may 2003

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Contents

Jack Flash!
Bold new hire at the Examiner

Outside Looking In:
Two views from people who don’t live here

Fashion File:
What summer clothing do you want to wear?
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Jackdaws Presents:
grants, blessings, and worth at a Calgary pub

Cartoon:
WAR by Isabelle Bleu
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Peace Tapestry:
vigor, no rigor

3...2...1 Act Plays:
words overheard after
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jack in the pulpit:
FISH: the forgotten vegetable

Trent Radio:
Summer Radio Camp
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Public Energy Presents:
The Cure for Sexual Jealousy
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Sunday Night Live:
at Hot Belly Mamas
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Artspace:
upcoming exhibitions

Listings & one eyed jack
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Cover Art:
by Laurel Paluck
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this page was last updated July 9, 2003

THE BALDER I GOT the more I found myself scratching the top of my head by holding my fingers stationary on my scalp and nodding my head ’yes’.

Surely nothing serves us as well in easing an itch as the fingers. Sensitive, mobile and nail-tipped, fingers are universally acknowledged as the sultans of scratch, the champions of chafe. What weirdness was it that made me indulge this head-shaking gambit? After all, I wouldn’t hold my hand steady and jump up and down to rub my belly, or hold my toothbrush still and shake my head. And I’ve tried jack-in-the-pulpiting off, if you will, with the rock-steady hand and the elvis gyrations, and it just doesn’t do it for me; it’s like driving with the parking brake on. Gotta have the hand.

Fish finally gave me the head-scratching perspective I needed. Fish, the vegetable, more accurately.

You know what I’m on about here. The fish (or fish and poultry) eating vegetarian.

As a cook it’s confusing: when I think of food that has the desire and ability to escape I’m not thinking ’vegetable’. To resolve my difficulties with the concept, I consult a higher authority; former U.S. President Ronald Reagan.

You recall he was the guy who declared that ketchup was a vegetable. Now we’re in the zone: if this was close enough for the commander-in-chief of the world’s mightiest nation, who was I to quibble?

Liberation! These days when a vegetarian diner wants onion, olives and oysters I don’t quibble or dither. I COOK THE DAMN THINg! You picked pickles, peas, and pickerel? I’M NOT PAUSING, I’M POACHING!!! Now when I’m thinking "behold, my only begotten veg in whom I am well pleased", I’m thinking leek, lettuce and loganberry, sure... but I’m also thinking lobster, lake trout and king cod AND I’M LOVING IT!! NO MORE WALLS!!

Thank you, Mr. Reagan. Not only do I still scratch my pate by nodding the noggin; I’ve discovered the considerable joys of scratching my instep with my big toe; my back on a door-jam; my heels with an old french knife.

Scratch on, fearless ones. Find your own level of freedom. Fish the vegetable, ya bastards.