End of a Blog

It was interesting to read the final posts over at Michael Bérubé’s website. It was one of the first blogs I read regularly, though I confess that as he got a bigger following and it became a thing-in-itself, I spent less time reading. His blogger resignation letter, such as it is, was interesting to read. He’s got too much going on and something had to give (and no wonder, given the number of hours he puts into his posts).

Before I read his note, I was feeling bad about this space: like I want to spend more time here (and more time writing generally; this appears to be an existential condition of associate professors); like there are all these things that have happened recently that I’d love to write about but not for strangers under my own name (Charlie Bertsch does cryptic posts well; I wrote a couple and deleted them without posting — it’s not my style); and like I should be posting more pictures. But now I feel a bit better. The reality is that I post at least once a week and occasionally hit a home run with something interesting for my relatively small audience. And really, what more can you ask of a blog?

Habs 4 Thrashers 2

Our first regular season hockey game after last year’s giant screwup.

We went on a moment’s notice and it was really fun. It was easy to root for the Habs because, well, Atlanta has no business having a hockey team.

But when did they decide to put a mic on the ice and amplify the sounds of the stakes, whistle, puck and sticks? That’s just plain weird.

What’s the punchline?

“Three childless couples go to see a movie about a future dystopic world where women can’t give birth, but then a woman is discovered who can . . . ”

Actually, Children of Men was great in that 1970s everything’s-gone-to-hell way. Even the opening title reminds me of that genre. I was totally entertained. Still, the natalist theme was up for discussion afterwards. How could it not be?

Kitchenware and Ammo, Together as You’ve Always Wanted Them

Locals will wonder what took us so long and everyone reading at a distance will have to file this under “what the hell?” We finally made it to Quincaillerie Dante yesterday while on some errands about town. What an amazing store. Much better prices on kitchen gadgetry and cookware than the fancy-pants cooking stores and it’s a trip to boot. “Quincaillerie” means “hardware store” in French, and Dante is the name of the street (no hell references here). It’s not a true hardware store, but rather a store with all your cooking needs and all of your hunting needs. Yes, that’s right: gourmet on one side and well-armed on the other. I’m not sure as to the history behind the concept, but one can imagine either a shoot-it-and-eat-it sort of sensibility or that the tools are all kind of related (knives are knives, right? Though the shared roots of guns and ovens in fire takes a little imagination, I know). The place was cramped but exceedingly well-staffed (unusual for Montreal) — they seemed to know how to handle the Saturday Jean-Talon Market crowd. We dropped off some knives to be sharpened, and scored a giant cast iron dutch oven, which is something I’ve been wanting for awhile. You can sautee in it, and then you can bake in it. Brilliant. On the way home, Carrie also pointed out that cast iron is a great way for vegetarians to get their iron. I call it “nature’s nonstick.”

You can read more about Quincaillerie Dante here (scroll down), here, and here (en Francais)

Yes, I’m sure I sound even more Anglo than usual when I say “quincaillerie.”

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On another note, I actually felt pity for Tony Romo as the camera followed him off the field at the end of last night’s game.