Boullée's Folly

Here's a wonderful little roller coaster of a read from one of my favorite writers, Geoff Manaugh.

Enjoy!

Those who mind don't matter

Reflecting on this week's stomach-churning federal election results, I can't help but think of Dr. Seuss' wise words from The Lorax (1971),

"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not."

“Her early artistic influences included…”

I think I turned out remarkably well considering I was exposed to T.V. shows like Welcome Back Kotter, Love Boat and Fantasy Island.

Of course…

I do have an uncontrollable urge to run to the window whenever a plane flies over my house. Just ask my neighbor, who on a number of occasions has been the telephone recipient of aircraft sightings. “Did you see that, Sue?” or “What was that?!!! A Hercules?”

It took me years to realize that I wasn’t so much annoyed to live under a flight path as thrilled by the countless opportunities it provided to watch the underbellies of planes flash by overhead.

I’ll never forget the summer day in 1996 when Concorde flew over my backyard during its only visit to this city. I stood there with mouth open, paint roller in hand, watching that remarkable engineering feat cut a neat white trail in the sky. I even swore to myself that I’d fly on it some day. Sadly, I had to let go of that dream when Concorde rolled into Heathrow Airport for the last time in October of 2003.

[Image: Concorde takes its final flight, flanked by Royal Air Force friends]



I suppose I could content myself by building origami simulacra, but my dream to fly on Concorde has since been replaced by another, albeit less graceful, aviation goal. Some day I will fly on Hello Kitty Air... Some day.

For Lara

Getting my six year-old to school on time in the morning is a struggle—at best, a conundrum. Threatened by deadlines imposed by school boards and boards of directors, I hobble along with one foot in the grownup world and the other in the world of children.

How do I impress on my son the urgency of our daily mission when he’s rolling around on the floor pretending to be an amorphous blob? I hate to rush him into grownuphood when he’s still a resident of that magical six year-old place. Maybe my hesitation comes from wanting to hang back myself, and just.... play.

It must have been something I ate

I dreamt the other night that I was preparing for armageddon. Three times in my life now I’ve had dreams in which I knew with absolute certainty that the end of the world was coming. The dreams consistently involved such unpleasant preparations as saying goodbye to loved ones, searching for suitable shelter, coming to terms with mortality, etc.

In this particular dream a nameless European nation had decided that it was fed up with American foreign policy and so had launched the ultimate weapon against the U.S. The next morning I awoke with great relief, and with a new expression in my linguistic arsenal, for in my dream the media had referred to the oncoming missile as The Golden Weapon of Mass Destruction.

Could I be watching too many cheesy spy movies, or eating too much stinky cheese before bed? Either way, I’ve now given up dairy.

Public reaction

I can’t help but notice that strangers smile at me when I walk down the street carrying a bouquet of flowers. I’ve also discovered that I can get a similar reaction if I walk downtown holding a piece of pumpkin pie in one hand and a crowbar in the other.

Don’t ask.

My brother loves his gear

He happily hauls its 35 kg bulk with him whenever and wherever he’s called upon to perform his ‘ass-shaking’ music and move a dance floor. In the past year he’s played in Berlin, Amsterdam, Maastricht, Marseille, Paris, Geneva, Corfu, Cork and, oh yes, Edmonton.

How much does he love his Midibox Midi-CV convertor, his RS7000's, his Notron and his shiny new analog Blacet modular synth? See for yourself.

I’m proud of my brother, his gear and the happytronic music that he makes with the sole purpose of spreading pure, unadultered joy. Move over Herbie Hancock!

Conjugal surfing

Je google
Tu googles
Il, elle, on google
Nous googlons
Vous googlez
Ils, elles googlent

How long will it be before our beloved Larousse follows the Oxford American and officially validates ‘google' as a verb? As in: Je vais googler son nom or Voulez-vous googler avec moi?