Life

The Rewind Button: London Calling

by Reb Stevenson on May 11, 2012

The Rewind Button is a group blogging project instigated by Rachel Tynan. As part of her New Years’ Resolutions for 2012, she set out to listen to Rolling Stone’s top 50 albums of all time. I thought it would be fun if a group of bloggers listened to the same albums at the same time, then posted their reactions. Starting today, we’re going through the Top 40 and will be continuing with a new album every Thursday. Want to join in? We’d love to have you. Email me if you have a blog, or just offer up your two cents in my comments area below.

Last week’s album (I’m late due to travelling): London Calling (1979)

I didn’t listen to London Calling in London, but I got pretty close: I listened to it on a train cutting across the English countryside.

Did that help me connect with it? No. In fact, it was very much at odds with the sheep, green rolling hills and stately homes that greeted me beyond the window. This is an urban album. It makes me think of graffiti, tattoos and cement.

London Calling strikes me as the other side of England – the Trainspotting England. The council houses. The track suits.

And yet, despite the social commentary and the rebellious tone of the album, it’s so upbeat. That’s a typical English thing, one that Bill Bryson touches upon in Notes from a Small Island – a “this is bollocks but let’s make the best of it, mate” attitude that I really admire.

It’s funny, too, to think that this is “punk” when you hear that horn section rocking out in “The Right Profile.” Have a look at the hardcore, guitar-smashin’ cover image when the trumpets really kick off. If these guys are punks, they’re nice punks. Punks that you’d let babysit your kid.

London Calling is the type of album I’d have tried to force myself to like in high school. Something gritty enough to be cool but not so gritty it’s inaccessible to a middle class girl. It’s an album you could jump up and down to in your clunky Doc Martens without fearing you’ll be reduced to a pulp in the mosh pit. Like Rancid, a band that was obviously heavily influenced by The Clash. I recall feeling so relieved when I heard “Timebomb” on that Rancid tape.

Alas, now, as then, punk or any variation thereof doesn’t do it for me. Maybe I just prefer the countryside?

Fave Songs: Death or Glory and Lost in the Supermarket

Least Fave Song: The Guns of Brixton

Note: Better on the second listen.

Who else rewound London Calling?

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Rat Wars!

by Reb Stevenson on May 1, 2012

I’m not saying it isn’t nice to be welcomed into your new home.

But when the welcome comes from a large rodent that has stolen into you kitchen looking to dine on your garbage, well…it ain’t so warm and fuzzy.

About a week into our life in our new home (which, don’t get me wrong, I love), I heard Billy squeal and proclaim “OMG, Reb, the BIGGEST rat is in our kitchen!!! OMG OMG it’s so-o-o-o BIG!”

I ducked into the bathroom, trembling with fear but also laughing at the absurdity of cowering from something that is roughly the size of my foot. Billy ran next door to fetch our Austrian landlord, Alex. Not to stereotype (Arnold), but Austrians kick butt. Alex arrived clad in a wife beater, muscles all rippling, armed with some kind of pipe. I couldn’t really see what was going on through the bathroom door, but I heard some thrashing, yelling and finally some cheering as Billy and Alex (but mostly Alex) chased the offender out the front door.

Upon further inspection, it seems most likely that the rat entered through the perfect rat-sized archway in our garage door. I mean, the hole is like a custom-made rat door.

The photo above illustrates Billy and my dad, who has murdered all sorts of creepy crawlies, inspecting said hole. Billy read online that rats do not like to chew through tin foil, so he plugged it up with some of that.

My brother Zach – kind, middle child Zach – once executed a rat with a hammer and then buried it in a “snowy grave.” He lived near Chinatown in Toronto and the rat got under his skin (and his bed, and his food, and god knows what else). That’s an old cell phone shot he took of his roommate holding the rat before they took it outside to meet its maker.

After dad’s recommendation to “kill,” I went on a morning jaunt and picked up some tulips and vermin traps of various sizes. Because I’m elegant like that.

Have you ever had a rat-encounter? Tell me about it! How did you triumph over the scoundrels?

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The Art of the Garage Sale, The Sequel

by Reb Stevenson on April 30, 2012

As you know, I had my own garage sale before I moved away from Ontario.

Since I walked away from that endeavour with roughly enough to buy a venti latte and a Big Turk, I decided to go GARAGE SALING WITH A VENGEANCE when I arrived in Victoria.

That’s right, it’s payback time.

For the past three Saturdays, I’ve pried myself out of bed before 8am, tiptoeing out of the room while the boyfriend continues to slumber, ignorant of the deals that are magically unfolding in peoples’ driveways all over this city. I scour the Times Colonist, Craigslist and UsedVictoria.com for the best garage sales* and I make a list according to start time.

* I’ve determined that you can’t gauge a sale from its write-up. In fact, the more the ad puffs its chest, the worse the garage sale is bound to be. “HUUUUUGE MILLION-FAMILY GARAGE SALE with antiques, collectibles and precious gems” = stained tupperware and a broken exercise bike.

Prime garage sale time is between 8am and 10am. After that, you’re picking through flotsam and jetsam that other garage salers have rejected.

I’m not afraid to admit that I am absolutely geeking out on this activity. It’s not just the high of finding something great, it’s the act itself. It’s getting up early (I’ve had glorious sunshine all three weeks) and cruising around with a purpose. And I can’t think of a better way to get out and discover a city – garage sales are haphazard, and they lead you into random neighbourhoods that you’d never visit otherwise.

I am especially fond of big-ass church and school sales, like this one, above. The tension in this line was palpable, as eager shoppers (myself included) queued up before 9am. While I could definitely do without the panicked rush when the door opens (Hunger Games “cornucopia” moment, anyone?), I get a bit of a thrill from these sales. I’m not religious at all, but I do love the community aspect of a church and I love seeing old ladies band together to raise funds for whatever cause. I guess I’m a church tourist.

As for the downsides of garage saling, well there are a few:

Hoarder Heebie-Jeebies – I start to feel ill when I see too much crap. The key to garage saling is to have a clear idea of what it is you actually NEED. Otherwise, you’re simply absorbing other peoples’ junk and, as anyone who watches Hoarders knows, that’s a downward sprial. Some of the worst offenders I noted were: lava lamps (multiple), dirty Ghostbusters 2 VHS, a jar of Ovaltine (WTF? Don’t sell groceries at your garage sale!) and mixed tapes with handwritten labels like “Radical Summer Mix”.
Smokers – what is UP with people chain smoking at their own garage sale? I visited an astonishing number where the sellers were puffing away. Not only is this unpleasant in the moment, but it doesn’t exactly encourage me to spring for that couch, man.
Salesperson Approach – it’s hilarious when the seller sidles up to you as you’re eyeing an item and tries to sing its praises. You’d think you were at Future Shop or something, the way some of these people go on. “That’s the most comfortable chair EVER. I’d die in that chair if I could. Have I told you that I love that chair!” …and that’s why you’re selling it, right?
Garage Sale? More Like Drawer Sale! – I hereby declare it illegal to have a garage sale that consists of one table littered with the contents of your junk drawer, or a single blanket on the driveway cradling a handful crumbling paperbacks. Also, you can’t have a garage sale every two weeks. You just can’t.

In spite of these quirks, garage saling is an incredible way to score deals. In fact, after hitting 40 or so garage sales in the past three weeks (told you I was geeking out), I can say with absolute confidence that you’d be CRAZY to purchase some of these things new. Why would you spend $20 on a springform pan, for example, when you can get a perfectly good one for a buck? Or a cutlery organizer? I don’t want to spend my precious dollars on a new plastic cutlery organizer!

See that stuff above? I paid $38.50 for it. ALL OF IT. The lamp alone still bears a Pottery Barn sticker that says $40.

The world needs less stuff, so I feel better buying things that are already out there. And heck, if you have to be a hoarder, you may as well be a green hoarder.

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