It Was Going To Be a Post About May the Fourth...

Like all good little sisters, I borrowed my brother's personal items when he wasn't home. When I was younger, it was his G.I.Joe's. As a pre-teen and teenager, it was his tapes and, later, CDs. The only cool thing about me by the time I got to high school was that I knew the lyrics to every song on the License to Ill record.

I felt numb when I read the news today that Adam Yaunch, better known to most of us as MCA, had passed away. I broke the news to my unit at work. It says a lot about the Beastie Boys that despite a 25 year age difference in our group and different socio-economic upbringings, we all had a Beastie Boys story to share. They crossed genres and generations in a way that very few other groups have.

And singing along with Fight For Your Right will never go out of style.

Pressure On!

Two weeks ago, Under Pressure randomly popped up on my music list. I love Queen and when it started playing, I walked down the street with a grin on my face. I tend to list to the Greatest Hits I more than the II so I don't hear Under Pressure all that often. I switched to repeat and listed to the song five or six times in a row.

I was a child of the late 80's/early 90's and my first introduction to Under Pressure was through Vanilla Ice's Ice, Ice Baby because it was everywhere when it came out. The first time I heard that familiar riff and it wasn't Ice, Ice Baby I almost fell out of my chair. You mean this addictive riff is actually part of a good song?!? YAY!

It was the lyrics of this song which helped propel me to commit to going to Tanzania in 2007 (the part about love daring you to care) so it only seems appropriate that five years later, I start the year by having this song on repeat.

Winding Down 2011

I'm just going to start this post by coming right out and saying it: Christmas was awesome. After a less than spectacular 2011 (Ireland trip aside because that rocked!), it's ending on a high note and that's really all I can ask for at this point. I had a fabulous two nights up in Nanaimo with my stepmom and Baby Bro, and then I had a wonderful Christmas Day with the rest of my family here in Victoria.

First and foremost, I got a guitar for Christmas! Well, my stepdad gave/loaned me one of his guitars, but the important thing is that I now have a guitar so I can learn to play. I even played my first song today, a very slow, laborious and painful heartfelt and emotional rendition of On Raglan Road. 

My version sounded exactly like that except guitar-only, much slower, with a plethora of mistakes and a voice that sounds nothing like Luke Kelly. But other than those tiny differences, exactly like that. It's not that I honestly expected the song to be any good right away but I just wanted to fumble through one song I'd like to learn so I know exactly how far I have to go. Answer? Pretty freakin' far at this point! It's also helped me set a goal for what will constitute #24 on my 101 in 1001 list as completed: participate in my local coffee shop's Open Mic. So simple and yet so freaking terrifying right now.

I also got Doctor Who Series Six on Blu-Ray!! Except I don't have a Blu-Ray player. ::sad trombone:: I had to do something I've never done before: I went to the mall on Boxing Day. Did you know that most stories won't do returns or exchanges on Boxing Day? Again, this was my first time ever going to a mall on Boxing Day. Lesson learned! At any rate, I now have DVDs which I can watch so, yeah, don't be surprised if I disappear for the next week...

As the year wraps up, I've been debating about whether or not I'm actually going to set resolutions or goals for 2012. To be honest, I set them every year... and then forget about them by February. Perhaps if I made them and put them in a place where I actually see them, I'd have more success. I know me and I know that I will do resolutions (although I prefer to call them goals) because I like making lists, but I'm also thinking I might just make them ridiculously simple this year. E.G. Don't leave house with curlers in your hair. (True story.)

While I was debating this topic yet again this afternoon, a friend shared this on facebook:

It reminded of a post on The Great Fitness Experiment earlier this year about a to-be list vs. a to-do list. I thought a lot about what would be on my to-be list at that time but then I got distracted by, oh, probably by my to-do list to be honest, and I never did get around to actually writing a to-be list. The six habits of happiness list overlapped a lot of my ideas for my to-be list and got me thinking about it again. So while I don't know if I'll formally set resolutions or goals, I will be writing a to-be list for 2012.

CMC: Playing the Piano

This is part of my Christmas Memory Challenge, a goal I set for myself to recall 25 things I love about Christmas. You can also check out Shannon's memories here.

I loved the week after Halloween when I was young because that's when I'd get a new piano book for Christmas. My dad would grumble that it was too early for Christmas music, I would kindly point out that in order to be able to play the songs for Christmas, I needed to start practicing now. I finally reached a level where I was able to teach myself the songs from my mom's big Christmas Carol book and it became the staple of my Christmas repertoire.

When I was nine or ten, my piano teacher asked me what my favourite Christmas carol was and I told her it was 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen'. She laughed when I answered why: it was the first carol I ever remember hearing in a minor key. All the other carols were in major keys. It still is my favourite carol for that same reason.

A few years ago, I was messing around on a friend's electronic piano (which didn't have a pedal and you 'added' the dynamics in the computer program, but other than that...) and given the season, we decided to record a few of the carols. While we record a dozen carols, I've only put three in the video. Enjoy!

CMC: Christmas Music

This is part of my Christmas Memory Challenge, a goal I set for myself to recall 25 things I love about Christmas. You can also check out Shannon's memories here.
The first thing that happens after my mom brings the Christmas decorations up from the basement or my dad brings them down from the attic is that the Christmas tapes (yes, tapes. In fact, a few are even on records) would be pulled out and played. It's not Christmas until I hear those familiar melodies!

By far, my favourite version of this song.

Johnny Mathis, Bing Crosby, the Chieftain's, Canadian Brass Christmas and many more are pretty much on repeat from the moment we put them on to the moment we pack them up for another year.

Picked this video because my dad still has this record.

Over the past few years, I've slowly been building my Christmas CD collection so I don't have to hang out at my parents just to hear them. (Not that there's anything wrong with hanging out at my parents, I just don't think they'd appreciate me moving in for three weeks just to hear these songs.)

I'm not going to lie to you Marge, this song makes me cry.

This year's addition was Bing Crosby (and was only $5!! Thank you, sales!!). Now I'm stuck in that awkward point where the CD songs are in a different order than the record order and I keep telling my CD "no, no, that's not right! Get it right!"

This song always gets me dancing!

Part of my need to get my own versions of these records is because I've spent a Christmas or two without them and it's never quite the same.

Mahalia gives me chills. Love her!

And what you've failed to see by simply reading this blog is that I've spent over an hour drinking tea, searching YouTube videos, and dancing around my apartment feeling all Christmas-y. My Christmas season has officially begun thanks to this post! I'll leave you with a song from my favourite Christmas album.

This whole album makes me happy and if you've never heard it, you should.

Question: Any 'must hear' Christmas songs or albums for you?

Peat and Rhythm

When Al and I first talked about going to Ireland, high on my list of places I wanted to go was Donegal. I had nostalgic memories of Donegal in the 80’s—huge family gatherings at my aunt’s cottage, games of soccer-tag (also known as ‘quick, make up a game that all ages of our family can play’) on a near deserted beach in the middle of July, scrambling over rock walls as my cousins and I explore the fields around us—and I knew that I wouldn’t find that Donegal again (firstly, good luck getting all my cousins together at the beach) but I was hoping that the landscape was still as breath-taking as I remember.

Well, it was really hard to see the landscape when it rained the entire time we were there. Not just rained... POURED! My poor shoes never did fully dry out and took on such a funky smell that I ended up just binning them and buying a pair of cheap boots. (Thank you Dunnes!)

We arrived at the Diamond* in Donegal Town and I wondered if I had made a huge mistake in dragging Al here. Co. Donegal had been my request after all. Once-a-day bus times meant that we couldn’t go to Bunbeg, the area of my childhood memories, without eating into a lot of our precious travel days, but I was hoping that a day trip to Slieve League and Killybegs would be just as lovely. Donegal Town, however, wasn’t really living up to my hopes.

The Diamond in Donegal Town. Don't be fooled by all those cars, that's the taxi stand.

We arrived at the hostel to find the owner (the lovely Linda from the county Cork) in the middle of starting a peat fire. While Donegal Town still had yet to win me over, the hostel was getting major bonus points!

There's something about a big pile of peat which makes me insanely happy. It reminds me

of visiting my granddad's friend with my dad who lived in a thatched cottage with a peat fire

and he boiled the water for tea in a pot hanging from a swinging arm over the fire.

After we had warmed up and somewhat dried off, Al and I walked back into town for dinner and a drink. We partook in the ‘traditional’ fish and chips from an actual chipper before making our way to the Reel Inn. Rumour had it that there was music every night and the one thing that Al wanted before she left was to hear Irish music in an Irish bar.

Our Saturday night at the pub turned out to be a lot of fun. We arrived well before the music started so we pretty much had the place to ourselves for the first hour. We made small talk with the barmaid (the fabulously sarcastic Emer) and tried to decipher the comments from the drunk regular who I think might have been speaking Irish at one point. The place slowly filled up and by the time the band started, it was standing room only. Still, you can always find room to dance!

We learned later from our new friend, Helly** that Al’s

dance partner was single and owned 80 acres of land!

We left the Reel Inn at 1:30am with the realisation that everyone still in the pub was older than us. That’s right, the 45 – 80 years old age group totally out partied two 30-somethings. Welcome to Ireland!

The next day was still raining. We had hopes of going to Slieve League but everyone we talked to said they were fogged in (later confirmed by other tourists who had gone), so we went with our back up plan of the Donegal Bay Waterbus Tour. The first indication that perhaps this wasn’t the great idea was the booking agent who replied to our request for two tickets with ‘really?’ The next indication was the bus loads of seniors that were being dropped of as we boarded the waterbus. It was a full tour and save for ourselves, a family with three kids under 12 and couple who looked much like Al and I felt (that would be ‘horrified’ for those of you who need an actual word for that moment), everyone was 65+. The minute the bar opened, Al and I hightailed it to the alcohol.

We thought the guide telling jokes which had nothing to do with the tour was bad—we groaned, we rolled our eyes, we giggled at how silly the whole thing was—but when we got to the end of the bay and it was time to turn around, they pulled out a keyboard. Nothing, I repeat, NOTHING is as bad as cheesy songs with synthesised drums. Al and I beat a hasty retreat to the top deck... where the music followed us. It was like some bad horror film. No, don’t go upstairs! He’ll just follow you!

Oh well. At least we got to take pictures in between our bouts of laughter.

The bay is very shallow so at low tide you can walk to most of the islands from the mainland.

And just so you can hear exactly how bad the music was:

Um, it won't let me play this video to check it before I post it but

if the colours are as wacked as they are in the draft photo... oops!

On our way back into town we passed the ruins of the friary where the Annals of the Four Masters were written. Having wasted €4 on Donegal Castle earlier that day we decided to check out the free ruins. If you ever find yourself in Donegal Town, skip the Castle and just go check out the friary. I would have rather paid to see the friary (which is now a cemetery so double score for me!).

Being Canadian Thanksgiving that weekend, we decided to get dolled up and go for a nice dinner. It was surprisingly hard to find anything turkey related so had to make due with lamb so perfectly cooked that I touched it with my fork and it fell off the bone. It’s a tough life, I tell ya! After dinner, we headed back to the Reel Inn to see what Sunday night would provide in the way of music. While Saturday night had been fun, it had felt touristy. Sunday night reminded me of my dad’s parties growing up.

The owner (on the accordion) and a few of his friends sat around and played whatever song they felt like. If one of them felt like taking a smoke break or heading to the washroom, the others kept playing. If they weren’t totally sure of the song, they’d fake their way through it. If someone wanted to get up and join them or sing a song, they were welcome to it. It was about as authentic an Irish music night you’re going to get in a pub.

There was supposed to be two videos here but after 37 minutes of waiting for just one to upload (I'm not joking, old computer...) you're just getting a picture instead.

The banjo player was amazing! Even more amazing was the man hiding behind the mic. His name is Frankie and Al and I love him. I found someone else's video on YouTube so you can understand why.

PS. That's the owner on the accordion.

He  had such a lovely singing voice that we loved him in spite of what appeared to be a very gruff demeanor when we first met him. Then he threw a couple of smiles our way when we responded positively to the songs. During a break late in the night, he sat down beside us and we got to chatting. I asked if he knew Sonny's Dream and he admitted that he didn't know the words, but if I wanted to sing it he'd back me up. Small problem: I'd had a bit to drink and couldn't remember the words. He wanted to know if we were going to be around the next night. We weren't but he was willing to bring in the words and sing Sonny's Dream for us if we were. I love this man more than I can express in writing.

We saw none of the things we wanted to see, we spent more time wet than we did dry, and we wasted money on the stupid castle and the waterbus, but Donegal had won its place as our favourite stop. “We could always go back to Donegal” became the mantra of the rest of our trip. When we hit up a music pub in Galway, we looked at each other, agreed it was no Reel Inn and beat a hasty retreat. And any singers we heard? Well, they’re no Frankie!

What I would give for this pub to be my local!

*many northern Irish towns call their town centre or square ‘the Diamond’ but it’s usually a triangle. I get the feeling Irish people probably fail geometry ;)

**I can not, for the life of me, remember his first name but he spelt his last name for me so it kind of stuck. It’s what Al and I referred to him as for the rest of the trip.

The First 48 Hours: Dublin Edition

The crappy great part of living on Vancouver Island is that adding a flight from Vancouver to Vancouver is ridiculously expensive so my day of travel started with a ferry ride. As much as I complain about this fact of life, it does mean that my final views of my home always look something like this.

Not too shabby, if you ask me.

 
Roughly 20 hours worth of travel on various modes of transport later and I arrived at my uncle's... where I promptly fell asleep for 16 hours. I'm not kidding. I went for a nap at about 5:00, forgot to set my alarm, woke up at midnight, took a sleeping pill, and woke up again at 8:00am. You know when you sleep too much? Tuesday was a tad more rough than I was expecting! I still managed to drag myself into town and woke myself up with a stroll around St. Stephen's Green.

What you don't see in this picture is the incredibly large coffee I had in my other hand.

There's more than one way to wake up!

I had roughly a week in Dublin on my own before Al joined me for traipsing around the countryside and the weather during that first week was amazing. After a lackluster summer, Dublin was experiencing an Indian Summer. I actually got to wear the shorts I threw in at the last moment. I even put in my contacts just so I could wear my non-prescription sunglasses! It was amazing... and it promptly disappeared the Friday before Al arrived. If I didn't have these pictures, I probably wouldn't have believed it either.

Returning to Dublin is always an odd experience. While I've never officially lived in Dublin, I grew up knowing Dublin better than Victoria. Summers spent walking around its narrow streets while one cousin taught me how to say all the counties in Irish or repeatedly crossing the Liffey while another cousin and I discussed the cute neighbourhood boys left me with a knowledge of the city that you don't get in just a few days. While I waited for Al to arrive, one of my favourite past times was just wandering the streets and rehashing old memories.

And I also saw a bunch of stuff. (I know that's the only reason you're reading this!) I made a point on this trip to be a tourist. For the first time in my life, I actually read a tourist guide and made a list of places I wanted to see. It was surreal to be a tourist in a town I knew so well. Don't worry, I was able to resist the urge to wear a bum bag. Without further ado...

I started the first day with a visit to the GPO An Post Museum and and a wander around O'Connell St. As I didn't take any photos knowing that I'd be back with Al, you'll see those later.

After a stop for lunch, I made my way to St. Audoen's Church. There are actually two St. Audoen's, one Anglican (Church of Ireland) and the other Roman Catholic. They sit side-by-side just down the block from Christchurch Cathedral. I was interested in the Anglican one. I'm going to let you in on a little secret: I love ruined religious buildings and cemeteries. Oldest parish church still in use in Dublin? Whatevs. Three-quarters left to ruin? Interesting. One half is still in ruin? Sign me up! And it's totally free? Um, you can stop selling it, I'm already there.

It boggles my mind when I stop and think about how many years people have been standing on this floor.

How many people with Sunday morning hangovers have said "never again" in this church?

The inside of the church was very lovely and peaceful... until a tour group from a nearby school showed up and I beat a hasty retreat to the ruined part out the back. It was sunny, quiet and beautiful so I took a seat on a bench and just enjoyed a few moments to myself... before I ran around snapping pictures. Although I wouldn't call St. Audoen a 'must see', if you're in the area it's worth popping in for a few minutes.

One street that every visitor to Dublin wanders is Grafton St. It's not just for the over-priced shopping or the fact that it's the quickest thoroughfare between Trinity and St. Stephen's Green, but because there's almost always something happening along its pedestrian-only brickwork. On one of my many strolls, I discovered a group called Mutefish.

The music is catchy and they are excellent musicians. As my bus stop was very close to Grafton St. I made sure to catch them as often as possible. Of course, I bought their CD so part of my repeated viewings may have had something to do with a small crush I developed on one of them. I'll leave you to figure out which one. (HINT: It's not the one with the dreaded dread mullet. That's the second one I've seen in a month; is this a new trend? If it is, then I'm going to bed and someone can wake me up when it's over.)

I started day two with a visit to Marsh's Library. I wish I could have taken pictures inside but that's not allowed so instead... follow this link. The library (you can still read the books if you are a grad student or researcher who has received permission) is hidden in a nondescript brick building behind St. Patrick's Cathedral and I almost walked past it.

The library feels very much like you're stepping back in time. I shared the place with only two other tourists, a couple of readers, and a steady clock beat. The first display was Bibles and the second was Medical Journals. While neither of them were topics I would have chosen (the previous displays of musical manuscripts or maps would have been more up my alley) but were still quite interesting. I especially enjoyed the Bibles in Irish, Malay and Ojibiway.

I headed to the Liffey to wander along its banks. I said hello to the Four Courts. The only time I went inside the Four Courts was to meet a cousin for lunch; I got in trouble for walking into a closed area. I stayed on the other side of the river this time. I learned my lesson!

A little further along, I decided a coffee break was in order. I payed $3.60 for a crap drip coffee. Even good drip coffee isn't worth that much, but I was really paying for the view:

The Ha'penny Bridge. It was the first bridge across the Liffey and was built to replace an old ferry system.

There's claims that it's the most photographed icon in Dublin. Obviously that means I need to take a picture!

After my coffee break, which included writing in my journal and eavesdropping on a group of tourists, I took off for Dublin Castle and the Garda Museum. I am nothing if not a giant nerd. Seriously people, I went to a police museum for fun. I should have known how odd that sounds when I buzzed the locked door to confirm I was in the right place. The voice at the other end said that if I was interested in the history of Ireland's police force I could come in. When I said I was, the voice on the other end of the intercom said "really?" ::pushes up nerd glasses:: Yes, I really am.

On my way to the museum, I got a little lost thanks to the somewhat vague directions at the gate to Dublin Castle ('in the roundtower' doesn't mean much when it doesn't give you what side of the tower) and ended up wandering into the chapel. I don't know if you knew this, but Ireland has a lot of churches.

The thing that always amazes me about European churches (chapels, minsters, cathedrals, etc are included in the use of the word church) is that even the smallest places are often incredibly ornate. Granted, it's Dublin Castle so they wouldn't be going for the plain and simple look but it's still incredible when you think that below is the ceiling of the lower seating area.

I finally found the museum, wandered through, and got an answer to a question I honestly didn't think was going to be answered. I knew I'd be back at the Castle with Al to check out the Chester Beatty Library (more on that later) but I didn't know what the weather would be like so I took a quick turn around the main courtyard.

The castle was originally build in 1204 but it's been added to over the years.

It creates a bit of a patchwork look to the buildings.

I had never actually been to the Castle before. As the castle still serves as a functioning building for the government, it was closed to visitors on the day I was there but I was only really looking to wander around the courtyard anyway. The 26 counties of the Republic have flags flying in the courtyard. I found the only flag that matters and sat about for 15 minutes waiting for the wind to last long enough to get a semi-decent picture.

Monaghan! Best damn county there is (as long as you're not talking GAA).

Feel free to disagree in the comments, I'll probably just delete them ;)

If nothing else, the Garda on duty near the doors to the castle were having a good laugh at my attempts to get this picture, which had me giggling as I headed for the bus back out to Blackrock.

At Least Bow Ties Are Still Cool*

I had that moment.

You know, that moment when you realise exactly how old you are.

I’m not deluding myself and thinking that I’m still some young spring chicken who can party until 4am, sleep for three hours and still get up for work at 8am (um, not that I ever did that, any former employers who may be reading this), but I don’t think of 31 as old. Older, yes. But not old.

Then I attended an Alumni Band practice on Thursday night.

There were slim pickings in the Alto Sax section: me, Mike and a quiet girl who answered every question I threw at her but didn’t say much in general. (My apologies; out of all the questions I asked her, I forgot to ask her name.)

She had graduated just the previous June. I did a quick mental calculation in my head: grad’ed when she was 18 in 2011... she was born in 1993. I started high school that year.

This was my grade eight school bus.

We continue to make small talk as we sight-read the first Alto Sax music. Mike and I tell her our grad years (1996 and 1998 respectively) to which she just says ‘wow’.  As the night wears on (and I wear her down) she opens up a bit more and comments on a few of the pieces we’re playing.

Eventually we come to a medley that most of us have been itching to play because it’s a piece of music Mr. Wilson got years ago for a fun audience interactive piece. It contains a couple of dance songs from the late 80’s and early 90’s as well as Y.M.C.A. As Mike said, it was like being at a high school dance all over again.

Yes, I'm talking about this Y.M.C.A. song.

As we wait to begin the piece, the girl leans over and points to a section of the piece that has words we’re supposed to say.

“What song is that?”

I read the words exactly as they show on the page.

“Whoomp! There it is.”

Her face is completely blank as she looks at me.

“Whoomp! There it is,” I repeat, this time saying it as it’s said in the chorus of the song.

She blinks. I feel like the Danny Butterman character in Hot Fuzz: “You’ve never seen Bad Boys II?”

“Don’t you know ‘Whoomp! There it is’?”

She shakes her head.

“You don’t know ‘Whoomp! There it is’?” I am in complete disbelief that someone younger than me doesn’t know this song and before I know what I’m doing, I’m rapping the whole first verse to this girl who was born the year the song came out.

I get to the repetitive chorus and look at her, hoping for some sign of recognition. All I get is a giggle.

“I’ve never heard it but your rapping is good...” her voice trails off and she giggles again.

And that, my friends, is what getting old feels like.

*sigh*

I guess I'll just have to take it back to old school cuz I'm an old fool who's so cool.

*That's a Doctor Who reference in the title. You know, just so we all know exactly how cool I am.

Now Where's My Pocket Protector?

I was really good at math in school and I loved science class. Some how, I ended up going into the Humanities when it came to University. (In this case, 'some how' means I didn't want to be anymore uncool in high school than I already was so I elected not to take Math 12 and Calculus which was needed for pretty much every science program.* But I did do Chemistry 12 because that's the cool thing to do.)

At any rate, I already had glasses and was socially awkward (still kind of am), did I really need to add a science degree to that?

Nope. Much cooler to geek out over Sweden's role in the Thirty Years' War, how Grimm's Law shows the creation of the Germanic languages from Latin/Greek, and how Goethe's Faust is a bit of a dick. (Wil Wheaton would not like Faust.)

Much. Cooler.

Still, when the science lover and history lover in me can combine in a mutual love it's a beautiful, geeky thing of wonder!

I am going to be such an embarrassment to my future children and it's going to be AWESOME!

*The irony is that I ended up having a spare block during Calculus 12. My friends in the class convinced me to sit in one day because the teacher wouldn't mind. He totally didn't. I loved the class and would ask questions and work on the problems. (In short, I was a better student than some of the actual students.) When I knew the words to a children's poem that no one else knew, he went to the office to list me as his Teacher's Assistance for that class and then gave me an A.

Tying Up a Few Loose Ends

Remember the problems I had with my mom's sewing machine which resulted in swearing and then sulking on facebook?

No?

Good thing I documented it on this blog then!

I was back at my mom's on Saturday. She sat down to the machine and it worked.

First time.

I'd hate that machine if it didn't then work perfectly for me for the remainder of the day. I'm almost done my crafting project. If I may say so myelf, it's looking pretty good so far.

I also forgot to link to the song I was talking about two posts ago in the last post. It was the Gordon Lightfoot classic of the same name and if you're Canadian and don't know that, we need to talk about your lack of music education.

Father's Day: The Soundtrack

Although my mom also had a great influence on my current music tastes (I can directly trace my love of Gordon Lightfoot to a mother-daughter road trip to Alberta when I was 14 or 15, but don't tell her because I fought her tooth and nail to listen to anything other that GL) it was really my dad who taught me to just love music for music.

I grew up without the idea that I wouldn't listen to something simply because it was uncool but because I had listened to it once and I didn't like it. As a result, while my classmates were hip-hop or rock or country or metal fans, I was just a music fan. I listened to everything as evidenced by a mix-tape (remember those?) I made in grade 10 which had Collective Soul, House of Pain, Nat King Cole, and the Dubliners on it. I was nothing if not eclectic.

For my dad, these are songs currently on my mp3 player because he made me listen to them ;) (I was going to do a little write up about each singer/group but they all ended up sounding the same way "my dad used to put these tapes on continues loops and blast them through the house" so instead, some have comments but most don't.)

Doug and the Slugs:

I chose Who Knows How (to Make Love Stay) simply because of the

'Drunk Musicians Fund' Fundraiser at the end. Their videos always made me laugh.

Leonard Cohen: My very first non-symphony concert was Leonard Cohen's Democracy Tour.

 

Sunday morning memory: Dad was cooking a fry up in his underwear

while belting out the words to this song.

Billy Joel:

1930's music (specifically, anything from Pennies from Heaven and The Singing Detective):

Irish Folk Music (the whole lot of 'em but that's an entire post by itself):

I really wanted to find the version that is track #1 on the Dublin Millennium Songs

sung by multiple Irish artists but I couldn't so you get the Dubliners instead.

Nat King Cole:

I know I already said Irish Folk Music, but I remember both my dad and my stepdad singing this song when I was young (in particular, I remember my stepdad playing it on the guitar when we were camping):

Happy Father's Day!

After The Ball Is Over...

Life lately has been crazy and awesome and difficult and amazing and stressful and invigorating and soul-destroying and life-affirming. In short, it's been life. And it's been busy. And after this weekend, that will change a little because then I will be done with this:

It's hard to believe all our hard work is actually coming together. I wasn't part of Matoto for their first Gala (nor did I even know about it to attend) so I'm excited both as an organizer and as a participant. I'm also nervous. What if it all goes spectacularly sideways? What if no one likes the silent auction items? What if you can hear crickets during the doundounba (circle dance) that closes the night? What if I trip walking up the stairs while carrying the bottles of wine and smash them all? Why am I more concerned about the wasted wine then the loss of revenue? At this point, I just have to sit back, take a deep breath and see how it all plays out.

I've been working on a vlog (video blog for those not 'in the know'). After all my Irish themed posts, I thought a short story showing off the words that I say 'funny' by North American standards was in order. It's coming... as soon as I can find time to film it.

There's so much more to say but it's late, my laundry is done, and I'm so tired I'm wondering if anyone will complain if I leave my laundry in the dryer overnight.

They probably will. I guess I'll go get it. Until sometime next week!

PS. The title is a reference to Showboat and it's when I plan to finally get some decent sleep!

A Rare Old Talent

As often happens in the lead up to St. Patrick's Day, my sentimentality for Ireland grows exponentially; I begin to wax poetic about my family, wistfully contemplate another year of St. Patrick's Day spent in Canada, and hum and sing more Irish folk songs than I will the rest of the year combined. (My apologies to my coworkers; they've put up with a lot of unusual sounds from my cubicle lately.) The past three nights, I've been singing "In the Rare Old Times".



Oh Ronnie Drew, with your distinctively deep voice and piercingly blue eyes (both of which still make me a little weak in the knees despite the 46 year age difference and the fact you've been dead for over two years), your version of this song will always be my favourite. I heard you sing The Auld Triangle when I was nine and I've loved you ever since.

Ireland has changed a lot in the 30 years I've been alive. Each time I return to see my family, I find something new. The peat bogs my dad used to take us out to are all gone. There's no need for peat when you have central heating so the bogs have been drained for farming. The donkeys that used to pull the farmer's carts to town even in the 80's have all been replaced with tractors. Dublin's north bank has undergone a major clean up since the days we used to drive through it coming down from Grannie's in Monaghan. All the cute, winding country lanes with their ridiculously fast speeds of 80kmh have been bypassed by the new dual carriageways which now cover the countryside.

Change is not an inherently bad thing but when it happens to a place you love and you're not there to watch it happen naturally, it can be a little shocking to the system upon your return.

With that in mind, I think I will sing this song before I go to bed. And Ronnie Drew, I hope I do you proud.

I'll save my rendition of The Auld Triangle for next St. Patrick's Day.

A Love Letter To My First True Love

I was six when I first asked to take piano lessons.

My first piano actually belonged to our landlords. It was a large, black piano that stood along the far wall in the dinning room. I'm sure it's only because I was six, but I just remember the piano being massive. It towered over me as I learned to find middle C. When my mom and stepdad bought a house we couldn't take our landlord's piano with us so we purchased my second piano, a spinet piano.

Then we got you and you became the love of my life. Your keys were weighted properly and your tone was so full and gorgeous. In my dreams I owned a baby grand but when I played you I knew that you were better than any baby grand I could ever own. We would spend hours together. Sometimes I'd hit all the right keys and you'd reward me with beautiful music. Sometimes, like lovers do, we'd quarrel. The notes were wrong, I couldn't get you to understand what I was trying to do, and I would pound on you in frustration. I would yell words I would later regret. I was always sorry. It wasn't your fault. It was me. It was always me.

You supported me through years of lessons. You were my constant as I struggled to learn all that was expected of me. You celebrated my highs and felt the depth of my lows until one day I just quit. I could feel the joy slipping away and you deserved joy. I had reached Grade Nine. I knew that I didn't want to become a professional pianist, so why continue if all it was doing was removing the joy from playing? I knew you understood and we returned to playing just for the pleasure of it, just for the sheer love of making music.

I used you to teach children to love music as I loved music. You never complained. Through all the wrong notes and tripped over fingers, through all the hours of explaining what a major scale is and what a sharp is, through it all you stood fast and true. You were my rock. When the children were gone and we were all alone, I would thank you in the only way I knew how. I know you took pride in exposing another generation to the world of music. They may not have known how to express it to you, but I know they were as grateful for you as I was.

Then I moved to Europe. It was the beginning of the end for us. When I returned things were different. I moved out and couldn't take you with me. When I finally found a place for both of us it was with a roommate that thought he was a great musician but didn't understand that sometimes people just play for the fun of it. I didn't play you because I didn't want to listen to someone who didn't play the piano criticise me and, by extension, you. I should have stood up for you. I'm sorry.

I now live in an apartment and you've moved to my dad's. I know I always said that one day we would live together again, but how long should I hold onto that 'one day' for? You were so vibrant, with tones so rich and full. Now you sit quietly, collecting dust. It's not right. It's not fair. You are meant to be played and I can't play you. You should be with a family. You should be teaching children about the joys of music. You should be singing out Bach, Chopin, Beethoven, Debussy, Mozart, Liszt, and countless others. You should be used and loved and adored like you were when I first got you. You should be happy. You deserve to be happy.

Ending our relationship and selling you is the right thing for both of us. It will allow you once again be used to your full potential, and it will allow me to buy an electronic piano with a headphone jack which I can play without ever bothering the neighbours. Letting you go is the best thing I can do. I hope you understand that. But please know, every time I play a piano from now until the day I die, I will think of you and hope that you are happy where ever you are.

Because I love you. I always will.

Tonight

The very first non-symphony concert I ever went to was Leonard Cohen. It was on 'The Future' tour and I was still in elementary school so I was still very young. It was at the Royal Theatre and I just remember it being awesome!

Tonight, I will see him for the first time in roughly 20 years.

It will be awesome!

Update: It was awesome!

Getting Creative

The weekend is finally here!! YAY!! I'm especially excited because in just over an hour, I'm going to see my Baby Bro for the first time in 7 months. He took off to Europe last April to travel and spend some time with our family in Ireland. We're going for Thai food because the only Asian food he could find in Europe was "crap Chinese" (his words, not mine).

It's been a very busy week for me and this weekend isn't going to be any different. The only change is that I've been busy being creative and that's much better than being busy cleaning the house. My employer is going to be showcasing various employee's artwork or other visual art. At the suggestion of a friend, I put my name forward for my photographs and received a very positive response back. On one hand, that's really flattering. On the other, I've never actually shown my photos as works of art (other than on my wall) so I'm now trying to narrow done my thousands of pictures into 10 which I will post on here and ask you to help me narrow it down to 5. So far I've narrowed it down to 49 possible photos. Getting closer...

The other creative thing I've been doing is writing. I submitted the following for a "What Does Dance Mean To You" competition at MoonDance. Your submission could be writing, drawing, photo, sculpture, any creative medium you wanted but it had to capture the love of dance. The song I'm talking about is Beethoven's Peasant Dance in Eflat major.

I take my place on the stage as she sits at the piano. I love dancing to live music--so much better than pre-taped in my opinion--and I hope my joy and excitement about it transfers to the audience. She looks at me as she places her hands on the keyboard. It begins. It's a song I've heard so many times I could hum it backwards in my sleep. I have lived this music; every note, every nuance, speaks to me and directs me across the stage, long and flowing with the legato, quick and lively with the staccato. I give my all to the audience and when the final chord plays I have no regrets. Every emotion in the music was transformed into a physical manifestation through my body and I became the dance; it is the best performance not just of this piece but of my life.

She gets up from the piano and moves to the kitchen for a cup of tea. I pick up my audience, my beloved bear Pola, and follow her.

"Perhaps it's time we enroll you in some dance classes."

It is the happiest day of my eight year old life.

Dork in the Key of G Major

I am very excited because this time tomorrow I will be in Vancouver and I will most likely be drinking. I say 'most likely' because there is an off chance that Carolyn and I won't bust out the alcohol as soon as we see each other (it's totally cool to drink in a Skytrain station, right?) but I figure it's pretty slim... like Kate Moss slim. I'm so excited about this weekend and seeing Carolyn that you'd think it had been six months, not just six weeks, since I last saw her.

I may or may not be posting over the weekend (it depends on how much writing I get done tomorrow morning), but I wanted to leave you with some music geek humour before I check out. After hearing about my mom phoning me to laugh about the Corb Lund video, a friend asked if my mom was a fan of country. Prior to six months ago, the closest my mom ever came to listening to country was Beethoven's 6th.

I'll let you all go google that so you can see why I think I'm funny.

Good night, folks!