Canis Non Grata or Whatever Happened to All the Fun In the World?

After Grendel and I went to the flea market yesterday, we stumbled home and crossed paths with our neighbour J. She just happened to be on the way to the local for a jar, and I accepted her invitation to come along. Grendel and I had been to the pub before, and of course the little fugger broke all the barmaid's hearts while I enjoyed my jar of Creemore Springs.

This time around, it was a different story. In recent years, the authorities in our fair city have cracked down on bars and restaurants for all sorts of things. It has gotten so weird that bar owners are making some pretty draconian decisions. Sean, our waiter sternly told me that Grendel wasn't welcome. Sean was pleasant about it, and probably didn't give too much of a damn about having the wee canine in the bar personally, but he had to do the dirty work and tell Grendel that he was Canis Non Grata. I can't really blame Sean, because he was just following the rules, such as they are.

What I'd like to know is whatever happened to all the fun in the world? We were in a bar, nobody was eating food, and the place was packed with people who were probably filthier than Grendel will ever be. One guy was so drunk that he staggered out into the street to get a cab, and before he could embark on his journey home he pissed himself. Now I suppose if he had wet himself in the bar, he would have been kicked out, but this is a human who was way more hazardous than Grendel. Some people shouldn't be allowed in public.

I just wish that cooler heads would prevail sometime and that people would look the other way when harmless but supposedly illegal behaviour occurs. I'm not advocating letting animals run our lives, but wotthehell. If you've ever been out for a jar in Britain, chances are good there's a pub dog around. Apparently, I wouldn't even be able to bring Grendel out to the patio during the summer. It just goes to show you that there are too many thin-skinned folks whose knees jerk at the slightest provocation, and what's worse, they're ruining sensible people's lives. No food in sight, and I've got an unwelcome lap-dog. Big fargin' deal.

I think Grendel got kicked out because he's black.

More Treasures from the Flea Market

Grendel and I went to the flea market this aft. This was a first for him, but as you all know, I've been back several zillion times. I found this lovely set of Russian dolls from the same guy who had the cool Russian Army flask a few weeks ago.

My mum is a doll collector, so I just had to get it for her. She's got a birthday coming up, and unlike Sass' mum, my mum doesn't read blogs. It's safe to post the picture here for everyone to enjoy.

Nifty stuff from Russia. There are a few more flasks, so I'll have to get another one for my buddy, the Mad Sailor.

The Lady Is A Tramp

We went to the Bistro last night to hear who I consider one of the best jazz pianists around. I can't be too far off, because notable players like Oscar Peterson agree with me. I'm speaking of none other than Joanne Brackeen. She's performing at the Montreal Bistro (in Toronto) this week with Terry Clarke and Don Thompson. These guys are no slouches either. Don Thompson normally performs on vibraphone and piano, and plays bass as a tertiary instrument. I have nothing but the utmost respect for players in this league.

She was playing jazz standards last night. If you're not a fan of this kind of music, it entails taking familiar tunes and improvising new harmonies and melodies to embellish them. A familiar piece of cheese like Moon River became something exquisite in Brackeen's hands. It's sort of like the classical idea of theme and variation. A layer of abstraction is imposed on the familiar so that the song becomes something new in the process. Of course there's the bop formula of soloing and then call and response between the pianist and the drummer. It's a time honoured method of holding it all together and maintaining form. It is a battle between expressing the composer's song and freedom for the improvisor to indulge a flight of fancy.

As an amateur rock musician, I try to do similar things to what Ms. Brackeen does. We'll pick an old rock song, and try to play it as differently as we possibly can every time we visit the tune. The solos and the little details change each time. The tune becomes new every time it is played. Despite my self promotion, I've got to assume a modest position. I am nowhere near the calibre of player that Brackeen, Thompson and Clarke are. These people are geniuses because the skill they bring to the jazz standard is miles ahead of us hackers in EM's basement. That's why they have a gig at the Bistro, and we are a garage band.

Joanne Brackeen comes to Toronto once a year to play at the Bistro with Clarke and Thompson, and it's an astounding thing. They probably never see each other in the other 51 weeks of the year, but they sound like they should be joined at the hip. Ms. Brackeen takes some time away from her duties at the Berklee School of Music to come to my neighbourhood and play at the local club. In between slurps of Creemore Springs, I routinely have to retrieve my jaw from the floor. I am delighted by this convenience, and then I wonder, "Why isn't she filling Roy Thompson Hall instead?"

Grendel Gets His Groove

Grendel's first experience with exotic instrumentation.

Another Night at Skool

Grendel learned a couple of new things today. I did too. Let's start with Grendel.

We went to see Dorothy at Mother Knows Best again. This was our third week of classes. We learned the sit and stay command tonight. Grendel had a hard time with the staying part as the floor was cold, and there were a dozen or more other dogs to play with in the room. To his credit Grendel handled the heel and sit commands with aplomb. We both like Dorothy. Grendel's girlfriend Priscilla wasn't there tonight. But he got to meet a funny looking dog named Boris.

I learned how to manage Grendel a little better. Now I just need to get him walking on a leash a lot more. It will just take time.

After we came home from the church hall, I also discovered something that will bring Grendel and I much amusement. I learned that it's really easy to freak out a chihuahua with a didgeridoo.

Better Late Than Never

Quote of the Week

"This year, both Groundhog Day and the State of the Union Address fall on the same day, an ironic juxtaposition. One involves a meaningless ritual in which we look to a creature of little intelligence for prognostication, and the other involves a groundhog."

One half our our amazing drum section. 

Our genial host on jam nights with "Blackie." 

I couldn't say it any better

I found this piece a few minutes ago, and figured it was worth repeating. I know it's kinda slimy of me just to cut and paste, but the credits are intact and so is the man's reason.

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Wednesday, February 15, 2006
The cartoon cacapoofle and Voltaire

When Liberty's the Ward of A Higher Power's Rogues -- by Pierre Tristam

In the eternal battle between reason and regression there's never been a rallying cry as powerful as Voltaire's double-barreled phrase: Ecrasez l'infame. It has been translated variously as "crush the infamous," "crush the horror" or -- my preference -- "smash the rogues." Voltaire's targets, his recent biographer Ian Davidson writes, "included superstition, theological repression, Jesuits, monks, fanatical regicides, and the Inquisition in every shape and form; in short, all facets of the dark and regressive alliance between the Catholic Church and the French State." By the 19th century, the phrase had done its job, and not just in France. In the West, Church and State would be kept separate, for good reason: Absent a thick and uncompromising wall, the two cannot help but corrupt each other while tyrannizing, in a "higher power"'s name, the people they're meant to serve.

It's a lesson the Islamic world has not yet learned. It's a lesson the western world risks forgetting. If the contemptible war over the Muhammad cartoons suggests anything, it is that the 21st century mutant of l'infame is as virulent as its Catholic forebear. It has rich new strains of hatred to draw on, it has abettors and enthusiasts in the most liberal democracies, and globalism is its perfect means of propagation. Ecrasez l'infame should again be the rallying cry of liberal democracies, or else l'infame will be doing the crushing of freedom as we know it. Muslim fanatics, including their Ebola strain marketing as al-Qaida, aren't the greatest threats. The threat to the West is as familiar as the reactionary next door.

So focusing on the violence triggered by cartoongate is a dodge convenient to both East and West. It helps the Muslim East continue to pretend that simply saying bromides like "Islam is a religion of peace" can make it so. It helps the West hide behind a facade of tolerance and enlightenment that hasn't kept its own demagogues from grabbing power by manufacturing fears and appealing to prejudice. The joint appearance by George Bush and King Abdullah of Jordan last week gelled it: The lawless, lying, fear-baiting, warmongering president and the generic Arab despot, whose torture jails are a favorite CIA lay-over, preaching peace, respect for law and an end to violence. Mel Brooks couldn't write comedy like that.

"Islam," the king said, "like Christianity and Judaism, is a religion of peace, tolerance, moderation." Well, no. What a religion's founders say and what its followers do is as different as what Karl Marx wrote in the London Library and what Stalin did with "Das Kapital" in Siberia. Ideals are nice. Upholding them is nicer. The world of Islam is overwhelmingly not living up to its purported ideals. It is a world of tyrannies, intolerance, racism, of prideful bigotries that shame any Muslim's claim of having the prophet defiled when Jews and foreigners are the daily objects of defilement in many of these countries' media and official government pronouncements. Are we forgetting that the Darfur genocide is primarily an Arab massacre of non-Arab, black Africans? Are we forgetting that Egypt, which has a peace treaty with Israel, broadcast to the entire Middle East a 41-part-series based on the revoltingly anti-Semitic "Protocols of the Elders of Zion," and did so during Ramadan, to maximize ratings? Don't just blame it on nondemocracies: Are we forgetting that the democratically elected representatives of Hamas, Iran and Iraq, both Sunni and Shiite, revel in destroy Israel rants?

Illiberal regimes at least have an excuse. Regression is part of their gross national product. The West has no such excuse, least of all in the world's self-appointed guardian of liberty. If l'infame's 21st century version is whatever replaces liberty, reason and the rule of law with dogma, faith-based bigotry and the lawless presumptions of a few arrogant men, then don't let the relative calm over cartoongate in America fool you. L'infame is alive and well here, in small and broad ways: It is people holding up signs at gay funerals that say "No Fags in Heaven," and millions of people doing likewise in 11 states by voting to bar gays from marrying. It is columnist Ann Coulter calling Muslims "ragheads" at a conservative political conference and getting an ovation, or Jacksonville's Rev. Jerry Vines calling Muhammad a "demon-possessed pedophile" in an address to the Southern Baptist Conference, and getting alleluias. L'infame is the National Cathedral service Sept. 14, 2001, belting the wrathful and jingoist "Battle Hymn of the Republic" during a memorial service for the victims of the attacks three days earlier. Mostly, l'infame is President Bush, sworn to uphold the Constitution, saying he answers to a "higher power" while dragging the country's laws and liberties through a gutter dug by Osama bin Laden.

With advocates like these, liberty and democracy have about as much chance as the fugitive honesty in the Bush White House. But it worked in Voltaire's time. It'll work in ours: Ecrasez l'infame!

(Tristam is a News-Journal editorial writer. Email to: ptristam@att.net.)

geez... look at the face on that!

Oh No... I'm another year older

Sass came over and made a mess with me. There was Czech beer, Grolsch, some upscale whiskey and old vinyl. All this commotion was a warm up (supposedly) for tomorrow night. I have doubts at this point that I can take another night of partying after this one, but WTF, you should never underestimate small batches of fine distilled beverages or pass up the opportunity to drink them.

We're going to celebrate several birthdays at once because we frigid Canajun's have to rip it up in February, just to prove that we can do it still. Mightydoll, GreenHedonist and I are up for another free trip around the sun, and we have invited a cast of thousands to MD's local for a few jars. I am hoping we can have a few larfs and spread some more lies and disinformation about our exploits and adventures.

It's not a prime number birthday (which I'm fond of celebrating for some odd mathematical nerdish reason) but I'm up for the challenge of drinking a few and having some fun in the dead of winter, such as it is. As they say in Nawlins, "Laissez les bon temp roullez."

The little gaffer is just waking up from his afternoon nap. It's hard work learning to heel, and sit. Add some cat pestering to the duty roster, and the wee dog is wiped out.  

Lichen. What more can I say. These colourful lichens are growing on a lovely hunk of limestone in the Pretty River Provincial Park. It's a short hike to the south side of the Gibralter Moraine where this rock is located in a long abandoned field.  

First Day At Skool

Grendel didn't have to stand in the corner and wear the dunce cap after all. By the end of the first hour, he was walking on his lead and almost staying in heel position. Not bad for his first time on a leash. I was concerned because he's gotten used to a harness, but the leash was only introduced today.

He was greeted by Dorothy and her two assistants, and by Kooka, a 6 and a half month old British Bulldog. Kooka had a face only a mother could love, but Grendel didn't hold that against her. She was friendly and wanted to meet all the other dogs, and Grendel didn't mind the idea. He backed up under a chair for a few minutes and gingerly approached her until they could give each other a whiff. After that, Kooka and Grendel got along just fine.

There were puppies from 3 or 4 months of age like Grendel, and an old German Shepherd who was over 10 years in the class. The old man, as I called him, carried himself with a great deal of dignity compared to most of the dogs. He even went nose to nose with Grendel by the end of the night. The largest dog in the class got along with the smallest. It was all good.

There were a few young knuckleheads in the group, but I suppose when you get a room full of over a dozen puppies, there's bound to be a bit of friction. Despite that, all of the dogs were heeling, walking and sitting properly by the end of it. It was a little hard to keep Grendel sitting, because the trick to it involves manipulating the collar and the dog's arse end. Grendel, being the shortest dog around is a little hard to reach. But, he's smart enough to get the hang of it with a little practice.

We've got homework this week, and I have to pass the lessons on to PJ so that we keep on track. Dorothy will be proud of the little fugger I hope.

Jeez... It's just a cartoon

I'm a little distraught about the violence that's broken out regarding the Jyllands Posten cartoons. Wotthehell has gotten into some people? The Islamic World is burning because a guy with a pen tried to make a point. The newspaper that published the cartoon has apologized already, but others, and I think rightly so, have reprinted them to make a statement about freedom of speech.

The actual intent of the cartoon was to provoke some thought about organized religion and violence. While I don't profess to be a Christian, it's certainly a big part of the my culture, and our collective history in the west. We've definitely made our fair share of mistakes in the name of religion, and those mistakes aren't in the distant past either. Now, it seems it's the eastern world's turn to do the same. Everyone should listen to Bob Dylan's tune "With God On Our Side."

The worst part of the whole controversy is that people are publishing more cartoons to inflame the situation rather than backing off. Cooler heads should prevail. It takes two to tango as the old saying goes. I don't agree that the Muslim world should be worked up about the controversy, but I also think it's time for the west to show a little more tolerance for their beliefs. You can't foster understanding and dialogue by insulting them in the first place.

We westerners really like to wring our hands and say that we're so progressive and above this sort of thing. The truth is, there are a lot of thin skinned folks everywhere, and it's getting more prevalent. Take a look at the amount of friction that Fred Phelps or Pat Robertson can cause. These men profess to be Christians, but all they do is spew hate and contempt for anyone who doesn't adhere to their point of view. It's not so different from the dogmatic Muslims who are getting really uptight about a cartoon.

There's nothing bad that a good asteroid impact wouldn't fix I always say.

Adieu Gord

Sad news folks.

Yesterday I heard that a band-mate from years ago passed away. I have not had any contact with him in recent years beyond the occasional email joke and exchange to wish him well on holidays. He left the city and headed east for small-town Ontario. Like all of us, he had issues with his relationships and battled depression. I hope that country life agreed with him.

He was the most solid guitarist you could ever hope for in a group. When everyone was losing their place, Gord was solidly on track. He could rescue the song from an absolute train wreck with a small grin and a blistering guitar solo that would point the way forward. He knew zillions of tunes too. Not only did he know the hooks and the little bits to dress up his part, but he also knew how to get the sound that was appropriate to the tune too. He had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of pop music under his fingers. From the Beatles to Zeppelin, Gord knew it.

When I heard that he had succumbed to a heart attack, I was dumbfounded. He wasn't that ancient. I guess that he was in his mid 50s at most. I settled into a restless sleep last night thinking about how the world is a little emptier.

So long Gord. Rest in peace.

Grendel passed the 2kg mark this past week. The little fugger is getting HUGE!