Bjork would be cool even if no one was watching. This is the difference between her and Lady Gaga. A few years ago I gave a talk about Icelandic pop culture on a cruise ship of 90-year-olds for a university alumni event. Well, they weren't all 90, but you get the idea. As a single blond looking for a seat at supper time, I was very popular.
Back to Bjork. Before the swan dress at the Oscar's, but not before her first album at 11-years-old (Icelandic folk songs), the woman started an all girls punk band called Spit and Snot.
This kills me. You are too cool for words.
When I was 36, I wrote a feature story for the now defunct magazine, Homemakers. My first sentence: "I am 36 and I feel disconnected." I thought of this story when I read the Globe and Mail's front page weekend story: "Life of Solitude: a loneliness crises is looming."
A few weekends ago, yes, I'm only getting to this now, I went to a photography workshop hosted by Colin Field, my former editor at Mountain Life Magazine and friend. www.colinfield.com www.gb.mountainlifemag.ca. I haven't been up that way for ages. On the three hour drive to Thornbury from London, I stopped for coffee in Flesherton. Right next door, I spot a sigh: The Bicycle Cafe. www.facebook.com/thebicycle.ca. Hold the phone.
While preparing for my food writing class at Western this morning, I sipped my coffee from a clay mug I bought in Morocco and thought about food. I read my favourite, absolute lovely and delightful food writer, M.F.K. Fisher. The story, Nor Censure Nor Disdain, is a memoir about casseroles. A huge part of my class is teaching students how to describe food, not an easy endeavour. Go ahead, try to describe a piece of chocolate cake with coconut frosting without calling it yummy or tasty.