Happy Belated Father’s Day. Or, Belated Happy Father’s Day.
I’ve been coveting an iPod for months; yesterday I got a jPod. Which is great. I really like Douglas Coupland, though I also hate him. Every time I read one of his books I think, “Shit, I could have written that.” And that’s the thing about art. It’s like JD said Friday night as we were waiting in line at the Fringe Festival to see Brendan McNally’s new play, Heads or Tails. “The artists are the people who have the balls to hang it out there for everyone to see.”
Brendan’s been writing plays for years. Heads or Tails was fun, but even the lead won’t know how it ends until she flips the coin.
So I got jPod. And it was Father’s Day. And I figured I could read it yesterday and take it back. That’s $40 toward my iPod at Chapters. Practical.
But then there was the water fight in the back yard. And the KY. And the soya sauce from the leftover dim sum. Later I noticed that the dinosaur paperclip that Jasper gave me with the book leaves a noticable crimp. And my wedding ring was missing. That was a shock — the first time I lost it in seven years. But sure enough, there it was on the bed. Too much lube. And that’s as close as this artist can come to letting it all hang out there, folks.
So now I have a beautiful hardcover book that’s all mine. As always, I’m eager to share. Skip the library line and sign up here!