February 9, 2014
The complex weather event
We are waiting on the “complex” weather event, whose patterns will not be known until the system lands tomorrow. She was supposed to visit us today, but appears to have diverted or stopped off for a breather. She was initially promised at 2cm-7cm of snow, but may have been downgraded to freezing rain. As the weather statement tells us: she’s complex.
The sky is burdened looking, although there’s just a small wink of light appearing now.
Last night I went to eat with a friend in a small place that was so loud my balance organs did ballroom dancing. I think it might be time to create middle-aged dens where there are lights on for fading eyesight and self controlled volume levels for background music at every table. Or better still none. Or not a DJ who pumps it up in this case. I think a wrestling ring would prove more manageable to eat and natter beside. When we came outside we had an excellent frozen conversation on the sidewalk (pavement), where we threw words across to each other in a badminton match of relief — maybe because we could actually finally hear each other. Also, there’s nothing like minus temperatures to up your verbal word count.
Happy Sunday weather wonderers. Legwarmers on, get a pint of milk in and keep eyes skyward.
February 5, 2014
El plunge
We are due a plunge in temperature tonight. By 2am it’s supposed to hit -5, by morning -8 which is -15 with the windchill factored in. This is a sudden and surprising descent for our temperature. It’s been preceded by a flash of sunny, azure blue-sky days — a factor that arctic outflow systems tend to bring.
I might not have even inquired of the temperature had my teen not expressed how cold he was to me. He’s never cold. These boyos could roam about in tee shirts, I’m freezing he said. I’m shivering. It was 4.30pm. This drove me to weathery inquiry and lo agus behold the imminent plunge revealed itself.
All evening I heard from friends with babies and young kids who are sick, mostly with stomach flu. Wouldn’t you imagine the low temperatures would kill such germs and stall all infection? Apparently not.
This is a legwarmer alert.
I am finishing reading a book here at the temperature plunges. A book plein de tribulation.
February 3, 2014
Script
Some time ago I met a man whose handwriting I admired and I asked him if I could take a picture of it. I have just chanced upon the photo. I recall the conversation where he explained to us how he had to train his hand. I think he was left handed. He had decided to write in this fashion for a reason I cannot remember, but there was some practical element to it. I must ask the person I was with that day if he remembers why this fella used such loops on and under his letters. He had small books filled with such lettering and notes. I wonder if a certain area of his brain is clacking away like a manic set of knitting needles trying to keep up with creating all these additional looping details. I do recall he is a geographer or urban geographer even. Wouldn’t this man’s writing make fine wallpaper?
February 3, 2014
daily words, wording
I have begun to wonder if the word of the day is thematic or randomly generated or tied to current events.
In recent days: the Spanish word of the day included: pildora anticonceptiva [n]: a contraceptive in the form of a pill containing etc, virgen [a]: characteristic of a virgin or virginity… escala [n]: relative magnitude…
I’m wondering if the Spanish word of the day is in fact WORDS of the day since I appear to receive multiples, unless I signed up twice and it is truly individually random (!). Note in relation to those words there was a big protest this weekend about proposed changes to abortion laws in Spain.
From the Urban dictionary I received Tactical Orgasm defined as having an orgasm before making an important decision.
And finally from the more grey-suits at dictionary.com: galligaskins: leggings or gaiters, usually of leather.
Put those into your random generator! I think it’s time to sign up for the Latin word of the day.
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If bird watching is known as birding, might word-watching become known as wording?
February 2, 2014
Clock card
I had the passing thought today that the recent weather events I have failed to log, for a bundle of reasons, are now lost. Disappeared. Gone. I was trying to recall what I have missed. I cannot summon them. There were a number of very specific FOG events, which made me coin the term INSOMNIACS FOR FOG. This, of course, a lovely contradiction. How can a fog event have any specificity? Well now because of a lack of a log, I have no reference point to support how this can be and yet I know it to be so from trapping moments during my foggy wanders. There were the banks of plonked fog, there was shifting fog and “insert whatever version of fog you fancy”.
I subsequently contemplated why it might be equally valid not to log these weather events. I don’t imagine a vast quantity of humans suspended or distraught at not logging every weather event that transits through their triangle of sky nor tuning in here to find what precisely I failed to log recently. My thoughts shifted to the matter of blogging becoming, as and when we adhere to it, not that far from clocking in and out of the factory floor. (Except it’s a charitable factory, the indulgence of perhaps excessive self expression, which formerly would have lain inside a bound journal). The matter that we now choose to announce (in my case) to anyone willing to arrive at a URL what we think or thought at a particular moment of a rain event suggests that just as we now move physically through reviewed space, (google street view have been there before you) that if we permit it, we are submitting psychologically to (selectively I suppose) constant or consistent review. Then I dismissed all such thoughts and scrubbed the floor. Now that bundle of thoughts could all appropriately be termed: the fog log or fogged log event. Or simply fog it, it’s gone.
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On the contrasting topic of clarity, I highly recommend Tamara Faith Berger’s essay AFTERWORD at the end of her recently republished novel Little Cat. It’s remarkable. Her use of the stout sentence in this essay is strong, strong, strong. Go and find it. Open the novel, turn to the back and read this essay. I am not going to make it easy for you with quotes and temptation. It needs to be read entirely as one piece. When you read it you will see what I mean.
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On the topic of traps: The Forum radio programme on the BBC World Service gave us this ideas discussion today:
Traps
Catching neutrinos, unsuspecting gamers and pictures of elusive mammals
January 25, 2014
Beneath the lakes
This is a film that parallels photos of certain houses and areas, as they were in 1939 in Wicklow and how they are today, sunk in 1940, beneath the Poulaphuca reservoir. Astonishing to realize that 6500 acres of farms, four bridges and I think 75 houses were sunk by said reservoir. In the event of drought would all those buildings and bridges ever be re-revealed?
January 13, 2014
John Gaughan (RIP)
It is with further sadness I acknowledge the recent passing of my Uncle Johnny last Friday week.
Uncle Johnny was my favourite Uncle when I was nearly seven. (Hence I capitalize Uncle).
May he rest in peace and my thanks follow him into the grave for the Christmas of 1977 when he was so unbelievably kind to us. This was the year my father died. I can still recall the laughter he provoked in us that Christmas. I even recall the slippers I had on my feet as he made me laugh. (Very strange since I can barely recall the slippers I currently have in the hallway).
His sudden loss is very hard on his immediate family and siblings.
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The morale of this post if there is to be any, beyond sadness, is if you’re given the choice between making someone miserable or laughter, I’d opt for laughter since as the above testifies laughter is a long-lasting memory. Thanks Uncle Johnny.
January 13, 2014
Help
I’m looking for titles about the history of public discourse in Canada. Specifically any historical examination of discourse or discussion on the literary arts. I’m interested in examining the tone of it and whether it has significantly shifted or changed. If you have any suggestions or if you have memories/remarks/thoughts on how it was historically vs is currently, please post them in the comments or drop me an email at mrsokana@gmail.com
I have a title on my shelf that I was examining this morning called Canada — The Middle Power or some such. It is a bunch of papers that were given in Banff in 1965 one of which refers to remarks Churchill made about Canada calling the country the “interpreter” of the US. I will look the precise quote up when I am reunited with the book and post it entirely. (obviously this didn’t go down so heartily with the people he said it to)
Another paper includes the words “peculiar culture” in relation to Ireland.
There is no essay or paper in relation to Canada’s artistic role in the world in the book. Every other role seems included.
Fintan O’Toole published a fine column this week decrying the current debacle in Limerick over it’s City of Culture celebrations. Click this quote to read:
January 13, 2014
Highway sway
Yesterday afternoon saw the arrival of a storm system that culminated after days, if not a century of rain. Friday evening was a fully spiked Pineapple Express, which basically flushed any bird shite off the top of any building, lamp post. It was the rain equivalent of a high speed water flosser. If you had bird shite stuck between your teeth this rain would have freed it. The chimney pots of the city must be sparkling after it.
Yesterday’s storm arrived amid serious flooding on the roads in some parts. I know because I was driving in the middle of it. It was terrifying. In the Southerly direction of my journey the wind was so fierce my car was being blown into the neighbouring lane. I have never experienced wind that could shake the booty of the back wheels of my car. I was panicked. I don’t know how to drive in wind I thought. Do I need to pull over and google it? I slowed down much to pissery of those who clearly either do know how to drive in it or whose cars are of the ten ton variety.
On the Northerly return journey a blinder of a rainstorm added itself to the wind. No visibility whatsoever. Had to perch my head over the dashboard to deal with the glare of the car behind in my mirror.
In between the South and the North journeys, I stopped at a petrol station and chatted with a few fellas who were gathered and we analysed the weather. One was a trucker who had pulled off the highway. Another fella working at the petrol station generously googled to find out how long the wind warning would be in effect and whether I could sit it out. 1am he said, shaking his head. We had a good laugh and I left fortified. The trucker told me he slows down in these conditions and they all agreed there is no specific way to drive in the wind — except hold on tight.
The journey reminded me of a storm described in one of Alex Leslie’s early stories in her collection People Who Disappear and the interlude at the petrol station reminded me of Jess Walter’s novel The Financial Lives of Poets. This was heartening to be pondering literature amid my holy terror and happy petrol pals.
January 13, 2014
Caravan: Rashid Jahan
Aamer Hussain documents an extensive article on the work of literary mentor and Urdu writer Rashid Jahan at Delhi-based Caravan magazine. This is a fascinating read, especially for a neophyte such as myself, who knows nada about Urdu literature. Also, curious to contemplate how this happens across many literary cultures, where work and the role an early voice played are buried and forgotten about. Click the paragraph to read the entire article.