THE WIRE

"He's a piece of shit!" "Everyone's a piece of shit when they get in your way.  It goes with the territory"--The Wire

We had a pretty normal, quiet Christmas.  This year instead of turkey we had scalloped potatoes and ham.  We saved our plum pudding for when Donald came over two days ago.

Yesterday we visited the lawyer near Eglinton station and made the last arrangements to create the segregated account so I can qualify for ODSP.  Father's more concerned about my future finances than I've ever been:  he's a child of the Depression.

I've been watching the third season of The Wire on DVD.  This time the focus is on street dealing and a police officer's experiment creating a zone where dealers can operate free of police interference.

I've got up to Level 103 in Candy Crush Saga!  I'm at Level 106 in Pet Rescue Saga but I don't know if it's possible to get any further.

I'm not big on New Year's resolutions, but I've switched to a skim-milk diet.

Monday was the first really cold weather, and Monday night was our first significant snowfall, so now I'm wearing my winter coat and boots.  I like the weather just now, with snow on the ground but the temperature above freezing.

In Barbara Tuchman's history of the 14th century, I was reading about town criers in Paris yesterday.  I'll bet I'd have made a good town crier, what with my loud voice!

I recently read a sick joke online that I found rather funny: "Doctor, I--I can't feel my legs!" "Of course you can't, I took off your arms!"

SPARTACUS

"If there were no gods I'd still worship them; if there were no Rome I'd still dream of her"--Spartacus

Sunday afternoon I saw the cinemacast of Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker ballet again, this time with Mary of the Classical Music Meetup.  The popcorn disagreed with me:  I should lay off it for a while.

Monday I went to Paolo and Catriona's open house in North York.  I bought mixed berries for the potluck at the Loblaw's near Bathurst Street and used their self-service checkout for the first time.  (Remind me to go there when it's less busy!) Getting to those places is an adventure for me.

Last night I saw Stanley Kubrick's Spartacus, for at least the fourth time, at the Lightbox in all its 70mm glory.  I'd hoped to make it a History Discussion Group event but this was the wrong time of year.

It's one of those movies that gets even better with repeat viewings.   It's more intelligent than most of the ancient epics that were fashionable in the '50s and early '60s.  Kubrick didn't have the creative control he later became accustomed to, but he keeps things moving for the whole three hours.  What a Polish face Kirk Douglas has!  It's minor flaws seem very minor. (John Dall's delivery of the line "I don't know how I shall ever be able to repay you" makes the audience laugh.

I just finished watching the last episodes of Mad Men.  When you think about it, it's a pretty depressing show.  It ended with one of the most cynical commercials of all time:  the Coke ad with young people singing "I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing"!

LEGEND (spoiler)

"We honeymooned in Greece.  The Parthenon has been standing there for 2400 years.  Reggie's promise to go straight lasted two weeks)"--Legend

Last night was the choir's last concert, this time at the Columbus Centre.  My tenor voice still isn't as strong as I'd like, and I considered returning to baritone, but I decided to stay for now. (Gary from the memoir group visited us at Monday's dress rehearsal.  He's thinking of joining the choir, but he'll have to audition.  I didn't have to audition a dozen years ago.)

Since's it's Christmas time, I've been playing Candy Crush Saga and Pet Rescue Saga.  I'd forgotten how tough Level 42 in the first game can be!

Wednesday night I saw Legend at Canada Square.  It started 45 minutes later than I expected, so I went over to Indigo Books and bought Ken McGoogan's Celtic Lightning, which the History Discussion Group will be reading soon.

Legend is about the Kray twins, notorious gangsters in Swinging London. (One was insane and ended up in Broadmoor.) Tom Hardy played both roles, with a little help from special effects, and it was pretty creepy.  I saw an earlier version, The Krays, at the Showcase before that cinema closed. (In that version they were played by twins Gary and Martin Kemp from Spandau Ballet.) The main thing I remember about the earlier version is a scene where they've been drafted into the army and their drill sergeant is giving the group his "Make any trouble and you'll wish you'd never been born!" speech, then they go up to him and beat him unconscious!

This version contained a narrative cheat, but I can't talk about it without a spoiler:

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Are you sure you want to read the spoiler?

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Don't say you weren't warned!

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The movie's narrated by Reg's wife, but it turns out that she died before the final scenes, so some of what she's describing is things she didn't live to see!

TRUMBO

"Mac, have you ever been in love?" "No, I've been a bartender all me life"--My Darling Clementine

Thursday night the choir did a concert for the old folk at Villa Colombo.  An old lady got up and started dancing so I danced with her! (We were singing an Italian song that I didn't know anyway.) The following night we did a concert at the Ashbury United Church.  I baked gingerbread for them to sell.

Saturday night we saw John Ford's My Darling Clementine, which Moira got from the library. (Can't remember how often I've seen it.) The O.K. Corrall story has been filmed many times, but never better than here.  Henry Fonda had a great square dancing scene!

Yesterday was the Reading Out Loud Meetup.  Our topic was children's writing, as usual for December.  I read a passage from L.M. Montgomery's Emily of New Moon where she met her relatives after her father's death, then another where she sent her poem to a newspaper, not realizing you mustn't write on both sides of the page.  I also read the poem "Harp Song of the Dane Women" from Kipling's Puck of Pook's Hill, and A.A. Milne's poem "King John's Christmas," which begins: "King John was not a good man.  He had his little ways..." That's a great British expression, "He had his little ways"! Bill and Hillary Clinton have their little ways too!

Last night I saw the biopic Trumbo at the Varsity.  It was pretty good:  Bryan Cranston is one of my favourite actors.  And Louis C.K. had a good role as fellow screenwriter Hurd Hatfield.  But I disagree with Trumbo's final message that McCarthyism had no heroes or villains, just victims.  The Titanic was something with just victims.  In this case, it seems to me that Dashiell Hammett was definitely a hero and Ronald Reagan definitely a villain (both as Screen Actors Guild president and later as president).

It's unusually warm today.  I'll get one last chance to wear my autumn jacket before it gets cold!

New books

"Of late, however, although the transition had been so gradual his audience had scarcely noticed, his interests had moved in a new direction, toward magical, arcane matters; and his fortnightly lectures in the dining hall--the sanatorium's main attraction, the pride of its brochure--which were always delivered from behind a cloth-covered table in an exotic, drawling accent, to an immobile audience of Berghof residents and for which he always wore a frock coat and sandals, no longer dealt with masked forms of love in action or the transformation of illness back into conscious emotion, but with the abstruse oddities of hypnotism and somnambulism, the phenomena of telepathy, prophetic dreams, and second sight, the wonders of hysteria; and as he discussed these topics, philosophic horizons expanded until suddenly his audience beheld great riddles shimmering before their eyes, riddles about the relationship between matter and the psyche, indeed, the very riddle of life itself, which so it appeared, might be more easily approached along very uncanny paths, the paths of illness, than by the direct road of health"--The Magic Mountain

On Youtube, in addition to Spitting Image, I've started watching  Longstreet, a 1971 single-season TV show with James Franciscus as a blind detective(!). I remember seeing the pilot at the time, in which his wife was killed by a bomb meant for him and he was left blind.  There was this really sad moment where he got out of his hospital bed and made a scene, his dead eyes bandaged.  Bruce Lee turns up as a martial arts teacher.  I think there's an episode where a bad guy attacks him and he turns out the lights.  Even the less popular shows from that time seem more interesting than most of today's Big Three network stuff!

With The Magic Mountain finished, I've started some new books.  One is Barbara Tuchman's 14th century history A Distant Mirror for the History Discussion Group.  Another is Felix Salten's Bambi for the Classic Book Club. (It's a lot shorter, and I should finish it pretty quick.) And I've started the fourth and last volume of Shigeru Mizuki's manga history of Shouwa Japan-cum-personal memoir, focusing on the period between 1953 and 1989.

Tonight the Nonfiction Book Club met at Jack Astor's to discuss what we're reading just now.  I brought Tuchman and the manga and that gave me enough to talk about.

The internet signal was off for most of today.  We even had trouble with the cable TV connection!  While waiting for it to come back, I finished translating the poem "Desiderata" into Japanese. (I've already translated it into Scots, French and Chinese.)

Classic Book Club

"Time--not the sort that train station clocks measure with a large hand that jerks forward every five minutes, bur more like the time of a very small watch whose hands move without our being able to notice, or the time grass keeps as it grows without our eyes' catching its secret growth, until the day comes when the fact in undeniable--time a line composed of elastic turning points (and here the late, ill-fated Naphtha would presumably have asked how purely elastic points can ever begin to form a line), time, then, had continued to bring forth changes in its furtive, unobservable, secret, and yet bustling way"--The Magic Mountain

Tuesday night was the last opera rehearsal before the Christmas break.  I have most of my lines memorized.

Wednesday night I saw Brooklyn.  It was pretty good:  a handsome production nicely acted.  In the middle the projection broke down and we had to wait several minutes before it started again.  I took out my book to start reading it and that brought back the movie. (Seems to work every time!)

I had to cancel the December History Discussion Group event focusing on the Roaring '20s and the Bill Bryson book One Summer.  Nobody else could come, but maybe I'll reschedule it next year.

Thursday night I missed choir practice because I went to the wrong place!  We performed in a Friday night concert at the St. Clare church near Dufferin Street, to raise money for Syrian refugees.  Then we did a mass at Villa Colombo this morning.

Friday night I finally finished The Magic Mountain, in time for the Classic Book Club this afternoon.  Nine people came, and to my surprise most of them had finished The Magic Mountain.  Someone suggested that much of the story was in Hans Castorp's head, and if I reread it again I'll probably see it in a very different way!

On Spitting Image I heard the line "I don't go to the loo.  I'm the Queen!" When Elizabeth II visited my alma mater Mt. Allison University thirty years ago, I overheard someone saying that when the Queen visits a place and uses a toilet seat, they have to destroy it afterward.

More people I don't envy

"Ever since the eccentric conclusion to his relationship with a certain personality and all the changes that conclusion had set into motion in the sanatorium; ever since Clavdia Chauchat's renewed departure from the society of those up here, including a respectful, considered farewell to her master's surviving "brother" exchanged beneath the shadow cast by the tragedy of a great failure--ever since that turning point, it had seemed to the young man as if there were something uncanny about the world and life, as if there were something peculiar, something increasingly askew and disquieting about it, as if a demon had seized power, an evil and crazed demon, who had long exercised considerable influence, but now declared his lordship with such unrestrained cantor that he could install in you secret terrors, even prompt you to think of fleeing.  The demon's name was Stupor"--The Magic Mountain

Here are some more people I don't envy:

Parents who have lost a child:  I can't imagine how traumatic that can be!  We forget how often that used to happen:  it happened to both my paternal and maternal grandparents. (The myth of Niobe shows that the Greeks understood the pain of parental bereavement.)

Blind and lame people:  For me, the worst thing about having such a handicap would be depending on other people. (Those who manage to leave fairly independent lives are greatly to be admired.)

Farmers:  Their lives are closer to nature, but their livelihood depends on the whims of weather, and throughout history they've tended to be in debt. (And those tractors are noisy!) But I do like gardening.

Orphans:  Parents are something most children take for granted, and people who've grown up with parents can't imagine what it's like to grow up without them.

Undertakers:  They deal with people at their most traumatized, which can take a huge emotional toll.  I can well believe that some of them become manipulative hawkers of unnecessary items.

Models:  That can't be a healthy way to live.

Refugees:  As a refugee, you leave behind your old life and can't be sure of finding a new one.  Many refugees end up in an excruciating limbo that can produce hardened terrorists.

Young people:  Older people often wax nostalgic about youth, forgetting how severe its difficulties can feel.

Opera fundraiser

"It is not by accident, please note, that we have chosen to associate with minds like those of Messrs. Naphtha and Settembrini, instead of surrounding ourselves with vague Peeperkorns--which leads us, in fact, to a comparison that in many respects and particularly in regard to stature can only be resolved in favour of this late arrival, just as it was resolved in Hans Castorp's own mind as he lay on his balcony and admitted that those two hyperarticulate mentors, tugging at both sides of his soul, simply shrank beside Pieter Peeperkorn, until he was inclined to call them the same name the Dutchman had called him in a fit of drunken royal banter--"little chatterboxes"--and decided it was a piece of good luck that hermetic pedagogy had also brought him into contact with such a manifest personality"--The Magic Mountain

Last Thursday was the opera fundraiser.  This year it took place at the Bickford Centre this year, with a $10 minimum admission for the first time. I baked gingerbread for it the night before. (Most of it I kept to eat at home, and we added icing!) Afterward there was a big variety of cookies and stuff for the crowd.  My favourite was the marble loaf, and the mince tarts were pretty good too.  Afterward I took home a lot of leftovers once more.

My choir octet had a rehearsal on Saturday morning for a change. (I like having a reason to get up earlier.) I brought over those leftovers and they had a few.

Sunday afternoon I went to John Snow's book club where we discussed Emile Zola's Germinal.  I hadn't read the book but John doesn't mind.  That evening I saw the Noam Chomsky documentary Requiem for the American Dream at the Bloor with the Sunday Movie Meetup.  I was familiar with his arguments but enjoyed it anyway. (I saw the Chomsky documentary Manufacturing Consent and the Toronto Film Festival over 20 years ago, and greatly enjoyed it!)

I've started a new Facebook game called Klondike.  It reminds me of Frontierville, which I greatly enjoyed five years ago.  I'm losing interest in Tribez and Castlez and may quit that game soon.

Tonight the choir did a rehearsal at that renaissance church near St. Clair & Dufferin.  I made a commitment to bake more gingerbread for them!

Last night I dreamed of being so depressed that I returned early from a vacation because I hadn't felt like doing anything!  I also dreamed of fleeing a deadly posse outside Moncton with Charlotte and Miranda from Sex & the City. (Why would I dream about them?  I've hardly ever watched the show!)

My latest dream

"His hands, moreover, were rather broad, but ended in long tapering fingernails; and he used them when he spoke (and he spoke in an almost incessant stream, although Hans Castorp could not quite comprehend what was said) in a series of exquisite gestures that reviewed his listeners' interest--the subtly nuanced, well-chosen, precise, tidy, cultured gestures of an orchestra conductor--a forefinger bent to form a circle with a thumb or a palm held out wide, but with tapering nails, to caution, to subdue, to demand attention, only to disappoint his now smiling, attentive listeners with one of his very robustly prepared, but incomprehensible phrases; or rather, he did not so much disappoint people as transform smiles into looks of delighted amazement, because the robustness, subtlety, and significance of the preparation largely compensated, even after the fact, for what he failed to say and produced a satisfying, amusing, and enriching effect all its own"--The Magic Mountain

"Are you Prince Philip?" "Oh, bugger off, you tit!" "I knew it was him!"--Spitting Image

Last night I dreamed I was visiting London to accompany a group of schoolgirls led by a Dickensian schoolmarm, then getting separated from them on the subway:  the doors closed on me before I could board the train they were already on.  Then I went to street level and wondered where to find them, then I met some French schoolgirls who knew where they were because they'd heard it through the grapevine. (I referred to my own schoolgirls as "the little monkeys," and they knew what my reference meant!) I also said that it was exactly ten years since I'd arrived in London to research my Ph.D. thesis, though it's actually over twenty.  I was admitting that the thesis was a dead end for me and wished I could get a job as a librarian in a place that specialized in history books!

Later I dreamed that I was trying to write this dream down in a book that was already largely full, in the Mount Allison University physics building where Father used to have an office, wearing a blanket in a snowstorm and having to leave our Sackville house because the federal government was forcing brownouts to reduce global emissions,. (I also dreamed of explaining what happened in Room 101 in Nineteen Eighty-Four.)

THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN

I'm two-thirds of the way through The Magic Mountain.  It's an incredible book, kind of an existential adventure story.  We had our first snow on Tuesday, and that was the time when I read the chapter "Snow," a vivid account of the hero skiing and getting lost in a blizzard.

Thomas Mann isn't afraid of long sentences: "He ridiculed the philanthropist's reluctance to shed blood, his reverence for life, claimed that such a reverence for life belonged to only the most banal rubbers-and-umbrellas bourgeois periods, but that the moment history took a more passionate turn, the moment a single idea, something that transcended mere 'security,' was at work, something suprapersonal, something greater than the individual--and since that alone was a state worthy of mankind, it was, on a higher plane, the normal state of affairs--at that moment, then individual life would always be sacrificed without further ado to that higher idea, and not only that, but individuals would also unhesitatingly and gladly risk their own lives for it."

Here's a passage from the "Snow" chapter: "Had his mind been less muddled, he would have had to admit that in terms of getting back home this was perhaps the worst thing he could have done; and indeed he told himself as much after he had taken a few sips, which produced an immediate effect, much the same effect as that caused by Kulmbach beer his first evening up here, when with a lot of loose, disreputable talk about fish sauces and the like he had offended Settembrini--Herr Lodovico, the pedagogue, who could keep madmen from letting themselves go, return them to reason with just a glance, and whose melodious little horn Hans Castorp now heard in the air around him, the signal that his oratorical teacher was now approaching at a forced march to free his troublesome pupil, life's problem child, from his mad situation and lead him home.  Which was pure nonsense of course, it was the Kulmbach beer he had drunk by mistake that made him think that.  Because firstly, Herr Settembrini did not have a little horn, but only his barrel organ, which had a folding leg so he could set it up on the cobblestones and cast a humanistic eye up at the houses as it played its familiar songs; and secondly, he knew nothing about what was going on, since he no longer lived at Berghof Sanatorium, but at Lukacek's, in his little garret with a water carafe, just above Naphtha's silken cell--and had no such right to do so on Mardi Gras night, when Hans Castorp had found himself in a position equally as mad and difficult, when he had given son crayon, his pencil, Pribislav Hippe's pencil, back to the ailing Clavdia Chachat."

Cold weather!

Thursday night I went on Betty Anne's art walk.  Our first stop was the store Elephant in the Attic, which sells a lot of miniature art prints.  I noticed some illustrations from the Random House edition of Alice in Wonderland which we had when I was young.  There's only one John Tenneil, but these had some evocative colours.

Then I went to the Revue and saw the Rue Morgue presentation of the British Vincent Price thriller Scream and Scream Again. (Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing also appear in it!) The plot was about a psycho-killer who was actually a cyborg or something.  It was introduced by his daughter Victoria, who gave an interesting talk about his singular joie de vivre.

I've been looking at songs Gary's group might sing.  There's "Day-O," "This Land Is Your Land," "Comedy Tonight," "Let It Be," "Hey Jude," "I's the B'y That Builds the Boat."

Well, the cold weather's arrived.  Time to start wearing my long johns again.  Today there were a few snow flurries!  I've started wearing my Russian-style furry hat. (Last week I dreamed of visiting Russia:  not of being there, but planning the journey.  And I've never been interested in going there before.  It must be from seeing the Russian dancers in Patton.)

Tonight I went to the Politics Meetup.  We'd planned to talk about the impending American election, but the topic was changed to terrorism because of the Paris attack.  I should learn to speak up more because the others tend to dominate the conversation too much.

Just saw an episode of Spitting Image with a fall-down hilarious sketch:  the cheesiest Wind in the Willows puppet show you can imagine, with visible hands and everything.  Some people have suggested reviving the show, but it was of its time:  people were angrier back then.  Today's viewers seem older and more indifferent.  Aside from the royals, one of the only characters still around is Robert Mugabe! (No doubt there'd be more sketches set in heaven.)

SPITTING IMAGE

Monday at the memoir slam my pen kept acting up so my handwriting looked like a little kid's!  There's a guy in the group who I thought was called Hugo but it turned out he spells his name Huggho!  Gary brought his keyboard and afterward I tried playing it as an audition for his group, but I was unused to it.  He'll come over Friday and I'll try again. (Yesterday I went to Gladstone library and found some albums with promising song scores.)

Monday night I lugged all my old scores to the choir so they can file them all. (I've accumulated quite a few over a decade!) But it turned out that they aren't collecting them till next week, so I had to take them back home, and I'll be toting them there again.

At opera practice Tuesday we were learning the Fledermaus chorus parts, which are smaller than in Elixir. (Once again, I'm benefiting from having done it before.)

Today was apparently the last warm day of the fall, so I finished moving those patio tiles and dug a ditch around the expanded garden.  There are a couple of offshoots from the cherry tree we cut down, which I should replant.

Anyone remember Spitting Image, the British satirical puppet show from the 1980s and early '90s?  I've been watching the first episodes on Youtube.  So far it's pretty thin:  Reagan and Thatcher just don't seem funny when I look at the long-term harm they did. (The best thing in it was always the songs. I remember their parody of U2's "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," which had the line "You can change the world, but you can't change the world"!)

I've started applying myself with The Magic Mountain.  If I keep it up, I'll actually finish in time for the book club event!

One sentence!

"For Hans Castorp understood that this living body--with its mysterious symmetry of limbs, nourished by blood through a network of nerves, veins, arteries, capillaries, all oozing lymph; with its scaffold of bones, some of them tubes filled with marrow, some like blades, some like bulbs, some torqued vertebrae, but all originating in a gelatinous base that with the help of calcium salts and lime had grown firm enough to support the rest; with its joints made of tendons, cartilage, and slippery, well-oiled balls and sockets; with its more than two hundred muscles; with its central system of organs for nutrition and respiration, for registering and transmitting stimuli; with its protective membranes, serous cavities, and glands pumping secretions; with its complicated interior, a network of pipes and crevices, including openings onto the world outside--understood that this self was a living entity of a higher order, far removed from those simple organisms that breathed, fed, even thought, with just the surface of their bodies, that it was constructed, rather, out of a myriad of small organized units, which all shared a common origin, but had multiplied by constantly dividing, had adapted and combined for various functions, and had then separated to develop on their own and germinated new forms that were both the prerequisite and the effect of its growth"--The Magic Mountain

"The German army hasn't undertaken a winter offensive since Frederick the Great.  That's why I expect them to do exactly that!"--Patton

Thursday I had lunch with Pam at Butler's Pantry in Mirvish Village. (She's a mycobacteriologist, so she's read The Magic Mountain.) Afterward I went to The Beguiling, also in Mirvish Village, and bought the fourth and last volume of Shigeru Mizuki's history-memoir of Japan under Hirohito, covering 1953 to 1989.  I'm looking forward to it, but I don't dare start it till I've finished The Magic Mountain!

Yesterday I finished digging up the potatoes.  Now I can focus on expanding the garden's area. (Lucky it's supposed to get warm again next week!)

Saw Franklin J. Schaffner's Patton on Netflix tonight (for at least the third time). George C. Scott is the movie!  Patton was a madman, but that's what a nation sometimes needs.  Like India needed Gandhi, a madman for peace.

I've finally quit the online game Forge of Empires.  I'd got all the way into the modern era, but it was taking too much of my life.

SUFFRAGETTE

"'Well roared, lion,' Hans Castorp could not help thinking, as he usually did when Herr Settembrini uttered something pedagogic"--The Magic Mountain

Thursday my History Discussion Group met at Schnitzel Hub near St. Clair station. (I had goulash soup, large size.) Five people turned up, and we discussed Samuel Pepys' diary.  I've been so busy reading other stuff that I only had time to glance at a few highlights beforehand.  But that didn't matter, it was a good discussion.

Sunday was Reading Out Loud, and the topic was Canadian writing. (I titled the event "The Great White North"!) I read "L'Envoi.  The Train to Mariposa" from Leacock's Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town and the chapter in Anne of Green Gables where she tried to walk on a rooftop and ended up with a broken ankle.

This afternoon at choir practice, instead of waiting while Paolo spent time on the basses, I helped Paolo's wife Katrina assemble copies of the "O Holy Night" score into booklet format for our binders.

I've almost finished digging up the garden, but there's still one row left.  I also have quite a few patio tiles to move to expand our growing area.

This evening I saw Suffragette with the History Discussion Group at the Varsity.  It was vividly made but a bit conventional. (When the laundry supervisor put his hands on Carey Mulligan I thought, "It's time for her to attack him with her hot iron," and was not disappointed.) At least they didn't have her stand on a table with a sign saying "Votes for women" and cause all the laundry machines to stop, like Sally Field in Norma Rae (another rather conventional movie).

People I don't envy

For no reason in particular I decided to make a list of people I don't envy.

Poor people.  It's easy to be judgemental and forget their daily struggles and humiliations.

Soldiers.  Even the most successful ones have seen some ugly shit.  And they serve their country even when their government makes them do the wrong thing.

Americans.  The U.S.A. often seems a more exciting, glamorous place than Canada.  And yet Americans have a tendency to live in fear even when they don't have to!

Miners.  Mining is one thing I could never do. (I couldn't stand being in a submarine either.)

First Nations.  When the Europeans came along they basically got run over by a truck.  Possibly the worst thing we did to them was declaring them human dinosaurs a century ago.

People in prisons.  Not just the prisoners, but the people who work there.

People in the old days.  We often take for granted aspects of modern living like dentistry and flush toilets.

Royalty.  True, their lives are comfortable, but a million eyes are always on them, waiting for them to make any mistake.  Kings once had both power and responsibility; now they largely only have the responsibility that comes from symbolizing your nation.

People in the sex trade.  Our laws here (as with drugs) often have the effect of punishing the victims.

North Koreans.  The more I hear about that country, the better Canada looks.

Rock stars.  I can't imagine enjoying making music so much that I'd be willing to lose my hearing prematurely. (That goes for their roadies too!)

Suburbanites.  I lived in Mississauga for a year when I was young.

Illiterates.  A whole world is closed to them.

Indian summer

It's been warm this week, so I'm bringing in more potatoes.  I've been wearing some old slippers in the garden, but yesterday when I came in I forgot to put my new ones back on, so I tracked dirt all over the house!  Was my face red! (That's the title of a feature in Young Miss magazine where girls wrote in and described their most embarrassing experiences.)

Thursday I saw a Halloween double bill at the Revue:  Dracula's Daughter and She Wolf of London (which was actually set in the English countryside!) I splurged and bought a Revue membership.

Saturday afternoon I saw the Met production of Wagner's Tannhauser at the Yonge & Eglinton.  I recognized the melody from the chorus early in the second act and I've been wondering where I heard it before.

Sunday night I went to the Politics Meetup where we discussed the election.  I brought a printout of my previous post showing how it would have gone with my preferred system of proportional representation.  Afterward I realized I'd made a slight error:  Manitoba and Saskatchewan should have nine Category A seats instead of ten!

At Monday night's choir practice someone brought a really good cake!  I imagine we'll be way better in the spring when we've had enough time to come together completely.

This afternoon I went to an extra choir rehearsal at Paolo's United Church on Bathurst north of Lawrence.  Too bad that I got off the Bathurst bus too early and had to wait for the next one, and was rather late! (Someone brought doughnuts.) Oksana gave me a lift home.

Post-election analysis

"I'll sit here for a while yet and smoke my cigar, just as usual.  It tastes terrible, but I know it's good and that will have to suffice for me today"--The Magic Mountain

The election disappointed me.  I was hoping that the Liberals and NDP would both fall short of a majority, and because (plausibly) neither party would accept the other as Prime Minister they'd form a coalition with the Greens and make Elizabeth May P.M. (Sort of like the coalition in that Danish show Borgen.)

I analyzed the results and determined what would have happened with the system of proportional representation I'd prefer.  Under this system, about 70% of the seats would be Category A, chosen the same way they are now; 25% Category B, allotted so that A and B together would match the proportion of the popular vote*; 5% Category C, which would normally go the party that got the highest popular vote overall, except in provinces where one party's A seats alone were greater than its proportional share of A and B seats, in which case the C seats would go to the other parties to fill out their seat shortfall*. 

I gave Ontario 4 C seats, Quebec 3, B.C. and Alberta 2 each, and every other province 1; and for B seats each province got the smallest number not smaller than one quarter of their non-C seats.  The territories would be unchanged, with one seat in the A category.

(*=or as close as possible)

Here's the actual results under "first past the post":

Province  Liberal  Conservative  NDP  Green  Bloc Quebecois

Nfld           7

PEI            4

NS           11

NB          10

PQ          40           12                   16                  10

Ont         80           33                     8

Man          7             5                     2

Sask          1           10                     3

Alta           4           29                     1

BC          17           10                    14        1

Terrs         3

________________________________________

Total      184           99                   44        1       10

Now here's the results under my system:  first the A seats, followed by the sum of B and C in brackets.

Province  Liberal  Conservative  NDP  Green  Bloc Quebecois

Nfld         4 (1)          (1)                   (1)

PEI          2 (1)          (1)

NS           7                (2)                   (2)

NB           6                (2)                   (2)

PQ          28 (3)       9 (3)              12 (7)        (2)      7 (7)

Ont         57          24 (17)              6 (13)       (4)

Man         5 (2)        4 (1)               1 (1)

Sask         1 (3)        7                    2 (1)

Alta          3 (7)      20                    1 (3)

BC          12 (4)       7 (5)             10 (1)       1 (2)

Te4rs         3

_______________________________________________

Total      128 (21)   71 (32)        32 (31)      1 (8)     7 (7)

Overall     149          103               63              9           14

The Liberals would have two-thirds of the seats in the Maritimes and Newfoundland, instead of every single one; two-fifths of the Quebec seats, instead of over half; and just under half the Ontario seats, instead of almost two-thirds.

I can dream, can't I?

THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN

"He [the coroner] opened him up and found nothing"--Madame Bovary

Friday I saw the documentary about Tab Hunter at the Bloor.  They were showing John Waters' Polyester afterward (with an appearance by Hunter), and I won a ticket to that screening by being the first to answer a trivia question. (The 1982 musical flop with him and Michelle Pfeiffer was Grease II.)

I finished Madame Bovary Thursday, and discussed it with John Snow's group on Sunday.  I've now started reading Thomas Mann's symbolic novel The Magic Mountain for my own book club.  I need to read almost twenty pages a day to finish it in time, but so far I'm struggling to do ten a day.

We now have the choir program for the Christmas concert.  And at the opera they've decided on the pieces to do at the fundraiser.  Beatrice wants us to be off-book, which will be easier for me than for the new people.

The weather is getting cooler, and I've started bringing in the potatoes from the back yard.  It looks like another good year. (I also have some patio tiles to move out of the way to allow a bigger garden next year.)

Last night I dreamed about General Patton.  Today I was reading about him on Wikipedia.  I want to see that George C. Scott movie again!

A dream

Sometimes I have complex dreams.  Last night was a doozie. (They sometimes happen when I miss my Cipralex, but I don't think that was the case here.)

I dreamed I had a baby ape for a new pet.  I think the reason for that is that I saw a trailer for the promising-looking Frederick Wiseman documentary Jackson Heights, about a district in Queens, N.Y. said to be the most racially diverse in America.  And that reminded me of Wiseman's documentary set in a Florida zoo, where they showed a baby ape being nursed.

Then I was back in Sackville, N.B.  I was enrolled in a course that was already half over and I hadn't been to any of the classes, so I wanted to withdraw from it officially. (Some people dream of sitting examinations, but that doesn't happen with me.) I promised to learn to sew so I could make costumes for my opera group.  We don't even make costumes, we rent them from Malabar!

Then I went downtown from our old home on West Avenue, and saw Bridge Street all torn up, like I see Toronto streets torn up for improvements.  I joined a tour group outside the town and went on a walking tour of the lowlands around the ridge where the remains of Fort Beausejour stand. (It's a National Historic Park.)

Remember that movie Dying Young where Julia Roberts was a caregiver for a doomed young man?  In the version I dreamed of it was Julia who was dying!  Then she got kidnapped by an eastern potentate except that it was all arranged by one of her elders so she'd never be seen again and he'd get her inheritance or something.  And suddenly the movie ended!

What do you dream about?

I'm depressed

"I'm evil because I'm a man"--Iago

It looks like Canada has regressed to the Chretien era. (He's my least favourite Prime Minister.) I could see from the first that Thomas Mulcair had erred in promising to keep the budget balanced:  people just don't care much about that.  In the case of defending the right to wear a niqab, that worked against the N.D.P. but at least they were in the right!  I just hope that American voters don't chicken out like we did.

I voted on Monday morning and beat the rush.  Our local district's voting is now at the Wychwood Barns.

At Monday night's choir practice I sat with the tenors for the first time.  A few people have left and I hope we get enough replacements.  A lot of people seemed more interested in the baseball playoff game with the Blue Jays than with the election!

Saturday morning I saw the Met production of Otello at the Yonge & Dundas.  Zeljko Lui is a great Iago!

Last night at opera rehearsal we had an acting session, which is always fun.  My group put on a scene where a lover arrives late in port just in time to see his sweetheart sailing away on a ship.  I played the captain, and imagined myself as Popeye the Sailor Man!

In one of those Facebook discussions I wrote: "Suppose that the pundits had unanimously declared Bernie Sanders the winner of last week's debate, and that the MSM had systematically ignored the consistent impression from the online polls and focus groups that Hillary Clinton had won by a large margin?  Does anyone doubt that many Clinton supporters would be screaming 'Conspiracy!'?" I just wish I'd thought quick enough to say it last week! (Call it esprit de l'escalier.)

Now that I think of it, what bothers me about that Facebook group is that the organizer blamed me for writing a political comment but not the one who posted a link to a book review involving Reagan!  (I'd been warned before, so like a bad schoolteacher she couldn't see anything else but blaming me.) I'm not saying the other guy should have got all the blame, but I would have been happier if he'd been blamed too.

One less Facebook group

"And he would quickly reach for Emma's boots on the shelf over the fire, all crusted with mud--the mud of her assignations--that crumbled to dust in his fingers, and he watched it rising slowly in a ray of sunlight"--Madame Bovary

I'm in quite a few Facebook groups.  I got into trouble in a book-related one for breaking the organizer's strict rule against talking politics. (I'd got in trouble before, over an incident whose specifics I've already forgotten!) She didn't kick me out, but I've decided to leave anyway.  When I'm dead and gone, I'd rather have people saying that I talked politics too much than that I avoided the subject.

My Facebook page brings up the latest posts from all my groups and friends in the order of posting, and the bone of contention was a comment made on a post that I carelessly didn't notice was in the no-politics group. (No, I wasn't flouting the rule on purpose.) The post was an article on a Ronald Reagan biography with a headline that started, "Killing Reagan." I couldn't resist writing, "'Killing Reagan.' If only!" When another poster complained, I wrote, "Spare a thought for the people Reagan killed." I'll spare you his next post, except to give my response: "The first one who cusses loses." When the organizer got angry, I ended up writing: "Don't worry, from now on I'll just talk religion!"

You know those people who say they would have killed Hitler ahead of time to prevent him from doing all those very bad things? Well, if I'd had foresight I would have been tempted to kill Reagan to prevent his crimes.  But unlike John Hinkley, I probably would have pussied out in the end.

I'm still following the controversy over who "won" the Democratic debate.  Clinton supporters are accusing Sanders supporters of "conspiracy theory," yet they dismiss the pro-Sanders focus groups by invoking The Big Republican Conspiracy Against Hillary!  And it's disingenuous to proclaim that later polls are more reliable when they're full of respondents who didn't see the debate but heard that Mrs. Clinton won. (I'd be more impressed if they did a poll solely of people who'd watched it.)

I'm also puzzled by those who assert that the earlier polls were distorted by the Sanders camp's "enthusiasm." Isn't generating enthusiasm one measure of a successful debate performance?  I suppose that the Silent Majority is supporting HRC. (Nixon lives!)

Three movies

"...she was not in the least kind-hearted, nor readily aware of the feelings of others, typical of the offspring of most country people, whose souls, like the callused hands of their fathers, have grown a hard skin"--Madame Bovary

On Thanksgiving weekend I saw three movies.  Friday night I saw a documentary about the Black Panthers at the Bloor.  It's a shame that the F.B.I. targeted them just when they were moving away from armed confrontation to social services.  Saturday night I saw A Walk in the Woods at the Revue.  I loved Bill Bryson's book but the movie was pretty mild.  Sunday night I saw another documentary at the Bloor, this one about the Faberge jewellers.  I liked the eclectic music.

I'm on a schedule of reading fifteen pages a day of Madame Bovary so I can finish it in time for John Snow's book club.  I feel like I'm back in college! (Though I didn't take any literature courses.)

Yesterday was the first debate for the Democratic presidential candidates.  I couldn't see it because I was at opera rehearsal.  Beatrice warned everyone it was important to memorize and said, "James doesn't need to look at his book!" Well, I've done the opera before, and also did it with the choir, so it was pretty easy for me to relearn.

Actually, I wouldn't have watched the debate even if I could have.  I don't watch these political debates because I already know whom I support.  It's very interesting that the pundits all said that Hillary Clinton won, even though all the post-election polls showed Bernie Sanders winning by a wide margin! (You can argue that the internet polls were skewed by Sanders' big online following, but he even dominated the offline focus groups.) Should have known it would happen this way:  the Washington insiders naturally leaning toward the insider candidate.

At my choir, Paolo got me to change from baritone-bass to tenor!  We'll see how that works out. (I can't hit that high B flat.) I was going to go on Betty-Anne's art walk tomorrow night, but there's a special choir rehearsal to make up for us being unable to get together on Thanksgiving Day.  I could play hooky, but Paolo specifically wants the people who can read music.

Busy Thursday

On Thursday I saw The Intern with Bev.  It was enjoyable in a rather predictable way.  Robert De Niro was in fine form, playing a character who half the time is just observing. (Someone said that's the acid test for an actor.) In one scene he sat at his desk on his first day on the job waiting for something to do, and Bev said she knew that feeling.

Afterward we had dinner at an Italian restaurant called Serra.  I had spaghetti bolognese. (Maybe I should have tried something more imaginative.)

Then I went to the Victory Cafe for the History Discussion Group.  We discussed Roland Wright's A History of Progress, and seven people showed up!  Unfortunately, the place was a bit too loud, and  Margo suggested the Schnitzel Hub for the next event.  She noticed that I wasn't talking much, but to me it's a good sign when a Meetup group gets less dependent on its organizer:  it's getting a life of its own!

Sunday was the Classic Book Club, where we discussed the works of Poe.  It turned out that there were two Central American women there! (One was from Costa Rica, the other from Honduras.)

Monday night choir practice was a non-starter because the room with the piano was undergoing sprinkler renovation. (It was supposed to happen about ten days ago.) But we sang "Angels We Have Heard on High" a capella and ate pizza, which I didn't stay for.

At opera rehearsal tonight we did the line "Uno scudo veramente?  Piu brav'uom non si up dar!" It reminded me of the bit in Sesame Street where thirty squares got rolled out and there was always something irregular.  Adolfo said we had to do it with urgency, and I thought of the skit where the shifty salesman in the trench coat tried to sell something to Ernie.  He's whisper, "It'll only cost you a nickel," and Ernie would shout "A nickel?!" before being shushed.  That's the spirit we need.

TRUE DETECTIVE

"Hey, are you sure you want to do this?" "Not exactly..."--True Detective

I've just been watching the HBO series True Detective, which Moira got from the library.  I don't usually care for these procedural mysteries, and the plot here is even more complicated than usual, but this one is remarkably well made.  Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey are at their best, and the direction is atmospheric and creepy. (Remind me not to move to Louisiana.)

Saturday night I went to the Karaoke Meetup at BarPlus.  There were about fifteen people in our group, so I only stayed for two songs.

Monday afternoon I went to John Snow's book club to talk about Dostoevsky's The Devils.  I hadn't read it, of course. (Not only didn't I have the time, I couldn't find the book!) John couldn't make it, unfortunately, but we had a pretty good discussion anyway.

Tuesday night at opera rehearsal the men and women rehearsed separately.  There were only half a dozen boys, including a solitary tenor.  The Elixir of Love music is coming back to me really fast:  I did it at the opera ten years and also at the choir some years back.

That night John and his family came and we had Indian food, except that I had to leave early because of the opera.  I asked Kathrine for her child recipe and she's promised to show it to me. (I want to make it with meat!)

The cool weather is here.  I should get out another duvet for my bed.

Laziness

For some reason September has made me lazy.  I haven't been going to Noah Richler's campaign office for volunteering, I've stopped baking bread and I can't think of things to write here.

Friday night I went to a fundraising event for Noah Richler at Dave's, just a few blocks from here.  I only went to make a token appearance, and left when the music started.  The next day I actually went into the office!

I finally finished A Short History of Progress.  And now I've started reading Edgar Allen Poe for the Classic Book Club.

Monday at choir practice Paolo asked me to yell like I wanted someone to come to me, so I said, "Come here, you sonuvabitch!" (That brought the house down.) And that's a word I've never used before!  All of a sudden, I'd been possessed by what Poe called "the imp of the perverse." At least I didn't say, "Get your stupid ass in here, you goddamm sonuvabitch!"

Opera rehearsal started Tuesday night.  We did the opening chorus of The Elixir of Love, which I'm pretty familiar with. (We're also doing Die Fledermaus.) Starting this year we're going to do eight performances instead of twelve, which means an extra week to rehearse.

Today I finally started moving those heavy patio stones to expand the garden. (Too lazy to get far, of course.) There's a whole layer of weeds that's spread over them.  I should dig up the potatoes sometime soon.

There's a girl in Waterloo called Nikki who asked me to order a plush Super Mario Brothers toy for her on Amazon. (She can't do it herself because she doesn't have a credit card.) But I couldn't open my Amazon account, having forgotten the password.

Last Night at the Proms

Saturday I went to the Last Night at the Proms telecast at the Yonge & Eglinton.  Once again, I just stayed for the first half. (The second half's kinda predictable anyhow.) I really went there to meet Mary and John D. from the Music Meetup, whom I haven't seen lately.  I'm impressed that pianists like Benjamin Grosvenor manage to memorize whole concerti!

You know you're getting old when you go to the cinema and see posters for sequels to movies you've already forgotten!

Sunday was the latest ROLT, and the topic was banned and challenged books, since September is Banned Books Month. (The event's title was "Think of the Children!") There were eleven people, about our best turnout ever!  I read the passage from Of Mice and Men where Lennie ends up killing the skanky woman, and the opening pages of W.O. Mitchell's Who Has Seen the Wind?  (One guy said it read the Steinbeck passage "beautifully"!) I would have read the opening pages of Solzhenitsyn's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich--it's not only been banned by the Soviets, but challenged in Canadian schools because of words like "shit-barrel"--but there were enough other people reading for a full event.

On Monday Paolo had the choir trying parts of "Joy to the World" and "Angels We Have Heard on High." He's moved us into the Villa Colombo hall where they have banquets, and introduced some new voice exercises like "tritrutritrutri," where you make an expression like the Phantom of the Opera when his mask's just been pulled off.

I thought tonight was going to be the first night of opera rehearsal, but when I went down there the place was empty!  First night is next week, of course.

New choir director

The Columbus Centre Community Choir has a new director, Paolo Busata.  We met him last Tuesday at a meet & greet, and had a full rehearsal last night.  We learned the first parts of "O Canada" and "Time to Say Goodbye." He's introduced some new voice exercises.

The Saturday before last I went to John Snow's book club.  The place at the Lillian Smith library somehow got double-booked, so they went to some coffee shop.  Unfortunately, I was late getting there and didn't know where they'd gone!  But I met up with Gabriella, who was also late, and we went to a Second Cup and had our own mini-meeting.  I wouldn't have been worth much at the main meeting anyhow since I hadn't read any of Stendhal's RED AND BLACK.

Sunday night I went to the Politics Meetup for the first time, at Scallywag's.  They had a political trivia quiz and I finished second. (We needed a tie-breaking bonus round.)

Last week I went to the Electric Caterpillar bookstore and bought a book of Italian folktales.  I'm now translating the Turinese story "The Canary Prince," about a princess locked up in a tower who sees a prince on the ground, but they're too far apart for talking and can only gaze at each other and wave their hankies. (Oh well, I like to think she had a voice like Fran Drescher while he had a voice like Robin Leach!) Then a fairy gives her a book where she can turn the pages one way to turn him into a bird who can fly up to her windowsill, then turn them the other way to change him back.  But her evil stepmother puts some pins in the cushion he lands on...

I also got a book about a hundred famous Italians.  But that book's language is less simple, better suited for Moira. (She's been reading a novel in Italian!)

HELL ON WHEELS

Have you ever watched a show that stretched credibility on occasion but you largely believed it anyway?  Then one episode there was a plot turn that just had zero credibility, and suddenly every plot turn seemed unbelievable? (Call it jumping the shark.) Something like that happens in the fourth season of Hell on Wheels.

The show is now set in the town of Cheyenne and a new territorial governor has arrived.  He's a carpetbagger out to take control of the rackets, but he also believes in law and order and is out to end the chaos in the streets. (He hangs a man for shooting a cheating gambler.) Then this gunfighter comes to town, along with his deadly enemy.  The result is a gunfight in which the first gunfighter shoots his enemy, and accidentally shoots a kid, then he shoots an innocent resident in cold blood to remove a witness.  He's about to kill a lady before he gets caught.

In the following episode the governor decides to make this gunfighter his marshal!  I could believe it if he'd just killed the other gunfighter, or even if he'd killed the kid too.  But the third killing puts him beyond the pale, and appointing him lawman is a slap in the face to the whole community.  Even a carpetbagging governor should have better sense than that!

This is the first in a long line of developments that aren't credible, but are required for the plot to reach a climactic event near the end of the season.  I won't spoil it if you haven't seen it, but I will say that attention-grabbing clearly trumped credibility.

In addition, the lesbian newspaper lady goes over to the other side and starts a sexual relationship with the governor, for reasons that weren't clear to me.  I think it's so they can go from lovers to enemies at the end of the season.

Campaign office

Last Sunday the Classic Book Club met, and we talked about Thackeray's Vanity Fair.  We got seven or eight people, and some of them had suggestions about books to do.  Looks like we're becoming successful!

I've started doing volunteer work at the Noah Richler campaign for the NDP in St. Paul's. (I haven't seen Richler there yet.) There's quite a variety of chores On Wednesday I wrote poll numbers on folders with a marker all the way up to Poll 129.  Friday I taped leaflets onto the back of the clipboards the canvassers will be using. (We used the transparent tape to cover the whole leaflet to make it waterproof.) Saturday I wrote poll numbers again, but this time I also put maps of poll districts into the folders! (There were some Timbits.) They have a new system for data entry, and I hope I can learn it quickly.

I've almost finished the fourth season of Hell on Wheels.  The show's been getting even more unpleasant, and I respect that!  Too bad the latest episode had that tired "What becomes of men like us?" discussion.

One of my Facebook groups is about the Roman Empire.  I've started posting my amateur translation of Caesar's account of the Gallic Wars, one mini-chapter at a time.  I'm just getting up to the Battle of the Saone River.

I found another good quote in The War That Ended the Peace!  At the start of World War I a German general wrote, "If we will all perish, it's been nice."

New connection

Sunday was ROLT, the event title was "Love Is All Around," and the subject was romantic writing.  I wanted to read the ending of Nineteen Eighty-Four ("He loved Big Brother") but couldn't find the book.  All I could think of was a couple of fairy tales:  the Grimms' "Spindle, Shuttle and Needle" and a Hans Christian story about a snowman who loves a stove he sees inside a window, and after he melts it turned out that they used a dustpan from the stove to make his spine!  There were several new people there, and I hope they'll come again.

Monday night I went to a Toronto Film Society double bill with the Movie Meetup group.  The first was Charlie Chan on Broadway from a mystery series that's a guilty pleasure for me. (It's the third time I've seen that one.  Charlie Chan at the Opera and Charlie Chan's Secret are also pretty good.) Then we saw Elia Kazan's debut A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which I'd seen once before on the small screen.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is about a girl who aspires to be a writer. I once saw a movie where a mother takes her daughter's writing to an established writer who asks, "Is she one of those people who talk about writing, or one of those people who write?" I thought that scene was in this movie, but it wasn't.  Then I realized it was probably in I Remember Mama!

I recently finished the third season of Hell on Wheels on Netflix.  That was a jaw-dropping season finale, with Cullen stuck in a shotgun marriage in a Mormon compound presided over by a bishop who's actually the Norse psychopath! (He murdered the real bishop and took his place.) I'm already watching the fourth season.

Yesterday we updated our computer connection, so now we have cable TV again.  If we pay fifteen dollars more a month we can get some extra channels like BBC World and Turner Classic Movies, but we'll have to think about it. (I really don't watch TV much.)

Our internet connection was off for several hours while they worked on updating it.  Oh well, that meant more time for reading The War That Ended the Peace.  It quotes French intellectual Remy de Gourmont on the loss of Alsace and Lorraine: "Personally, I would not give the little finger of my right hand for these forgotten lands.  I need it to shake the ash off my cigarette."

Break's over

I got pretty lazy the last couple of weeks.  Not only did I stop posting on this blog, I stopped baking bread because we ran out of whole-wheat flour and I wasn't motivated enough to buy some more. (I was buying some fresh peaches and stuff today, but I forgot to get the flour!)

Last Wednesday I went to the St. Paul's nomination meeting where we nominated Noah Richler, literary critic and son of novelist Mordecai Richler.  Someone made popsicles with an orange-vanilla flavour, and I ate mine so fast that I got brain freeze!  Stephen Lewis gave a speech.  Dave Koppes, whom I know from my Aspie Meetup, was doing volunteer work there.

It was the same night that Bernie Sanders gave a podcast that 100,000 people gathered to watch.  Funny how I'm excited about Sanders' campaign but I'm afraid to get excited about the NDP prospects in the upcoming federal election.  No doubt I'll be volunteering for that campaign. (I didn't get involved with last year's provincial campaign because I couldn't find the local office, and it turns out they didn't have an office in this riding!)

Last night I saw Best of Enemies, about the Gore Vidal-William F Buckley feud, at the Lightbox.  It was pretty enjoyable.  People of the Buckley school have a lot to answer for regarding the state of the US today!

Today I completed both the Spring issue of Lapham's Quarterly and Thackeray's Vanity Fair.  It's an amazing novel!  Now I'll be turning to the summer issue (about philanthropy) and Margaret MacMillan's The War That Ended the Peace, about the world in 1914.

THE WOLF WHO WANTED A SWEETHEART

Last week was pretty busy.  On Tuesday I joined a Movie Meetup and saw the James Bond movie The Man With the Golden Gun (for the second time, but first time on the big screen). The last one directed by Guy Hamilton, it's one of the series' less successful entries, though it does have Christopher Lee as the villain.  My favourite part was the two Thai schoolgirls taking on a whole karate school (and wiping the floor with them, of course).

On Wednesday I went to Eton House near Pape station and saw Robert Wise's The Day the Earth Stood Still (for the second time) on a big video screen with the Life Begins at 40 Meetup.  It started the whole trend of '50s scoff movies, but as the title suggests it's a bit preachy and self-important in a way characteristic of the time. (The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit had the ad line "A movie that may very well be the very greatest!" You wish...) The Sam Jaffe character is clearly based on Albert Einstein.

On Thursday I went to another of Betty Anne's art walks.  I met a senior woman with wide round glasses like Iris Apfel, and Betty Anne said she's the Iris Apfel of Toronto!

I just finished translating the Portuguese children's book whose title translates as The Wolf Who Wanted a Sweetheart. (The author and illustrator are French, so I assume that was the original language.) It's about a wolf who's looking for love and learns to dress fancy and carry flowers and memorize love poems.  After getting nowhere, he sits down in the road to take off his painful cowboy boots, and a she-wolf runs into him and he finds love after all.  The lesson for boys:  Sit down on the sidewalk and hope a girl runs into you!

I'm almost up to the Battle of Waterloo in Vanity Fair. (I've started reading Lapham's Quarterly at lunchtime.)

ROLT

Moira went to Kingston (She's going to spend a week in Cape Cod again this year.)

Saturday I went to John Snow's new book club, where we discussed Goethe's The Sorrows of Young Werther.  I had to admit I couldn't get far into the book:  sensitive young characters like Werther make me impatient, partly because they remind me of when I was young and sensitive. (Another example:  Winona Ryder in the Generation X movie Reality Bites.) I want to say to them, "Welcome to the world!")

Anyway, we had a full turnout of half a dozen people.  We met in the basement of the Lillian Smith library, in the same place where we do the memoir slam.  Next month we're discussing Maurice Stendhal's The Red and the Black.  I don't have time to read it, but I'll come anyhow.

Sunday was the latest ROLT, and the topic was humour, with the title "The titter, the howl, the belly laugh and the boffo."  I read the Stephen Leacock story "Gertrude the Governess, or Simple Seventeen" as well as "The Gettysburg Address in Eisenhower's" and Robert Benchley's versions of opera synopses.  I would have read the first chapter of Vanity Fair and Robert Frost's poem "The Code," but I wasn't up to it. 

I used to write my memoir pieces on looseleaf in the same binder as my choir music.  But starting at today's slam, I've turned to writing in a Pierre Belvedere notebook of the same sort I used to write my diary in before going online with it.

I'm finally getting serious about my schedule for finishing Vanity Fair within six weeks (which allows for one library renewal). The other day I read over thirty pages!

Salsa on St. Clair

Sunday was the Classic Book Club, where we discussed The Yearling.  There were five of us, including someone who came because she thought it was the Poetry Meetup!

On Tuesday I saw the documentary THE GREAT MUSEUM at the Bloor.  It's about the Kunsthistoriche Museum in Vienna.  Another museum for my bucket list!  Their new chandelier-like electric lights have a very clever modern design.

On Thursday I borrowed Vanity Fair from the library.  I'd been hoping to finish the fraud issue of Lapham's Quarterly before starting it, but it's 800 pages long and I want to make sure to finish it before the next book club meeting.  Judging by the first chapters, it's pretty fun.

Thursday night I went to see the French-Czech animated science fiction feature Fantastic Planet at the Revue (for the second time, but the first time in a cinema). The place was packed and I was lucky to get in!  It's original but the animation is rather basic. (They also showed an odd French animated short titled Les Escargots.)

This weekend is the Salsa on St. Clair street festival.  I went to Hillcrest Park to read Vanity Fair and escape the noise. (I've developed a fantasy of meeting a girl who's reading a book of her own there...) On the way there, I saw another house that put out its excess books for whoever wants them, and I got a copy of Ken Follet's The Pillars of the Earth! (That's a book I mean to read one of these years.  I think Dr. Hassan liked it.)

Someone online accused Bernie Sanders of trying to "hijack" the Democratic Party.  If this be hijacking, make the most of it!

New books!

Monday night I saw The King and I with the Movie Meetup group at the Event Screen (for the second time, but the first time in a cinema). I think this is what Edward Said meant by "orientalism." It's best for the Thai ballet of Uncle Tom's Cabin.  The real King Mongkut was far more enlightened than the semi-civilized clown the western world imagines.

Thursday I went on an art walk along Dundas Street.  We stopped at a Portuguese-themed boutique and I bought the children's book Coracao de Mae (mother's heart). Then we went to the Monkey's Paw bookstore.  I'd hoped to try their vending machine that sells you a random book for two dollars, but it needed restocking.  I did buy The Book of Flags, The Odd Book of Facts, Great Cities of the World and Women in the Comics.  But when I was through buying them, I couldn't find the rest of the group and missed the rest of the walk!

Later that evening I went to the revue and saw Robert Wise's boxing classic The Set-Up.  They also had a boxing-themed Three Stooges short and the Warner Brothers cartoon To Duck or Not to Duck. ("You know, there's something awfully screwy about this fight, or my name isn't Larrimore--and it isn't.")

Wednesday I went to Shopper's Drug Mart to replenish my cipralex prescription.  It turned out that it wouldn't be ready until the next day, possibly the late afternoon, so I didn't have time to pick it up then what with the art walk.  I would have got it yesterday but I was under the weather.  I finally got it today.

I've been watching Royal Heritage on Youtube.  That's a 1977 BBC documentary series in connection with the Silver Jubilee, depicting the British monarchy's history and collections. (Several of the Royals make appearances.) I remember seeing some of it back at the time, especially the part where Prince Charles goofs around with an old microscope the future George III used.

An unusual dream

Sunday was the latest ROLT.  The subject was Commonwealth literature, with the title "Common Wealth" (geddit?). Over 20 people said they were coming, and five showed up, which I'm getting used to.  I read the chapter from Jalna about Piers and Pheasant eloping, and a few selections from the foreigners issue of Lapham's Quarterly:  a Kenyan describing his schooling in the '50s and using Shakespeare sonnets to appeal to girls, a bit from an Indian novel about an "untouchable" accidentally running into a Brahmin.  Jane read the first scene from the script of Goin' Down the Road.

Tuesday I finally went to an Ontario Services place near College & Euclid and got my health card renewed. (It expired four months ago, but I hadn't got around to renewing it before.) That evening Bereaved Families of Ontario was having an open house, so I visited their new offices on Merton Street.

Thursday was the latest History Discussion Group, with Canadian history the subject.  But only Jane showed up at my house.  Yet Moira came to talk with us (Jane likes her) and things went pretty well.  I think I'll go back to the original plan of making a history book the topic of discussion.

I've finally caught up with all my Facebook groups!  I'd dropped quite a few, though I did pick up some recently.  The group on Britain in the middle ages is particularly active.

Moira's been watching Bernie Sanders on YouTube and in podcasts.  I pointed out to her a clip of him confronting Alan Greenspan which they say is going viral.

Last night I had an unusual dream.  I was living in a building a distance west of my true home, where each household had a cubicle in a rectangular grid.  Time passed ten or twenty years into the future, and I found out that THE NATION had published a review of the writing of Jorge Luis Borges written by me. (I've hardly read any of Borges!)

Spice cake

Monday night was the choir's year-end concert.  We bought Beatrice and Adolfo a Yorkdale gift certificate.  Moira didn't hate "Can You Can-Can" as much as I feared, though she thought Beatrice's rendition of "Summertime" should have been slower.  I got Giovanni to give us a lift to St. Clair Avenue afterward, but Ora also brought a guy so there were four people in the back seat and Moira had to sit on my lap!

I was tired of Moira always buying Duncan Hines chocolate cake mixes, so I suggested we try spice cake instead.  So she found me a spice cake recipe online and I ended up baking that tonight.  Unfortunately, the brown sugar had some hard lumps that couldn't be broken down.  Sometime I'm going to make goulash!

The other day I went to Rainbow Caterpillar, a children's bookstore near Corso Italia that specializes in foreign languages.  I bought a Portuguese book whose title translates "The Wolf who Wanted a Sweetheart." (I think the original was French.) They also had an Italian book of fairy tales that I may get later.

I went to see Dr. Hassan yesterday.  I was reading The Yearling on the way there and back, and managed to read over 40 pages that day.

I'm concerned about some of Hillary Clinton's supporters.  Debating with them on Facebook, I got the impression that they're seeing what they want to see in her and ignoring that a lot of people see her in less admiring terms, while dismissing Bernie Sanders as a "risk." Just like John Kerry's supporters, indeed.  And they're making an issue of Sanders' supporters being uncivil and divisive.  Yet it's not in the Democratic Party's interest for the leading candidate's shortcomings to be ignored in the name of niceness.

Facebook group shakeout

It's nice to know that John Snow reads this blog.  In fact, he reminded me that it's been a while since my last post! (Oh well, I guess I need people to spur me on...)

I've been spending a lot of time on Facebook groups.  Too much time, in fact.  So I've been leaving a lot in the last day or two.  At my peak I was in dozens!  Stuff like movie groups focusing on actors like Buster Keaton or Joan Blondell, directors like Billy Wilder or William Wilder, genres like westerns or musicals, periods like the silent era, studios like MGM and RKO...  I was also in groups focusing on America in the '20s, '30s, '40s etc.  These groups are interesting enough, but I've just been spending too much time on them.  For now, I'm keeping a few with subjects like ocean liners and Weimar Germany.  And I'm hesitant about leaving the groups with political subjects, where I sometimes get into interesting discussions.

Last weekend I saw the first part of the New York movie A History of Violence, but I just couldn't get into it.  It's one of those plots were things get worse and worse...

Sunday night I went to Lisa's Storytellers Meetup.  There was a big group of people there talking about ayahuasca-related revelations, which was all Greek to me.

The night before I made gingerbread, and I brought some to that event, as well as the next day's memoir slam and the evening dress rehearsal for next week's choir concert.  It's pretty popular everywhere. (At the memoir slam, one of the subjects was "Better beware," and I uncharacteristically drew a blank and couldn't write anything about it.)

Since finishing the translation of the Portuguese booklet about the life of St. Pedro Claver, I've started translating one more of the Spanish Mortadelo & Filemon comics.  This one's subject is rehabilitation, and looks like more tasteless fun.

THE YEARLING

I've started reading Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings' The Yearling for my Classic Book Club.  What a challenge getting it from the library!  I'd misplaced my library card, so I went to the Wychwood library to get a new one.  It turned out that I'd left it at the Bloor-Gladstone library a couple of months ago, so I went there to get it back.  Then I returned to Wychwood and was going to take out a copy of The Yearling, but it turned out that my library card needed renewal, so I had to go home to get a "proof of residence" document. (There ought to be an easier way of proving where you live!) So I got the card renewed, but the book still hadn't been reshelved.  I ended up borrowing it from the Oakwood branch.

I've only read a couple of chapters of the book so far, but it's vivid!

Wednesday night I saw the documentary Iris at the Bloor, about Iris Apfel, a 90-year-old designer with an enduring sense of style.  What a lot of objets d'art she's collected over her life!  They should build a museum just to fill it with the best of her stuff.

Thursday night the Classic Movie Meetup and I saw King Vidor's early talkie Street Scenes at the Revue.  It seemed pretty close to the stage version, which isn't such a bad thing.  I got more and more into it as it went along, and now I want to see it again!  They also showed a newsreel about 1936 aviation, a Betty Boop cartoon based on Snow White--with Koko the Clown (Cab Calloway's voice) singing "The St. James Infirmary Blues"--and a short made from the football scenes in the Marx Brothers vehicle Horse Feathers.

We had a long spell of dry weather for the last week, but it finally rained today, and the garden soil is a nice deep brown.