Monthly Archives: November 2017

get out the door

Getting out the door with someone who is 5 can take about 3 hours. No sweat, you only live once, unless you are totally deluded and expect some sort of forever real estate waiting in some sort of imaginary world where just because you were born with the capacity to think thoughts you feel like that entitles you to some sort of never ending existence. So she floats “we die?” Yes but you’ll first live for a long time. Will you die before me? Yes I’ll die before you. I’ll miss you when you’re dead. Don’t worry, we’ll know each other a long time but after I’m dead when you see the stars at night I’ll be one of them looking down at you. That’s good, you will be a star in the sky. Yep, the best kind of star. What other kinds of stars are there? Sometimes people call themselves stars but if someone calls themselves a star it is proof that they aren’t. I know. How did you know? Because they aren’t in the sky. Exactamungo, can we put your boots on?


in my blood like holy wine

Earlier this week I made a presentation to people studying food issues so I played them food songs that have affected me. Started with the blues and all those sex lyrics – used Molly Jones’s “Anybody here want to try my cabbage”.
I continued with Savoy Truffle. Who among us is not amazed that the lyrics are just the contents of a box of sweets?
Moved onto the layered A Case of You by Joni Mitchell “And I Would Still Be On My Feet”
They didn’t seem to really care about any of these choices but I was right about only one thing, ending with the 70s instrumental Popcorn.


The Royal Cinema in Toronto soon is screening some P.T. Anderson films, I noticed a film I missed called Hard Eight and looked at the trailer. Damn is film life ever less interesting without Phillip Seymour Hoffman around.