I am nothing of a builder

War, like beauty, is in the collective consciousness. It's a memory etched into my mind, gnawing at the base of my stomach, that leaves an empty void; one that can not be filled with honour, respectful distance, or a silent promise that I will not, ever, forget. The lost are too many. I want to know their stories, be able to call their faces to mind. Do they prefer to be forgotten?

I remember them with a bright, plastic poppy; stories of a fallen cenotaph in New Brunswick, the cross shattered; a wreath at the base of a rural statue, a solitary reminder of the hundreds and a cold November morning in Toronto. Strangers, grandparents, men and women who continue to fight, and die.

All I can say, knowing it's not enough, is thank you. And, I'm sorry.

I was out by the lake tonight, walking with a coffee in hand, when I saw a large crowd of people hurrying towards me along the intersecting street. There were probably about twenty of them, and they were carrying two large, white objects overhead. At first I assumed that they were university students - coming from four years in Toronto, and the rest before that spent in a sheltered, old Ontario farm community - engineers or the like would be the only answer, since twenty below zero and dark is enough to scare away even the most dedicated performance artists.

In the split second that it took for me to process, I realized, startled, that they were in fact all wearing full military fatigue; many of them wielding rifles. And that the white objects, glaringly reflecting the streetlights in the dark, were sheets, on gurneys or stretchers, covering large person sized lumps.

It was a drill, of course. I live a short walk from the Royal Military College, and they were gone, hurrying back over the bridge and down towards their school as quickly as they had arrived. But it was such an anachronistic thing to see in a Canadian city street. I take safety for granted and as a girl, never hesitate to go out alone at night, even in a city with six maximum security prisons (you can debate my levels of self-delusion if you wish, at another time).

I am so lucky to live in Canada. There is so much love in my heart for this country, and also for every single individual in the Canadian military - I admire them more than anyone else on our messed up planet.

While military might, I know in my gut, is not the answer, all I wish for is a night in which everyone - this whole world over - feels safe to go outside and dance in their respective city's streets.

. .. .

So there's this movie, All Hat, about the scrap of the world that I like to call home. It's about pretty boys (Luke Kirby, David Alpay), pretty girls (Lisa Ray, Rachel Leigh Cook), pretty horses (thoroughbreds!), pretty Southern Ontario (give or take some housing developments), pretty Ford pickups (which, you know, we all drive) and lots, and lots of plaid flannel shirts. Did I mention that it's pretty?

( 22 icons from All Hat under the cut. )

Comments are nice! Credit isn't necessary.

There are several things in this world about which I am extremely passionate. Music is one of them, Canadian Content is another. For a long while, the CBC (The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) was, at least outwardly, a happy marriage of these two things.

For seventy years, the CBC radio orchestra - located in Vancouver, B.C. - commissioned and performed new Canadian works. It is not an exaggeration to say that this is the place where Canadian music found it's voice. Classical, contemporary, Canadian music has never been an easy sell but the government funded CBC has championed it for decades, dating back to the days when John Weinzweig, father of the Canadian Music Centre, wrote background scores for the radio documentaries being broadcast.

The artists whom, over the years, have collaborated with the CBC reads like a list of 'who's who' in the Candian music scene; Harry Sommers, Jaques Israeliavitch, Gary Kulesha, Raffi Armenian, Victor Feldbrill, Sir Ernest MacMillan, Measha Brueggergossman, Jane Coop, Alain Trudel, etc., etc. The list is endless. The CBC has launched careers and given work to generations of classical musicians. Apparently no more.

I don't care if the CBC is strapped for money. I sure as hell don't know anything about business. Canceling classical radio programs might be necessary, I don't know. Canceling the young composers' competition is a disappointment that leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but I'm a stable enough girl that it doesn't send me screaming down to the CBC offices, resorting to public acts of indecency.

However, THE CBC ORCHESTRA IS NOT NEGOTIABLE.

You can not put a price on something like that, North America's only radio broadcast orchestra. Can't you, I don't know, cancel a documentary about Don Cherry or something? Or God forbid, try and expand your classical audience to new markets, so that that section of your operation is bringing in more return?

I am a twenty year old, admittedly a music student, who loves classical music. Yet I can't bring myself to listen to much of the Radio Two programming, which centers around classical music. My station is was CBC Radio One. Maybe, CBC, if you could find away to make your unappealing programming on Radio Two moderately interesting, you would have the funds to keep the orchestra alive.

Or you could, you know, stop producing new television series that get canceled after a weak run and stick to Road to Avonlea reruns.

There is something very wrong with our country. How is this even allowed to happen?

For additional information:
http://michaelvincent.ca/Newsblog/?p=59