Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo

We've all seen men in drag. But how about men in drag ... on pointe? Throw in a little mime and a lot of slapstick and you have Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo. My friend Daniel gave me his extra ticket and so together we guffawed through hilarious re-interpretations of dances from Swan Lake during their closing night. I know nothing about ballet, but I do know that I enjoyed this show.

CONSUMED: The Joyce Theatre; 175 8th Ave, Chelsea (Manhattan)

book cover for The Mysteries of Pittsburgh

I'll admit it without shame. I judge books by their covers.

Because that's exactly how I ended up buying this edition of "The Mysteries of Pittsburgh," the first book written by my new favourite author Michael Chabon.

Now all I want to do, even before reading this book, is to buy its brethren (which are also designed by Milan Bozic).

CONSUMED: Chapters; Oakville (Ontario)

Old Man Luedecke :: Proof of Love

Listen folks. Of all the music-listening "advice" that I ever egotistically post on this blog, if I had to choose for you just one artist that I want you to listen to, then this is it.

I am not joking. He changed my life. (OK well Sufjan changed my life too. But he's not who I'm referring to.)

Old Man Luedecke is the pseudonym of Chris Luedecke, a quick-fingered banjo player that hails from that dear coastal province of Nova Scotia. His music touches my heart so that when I heard it for the first time, I was quick to ask my friend who it was. Then the second time I heard it, months and miles away from that first exposure, I asked my hosts (already knowing the answer), "Is this Old Man Luedecke?"

Maybe it's because that first time was during an impromptu Haligonian waffle party or maybe it's because bluegrass (and banjoes) go so well with brunch, but I can't stop myself from putting him on when I'm slicing bread for the toaster or whisking eggs to be scrambled. Not to mention that the refrain from his song "The Joy of Cooking" (see his myspace page) goes, in 10-person harmony, "If I'm not mistaken / The answer's bacon!" With sunlight pouring in through the window and a large cup of coffee in my hand, I forget about my endless to-do lists and live between the plucking of those strings.

CONSUMED:
First time: Capp's apartment in Halifax
Second time: Brendan and Garity's apartment in Bay Ridge (Brooklyn)

The 700 Club

Not having been dancing in months meant that I couldn't resist the lure of the 700 Club. The first time I visited Kim in Philadelphia, she brought me to this dive bar in Northern Liberties, only a few doors down from her own, that on Saturdays turns its second floor into a sweaty shake-a-thon. This past Saturday I was back in Philly visiting Kim, and once again we shamelessly absconded from her own party, eagerly climbing the wallpapered stairwell to join the ranks of plaid-clad hipsters shaking booty to Beyoncé.

CONSUMED: The 700 Club; 700 N. 2nd St, Northern Liberties (Philadelphia)

+++++++
Friends: I *need* to go dancing more often than once every three months. Please save me.

banner for the Prince George-Norwich Meadows CSA

Two out of the three summers that I lived in Manhattan, I was a member of the community-supported agriculture (CSA) program in my neighbourhood. It was an awkward sort of organisation only because it was trying to stir up food awareness and organise a local food culture in a community that didn't want any of it. (This was exemplified by the struggling Murray Hill Greenmarket, which is only able to support one or two small farmers each week during its short summer run.)

Thus while I was looking for some semblance of a progressive community during those first years in New York, I realised early on that Murray Hill was not going to be the place to find it. And so I shirked my duties as a CSA member and never signed up for the requisite 6 hours of volunteer time at the sign-in table. Yet the guilt grew over the months of vegetable collection that by the summer's end, I broke down and offered my (limited) services to re-design their pamphlet one year (with Dory's artistic touch), and their street banner the second (recruiting help from Ainsley).

Here is the fruit of my labour, displayed high above 28th Street between Madison and 5th. I unexpectedly passed it the other day and decided to snap a shot as I brimmed with pride seeing it out in the wild. This project is particularly sweet because it was the first and only time I've submitted by (*extremely* limited) drawing skills for public consumption. And it didn't turn out too bad, if I may say so myself.

CONSUMED: The Prince George; 14 E 28th St, Murray Hill (Manhattan)