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.