a couple of shmenges

Every time I see the late John Candy mentioned someplace, it triggers memories of my big brother Gary who died in 2000. We were not close growing up. He was four years older than me. Gary and I were always separated by life’s stages. High school when I was in junior high. Married when I entered university. But as grown ups we became best friends. While we had very different personalities, we had the same sense of humour. We loved SCTV, which brings me to Candy. If Candy and Eugene Levy ever needed a back up Shmenge Brothers, we were ready. We’d launch into the Shmenges, improvising at the drop of a hat, and we were good at it. We were Shmenges to the core! I still miss John Candy (1950 - 1994), but I miss my brother Gary Rosenbaum (1952 -2000) more.

Shmenge Brothers: — Happy Wanderers TV commercial Looking Back — Shmenge Brothers Want You To Vote — Schmenge Christmas Special — The Last Polka

John Candy Day in Toronto

o america

Most Americans don’t think about Canada but let’s pretend. “Hey Canadian, why are you so passionate about Trump being kicked out as president?” Here’s my list. 1) During our trade dispute he said Canada threatened U.S. national security. 2) He rolled back Obama era laws protecting LGBTQ+ people. My half American son is that. 3) He empowers white supremacists who threaten people of colour, refugees, and ethnic groups, 4) He’s a lying misogynist and adulterer. 5) Trump botched the response to COVID-19 putting our world’s health at risk. Like many of you I am looking forward to a time when news from south of the Canada/U.S. border is less nerve wracking.      

33 and a third

I love vinyl records but it’s not an exclusive relationship, more polyamorous. As well as a massive LP collection, I have many CDs, as well as some cassettes and eight tracks buried in the basement. Also, a computer full of mp3s and Spotify. Eclectic is the best way to describe the collection. I cut my teeth on vinyl and it still has its charm. While prone to noise, it’s a wonderful platform for big, beautiful cover art. I also marvel at having a phone full of thousands of songs, my own private radio station. Want to make me happy? Vinyl with a download card, please.        

guilty video

My teen started watching video gamers on YouTube. I mocked him for it. “You watch other people playing video games?” We know where this is going, right? I have acquired my own creepily similar guilty pleasure. I watch YouTubers unbox guitars. I live vicariously. One favourite is a grammatically challenged dude whose thing is Gibson guitars. He buys rare and expensive ones and then dismantles them on video as he discusses their inner workings down to tiny minutiae. He has an arrogance that only a snobby nerd can have. I am too old for this subculture, but I have been swept into it. I should be practicing.

Some YouTube guitar channels I watch:

The Trogly’s Guitar Show — The JHS Show — Darrell Braun Guitar — samuraiguitarist — intheblues

mask up

It was mid-April, early COVID-19 days. Masks were not mandatory yet but starting to become a thing and hard to come by. Should we wear them? If so, when? I was about to leave the house and said out loud to nobody in particular, “Maybe we should get some masks.” A voice from the back of the house, my teen the cosplayer, “I have masks.” I say, “I know, that’s not what I’m talking about. He says, “Surgical masks, I have a box of them.” “What? Why? Where did you get them?” “I don’t remember.”  We are still using that box of masks.     

crash

It happened in slow motion. The Chrysler’s front-end sliced through my small Ford tin can. After that, it was a blur. Apparently my car spun around and slammed into a pole. The box of tapes by my elbow landed on the rear window ledge. Police said, if not for my seat belt, I would have landed there too. It happened decades ago at this Calgary intersection. It was a Yield sign then. The Chrysler was heading towards a gravel road, now paved, to the woods, now gone. Two couples in a hurry for what I’m guessing was a make out session. I go by there most days. I can’t not think about it.

mr. dressup

When I worked in radio, my dress style was best described as presentable. My go-to wardrobe was jeans and sweaters. Business attire wasn’t expected unless I was covering court or a public speaker. After moving to an office job, I upgraded my image. New wardrobe. Every day it was sports jackets, shirts, and ties. It wasn’t required, but it made me feel good. Working from home because of COVID and shedding 50 pounds means my upgraded wardrobe has been shelved indefinitely, and I’m running out of shelves. Nobody wants my suit jackets for consignment. Anybody want to buy some ties, cheap?    

hard times

It started on Twitter. I was out for a walk, looked at my phone and saw a tweet from singer songwriter Stephen Fearing. He was consoling somebody who lost a loved one. “Sorry for your loss, “ he tweeted. “these are, indeed, hard times.” I texted Stephen. “You should round up some friends and record Stephen Foster’s Hard Times Come Again No More for charity. I have a friend who will produce a video for you.” Stephen texted back. “I’ve been thinking about doing something to help the Canadian music community,” A few months later, following many emails and file shares, here’s the result: Hard Times.

links

Stephen Fearing — Connie Kaldor — James Keelaghan — Shari Ulrich

Outta Town Sound — Five Foot Five Video and Creative — Unison Benevolent Fund

bald

Haircut day selfie with my teen

On an episode of Seinfeld, Elaine urges her boyfriend, a swimmer with a shaved head, to grow out his hair. It turns out he’s bald. That’s me, except I’m no swimmer and Elaine isn’t my girlfriend. A couple of years ago, I went for a summer hair cut. I asked for short. My barber misheard and put the clippers on the lowest setting and voila. Since then, shaved head has been my go-to coiffure. Bald has really come in handy during COVID. When I get a little shaggy, the clipper comes out and zip zip zip, no muss, no fuss.

the news

Is it possible to ignore the news? I used to think not. I grew up with daily newspapers and newscasts. Flash forward to my journalism degree and news became my life, first as a reporter in a small town, then a big city, then behind the scenes as a CBC Radio producer. I watched and read everything all the time. A career change made current affairs a smaller part of my world. I cancelled newspapers to lighten my blue box. Now social media keeps me informed, but I exercise tight control. I decide when to click and when to avoid. News is no longer a habit. This helps with my sanity.     

repetition

The woman on the podcast referred to her father’s friend as “magical.” A lovely description. The second time she used the word describing somebody else, I thought “that’s sweet.” By the fourth and fifth time, everybody became “magical.” The word lost its energy and passion, its magic. On the cusp of the 90s when I lived in England, everything was “brilliant.” In North America, “awesome.” These days, “amazing.” All three are great words when used sparingly and purposefully. The rule, when writing, is not to repeat words. I’m not usually a fan of writing regulations but I like this one. This rule can and should be broken, but sparingly.

blue shadows

I met the late Billy Cowsill in a small Calgary night club. We talked about the influence that country music had on the Beatles. I also asked him about his band that I loved, The Blue Shadows. “I wish we could play again,” he said, “but Jeff left the business.” The Blue Shadows were ahead of their time. Driven by the Everly harmonies of Billy, the oldest Cowsills kid, and Jeffrey Hatcher, they were alt-country before it was a thing. Their debut On the Floor of Heaven remains a roots rock classic. They won a Juno and were influential but should have been more famous.     

Watch The Blue Shadows video Deliver Me. Their CDs are hard to come by but you can start with Heritage Music in Calgary.

lawn signs

Some of the signs in my ‘hood, S.W. Calgary, Alberta, Canada

We have a lawn sign in our yard – “Defend Alberta Parks.” It calls out the province’s plan to close 180 provincial parks and possibly sell them. It’s a campaign by environmental groups. Signs are popping up around Calgary. Each one is a middle finger to Premier Jason Kenney’s government. I was born and grew up here and I’ve never seen a non-election campaign like this. This is not business as usual. As a former journalist, I know it likely won’t sway the next election, but it is a serious warning to the United Conservative government. They better take notice.  

my evening walk

Four years ago, I decided to get back in shape. There was a gym at work where I started pulling daily elliptical and treadmill duty. I lost about fifty pounds. Thanks to COVID, the gym closed in the spring. Then my job ended. What to do? My neighbourhood is now my gym. I walk three km every morning with the dogs. Another five in the evening. The same route, mostly. I am a creature of habit. I watch houses being demolished and new ones built. I’m getting to know neighbours and their dogs but it’s astonishing how few people are out and about. Winter snow and cold are coming. Pray for me.    

my grandmother's electric guitar

My grandmother’s antique twin beds were gathering dust in my garage. Pity because the richly dark wooden frames were beautiful. We have some of her furniture in the house, but the beds were impractical. Maybe a dump run? Then an idea. My friend Kevin builds electric guitars from reclaimed and new wood with new and vintage parts. At first he was skeptical. “I’m not sure about this.” He took the beds and then sent me excited texts. “It’s maple with mahogany veneer. Great!” He made some guitar bodies and necks and, as a thank you, he made me a beautiful custom instrument in my grandmother’s memory.  

You can find Kevin’s creations on his website The New Vintage.

no year

“Back to work, back to school; it feels like a new year.” I hear that every autumn. As I remind my non-Jewish friends, fall is indeed the new year, according to the Hebrew calendar. Since we are living in the time of COVID, it was not the usual High Holidays. No family lunches or breaking the fast with a potluck. No pilgrimage to temple. Just hanging with my 90-year-old mum in her condo, attending services via my laptop. I commend religious leaders who adapted with streaming technology, but there was none of the usual mingling and visiting after services. Hard to replicate that virtually. Let’s hope 5781 is better than 5780.

dog jealousy

My dog hates walks. They’re supposed to like walks right? Their instinct is to hunt. Our trainer says a walk is the hunt with food as the reward. Not according to our chihuahua cross BB. She’d rather lay on a satin pillow with food brought to her on a tray. Every morning when the leash is readied, BB hightails it. Under a table, she looks forlorn. Getting out of the house is a struggle. I drag or carry her to the sidewalk. More tugs to get her moving. Our other dog Toby is impatient. I look at other walkers and their eager dogs with jealousy. 

golden age

History shows that media do not die, they adapt and occupy new and different spaces for consumers. That’s what happened to radio. Many predicted the medium was a goner, with a possibility that digital streaming might save it. Digital delivery did not rescue broadcast radio. Instead, podcasting happened; bite sized slices of radio, streamed or downloaded on demand. Some are rambling conversations. Others are tight, sound-designed journalism, much like the features I produced for CBC Radio. The best are stories well told. The result is a new golden era. Here are links to some podcasts I love.

99 percent invisible - criminal - under the influence - spectacular failures - twenty thousand hertz

broken record - david tennant does a podcast - decoder ring - smartless - dolly parton’s america

magpies

“Those black and white birds are beautiful,” says my cousin visiting from LA. “What are they?” “Magpies.” Beautiful? Magpies? Here in Alberta, Canada, they’re as common as sparrows. Ignored by most, hated by some, they’re scavengers and bullies. I call them biker birds. About as big as your forearm, they prey on smaller birds, squirrels and harass rabbits. What I think is common, visitors find exotic, similar to when I visit Texas and see armadillos. Lately I have been appreciating magpies. My cousin is right. They are attractive, coloured like penguins except they’re fighter jets, not chubby submarines. And they’re fearless. They don’t care what you think.