journal features

genius of love

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Toronto, 2004.11.08

I don't know who this guy was, but he could sure play some fine blues on the harmonica, which he had hooked up to an amp. I mean, he could really play.

I was up in the Yonge/Eglinton neighbourhood and points north to look at apartments for Tulip and Sailor Yoon. The ones I saw were passable but not ones I could recommend. Along the way I picked up a neighbourhood paper of the free variety that in the Simpsons has headlines like It's War!. It said that the street behind this fellow is the site of the Upper Canada rebellion (which was essentially a bar brawl that spilled out onto the street with a rifle or two in hand).

rand()m quote

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.

—Theodore Roosevelt, Jr.