Thursday, June 02, 2016

I have, of course, acquired, with much cursing at Ticketmaster, three tickets to the Tragically Hip in Edmonton on July 28th.

But first, I would like to point out that the universe is inherently lacking in fairness.  Why does the dangerously cheesy Donald get to continue to deposit slime on the world stage and Gordon Downie gets a brain tumour?  Who decides these things?  I'd like a word.  Selfishly, I need Gord to live forever and continue to sing the contents of my thoughts to me, the thoughts I didn't realize I had until he growled them.  Which, i believe, is the real purpose of poetry.

Years ago, when the kids were very little, I went drinking with Graeme, between Christmas and New Year, in Lake Louise.  It was a good night, with an excess of beer.  Something the bar under the Lake Louise Inn specializes in:  surfeit.  Graeme and a girl (I'm sorry, it was a long time - I forget her name.  Hopefully she's forgotten mine.) were walking behind me, and I shuffled my feet through the snow, that sparkled unbearably under the streetlights, over the tourist bridge behind the Post Hotel, after last call, singing Cordelia at the loudest possible volume.  I remember feeling the song with my whole body - "Just to see how alive you really are..." and in that moment, being elated and sad at the same time...  Graeme and girl were laughing at me.  I didn't care.  I sang all the verses and didn't get arrested.

Rachel and Ian are coming with me to the concert, Kirsten will be on her honeymoon with Jorden.  Which I suppose is only right.  

1 comment:

Howlin Mad Murdoch said...

Always fun getting drunk together! Like that time in Nanaimo with the sign at the church and the mooning.