Category Archives: Personal Essay

On Going to the Pow Wow

IN ALL CULTURES, social dance figures. The pow wow has, as is the case with so many things indigenous, both its historic (which is to say “pre-contact”) and contemporary manifestation. Without doubt, the pow wow is today an expression of pan-aboriginalism, being a social festival which looks roughly the same across North America. The seasonal and ceremonial dances of long ago varied widely, from culture to culture, so that it is probably of little help to look back more than a couple decades to discern the roots of a modern pow wow.

Read More

Nickels and Dimes

YESTERDAY, MY father reminded me of a 1978 Pop Shoppe advertisement featuring the singular Eddie Shack. If you’re old enough to have seen it, you’ll recall this former Toronto Maple Leafs player’s catch-phrase, found in a number of Shack advertisements of the ’70s and ’80s: “Maybe I didn’t go far in school, but there’s one thing I’ve learned from my mom and dad: look after the nickels and dimes, and the dollars will look after themselves.”

Read More

Looking Back At 500 Episodes of The Simpsons

AMONG MY earliest encounters of The Simpsons was an animation festival in Philadelphia, in the Spring of 1989. I was doing some work with Habitat for Humanity and decided one night to take in a movie. The first episode of The Simpsons proper was months in the future: in early 1989, the rough and amateurish output of Matt Groening which I saw that night (and which didn’t much impress me) was recognizable only as the interludes of the Tracey Ullman Show. Ullman then was known as an accomplished impersonator and a sharp witted Brit, but within a couple years she was eclipsed by this inauspicious cartoon team constituted of Homer, Marge, Bart, Lisa, and Maggie. Who knew? From such humble beginnings came what is arguably the most successful animated series of television history.

Read More

Of Christmas and the Parker 51

A LOVER OF languages and of literature — the name of this website is Owenna’shon:a, or words — as well as of all related matters, I’ve put together over the years a decent collection of the various tools of the trade. A recent move and downsizing compelled me to get rid of my 1952 Corona Silent typewriter, but I have kept (among other things) my writing papers and blank books and cards and my lap-desk. As I’ve noted elsewhere, I have a stationery fetish with an emphasis on the fountain pen. I don’t expect anyone not afflicted likewise to understand, and so what follows is less an attempt to bring you around to my view of things than a mere indulgence.

Read More

In Defence of Complexity

THE CASE of “N.S. v. Her Majesty the Queen, et al” heard in Ottawa on December 8 concerns a woman who has charged an uncle and cousin of “historical sexual assaults” (I take that to mean it happened long ago), and who in the course of hearings has requested permission to testify while wearing her niqab, or face veil. The Supreme Court of Canada is now reviewing this request and its judicial deliberations at lower levels of jurisprudence.

Read More

Crazy, Stupid, Love and the Comedy of Middle Aged Failure

LET US BEGIN by acknowledging the obvious, that the 2011 movie Crazy, Stupid, Love is light and pleasant, adult fare but hardly a work of depth or of high seriousness. Its architecture is thoroughly of a Shakespearean cast, in which a main plot is complemented by and interweaved with two sub-plots. A moment arrives when the characters and their dramatic trajectories, hitherto discrete, collide one with another to calamitous effect. Things fall to pieces, and from this seeming state of irreparable chaos order is reinstated. This narrative arc, from social order to disorder and back to order once again, with no lasting harm done, is the essence of Comedy.

Continue reading Crazy, Stupid, Love and the Comedy of Middle Aged Failure

The Protestant Work Ethic Versus This Bottle of Wine


Years ago an upstart magazine based in a smallish Ontario city/biggish Ontario town asked me to write an article for the premiere issue. I wrote the article and got paid a small honorarium, but the magazine itself collapsed before even the first edition was printed. No one has ever read that article.

Continue reading The Protestant Work Ethic Versus This Bottle of Wine

In Which I Lose My Passport and Very Nearly Also My Mind


I discovered some days ago that my passport wasn’t where I was certain I’d put it. I had just moved one and-a-half miles, crossing the border between Hull, Quebec and Ottawa, Ontario. I needed that passport to transfer my life (car registration, driver’s licence, and other various bits of ID) to my new-old place of residence. No ticket, no laundry. Thus begins what is for me a too-familiar recurring scene, in which yours truly is cast into the leading role of the identification theatre’s latest production.

Continue reading In Which I Lose My Passport and Very Nearly Also My Mind

The Kindness of Sinister Bitterness


The English language contains abundant terms both for approbation and contempt, most disclosing a bias of which its speakers are unaware. If, for example, you say that someone is “adroit” or “dextrous,” you invoke the moral privilege of the majority — a privilege grounded in the numerically dominant status of the right-handed. From the same source, the language derives “sinister,” the Latin word for left.

Continue reading The Kindness of Sinister Bitterness

Before the Mall Was the Beach

At the mall today I noticed a shop employee dressed in what I could only describe as beach wear. This I noted some years ago to be a trend, the putting on of flip-flops and short shorts and tank tops for an on-concrete walkabout. It may merely be the return of beach weather, but whatever it is I have had the ritual on the mind for a while now. Allow me to pull my white cotton pants over my nipples as I settle into the plush rocker to address the under-thirty crowd assembled at my feet — for today I shall talk about the lost pastime of going to the beach.

Continue reading Before the Mall Was the Beach

Autopoetics

Autopoetics: Autobiographical Representations of the Indian and the Making of the Self [the following is an introduction to my Ph.D. Thesis. See also the entries on this site for Eleanor Brass, Maria Campbell, and James Tyman.]

AUTOBIOGRAPHY, BIOGRAPHY AND THE DEATH OF THE SUBJECT

Philippe Lejeune has called the discourse of subjectivity “the myth of our civilization.” The demise of this discourse, among a number of academics at least, seems all but complete. The work of Roland Barthes and Michel Foucault has determined that the death of the subject is a matter almost of common sense among many (see, for instance, Foucault, “What is an Author?”, Roland Barthes, Roland Barthes par Roland Barthes, Derrida “Structure, Sign and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences”, Jacques Lacan, “The Agency of the Letter in the Unconscious or Reason Since Freud”.) However, there are theorists who are critical of postructuralist proclamations that the subject is dead, or that human agency is a fiction discursively produced. Leigh Gilmore reminds us that “it has been a crucial insight of many feminisms that it is a good deal easier to abandon yourself to disappearance and Nietzschean death if you already dominate all you survey. This insight is instructive, and yet among theorists of autobiography and biography, feminist or otherwise, there is no agreement over the question Does the “myth of our civilization” bear any political utility? Leigh Gilmore asserts that “writing an autobiography can be a political act because it asserts a right to speak rather than be spoken for,” and argues also that “politics is conceivable without a foundational subject”:

Continue reading Autopoetics

The Lost Art Of Penmanship


As I recall it now, the awards day was for all of us gathered in the school’s auditorium a day of anticipation as well as of obligatory observance. In my case it needn’t be a matter of suspense: indifferent, distracted, and, above all else, bored, I was the worst of students. Each and every year toward the end of the proceedings I received the brown and gold felt badge in the category designated for those of us who in reality had earned no prize. I am speaking of course of the award for Penmanship.

Continue reading The Lost Art Of Penmanship

The Sundae And The Mere Production Of Happiness

In his best-known satire of 1726, Jonathan Swift confects a historical account of the “civil commotions” which have claimed eleven thousand Lilliputian and Blefescusian lives and at the centre of which stands the deadly matter of the end, big or little, at which an egg is to be broken. The passage, which casts a withering gaze over English religious history from the time of Henry VIII forward, merits a generous citation:

Continue reading The Sundae And The Mere Production Of Happiness

Notes On Adulthood In A Time Of Stress

The day that my son was born, I knew I’d passed irreversibly beneath the lintel demarcating the antechamber of my as it then seemed trivial youth from the salon of for-keeps adulthood. I expected as much. What I did not anticipate was the arresting shock of the first time staring into the depths of a mortgage amortization table, the reckoning with the fact that you are now a name and number in someone’s file, and that this constitutes a bond backed up by the full force of the state. What was I thinking, marching willfully into this arrangement?

Continue reading Notes On Adulthood In A Time Of Stress