Head cold kills weekend of culture

Here I was, figuring this blog would be a great chance to post reviews – something it seems to me this town is sorely lacking, except for Craig Francis Power's Art in Newfoundland blog. I had a whole lineup of shit to do for this past weekend, and could now justify a whole of lot of going out on the town as "work".

The lineup, as I had conceived it:

  • Thursday: Geoff Berner and Neil Conway at the Rose, and whatever the hell the Sound Symposium was doing at the Ship
  • Friday: Intangible Evidence opening at the Rooms, Geoff Berner and Mark Bragg at Junctions
  • Saturday: Tammy Forsyth's artist talk at Eastern Edge, and the Artful Noon tea with Gloria Hickey (guest curator of the phenomenal Michael Massie exhibit at the Rooms), then something else equally neat, no doubt, at night.
  • Sunday: other neat things.

It makes me sad just thinking about it, though, because on Wednesday night when the weather turned chilly and a head cold kicked my ass. Hard. I went through most of a box of tissues in half a day of work on Thursday with my nose running like a faucet and ears plugged.

Then I learned something about cold remedies Thursday afternoon. I tried them all, scientifically-proven and folksy alike:

  • Neo-citran with honey
  • whole garlic clove with honey
  •  raw ginger
  • citrus
  • Dristan
  • Claritin
  • nap
  • tea
  • head covered with towel over a bowl of steaming water
  • throat lozenges. 

Then I went out. I was determined to see Geoff Berner, having recently discovered his music and made such a big deal of it last week. I tried two other remedies, rye (a good anti-oxidant, I hear; I don't know what that means, but I'm told it's good for you. At a pub where I used to work, fellow employees would always be citing illness as a cause for helping themselves to "anti-oxidants") and gin & tonic (tonic, of course, being a good old malaria cure, and gin being my grandmother's favourite curative. Post-cancer treatment, she would ensure her good health by fixing a concoction of aloe, squeezed straight from the plant she kept over sink, and gin*). That mixed poorly with sundry cold remedies and three drinks later I was almost out for the night.

Geoff Berner was wonderful as expected, despite not being accompanied by a violinist (which I had been looking forward to), but Neil Conway and Patrick Boyle's clever brand of country mixed poorly with sedatives.

None of them, however, was a good cold remedy, and to make a long story short it's Monday night and I'm sitting at home, still sick. You know all those reviews I was going to write of all the stuff I was going to see? Not happening. I didn't go out. Who gets a head cold in July? Nonetheless, I'm determined to keep my Monday spot on the blog happening, so this is what I've got to say.

Oh wait, I did go to the opening at the Rooms on Friday night. Of course, actually seeing any art in that kind of environment, trying to evade those too tyoung or too old to have their wits about them to not walk into you or right in front of you while you're trying to look at something. Bad news, too: The Rooms is apparently celebrating the opening of the restaurant space upstairs by making you buy your own drinks at openings. Fuck that noise. I left very early. On the bright side, someone finally clued in that it would be nice to actually combine the resources of the art gallery, archives and museum in an exhibit rather than cloistering them in their own separate wings of the building. Thank gallery director and curator of the show Shauna McCabe for that. I'll tell how the actual exhibit is when I finally get to see it.

Sullenly yours,

T

 ___

* Little did it work, for she got cancer again.