versus cynicism, techno beats versus golden realism etc. etc.

The Ides of March is also a decent movie, which goes as much for its morals as its quality. It can feel a little creaky though, and will be best for those raised on rentals of The Sweet Smell of Success and All the King's Men. Drive was my personal favourite, looking and sounding like urban myth, although the music that sets the mood also nearly ruins it. As the movie ends, the synths kick in and for the second time a vocoder tells us that the Driver is a "real hero" (as well as a "real human being"). Got it. Thanks. But they forgot the missing fourth verse: "And you, have proved, to be/A real human being, and a real hero/AND A TOTAL DREAMBOAT..."

Crimes and Crinolines II: Inferno!

Sorry, I've either been busy or in Toronto for the past few days. But I will share with you all the hilarious conclusion of the British Period Drama I was describing in my last post. Our poor Scot never did get the girl, but it wasn't because of his long concealed capitalistic tendencies. Robert Carne didn't marry Sarah either, although it wasn't his mysterious heart ailment that got him. Instead he rode his horse too close to the edge of a cliff during a dramatic thunderstorm, and coastal erosion did the rest. I appreciated the unromantic realism of this ending. Too often have people gone too close to the edge because of turmoil in their innermost selves, or so the director could get a nice shot. Good aesthetics are no protection from severe head trauma. Perhaps the next Period Drama I borrow from the library will deal with my other perpetual annoyance: dozens of lit candles in single rooms. Seductive? No. FIRE HAZARD.

Crime and Crinolines: British Crime Shows and Period Dramas

My Mom lives on a diet of two kinds of DVDs: British Crime Series and British Period Dramas. The plot of the average British Crime Series is as utterly routine and comforting as a strong cup of tea. There is a crime, various suspects are presented, a piece of utterly circumstantial evidence is discovered, at which point the culprit makes a full and detailed confession. Here's some dialogue that could be parachuted in to the next British Crime Series the Guelph Public Library feels like buying:

Detective: But why, my lord, DID YOU LEAVE THE WINDOW OPEN?
Lord Evil Baddy-Diditmay: Yes, I did it, I'm glad I did it, I would do it again and here's how I did it. I purchased arsenic at the druggist's at tuppence* a pound, reduced from sixpence and four as Lloyd's had ordered a surplus...

The British Period Drama is no less formulaic, but instead of confessing to having been Colonel Mustard in the drawing room with the candlestick, the spunky heroine simply hones in on the biggest asshole within county limits and falls in love with him. Or: the rough idea of Pride and Prejudice gets some new togs. My mother and I are currently working our way through a fine example of this sort of British import. It's called South Riding, and it features Sarah, an idealistic young headmistress with two potential suitors, a Scottish socialist and a local aristocrat. Robert Carne, the local aristocrat, has unpaid bills, a mysterious illness, an incident of marital rape, a high-strung daughter and a wife in an institution. Most of us bring some baggage into our relationships, but he's one hatbox short being a full-on baggage car. Naturally, Sarah falls madly in love with him.

We're only two thirds of the way through, and I'm shocked the socialist hasn't become evil in some way. He can be excessively dogmatic or secretly in league with the capitalists, but either way, the path towards being Mrs. Carne must be cleared somehow. But then the first Mrs. Carne also needs to be conveniently offed much like the first Mrs. Rochester, so maybe they'll just have Carne succumb to whatever he's taking amyl nitrate for to keep things simple. Personally, I'm hoping that Lord Evil makes a crossover appearance and bashes him over the head with a chamberpot. In the oh-so period conservatory.

*I have no idea of the true meaning of "tuppence" or "sixpence", as with "bob" or "quid", but if the Brits couldn't be assed to figure out if I was Canadian or American, then I can't be assed to understand their funny money names. So there.

Cage Fight of Awful: Rob Ford v. Ezra Levant

The worst person in Canada right now, ignoring the usual criminal element, might be either Rob Ford or Ezra Levant. I know that sounds ideological, but hold up. It's a battle between a quivering mass of privileged resentment and an oily mound of an attention hound, so I think this crosses party lines. Rob Ford has an international profile, earning "Worst Person in the World" laurels from Keith Olbermann last week. But a Ford scandal only breaks every fortnight or so, while Ezra Levant appears on SunTV every single weekday.

Although Levant has the (dis)advantage when it comes to exposure, Ford has all the real political clout. Levant might have more if SunTV's production values ever surpass those of a local cable access channel, and he finds a legion of followers. But right now, with that lighting, viewers could be forgiven for turning on The Source and thinking they've caught My View with Peter Etril Snyder on channel 20 instead. Ford carries the chain of mayor and he's using it to batter Toronto. He's set its urban planning back thirty years, abandoned useful transit plans and removed bike lanes instead of adding more. He almost succeeded in saddling Toronto with a monorail/megamall development, and believes his football coaching is more important than his actual mayoral obligations. He doesn't just make people nostalgic for David Miller. He makes them mourn for the days of Mel Lastman.

And yet, even while so genuinely awful, Rob Ford is also more genuine than Ezra Levant. As much as I disagree with his politics and personal conduct, at least it seems like he believes in them. Levant is just what the SunTV's website describes him as, in its little blurb on The Source: a "provocateur." Publishing those Danish Muhammad cartoons in the Western Standard, the dubious achievement that's been front and center on his CV for a while, wasn't a great gesture for free speech. It wasn't even the expected act of an Islamophobe. Levant probably doesn't hate Muslims, as long as they don't raise his taxes, don't ask for arts grants, and keep off his damn lawn, please. But it wasn't free speech. It was just the keening sound of one huckster squawking for attention. And that makes Ezra Levant the worst- or at least the most annoying- person in Canada.

In Praise of Unfaithful Movie Adaptations

For whatever reason, I decided to watch The Eagle today. It's a 300-lite adaptation of The Eagle of the Ninth, which used to be the kind of dusty thing elementary kids were assigned to read, like Johnny Tremaine but without all the silver-deformed hands. Anyway, I read it sometime when I was 10 or 11, so my recollection might be foggy. But I'm fairly sure the book ended with the protagonist disillusioned with the glory of Rome. Instead, the movie has our hero (Channing "Mr. Poutylips 2012" Tatum) and his sidekick (Jamie "Billy Elliot Got Buff" Bell) striding out the door and into a buddy comedy.

But oh well. A sick side of me actually enjoys it when movie adaptations stomp all over their source text. Like that version of The Scarlet Letter with Demi Moore, where a bunch of Natives ride in at the end to save the day. I figure by that point screenwriting was happening on a day-to-day basis, and having run out of excuses for Demi to get her frock off, the writers decided to wrap it up quickly. Credit also goes to Timur Bekmambetov's Wanted. Mark Millar's comic books might not have the same cultural capital as Hawthorne's AmLit 101 staple, but they get hacked just the same in the 2008 adaptation. The title's the same, and so are the characters' names, but... that's about it. And I loved it. Here's to faithless movies made from better books. They allow me to quietly disrespect my English degree and eat hot buttered popcorn, all at the same time.

Reflections on Canzine

Last Sunday, I went to Canzine with some cash in my wallet and the stated goal of finding a zine about backyard chicken raising. I never did succeed in the latter, but did return to Guelph with a bag of zines and the following observations, shared below for your edification/amusement/ire.

1. Cupcakes Are Our New Overlords
The most popular product at tables at Canzine? Zines, of course. It's in the name. Second? Screenprinted posters, probably. And third? Cupcakes. You could buy homemade versions along with your handmade journals at many a stall, or go for the slightly more ambitious cakes being sold as part of the Underground Food Fair. Remember when folks said the cupcake trend had crested, and it was for whoopie pies and macarons to fight to the death for our love? Well, cupcakes were there all along, waiting for the other baked goods to destroy each other so they could hog all the sweet, sweet glory for themselves. Victory tastes of buttercream frosting. And costs between $2.50 and $3.25 a pop.

Conclusion: Cupcakes are here to stay. Unless if fatigue finally sets in next year, in which case I'm fully planning to bring a doughnut frying machine to Canzine.

2. Digital Technology Has Not Killed Print (Yet)
The vendors at Canzine ranged in age, but generally skewed- based on a lazy visual appraisal- heavily to the 20 to 30 year old range. Admittedly, zine culture is a niche thing, but there was still a roomful of people who had taken the time to write, draw, stitch, photocopy, staple and in whichever way create printed artifacts. And it wasn't the work of a colony of strange youth who had rejected Twitter and Facebook, grabbing their butter churns to go back and crank a letterpress, either. I checked out some of the scheduled readers and presenters the day before. Most of them at least had a blog.

Conclusion: Calm down, New York Times, Globe and Mail, or whomever. I know that as the new moon rises, another, often hysterical, obituary for the printed word (the book in the particular) appears under your masthead. But at least for the time being, young folks are finding ways to integrate both print and digital media as creative outlets and entertainment.

3. People Can be Sickeningly Talented, and Often Nice Too
A few highlights: Raymond Biesinger, who produced this clever graphic poster of World War I. It already contains more information about The Great War than I was ever taught in a high school history class. He's also really friendly, so buy from him and you support the cause of niceness. Jonah Campbell, who writes about food in Food and Trembling in a wry, critically sharp way. The man understands the power and the glory of the Montreal zaatar, so clearly he's to be trusted. Aaron Costain, who has some pretty but sinister prints of cityscapes, along with cat zines and comics about transportation disasters. A true Renaissance man, that one. There were also tons of social justice zines, and although I neglected to do my duty and pick some up (apologies, I had cupcakes on the brain) they still made me feel a bit better about the world.

Conclusion: We must harness their power for our ends. Or at least make them fetch zaatars for us.

Goddess of the Longbox: Brian Azzarello's Wonder Woman

Up until two months ago, I thought of Wonder Woman more as a brand than as a book. She could be bought on journals, t-shirts, wallets and more. But not so much in comic books I wanted to read. I knew about her first, bondage-heavy incarnation thanks to a collection of golden age Wonder Woman stories which randomly appeared in my grade 8 classroom. Everything I could find at the library told me we then passed through a Lynda Carter/George Perez heyday, only to get bogged down in the 1990s with convoluted stories and low sales numbers. After that, good things could have happened. But so did The Dark Knight Strikes Again. Wonder Woman having sky-shaking sex with Superman was bad enough, but the digital colouring job gave it a particularly mind-searing quality. I decided I no longer had the fortitude for her. Who could guarantee I wouldn't see her boffing Darkseid, printed on glitter paper? But the big DC 52 reboot brings renewed faith, in the form of Brian Azzarello's Wonder Woman.

Issue #2 has just been released, which means it's still simple and fiscally responsible to catch up on the series. So far it's shaping up to be less about typical superheroics than Maury among the gods. Zeus has been fooling around on Hera again, and Diana and Hermes try to protect his latest mortal conquest and the unborn demigod she carries. The family tree gets further complicated at the end of issue #2. Strife lets slip that Diana is also Zeus' daughter, instead of clay brought to life.

Perhaps my Maury comparison is unfair. Wonder Woman aims higher than that- Apollo, Hermes, Hera and other superstars of Greek mythology all make unannotated appearances, for example. For a truer ancestor, something about the dense, allusive writing reminds me of the Sandman series, Azzarello sounding as much like Neil Gaiman as his earlier, 100 Bullets self. Cliff Chiang's pencils are worth noting too. Although all of the female characters are drawn within society's set parameters of female beauty, Diana gets to look more athletic than pneumatic. It may be too early in Azzarello's run to get excited about his Wonder Woman. But there's something exciting about a book that aims for Mount Olympus while so many others settle for the gutter and a pretty thin conception of grit.

I feel as if a link to this Dresden Codak comic about Wonder Woman's costume is only appropriate: Why Cleavage Is Bad For Crimefighting

Love Hurts, And Sometimes Steals Your Tea

Even my dreams have begun to sadden me. Last night I was dreaming about meeting a guy in some sort of meet-cute situation in an apartment. For most of you, normal, happy people, the next part of the dream would have involved some sexy adventures of at least Cinemax standards. However, I dreamed I went to his apartment the next day, only to find the loose tea he had stolen from my apartment. It was all there- the Earl Grey, the genmaicha, the rooibos, the bougie green tea with the little fruity bits in it. There was a confrontation, dramatic tears were shed, doors were slammed, he admitted that he had a compulsion and I gave him the ultimatum that "I'll only see you if you get heeeeelllllp!"

It was kind of like an episode of Intervention, crossbred with a Lifetime movie of the week and sponsored by Tetley.

I woke up remembering the "green tea with the little fruity bits" detail distinctly, and the rest of the dream with some concern. Really, if my dream guy is a tea-hording klepto, and not a bare-chested English 19th century lord with suspiciously good dental work and a disdain for the social conventions of his time, my real-life prospects have got to be depressing. Which reminded me of a recent conversation I had with a friend, where I confidently promised to "work harder at, you know, that whole aspect... of life" once I found a job in Toronto and moved there.

Really, that was just a way of buying time, and even that looms oppressively in my future. My anxiety was not helped by a post on a Toronto city blog that offered a glimpse into that very future. It was about a singles event with an ugly sweater theme, held at a bar with an awkwardly long name. That kind of name is usually a good indication that it will house equally (and endearingly) awkward men, so at first I was all like "Whoah, I could get a head start on my vow!!", then was more "That bar name is actually mildly annoying" and finally: "I would likely want to burn down that bar and the be-sweatered men it contains, mostly out of misdirected self-loathing, but also because of drunkenness."

So, now that I've saved myself the trouble of finding an embroidered cat sweater at Value Village, I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't also save myself from this doomed vow. Some people are good at dating- I'm not one of them. Some people are good at learning how to be good at dating- I'm not one of those either. I don't even know how to blow dry my hair. My temporary conclusion is that, yep, I'm still planning to move to Toronto, and if nothing works out in the suitor department, that's fine. But if something does work out, that's fine too. I'll just have to remember to keep an eye on my Elf Help (organic) tea, and put out the Lipton as decoys.

Book Covers I Have Loved, Liked and Loathed: Wuthering Heights

Realities may be plural and meaning may be fluid... but anybody who goes about thinking Wuthering Heights is a template for true love is a stone-cold idiot. Postmodernism can only take you so far. Of course, the actual content of the book hasn't stopped legions of hormone-addled folks (and some older people who should know better) from taking Heathcliff to be the dreamiest of dreamboats to ever sail, or at least stalk, the moors. Thus, a certain kind of terrible cover could be expected for Wuthering Heights. Bare, yearning, extremely buff chests. Terrible Twilight tie-ins, even. But I sure wasn't expecting this:


I couldn't bring myself to open the book, although I'm sure Heathcliff exhuming Cathy's corpse was rendered with the same kind of apple-cheeked wholesomeness. I understand that this is part of a series of classic stories and novels digested for the children. And because of that, some darker elements would have to be left in the original text. But this is more than missing the mark. This is aiming for Wuthering Heights and landing somewhere deep in Magic Treehouse land. Perhaps writers, librarians, parents and anyone else who cares about kids should stop presenting pulverized classics and give children good, original works instead. It seems more likely to create dedicated readers who'll find the real Wuthering Heights (and Jane Eyre, and heck, Agnes Grey) on their own.


This next cover (for the complete text) would definitely appeal to those kids, particularly those tormented souls who are simultaneously going through a Tim Burton phase. The cover is by Ruben Toledo, and it's part of a set of three Deluxe Classics he illustrated for Penguin. I can't decide whether I like it or not. Sometimes I think it has the right mix of superficial prettiness and barely hidden rot. Other times, I find it irritatingly gothy-cute, with Catherine looking like a consumptive Hello Kitty.

(Photo from Etsy seller CalloohCallay)

But I would love to track down a copy of this Wuthering Heights, which features woodcuts by Fritz Eichenberg. Published as a box set with Jane Eyre in 1943, I think it's just about perfect, with the emphasis being as much on the environment and atmosphere of its setting than Heathcliff himself, looking here- unlike that awful Real Reads cover- like a real adult.

A Very Merry X-Oween

It's not an original sentiment, but... the X-Men the Animated Series intro is just balls out awesome, isn't it? Seriously, I want to loop that song and play it for 20 minutes whenever I run. Things would quickly go south however when I confuse myself with Rogue and attempt to fly off the curb while punching the air, but with the healing powers of Wolverine (or my delusions of such) I would quickly recover and finish my run. Or at least limp home to the X-Mansion, aka my house.

On a related note, I am strongly considering making Rogue my 2011 Halloween costume of choice. Unfortunately, one thing is kind of stopping me. Three syllables, starts with a vowel, heavily featured in American Apparel catalogues... no, not areola. That's four syllables. I'm talking "unitard." I mean, for 19.95 I can buy a green unitard from Value Village that promises, somewhat sinisterly, "one size fits most." Judging from the model photo though, a more accurate description would be "gives cameltoe to all." Oh well, slap some yellow spandex patches on it, add some superfluous belts, bleach a streak in my hair, and I'll be cooking like early '90s classic Rogue.

Book Pile for October 13

This month's book pile, from top to bottom.
1. The Itty Bitty Book: Music From Big Pink, John Niven
2. Book Most Likely to Take Another 8 Months to Finish: The Magus, John Fowles
3. The Tome of Misguided Self-Improvement: How to Get Any Job: Life Launch and Re-Launch for Everyone Under 30 (or How to Avoid Living in Your Parents' Basement), Donald Asher -> Too late!!!!!!
4. Let's Get Critical, Critical Reading: American Movie Critics, Ed. Phillip Lopate
5. Current Non-Fiction Reading: The Best of The Best American Science Writing, Ed. Jesse Cohen
6. Future Novel Reading: A Meaningful Life, L. J. Davis

Lucille by Ludovic Debeurme- Review

The teenager, whether as subject, intended audience or both, has been well-served by graphic novels. Well, well-served in quantity, at least, but not so much in quality. Nearly every adult superhero team has a youth league (Teen Titans, Generation X, Young Avengers, etc.) but when Batman angsts more than a sixteen year old, the actual teens can seem like toddlers. Which is why Ludovic Debeurme's Lucille is so surprising and necessary.

Originally published in French by Futuropolis in 2006, Lucille appeared in English earlier this year through Top Shelf Comics. If you were expecting, based on its continental heritage, lush backgrounds and smoothly symbolic figures, you'll be disappointed. This isn't that kind of bande dessiné. But if you've read King Cat Comics and liked John Porcellino's minimalist, sketchy illustrations, you'll probably enjoy the kind of style Debeurme is working with. And it's a good fit for the story, allowing readers the space to mix their own experiences with those of the characters.

That kind of projection will be more effective if you're either still in, or still reeling from, your that time. Hopefully, few of you are as put-upon as Vladimir (né Arthur) and Lucille though. Vladimir is the scion of a long line of suicidal Poles and Lucille is an anorexic French girl. But this isn't an issue-driven YA novel, with no hotline phone number on the back page. Lucille and Vladimir are written like plausible, intelligent and troubled teenagers. That is: As people who are more articulate on the interior than they can express to the exterior. It's not surprising then that Debeurme leans heavily on interior monologues instead of dialogue, but pages completely free of text are common too. Coupled with Debeurme's aversion to the square, thickly bordered look of the traditional comic panel, Lucille feels like a graphic novel that's fighting against traditional expectations of the form while still having to work within some of them. And that's not unlike your average teen's life experience, helping this book to become one of the truer, sadder looks at those in-between years.

On a related note for Toronto folks, two events of note are coming up:
Canzine Toronto, which should have some great indie comics for sale, among other artifacts of the zinely sciences (October 23, 2011)
Toronto Draws Tintin, in honour of everyone's favourite Belgian, which features history, local artists, and provides support for the Comic Legends Legal Defense Fund. (November 2-27, 2011)