Zachary Richard - Réveille

It's been a while since I've done one of these, huh? (I actually started on this one back in November, and just didn't get anywhere with it.) And, now that I've started in on this one, I've almost entirely lost the desire to finish it. But, don't worry, I will. These days, though, writing's been difficult for me; I have no drive, no ambition, no inspiration, no creative spark: I've mostly just been sort of shambling along, in mental stasis, functioning on a level of simple existential necessity. Now that all that preambling blah blah blah is out of the way, on to the Song of the Day!

One day at work, one of my co-workers asked me about my family—how many of us there were, where we were from, how long we'd been in Canada: that sort of thing; I started with the most recent immigrant to come to Canada in my family: my paternal great-grandfather Oskari: in the 10s of the 1900s. Which my co-worker found to be quite a loose definition of recent. I then continued to my mother's family, the Melansons... who have been in New Brunswick since, if I remember correctly (I'll check with Mom at some point for something more accurate/specific and get back to you), the 1700s. I know that Mom was born in the house her great-grandfather had built and that the house was included in a book about old Acadian houses in the Shediac area of NB. My co-worker was impressed, perhaps with a hint of incredulity; he told me, smiling proudly, that his son was the first member of his family (he had come to Canada with his parents and siblings 9 years ago [if I remember correctly]) who had been born in Canada.

This conversation led me to thinking about my heritage—what my Acadian-ness means—which, of course, led me back to this song, to which I was introduced by Gabrielle.

His voice. Man, this guy can sing! He has such a clear voice, a resounding alarum bell of a voice. There's such an emotional force to this song, which, I suppose, is a damnably obvious statement, given the subject matter. It's a fiercely Acadian song; a fiercely powerful reminder of heritage, of history, of remembrance. It is an indictment. It is swollen with indignation and intense love and anger and sadness. It is infused with a timelessness; it sounds aged and present, historic and contemporary.

It's difficult to write about this song—as I've discovered even more intensely since delving into this writing, this examination, the song on repeat in iTunes—as I feel too close to it, too personally connected to the song.

I've adopted it, appropriated it as my battle hymn of familial patriotism.

This version of the song is from his performance at Le Congrès Mondial Acadien (1994), which I find weaker than the studio version; though it does still maintain the heartfelt sincerity of the original, I find it lacks somewhat in the stripped bare and raw emotional intensity of the studio recording. It still stands as a strong monument to the Acadian people.

My artistic/creative goals for 2009!

Over the past couple weeks, I've been thinking a lot about the things I'm trying to create. About how to proceed; about the ideas to incorporate; about plot and character; about form, function, content. Unfortunately, lately I've really been struggling with coming up with ideas, with coming up with good form, good construction; I've been sort of on the fritz, mentally-speaking lately—due, in no small part, to my pretty constant overtiredness, stress and insinuant ungood feelings/depression. Though that's not the only reason work has slowed (as sometimes those can actually work to my advantage, depending on the variety I'm faced with); possibly of equal importance is the lack of goal; without deadlines or tangible results in view, I'm floundering. And so, I present, to those silent few who have any interest in my creative output: my goals for 2009 (in terms of quantity of work [I can always go back and work on that niggling "quality" thing later]):

• bring Jürgen; ou: Les Cloches ne sont pas belles to a minimum of 50 000 words. This is, most likely, easily achievable (it would mean that, working daily, I'd need only write approximately 100 words a day). And I have many ideas for the novel, I just need to write them.
• finish or at least significantly add to: "Babel," "Go to Hell," "The Old Woman," "The Woman Blowing Bubbles," "Breathless Urgency," "Mustn't Let It Rust," "He," "Dream Lover," "Hayride," "Les Goddams," "It's Cold in the Kitchen when You're Naked," "On How to Dispose of Skunks," "Slinky Pojak," "writer/character," "On Botany and its Possibilities," "Shamhat," The Wagner play (at least the introductory scene), The Stain Stays and the Stink Sticks, The Memoirs of Oskari Kultalahti, and The Ballad of Toot Uncommon and Pierce-Face.
• write and record at least one song (that isn't terrible) (or record at least two already written songs).
• draw/paint/otherwise put on paper at least one piece that I don't hate.
• perhaps attempt a little sculptural piece (specifically, the one I've had in mind for the past four or seven years).
• post more things here.

Yeah, it's a pretty intense—and no doubt idealistic—list. And, most likely, I'll not achieve a minimum of 2/3 of it. But, at least I've set out goals for myself. It feels sort of like doing something. I'll keep the world updated on my progress. Not too regularly, though.

The Eggsciting World of EGGS!

A bit of a review (which is certainly not eggshaustive) of the past few months, solely in relation to work:

I get up eggstremely early (for me, anyway; ten after five isn't all that eggstravagant, I suppose, but I like to eggsaggerate) and eggsit the house and stand at a corner, eggspecting the bus to arrive posthaste. When it doesn't, I eggshale in a sigh, eggspectorate a bit and then board (once the bus arrives, of course). After the commute, I walk to the EGG PROCESSING PLANT WHERE I WORK!

At work, I stand around, doing eggsciting things, which may include: putting things in boxes!, putting things on conveyor belts!, mopping/squeegeeing the floors!, shovelling shells!, pouring chemicals (which eggsert an influence over the well-being of my pulmonary system, no doubt) into large vats! and, essentially, being responsible for all sorts of eggsacting work! I guess I get a bit of eggsercise, though.

There's nothing too eggshilarating about the work, really; I think I may have lied in this post's title.

All in all, it's mostly just eggshausting.

The wine blog. Yeah, I know!

All right: since g.'s been back in the TO, we've been drinking wine (to be honest, we drank wine before we left the TO for a holiday, too). Drinking wine and writing about it in a little journal thing. Talking about wine, drinking wine, talking about it some more and then drinking a bunch. It's cyclical, really.

Anyway, we decided that the notes we wrote in the journal should be shared. For the good of all humankind, really.

We are not connoisseurs. We just really like drinking wine. And, since we talk about it to each other, we figured that we should bring our wisdom to a wider audience. So people can, in the future, buy their wine informedly. And have fun, of course. That's the main goal. Fun is foremost in this pursuit. Honest.

In the truest sense of the word, we are not oenophiles. But, in a loose interpretation, we most certainly are. With a bullet.

So, if you want to know what we have to say about wines——both tasty and otherwise——go here.

Possible Names for Future Cats:

Pairs:
Dave and David
Jackson and Triggs

Singles:
Egil
Njál
Grettir
Skarp-Hedin
Airplane
Spaceship
Carl
Rod Stewart
The
Prorogation of Parliament

That's it for now.