Welcome
Michael Gravel: I'm a writer and web advocate based in Edmonton. Alberta. This here is my website. More about me • More about my work
Events
- Canadian Authors Association "Can Write" Conference
- July 5, 2008 • I'm presenting in Session 4C, Saturday, July 5, 2008. 1:00pm to 2:30pm. U of A Conference Center, 87 Avenue & 116 Street, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. I'll be presenting a panel discussion with my good pal Thomas Trofimuk. We'll discuss the good and the bad about blogging and writing for the web. Have a look at the Can Write Website for more information.
- The 2008 Edmonton Dragon Boat Festival
- August 23 & 24, 2008 • I'm emceeing the 2008 Edmonton Dragon Boat Festival. My brother Stu is in the event as both an organizer and a paddler. Check the Edmonton Dragon Boat website for more details & the schedule and events. It's a pretty cool event - a great way to while away a late summer weekend. Hope to see you down there.
June 30, 2008
Nap Required
Roll up to the bus stop, 7am Saturday. Sun-rippled morning, warm and growing, grass scorching into the weekend. Last night’s stuff still visible: chip bags and half-cracked cigarette packs, forgotten running shoes & deadpan tatters of denim, gasoline pumps still drowsing. Guy sleeping on the bench in the shelter. Gray hoodie wrapped around his frame: 18, 20 at best. I’d say he’s stepping through last night’s wreckage, and that might hold true, but he could be homeless too. Street-dirty pants, shirt three weeks from a wash, blackened shoe leather. Most interesting detail is that he’s cuddled up to a big box of donuts with only 2 left inside (one of those windowed boxes), one of which has a half-moon bite out of it. Odd opening scene this far from downtown.
Glance down the avenue for the 4. She’ll be a bit yet. Kick the sand and think about the bake that’ll wash over this city in about two hours. We live for this shit…and it doesn’t last. Few minutes later the 4 rolls up with that diesel bake, a full 10 minutes early. Board, back seat curbside. Donut guy snoozes on the bench outside for a few minutes and then suddenly, like he got clocked with a sack of ball peens, he shoots up and boards the bus. All 150 pounds of hammered ass, he manages to keep his shit tied long enough to crash into the back seat, right beside me. Throws his box of donuts on the floor, lays down across the seat. I’m sure he spent the night in that bus shack. His hair’s scuttled into an unintentional fauxhawk and he smells like ass. He’s far enough way, I hope.
Driver strolls back to wake the guy up. You can’t sleep on the bus, sir. No protest except for a gargled grunt. Guy rises slowly and grabs a proper seat so he can at least look like he’s not sleeping. Bus pulls off the curb and heads west down Whyte. Along the way buddy pulls out a donut and stuffs it into his hole with a rare kind of overdone enthusiasm, moaning and smearing sugar paste all over his face like he just ran a batch off. Gets about halfway through the donut and decides it’s time to sleep again. Curls up on the seat, cradling his last donut. Bus hits a bump and buddy’s head slams into the seat in front of him with a deadass thud, disrupting an old woman. Guy says nothing, marble-mouths an apology. I try to contain my amusement, can’t help but laugh out loud. Guy gives me a bit of a look, but by the depths of the red spiderwebs in his whites, he’s not up for much. I get off a few minutes later chuckling to myself and hoping the guy finds his way.
June 25, 2008
Me and The Raving Poets Band on Television
This Friday, June 27, 2008, me and my pals in The Raving Poets Band are taking part in a special “goodbye and good luck” episode on HelpTV. Their season is coming to a close and they’ve called in the Raving Poets to do what we do best: close the sucker down with panache and class. The band will be playing backup for the duration and yours truly will be reading a poem on air to mark the end of their program. I’m very humbled by this request, and let’s face it, it’s not often (read:never) that poetry gets broadcast on television. Here are the broadcast details:
Friday June 27
6pm & 11pm Access TV (Channel 9) and
4pm & 10pm on CLT on the same day.
Check it out if you can. Lesley and the crew wanted a “goodbye” piece, something that would send everyone into that good night. Having come very close to buying the farm, I’ve got more than a few goodbye pieces. However, only these lines seem to make sense:
goodnight these lips i kiss so sweet
these folds my fingers trace
goodnight my breathing beauty
who lay at my side
goodnight cosmos and jazz
and goodnight to this path
that time will erase
See you on the airwaves, my friends.
June 17, 2008
Lawn Care
First, you decide to do it. It’s not an easy choice. Other duties vie for your attention and energy. The sink-bound dishes present a menial distraction that doesn’t suit you in the moment. The dust rabbits will be there whether you act or not. Outside in the yard, the yellowtops and thick-bladed grass are making themselves known. It has been two weeks since you last fired up the gas beast and took down the green industry going on in your yard. The weed known as sod keeps a secret life of plotting and growing. It doesn’t care about your other work. It simply does its thing and waits to be mowed.
You check the gas beast for the third time this year. She has that faint gasoline smell that reminds you of your grandfather’s workshop – the one where he fixed your bike and welded pipes and bars together. The oil needs to be changed so you drain and pour. Gas is a little low. The red jerrycan that belonged to your father sits in the corner, its nozzle blackened from that fire years ago. You pour slowly so the small tank doesn’t over fill. The wheels need an adjustment and tightening. Your 3/8” wrench gets hauled out for the first time this year. It’s got a gear oil sheen from your old job.
The beast starts with a mildly bitchy pull, choking a bit of blue smoke into the Sunday maw. Settles into a nice rhythm and begins to swath. You make parallel, mathematical lines of cut. You get as close to the edges of things as possible. You duck around the new apple tree, the one that your friends planted for you last fall. The neighbour’s lilacs have turned brown but the foliage is still green.
Your sidewalk is in a state of disrepair. Some day soon you will be mixing concrete by hand. Perhaps you will scratch your initials into the gray paste. Their permanence will be challenged by the creeping grass. It threatens everything, it seems.
June 6, 2008
Iron Maiden in Edmonton
This evening, the aging but still face rocking bruisers known as Iron Maiden swing into town. Rexall, 7pm, tix still available I believe. Back when I was an ungrateful teenager, Maiden was my favorite band. In hindsight they were the height of cheeseball 80’s metal, but that didn’t matter. I had a backpatch. I had the baseball tee with the white sleeves & black body – their mascot Eddie screaming out of a grave. I might still have the Journal article from 84 when they came to town for the World Slavery Tour. Piece of Mind never left my Walkman in grade 8. Does anyone still own a Sports Walkman (lots on ebay, it seems)? Anyone still have their Maiden backpatch and spiked wristbands?
As I’ve mentioned before, Maiden’s schlock was a smack in the face for me. They had the Sabbath esque, quasi occult thing going on, and I thought their album covers were incredible pieces of art (I still think they are – especially Powerslave). Some of the music has held up well, some hasn’t. The early Paul DiAnno stuff (the lead singer before Bruce Dickinson) likely holds up better, with its brash punk-metal energy and super-raw recorded quality. Most of that early work still sounds fresh and somewhat dangerous. The rest of the Maiden catalog is of excellent – if somewhat bloated and pretentious – quality. I’d say Powerslave was their peak, but that’s arguable. You gotta give the Irons props for sticking in the game so long and weathering the swiftly evolving and changing music scene of the early 90’s and beyond. Against rational prediction, they’ve managed to remain “cool”. They seem to be the band to like these days, as evidenced by the large amount of Maiden apparel readily available. A strong internet presence can make all the difference in the world, too. I don’t see any Twister Sister shirts (remember the bone logo?), or RATT backpatches in the head shops. Then again, there’s the wholly inexplicable and unfathomable web presence of Kip Winger. Everyone’s got a fan base.
Along with the other Iron heads, I’ll be screaming at the top of my lungs tonight. This tour is a bit of a “retro” affair – the band is concentrating on material from the mid to late 80’s. They’ve even hauled out the old Slavery tour stage setup, complete with Egyptian theme and giant, robot Eddie with exploding eyes. It’ll be fun to see these guys, if nothing else but for the memories of a time lost. Here’s to old friends and old bands. May they always by there when we need them.
Update: Iron Maiden’s Set List Edmonton
Churchill’s speech
Aces High
2 Minutes to Midnight
Revelations
The Trooper
Wasted Years
The Number of the Beast
Can I Play With Madness?
Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Powerslave
Heaven Can Wait
Run to the Hills
Fear of the Dark
Iron Maiden
———
Moonchild
The Clairvoyant
Hallowed Be Thy Name
June 1, 2008
A Neutral Coffee
Damn thing with owning a heart condition: Along with sugar and any kind of fat, caffeine is a no-no. That means the daily shot of black with 2 and 2 (and much else for that matter) is out. A large cup filled with medium roast used to be my morning – it was the spur in my side. Now, I’m reduced to the unleaded shite that the elderly and four year olds drink. Christ. Some days I think, I could do a tea. I should do a tea. I could order a mint special with a twist of milk and maybe a dash of syrup. I could do that, but coffee says morning. Coffee says out of bed and comb through the hair and beat the day’s drums already. Coffee says New York and those little blue cups. It says Steve-O-Reno’s Cappuccino on rain-toked Spring Garden Road in Halifax. Does it say winter-hit wind howl on Japser Avenue in January? Yes.
Is there anything more pathetic than standing in line for eight minutes only to order a decaf with milk and sweetener? Why bother, you might ask. By my count, that’s not even real coffee. The answer is that rituals don’t die so easily. I’m not getting the caffeine and sugar blitz that I used to but I’m still in step with my day. I know the day is lit when I’m off the bus and into the comfort buzz of the cafe. It’s the taste that keeps me there and I like to pretend, so I make like my stilted paint is the real brew. I cradle the cup between my hands like a newborn’s skull and take short, solid sips. The taste is almost there. What’s missing is that caffeine click – the hook in the throat that says I’m about to be smacked. I miss that. Like I miss cheesecake and boilermakers. A guy’s gotta have some indulgence (or what’s the point of the toil on this godforsaken pebble), so on occasion I get a decaf 2 and 2. That’s a boatload of cream and 7 teaspoons of sugar. It’s a blue moon thing. Once every six weeks perhaps, I’ll order up a full-bore version with all the heat and sweet. Then I’m buzzing like a coked puck.
If you see me waxing pathetic in a lonely corner of a cafe, hands askew around a cup holding nothing but flavoured, balless brown water, give me a nod and grant me the slack that I need to enjoy my day. Have some compassion for a former ‘feine head. My heart thanks me. I’ll thank you.