Cheery!

Organisations often ask me for donations to their auction events. I'm glad to oblige (I'm charitable by nature, and tax deductible donations are nice) but it's hard for me to find photos in my archive that suit. People generally don't want to hang portraits (even exceptional ones) of people they don't know. So when the IWK Great Big Dig made contact again last week, I was typically stuck. My first thought was to print the first shot below, but I decided it might be a bit grim for most of the auction-types, so I headed out with the wife and got all colourful.

Fuck...

... more random shit. Why am I not famous, and working on important projects somewhere? Yeah, right, I live in Halifax: I have a tendency to forget that until the first double shot incites rebellion in the stomach acid. Also, there's my bad attitude (but that can't be everything: Avedon was a prick to his subjects and Leibovitz is clearly a raving nutbag, but they still got paid).

Regardless: look in awe. And step up and buy a print, I've decided to start playing guitar again and want a cool axe.

No theme...

... just pictures. I haven't been working on anything coherent (though I should be soon).

Well, I'm back

And I'm not too happy about it, overall. But amidst all the big city fun, I did manage to come up with a few shots worth showing.

Montréal is just a lot more fun than Halifax. My very, very favourite beer is made in Halifax (Greg Nash's monster IPAs), but there is always marvelous stuff available at Dieu du Ciel! and the drinking environments are on the whole more suitable for me there (also, the moronic conversations at nearby tables don't bother me as much because I don't speak French too well).

Colour? Yeah, gods get to change the fucking rules. Stuff it if ya don't like it.

Allons-y!

Cat/house-sitter arranged? Check. All the blades in the checked baggage? Not yet (can't be too careful). Cool little flat on the Plateau rented? Oui. Physically and mentally ready for a week of serious food and beer consumption (amongst other pastimes)? Fuck, yeah!

Here're a few shots from previous trips to my spiritual (and eventually physical) home.

The Crank

"I want all my fucking tips back for the last two years, you fucking prick; and I'm never coming back to this fucking place ever," said Shaughan Williams, long-term patron of the lamentably-defunct John Shippey's Brewing Company, upon being told that lighting a cigarette in the bar was the last of many straws that marvelously drunken February night. Fortunately, "ever" meant for a couple of days, and I could continue photographing one of my favourite subjects, and the inspiration of my style.

Diners

I like diners: they're quick, cheap-ish, and usually have interesting photo ops. The Ardmore has a generally spectacular chocolate shake, the eponymous (and magnificently unhealthful) Melt, and excellent fries; Johnny's (with a much more homemade feel overall) has a great club, chickenburger, fish and chips, soups, and fucking great pie (apple, banana- and coconut-cream). And the crew at Johnny's mind my folks pretty closely when they're there.

Yesterday, we went to the Ardmore for brunch. I had steak-and-eggs to go with the my shake, and while they weren't like the pommes frîtes (which, in combination with the blueberry pancakes and a cappuccino and smoothie went a good way toward to solving the odd bout of alcohol poisoning) I used to get at Sebastien's, they were food-ish; and I got this shot.