Thick Specs - Classic Indie Rock

Greg Williams of Hinterland on the Sixgill Shark

“Yes, it was big.”  I will never forget these words uttered by my colleague in a monotone somewhere between Twiki and HAL 9000’s.  I could scarcely believe the lack of excitement in her tone, as she responded to my question about whether or not she had seen… It.  I’m talking about the REALLY big shark my two dive buddies and I had just seen on a pristine dive at Flora Islet off Hornby Island, B.C. in 1995 or so. 

Sixgill sharks, or more specifically, the bluntnose sixgill shark (Hexanchus Griseus) is really cool.  First of all, this primitive shark is found in all the world’s oceans, usually in very deep (300-6000+ feet) water.  Among their defining physical characteristics are large eyes adapted for the low light conditions found at great depth, one small dorsal fin located towards their tail fin, six gill slits (most sharks have only five) and their size.  They have been known to grow to more than 18 feet in length.   

For some reason these sharks have been performing seasonal vertical migrations in certain parts of the world which can bring them into contact with recreational scuba divers at shallow (for the shark) depths around 100 feet.  In BC, in addition to Hornby’s Flora Islet, they have been regularly spotted in the waters near Victoria and also in Barkely Sound.  Other parts of the world where they are routinely sighted by recreational divers include Puget Sound, Washington; Monterey Canyon, California; and certain Norwegian fjords.  Needless to say, a sixgill sighting is a fine addition to any diver’s log book and little can compare with the feeling of spotting at a distance or (even better) swimming alongside one of these ancient creatures. 

Perhaps the most tension-filled part of a sixgill dive is before you even see the shark, however.  Imagine gently finning along a tiered wall around 100 feet in dark emerald green water, trying to look everywhere at once to spot your dive’s objective.  Chances are fair (I’m 3 for 7 at Flora myself) but there are no guarantees.  It is difficult to remain calm and keep one’s breathing rate slow and steady as you scan the gloom for the glow of an eye picked up by your dive light or a dark shadow languidly swimming below you.  All the anxiety is forgotten when the payoff swims into sight, though.  One aspect of typical sixgill behaviour which remains unexplained is their near-catatonic sluggishness at shallow depths which enables divers to swim alongside them for long periods of time.  This helps to put nervous divers at ease as the sharks really don’t seem to be interested in them at all. 

The memory of a first-hand sighting will always stay with you, but so will the tension and suspense of the search.  Both make great reasons to return again and again to the known haunts of the sixgill shark.  And yes, Miranda, despite your distinct lack of enthusiasm, you’re right: they ARE big.

MP3 Download - Hinterland- Detwiller_Pavelion.mp3

Hinterland is a band from Vancouver, BC making excellent music that lurks in the depths of layered grooves and mysterious melody.   

Guest Column - Ferdy Belland of The Feminists on Tim Horton's

On the road, we tend to live out the CanCon TV-commercial fantasy by kickstarting our days, be they sunny or dreary, by queueing patiently with anywhere from 20-50 additonal sleep-deprived non-morning people at any given Tim Horton's in any given Canadian town. They're all the same, really. The restaurants, not the coffee consumers. But the familiarity of a Tim Horton's is comforting, and it really does bind the country together in a scalding hot, deep-fried manner. Whereas if the Feminists were collectively numbskulled enough to grab rubber-sandwiches-as-waking-repast all the time, we'd be sullen and flabby...and I consider Tim Horton's to be miles in quality above any horrid red-and-yellow plastic abbatoir lorded over by circus clowns. By sticking strictly to the Tim Horton's regimen of extra-large double-doubles and apple fritters, we get just the right combination of high-octane caffeine, refined sugar, chloride salt, and saturated fat racing through our (shocked-and-awestricken) bloodstreams that we're up for yet another mind-numbing 700km drive from Thunder Bay to Sault Ste. Marie, hoping to whatever gods may be that we won't run into any freak snowstorms, blown tires, cheating promoters, violent drunks, or shitty pop-punk wannabes from Kapuskasing. The tactile thrill of reducing an apple fritter down to a soggily chewed-up, easily swallowed lump of morning victory is enough to temporarily deceive us that all is right in the world. The 700km roadtrip from T-Bay to the Sault isn't so bad, we think, gazing out the van's windows at the picture-pretty shorescapes of the Great Lakes. Then we realize just in time that the confusing fuel gauge is actually dipping low, and we sigh resignedly as the spell breaks with a bubble-puff and we fish in the Band Kitty for another wad of gas money. Keith curses under his breath as we pull into the gas station and he realizes we're back in Thessalon. It's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll.

Download MP3 - The Feminists - The Beginning of the World

The Feminists new album 'Can't Scream Loud Enough' is an explosive piece of Canadian rock and roll.  As accomplished road warriors, they truly deserve your attempt to scream 'double double' loud enough at their next show.

Guest Column - Arran Fisher of The Summerlad on Aikido

About twice a week I make the trek to a warehouse in the industrial southeast of Calgary, walk around the back, weave my way past 18-wheelers and commercial debris and go up the blue metal staircase to one of my favourite places. This might sound like many a band's rehearsal space, but in this case I'm talking about my
dojo, the place where I've practiced the martial art of Aikido for the past 11 years,

Upon opening the door, I'm greeted with a hearty "Konichiwa" from other students, like I've entered a sushi restaurant. I bow to the photograph of Aikido's founder, Morihei Ueshiba, and immediately I'm transported into another world. My mind is cleared of the stresses of normal city life, and I'm immersed in an atmosphere of camaraderie and scholarship, all couched in Japanese tradition and etiquette.

Aikido is different from what most people think of martial arts. It's not about fighting; it's about cultivating a frame of mind. Sure, students learn all kinds of crazy ways to throw an attacker around, dislocate their elbow, or even cause some serious harm, but to focus on this element would be like saying that the only good thing about the ocean is that it floats boats. You'd miss the bigger picture. In Aikido, learning self-defense is seen as a way to become a better person.

The training is completely non-competitive and only with the attitude of defense from an attack. There's never a winner or loser and nobody is so skilled that they can't learn from even the greenest beginner. At our dojo, the most important thing is that everyone has a good time and feels happy after each practice,
so a positive attitude and avoidance of any injury are two of the most important elements.

I learn Aikido from a man who moved to Calgary from Yokohama in 1980 and has been teaching in the traditional Japanese style ever since. We call him "Sensei" and greet each other with bows. The classes are conducted in English, but we use Japanese words for all the formal greetings and thankyous, as well as for names for all the techniques. Before and after each practice, we clean the mat with a mop and bleach, not just for sanitation, but as an act of purification. Classic Shinto beliefs run deep.

The dojo is not just a place where you go to learn, like a college classroom, and definitely not like a gym, where all that's expected of you is to pay your membership. At the dojo you actually practice to become more aware of your surroundings and the people with whom you interact. You learn how to listen and be
quiet, and how to teach others things you may have picked up. At the end of every practice I feel both energized by the experience and humbled by how much there is to know about this endlessly complex and rewarding pursuit.

- Arran Fisher

The Summerlad are band from Calgary, Alberta.  They are firm but friendly.

Guest Column - Daniel of Spiral Beach on ?

We had a party, it worked out like this: everyone pretends to be
someone else, we all get a lot more interesting. Who do you think you
are in someone else's imagination? Freedom from speech, drink and be
merciful. . . psychedelic flourishes. On top of a mountain, looking
down, staring at TV, youtube scream. Script away with the bottom of
the barrel, making spirits rise, we've got to send for more. . . wire
me up a skunk mistletoe scent from the pale moon pail, and no straight
opinion onion. So the TV gets drunk and rolls on it's side, the stereo
makes the most of a big blue open space, filled with empty bottles and
people. Both speakers tuned to ipod radio, only the left side works,
so they're stacked on top eachother to fool the roomful of guests now
listening out of one ear. Out to the porch, perched on the patio,
potato skin melting off in the streetlight, cigarette parade. Ashes on
the sidewalk, people arrive. . . neon jackets, stay plastic, it's part
of the disguise, she's got a plastic shotgun too, they're all taking
pictures, and she smacks a raccoon in the head or something. There
were noises comin from the garbage in the alley, probably just
Smelliott doin his thing. Remember when we used to have those parties.
. . that was wild, but so now. Go back inside, now they're starting to
get their act together, those babies with hair on they chin, in the
bathroom with an audience, shaving off great flying chunks, caught in
a bowl and saved for later. No trimming of the beard, the razor just
slices right through and miraculously doesn't scratch the iron skin.
Silicon fibers, something like that, if we're all machines anyway,
just programmed different cause we're bored. Anyway it comes right off
like water sluiced down the side, big shapes shaved into the face now,
no x's and o's, but other board games, maybe we play monopoly around
his mouth? Now the tricky part, I had given myself a haircut as I had
better uses for what was there, I wanted it glued on backwards. (J
told me that if you walk into a movie theatre backwards, they won't
stop you even if you don't have a ticket. Obviously this is a lie, but
at the time it was hilarious) Shaved out and stuck on now, santa's
coming to town, as a young man full of alcohol, mardi gras feathers on
his face and a stuffed lemon pillow filling him out. From the inside.
Some guy asks me for Ketamine, Now out to the tiny island, floating in
the middle of the street, lyin there like a bunch of walrus, basking
in the late-nite glow, about to burst, listening to the music from
inside coming out. The confusion never stops.

Spiral Beach are an important and impetuous band of Canadian musicians.

Guest Column - Two Hours Traffic's Liam Corcoran on Reading

Traveling across Canada in various vehicles leaves me with a great deal of time to read. In fact, all of the members in Two Hours Traffic have become avid readers. On any given afternoon, you could find Andy, our bass player, curled up with an historical thriller such as Caldwell and Thomason's The Rule of Four. From his shotgun position, our drummer Derek can be found nose-deep in something more scandalous, like Nabokov's Lolita.  And when he isn't driving, Alec, our guitar player, will almost surely be absorbed in Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States. My favourite book, and the one I would like to talk about, is an incredibly funny and well-crafted novel called A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole.
   
For those of you who haven't read A Confederacy of Dunces, this novel tells the story of a man named Ignatius Reilly and the interesting cast of failures and misfits whom he meets on his adventures throughout New Orleans.  Ignatius is the biggest misfit of them all, a gigantic slob of a man who could not care less about his physical appearance save for the green hunting cap which must always be on his head when he leaves the house.

Despite a high level of education, Ignatius seems to have nothing to offer the world. His frustrations in the workforce, both as an administrative assistant and a mobile hot-dog vendor, make for some of the most hilarious scenes in the novel. The arguments between Ignatius and mother, whom he still lives with despite being a full-grown man, are a source of some wicked humor as well.  What makes these scenes funny is the way Ignatius uses words. He has a massive vocabulary, and he puts it to good use during his amazingly eloquent rants. No matter how upset he gets, Ignatius never loses his brilliant command of language. The beautiful words on the page just seem that much more enjoyable coming from such a grotesque and dysfunctional character.

I don't want to paint this book as pure comedy, because it isn't. Despite the hilarious moments, there is a hopelessly lost character at the heart of this story. Ignatius has a shaky grip on reality and his extensive education has given him nothing more than a sense of superiority. Afraid to apply his degrees in any concrete way, Ignatius often spends time in his room working on a novel, but there is little in his character to suggest that he would see this project through to its conclusion.
   
The story of Ignatius becomes even more tragic when compared to the life of his creator. John Kennedy Toole was a professor of English at the University of Southwestern Louisiana and at Hunter College. He tried unsuccessfully to get A Confederacy of Dunces published. Toole's disappointment over not getting his masterpiece recognized undoubtedly contributed to the author's suicide in 1968.  It was only through the tireless efforts of his mother that the novel ever saw the light of day. She enticed a professor at Loyola University named Walker Percy to read the novel and he was the first member of the literary community to recognize its brilliance. The novel went on to win the Pulitzer Prize in 1981. Percy, who ended up writing the foreword to the book, says that "the tragedy of the book is the tragedy of the author." Knowing these autobiographical facts adds a dark undertone to the novel's funnier moments and also makes Ignatius' struggle more realistic.
   
If you have some extra time on your hands, give A Confederacy of Dunces a try. I promise that you will laugh out loud, and if you are extra sensitive, you might even well up at some point. That's all I have to say. I hope that I have made a strong enough case!

Liam Corcoran is part of the pop-powered machine known as Two Hours Traffic. He reads comic books to wind down, and literature to wind up.

Bells Clanging's Carla and Lynette Gillis on Religion

The other day Lynette mentioned that she sometimes thought about practicing Buddhism, how it seems so peaceful and everything. We were sitting at Dairy Queen and she spoke through mouthfuls of Pecan Mudslide. But then I reminded her about a Phowa Ceremony we'd attended months ago, and all that stuff about, I don't know, the spirit coming up through the mouth of the eagle and down into the belly of the snake in order for the deceased to make it to the Pure Land of the Buddha of Compassion.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that," she said.

We turned our attention back to our royal treats. After a bit she said, "What about Baha'i?"

I said, "What's it all about?

Lynette told me she couldn't remember but that she thought there wasn't one main god. Recently, she'd slept on a friend's floor, and he'd told her about his Baha'i family and shown her photos of their trip to Israel. This glimpse had given her the quick impression that the religion was open-minded and community-oriented. I said I thought that sounded good.

Lynette and I were brought up Roman Catholic. But though we love Christmas and advent candles and shrine visits, all that guilt and shame and sinning can get to a person. For a while I'd considered agnosticism but I don't think I make the cut. The thing is, I said to Lynette, "Whenever something really scary happens, I always pray."

"To who?," she asked.

"A faceless God," I said. "Or Grandma. It's like a ritual. I say the same five prayers I've said ever since I was six. In the same order too. The fact that I pray probably means I'm not agnostic."

By now, Lynette had reached the bottom of her mudslide and my banana split no longer had whipped cream, pineapple tidbits or strawberries. All was a syrupy river.

"I guess I should look into it more," I said. "It's such a big question." Something took a hold of me then and I exclaimed, "I mean, I should know what I believe in!"

"Yeah," Lynette said.

I sighed. "I guess I'm like so many other people, not wanting to think that nothing exists beyond this," I said, waving my arm around Dairy Queen, which had grown dim and chilly in preparation for closing.

We sat with these thoughts for a few minutes, occasionally lifting our feet for the mop guy. Then Lynette cocked her head to the side. She said, "Listen to what's playing."

I couldn't hear over the din of freezers and air conditioning. Then I caught the faint strains of "One More Night" by Phil Collins. Lynette and I were on a real Phil Collins' kick, especially after hearing a story on This American Life about a heartbroken girl who phones Phil Collins for love advice, which he dishes expertly and sagely. We started singing the verse, the chorus. Then we got up and carried our tray to the garbage.

Lynette said, "Wait, here comes my favourite line." We paused, the tray in mid-air.

"I was wondering should I call, then I thought, maybe you're not alone..."

Out at the car, the sky was turning funereal blue. Lynette was still going on about Phil Collins. "He's a genius. He's a god."

"Hey," I said. "Maybe we belong to the Church of Phil Collins?"

"Yeah, yeah," Lynette hollered. "That's perfect! We belong to the Church of Phil Collins!"

Then we drove home, the un-regal milky overload now an unsettled ache in our bellies.

Carla and Lynette Gillis play guitar and drums in Bontempi and Bells Clanging. They were in Halifax's Plumtree from 1993 to 2000. Bells Clanging performs Thursday, October 18 at the Tiger Bar, 414 College Street, Toronto.

Guest Column - The Cape May's Clinton St. John on Casinos

When I walk into my favorite casino, the room is filled with music. Though I never play the VLT machines I appreciate how they combine to create a soothing atmosphere, each one playing their own song, cleverly tuned to the same key, adding a chime or bell when they please. They bathe the room in a gentle neon glow, their signs illuminated; Enchanted Unicorn, Cherry Quest, Gone Fishing .The overall effect is quite pleasing. After making eye-contact with the security guard to ensure he doesn't slow me down with an I.D check (sometimes a little extra panache helps, like a casual salute or a karate chop wave) I weave my way through the coin slots, tugged and pulled by their expressionless suitors, harmonizing, greeting me as I make my way to the gaming floor.

The gaming floor has about thirty tables organized in an oval shape, nestled in-between the two separate VLT wards. The surfaces are swathed in green felt, marked with different colors as per their game. These include Caribbean Poker, Craps, Roulette, Blackjack and a few new games that I've never ventured to play. I always walk around the tables two or three times, pacing until I find one that I like, sometimes venturing into the tiny non-smoking room with its eight tables if nothing looks appealing. An ideal table is almost full with players (which makes the game and your money last longer) has a friendly dealer, and hopefully some interesting characters seated there.

My casino has its regulars like any other. More than one server has remarked that if they don't show up on any given day they can't help but think something bad has happened. I can always count on running into a few staples. Like the religious gambler. He always seems to do well and he always sings high-praise to Jesus when he has a particularly winning hand. Then it’s "Praise be the lord. One love from Jesus" and so on.

Blackjack has been my game of choice, since they took the horses away. We called them the mechanical horses. It was a game made by Sega. In its centre was a plexi-glass dome about four times the size of a dome hockey game. Beneath the glass was a miniature race-track with miniature horses attached to their individual lanes by little magnets. There was seating for about ten people around the game, while at one end stood a giant video screen that gave the odds on the horses. The odds would stay up for five minutes, until the one minute warning for last bets was issued, followed by a triumphant sounding bugle and a gunshot initiating the race. My friends and I had a few go-to horses. And we were there on the very last night before they disassembled the track and took it away. We sang at the top our lungs after the last race had been played out, marching in a single line towards the exit. “Crimson Ghost, we will miss you Trina’s Triumph we will dream about you, Mike you’re a dancer I don’t care what your daddy says”.

The Cape May's latest album was produced by Steve Albini, who is a world-famous winner in the game of indie rock roulette.

Guest Column - The Hylozoist's Paul Aucoin on Proportional Representation

First Past The Post Vs. (Mixed) Proportional Representation

I wonder how many people I have already lost with the title? Although not exciting to most, I have opted to write about something happening in Canada right now and possibly more than once in the coming years. British Columbia has already had a referendum on it and Ontario is next on October 10th.

In Canada we currently enjoy a First Past The Post system at both the federal and provincial levels. British Columbia barely missed a 60% mark for the yes vote in a recent referendum and Quebec, PEI, and New Brunswick have debated change on the system as well. PEI has turned down change. For of those of you still interested here are the options.

The First Past The Post system that is currently used in Canada is when you vote for a single candidate in your riding and the candidate with the most votes is elected to the house. Then whichever party can get a majority of the elected members to support it is the government. As a result of this system, it has been possible to have a provincial election result with a party that received 58% of the popular vote having 98% of the seats (British Columbia Liberal Party). I was able to find instances where all three Canadian parties (meaning the parties that run candidates in all provinces) being on both sides of “fairness” in this regard.

Proportional Representation is a system in which all parties receive a number of seats that matches its popular vote. At a federal level currently, the NDP party holds only 9.7% of the seats with 17.5% of the votes, composed to the Bloc that holds 16.5% of the seats with only 10.5% of the popular vote (the Conservatives have 40.25% of the seats with 36% vote and the Liberals 33.5% seats with a 30% vote). Most provincial and federal proposals are for a form of PR called Mixed Member Representation. In the case of Ontario, the proposed system would give voters two ballots, one to choose a candidate in your electoral riding and a second for a party. There would be 90 members elected to represent ridings across the province using FPTP and 39 seats to be allocated by the percentage of popular vote for each party obtained on the second ballot question  of party preference so that the parties’ total number of members is proportional to the parties’ vote preferences.

So where does this get us? Switch the percentages for Canada currently and you don’t get a different federal government or a different official opposition so one could not argue that it would change the face of power today. It is also widely believed that a PR system would produce more minority governments (which we presently have in Canada and Nova Scotia) and lead to more political instability and costly elections (even though where PR systems are currently employed, as in New Zealand, Germany as well as Welsh and Scottish National Assemblies, it has not produced any drastic change in stability or frequency of elections). One could also argue that a PR system would lead to more divisive regional politics, as politicians begin to focus even more on Ontario and Quebec (the most populous provinces) and away from smaller provinces such as Nova Scotia or Manitoba.

In five hundred words one can only really get the debate going, but, if you are an Ontarian, I strongly urge a little research or a quick search of where you stand on the issue before standing at the ballot box with a referendum ballot in hand. Oh, and if you’re curious, I am voting to stay with a FPTP system as it usually (from the numbers I have crunched) keeps our governing parties more liberal than conservative and, although it would be nice to see a little more left out there, I would rather middle-soft left than middle-right. See you at the polls!

Paul Aucoin is the leader of the indie rock supergroup known as The Hylozoists.

Guest Column - Nathan Lawr on 8-Tracks

The 8-Track Machine:  Potent Portent of Mortality: by Nathan Lawr

Recently, my girlfriend and I acquired an old 8-track player from her late grandfather.   We set it up in our porch, figuring it would be a good conversation piece, a novelty we could laugh about with our friends.  However, the more we listened to it, the more we actually came to prefer it's old fashioned, slightly muffled sound to our top-of-the-line, clear-as-a-bell, hi-fi stereo system.   It might have been the romance of loving something old and forgotten or it might have been the satisfaction of bucking the trends, whatever it was, we were mysteriously drawn to it. 

Encased in a brittle plastic box, the guts of an 8-track consist of an endless loop of magnetic tape. It would go on forever if you let it.   It is divided into 4 consecutive "programs", each containing roughly three or four songs allowing the listener to switch from one program to the next, even though this means you might join the next "program" halfway through, right in the middle of a song.   It is because of this feature and the 8-tracks notorious unreliability that has seen it become something of a laughing stock among all the different musical mediums. 

I, for one, am willing to forgive the 8-track its persnickety attitude.   Believe it or not, it pioneered such modern audio appliance functions like "auto reverse" and the "random" feature, beating the ghetto blaster and 100 CD changer by almost twenty years.   I admire the 8-track.  It is a fragile yet potent forum, an analog pandora's box.  I sometimes lament the fact that we have become so used to the endless revolving door of new mediums.   Most of them here and gone before we fully realize their relevance.

Now, I am not a luddite.  I love my iPod and iTunes and all that shit but I can't help but identify with the 8-track machine.   It reminds me of my own inherent obsoleteness.  Now and then, our mad dash towards the new seems to me nothing more than some temporary relief from our sense of encroaching expiry.   The truth of the 8-track seems undeniable. Our time here is fleeting and in some ways we are all old, out-dated, semi-unreliable pieces of audio machinery.   The 8-track has managed to become even more relevant to me these days because, if it can retain some of its coolness, even though there isn't anyone in the world making them and hardly anyone listening to them, maybe there's hope for me.

Nathan Lawr is a multi-talented musician known for his solo efforts, and various seminal indie bands such as Sea Snakes and Royal City.

Guest Column - The Golden Seal's Dave Merritt on the Weather

Nothing chides my palsey like a big, bogus weather scare.

I'm not talking about global warming (which is not in the category in any case).  I'm talking about the annoying trend in the media"--burgeoning over the last, I don't know, decade?--of presenting weather stories as though a serial killer with size 'continent' shoes was about to take us all down.

I remember the newscasts of my youth being pretty clearly divided into
three distinct segments: news, sports, weather.  I suppose this is still
generally the package, but more and more I am seeing and hearing the news,
read by beautiful idiots (not like the the borderline-hideous Irv
Weinstein from WKBW Channel 7 in Buffalo circa 1977), leading with the
latest Doppler 6000 result predicting that tropical storm Fucko is about
to take out the Eastern Seaboard.  It usually doesn't.  Still, that
doesn't stop the Young Gun "reporters", trying to make their careers, from
providing on-the-spot feeds from the eye of the, uh, wind and rain?  Best
to do it without an umbrella--the wet face adds to the horror.

Whatever, I'm an old curmudgeon, you got me.  But give me a break--it's
the WEATHER.  There have been hurricanes, tornadoes, mudslides, Great
Floods and plagues of locusts for quite some time now, so when did we stop
taking our lumps and marvelling at it all and start getting paranoid about
it?  It has become big bucks entertainment, and not just for "news"
networks.  Not that the shite film "Twister" broke any box office records,
but can you name a stupid film directly about weather that preceded that
dog? My apologies if "Blizzard of '77" or "Drought!" exist and I've just
missed them.

Remember Chomsky's take that college sports was a distraction propagated
by the media in order to divert our attention from the multiple ways we're
getting the screwjie--politically, economically, culturally--in favour of
profits made by those who actually control the media?  Well it's not the
Ohio State Buckeyes distracting us anymore (who gives a shit about college
football?)--now it's an "uncharacteristically deadly chinook".  Don't
worry about multiple genocidal conflicts in sub-Saharan Africa, or the
fact that your bank is making record profits but now employs only 16
tellers nationwide--hail the size of Mardi Gras heads is crushing Grand
Caravans in Strathroy, and it's headed our way!

Even if I'm way off on the conspiracy theory thing, I honestly think that
the weird obsession with Weather (Shakespearean capitalization intended)
is part of a larger obsession of late with TRAUMA.  Maybe we (Western
Civilization?  North America? The Ottawa Valley?) have such a difficult
time feeling anything anymore that we need trauma in order to do so.
There was a whole lot of love and human kindness after New Orleans, after
the tsunami in Southeast Asia.  But we need it to be EXTREME (because
everything is "extreme" now: Extreme Home Makeover, Extreme Sports,
Extreme Cinnamon Dentyne).  We've been killing the fatted calf for too
long now to have the beauty of a light snowfall move us in any way.
Nothing short of "Another Ice Age On The Way" will do.

I have no idea what I'm on about here, but I know this:  If you're like
me, and you waited too long before ditching that rock and roll dream in
order to make hay before you're supposed to retire, then I've got news for
you--those few thousand bucks you have in GICs and RRSPs ain't gonna help
much.  But if you could somehow figure out how to control the weather--or
at least the spin on weather--then you'd be all set up, in an extreme way.

Dave Merritt is the man behind the highly underrated rock band, The Golden Seals.