Finished?

Thanks, Kate (& congrats to America).

My favourite political scientist is Canadian but she's always in the know on US politics too. This morning, she sent this to me, for obvious reasons. 

I don't do social media anymore, but I think the entire world just exhaled. 

Dear friends, let's be honest: the future remains a non finito, so we shall see who's finished or not, but in the meantime, please continue hopescrolling. 

Frankly

Frankly, what's Halloween without Frankenstein's ghoulish but tragic Monster? 

My spouse went full Prometheus and fashioned this creature together (without human parts) in her pottery class. Insert a candle and voila: 9 parts adorable and 1 part fire hazard. She made several types for each of our 5 grandturkeys. And for that... all the applause emojis. 

As Mary Shelley said, "live and be happy and make others so." And with that dear friends, a happy Halloween and to all a full pillowcase of candy. 

Medalist?

I think we all know someone like this champ aka loose meet cannon. But there's so much more to unpack in this genius Steed cartoon—it's got me thunk. 

First reaction? I chuckled. Second reaction? I remembered teenaged-me that time I placed fourth in ALL four high school track and field events, including the hurdles (which had four participants that year, ha). This aptly defines my youth sports career trajectory. Think flatline, ha.

I don't know about you, but it may not be a surprise then that I do not identify with any of these hurdlers. Sure, it's a dopamine party to WIN, but I don't ever win...well, except for that drawing contest in Grade 2 and I'm still confused and conflicted about that. Anyway, although I (almost) never win, I feel like I've won everything. I just default to gratitude. (Thanks, Grandma.) Loser? Sure. Sore? Nope. I don't care about winning. I don't want to be first. In many cases, I don't even want to participate in the "race." ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I'm not saying I'm not bummed when things don't go the way I'd hope, nor am I nauseatingly positive when times are tough. I just don't dwell there (anymore) and I forget to be annoyed. And to be honest, it's probably unhealthy that I expect to be disappointed, but I can always outwit that feeling by cheering someone else on. Nor do I have low expectations for myself and others. I am not saying that achieving excellence isn't important. It is; I just don't care to compete. 

My third reaction? This brilliant cartoon is an entire story. What happened during the race?! Who is this smiling overgrown toddler? Did he cheat? If you're certain he cheated, consider that in hurdles there are apparently multiple ways to be disqualified: lane violations, obstructing others, deliberately knocking down the hurdles, going around or under the hurdles.... Hilariously, he wasn't disqualified, so couldn't one argue he's just both fast and clumsy? 

But for me this cartoon is special because of the obstacles. In addition to his medal, he's proudly wearing those obstacles. He's unflappable. He's antifragile. And those others on the podium? More than the win, isn't that what they really need to succeed? 

Dear friends, I do not wish obstacles in your path, but I know you will encounter them, so when they occur may I suggest you be neither an optimist nor a pessimist—not even a medalist—but instead continue Sisyphus-ing your way up that hill: be an obstacalist. If you ask me, language like that can be a lifeboat. 

Who raised you?

Well, this 1970s model TV, mostly. 

I was at a social function recently and when I returned to my seat, I accidentally kicked one of the table legs hidden by a cloth. A brief tumult of wobbling objects ensued. Before I could apologize, someone at the table joked, "who raised you?!" 

I chuckled, but I thought of our big old 100-pound TV.

My aim is not to disparage my parents, (nor my teachers, some of whom I loved) but if you're a Gen Xer, you know. My childhood Gen X friend fully credits wolves with raising her, so the TV? Not so bad. 

Anyway, in terms of rearing me, I credit TV with a solid 70%, plus 10% to reading fiction and my encyclopedias, and also a grateful 15% to my grandmother. If you're a math whiz, that leaves only 5% for my parents. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Since they were rarely home, my parents' influence on me might best be described as unintentional, trivial, fleeting. This isn't bellyaching; it is (was) what it is (was). 

NO the TV did not buy my jeans, my running-shoes, my winter coats; nor did it pay the electricity bill or bake fresh bread—a nod to my parents for all those essentials. But the TV did indeed provide. Provide what? My worldview. 

If you're thinking, I wouldn't admit that the TV is mostly responsible for the lens through which I interpret the world, what I know to be true, what I value, and how I consciously (and unconsciously) act on that viewpoint, well touché, but it's just facts. 

So regarding worldview, what did the TV actually impart? Lots. If you're still reading this, perhaps this somewhat chronological list of my childhood favourites provides some insight?

1. Mr. Dressup & Sesame Street
2. The Flip Wilson Show
3. Sonny & Cher
4. Star-Trek
5. Maude
6. MASH* 
7. The Muppet Show
8. SCTV
9. The Jeffersons
10. The 6 Million Dollar Man

Picture kid me: part artsy, part social activist, part student of comedy, part stuntman, all woke nerd. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ TV was my babysitter, my family, my most welcome escape, but (like my beloved Lego) it helped me assemble myself. When I think about what the miniseries Roots did to my psychology. Whoa. And I'm sure TV is why I remain foolishly optimistic that everything can be solved in about 30 minutes (minus commercials). If only, eh? Sigh. 

But one of the biggest influences? Mork & Mindy. Mork (Robin Williams) was my favourite (fellow) outsider. Remember Mork's observation on loneliness? It still chokes me up. He was all comedy and all pathos, and also everything. Mork was a bit of a psychic catalyst. I already felt like a social alien, but Mork (and the way all the kids at school endorsed him) helped affirm my curious nature and taught me it might actually be okay to be different (but probably not, so keep that nervous system cranked, sigh). 

Dear friends, were you also fortunate enough to "know" him? Or some other character you saw yourself in? Did TV inform your worldview? Or something else? (It seems to me that unexamined worldview is at the core of life's more pervasive problems.) 

Whose hands?

Do yourself a favour and add
The Muppet Thought of the Week
YouTube channel to your life. 

A good friend and I were texting about her artwork. She was mired in that inevitable-for-creatives Lynda Barry 2-Question loop: Is this good? Does it suck? Curious, she uploaded a photo to get AI's assessment.... 

With all the nuance of a stapler, AI concluded it was "not a famous artwork." 

As you can see from the screenshot, I joked that AI is most certainly an unreliable narrator, and yes, I implied it: an inferior Muppet. Let's be honest about AI: who knows whose hand is shoved up in there?  

But upon reflection (yes, this is what my brain burns glucose doing), I shouldn't have picked on Animal, who is actually quite an endearing Muppet to me, sort of a furry characterization of the id. I mean, he loves a good time and he drums with passion—he's a beast. (Sorry.) No, AI is a different Muppet.... 

Now, if you're not Gen X, nor (oddly) is 6% of your brain (like mine) absolutely devoted to Muppets characters, you may have already left to mow your lawn, or whatever, but if you're still with me, I'm almost there. 

A better Muppet to represent AI is Captain Link Hogthrob, of Pigs in Space fame. Why? Well...Hogthrob is a smug, self-serving, one-dimensional fool, but somehow remains "qualified" to be captain of the ship, similar to how AI is now steering this ship we call life. Yikes. 

To explain further, let's consider AI's qualifications. Can it boost human innovation? Yes. Can it help us solve problems? Yes. Is it wise? No. It has never lived—it is indifferent to life; for us passengers on this ship, it couldn't care less. And if it does develop a sort of wisdom, then whose? 

Dear friends, like Hogthrob and "leaders" of similar ilk, AI is untrustworthy and therefore unfit to captain our lives. So, whether you're pro AI or not, shouldn't we regulate its (inevitable) role in everything, and monitor the "hands" behind it, especially those already profiting from it? Ha, Kermit would agree that we're moving too fast. 

Sit with the....

source

So I happened upon this clever cartoon, one I've seen before, and it got me thunk: are people blogging again?

Hmm. And then I wondered, why am I blogging again? 

It invites me to create, to practice this craft. It's exercise for my mind. It's a journal: part timeline, part lifeline. I also have more time. Moreover, I appreciate this community: I love that in 2026 there are still people in the world marveling at everyday life, people who are (mostly) flinging benevolence into the web instead of what we all know social media is flinging dumping for clicks and likes and follows and coin and all things (mostly) nefarious. In this lunchroom called life, I want to sit with the bloggers. 

But is there another reason? 

I started in 2010, so I remember the blogging heydays. This source provides an interesting blogging history referring to its "golden age" as 2005-2012, greatly disrupted from 2010-2016 when (bingo) social media platforms flooded cyberspace. It seems to me we've all been immersed in (and afflicted by) that haze for years. But what about now? 

Well, dear friends, AI says (irony forthcoming) folks are blogging again because we're "tired of generic, AI-generated text and short-form social media noise, creating a demand for authentic human perspective." In this instance, AI, you are indeed correct, but I still don't want to sit at your table. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Things one should never outgrow:

playing Picasso face, ha. 

Every day children teach us (if we're paying attention) that there are often other ways to utilize objects than their intended design might suggest. Who says Magna-tiles are more about engineering than the arts? My oldest grandson L demonstrates that like all well-designed toys, they are both STEM and STEAM.  

There's a name for this limiting thinking habit: functional fixedness. You know— stuck thinking or perhaps fast vs slow thinking. We all do this. Taylorism and assembly-line thinking is inherent in many systems. In the name of efficiency and productivity, education sometimes teaches us to see (tidy) categories instead of (messy) spectrums. But those spectrums? That's where the imagination goes jet-skiing. 

This is what I love about us humans: for every brilliant monomath along comes a playful polymath from left field. Let's be honest, you know a guy, don't you? Like this guy. 😂 Everyone knows this guy. Or consider *mic drop* this gal. 

I've been a stuck thinker more times than not, but I'm also the guy who once made a hornet sword when I could have simply bought some wasp spray. Efficient? Um, it worked (temporarily), but here's the thing: it was 100% more FUN! 

Dear friends, do you play Picasso face, aka are you a part-time MacGyver, aka how do you avoid functional fixedness? 

Ding Dong

Take 2...not bad...but many iterations to follow.

When my son's fiancé asked me to make their wedding cake, I did not hesitate, "Nope. No thanks. No. Nah. 😕😕😕 Certainly not. Nuh uh. : / I cannot. Are you serious? I reject this premise. Sorry. Noooo sir-ee."  

Then she explained that it wasn't a cake for the guests but a heart-shaped one they would cut for photos and share with each other on their wedding day. 

"Ohhhhhh... uhhhh.... noooo.... welllll... your wedding is a year away, so.... [cut to Brittany Broski tasting kombucha for the first time meme, lol]." Creatives gotta create and I do like a baking challenge: see evidence here, here, here, here, or (ha) here. 

But what kind of cake? They said I could decide but it should be some version of chocolate (like my cupcakes). So I did some research AND THAT'S WHEN I DISCOVERED THE PERFECT CAKE AKA a DING-DONG CAKE. I will let you google that. Two words: ermine frosting. 🤯Whoa! You're welcome. 

But what makes this cake so perfect? Well well, I have been calling my son a ding-dong since he was a toddler (among others things). The inside joke value here is basically five stars, amirite?! (I fully acknowledge and respect that you may be neutral or only mildly amused by this nonsense while I laugh with abandon at what is likely only hilarious to me). Anyway...

It tastes AMAZING. They LOVE it. One problem: *record scratch* now I have to figure out how to decorate a wedding cake. *deep sigh* Okay, yes, I sound like a big baby. Anyway, dear friends, if you have any cake-decorating tips or tricks, do tell, because (to use an accurate nickname) noob. 😉

Something Bigger

"No man can put a chain about the ankle of
his fellow man without at last finding the
other end fastened about his own neck."
Frederick Douglass (1883)

Last Friday, I received these witty vintage buttons and this fine postcard from a fellow blogger. Many weeks ago, she posted about the buttons, and offered to mail them to fellow bloggers. So friendly of her (and completely unnecessary). I love them. And I love her blog, especially for her book reviews, her humour, and her Friday Randomness. 

Across our countries, I estimate J and I live about 3000 kilometers (1800 miles) apart. Throughout my life as a Canadian, I've counted Americans as my friends, my colleagues, my neighbours and I've viewed America as sort of like my rich, famous step-brother, ha. My Dad had deep respect for Americans and loved visiting the US. If he were still alive, I suspect he'd be angry and confused by our current political rift but he would also likely consider it temporary. My fingers will always be crossed for that wish. 

Despite what's changed, I think J's neighbourly gift says something important about being a part of the blogging community: it's borderless. Yet her gesture also says something else. Something bigger. Note the three references in this gift. 

First, J may remember I recently wrote about encountering a Frederick Douglass statue in Belfast. He's one of my favourite Americans, yet his passion for literacy/reading/writing/arts (particularly photography) is something J and I both love as well. As they say, friends have common interests. 

Second, consider what George Orwell teaches about friendship in his (perpetually relevant) magnum opus, 1984. The novel's totalitarian state undermines authentic friendship, relegating it instead to "comradeship" to ensure that loyalty is first and foremost to the Party. Hmm, something about this sounds very familiar in 2026. Sigh. 

Third, what did Emily Dickinson say about friendship? In a personal letter she writes, "my friends are my estate." Now that's a legacy. 

Dear J, I'm sending you something in return. Because, friendship. Despite everything, cheers to ours and to the world's. 

Things that deserve your 𝚜̶𝚝̶𝚒̶𝚗̶𝚔̶ eye:

Caption: "You'll be kept awake during the operation." 
As a Scot I prefer to see this as a compliment, lol. 

Many people are quick to comment that they can't even draw stickmen. As I've said before: bullstick.

Meet Edward Steed, a singular cartoonist who is somehow simultaneously disturbing and hilarious. Plus his story offers a blueprint for how to live a fuller life. 

And with all due respect to his signature drawing style (I'm a fan), even he says this about his process: "It’s quite a bit of thinking and then a small amount of drawing.” In fact, he revealed in an interview that he didn't begin drawing seriously until he saw an ad seeking a cartoonist for The New Yorker!  Since landing that job, he also says he's starting to enjoy drawing more. 😀 Dude's got gumption.

Dear friends, this should remind us it's not too late. Perception becomes reality, often without evidence, and so if you think you can't draw stickmen (or whatever), well so what? Be a kid again and draw. Why not be a bit delusional? Put your work in someone's lunch kit. Post it online. Hang it on your fridge. The drawing process enhances memory, relieves stress, and acts like meditation no matter what ends up on the page. And if it's not drawing, do that something else that would fill your cup. 

Yes

Ta-da!

Some reports claim that a toddler hears the word no more than 400 times daily. Hmm. I have no problem with the word no. It's necessary. Think consent, boundaries, safety, logic, discipline.... 

Yet, regarding the default (and potential) overuse of no, here's to using language intentionally to provide a possible solution: a yes space. These are spaces, places, zones, and situations where children are encouraged to (safely) be independent, less restricted, and make their own choices—spaces where they will rarely hear no.

So when I spotted a vintage elementary school desk in a thrift store recently, I thought of my grandkids, and bought that solid-wood gem for a mere $15. Although it had no structural issues or damage, I spent a weekend refinishing it (sanding sanding sanding), restoring it to raw wood followed by three coats of a child-safe water-based finish (more sandings between each). However, I did leave the marker scribbles under the desktop. As with any of the many furniture pieces I've refinished over three decades, my aim is never to erase its history, only extend it.

She won't turn three until Winter, so my middle granddaughter (I) has several years until she starts school, but I knew this desk was perfect for her. She has a new brother, and although he's crawling now, he's not quite yet a playmate, so she continues to be engaged in and content with imaginative self-directed play. She loves flat surfaces where she can arrange her toys ("guys") to tell stories, pretend to cook for her customers, read her books, draw and write. Typically whenever she creates something, she remarks, "Ta-Da!" 😍Plus, her parents tell me she also now prefers to eat her lunch at her desk, ha. And if she marks it up or spills paint or whatever, I say yes, yes, yes. Let this desk be a part of her child wonder-factory, her yes space. 

Dear friends, did you grow up with yes spaces? 

Be like cats.

Still contemplating woolgathering, so when I noticed this patch of sunlight on my dining room floor, I thought of cats and how they will always find the sun and sleep. 

Cats don't need to be convinced but science says that 10+ minutes of sunlight exposure (especially outside, in the morning) has significant impacts on human mental health and well-being. Dear friends, why not sit in the sun or (better yet), lie down on the floor while woolgathering? We should be more like cats. Right? 

One more thing, a question; I'm stumped. But first, some context: I thought there must be a name for this cat-attracting "chunk" of a sunbeam. You know, a word that sort of means the opposite of a shadow. Or a technical word, something like "sneckdown" for example. The Internet must know, right? But nope.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered an uncharacteristic cyberspace void in this regard. Reluctantly, I asked AI (aka paste pudding, thank you Ray Bradbury): "There is no single, official one-word English noun exclusively for the bright shape cast on a floor by sunlight through a window, so people rely on descriptive phrases."

Well well well, you know I love to invent words so let's all remove our leashes and let our minds wander, shall we? Ha, here we go a-woolgathering....

What do you call the patch of sunlight on the floor? Or how would you describe it? Or...do you think any of my spitballs stick? 

• sun spot
• sun site
• sun puddle
• sun blanket
• sun throw
• sun haven
• sun oasis
• sun setting
• sun nook (s'nook) 🙌
• splace (sunny + place) 🤦

The Answer?

Bebe Rexha & Dolly Parton
(on my current playlist)

Today there's an old conversation playing in my head. 

We were attempting to get to know each other better, and he asked, "what kind of music are you into?" That was a mistake. I'm terrible at small talk. I suspect many people would say, "oh I like almost anything" or "Not jazz" but... music is just too paramount within me for any definitive synopsis. (I've written about my playlist before.) 

I'd compare musical tastes to explaining how one falls in love. How do you articulate those highly personal and abstract and fervid whatabouts? Intangible notions that sometimes trigger love at first sight or maybe bit by bit and then suddenly all at once. For me, music (the arts) is the lifelong love: my first love, a love longer than all the other loves. Lonely (Gen X) kids found love where they could. My early loves were all in books and on the radio and TV. 

Anyway, we had a bit of a meandering conversation; I tried to explain that the music I like is not just about the genre, or performer, or time period—it depends on the songwriting, the personal connection, and the self-expression. It's a relationship. He considered this, and asked one last question, "so, you like Dolly Parton then? I said, "absolutely." Suddenly, we understood each other! It's true: Dolly always has a way of bringing people together.  

Today I'm thinking about 1970s childhood me sitting on the floor in front of the TV watching Dolly perform, feeling connected, and yes, it was love at first sight. (She was like my cousins' dolls.) But it was also her trademark self-deprecating humour, her warm neighbourliness, her sincere optimism and over time, her incredible generosity and humanity. Today, I am also remembering some other members of my childhood TV family: Mork (Robin Williams), and John Candy. Sigh. 

If music is indeed like love, this week our sorry world lost love personified. Nevertheless dear friends, notice (and don't forget) that even after this world-wide collective grief fades, Dolly will always be the answer to many of life's most challenging questions. 

Le'ts be honest

Source: The Contrarian
Click here for more from Canadian
Political Cartoonist Michael de Adder.

Are we Canadians surprised by the latest trade negotiations shitshow with the US? 

Hmm...this is who he "wished well." Doesn't it just tell you everything you need to know? 

(Thank you, PM Carney.)

Things one should outgrow

The OG Scottish oatcakes. Yum.

In Nairn, Scotland this summer I discovered The Scottish Oats Bible cookbook. It provided more than just a recipe for oatcakes (a traditional Scottish healthy food staple); it offered insight into recurring habits I've worked hard to break, one that periodically hijacks all my creative pursuits. 

I've been teaching myself to bake for years now. It's artsy and inventive, and sharing my creations with my friends/kids/grand-turkeys is joyful. It's also nostalgic; many of my recipes are connected to my past, including the Scottish oatcakes of my youth.

A family member had already provided my childhood recipe:

🥣Melt 1 cup of butter.

🥣Stir in 1.5 cups of brown sugar (vanilla & salt to taste).

🥣Stir in 4 cups of rolled oats (I added 1/4 c chopped almonds).

🥣Add mixture to greased muffin tins and bake at 350℉ for 18 minutes.

A totally "healthy food staple" right? Nope...but easy-peasy and delicious? Oat-ally!

Sure, the cookbook offered some tweaks, but then I (over)thought... I should revamp this recipe... I should make them healthier... I could use a sugar substitute... Applesauce...? Crushed bananas...? I could add protein... Hmm, my version isn't good...YET... I should add jam to my recipe... they're still garbage.... Notice what happened? 

There's nothing inherently wrong with reinvention; it's a key component in creativity. But it can slip into something I've struggled with that I'd call "self-surveillance." 

If you grow up in a neglectful or highly critical environment (both), that tricky inner narrator likes to monitor, judge, and urge you to adjust and adjust expecting improvements. Sure, it's a growth mindset but one that has run amok. It also elevates product over process, and when the product (for me) is food, shame will inevitably show up to gatecrash this party. But then I recall that there are those truly healthy alternatives. Being yumped. Living in the moment. Peace. (Insert cleansing breath here.)

Dear friends, how do you ignore/quiet/bludgeon your inner Statler & Waldorf?

Things that deserve the stink eye

Ha, right back at ya, Wordle: 🖕

I quit Wordle last year and when someone asked me why, I didn't think before saying, "Connections is superior word-play." 

Well.

Apparently, Wordle heard me? Because, sentient? Because AI? Because I'm paranoid? Because, when I recently resumed play, I noticed Wordle was unusually difficult, like it was AWARE of my unpremeditated (yet accurate) SMEAR and had received an ALERT. Despite Google's pledge otherwise, (sure, Jan) we all know our phones are listening to us, right? 

Okay yes I sound a bit paranoid but consider how many five letter words support my (admittedly pea-brain) hypothesus: FISHY, SHADY, CAGEY, using GUILE to play DIRTY. Well Wordle, if you have indeed evolved, become sentient, or AI sophisticated, I bet you can't "hear" this,  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ nor can you unscramble this:⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ 😏😉

Things that deserve ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶t̶i̶n̶k̶ a discerning eye:

My oldest grandson L, (age 3) is smitten by colour... and I, in turn, am smitten by him (and his mind). 

Currently, he may not pay attention to every instruction or direction from us adults, but he's certainly paying attention to the beauty in this world. 

Thanks for the reminder, young sir. 

Small

A big thank you to London, Scotland, and Ireland for accommodating us Canadian tourists; I hope we left behind small footprints and a positive impression. Now one last excursion to share....

Just north of Dublin is a peninsula (once a small island) with a fishing community (about 8,000 folks) called Howth (rhymes with oath), a quick train ride from the city.  

This was our second visit. We had something to finish: the cliff walk. Last time it was raining, so we cut the walk short, but this time? Perfect weather. 

About a week before we visited Ireland the first time (2023), we met someone at a wedding—he was studying medicine in Ireland and told us Howth was his favourite place. We asked, why? He couldn't find the words but his body language said much. We are fans of serendipity and places people get emotional about, so we visited and it became a favourite too. Now my turn...how to describe? 

  🤔Let this good man's clip show you what words can't.

  🤔It's a cleansing breath of a place. 

  🤔It's a retreat, a haven, a resting place; I suspect Dubliners request their ashes be spread in Howth.

  🤔Think of a place that has almost everything: (in this case) incredible views, friendly folks, fresh seafood, street markets with huge brownies, colourful boats bobbing in blue coastline waters, rocky beaches with cold water where people swim anyway, playful otters, ice-cream shops, flowers that grow in cracks along rock walls, unexpected palm trees, a castle, and maybe one busker. Note that I said, almost. Why? Some places have too much, their abundance overwhelms and they don't feel...snug. Plus, setting is a relationship—we must bring something to our most cherished places—an impulse to attach to the stream of life.   

  🤔Like all words sometimes, my words are inadequate, so I will offer this final idea about Howth: my heart just endorses this place.

Quick research reveals that a teen-aged W. B. Yeats lived in Howth. He wrote fondly about it, sharing that he snuck out at night (classic teen move even in the 1880s), and also felt his first unrequited love there. Perhaps his famous poem The Lake Isle of Innisfree has clues to Howth? The poem expresses a longing to escape the urban confines and return to nature, build a cabin, plant a garden, live in "a bee-loud glade," seek peace next to the "water lapping with low sounds by the shore" and then even while stuck in the city hear this cherished place in the "deep heart's core." 

Dear friends, our hearts are small, and some places fill them so well. Whether travel is required or not, I hope you get plenty of time in places your heart endorses.

In-between

We ended our trip in Dublin and so we did it right: parks, pub-food, street performers, a craic comedy club and the Guinness Storehouse. Everyone told us this tour is a must-see, but could it match the excessive hype? I enjoy Guinness so I remained hoptimistic.

(Aside: Conan O'Brien says he made his own Guinness once by blending a loaf of pumpernickel bread, burying it in the backyard for six weeks, and then... he got sicker than a dog. LOL, if you've seen Guinness and watched it foam, you might also find his recipe hilariously plausible. 😂😄😆)

So, would I also recommend this tour? 

It's fantastic! It's unexpectedly sensory—sights, sounds, touch, smell, and (of course) taste, and the only negative is that your nervous system may not recover from the prices in the gift shop! But the best part? Arthur's Bar on Floor 5! We visited on a Saturday so maybe we were just lucky? Because we enjoyed a 30-minute concert: trad music, Irish dancing, a harpist. Fantastic! 

After we met some fun Americans on a "divorce holiday" lol, I snapped this photo in-between drinks (3 pints ftw) at the Gravity Bar on Floor 7. I describe this mural as "3-D glasses-inspired" and there are several in and outside the storehouse; google tells me the talented artist is a Dubliner named Aches. (I'd call him the new Chuck Close.) 

Anyway, dear friends, a pea-brain multiple choice question for you: does this mural depict

a. musician Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?

b. entrepreneur founder Arthur Guinness?

c. the vision of someone who's consumed too many Guinness?

d. who cares? Sláinte!🍺

Big

During our visit to Galway on Ireland's west coast, we encountered this 3-meter high "Seated Figure" along the Claddagh basin. It had just been installed as a preview for the city's annual arts festival, which we very much enjoyed during out 2023 trip to Galway. 

So who is this big, pensive man?

I have no idea, but if you're wondering, watch this short video about artist Sean Henry and his "Seated Figure." 

As an older white guy with a beard who favours darks colours who also happens to carry a satchel (ha yes, I admit that it's basically a murse), I felt a little too seen next to this dude. But as an art-guy who LOVES how this figure invites curiosity and toys with scale and perspective, I mostly felt giddy. 

This installation reminded me of the artwork of another sculptor: Saskatchewan-Canadian legend Joe Fafard. Renown for sculpting a multitude of multi-sized cows (there's a herd of them in Toronto) he also sculpted his friends and neighbours (farmers, waitresses, artists and teachers). 

Why do artists enjoy playing with scale? Why not? 

In particular, Fafard tells about a dream he once had where he had to confront a fearful figure but instead of escaping he stared the man down and the imposing figure shrunk smaller and smaller and smaller. It seems to me that in a way, artists can subdue, even master ideas by altering their size. 

Plus, similar to Sean Henry's art, I think Fafard invites us to reexamine the extraordinary ordinary and recognize that we average folks (and many other everyday things) might just be works of art too.