We will blog. I swear to god.

We're in Windsor. Hopefully we will find some time to blog more than this sentence. Molemen and Ghosts to come. Stay tuned!

of indies and politiks

We take tea with a whole coven of witches. I am home. I love Toronto; the city holds me anonymously, has a beautiful dirty grayness that feels like it has always just rained. The book stores and comic shops empty and fill me. Grilled cheese at the Stem. My girls, my gorgeous magical friends who I love as much as my own limbs and more. One day I’ll come home for good.

We read at the Green Room as part of the third season of Indiepolitik’s Strong Words reading series. We’re in the Art Bar, one of the other, more different bars buried deep in the Gladstone. Matt Blair bustles about and hosts like a champ. Moez is happy to see us as an old friend. And old friends come: Cindy and Andrew drive up from Guelph, Jessica and Tom manage to sneak away from their babies for the performance, Mike Davis (who I haven’t seen in years) and Katie drive an hour and a half in the rain. It is so good to meet Mark Truscott and Paul Hegedus. It’s is so good to see angela and Jordan again, I am overwhelmed.

At the Green Room performance I feel fort he first time that we are not three discrete artists doing our own disparate things, but a unit. We are a show. We heckle and play off each other, start feeling out a schtick. Both ryan and Neil read brilliantly; I am again reminded of how honoured I am to share all these stages with them. Neil reads the funereal. It’s the first time I hear him read this piece and it’s excellent. I meet the original Garfaxians and it all makes a little more sense.

Jay MillAr is absent and we worry; he comes home to a flood of calls and emails. He apologizes profusely and we’re all just happy he’s okay.

Gennie makes us more tea. Emily tells Neil the future. I am so glad that my friends meet and love my friends.

A Parliament of

A giant metal spider attacks the art gallery, one malevolent eye on the parliament buildings. There is something lovely and cruelly amiss about the flying butresses of Notre Dame. There are lakes and moats here, warning signs and damp moss. A sky the colour of my hair.

My billet has the flu, and is an incredibly display of generosity books me a night at a B&B (the house know as Echo Bank House, built by Hayes, the first governor of Scotiabank). ryan stays with Pearl Pirie in a top floor condo with a wrap-around view of the city. Neil stays in a spare room from another part of house where Max rents his apartment. The former tenant of the room stacked televisions of top of each other, made a mural of luna moths and ripped up the carpet after

We read in an art gallery in City Hall, the first performers in the new AB series or readings and lectures Max Middle curates. Max wears his Host Shirt and showers us with small kindnesses. There are about 30 audience members, so well behaved we become nervous at the lack of heckling.

At a pub afterwards, of course, had an excellent conversation and passable Caesar wrap. Charles Earl took killer pictures. Made many friends and heard of someone saying terrible things behind our backs (which was funnier than it was cruel). A half litre of white wine is just enough.

Morning full of eggs and sunrise. Back to the train station 24 hours after we arrived feels comfortable.

Amanda Earl and Pearl Pirie were awesome enough to review our performances. There's another review here. Give them a look-see.

A Ghost Story

Quebec City is beset by a plague. It is a secret plague. We were uniquely qualified to uncovered this terrible secret, coming home in the small hours of the morning, hearing and seeing things more logical minds would pass by.

300 years ago, ghosts were unleashed upon Quebec. They are vague shades now, leaving sad orange smears on the buildings as they float through. 200 years ago, the vampires came (though they are mostly extinct now. The few that remain sleep with their clothes on.). Nearly 100 years ago, the most terrible plague yet visited the fairest Canadian City: Molemen. We encountered these creatures peripherally, scratching beneath the floorboards, eating holes in the streets and foundations, chittering malevolently in the night.

No one knows what terrible plague will come next.

So the citizens of Quebec dig. They dig deep and often. They are looking for something, someone long buried: They are looking for Champlain.

Each year that Champlain's body remains lost in the city, Quebec suffers. For every hundred years that he is lost, a new plague arrives. But when he is finally found, Quebec will be saved.

For on that day, Zombie Champlain will finally rise and lead Quebec to victory over the Molemen, and the city will be free.

Schedule Update

The reading we are giving in Vancouver at Cafe Montmartre has been moved from November 22nd to November 23rd. Same time, same place. Come out and see us rock the west coast.

Day 6: Thursday, November 1, 2007

I spend the morning lugging my suitcase and a box of books through the metro to to train station where we leave for Ottawa. Montreal must be a terrible place for people in wheelchairs as the metro doesn't seem very accessible (something you notice when rolling a sizeable mass through a train station).

At this point it feels like we've been at this for a month already. We cross into Ontario around noon.

Day 5: October 31, 2007

Neil notices that Montreal must be at peace with a certain level of urban decay. Older buildings look like they might blow away in the wind. Graffiti is constantly present.