Tuesday, November 01, 2005
The Last Surviving Cathy Fan
"I love chocolate but it makes me fat waugh waugh waugh"
I wonder if the outrage was this unrelenting when Ziggy was cancelled.
Addendum
Apparently there is more than one Cathy fan residing in the HRM :
You may cancel Cathy, but you will never silencer her WAUGHS!
"I love chocolate but it makes me fat waugh waugh waugh"
To the editor :
While I am pleased to see the addition of Sodoku to your pages, I was not happy to see the Demise of Cathy to make room for it. I would not have minded seeing either Monty (never terribly funny) or Animal Crackers (which has not had an original idea for years) removed if something had to go.
Please put Cathy back where she belongs
XXXX XXXXXXXX
Halifax
I wonder if the outrage was this unrelenting when Ziggy was cancelled.
Addendum
Apparently there is more than one Cathy fan residing in the HRM :
To the editor :
Please bring Cathy back to the comics section. Monty or Mother Goose and Grimm could go. Cathy is a good commentary on contemporary life.
XXXXXX XXXX
Halifax
You may cancel Cathy, but you will never silencer her WAUGHS!
Why Can't We Have Nice Things?
With each passing day, my hope diminishes that the signing bonus that we had been told was coming will be turning up.
I lost four weeks of my contract to the lockout so the extra wages (equivalent to about a week's worth of pay) would have helped out, no such luck.
It's been kind of a depressing day despite how beautiful it is. Oblivious to the weather, I chose to wear my parka today. The same parka I wore when I broke into Bloomfield in January 2004. I had left my keys inside and only realized that after returning from the Midtown Tavern, where Erin and I drank beers and talked about the Cape Breton Oilers, at 4 am. It was 40 below (with the windchill), Geoffrey Pye was not responding to any of the knocks or doorbell rings, and Philip was nowhere in sight. I made the executive decision, fueled by liquid courage, to take an old planter and throw it through the living room window. I crawled throught the broken window, jagged pieces cutting up my parents' Christmas gift, the parka, and later cutting up the bottom of my feet when I, for no apparent reason, took off my shoes.
Philip came home 15 minutes later, looked dismayed, and told me it was ok so long as I replaced the window.
The parka looked ragged, so I made sure to never wear it when I went back to Cape Breton, lest my parents ask why me I couldn't take care of things properly.
Over the next couple of months, we would put on a little over a half dozen shows in the basement of 5554 Bloomfield St with not a single noise complaint. I saw the Hold and Special Noise for the first time in that basement. Radarfame released their cd there, This Message Will Self Destruct played one of their last shows with Ross in our basement. Spinoza played an entire set of Joy Division covers. Cloak came all the way from Victoria and played there. Black Spring (aka Madhat aka Air Traffic Control) played one of their first shows with Philip in that basement. I still remember how much seeing the Hold made me want to immediately start a new band. They were a revelation to me. After living in Banff for two years and some change, it was nice to live in an area that wasn't inhabited by bands that could play 'Blister in the Sun' in their sleep. It was like night and day and as cliched as it sounds, I really needed it.
I remember Philip and I putting on musical spectacles for audiences of one (usually Claudette). I remember Geoffrey Pye playing Cyndia Lauper's "Time after Time", hour after hour, day after day. I remember Claudette shaming Philip and I into keeping the plants that had been abandoned by previous roommates, completely devoid of maternal instincts, we so badly wanted to surrender them to the elements. I remember eating pieces of Faith's jigsaw puzzle in the middle of the night. I remember fighting with Kathy until we both fell asleep, but I also remember her buying me 'Jarhead' and sneaking back to my house and dropping it in our mailslot. I remember frozen pipes, no oil, lots of fleas, and Crass breaks (because every day you should listen to about 20 seconds of Crass).
I remember heartache. I remember afternoons of our little family (Gerry, Claudette, Philip, and I) huddled on the couch watching movies because there were things we were desperate to avoid thinking about.
I remember wanting everything to be back to the way it was, but knowing that it never would be. I always want someone to rip off the mask, sock me in the arm and say it's a big joke.
Everyone moved out today. It's a home no more, well at least not for any of us.
Today I broke my favourite mug. I bought it the last month I lived at Bloomfield. Sometimes I just want things to go right.
With each passing day, my hope diminishes that the signing bonus that we had been told was coming will be turning up.
I lost four weeks of my contract to the lockout so the extra wages (equivalent to about a week's worth of pay) would have helped out, no such luck.
It's been kind of a depressing day despite how beautiful it is. Oblivious to the weather, I chose to wear my parka today. The same parka I wore when I broke into Bloomfield in January 2004. I had left my keys inside and only realized that after returning from the Midtown Tavern, where Erin and I drank beers and talked about the Cape Breton Oilers, at 4 am. It was 40 below (with the windchill), Geoffrey Pye was not responding to any of the knocks or doorbell rings, and Philip was nowhere in sight. I made the executive decision, fueled by liquid courage, to take an old planter and throw it through the living room window. I crawled throught the broken window, jagged pieces cutting up my parents' Christmas gift, the parka, and later cutting up the bottom of my feet when I, for no apparent reason, took off my shoes.
Philip came home 15 minutes later, looked dismayed, and told me it was ok so long as I replaced the window.
The parka looked ragged, so I made sure to never wear it when I went back to Cape Breton, lest my parents ask why me I couldn't take care of things properly.
Over the next couple of months, we would put on a little over a half dozen shows in the basement of 5554 Bloomfield St with not a single noise complaint. I saw the Hold and Special Noise for the first time in that basement. Radarfame released their cd there, This Message Will Self Destruct played one of their last shows with Ross in our basement. Spinoza played an entire set of Joy Division covers. Cloak came all the way from Victoria and played there. Black Spring (aka Madhat aka Air Traffic Control) played one of their first shows with Philip in that basement. I still remember how much seeing the Hold made me want to immediately start a new band. They were a revelation to me. After living in Banff for two years and some change, it was nice to live in an area that wasn't inhabited by bands that could play 'Blister in the Sun' in their sleep. It was like night and day and as cliched as it sounds, I really needed it.
I remember Philip and I putting on musical spectacles for audiences of one (usually Claudette). I remember Geoffrey Pye playing Cyndia Lauper's "Time after Time", hour after hour, day after day. I remember Claudette shaming Philip and I into keeping the plants that had been abandoned by previous roommates, completely devoid of maternal instincts, we so badly wanted to surrender them to the elements. I remember eating pieces of Faith's jigsaw puzzle in the middle of the night. I remember fighting with Kathy until we both fell asleep, but I also remember her buying me 'Jarhead' and sneaking back to my house and dropping it in our mailslot. I remember frozen pipes, no oil, lots of fleas, and Crass breaks (because every day you should listen to about 20 seconds of Crass).
I remember heartache. I remember afternoons of our little family (Gerry, Claudette, Philip, and I) huddled on the couch watching movies because there were things we were desperate to avoid thinking about.
I remember wanting everything to be back to the way it was, but knowing that it never would be. I always want someone to rip off the mask, sock me in the arm and say it's a big joke.
Everyone moved out today. It's a home no more, well at least not for any of us.
Today I broke my favourite mug. I bought it the last month I lived at Bloomfield. Sometimes I just want things to go right.
