Frostbitten legs and trench foot.

I just got in from an event commemorating The Great War specifically, and Remembrance Day more generally: a screening of a 1928 Canadian film (the most complete one of the era as well, which is a huge deal) Carry On, Sergeant! with live music (and new score) provided by Hilotrons. They are performing this at a couple of more locations (Renfrew, Collingwood) in the coming weeks, so if you’re able to make it to a screening you should totes go. (Whoops, apparently those shows aren’t happening after all?)

The film itself is a fascinating piece, actually legitimately (and intentionally) darkly funny in places, harrowing in others, and with some remarkable special effects considering its vintage. You can find out more about its history, and revival, on the Lost Dominion Screening Collective’s website and in this documentary snippet on YouTube.

As interested as I was in the film, I was also plotting a return to blogdom while watching.




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In dreams, Edinburgh is a rectangular grid without Castle or Calton Hills, nor Holyrood Park. There’s a gentle incline to the whole town with the sea at the bottom and the University of Edinburgh (one building, large and castle-y) at the top. The Fringe is in large green parks that look nothing like The Meadows, and performed on big outdoor stages, or in front of tiny shacks lined up in a row (the shacks are merely for props, there are no dressing rooms or ticket offices).

So, nothing at all like Edinburgh.

Of course, dream Birmingham is a cross between Miyazaki twee and Blade Runneresque dystopia, with some North American generra mall thrown in, which…well, maybe that’s closer. Except the university housing is enormous.

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Björk song titles I’ve probably previously used.

#100BM Day 98

It’s a sad memorial day and I’m nearing the end of this not-actually-challenging-or-even-terrible-thoughtful 100 Days of Benign Mundanity, so you’d think I’d have something of profundity to say. But no, not especially, really. I spent a ridiculous amount of time today in a hideous phone menu/’your call is important to us’ stranglehold and am now eating a delicious bowl of almost-ambrosiac pasta (sauce is two tomatoes, some kale, some basil, a big wodge of garlic, and olive oil whizzed in a blender) and drinking some long-forgotten, fancier-than-usual, gift wine from last Christmas (?), so that’ll do for the gringo yin/yang of today, I suppose. (more…)

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Alternate realities.

#100BM Day 94

My exciting Saturday night involves some fairly disappointing red wine, laundry, knitting, and catching up on cable shows that have been of vague interest for a while and are, for now, available on demand.

Is there a patron saint of spinsters? I’m not a religious person, but now I’m wondering how closely I’m emulating her, should she have existed. She would have pre-dated television, surely. And I suppose a lot of lady saints were spinstery, given that whole nun angle. Can a nun be a spinster? Or by being married to God, are they not? And am I overtired or drunk on ~3oz. of plonk?


I am neither actor nor smoker, and I am not entirely convinced that ‘The Leftovers’ is a good show, but gosh darnit, I want to play one of the Guilty Remnant so much.

I would excel at it; lurking and silently judging people is totally my speciality.

Too bad that I can’t be trusted to wear white clothing without spilling all three meals of the day on ‘em.

Trivia went pretty well, though it’ll probably never not be weird to be involved in something where 57/100 is a good score.

It was actually the top score in Ottawa, only because Paul was out of town. Heh.

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