WorldChanging The Second

Turner's second column is now up at WorldChanging.com; this one talks a bit about Crystal Waters, the Australian permaculture community we visited north of Queensland back in July. As it happens, this column used one of the photos I included in the Nine show, that One Lane/One Planet shot I put up in an earlier post.

See the new column, here.

Categories: Ash | GeoHope | Turner

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The Teeny Ones Are Best

Sometimes people tell me they'd like to hear what Turner and I talk about at home. Y'know, to be a fly on the wall and hear what the famous writer and the jane-of-all-media-trades talk about whilst kicking back at Chez Bristowe Turner. I think mostly they envy an idealized conception of the work-at-home life balance and some of the snazzier stories about our projects. Or maybe Sloane's impressive vocabulary is the culprit. She gets it from Toopie and Binoo, we swear! 

But so just to give these lovely folks a taste: Here's us, last night, in the midst of settling in for another dvd episode of Battlestar Galactica. We join the supposedly fascinating couple just as I'm stuffing a whole mini mandarin into my mouth.

Me: (through orange goosh) Y'know, we never shoulda bought these mini mandarins. They are so good. They totally make those regular xmas oranges taste like shit.

Turner: Laughing. Laughing and laughing.

Me: What?

Turner: Laughing. ...Like "shit". They taste like shit. The big oranges.

Me: ...Okay, possibly not actual shit.




Tah-dah! Excitement she wrote!
 
(Thanks go out to David Friese, who inspired this post.)

Categories: Ash | Married Life | Turner

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Turner At WorldChanging

Hey hey hey. This is to announce a new GeoHope collaboration with the illustrious and definitive WorldChanging. Turner has been brought on board to do a monthly-ish column on his work, The Geography of Hope, climate change, hope in general, and etcetera-type-stuff. I have a tiny role as the contributing photographer to his columns, the first of which has now hit the site. See it here.

This photograph was taken down in Taber, Alberta in September 2007. I was originally down there to do a shoot for the Globe & Mail at the big Enmax wind farm south of the town. (For the record, this was indeed the same site shoot during which I lost my shit, spooked by the giant scary wind turbines whooshing high above, and I had to hide in/shoot from the car, with the radio on full blast.) This photo was taken out the passenger-side window, and of course the text on the mirror reads, "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear".

Enh! ENH? Symbolism, see? Metaphor! Wind turbines, wind power, sustainable and renewable energy are... CLOSER than we think! Get it?

Turner's blog posting about his new WorldChanging column, here.

Categories: Ash | GeoHope | Turner | Work work work

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The Geography of Hope: Nominated!

Turner's been nominated for the 2008 Governor General's Awards! Woooot, way to go Turner!

Categories: GeoHope | Turner

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I'll Say This: I Warned Him

Well, if you go to breakfast in Australia, you'll come across Vegemite. I think they make it out of rotten oranges and dead waterfowl, doused in DEET. Apparently it's excellent for warding off scurvy.

Turner:     (spreading vegemite on a corner of his toast) ...You want some?
Ash:         Ah. No.
Turner:     A bite? For the sake of experimentation?
Ash:         Ha ha, right. No thanks. I tried it back in 1992, I have no need to try it again.
Turner:     ...It's been sixteen years and you won't try it?
Ash:         I have a very clear memory of what that tastes like and I will never put it in my mouth ever ever again. ...But you go ahead!

And he did. The result, below:



I think it's safe to say that the Canadian palate isn't "sophisticated" enough to appreciate Vegemite's charms.

Categories: Turner

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Melbourne!

Well, I didn't believe it was actually going to happen until we actually landed in Melbourne. But we're in Australia, and we're here for five weeks. Turner's a featured speaker at the Deakin Lectures here for the next ten days, so our first leg has us ensconced at the lovely Grand Mercure Docklands just south of downtown. This is the view from our balcony:



That's the Telstra Dome, where we're seeing the footy on Friday with Garry, our Australian neighbour from Ramsay (who also happens to be in Melbourne this month).

This is the man who picked us up at the airport in a fancy car (note fancy sign bearing Turner's name):



This is Sloaner, jetlaggingly baffled by the weird Australian playground equipment design:




And in case you're in town, here's the program schedule for the lecture series, much of which takes place at Foundation Square right smack in the CBD. Come on down you lucky people! Turner's first talk is tonight in the rural community of Shepparton, and he's on hand in Ballarat for the opening gala on Wednesday. Thursday he's speaking at Foundation Square here in Melbourne, etcetera etcetera. See you there!

Categories: Turner | Wurldliness

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Turner Rabbling On

Categories: GeoHope | Turner

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Unlimited 3.0

This month's issue of Unlimited magazine features a multi-excerpt from The Geography of Hope, accompanied by my photos. Cheers, Malcolm!



Split-level Earthship at the quarry "subdivision" in the Earthship Greater World Community, outside Taos NM.

I love this photo, and was thrilled to see that Malcolm decided to use it. The original shot has a lot of very very blue sky with amazing puffy clouds, above. It looks fake, it's so beautiful. The house itself is symmetrical and unusual to the pink-suburban-box-ized eyes many of us come with to the notion of "housing", and so it immediately flips you into another world to think about living in one of these things. The domes are undeniably "futuristic" and the solar panels flared beautifully blue in the midday sun. But what I like best is the stark landscape - evident in the sandy foreground and hardscrabble bushes trying to take root on the desert - punctuated by the weird abandoned appliances and kicked-in old cardboard boxes. It's anyone's unanticipated backyard garbage. The owner of this house didn't know I'd photograph her yard and then publish the picture all over the place 18 months later. In this way the Earthships give back as "real": it's not a Hobbit hole or a hippie hideaway. It's just some dude's house and he hasn't gathered up the yard trash this week yet. I love it.



Dr. Soontorn Boonyatikarn's amazing biosolar house, in the suburbs of Bangkok, Thailand.

Categories: GeoHope | Photography | Turner | Work work work

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2007 Year In Review

I learned and re-learned some lessons this past year. Wouldn't it be great if we knew it all at 18? Think of the world = oyster situation. Amazing.




On metabolic regulation: Remember to take your damn thyroid meds. Yes, every damn day.

On owning cats: One day you have a cat, the next day he's eaten by coyotes. So you grieve, and pull it together and get another cat. And then one day that cat is run over and you find yourself digging a second pet grave beside the house. So you reflect on your animal track record, but decide you still want to be a cat owner, and you get two more cats. And Sloane says, "Mama, please may we not let these new cats die?" Heh. We'll do our best.

On getting what I want: Patience and humility have done wonders for my win ratio. From photo assignments to getting Sloane into the right playschool, shutting up and being polite and proceeding with grace have been such amazing lubricants this year. Shoulda learned this one at age 20.




On getting fired for other people's bullshit: Sometimes you get fired for other people's bullshit, nothing you can do.

On parties: People will not come at the appointed time. The best people stay late, but the worst'll hang around until then, too. Exits define your attendance, particularly if you stomp the shrubbery on your way out. If you're serving mulled wine and beer, some friend-of-a-friend will still march in and ask for a good scotch straightaway (and we will give it to them). And we'd still love a few more invitations to other people's parties, please... a reminder to publications and corporate friends: freelancers have no Christmas parties or schmancy fundraisers to go to unless you invite them to yours.



On accounting people at various publications: People will take as long as inhumanly possible to pay you.

On finances: It's good to be able to mean it when you say, "Well, if we have to sell the car and the house, I can live with that."

On funding: If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.




On freelancing: Turner - "You will sometimes do your best work for free, you will sometimes do the most work for the least pay. The tradeoff is that you are your own master. ...Most of the time." September 26/07

On continuing education: As it turns out, I'm a complete obsessive, bent on perfection. If only Farokh could see me now (Farokh Afshar, my M.Sc. advisor, 1947-2007, peace be upon you).

On parenting: There are tough days. There are days when you are so flayed and raw and every smile and moment of concentrated attention is a huge effort. We want to keep her away from sugar, and tv, and crappy plastic toys, and the moronic cult of the fairy princess pervading the under-six crowd. But grandparents will still give her Smarties for breakfast, and Thomas the train dvds are incredibly helpful in moderation. So you try to find the middle way and hope to keep the scarring to a minimum.

Also on parenting: We are such good parents, way better than the rest of the parents out there. Also better than our own parents, of course.



On Sloane: She's the best. The talking, my god the talking. Being able to see into her little 2 year old mind has been such an amazing blessing every day. Even her temper tantrums are the best. And the hair is getting fabulous! When she hugs my head and says into my ear, "Ma-mee, Ma-mee, Ma-mee!" in this purposely hilarious pitched voice, I know she's going to have a great sense of humour and inner dialogue.

On attending weddings: Still a good idea, particularly when you've arranged babysitting.

On photography: Everyone wants to have their picture taken, even the ones who say they don't. Creating a meaningful photograph is one of the greatest gifts you can give a person. When they're ninety-nine and in a home and the caregivers ask for a photo from when they were young and beautiful, you bet they'll choose one of mine.

On sending out photos I've taken of people, having promised to send them copies: Managing expectations does wonders. Once I started saying, "Don't expect to receive these for quite a while," people were more grateful when they finally arrived. Take note McConnell Reunion-Goers, you still won't get your photos for quite a while.




On drinking: Sourpuss shots have their time and place.

On politicians: Disappointing liars, 98% of the time. I'm cautiously optimistic about the other two.

On marriage: I'd still rather be poor with Turner than rich with anyone else.



On Turner: I had this awesome and terrible realization about Turner. He is well aware of my many many failings, my ego, the judgemental edges. You think marriage is about loving someone so much. But the worst of it is that you have the love of someone else. Turner loves me despite everything he knows, and in the face of this I am appalled, and thunderously grateful.

On building community and having good friends: Pick the good people who love us back. Get rid of everyone else. Life is too short.

Also on friends: Sometimes people drift away. There're all sorts of reasons. I try not to take it personally, I figure the soul mates will resurface eventually.

On changing the world: It's exhausting. When you can't even convince your family to recycle their cans and bottles, the uphill battle seems that much more uphill. But boy, you take pride in your work, and you know you're on the side of good. Call it sanctimonious if you like, but it feels good to work hard.

On holidays: There are no holidays.

Categories: Ash | Married Life | Mom-ness | Photography | Sloane | Turner | Work work work

Comments [1]

Mr Splashy Pants!

Categories: Turner

Comments [5]

Globe n' Mail

Today Turner's sustainability column premieres in "Canada's National Newspaper", the Globe & Mail. This first one was titled "The Secret Greening of Calgary", and talked about the city's quiet commitment to sustainable energy solutions, despite the larger city's love of sprawl, SUVs and all things bling.

I was contracted to do the photos, which took me to southeastern Alberta to shoot the Taber wind farm (colour, Focus section cover photo, below the fold) and to the Erlton Ctrain station (three times, with three different children, to try to get the b&w ctrain-and-pinwheel shot they chose for page F9).

Categories: Ash | GeoHope | Sloane | Turner | Work work work

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The Hockey Thing

I won't go on and on here, because I mainly just want to post this photo. But those who know me know that I'm not a particular fan of hockey. It's more about how men behave when they're watching hockey than anything, but there's also the thing where many boys are perfectly nice and normal and doing fine as teenagers playing hockey and then around age 16 or 17 the ones who get to pre-Junior-A sort of level turn into GIANT ASSHOLES. Almost to a one. It's really quite extraordinary.

Anyway, I'm not going to talk about that. I just wanted to post this picture. It's from the second-last game of the Stanley Cup Final, where Ottawa went on to lose on home ice. Turner was cheering vociferously for the Sens to choke. Brucio for his part had trained Sloane to chant out, "GO SENS GO. GO SENS GO!" Me, I hid in the kitchen, biting my fists.

Categories: Ash | Sloane | Turner

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Turner's Fabulous Hair

I'm not sure why, but Turner has this thing about his hair. He just can't seem to get a haircut that he likes. A long time ago he decided that all people wielding scissors were out to get him, and so why should he pay $60 for a salon to mangle his hair when a barber would do it for $12?

So he'd eventually go to barbers. And he'd always hate the cut, but then it would grow in a little and he would start to be able to live with it. And about four months later he'd need his hair cut again, but then he wouldn't want to go back to the last person, because they'd done a crappy job. So he waits and procrastinates and finds reasons why he can't get his hair cut this week. But in all fairness to Turner it should be stated that he has come home with some supremely shitty haircuts over the last ten years.

I'm sorry I don't have photographs to share of these, because some were truly hilarious. The one that made me laugh the hardest was courtesy of the now-defunct Mission Hair Company here in Calgary, a salon that was great for me but sent Turner home with the Johnny Depp haircut from Cry-Baby, complete with the dippity-do curl in front. Turner was so mad that they insisted he not pay for the haircut. Turner won't usually let me anywhere near his head with scissors, but it was I who (partly) fixed that one, over the bathroom sink here at home. (It was an emergency.)

But the worst of all time was the one from the Imperial Hotel in Delhi. An otherwise absolutely marvellous establishment, Turner and I love the Imperial, a whitewashed venerable old place on Janpath. We dig the door-opener-guys with their giant turbans the mostest. High tea at the Imperial is also really great. But steer very very clear of the in-house barber, or darken his door at your own peril. Turner is a good looking man, but he walked out of that barber looking exactly like Tom Hanks. It was a remarkable lesson in how horribly wrong a haircut can go. It took almost a month for Turner to start looking normal again.

Now, Turner's lucky that his hair is curly and grows slowly. Because he stalls and waits and drags his heels between haircuts, and six or eight months inevitably go by. And only upon the spectre of arriving in Toronto for his Random House meetings with hair that looks like a grown-out squirrell nest (for example) pushes him to break the seal and make a damn haircut appointment already.

Every once in a while I can convince him to go to an actual hairstylist. But of course Turner arrives with a bad attitude about the whole undertaking and really doesn't trust all the styling products and fancy scissors and four different kinds of blow driers in those kinds of places. So he sits in the chair and unpacks this lecture on the haircutter person about how he never manages to get a good haircut and how he always hates how it turned out, but... this one time... (rustling in his bag)... he got a great haircut... (more rummaging)... this old Czech lady barber up in North York near his accountant's office... (pulling out photo of Himself With Great Haircut From North York Lady Barber):

Categories: Turner

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Up! Magazine, May 2007

Last summer Turner and I did a piece for the WestJet inflight magazine ("Up!") on "Visiting Toronto with your kid" - he wrote it, I shot it. If you take a WestJet flight this month, it'll be in the seat pocket in front of you. Mind grabbing a few copies for us? Thanks a zil!

Categories: Married Life | Mom-ness | Ontario  | Turner | Work work work

Comments [1]

All Dressed Up And Nuthin' To Drink

Turner has commented that when his wife started doing full time photography, he had no idea how much prop fluffing and modelling it would require... from him. Today Turner was again my go-to man for a piece on Scottish gin, which we shot in the neighbourhood.

Categories: Turner

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No Shirt No Shoes No Problem!

We, and by we I mean "me & Sloane", spend a lot of time naked. In the house, I mean. I like to tell people that I grew up in a nudist colony, though that's not strictly true. My dad was mainly clothed. The rest of us, enh. We ran around starkers. There are many amusing stories featuring this aspect of an upbringing in the Calgary Bristowe household, my favourite being The First Day Of School In 1990. I won't completely humiliate my brother by going into elaborate detail, but it involved a race to see who would get the first shower. I lost because I was laughing too hard. That's all I'll say.

Anyhoo, the tradition lives on, here at Chez Bristowe Turner. Which is to say, we're a nudist colony, but Turner is generally clothed. He doesn't like to prance around with us. I blame it on his Catholic upbringing. He's the one always nervously glancing to see if anyone is coming up the walk when Sloane and I are running around like idiots with no clothes. He's like the camp counsellor at Nekkidlaand (that's the name of our house when we're naked, inside). I should get him a sun hat and a whistle on a lanyard for xmas: hmmmm - note to self.

When we started the "bath before bed" tradition when Sloane was a few months old, I'd always give her some warning by calling out: "Bath-time for bay-beeeees!" and then, when the clothes start coming off, it's all, "Naaaaaaaaaaakeeeeddddd bay-beeeeeee! Naked baaaaay-bee!" We really celebrate being naked around here - strutting around, grinning, running in circles in the kitchen. And I was always very pleased with this endowment from how I was raised. You might have a big ass or tiny boobs or a bent nose or whatever, but it was always A-OK to waltz around in the nude if the mood struck.

As such I grew up thinking nudity wasn't a big deal. I'm not one of those, "Turn your back whilst I change my shirt" types. Meh. I just pull it off and change in public. Turner used to go, "Hey! Somebody might be watching!" To him, and to you, I'd say - C'mon, who really gives a crap? Do I know those people? Am I ever going to see these people again? Not a chance. Everyone's naked under their clothes. Big whup.

That's not to say I'm an exhibitionist. No. No no no. You will never be watching one of those skanky Girls Gone Wild videos and spy Ashley K. Bristowe on the shoulders of some drunken Calgary Flames fan, taking my shirt off. N. O. I take reasonable measures not to stand in full view of our livingroom picture window when I'm just out of the shower. I'm not out to titilate the general public, not in the slightest. That's for people with better pole-dancing abilities than moi. But I most certainly do stand by the notion that if it's my house, I'm gunna be naked a good percentage of the time (when there's no guests staying over), and if a fiddle song comes on, well, it's time to dance, naked or no. And Sloane agrees with me. (Turner, for his part, goes downstairs to work and leaves us to it.)

Anyway, Brucio was over the other day, and it was time for Sloane's bath, and he offered to bathe her now that she doesn't need someone sitting right in the tub, with her. So we were undressing her and as soon as she was naked, off she went for a few run-around laps of the livingroom. And as she took to her heels Brucio started to whistle this familiar snippet. It's impossible to render the tone and detail of whistling in words, so I won't even attempt it. But as he was whistling at Sloane's departing bummy backside, running away down the hall, I involuntarily began to smile. And the smile got bigger and bigger. And I turned to Turner, absolutely BEAMING. And he's all, "Whut? Whut is it? What's that?" and I was like, "That's... that whistle-tune my dad is doing... it's the theme song to 'naked kid running through the house'. I haven't heard that in YEARS!!"

And Brucio started to smile, and I kept smiling, and as Sloaner rounded the corner, heading into the next turn, I saw her grinning too. Turner rolled his eyes, but I bet he's working on his own "the rest of the family is naked" theme music now, down in the basement. Because obviously every family needs some in-house nudity dj-ing, probably best done by the guy in clothes.
 

Categories: Family | House | Sloane | Turner

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Fire Fire House On Fire

Well, as I pulled away from the house tonight on my way to running clinic, I was waving to Sloane perched in the front window. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Turner go into the kitchen, Sloane still banging on the window screeching Bye Bye Mama!! as I turned my eyes to the road.

And I returned about two hours later, flushed in the face and hungry, ready to settle in for the evening's screening of LOST. When I came through the door, Turner was on the couch, calmly eating his dinner. Seemed late for him to be eating, I thought. "What's for dinner?" sez me. Turner replied, "There's more of this on the stove... and you'll see the disaster in there for yourself when you get to the kitchen."

As Sloane had finished her meal just before I left for the running clinic, Turner had taken the high chair tray and set it on top of our stove. I'd seen him do it before, and it always made me a bit nervous - when I was eight years old I'd single-handedly put out a fire in our family kitchen caused by a paper bread bag too close to the electric element. Today the tray got set down, and I went out the back door, and Turner took Sloane to the front window to wave at me. When I'd seen him go into the kitchen from my vantage point in the car, he'd just smelled the burning plastic and was going to investigate. I had no idea, of course, so I left, and Turner faced the whole show solo.

A fire is always a pretty serious thing, particularly indoors. Turner put out the flaming high chair tray with our fire extinguisher pretty much toot suite, but if you've ever used a fire extinguisher for real, you know that it makes one hell of a mess, and that the chemicals suck all the oxygen out of the air, so you have to evacuate the area pretty much immediately (you can't breathe very well - no O2 to feed the fire, no O2 for your lungs, see?). So Turner and Sloane decamped to the front porch for a while, waiting for the house to air-in a bit. Rooney had had the good sense to hide in my office, so he stayed put. When T and Sloane returned, the girl was put in front of her beloved Ernie dvd while Turner spent the next hour picking bits of semi-crusted blue plastic off the stove and sweeping up about ten pounds of fire extinguisher detritus, all the while picturing the zillion ways we were so lucky and how, in a completely different set of squillion ways, it could have been so much worse.

So, uh, the high chair tray is ruined, to say the least. The linoleum, never a favourite pattern for either of us, is definitely destroyed, now, too. And melty bits of plastic tray have apparently fused into the front element, from where it dripped during the blaze, so that's shot.

But we're alive, and our house isn't burnt down. And there are some pretty serious pictures to tell the tale's aftermath.

Yo, please, everybody: make sure you have a fire extinguisher. If you live in Calgary, they're available for about $40 at that fire equipment store on 9th Ave in Inglewood (independent retailer).

Categories: House | Turner

Comments [5]

Possibly My All-Time Favourite Photo Of Turner

We're considering using it as his author photo for The Geography of Hope!

Categories: Turner

Comments [2]

Woody Creek Tavern

On our way out of Aspen we stopped at Woody Creek Tavern, best known as Hunter S. Thompson's drinkin' hole when he was at home in Colorado. So a'course we had to make the pilgrimage - for lunch. We knew better than to come after dinner when the locals are getting lickered and passing around mescaline. (For a Google maps satellite image of the area, click here. You know, because a satellite image is educational.)

Woody Creek Tavern behind-the-bar cooler. The surly owner/barkeep guy was too famous and important to stay in the shot, it seemed.

Carla, 12:30pm, pissed on their signature lime margaritas. No, just kidding... it's just a funny photo.

Original Thompson for Sheriff poster, from Hunter S. Thompson's 1970 run for sheriff of Aspen, CO. The encumbent had a brush cut, so Thompson shaved his head bald so he could refer to his "long haired opponent" in the public debates. One of his platforms was to change the name of Aspen, then undergoing aggressive gentrification at the hands of upper-class American ski connaisseurs for the first time, to "Fat City". Thompson lost by only a narrow margin of votes.  

Turner ponders the place's gravitas, etc.

So now this one has more context: Sloaner with one of the Woody's Tavern resident dollies - they have a whole bookshelf full of kids' toys... obviously an establishment that has hosted hoardes of wee ones in its time.

Ralph Steadman's memorial to Thompson, the original, signed to Woody's Tavern and framed by the door; the latter's will requested RS to build a giant cannon in the shape of the Gonzo fist, and to fire his (Thompson's) ashes out of it as a final salute. In the lower right corner Steadman has portrayed himself, confused and grieving, carrying a gas can away into the desert. Above, Thompson flies to the heavens.

In the restaurant-recommendations category of things, we thought the guacamole was AWESOME, and they had on special Canadian crab quesadillas which were superbo. Also of note was the Caribbean salad, which had amazing huge shrimp. The margaritas weren't bad, either.

Categories: GeoHope | Turner

Comments [3]

More Photos On Flickr

This is our last full day in Denver, and I've been pounding the photos into Flickr as fast as I can. See the newest ones (I'm up to our first day back in Colorado), here.

Categories: Book Tour | Turner

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That's A Molé!

Turner loves mole. I didn't know this until Brucio arrived, a few days after Sloane's birth, bearing giant bags of Mexican food. He'd driven past some random restaurant in a strip mall on Macleod Trail and, noticing the character wearing a sombrero on the sign, apparently thought to himself: "Ah, Mexican food. The kids [that's us] like foreign food." He peeled in there and walked out with half the menu in takeout boxes. Including, and this is the point, a whole pint of mole sauce. I think it was meant to be poured over one of the dishes.

Turner's love of mole was either born, or rekindled, I don't know which. He ate all that mole single-handedly, days later dipping toast and pita into it, guarding it like a scurvy-sick sailor with the last orange at sea. When it was finally gone, he talked about it in dreamy tones for weeks. Finally we went to find the place - a truly uninspiring exterior in a faceless drive-up mall on the east side of Macleod, north of the bridge after Heritage Drive. I can't remember the restaurant's name, but maybe Turner can weigh in and tell you. Anyway, it promptly became our official favourite Mexican place in Calgary. (And for the record, Salt and Pepper, further north on Macleod and most people's 'favourite Mexican place in Calgary', has nothing on this joint.) We take people there to demonstrate our amazing backalley understanding of Calgary's eating scene.

Postscript: I've been informed that it's Los Mariachis, 1 - 7400 Macleod Trail SE. It's near Tom's Pizza, a local landmark.  

So the mole. Turner has been on a quest for the perfect mole ever since. Tells me about these burritos he had at some birthday party in grade 2, when he was living in St. Louis, MO. Begins scheming about making mole at home. Sniffs out recipes on the internet. And mostly, can't wait to get to the US Southwest, because vats of mole, here he comes.

So it was no surprise when, upon our arrival in Taos, Turner was keen to try out the various Mexican food places around town. For the mole, you understand. But we were never able to do a proper and scientific blanket survey, because the first place we stopped was the best, and we became slavishly devoted and never ate anywhere else. It was humble in terms of appearance - west of town by the 64 turnoff. Rather dust-bitten and windblown. The door would slam and the menu was on one of those old each-plastic-letter-gets-individually-inserted-into-the-white-plastic-background-frame-lines concession boards. But.

The tamales were amazing. The chile relleno was ridiculous, though we had to put ourselves on a ban from it after a few times - too. much. goodness. I thought the Frito pie was a great deal better than it sounded; apparently a regional specialty, it's basically a taco salad involving Frito chips sprinkled in to provide the crunch. And the mole, according to Turner, was the best he'd ever had. Carla and I were deemed unbelievers, but then, we'd never claimed to be mole enthusiasts in the first place.

Our place in Taos, Toribos!

Yes, it really was this bright out. It's the desert, you know.

Hopping on one foot, hopping-hopping, never stopping, hopping on one foot!

Tamales.

Frito salad: before trying it.

Alas, I never got a photo of the mole.

Crossposted to The Geography of Hope blog.

Categories: GeoHope | Turner

Comments [5]

This One's To Make Turner Feel Guilty

So Turner's in Scotland, gallavanting around discovering his roots and drinking sherry and eating fish n' chips. And researching the book, sure. Then he's off to Germany, to show off his German language skillz (not so useful in, say, Canada, India, or Thailand - i.e. for the last nine years of travelling he's done), ride the trains, get drunk with Ian Connacher (also on tour). I'm at home, supervising the construction of the deck, doing editing contracts for which I think I'll probably never get paid (lousy racken-fracken UN budget snafus), and being a single parent above all else, until further notice. Like, it was 28C today and I spent most of the day indoors due to one or the other or all three of these X factors in my existance. It may sound like I'm complaining, but I'm merely whining. But also noting that Calgary's weather has never been so amazing. (I can't WAIT for our screen doors!)

But, yeah. So tonight here's me, sitting on the couch, literally gnawing at a block of cheese. (I'd report that I'm drinking wine out of the bottle, because that would be a way-better detail. Alas, it's not true. ...But give me a few days.) In Turner's absence I just can't feed myself, it seems. Had to go to the local Pho Minh Chau (I'd link this restaurant, but they don't have a website - SUCH a shame. Super staff, great menu, and easy to find on 9th Ave in Inglewood. I'm a regular, and I recommend it) tonight for dinner. Because it's Day 3 of Turner's absence and I'm... at a loss. I can feed Sloane no problem. Because, frankly, she'll eat anything, and I do have a firm handle on the Canada Food Guide, plus a good understanding of basic infant nutrition. (And she's finally started to mimic my "Aaarrr!" noises when the spoon goes in, much to my DEEEE-light.) But me, I'm kind of a lost cause. Soup is too salty, except at lunchtime. Without supervision I'll put dijon mustard on basically everything I eat. And I'm pretty sure that if you eat a whole honeydew melon it's technically a meal. So I'm sitting here bereft of my personal chef and boxed into a corner, finally resorting to rodent behaviour. I hope you're happy, Turner.

But to actually twist the knife, I offer a list of new words our girl (that being Sloane) has mastered (in a purely toddler-ish half-slurred 'mastery'-at-best way) since Turner's Friday departure. Not listed are the ones she's already had for a while: baby, bottle, Mama, Dada, baba, Go-go [go outside], tchi-cka [cat], iss iss iss [give it to me], Bobo [character from one of her books], dirty [dih-tee!], and so on. No, these are new words, clear and verifiable even by unbiased judges. ...Judges? Give us the List!

• Sushi ("Soo-see!"). I told you, she's my girl.
• Door. I'm basically certain the Teletubbies taught her this one. "Lala knock-on-da-door! ...Yay, Lala!"
• Fifi. As in Auntie Fifi, aka Brother John's fiancee, Fiona
• Shoes ("Sssuuue!"), and Socks ("Sockk!"). Also trying to drill the signs for these into her noggin, to no avail.
• Bib. And then she yanked it off her head, laughing her ass off, going Bib! Bib! Bib!
• Splash ("Spash!"). As per when we're in the bath, throwing water around. Also followed by hiccup-inducing laughter.
• Paper ("Pay-pah"). Works for toilet paper, loose leaf around the house for Mama's many lists, and ripped-out magazine subscription pages. Those last should be banned, sez I.
• No! (self explanatory.)
• Pee Pee. I think you know what this refers to.

The speed is terrifying. At this pace she'll be reciting the Canterbury Tales in Middle English by the time Turner gets home in late May.  

Also for parental reference purposes: she's still afraid of the vacuum, still knocks on your basement office window calling "Dada! Dada! Dada!" when I'm out there pruning the lilacs (and nobody answers...), and has started laughing HA Ha HA Ha on purpose to indicate that something is funny, even if she isn't sincerely laughing. Now that's a sense of humour.

Categories: Sloane | Turner

Comments [2]

Loving The Fans

Turner didn't want me to post this on the Planet Simpson site, so it was agreed I'd put it here.

Dude! The people out there rock. You rock, Planet Simpson!

It has to be said however, that of course some people SUCK. You suck, some people! As we've learned, amazingly enough there are people who troll around and write astoundingly negative emails to hardworking creative media types such as ourselves. I am very much reminded of the "I don't come to your place of business and heckle you while you work" Seinfeld episode.

Here's a recent set of correspondence that falls into this category. (Feel free to write your own response to our friend - "her" email address is included here for your use.)

Date: Mon, 1 May 2006 09:04:38 -0700 (PDT)
From:  "Kathleen Doris" <thadstark@yahoo.com> 
Subject: HEY TURNER! 
To: ash_planetsimpson@yahoo.ca

your book sucked.

a lot.

you should just give up.

your fan boy squeeing made me embarrassed for you.

if you really worship the simpsons perhaps suicide is an
option you should seriously consider.

it's not even funny anymore.

sincerely,

kathleen doris

***

So, you know, I wrote "her" back. Yeah, I know. It's some idiot 16 year old looking for a reaction. In fact, probably this sixteen year old. I decided to bite anyway. Sometimes people work pretty hard to be mean, and I wanted to give her some validation, you know?

Ha ha ha ha ha!!! YOU SUCK, "Kathleen Doris"!

So: Real mature! You see? We are mature here at Planet Simpson.

***
Then "she" replied (ever vigilant with her email inbox, I see):

Date: Tue, 2 May 2006 06:58:57 -0700 (PDT)
From:  "Kathleen Doris" <thadstark@yahoo.com> 
Subject: Re: HEY TURNER! 
To: "Ashley Bristowe" <ash_planetsimpson@yahoo.ca>    

CHRIS TURNER HAS A FAN GIRL?????

that is the saddest thing I have ever heard.

he had moved down a rank on the scale of being pathetic to
add you

thanks for putting quotes around my name. that's awesome,
really.

Kathleen Doris

***

So I'll reply again, but on here, this time:

Dear You, the "Kathleen Doris" person:

You're welcome for the quotes. You "suck"! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!

Please, keep writing to Turner! You are "awesome"! You are really "inspiring"! These days so many people just don't take the time to figure out how to contact an author in order to tell them that they should commit suicide. And this is a real shame - more deaths would mean fewer authors vying for that limited Canadian bookstore shelving space. Higher rankings on Amazon.ca! All sorts of bonuses.

But you - what a trailblazer! I mean, you're blazing a trail! Trying to make us feel all bad about ourselves and all. And nary a year and a half after the book was published. What savvy! I'm sure you bided your time and waited to spring when all was ripe. And gumption? GUMPTION! You "ROCK".

But seriously, It's good to hear from you about all your "opinions", man. Because it's important to hear what the "Little People" out there really think. Although we've mulled over the "giving up" option you suggested, I'm sorry to report that we're just having too good a time. Y'see, we have a daughter and a house and good relationships with our family, and lots of great friends, and we get to travel around to do research and write articles and give lectures, and we are creatively fulfilled, and we have hobbies. Besides the bestselling books and the National Magazine Awards and the lotta ins and outs and what-have-yous. You know, a real life. Maybe people who troll the internet for hate mail candidates don't have "lives", so I won't brag, as best to spare your feelings.

But again: thank you. No, thank YOU! Your thoughts and suggestions were considered with the utmost seriousness and gravitas here at Planet Simpson. And thanks especially for being sincere. As in, your "sincerely, Kathleen Doris" part. That was the bomb. We love sincere people. You especially. Perhaps you should make tshirts. Put "Sincerely" on them. I bet they'd sell a million! Make you a mint!

In any case, please send your postal address for a special gift from us! We love sending mail to fans. For you, a flaming bag of poo delivered direct to your door! But delivered WITH LOVE.

love again, Ash (aka "Fan Girl", aka "The Wife") and Turner

Categories: Internet | Turner | Work work work

Comments [4]

Up! Magazine!

See "Mall In The Family" feature, above

It's a little late in the month to be announcing this, but if you're going to be on WestJet anytime in April, make sure you dig that in-flight magazine out of the seat pocket in front of you. Turn to page 52. And lo, behold the West Edmonton Mall story Turner and I did back in December, in all its Sloaner-ific glory:

Aw yeah: Five page spread, 13 photos, and all the masterly writingness you'd expect from Turner for the text (including a Motley Crue reference). One free December vacation in West Ed Mall, and the Bristowe-Turners bring it to the masses. 

Categories: Ash | Sloane | Turner | Work work work

Comments [1]

So What?

INT: Early morning, Bangkok, Thab & Phet's apartment. Ash and Turner are up with Sloane for her morning feed in the big bed. There is a local bird who does a loud, two-pronged call in the pre-dawn light, here. Yesterday morning it was calling and calling and calling after Ash and Sloane got up. It starts this morning's si