A dinner? A supper? A meal.

I've been reading DFW's A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again collection of essays + arguments the past week or so, and it's inspired me, which is, really, pretty impressive; I've been in such a lengthy drought that I wasn't certain I'd pull myself out of it with any degree of success (though I guess I can't really weigh in on the success of this venture or not; maybe just getting something written can be considered success enough? This time: sure). But yeah so this collection sort of pushed the write buttons, if you'll allow that. What to tackle, though, right? What can I put this reawakened writerly zeal to work on? It had to be something new, though, I felt, before I started writing things out. Why not the supper that my partner g. and I enjoyed in celebration of our third anniversary? Sounds good to me! (and don't worry: I know I don't hold a candle to the hurricane that was DFW, but inspiration is inspiration and the inspired are not chosen by the inspirer. But writing is good; it's such a primal urge that after having been depriving myself of such an outlet [simply because I just could not write anything; nothing would come out of me], the feeling of its return is such elation; to such a degree that I'm like a mindless fool here [an out-of-practice mindless fool at that!]. So, keep this in mind, I guess: I'm just having a good time.)

Tonight, we went out to a Fancy Place (well, fancy in my eyes) for a nice, celebratory, lengthy, full meal. The place: The Rushton; a place of candles in frosted glasses on tables; metal-tiled (brass? tin? I don't really know these things. And after several seconds of intense research: pressed tin.) ceiling (it really is a lovely ceiling); an ornate chandelier, of some sort of impressive origins, I have faith (again with the intense research: bronze, vintage piece from 1920s France); original artwork on the walls (and for sale! Of much of the stuff that's been there in the past, there have been several pieces that, were I gifted with any amount of disposable income, I would have loved to have provided with a good home); dimmed lights, a requisite in this sort of place, I think—something inspiring hushed talk (which, as the place fills up, doesn't really work, but oh well: the atmosphere still hovers), implying some sort of privacy; curtains outside, in the pre-entry vestibule—lush curtains which hint at something—again—secret, secluded, private; an intimate place, well-suited to just such a celebratory, lengthy, full meal.

First off, of course: the wine course. Kicked things off with a bottle of Tawse Winery Chardonnay. 2006, if I remember correctly. Is it all right to say that ordering wine by the bottle makes me uneasy? That whole server coming to the table and displaying the bottle, cutting the foil, pulling the cork and then? oh, and then: the tasting. Does it make cold sweat pop out on anyone else's back? (just for posterity's sake: I've never been the actual taster; that privilege has always [by always, I mean: both times {which were both at anniversary suppers , incidentally}] fallen to g. Oh, brave g.; I shudder at the very idea of being the responsible party.) I look at that splash of wine in the bottom of the glass, the server (Rob, according to my receipt [who was pretty great]) waiting patiently for the verdict and I feel like a cringe. Yeah, that's right: like I'm some sort of full-body cringe, like I am cringe personified. What happens if we don't like it? Do they take it back? Do we still have to pay for it? What do they do with the opened bottle of undrunk wine? Deep, ponderous, metaphysical. The sort of stuff that keeps people awake at night, to be sure. Fortunately, g. accepts the wine. A breath (apparently I had been holding my breath? Who knew?) escapes me, but I'm left wondering: does g. actually like it? I think, if I were in the same position, I'd probably tell the server that, I don't know, gasoline was acceptable if that's what they poured for me. But to the wine itself: it was really quite tasty, with this interesting full smokiness and, like, a very clean taste. Like I was rinsing, sanitising, sterilising my insides. In the best way possible (though the sediment in the wine was a bit offputting [I thought the first chunk was a bread crumb]).

A bread crumb from that wonderful thing: meal-prologue bread (don't you love when a meal has a prologue of fresh bread and some sort of wonderful spread comprised of chick peas, red peppers, garlic, spices and who knows what else?), which, thankfully, was not responsible for the bottom-feeding wine glass flotsam (I was unreasonably placated when I discovered the true source; I can't really explain [honestly flabbergasted here {as an aside within this aside: is it odd—atypical, perhaps?—that, when I look up words at dictionary.com, I don't first go to the mainpage, but rather go directly to the word's page ?}] why wine chunk is better than bread chunk), was a great Whetter of Appetite.

In retrospect, I imagine that whetted appetite would've been better served with something a little more upscale, a little more high-falutin', than fish 'n' chips (though it least it bore the more adultly coded name of "fish fry")—something like the pasta, maybe (or the swordfish special, like g. got). But whatever: I love me some good fish 'n' chips. Oh, yeah: and the chip part of the equation: totally sweet potato. Always a good time.

G.'s swordfish special also looked like a good time—big ol' fish-block! And collard (g.: "oh, C—O—L—L—A—R—no E—D") greens that were tastily plant (plant as adj.). The swordfish also was tastily something (though not plant).

Interlude! (aka: bathroom break):
As with most of these shoebox-sized restaurants, the bathroom is in the basement, which is nice: no chance of getting the table by the bathrooms here. The railing to the basement? Holy moly: it's bigger around than I am; it's like a banister exemplar. Solid. Comfortingly so. And a word of warning (well, several words, really): there is a mirror at the bottom of the stairs. A full-length, floor-to-ceiling sort of affair. To your right. You can't see it until you reach the bottom and then bam! there you are and your peripheral vision is telling you that someone is tailing you, that someone is sort of coming toward you and it's mildly frightening in an atavistic sort of way. The men's bathroom is an interestingly laid-out awkward failure: there's a toilet and a urinal (speaking of: why do so many urinals have their drain holes aligned in such a way as to suggest no other image but a penis [REALLY!]? [This one, however, did not; it moreso resembled the Y that happens in drawings of a female crotch. Urinal drain holes, man. No idea.]), separated by about half a foot, with nary a divider. It's very unlikely that both are ever used at the same time. Anyway, the sink's really cool. It's a rectangular prism, with a smaller rectangular prism cut out of it. There's a lovely fake orchid, too.

Back to the food! Know what comes after the main course? Yup. Exactly. Dessert. What a wonderful thing. I have a sweet tooth that is verging on the ridiculous, that could outfight the sweet tooth of any kid ever. I still (sometimes, when it's available) will eat spoonfuls of sugar. Just like that. I'm a fan of dessert-time. I got a chocolate pecan tart, which was more than suitably delicious and came partnered with a blackberry. I love blackberries. Smooth (I love fuzzless, redless raspberries [though I also love fuzzy, red raspberries—and those coppery "autumn gold" ones, too]), less tart and so yummy! I love the look of them, too: all those little berry-balls stuck together... G.'s chocolate torte was also tasty (perhaps... scrumptious?) and came partnered with something that looked like some sort of combination of plum tomato and cherry that also happened to be orange and that tasted like some berry that I am entirely familiar with but that I couldn't tell you the name of.

So, that was the meal. Not even the best part, though. The best part was hanging out with g., celebrating us, just having a grand old time. Talking and laughing and being all anecdotal.

Bizarre admission time: at work I was really excited about this and, quite unexpectedly, nervous. Yeah. Nervous. It was like a first date, or something; it was like discovery, learning, meeting again. And, another admission: I loved that. Every day is beginning, continuance, culmination.

A final note (finally, huh? I mean: come on, this went on for ages! I really didn't expect that.): I had a lot of unabashed fun writing this. And it felt so good to write again. To put words into sentences into paragraphs into a full thing. Whether it'll even be interesting to anyone else: I don't know. I hope so, of course, but if not: that's all right, too. It fulfilled its goal for me: affirming that I was still (sort of) capable of writing. I feel better, clearer. And all it took was a little food, a little wine, a little celebration and an amazing partner.

2009? 2009.

I thought I'd give this a shot. Why not, right? It'll pass a little bit (a lot, as it turned out) of time and it's writing. Which is something that, despite my recent lack of it (the veritable dearth of it), I still really enjoy doing. Writing is such a great release/outlet/exhalation, that I wish it would still come readily to me. Maybe it'll return. I certainly hope so. Sooner rather than later, of course. I feel sort of unfinished without it. Incomplete.
So, here goes nothin', I suppose.

1. What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before?
Most importantly, in relation to the progress of the rest of the year, I sliced my right ring finger open at work. It required seven stitches to close. That's quite a story. Not really one I feel like telling right now, though. Sorry about that. Let's leave it at the thought that my hands seem like strangers now. Unfamiliar.
What else happened this year that had never happened before? Let's leave the shitty stuff alone (I think that last one's good enough) and focus on some of the good things. Met LeVar Burton. Went to FanExpo. Both of these were really fun events. Celebrated our second anniversary with my absolutely outstanding partner, Gabrielle (this was happening the day after we met LeVar Burton; we told him, and he sang for us). Visited Niagara Falls. There's a lot of water there, huh?! Saw Isis and Skinny Puppy (separate shows) live, which was something I never really expected to happen. Started a blog about wine-drinking and wine-appreciation and wine with Gabrielle.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don't even remember if I made any resolutions last year. I guess this year's would be to find a job that doesn't make me [redacted] on a regular basis and to start writing again. Being less of a selfish pail of turpentine.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
I don't think so. Not that I can remember, anyway.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No, fortunately.

5. What countries did you visit?
Work, house, work, house, work, new house, work

6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?
A positive sense of self. A job that i enjoyed for at least a single reason.

7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
January 10th: Sam and Hailey joined the family.
July 17th: sliced open my right ring finger.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
[redacted]

9. What was your biggest failure?
Oh, dear.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I don't know if I've mentioned this yet, but I sliced open my right ring finger.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
Maybe the complete series of TNG? Food was pretty all right, too. I like that stuff.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
Gabrielle. For being so damn supportive, patient and there. Sam. For being so much fun (for the most part). Hailey. For being such a silent, crazy beast.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
A couple people at work. Mine.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Rent, food, booze.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Skinny Puppy. FanExpo (particularly Avery Brooks and Bruce Campbell). Sam and Hailey. Gabrielle.

16. What songs will always remind you of 2009?
"Sincerely, Liza (Bucket Song)" by Richard Laviolette. It was in my brain almost constantly throughout the year.
That's the only one I can think of. I've been working on listening through my entire CD collection from A to Z (currently on O), so there's not really much I've listened to over and over.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? Probably sadder.
b) thinner or fatter? Roughly the same.
c) richer or poorer? Richer, I guess, considering that I have my credit card balance back to zero and more of my student loan paid off.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Writing, playing music, working at things I enjoy, being posi.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Damaging myself, brooding, being negi.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
I spent it with the M. family. In a mostly relaxed sort of week. Eating a lot.

21. Did you fall in love in 2009?
Sam and Hailey. Gabrielle still and again and again and still and

22. How many one-night stands?


23. What was your favourite TV program?
DS9.

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
I don't think so.

25.What was the best book you read?
Looking back at my reading list for 2009, I discovered that I read almost 100 things, so I'm going to list my top ten, in the order in which I read them.

Love Is a Mix Tape by Rob Sheffield
Finnegans Wake by James Joyce
House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski
The Gulag Archipelago by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
You Remind Me of Me by Dan Chaon
Local Anaesthetic by Günter Grass
Contact by Carl Sagan
On Beauty by Zadie Smith
Bone by Jeff Smith
White Teeth by Zadie Smith

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?
I don't think I discovered any new bands, though, in relation to listening through my CD collection, I reawakened my love for Darkthrone and Nasum.

27. What did you want and get?
Cats.

28. What did you want and not get?
A decent job.

29. What was your favourite film of this year?
Synecdoche, New York, Wendy and Lucy, and Aguirre: Der Zorn Gottes (I really enjoyed watching it yet again). Pretty sure that Synecdoche, New York pulls out the win. Big time. Wow.

30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
Drunkenly and untunefully played a guitar and sang loudly (just to clarify: the singing was just as drunkenly and untunefully done as the guitar playing). Drank more than I should have.

31.What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Finding a job that offered something.

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
Not caring, probably.

33. What kept you sane?
Gabrielle, Sam and Hailey, weekends, booze, video games (video games!), books, music and coffee.

34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?


35. What political issue stirred you the most?
I've been much too apathetic of late. Need to work on that, to be sure.

36. Who did you miss?
Some PEI folk. Josh & Erin. My family.

37. Who was the best new person you met?
Gabrielle; many times.

38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009?


39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
I can't really think of anything right now. So many songs are struggling for the top spot in my brains right now. It's like a rumble that is royal up in there. Maybe mix a little Darkthrone, a little Xasthur (always a little Xasthur), a little combatwoundedveteran, a little Skinny Puppy, a little something else and WHIZZ-BANGO!: there it is. 2009 in a few lines.

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.