July 14, 2011
I concur with Monsieur LaPlanche that the subconscious is “completely atemporal”.
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Flying trapeze ambitions (due to commence tomorrow) may be interrupted due to an unfortunate outcome during a front somersault on the trampoline ce soir, forgot my arms, followed by some kind of fail on some move with the word swivel in it. I am not compatible with mid-air swiveling my lower back determined.
My favourite gymnastics coach is back from China. If only he could also perform some kind of neuro-tele-porting.
July 13, 2011
The successful (so far) double leg transplant performed in Spain recently is an astonishing achievement. Ditto I am excited to read about the first successful synthetic windpipe organ transplant. (That is I am guessing also the first successful synthetic organ transplant ever) The first facial transplant blew my mind, more so than I remember feeling when I realized people could hop about on the moon.
July 12, 2011
Radical America 1977
Came across this old issue online of Radical America from 1977. It has an article in it by Barbara and John Ehrenreich on the New Left and Professional Managerial Class amongst others.
July 11, 2011
Wapping
Speaking further of news: throughout the News International NOTW furore I was surprised not to hear the word “Wapping” in relation to the lengthy picket line that took place there in the 1980’s. It was one of the main labour strikes, along with the Miners and the Railway Workers. (I still rem a song about Jimmy Knapp)
It began in 1986 and ended a year later in 1987. You can read more details on it here. I clearly remember buses (or maybe minibuses) taking people to the picket line there and how defining that strike was in terms of the move to destroy the unions in England under Thatcherism. Eeery foreshadowing in the way the workers were yet again sold down the swanny in this recent episode. (Whatever one’s sentiments about NOTW).
July 11, 2011
CBC News has today managed to offer us the worst headline in 125 years.
The ‘real Vancouver’ celebrates 125
The summary beggars belief but I’ll let you click to suffer it.
July 10, 2011
My son is a stunning pie baker! This past week he baked two strawberry ones. Yesterday, en route to our dinner I carried one of them and enjoyed all the warm smiles that land when you carry a fresh cooked pie. The pie-baker was travelling by scooter, with his podcast in his ears.
Here is a link to the sceal of the pie once it hit the table.
His pie has been immortalized , precisely as it deserves. Bravo mon cher!
July 10, 2011
Rereading the Riot Act I
Rereading the Riot Act I. A public action I curated during my Unit/Pitt Residency. At Woodwards, intervention in front of Stan Douglas mural Abbott & Cordova, 7 August 1971. Two readings by Michael Barnholden & Penny Goldsmith (Walking Slow Helen Potrebenko) & 3 readings of the Riot Act, April 23, 2011. The second event, a Performance Art Cabaret, at The Waldorf took place the same night as the 2011 Stanley Cup Riot. A publication will appear in Autumn for this project, published by Publication Studio.
July 10, 2011
Activity of sound/ soniferous sculpture
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcHnL7aS64Y&w=425&h=240]
July 10, 2011
A beautiful day in the city, too beautiful to be stuck indoors editing, but there you have it. Aside from a quick foray to the strawberry patch, this head is down working away.
I am watching the evacuation situation in the Peace River region with interest and a degree of alarm — where’s all this rain coming from?
It fascinates me how the meteorology of this vast province can vary so incredibly. This isn’t the case in Ireland where if it’s raining in Mayo, it’s usually raining in Dublin, Sligo and uberalles.
Yesterday en route to a lovely treat of a dinner (Thanks L, P, U x) I was thinking as we walked past the gardens, how each tells its own story in a way that the houses (in these particular spots do not). In the gardens we also see so much progress and contrast. One held a wire-installation/contraption and had a sign saying it was a micro rope garden. Intriguement! A few houses over, a terrifically ugly gravel and brick combo double yet divided staircase was being built in a very jumbled arrangement. The most dominant change afoot is the number of houses that are switching lawn to vegetable boxes! Yes! Lawn is such a pointless carpet and water drain.
There was one detail on one of the houses that made me smile. An upstairs front door facing South right above the downstairs front door. I tried to tell if at one time it had a staircase or entrance up to it, but there was no sign of it. Maybe just an eccentric detail. Or a householder who had skybound ambition.
I realized as we walked how much I miss the row upon row of red brick houses and chimney pots that line my memory. But I never tire of the gardens and their varieties here. You can sometimes even see particular cultural traits within them. (The employment of spent brooms and mop handles nests with an affection for bulbs). One of the great losses in our neighbourhood was when three brothers sold their house and it’s eccentric garden, which had bathtubs, frying pans embedded in it and all kinds of “hatchy” looking touches. Now it’s razed and risen into another ostentatious looking lottery house with an overindulgence in gravel instead in the garden.
July 8, 2011
I can’t find the bag of potatoes I bought earlier at the shop. Please Retweet.
Yesterday evening I found a new range of mountains in the West of the city.
I am geographically dyslexic and can never find the mountains people insist are North.
For some reason yesterday they were West. How v odd. Enjoyably odd when whole mountain ranges move and accommodate me this way….
On Saltspring Island I managed to get superbly lost by deciding a road was misnamed and ploughed up several drives to farms looking for the farm I was staying at. I am sure the folks living in these spots must have been bemused at this short, hardy legged creature heading up their drives in her clogs. Not least since I went up one drive, twice, by accident. Eventually I went down a drive and a man told me how to find my way home.