Travel Tips avec un petit morceau de Revisionist History

Here’s something that you probably haven’t been giving much thought to lately and it kind of worries me that I have; The Magna Carta.  Yeah I know, I’m getting weirder and weirder but I’ve always had a bit of a fascination with it.  There’re a few reasons that lead me to bring it up now.  One thing is, if you keep your ear to the ground you’ll probably hear more about it over the next while, as we will be celebrating its 800^th anniversary in 2015.

Also, my sister-in-law Lorraine just landed in town and she lives in Salisbury England, where the best surviving exemplification is housed at the Salisbury Cathedral.  It’s been there since it was created in 1215, which is pretty damned impressive.  There were thirteen original copies of Magna Carta created and only four of these still exist.  I’ve seen the one in Salisbury while visiting in the past.

My Open Letter to Jian Ghomeshi

Hey Jian, rhymes with neon.  Remember that?  It’s been a few weeks now and I’ve got some things to get off my chest, so if you’ll indulge me, that would be awesome bud.  

How you doin by the way?  Where the hell are ya?  Somewhere a long way from home methinks.  You'd better be anyway.  Can’t imagine the reception you’d receive down at Whole Foods the next time you ran out to replenish the organic almond milk.  I’ve heard it a couple of times that you might be in Los Angeles but I’m thinking that’s still too close to home.  If you were in La La Land, I’m pretty sure TMZ would have tracked you down and turned this Canadian story into something more continental.  An implosion of this magnitude will transgress any border especially with your NPR links.  Remember when you were on 180 stations across America?  No I’m guessing you’re someplace like the Solomon Islands or Vanuatu trying to figure out the next move.  Or maybe you’ve decided that a little repentance is due and you’re hunched over, on your knees polishing the marble floors of a Tibetan monastery with a toothbrush.  I really doubt it but a man can dream can’t he?

Music at Last

I used to be such a pretentious knob.  Get it?  That’s a joke.  The punch line exists in the use of past tense.  I guess when you think about it, it’s almost impossible to have opinions about things and not assume that yours are more dignified or important than others.  And so we go through life formulating and believing our own preconceptions about things.  Thankfully though, I’m blessed with the assurance that my opinions are indeed the correct ones (this is another joke).

I’m pretentiously judgmental about a ton of stuff.  Possibly you can empathize; I automatically judge someone when they walk by with a Tim Horton’s coffee.  In a food shop (notice I didn’t say grocery store), I’m judgey Jerry at the checkout line as I survey the carts ahead of me for their deadly contents; inching my nose ever higher every time something processed hits the conveyor.  You can just imagine what runs through my head at the sight of someone ordering a commercial domestic beer and heaven help the character of those who happen to be laying on a beach reading anything with the words “shades” or “grey” or the like on it.

But the one thing that over-arched all my other pretensions were the opinions I held about my music.  And when I say my music, it is just that.  I have claimed and assumed it as my own and have eventually grown to be defined by it.