The Scene and Herd

I guess it takes The New York Times to shamelessly profile the old money coursing through Iggy’s veins in a positive light. Ha. I know nobody over here is ever going to do it. We like to keep quiet about all that, unless we’re crafting an attack ad.

Seriously, what is the problem everybody in Canada seems to have with wealth and Harvard? These are good things, no?

The ensuing response (the comment section - don’t miss the comment section) is hilarious. 

I’m not all that sure that the article is condescending, but even if it is, um, so? It’s The New York Times. It’s a really condescending newspaper. And yeah, I am happy that they’re talking about my favourite politician. Does that make me needy and pathetic? Or just honest with myself!

It’s more fun to be me than to be you, I swear.

Wouldn’t anybody be pleased about a write-up in The New York Times? Um, a New Yorker even? (wink)

We need to get over ourselves. I like Canada’s little, weirdo insignificant role in the world. Just makes it easier to sneak up into world cultural domination. BAM! No one sees it coming.

There is nothing impressive about this music video. It’s just a succession of randoms. But again, check out the crowds! Haha. Look at the shots of people streaming into the venue at the beginning. Everyone looks so serious. It looks like they’re psyching themselves out for a job interview.

[youtube=http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=Wzpynvxr7tA]

Morrissey’s more recent solo work tends, for me, to go from danceable/melodic tune to unbearably insightful masterpiece in a second! I’ll be listening to a song I like and hear, really hear a lyric for the first time and suddenly, I love the song.

It’s kind of like a miracle.

You have never been in love, until you’ve seen the sunlight thrown over smashed human bones. This did it for me this time. No one else in the world is so boldly melodramatic. Morrissey knows he’s going down to the grave in melodrama. And that must be stressful.

Thing is, maybe I looked pretty serious last night when I was heading over to Morrissey night. It feels serious. It only happens once a year and I get something there that I can’t get anywhere else; a remarkable solidarity. Like I told “John” last night, we grew up together. I like these familiar faces, most of them nameless, that sing obscure lyrics with me, annually. I like that old guy that showed up alone, but wasn’t alone because he had everyone in the room. I like the young’un that kept pretty much to himself, sang every song like serious business and then offered this sombre half wave/half salute on his way out the door at the end of the night (which I returned…I like that too).

On the way home, I told Dar that this is the sort of solidarity that seems so out of grasp at my church. There is a greater acceptance and general ease at Morrissey night than there is a Knox. Everyone seems happier to see everyone else, to be together and love something together. 

But then, I haven’t really slept in ’bout thirty hours. The Australia open final kept me up all night, and I’m mighty tired. I might just be actin’ melodramatic.