“Choke”

Granted, I have not actually listened to this song. Nonetheless, I’m sending it out to the Toronto Maple Leafs.

“Sounds Familiar”

A song about childhood and growing up, which is good and sad and over before you know it. Will either make you want to build a treehouse or hide in your room for a couple weeks.

I have taken Dristan© for the runny nose, acetaminophen for the headache, non-descript no-name syrup for the cough, but it is not enough to stop my nose from running, fix my headache, put me to sleep, do the dishes, point out the way, clean my room, darn my socks, help me forget, sew the button back on my pants, pay the bills, write a screenplay, smarten me up, help me remember. The cough is mostly gone though.

I am sorry.

A few years ago my sister helped me with a paper I was having difficulty starting. I thought her words might be useful for all those sad and panicked English majors out there:

Trampolines are quite a bit like Canadian literature
in the sense that both can be used, or abused.
One must not jump too high on a trampoline,
Canadian lit., being of a more fragile nature,
should not be jumped on at all.
One is not encouraged, yet still can,
crease a book of Canadian lit.,
yet a trampoline can not be creased.
Some trampolines do disassemble, however,
for convenient storage.

THE REST, OBVIOUSLY, WRITES ITSELF.

Those crazy Austrians. Story taken from Excite.

No More Exploding Cows in the Alps

VIENNA (Reuters) – The Austrian province of Vorarlberg will ban the practice of blowing up dead cows with explosives on its picture-postcard Alpine meadows, state television ORF said on Thursday.

The small, mountainous province nestling between Liechtenstein, Switzerland and Germany lives off tourism, and authorities were worried tourists might be put off by exploding cadavers and possible contamination of ground water.

About 20 head of cattle die on Vorarlberg’s Alpine pastures each year — either struck by lightning or falling down precipices. Because of the rugged terrain, helicopters usually have to be called in to remove the remains.

Given that hiring a helicopter costs about 15,000 schillings ($956) a trip, some farmers have opted to blow up their dead animals at a cost of 500 schillings ($32) with the help of demolition experts, who place explosives inside the cadavers.

The state of Vorarlberg takes on up to 80 percent of the transport costs, but locals are calling for 100 percent cover to stamp out the grisly practice, ORF said.

“I will put a stop to these blasts. I never even knew they were taking place,” said Erich Schwaerzler, a member of local parliament in charge of environmental and agricultural issues.

Recently, I have had many people ask me: “What is it like, being a Milton Acorn Award winning poet?” Who can blame them for wishing for a little insight into the life of so large a figure? In the interest of bridging the gap between award winning poet (me) and common folk (you), I present the following:

A day in the life of me, award winning poet.*
April 18th

10:30am – Wake to sound of phone ringing. Landlord informs me rent check has bounced. Not my fault. Mumble something to that effect and promise to pay in cash today.

11:30am – Wake to sound of phone ringing. Ignore phone.

12:30pm – Wake to sound of phone ringing. It is B_____. Something about lunch and taking the paper (UPEI’s The Cadre) to the printer.

12:45-1:45pm – Eat lunch (Mr. Noodles brand soup, “Chicken” flavour). Watch episode five of third season of X Files.

Plot Summary: Even execution can’t stop the killing days of Napoleon “Neech” Manley (Badja Djola). Before going to the electric chair, he vows revenge on the inmates and guards who made his prison days a living hell. Later, the men on his list of enemies begin dying gruesome deaths.

2:00pm – Withdraw cash from bank. Pay rent plus twenty dollar fee for bounced rent check.

2:20pm – Arrive at B_____’s house.

2:30-3:15pm – Assorted goings-on involving taking of The Cadre to The Guardian, drinking of coffee and perusal of books in local independent bookstore.

3:20pm – Speculation on what Milton Acorn Poetry Award consists of. Possibilities: Half bag of pretzels, three dollars, nothing.

3:30pm – Arrive home. Attempt to read part of Carlyle’s “Sartor Resartus” (The Tailor Retailored) in ill-conceived attempt to study for Victorian Prose and Poetry exam.

4:00-6:30pm – Sleep on couch. Awake at 6:30 slightly panicked as exam is in thirty minutes.

6:45pm – Purchase ham and swiss sandwich, black coffee and blueberry fritter from Tim Hortons.

7:05-10:00pm – Arrive nearly on time for exam having eaten only half of ham and swiss. Spend next three hours writing exam and staring at class members.

10:00-10:15pm – Small and insignificant conversations with people concerning number of exams remaining, papers to write, etc. Call B_____ and inform him of intention of going to Baba’s for beer in near future.

10:30-11:00pm – Arrive home. Watch Toronto Maple Leafs finish their sweep of hapless Ottawa Senators.

11:10pm – Arrive at Baba’s. Tonight is “Open Dave with Mic” night. Apparently. Call B_____ to confirm lack of cover.

11:30pm-2:30am – Converse with C_____, B_____, M_____, D_____ and N_____. Also with female wearing “Kitten” t-shirt. “Kitten” speaks repeatedly of appreciation for being grabbed by hair and bent over a table. “Kitten” becomes centre of conversation for large portion of evening.

12:00am(ish) – Attempt by myself and B_____ to acquire _____. D_____ speaks to C_____, also makes phone call. Attempt fails. B_____ leaves soon after.

1:00am(ish) – Beer fight. Am not participating, but still lose.

2:30am – Almost witness fight between D_____ and some guy over ownership of red lighter. Guy is asked to leave, smashes light during exit. Guy is banned.

2:45am – Walk home. Disappointed that J.R. Capone’s is closed.

3:00am – Sleep.

And thus went the day. I hope this exercise has given you the all the insight into the intricacies of the life of me that you wished for. Feel free to send any further inquiries in this direction.

* All times are approximate as I do not own a watch.

Has anyone out there read DH Lawrence’s “The Fox”? Can someone tell me why this interminable and violently boring piece of pseudo-psychology is supposed to be a great work of fiction?

I am currently writing a paper in which I must apply four different types of literary criticism to a work. I chose “The Fox” as it lends itself well to feminist and lesbian/gay criticism as well as to psychoanalytic theory. After forty pages of this overwrought hand wringing it’s difficult to give a good goddamn whether women should in fact be like seaweed (“utterly sensitive and receptive within the shadowy sea, and never, never rising and looking forth above water”), or whether capturing a wife is anything like hunting (which apparently does not involve shooting an animal, but rather involves “a supreme wish, a supreme act of volition”).

Act of volition my ass. Sounds to me like a nearly unending quantity of repetitive and meaningless drivel.

Thanks. I feel a little better now.

For Jennifer, avid aov reader, and beautiful human being.