Hopefully it will be less successful than Operation Eat Chocolate Until Even My Puke Smells Sweet

My my, what a Christmas morning. The crazy wind outside woke us up at 4AM, and we never really got back to sleep. We chatted with my brother and his missus on Skype for a bit at the end of their Christmas day (they’re in Brisbane), then extracted the goodies from our stockings, then had a breakfast of delicious Cumbrae’s bacon, biscuits straight from the oven and prosecco mimosas. Then, to the business at hand — the unwrapping of gifts. Here’s my haul:

  • Five books: Easy Riders, Raging Bulls by Peter Biskind, The Disappeared by Kim Echlin, Empire Of Illusion by Chris Hedges, The Winter Vault by Anne Michaels, and a book about Cumberland County, NS (where I grew up)
  • Three Blu-ray discs: Die Hard (which we watched last night, actually), Inglourious Basterds and Children Of Men
  • This t-shirt
  • Chocolate. Oh, sweet merciful frangipane, the chocolate.
  • A jar of beets. Which, on any day other than Christmas — when I actually really want beets — would be a weird gift.
  • A proper, game-style Montreal Canadiens jersey, which I shall wear tomorrow night at…
  • The Montreal/Toronto game at the Air Canada Centre! Nellie somehow got us gold seats. I don’t know whose soul she had to sell to do it. I don’t even care. If y’all tune in to CBC Saturday night, I’ll be the guy getting his ass kicked by angry Leafs fans.
  • There was also an Amazon.ca coupon which I promptly used against a massive order to clear off my wishlist: Star Trek, Heat, Fight Club, Band of Brothers, Enterprise 2.0 by Andrew McAfee and The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton.
  • Of course we got lots of little things in our stockings, my favourite being the latest issue of GQ (which Nellie got for me after reading this tweet, because she is simply awesome)
  • We got some shared gifts like some cool art from my brother and his wife, some blown glass coasters (with a backstory) from my mom & dad, and four bottles of delicious Alchemy from Nellie’s mom
  • Best of all, though, were the donations my family made in lieu of gifts, which through some good timing, generosity and a little voodoo were matched 300% and given to the United Way of Greater Toronto.

Right now the turkey’s in the oven, the mess has been carted away, Nellie’s watching the Blu-ray copy of Serenity I gave her, the cats are coming down from their catnip high and we’re sliding into sweet relaxation mode. Tonight there’ll be revelry with friends. Tomorrow we’ll do battle with the deluded sports fans of Toronto. Following that I plan on launching Operation Watch Movies Until Mine Eyes Do Bleed.

Merry Christmas, kids!

"Jesus Christ, Powell, he could be a f*cking bartender for all we know!"

Chrtistmas feels different this year. Maybe it’s because there’s not been any snow in Toronto (until today, but apparently it’ll be gone by tomorrow afternoon), or maybe it’s because all I’ve been able to think about lately is work, or maybe it’s because I’ve not been on a flight to NS and then relaxing on the family farm.

But today after I got home from work, it started to feel a little more like Christmas. Different Christmas. We have our own little traditions, like watching Die Hard (for me) and Love Actually (for her), eating loads of delicious food from Cumbrae’s and About Cheese and Moroco and drinking the bottle of wine I got Nellie last year. It doesn’t replace all the other things that feel like Christmas…it just adds to them.

In that, I suppose I’m lucky. There are a lot of people who have bad memories of Christmas, or no memories of it at all. That surplus of good fortune, not to mention the fact that we’re both happy, healthy and gainfully employed, prompted and allowed me to try to do a little bit to help some of the people who aren’t so lucky. And I figure that should be a Christmas tradition too.

Whatever you might be celebrating, wherever you’re celebrating it, I hope it’s a happy one. And I hope the peanut butter balls there are as good as the one I’m eating right now. Cheers, everybody.

"Europe slid over the edge of a cliff."

I’ve just finished reading book number three (in a planned series of four) about WWII: A Short History of World War II by (my uncle) James Stokesbury. Having covered the rise of fascism through the 1930s and the emergence of Nazism in particular, I used Jim’s book to refresh my memory of both the sequence and the context of the battles. I was reminded of two key things:

  1. Had Britain and France stood more firm in the face of Hitler’s aggression prior to his invasion of Czechoslovakia, and had it come to a fight, Germany would have been well outnumbered. France alone has one million men and superiority in both tanks and aircraft. The British had no army to speak of, but their navy was far stronger than Germany’s. The Czech army was nearly the equal (in number, anyway) of Germany’s. However, Chamberlain seemed determined to avoid a war — though with The Somme and Ypres barely twenty years behind them, you could scarcely blame the British for that — and he gave over the Sudetenland. The French had convinced themselves of two things: that defense would win the day (hence their commitment to the Maginot Line), and that they were badly outnumbered by the Germans.
  2. As a Canadian I’ve seen such a Canada-America-Britain-centric view of the war, and view of who won it, that I sometimes forget who actually won the war against Germany: Russia. It was Russia who swallowed up great swaths of the German army while Britain and America made plans, and while Vichy France collaborated. It was Russia who lost more soldiers in a single battle — the siege of Stalingrad — then did the U.S. in the entire war, and whose civilian dead numbered in the tens of millions. It was Russia who eventually took Berlin. And it was Russia, of course, who would not have even been in the fight had Hitler not broken his non-aggression pact with Stalin. As the book says, “Hitler’s choice may well have been the single most important political decision of the twentieth century.”

Given that, and given the bias my education has had toward the western allied powers, I’m altering my four-book plan. I’ve begun reading something which should give me a much closer look at the Russian side of the war called A Writer At War: A Soviet Journalist with the Red Army 1941-1945 by Vasily Grossman. The battle of Stalingrad alone fascinates me, as it might have been the singular turning point of the war in Europe, but if the reviews I’ve read are any indication it should be worthwhile. Grossman was one of the few writers who didn’t simply act as a mouthpiece for Stalin, and the carnage inherent in this phase of the war, so often glossed over, should come out.

Things I learned this weekend

  • Nellie’s vacations are always bittersweet for me. As an introvert I love the alone time, but I always miss her too.
  • Two years after I saw Once for the first time, I watched it again. Still just as amazing. The scene in the music store where he teaches her “Falling Slowly” gave me chills, just like it did the first time.
  • The city of Toronto is holding a design contest for a revamped north building at St. Lawrence Market. Good. I love the farmer’s market on Saturdays, but that building is both hideous and a logistical nightmare.
  • Eighteen pound cats do not enjoy falling into bathtubs full of water. They enjoy it even less when their owner takes too long drying them off because he’s nearly strained a rib muscle from laughing.
  • The Santa Claus parade seems ridiculously out of place when it’s foggy and 14 degrees. Oh, and fucking November.
  • That said, I’m excited that Swiss Chalet has the festive special up and running already.
  • There are few three-word sentences in moviedom as cool as “Gregor fucked us.”
  • If I ever own a house I’m going to make my living room into a replica of Cumbrae’s, complete with butchers and bags — bags, people — of pulled pork.
  • My team was teh suck last night (except for Carey Price) and hasn’t been very good at all this year.

The cool thing is, there's literally a field below his house

As I have so many times before I made my Dad a CD yesterday. Or, rather, I compiled a playlist; I neglected to get a CD writer in my lastest computer — I simply never burn anything anymore — so my brother had to burn the CD. Thanks Andrew!

Here’s the playlist:

  1. Holly Golightly . “A Length of Pipe”
  2. Angels Of Light & Akron Family . “I Pity The Poor Immigrant”
  3. Dan Auerbach . “Heartbroken, In Disrepair”
  4. Elliott Brood . “Jackson”
  5. Damien Jurado . “Everything Trying”
  6. William Elliott Whitmore . “Johnny Law”
  7. Avett Brothers . “The Ballad Of Love And Hate”
  8. Detroit Cobras . “The Real Thing”
  9. Regina Spektor . “Field Below”
  10. Rural Alberta Advantage . “Rush Apart”
  11. Great Lake Swimmers . “Still”
  12. Bishop Allen . “True Or False”
  13. Alela Diane . “White As Diamonds”
  14. Metric . “Gimme Sympathy (acoustic)”
  15. Wye Oak . “For Prayer”
  16. Neko Case . “Middle Cyclone”

He will, as usual, love the Damien Jurado and William Elliot Whitmore songs. He’ll probably like the Dan Auerbach, Neko Case and Angels of Light & Akron Family. Not sure how he’ll feel about the Wye Oak or Bishop Allen, but I can’t just lob him softballs all the time, even if he is a senior now.

Where women glow and men plunder

Right now my brother Tim and his wife are on a plane, flying halfway around the world to begin a new adventure. As he announced on his blog last month he’s moving to Australia.

On the downside this means I probably won’t see them for a couple of years, and also that we no longer have a home base in the UK. On the other hand, I can now look forward not only to reading about said adventure on his blog, but also to visiting them in Oz. Nellie and I have already decided to visit in 2011 (already too many commitments in 2010). Clearly the good outweighs the bad in this situation.

As someone who occasionally feels an urge to sell everything move to a new city, I’m both envious and proud of them. Congratulations guys, and godspeed.

My father's day memory can beat up your father's day memory

Men’s clothing store Harry Rosen is currently having a father’s day contest (the name of which is written above) in which they call for stories from clients about their fathers. I submitted mine a few minutes ago, and thought I’d share it here. Those of you who were there will know that I might have taken a teeeeensy bit of creative license, but it’s harmless and doesn’t affect the main thrust of the story.

My dad rarely wears a suit. He’s a farmer. He spends his days up to his elbows in tractor parts and soil samples and power saws. Suits are for weddings, funerals and Sunday service…anything in a church, basically. But when he does wear a suit, he wears it well. He’s easier in a suit than he should be, this farmer, probably something to do with his years in college when you still had to wear a jacket and tie to dinner. And suits seems to bring something out in him. The rascal. No, wait, rascal’s the wrong word for him. The scamp. It brings out the scamp.

My wedding, for instance. Very casual, held in the winter at a small private club (I’m not a member, we just talked our way in) with close friends and family. We have cocktails beforehand in the lounge. My brothers and I stand near the piano, drinking our drinks, talking the talk that older brothers give the last to get married. About to set down our drinks, we notice a small sign that reads, “Please don’t put glasses on the piano.” My dad, standing nearby, quietly says “I’ll show them.” He takes out his reading glasses and sets them on the table in raw defiance of the letter, if not the spirit, of the sign. He doesn’t wait for a laugh. He doesn’t even really expect us to notice. He just says it for the joy of dry wit and goofy rebellion. Of being a scamp with his boys. As we begin to laugh he sticks his farm-weathered hand in his pocket, turns and strolls away. Goddamn if his suit doesn’t look even better on him than it did a minute ago.

That’s cool. That’s style.

Now, I enjoyed writing that, so if that’s as far as it goes, fine. But if I win a $2500 Harry Rosen gift card for that entry, well, then so be it.

How do I get Rideau this cold?

As my brother has been blogging, his wife surprised him by flying him to Ottawa for a long weekend with friends and, as an added surprise, Nellie and I. He flew back to England this evening; Nellie and I returned to Toronto yesterday. It was a fun few days for us. I’ve known many of his friends since 1996 when I lived there with him for the summer, and it was good to hang out with all of them again. It was good to see Ottawa again too; I’ve not been there in a while, but it still feels a little like home. Best of all, though, was getting to help celebrate my brother’s 40th birthday in such great circumstances.

Highlights: an awesome Porter flight to Ottawa; surprising (kinda) my brother at our hotel; the food and drink at the Wellington Gastropub, including the Beau’s and a 2005 Raymond Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon (also overheard a great Grant Lee Philips cover of Echo & The Bunnymen‘s “The Killing Moon” on the stereo there); getting silly (where exactly did “chicken sodomy” come from anyway?) and reliving some memories at a Royal Oak (warning: awful, obnoxious music embedded in site); struggling the next morning until I could get some sausage and toast into me at the Elgin Street Diner; Winterlude ice sculptures; marveling at just how far Lego has come since we were kids; awesome homemade pizzas at mblogler/imspycat‘s place; playing the Wii with the kiddies; breakfast at the Metropolitan Brasserie with our aunt (where we loudly berated the Senate, even as Art Eggleton dined next to us); more pizza and beer at the Prescott where people who used to work with my brother were invited out to see him (funnily enough, three of them walked up and started talking to me, thinking I was him…by the third I just said, “Hey, how are you? That’s Tim over there.”); cheap pub breakfast at the Aulde Dubliner in the market; walking (not skating…couldn’t be arsed) down the Rideau Canal to the hotel before flying home.

That’s obviously an abuse of the word “highlights” but it really was a great weekend. My biggest problem with it was that I got very, very sick. Saturday night I felt a cold coming on; by Sunday morning it was severe, and by Monday morning it was brutal. It kept me in bed most of Sunday, made me miserable for all of Monday, and made our plane’s descent into Toronto excruciating. But it could have been worse: I could’ve been sick the entire weekend, or worst of all, my brother might have been sick. So it all turned out for the best. I didn’t even mind the cold; chilly as it got, the sun stayed out most of the time.

It was a great weekend. I’m really glad I got to be part of it.

[UPDATE: Ooh, ooh, almost forgot: the brother and sister-in-law brought me some Pierre Marcolini chocolate from Belgium. Zowie.]

This city = cold

For those of you not following my Twitter feed, I’ve been in Ottawa since Friday afternoon as part of a surprise for my brother. It’s been lots of fun so far, out with some of his friends, lots of food and drink and hanging out and catching up. Too tired to post much right now; will likely have more to say later.