Velvet

And at the door?

So, tix are $18 online, how much in advance at the bar? How much at the door? Anyone?

Happy Birthday Caroline.

Joke of the day.

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.

I saw a bit of his set at Langerado and he was kicking ass.

I wonder if this lineup is gonna be involved in this: Blues Night! Charlie A'Court, Treasa Lavasseur, Carlos del Junco Centrepoint Theatre Ottawa A Front & Centre Presentation Saturday, April 18 at 8 p.m. Combine a rich, rhythm & blues upbringing with soulful, adult-contemporary songwriting and you have the foundation for one of Canada's brightest new stars. Charlie A'Court has emerged as an emotionally charged and soul moving performer. Fearlessly bridging genres and challenging stylistic conventions, his music and passionate voice stir up the listeners' emotions, touching the very core of audiences around the world. Winner of the East Coast Music Awards 2007 Pop Recording of the Year for his new album "Bring On The Storm" and 2003 Best Blues Artist for his debut album "Colour Me Gone". Carlos del Junco plays the harmonica like nobody else in the world. Born in Havana, Cuba, Carlos is a pioneer of the 10-hole diatonic harmonica. Throughout his concert and festival performances with his four piece band, you may hear an eclectic palette of jazz, blues, swing, Latin, funky New Orleans and the occasional African, hip-hop, and ska melody. As a singer, you will hear a voice almost as unique as his harp playing as Carlos offers fresh renditions of classic blues and jazz standards. Carlos fuses his respect for tradition with a fresh, innovative, and truly modern approach. "A model of focus and urgency... a true virtuoso." – Globe and Mail Broken-hearted blues ballads, barroom raunch, gospel style inspirationals, raunchy rock; Treasa Levasseur plays what shakes her soul. Her lyrics are smart, poetic, and socially conscious. She has plenty to say, and she says it with sincerity and sass, with a powerhouse voice that cannot be ignored or denied. While Treasa has played everything from theatre musicals to hip hop, country, sugary pop, and thoughtful folk music, she draws her inspiration now from the rich motherlode of classic old-school soul.

Don't worry, I've already started writing them.

Um, you guys get free dry cleaning?

I'm betting they won't. I was talking to Mark Monohan about Neil Young and he said they weren't considering Neil 'cuz he had that Scotiabank gig. If Neil is out for playing December, I assume Mac is out for playing March. I would love it if they were, as I suspect I'll be skipping this show.

It's hard to revolt if the roads aren't cleared.

Until I experienced it firsthand I would have agreed with you Ollie, but I truly think that it's possible, perhaps even common, for a mob to get so fired up they lose perspective, and people will do things they would never do as individuals.

Those people really and truly boggle my mind. It is hands down the stupidest thing I see people regularly do. Especially the ones that do it on the easier hills, like don't they realise that it's beginners without much avoidance skills careening towards them? And Schwa, if I was anywhere nearby I'd be there tonight.

Striking is one thing, but disrupting the public in a venue unconnected to your strike? I say arrest them all. I better stay away from the area. I totally lose my temper in these situations. I should say that I don't blame the individuals. It is certainly a mob mentality that takes over and people forget what they are doing. An example: when I was a student I spent two summers working for the gov't in Hull. the second summer there was a public emloyees strike. Because of my student status I wasn't allowed to strike, but I was forced to sign a paper stating that I fully supported the union and the strike, and in return I was given a piece of paper stating that I was to be allowed to cross picket lines. So the picket lines started and I had to cross them every morning, and every morning I showed my piece of paper to dozens of people while I struggled to get in to work. And every day I had people beating me with signs, even people I worked with every day who knew fully well that I had to cross the lines. Like the local office ladies that said good morning every day while they sat at their desks eating donuts instead of working, here they are viciously beating me with their union-supplied sign, screaming bloody murder. One day I lost it and grabbed the closest person (a lady) with both hands by the lapels and in a rage where I could only see black splotches in front of my eyes I screamed at her at the absolute top of my lungs at most an inch from her face. I think she might have kinda fallen, as I remember looking down at her as I held her collar. To this day I don't know what I screamed but I'll betcha this lady still remembers every word, I'm sure the incident is burned into her memory. I'm glad it didn't escalate further, but I know inside I was hoping it would. After the strike everyone went back to normal. I saw the ladies every day, they smiled sweetly as they sat there doing no work as if they had never repeatedly smacked me in the head with their signs, and nobody ever mentioned my retaliation.

And yes, loggies will be appropos.

Specifically, we got the snowboard halfpipe medal competition, a men's preliminary hockey game, a victory ceremony (medals are awarded followed by a live concert), men's long jump, and the men's gold medal hockey game. I'm actually quivering a little knowing that I'll be at the Olympic gold medal hockey game. Manoman will I be cheering for Canada to be in that one!

Yeah, Happiest of Birthdays to one of the good ones.

I'm very sorry to hear this. My condolences Dave.

Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac

Do unions have a union?

fin

Malilog, Stardate 112908 We woke up early and easy, wrapped deliciously in the cool comfort of our swank hotel room. I cast back the curtains to find the top of the distant Eiffel Tower shrouded in mist and made us coffees. We decided with only a short time in Paris we had to get on the tourist stuff right away, and before long we were on the Metro heading for the Louvre. We stopped for coffee and pastries, still reveling in the comforts of Western society, before heading for the entrance. We entered from the indoor attached food court/mall, robbing us of the splendor of first seeing the museum from the outside. Paid our nine Euros each and made for the entrance. We came first to the sculptures, Italian and then ancient Greek. The work was, of course, unparalleled, and to my untrained eyes it was hard to track the improvements made in the 1,500 years between the collections. As we were leaving the area there was a room undergoing construction off to the side that had lots of statues under plastic, along with a forklift or two. I don’t know why I found that room so alluring, but I did. We eventually found the Venus De Milo, and again, these untrained eyes failed to see why this piece is so much more famous than the others we saw. It is fun to wonder what mischievous things the missing arms were up to. Passing through the halls of this magnificent gallery it is easy to begin dismissing heralded works of genius because of the sheer quantity of pieces that hang from the already adorned walls. It is hard to miss the truly big stuff though, as crowds tend to gather around the unmissables. Here were five Da Vinci’s hanging side-by-side, including the wonderfully dark androgynous John The Baptist, and the unfortunately unnamed Girl. Right there on the wall is a third of the surviving paintings by history’s greatest painter. Wow. And that doesn’t even include the Mona Lisa, which lives in another room altogether, under constant security supervision and crowd adulation. The most famous painting of all time, and we waited long enough to get a front row stand. A damn fine piece, but again, I’ve no idea why it is so famous. I am glad my eyes have finally seen it though. Room after room of the world’s great art, and a duck down a hallway jolts my heart from its cage. There, on special exhibit, is a book of hand-written snippets by Igor Stravinsky for his masterpiece of rebellion The Rite Of Spring, one of the most revolutionary compositions of the 20th Century. I was all aflutter. Around the corner, also as part of a temporary exhibit was a nifty little Picasso presentation. He had done a series of pieces based on Delacroix’s ‘Women of Algiers in Their Apartment’ and they had about fifteen of them here, along with Delacroix’s original. I love Picasso, and I found the modern stuff a refreshing change from wall after wall of classic. Other highlights from the visit were the coronation crown of Louis XV studded with hundreds of the biggest diamonds you ever did see, The Club Footed Boy, Medusa’s Raft, and others. Along the way I caught glimpses of the outside of the buildings and the stunning architecture that I was walking around in, so when we were too tired to explore further we made a point of exiting into the main courtyard, which is a sight to behold in and of itself. The classic architecture appointed with dozens of sublime statues looking down upon us mortals is offset by the modern crystal pyramid at its centre. I found the juxtaposition odd, but what else could one picture being added to such a perfect trio of buildings without being, at the least, atavistic? Meandering through the gift shops along Rivoli, we stopped for a small lunch before heading to Notre Dame Cathedral. Just walking the streets in this beautiful city is pleasure enough, but to come across standing works of art like this cathedral is breathtaking. Entrance is free, so we took a little tour of the place, and I can say it is truly majestic. One thing about those Catholics, they sure can commision a piece of architecture. Walking where people have walked for over 800 years, I was saddened that I’ve never read the book, and I’m sure when I do read it I will be kicking myself for not taking more notice of this part or that. Just across one of the seemingly hundreds of bridges in the city we found the Latin Quarter, which was basically a series of winding cobblestone streets housing a thousand restaurants spotted by the occasional gift shop. We found ourselves a bottle of cheap wine and hit the metro. Relaxing back at the hotel with the wine and the cozy made it difficult to leave, but as the evening wore on Heather convinced me to join her for a little more sightseeing. We headed to Montmartre, an area I was hoping to check out. We wandered the streets made popular by the bohemian set of the roaring 20’s, where Picasso and Satie discussed the merits of acts like La Petomane while sucking on absinthe, and just felt the history ooze out of the pavement. We shunned the funicular and climbed the steps to Sacre Couer and briefly toured this smaller but equally grand cathedral. We checked out the area atop the hill including a walk through a small market. Where yesterday started with a petit petit dejouner and ended with a toure tour, this evening we enjoyed a small marche marche in Montemarte. Ultimately we made our way back to the Latin Quarter for a lovely dinner amid the extremely active Friday night partiers that were out in full force. Back at the hotel we snuggled in for our last night of this wonderful vacation. In the morning we woke up early enough to rush out and catch one final museum before rushing back to check out by noon but y’know what? We said fuckit and lounged in bed all morning, casting occasional glances out the window at the Eiffel Tower. We’ll be back in Paris someday, no need to pack it all in in one weekend. Frankly, I think we did okay on the sightseeing front with such a short amount of time to see the city. After checkout we hauled all of our stuff back along the metro and train lines, and after a slight delay on the train (they must have called ahead and found the airport people were too busy to hold us up) we were back at the airport, perusing the duty free and cringing at the costs in the cafeteria. Extremely satisfied with our vacation and happy to be heading home, we squeezed onto the packed plane and lofted our way back to Canada. A brief wait in Montreal for the bus and we arrived back in Ottawa to a slight snowfall that just made everything perfect. In the end, I highly recommend Mali (and Paris for that matter) to any intrepid traveler. It’s not Club Med on the beach, but then it’s not Club Med on the beach either.

What a happy thing to complete. Way to go. Tie one on frosh-style.

Malilog, Stardate 112808 Following a much anticipated and relatively luxurious overnight flight that included both a dinner and a small breakfast in less than five hours, we arrived at the Paris airport even earlier than we expected. Our visions of having to wait several hours before being able to check in to our hotel were dashed by the (according to Heather) consistent remarkably long wait to get through the Charles De Gualle airport terminal. Over an hour waiting for customs tried our patience, but when we were corralled back and forth before exiting due to an unattended bag somewhere in the building, our frustration level was set to high. Finally free to enter the airport common area, we inquired about leaving a couple of bags, but due to a fifteen Euro per bag per day fee, we decided to haul the drum and the goat sack to our hotel after all. We trained it to the metro and then metroed to the hotel, arriving an hour-and-a-half early for our noon check-in time. We drastically enjoyed an eight Euro breakfast (continental but well appointed) at the hotel next door, then utilized our hotels free internet until finally, at 11:30, we were admitted to our room. We had booked at the three-star Novotel La Defence on Priceline for $55 a night (posted prices started near 200 Euros) and were given a corner room on the 11th floor. Walking in to our room we threw back the curtains to find the Eiffel Tower looming in the distance and we danced ourselves silly at the comparative luxury of our accommodations. Pillows, comfy, comfy bed, no mozzie net, in-room toilet and shower and bath, hot and cold running drinkable water, coffee maker, fridge, desk, couch…it was glorious. We literally danced, arm-in-arm, falling on to the bed with comfort that tingled. We both dozed off for about three hours. We awoke and had coffees and felt like we had just enjoyed our first night. After some relaxed puttering about we lackadaisically headed out to the metro and made our way to the Eiffel Tower. Walking through the streets of Paris we rounded a corner to find the Tower before us. It really is quite a beautiful structure, and is of course incredibly popular with the tourists. We found the very long lineup to get in and waited in the cold, both of us underdressed for the weather. There are three height levels to choose from, and we decided on the second. We ascended in the two-storey elevator and enjoyed the perfectly romantic night-time view of the city of love. Springing a line that I’ve been saving since Grade 4, I held my girl and whispered, “Voulez-vous couches avec moi?†and it worked. We walked around the level and enjoyed the view from all sides. Eventually we walked down the stairs to the first level (good to know – one can pay for the first level and walk up the stairs to the second free of charge) where Heather mailed a postcard to me and we considered sharing a snack. With visions of our cosy and warm room back at the Novotel we skipped the snack and left the tower, stopping for dinner at a restaurant near the metro. Our waiter was the perfect Frenchman. We each ordered the onion soup and a beer and shared an order of fries. Mmmm, I love French food. The soup was burned such that the croutons were black, dramatically increasing my enjoyment of it while lessening that of Heathers. I think it’s the best French onion soup I’ve ever had. Swooning arm-in-arm, we headed back to the hotel and quickly went to sleep, enjoying the first truly relaxing holiday-style day of our trip since the pinasse. Contrary to popular belief, the ladies do wear pants here.

Malilog, Stardate 112708 We slept in for about the third time this vacation, this being our last day in Africa. Inquiring at our hotel we found that the bag of clothes we had left behind had been indiscriminately amalgamated with a huge pile of clothes, and that my jacket and one of Heather’s t-shirts were missing. “No problem,†said our hotel guy over and over. He was baffled when we tried to explain that we were upset, indicating to us that there were many more clothes in the pile to pick from. “But we don’t want to take someone else’s clothes and do the same thing to them.†“No problem, these are hotel clothes, you can take anything you want.†“But this is where our clothes were, so these can’t all be hotel clothes.†Blink-blink of non-comprehension. “No problem, you take!†Needless to say, we took nothing. Another worrying point was the absence of the djembe that I had purchased and paid for in full back on day one of this trip, which was supposed to be waiting for me upon our return to the hotel. I made some phone calls and was assured all was well. I went to the bank machine to draw some much needed cash on my Visa, a chore that turned out being very simple, and Heather and I went for lunch. As we were eating Sandy (the drum guy) walked up to us (I wonder how he knew where to find us) and handed me my drum. He didn’t have the cover, for which I had paid 10,000, explaining that the seamstress wanted 20,000 to make the cover. I told him that was too much and that I’d rather have my 10,000 back. “No problem,†he said (of course), he’d bring the money to the hotel at 6pm. No problem. Heather and I wanted to buy a few souvenirs before leaving the country so we got a cab and went to the market. Though the cab ride was fairly long and quite cheap, the cabbie was eager for our return fare, even when we said we’d be an hour or more. We parked and he joined us on our shopping trip. Despite being constantly approached by hawks trying to secure our CFAs I think we did some good bargaining. Once you have a bag of purchases in your hand the hawks go into overdrive, and even as we made our way back to the taxi we were surrounded every step of the way by a moving phalanx of people pushing their wares, dropping the price with every step towards our cab. A couple of guys all but crawled into the taxi with us, and just as we pulled out I bought a mask for 3,000, the starting price of which was about ten times that. Back at the hotel there was no Sandy and no 10,000. I went to find a payphone and ended up borrowing the cellphone belonging to a waiter at the place we had lunch. I got in touch with Sandy and he said he’d meet us at the airport at 9pm. Showered, packed, paid the hotel, and went to the airport. Heather went inside while I waited for Sandy. An hour late, he showed up and came up with an excuse at every turn, suggesting I should hurry up and clear security for my flight. He was picking up a couple of tourists so I got it in my mind to let those tourists know that this guy cheated me out of money. As soon as Sandy read my mind he found a security guard he knew and they had words, looking over their shoulders at me. I took that as my cue to drop it and clear security. We were both very hungry and thirsty and disgruntled at having our final few hours in Mali wasted on a small ripoff, and left without time to refresh ourselves at the airport bar/restaurant. As we boarded the plane we were surprised to find that we had both dinner and breakfast to look forward to on our five-hour flight, not to mention the free drinks, so we made it okay. Did I mention that I love Air France? It was a frustrating and seemingly out-of-character final impression of a country we had enjoyed so much, but in comparison to the great time we had, it was a trifle. We hunkered down for the flight with lovely visions of a few days in the relative luxury of Paris to look forward to.