Sunday, January 31, 2010

Smarty Pants

Boy, I wish I was smart. Not just every day smart like I know what's happening over in the House of Commons. No sir. I wish I was pompously, ostentatiously smart. I'd enjoy watching people squirm as I rhymed off obscure facts about French philosophers like Michel Eyquem de Montaigne. I'd look down my nose at the office book club as I  read Ann L. Bergren's latest book "The Etymology And Usage Of Peirar In Early Greek Poetry". 
I'd fancy myself a sesquipedalian, and I'd use my awesome poly-syllabic words to stupefy the serving staff at Stella's. Oh sure, I already use juicy words like bombastic, ameliorate, inculcate and penultimate, almost daily in fact. But if I were smarter, my lexicon would most definitely include such gems as gasconading, vituperate, abligurition, and excogitate. And in case you were wondering: the answer is yes. I most certainly would use my brilliance for evil. 
Alas, I don't think I'll ever be that smart. Mediocrity is somehow more appealing to me as I can count on it involving salty snacks and excessive screen time. So instead I think I'll be clever and efficient. Next time I want to impress someone, maybe I'll just fabricate some intelligence via Smugopedia (http://www.smugopedia.com/). 
Hoo-boy, now that's smart.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Winnipeg Love Letters -- I is for Imperfect

Dearest Winnipeg, as my new hometown I felt I needed to tell you some things. I wanted to send you a love letter, a few love letters, just so others may know how sweet you are. How you're so unflashy, and so very honest. How your simplicity makes room for deep conversations. I think I may love you...but I know it's too soon. This little ode to joy is for you. Enjoy. xo  

What is it with us and perfection? Why do we spend untold minutes searching the teetering apple pile to find that perfect specimen? Why do we marvel when someone has perfect teeth? Why oh why was Bo Derek a "perfect" 10? I call bullocks on that. 

When I lived in Vancouver I loathed the perfectly soul-less, skyscrapin' glass monstrosities that made up our downtown. It was as if Vancouver was averse to anything less than perfect. I guess maybe the mountains and the ocean were hard to live up to? Well, you sweet little Winnipeg you. You don't have the same pretenses, do you? You've accepted your imperfections. You know full well that your streets run at kooky and perhaps illogical angles. It's what keeps your drivers on their toes. And those places you call Winnipeg Institutions. They are not *really* the best places to eat, but there's something incredibly endearing about them. Something nostalgic. Something loyal.

When I first moved here I suffered from perfection withdrawal. I had quite the attitude: well I think it would be better if they just...i don't know what they were thinking with these colours...seriously? who thought of that? Soon enough though, that attitude began to dissipate. I found charm in the mismatched retail signs. I was smitten with the ragamuffin decors. I loved the beat-up 70s look of certain areas. It was as if once you took away the dazzle, you could see. You could find the meaningful conversation beneath the veneer, rather than having the veneer be the meaningful conversation.

My 100-year old home and neighbourhood are grand designs of imperfection. Leaky gutters, slanted houses, bumpy streets, mish-mash retail. But it's also rife with people who care about community. Who valiantly oppose the malathion spraying. People who embrace a diverse and imperfect range of neighbours. 
Without the dazzle we see delight. Without perfection we seek our own potential. Our own uniqueness. 

I think back to that apple pile and the bruised apple everyone overlooks: not realizing that an apple, like a city, is made all the more sweeter by the bumps, by the imperfections, of its landscape.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Winnipeg Love Letters -- W is for the Weakerthans

Dearest Winnipeg, as my new hometown I felt I needed to tell you some things. I wanted to send you a love letter, a few love letters, just so others may know how sweet you are. How you're so unflashy, and so very honest. How your simplicity makes room for deep conversations. I think I may love you...but I know it's too soon. This little ode to joy is for you. Enjoy. xo
Back in March 2007, our west coast life was neatly packed up (haha - neatly. I like how much more tidy and organized my fantasy life is than my actual life) and waiting to be shipped off to the promised land called Winnipeg. I was driving in The Blube (our blue Subaru - aka The Blueberry) when DNTO played this song. I can't remember what it was, only that it moved me somehow. It got right into that little tiny cranny. Y'know: the place reserved for teenage crushes. Well, the song ended and Sook-Yin Lee said it was a hometown band, somebody called The Weakerthans (http://www.theweakerthans.org/). So I called Jay at work and told him about this great song. Now normally I'm pretty lazy and wouldn't go through all the trouble of calling, but I like to find meaning in mundane things. I thought it was a sign.
Fast forward one year later. The Weakerthans have a permanent high rating on the iPod. The Prairie Poets they're called. Lyrics so intricate, so hurtful, so impassioned, so raw, so rockin'. They speak of prairie life, of Winnipeg, of mundane existences and yearning. They speak to me. Even the kids sing along to the lyrics, they know the songs so well.
My 7-year old and I are dining at Prairie Ink restaurant. As we put our coats on I look at the table ahead of us: I gasp. My daughter senses alarm: "What, Mom? What's wrong?" I steady myself. I manage to squeak: "It's him." Poor child has no idea what I'm talking about. I am in the full throes of teenage stupor. I am looking right at John K. Samson. Front man for The Weakerthans. And not only is he in front of me, he is sitting with a friend of a friend! Yes, I have the chance to casually meet him. But I freeze. I am frozen. I am giddy. I rush my daughter past and get outside. "It was the singer from the Weakerthans!!" I gush. My daughter, though only 7 years old, proclaims: "Mom, do you LOVE him?!" Yes, I am incapable of wearing a poker face. It's all out there. I clear my throat and say "Don't be silly! Of course not." All the while feeling guilty that somehow I've just cheated on my husband of 15 years.
Flash forward to April 2009: finally our chance to see the prairie poets live. We loved every minute of it, although Jay had to endure me dancing in the aisle and shouting like an idiot. I warned him. He had to expect it. 
A few weeks later, as I sat in my car waiting to turn right on to the Maryland bridge, I watched a cyclist approaching. I patiently waited. And you know the old adage about how good things come to those who wait? John K. Samson, in all his geeky glory, rode his bicycle past my car. And I swear, he looked right at me and nodded. Or winked? Yes, it's my story and I say he winked.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Bison or Buffalo - Delish No Matter What Ya Call It

Since I want you to visit me in Winnipeg...it got me thinking about the prairies. And about the history. About the first inhabitants of the land and their relationship with the bison of the plains. Then I felt hungry. Somebody mentions 'bison' and I start salivating. For a bison burger. Yep. Buffalo-on-a-Bun. 
Served up at Winnipeg's Buffalo Stone Cafe (http://www.fortwhyte.org/index.php?pid=42), this big ole sloppy beauty is enough to make any vegetarian reconsider their dining options. The drool-inducing photo is courtesy of my pal Kiki who faithfully visits the Peg each Fall. The thing I really like about this burger is that it's local. Now, I don't know if by local they mean they walk into the large pasture and grab a bison, but the cafe is located at this beautiful environmental refuge (Fort Whyte Alive) in the middle of the city. The chef comes up with ingenious and delicious uses for local foods (http://www.fortwhyte.org/files/File/Ciao-BuffaloStoneCafe.pdf) And he's awfully nice to your kids if they get stung by a wasp ("Thanks, Peter"And for you word nerds out there: 'Buffalo' is the popular name often used to describe North American bison; however, this is a misnomer. In fact, buffalo are distinctly different animals from bison. Although both bison and buffalo belong to the same family, Bovidae, true 'buffalo' are native only to Africa and Asia. (http://www.notitia.com/bison/Buffalo.htm)

You Know You Love It

C'mon now. You've clicked this far...just one more click and you can read this really interesting observation about how Winnipeg is so awesome, most people haven't realized it. YET.
http://incrediblycool.ca/?p=1618


Prairie Blizzards Inspire Creativity

My first post. My first prairie blizzard. Coincidental? Well, considering I'm not entirely stupid the decision was easy: lose my face to 70 km/h north death winds or waste precious time finding an audience for my incessant rambling. Easy-Peasy-Lemon-Squeezy. The blizzard amounts turned out to be less dramatic than I envisioned, but the howling winds were kinda cool. Then again, sometimes I'm less dramatic than I envisioned, but my kids are kinda cool.
As for other storms and squalls of life, my good pal Margie (http://secretagentmel.blogspot.com/) told me some things the other day which made me reflect. On life. On love. On Things that Suck. So I shook the apathy out of my hair and decided to share my babble with the universe. If public displays of insecurity cause you to experience facial tics, perhaps this is not your blog. Well, it's not YOUR blog, it's mine. But no sense wasting your time.