The Vienna Diaries (Part I)
Vienna, at first blush, remains the unmistakable crown jewel of the Hapsburg dynasty. If you´ve ever been to a Rembrandt exhibit with me, then you can picture my reaction upon first seeing the palace - my awe-filled shriek filledthe silence of the courtyard, much to the delight of my travelling companions, who cackled at my unabashed response. Oh. My. God.
When I lose faith in humanity, I need only look to such architectural artistry to be reminded of our potential. And no, Im no great fan of the monarchy, nor the verbosity of lifestyle that was granted to the Hapsburgs based solely on bloodline but... the sculptures, the landscaping, the furniture... it is an unimaginable decadence, and one that captures even the most skeptical of imaginations.
The city, despite warnings to the contrary, is very much alive during the holidays. Christmas Eve was spent darting about narrow streets and catching a view of the skyline from the roof deck of the Albertina Museum, all while guzzling home-brewed ales and marvelling at the throngs gathered in the city center. The air was a delicious 10 degrees, which made sightseeing even more pleasant.
Yesterday was spent at Schoebrunn, the Hapsburgs´ "summer" palace, and at the Christmas market set up on the palace grounds. Again, the sheer magnitude of the empire - which crumbled not even a hundred years ago - was overwhelming.
And my dear friend´s response to it all was to climb to the topof the hill on the back grounds, and to moon the palace. Classic.
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Vienna, at first blush, remains the unmistakable crown jewel of the Hapsburg dynasty. If you´ve ever been to a Rembrandt exhibit with me, then you can picture my reaction upon first seeing the palace - my awe-filled shriek filledthe silence of the courtyard, much to the delight of my travelling companions, who cackled at my unabashed response. Oh. My. God.
When I lose faith in humanity, I need only look to such architectural artistry to be reminded of our potential. And no, Im no great fan of the monarchy, nor the verbosity of lifestyle that was granted to the Hapsburgs based solely on bloodline but... the sculptures, the landscaping, the furniture... it is an unimaginable decadence, and one that captures even the most skeptical of imaginations.
The city, despite warnings to the contrary, is very much alive during the holidays. Christmas Eve was spent darting about narrow streets and catching a view of the skyline from the roof deck of the Albertina Museum, all while guzzling home-brewed ales and marvelling at the throngs gathered in the city center. The air was a delicious 10 degrees, which made sightseeing even more pleasant.
Yesterday was spent at Schoebrunn, the Hapsburgs´ "summer" palace, and at the Christmas market set up on the palace grounds. Again, the sheer magnitude of the empire - which crumbled not even a hundred years ago - was overwhelming.
And my dear friend´s response to it all was to climb to the topof the hill on the back grounds, and to moon the palace. Classic.
Franglais
So here in Quebec, American television shows are translated into French... sometimes, this proves, umm, interesting. Baywatch becomes, "Alerte à Malibu", Sex & the City becomes, "La Sexe à New York", and The O.C. becomes, "Newport Beach".
Well, this week's episode of "Newport Beach" is a special one. It's "Chrismakkah" in Newport, only, in Quebec, it's "Le Noël-echa".
Sure. Of course.
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So here in Quebec, American television shows are translated into French... sometimes, this proves, umm, interesting. Baywatch becomes, "Alerte à Malibu", Sex & the City becomes, "La Sexe à New York", and The O.C. becomes, "Newport Beach".
Well, this week's episode of "Newport Beach" is a special one. It's "Chrismakkah" in Newport, only, in Quebec, it's "Le Noël-echa".
Sure. Of course.
From the Missed Connections File...
You were drunk and stumbled up my stairwell at 3:00 Am last Monday
Reply to: anon-50963685@craigslist.org
Date: 2004-12-02, 6:03PM EST
You: 20 something female, drunk and stumbling up my stairs at three in the Morning monday night (well tuesday morning I guess) .
Me: Not so happy guy in my house coat wondering why the hell you picked my doorbell to ring (about 15 times).
So you woke me up in the middle of the night, I think your name might have been Vanessa, but it's all a little foggy now. You were looking for someone else, and thought that I was him. You said his jeep was parked outside (I looked, but never saw a jeep). It was dark because the lights were all burnt out in the stairs, I did not get a real look at you, but hey, whatever.
At the time, I was pretty mad, I mean, some drunk chick just woke me up from some fantastic happy dream... you probably would have been mad too. I was pretty quick with you and yelled at you to leave. I shut the door, then opened it again to see you were still there. I'm not sure if you were crying or just passed out against the wall (it was dark). Either way, I yelled again.
At first thought, this was all I could think to do. I spent the rest of the night awake wondering. I wondered why it was you found my door, were you looking for the guy that used to live there? Was it just that you messed up and picked the wrong door all together? Were you in distress and needed help? These questions kept going round and round. I went outside about 10 minutes after you left to see if you were there, but you were gone. I felt kinda bad, kinda low, strange eh?
Any way, if you read this and remember any of it, send me a line. I have so many questions, and so few answers. I want to say sorry for yelling (it's not like me). Everything happens for a reason, I'm trying to figure out what this reason is...
Rob.
[St. Laurent, near Beaubien]
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You were drunk and stumbled up my stairwell at 3:00 Am last Monday
Reply to: anon-50963685@craigslist.org
Date: 2004-12-02, 6:03PM EST
You: 20 something female, drunk and stumbling up my stairs at three in the Morning monday night (well tuesday morning I guess) .
Me: Not so happy guy in my house coat wondering why the hell you picked my doorbell to ring (about 15 times).
So you woke me up in the middle of the night, I think your name might have been Vanessa, but it's all a little foggy now. You were looking for someone else, and thought that I was him. You said his jeep was parked outside (I looked, but never saw a jeep). It was dark because the lights were all burnt out in the stairs, I did not get a real look at you, but hey, whatever.
At the time, I was pretty mad, I mean, some drunk chick just woke me up from some fantastic happy dream... you probably would have been mad too. I was pretty quick with you and yelled at you to leave. I shut the door, then opened it again to see you were still there. I'm not sure if you were crying or just passed out against the wall (it was dark). Either way, I yelled again.
At first thought, this was all I could think to do. I spent the rest of the night awake wondering. I wondered why it was you found my door, were you looking for the guy that used to live there? Was it just that you messed up and picked the wrong door all together? Were you in distress and needed help? These questions kept going round and round. I went outside about 10 minutes after you left to see if you were there, but you were gone. I felt kinda bad, kinda low, strange eh?
Any way, if you read this and remember any of it, send me a line. I have so many questions, and so few answers. I want to say sorry for yelling (it's not like me). Everything happens for a reason, I'm trying to figure out what this reason is...
Rob.
[St. Laurent, near Beaubien]
Doesn't Anybody Work?
It's been said before, and I'm about to say it again. Walmart baffles me. Sure, I understand that people really, really need to buy DVDs for $6.88. That I get. What I don't get is how that store is mobbed -- I mean, full parking lot, hundreds of people in line -- at 1 pm on a Monday afternoon.
Is it that Christmas is coming? Maybe a contributing factor. Even still. 1 pm on a Monday afternoon, and nowhere to park in a lot the size of three football fields.
I'm not big into ranting on here, so don't take this as such. But, can anyone explain it? I've looked at the unemployment figures, and I don't see any obvious corrolations. And the customers were not all retired, nor were they all nursing mothers. Adults. Perfectly able-bodied adults. And stocking up on jumbo bottles of Pert Plus in the middle of a weekday.
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It's been said before, and I'm about to say it again. Walmart baffles me. Sure, I understand that people really, really need to buy DVDs for $6.88. That I get. What I don't get is how that store is mobbed -- I mean, full parking lot, hundreds of people in line -- at 1 pm on a Monday afternoon.
Is it that Christmas is coming? Maybe a contributing factor. Even still. 1 pm on a Monday afternoon, and nowhere to park in a lot the size of three football fields.
I'm not big into ranting on here, so don't take this as such. But, can anyone explain it? I've looked at the unemployment figures, and I don't see any obvious corrolations. And the customers were not all retired, nor were they all nursing mothers. Adults. Perfectly able-bodied adults. And stocking up on jumbo bottles of Pert Plus in the middle of a weekday.
Reality Bites Wisdom
Was only 14 when it was released, and although I enjoyed it, it didn't quite have the same impact that it does now.
One of the film's pearls, an exchange between Lelaina (Winona Ryder) and Troy (Ethan Hawke):
Lelaina: I was really gonna be something by the age of 23.
Troy: Honey, the only thing you have to be by the age of 23 is yourself.
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Was only 14 when it was released, and although I enjoyed it, it didn't quite have the same impact that it does now.
One of the film's pearls, an exchange between Lelaina (Winona Ryder) and Troy (Ethan Hawke):
Lelaina: I was really gonna be something by the age of 23.
Troy: Honey, the only thing you have to be by the age of 23 is yourself.
Quote of the Week
J. Kelly Nestruck on having a soft spot in his heart for small "c" conservatives...
"For the most part, however, I don't [think] it really has to do with hate. I often find them admirable, these modern Don Quixotes. I find all traditionalists touching as they struggle to ressurrect Golden Ages that never existed. I think it's very human."
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J. Kelly Nestruck on having a soft spot in his heart for small "c" conservatives...
"For the most part, however, I don't [think] it really has to do with hate. I often find them admirable, these modern Don Quixotes. I find all traditionalists touching as they struggle to ressurrect Golden Ages that never existed. I think it's very human."
No Justice for the Spoonman
ALEX DOBROTA
The Gazette
December 10, 2004
Cyrille Esteve plays in front of the Ogilvy store on Ste. Catherine last night. The city of Montreal has passed a ruling forbidding anyone of playing spoons.
Montreal's most famous busker, the Spoonman, is to be barred from clicking his spoons in front of Ogilvy's department store. Citing complaints from Ogilvy's employees, the Ville Marie borough council adopted an ordinance Tuesday that forbids spoon playing west of University St. (ed.'s note: WHAT?!?)
"The downtown business core is a business core," Louise O'Sullivan, the Ville Marie borough councillor who initiated the measure, said yesterday.
"I have to respond to the people who are paying taxes - and they are residents and business owners."
Cyrille Esteve, aka the Spoonman, was scandalized.
"What do they want me to do for a living now?" he asked, his voice quivering with anger. "We are in Quebec, the spoons are a Quebecois music instrument and they're forbidding me to play spoons. It's unbelievable."
Esteve, 52, has been clicking spoons to Quebecois jigs on the corner of Mountain St. and Ste. Catherine St. for eight years now.
His presence was endorsed by former prime minister Pierre Trudeau and by Quebec's lieutenant-governor, Lise Thibault.
In 2000, to accommodate Esteve, a change was made to a city of Montreal bylaw that forbade percussionists from playing on downtown streets.
The bylaw was modified to allow the playing of three instruments on Ste. Catherine St. between St. Mathieu St. and St. Denis St.: the triangle, castanets and spoons.
But on Tuesday, the three-member-strong Ville Marie borough council voted to stop exempting spoons.
Beginning in January, the new ruling will apply between St. Mathieu and University Sts., effectively barring Esteve from performing at his usual spot.
The ordinance comes on the heels of complaints made to O'Sullivan by a store official.
"It's what I would call noise pollution, especially this time of the year, when we try to get our Christmas songs playing," said Bernard Pare, president of Ogilvy's.
Pare said he could hear the clicking of the spoons during meetings held on the fourth and fifth floor of the building and that he has received about 30 complaints from employees and customers. "It's not real music, it's not cultural, it's really annoying."
Nonsense, said the manager of a neighbouring business.
"The guy is an institution, he's part of the street landscape," said Ray Shamsa, the manager of Mens, the clothing store next to Ogilvy's. "He doesn't bother anybody. I don't think it's fair that the government is targeting somebody like that."
The vote on the ordinance was split two to one, with Martin Lemay, the mayor of the borough, voting against it.
During the council meeting, Lemay said he felt uncomfortable voting on a measure that might be aimed at a single person.
"Everybody knows me as the Ogilvy spoonman, I've been here for eight years," Esteve said. "I barely make enough to pay myself breakfast and dinner. And now, what am I going to do? Start begging?"
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ALEX DOBROTA
The Gazette
December 10, 2004
Cyrille Esteve plays in front of the Ogilvy store on Ste. Catherine last night. The city of Montreal has passed a ruling forbidding anyone of playing spoons.
Montreal's most famous busker, the Spoonman, is to be barred from clicking his spoons in front of Ogilvy's department store. Citing complaints from Ogilvy's employees, the Ville Marie borough council adopted an ordinance Tuesday that forbids spoon playing west of University St. (ed.'s note: WHAT?!?)
"The downtown business core is a business core," Louise O'Sullivan, the Ville Marie borough councillor who initiated the measure, said yesterday.
"I have to respond to the people who are paying taxes - and they are residents and business owners."
Cyrille Esteve, aka the Spoonman, was scandalized.
"What do they want me to do for a living now?" he asked, his voice quivering with anger. "We are in Quebec, the spoons are a Quebecois music instrument and they're forbidding me to play spoons. It's unbelievable."
Esteve, 52, has been clicking spoons to Quebecois jigs on the corner of Mountain St. and Ste. Catherine St. for eight years now.
His presence was endorsed by former prime minister Pierre Trudeau and by Quebec's lieutenant-governor, Lise Thibault.
In 2000, to accommodate Esteve, a change was made to a city of Montreal bylaw that forbade percussionists from playing on downtown streets.
The bylaw was modified to allow the playing of three instruments on Ste. Catherine St. between St. Mathieu St. and St. Denis St.: the triangle, castanets and spoons.
But on Tuesday, the three-member-strong Ville Marie borough council voted to stop exempting spoons.
Beginning in January, the new ruling will apply between St. Mathieu and University Sts., effectively barring Esteve from performing at his usual spot.
The ordinance comes on the heels of complaints made to O'Sullivan by a store official.
"It's what I would call noise pollution, especially this time of the year, when we try to get our Christmas songs playing," said Bernard Pare, president of Ogilvy's.
Pare said he could hear the clicking of the spoons during meetings held on the fourth and fifth floor of the building and that he has received about 30 complaints from employees and customers. "It's not real music, it's not cultural, it's really annoying."
Nonsense, said the manager of a neighbouring business.
"The guy is an institution, he's part of the street landscape," said Ray Shamsa, the manager of Mens, the clothing store next to Ogilvy's. "He doesn't bother anybody. I don't think it's fair that the government is targeting somebody like that."
The vote on the ordinance was split two to one, with Martin Lemay, the mayor of the borough, voting against it.
During the council meeting, Lemay said he felt uncomfortable voting on a measure that might be aimed at a single person.
"Everybody knows me as the Ogilvy spoonman, I've been here for eight years," Esteve said. "I barely make enough to pay myself breakfast and dinner. And now, what am I going to do? Start begging?"
The View from the Top
[Originally published in Quid Novi, the student newspaper of the McGill Faculty of Law, 10/03]
I'm not usually one for bathroom humour, but I have to admit to having a good laugh last week when two of the stall doors in a ladies washroom at the Supreme Court of Canada were hung with signs that read, "Out of Order". Funny, that.
I left the washroom, trapsing excitedly through the sun-drenched Grand Entrance Hall. The Court wasn't sitting that day and so the building was sedate, sublimely peaceful. A security guard sat by the front doors reading a magazine. He nodded at me as I passed and asked, rhetorically, "isn't it a beautiful morning?"
"It is. And it's certainly beautiful in here."
"Are you a clerk?" He asked.
"Nope. Just visiting. I'm a first-year law student at McGill," I offered. Somehow I felt the need to prove that I was more than the average camera-wielding tourist.
"I see. Well my dear, I hope that you spend many more beautiful mornings here. Good luck to you."
Blushing, I found my way back to where my friend, Adam, was waiting. We were on a day trip in Bytown, and a tour of the S.C.C. figured prominently in the itinerary. Adam's friend, a McGill alumnus and current clerk to Justice Iaccobucci, had promised a guided tour. But when it was discovered that his friend had left early for the weekend, our plans seemed in need of reworking.
We were about to bounce when another clerk appeared.
"Don't go," she urged,"I'll show you around! I was seriously just reading the wedding announcements in the Post."
Adam shot me a knowing "so that's what Supreme Court clerks do all day" look as we followed our guide. Two rounded staircases and a marble hallway led us to a restricted area. With the Court on hiatus, we were forewarned that there would be little to see on this tour save the cafeteria. Nevertheless, we continued on our expedition. Our collective interest was piqued at the sight of a propped door.
"What's in there?" I asked meekly, half expecting to be stopped by someone in uniform.
"I have no idea, but let's check it out," replied our fearless leader.
In front of us was an expanse of glass. Beyond the windows ran the Ottawa River, its surface a magnificent reflector of red, yellow and orange foliage. To our right was the Peace Tower, perched majestically above the trees. And to our more immediate right, within that chamber, were plush redleather couches and armchairs that the Friendly Giant himself could not have arranged more cozily. Wrap-around bookcases housed hundreds of legal volumes. There was a round table, around which were nine seats. One chairwas more visibly ornate, and almost throne-like. And in one of the seats was a Court employee, scribbling notes on a timetable.
"First time in the Justices' Conference room, I take it. Can I help you withsomething?"
Our tour guide spoke up, "oh so sorry to interrupt! I was just giving these McGill law students a tour of the building, and this door was open.. and, oh, I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," replied the Court employee. "it's alright, nobody's here.Would you like me to open the courtroom for you?"
Before we could even utter a unanimous "duh", the man was on his feet, keys dangling. We followed him to a nook adjacent to the Conference room. He opened one of the nine high school style lockers. Instead of gym sneakers or Oxy pads, this locker was hung with the red wool and white mink of Madam Justice Marie DesChamps. We all inched back as though unworthy of being in the presence of the robe.
"Wanna touch it?" asked the employee. None of us did. That tangibility would have shattered the surreal.
We were led to the Courtroom through the Justices' entrance. From the bench, the room appeared almost impossibly small, even in its grandeur. Natural light seeped in from tall windows overlooking courtyards, and cast shadowson the well-polished podium. The majesty of it all was awe-inspiring. On the bench, each workspace was equipped with a notepad, an overturned water glassand a box of tissues - strikingly normal tools for the performance of an extraordinary function.
But suddenly that normality was reassuring. Sure, a modicum of mystique is inherent in such high-level institutions, but in that moment, I enjoyed knowing that even the Justices of the Supreme Court ofCanada keep a stash of Kleenexes.
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[Originally published in Quid Novi, the student newspaper of the McGill Faculty of Law, 10/03]
I'm not usually one for bathroom humour, but I have to admit to having a good laugh last week when two of the stall doors in a ladies washroom at the Supreme Court of Canada were hung with signs that read, "Out of Order". Funny, that.
I left the washroom, trapsing excitedly through the sun-drenched Grand Entrance Hall. The Court wasn't sitting that day and so the building was sedate, sublimely peaceful. A security guard sat by the front doors reading a magazine. He nodded at me as I passed and asked, rhetorically, "isn't it a beautiful morning?"
"It is. And it's certainly beautiful in here."
"Are you a clerk?" He asked.
"Nope. Just visiting. I'm a first-year law student at McGill," I offered. Somehow I felt the need to prove that I was more than the average camera-wielding tourist.
"I see. Well my dear, I hope that you spend many more beautiful mornings here. Good luck to you."
Blushing, I found my way back to where my friend, Adam, was waiting. We were on a day trip in Bytown, and a tour of the S.C.C. figured prominently in the itinerary. Adam's friend, a McGill alumnus and current clerk to Justice Iaccobucci, had promised a guided tour. But when it was discovered that his friend had left early for the weekend, our plans seemed in need of reworking.
We were about to bounce when another clerk appeared.
"Don't go," she urged,"I'll show you around! I was seriously just reading the wedding announcements in the Post."
Adam shot me a knowing "so that's what Supreme Court clerks do all day" look as we followed our guide. Two rounded staircases and a marble hallway led us to a restricted area. With the Court on hiatus, we were forewarned that there would be little to see on this tour save the cafeteria. Nevertheless, we continued on our expedition. Our collective interest was piqued at the sight of a propped door.
"What's in there?" I asked meekly, half expecting to be stopped by someone in uniform.
"I have no idea, but let's check it out," replied our fearless leader.
In front of us was an expanse of glass. Beyond the windows ran the Ottawa River, its surface a magnificent reflector of red, yellow and orange foliage. To our right was the Peace Tower, perched majestically above the trees. And to our more immediate right, within that chamber, were plush redleather couches and armchairs that the Friendly Giant himself could not have arranged more cozily. Wrap-around bookcases housed hundreds of legal volumes. There was a round table, around which were nine seats. One chairwas more visibly ornate, and almost throne-like. And in one of the seats was a Court employee, scribbling notes on a timetable.
"First time in the Justices' Conference room, I take it. Can I help you withsomething?"
Our tour guide spoke up, "oh so sorry to interrupt! I was just giving these McGill law students a tour of the building, and this door was open.. and, oh, I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," replied the Court employee. "it's alright, nobody's here.Would you like me to open the courtroom for you?"
Before we could even utter a unanimous "duh", the man was on his feet, keys dangling. We followed him to a nook adjacent to the Conference room. He opened one of the nine high school style lockers. Instead of gym sneakers or Oxy pads, this locker was hung with the red wool and white mink of Madam Justice Marie DesChamps. We all inched back as though unworthy of being in the presence of the robe.
"Wanna touch it?" asked the employee. None of us did. That tangibility would have shattered the surreal.
We were led to the Courtroom through the Justices' entrance. From the bench, the room appeared almost impossibly small, even in its grandeur. Natural light seeped in from tall windows overlooking courtyards, and cast shadowson the well-polished podium. The majesty of it all was awe-inspiring. On the bench, each workspace was equipped with a notepad, an overturned water glassand a box of tissues - strikingly normal tools for the performance of an extraordinary function.
But suddenly that normality was reassuring. Sure, a modicum of mystique is inherent in such high-level institutions, but in that moment, I enjoyed knowing that even the Justices of the Supreme Court ofCanada keep a stash of Kleenexes.
![[Click for official biography]](http://ansuz.sooke.bc.ca/justices/photo-De.jpg?1299748013-0.1-974446364)