Well, I am 38...

yup, the big three-eight, on the far downside of thirty, and tobogganning my way straight to 40.

But, I have a full head of hair that is the envy of every man and woman I know, I still look like a young thirty (if the opinions of random street people mean anything), and I have my health (although the men in my family have a tendency toward sudden heart attacks).

So...

Random musings on what I've learned in thirty-eight years of life:

The world as we know it has changed more in my lifetime than I think anyone could have ever prepared for.

My girlfriend is the greatest person in the world.

Having kids is way overrated.

Most people are pretty decent folk.

There are some truly terrible, evil people in this world, and many of them hold astonishing amounts of power.

I like my job. Finally.

Ann Coulter is, for all intensive purposes, the devil incarnate.

Religion is a touchy subject at the best of times.

Saturday afternoons at the Thompson Giant Tiger should hereby be known as 'The Most Depressing Place on Earth.'

Things I thought I'd never do again, part I

Yes, that lovely man to the left is me, picking up a tuba for the first time in 20 years.

Tell me true, have I lost my street cred?

In my defence, while I will never claim that the tuba is a spectacularly sexy instrument, it does have at least one legend of music behind it (see below). As Opus says when auditioning:

Steve Dallas: Heavy Metal?

Opus: Weighty brass, gimme a break.

Random Thompson Photo #2

Corner of Juniper Drive and Selkirk Avenue, 9:01am, April 19, 2007.

Random Thompson Photo #1

Corner of Cree Road and Hemlock Crescent, 11:03am, April 17, 2007.

My new digs - the graphic representation

I haven't had a lot of time for posting as of late, and I apologize. I move in to a new apartment this weekend, and should have plenty of evening time to fully update my three fans on my doings.

However, I thought I'd quickly break into my busy day (budget, budget, budget!) to do a speedy post of this lovely pencil rendering of my new digs.

My heartfelt thanks to the gracious Adakagome Devode Chartrand for the honour of her talents. This now takes up a prominent place on my office door.

And if you look closely, you can see how jubilant I am at

a) having my name spelled correctly, and

b) my first book challenge (more later)!

My new digs, part 2

Got a little extra time here in Thompson, so I thought I'd give you a little in-depth tour of my new locale.
This is the front lobby of the Thompson Public Library, soon to be renamed "The Corey Redekop Knowledgeum and Video Danceteria."

This is the children's area, heretofore to be known as "Corey Redekop's Punishment Centre for Children who Refuse to Learn how to SHUSH!"

This is Bruno, my ball of rubber bands and loyal companion for the past seven years.

This is my one and only rejection letter for Shelf Monkey.

These are my shelf monkeys.

And this is me, maxin' and relaxin', exalted emperor of all I survey.

4x4 by Wayne Tefs - a review

Travel as backdrop for human psychology is a traditional and fertile literary device. North Africa scoured the soul in Paul Bowles’ The Sheltering Sky. Alex Garland investigated Generation X angst through an island Eden in The Beach.

Now, Manitoba writer Wayne Tefs transforms a 1992 Jeep Cherokee on Highway 6 between Winnipeg and Thompson into a Pandora’s box of familial sorrow, trapping a mother and two sons in a suffocating blend of repressed anger and camouflaged guilt.

4x4, Tefs’ ninth novel, mixes a hazardous blizzard, strained relations, and close quarters into a dramatic powder-keg, with concealed skeletons the fuse. As Darryl Dokic quips, they are driving “in a snowstorm on the road to godforsaken Thompson. Lucky thing we don’t have to do this sober.”

As befits the title, 4x4 relates itself through four dissimilar narrators. Clint Dokic sells real-estate, sees angles in every conversation, and describes life as, “There’s them on the road to success and them dawdling along through the grass in the ditch.” Brother Darryl is an under-achiever who dreams of Australia, imagining the Outback as an escape from “the nonsense of industry and commerce and the once-a-week nod in the direction of God.”

Mother Meg in the back seat, meanwhile, is a survivor of a marriage reminiscent of Roddy Doyle’s The Woman Who Walked Into Doors. As the family challenge rising drifts and poor visibility, Clint’s wife Kaly, the fourth narrator, sits alone at the Burntwood in Thomson, pregnant, scared, and harbouring secrets of her own.

Tefs, winner of the Margaret Laurence Award for Fiction for his novel Moon Lake, has a spare, sharp style of writing, admirably capturing the inherent claustrophobia of a lengthy road trip. As the storm’s power and the Dokic’s anxieties begin to swell, the Jeep begins to loosely resemble a Manitoba adaptation of Jean-Paul Sartre’s play No Exit: “Hell is other people.”

The Dokics themselves are archetypes of a dysfunctional family, but Tefs never permits them to slip into unsympathetic stereotypes. As the present and past engagingly unfold from alternating viewpoints, all facets of the family are studied, engendering empathy that might otherwise be nonexistent.

Yet despite the undeniable strength of Tefs’ style and depth, elements exist that seem out of sync with the whole. For all its realism of tone and character, there exist too many mysteries and buried tragedies to be easily believed.

Each character hides some key that, if revealed, would destroy the others. While each is compelling, presented in muted, realistic hues, when put together they lend an awkward soap-opera-like facade that muffles the quality of the storyline, as if Tefs did not trust his characters to be interesting enough on their own.

Luckily, 4x4 is simply too good to be dismissed for overreaching. If the story at times stretches credulity, it is salvaged by Tefs’ honest humour and compassion. In 4x4, Tefs has fashioned an impressive tale of unflinching humanity and ultimate redemption, a road trip where “the destination only makes up half the journey.”

Originally published in the Winnipeg Free Press.

My new digs

Well, after some thought, I have decided to uproot myself from my comfortable lifestyle of doing nothing, and go somewhere and do something.

Specifically, Thompson, Manitoba.

It's my hometown, and I'll be the administrator in charge of the above public library.

That's right. I'm in charge of the whole library.

It's all mine. And I'm scared to death.