Apparently there is some loose talk about the death of Linux on netbooks. Hmmm. I just got one and I’m running Ubuntu Jaunty on it. Seems to work okay for me. I haven’t tried the Ubuntu Studio stuff on it yet, but between Cheese and Sound Recorder, I can have lots of mobile fun. Jaunty Ubuntu Studio also reintroduces LMMS, which I’ve taken a slobbering cursory glance at. This is going to be fun.
Apparently this is Micro-soft d___k again, spreading FUD. Someone in Taiwan recently commented about the notion of winning a horserace by shooting the competing horse. With the amount of money they have to throw at programmers, I wonder why they don’t just code a system which doesn’t require all the third-party protection-racket stuff that everyone in the Windows world happily takes for granted. I haven’t worried about security for a long time. My computers don’t crash anymore, and aside from what little private data which I just don’t put online, I have a typical busker’s attitude towards privacy. If I make something public, it must be because I am willing to take responsibility for the legitimate responses it invites. Crime is crime, and it only bears analysis in its own context.

Here’s a festival I’ll be working with in a couple of weeks. Get tickets early if you can come out to Salmo BC June 6-7th. It’s gonna be fun.

Now I can be a little more helpful by writing as a dispassionate social critic instead of an embattled and paranoid person who feels that the passion of his life threatens his survival (not easy at the moment). There are very simple reasons why the zombie syndrome perpetuates, and a few potential solutions which would probably make us all a little better off, and perhaps happier. First the causes.

Musicians generally play and perform music first for the love of it, second for the hope of it sustaining them or at least being given the benefit of the honor of the craft. What often happens instead, even for talented and popular ones, is that the time and expense of building a following insidiously leads them into alcoholism, drug dependency, and codependent relationships which are of no benefit to a successful musical life. Jams are at the heart of this process.
This is because music is most frequently hosted in rooms which depend for their operation on the sale of two poisonous beverages – alcohol and coffee – or food which is often both damaging to health and unnecessarily expensive. These things serve as a substitute for direct compensation of the performers, the staff of the venue and the building expenses. Chief among these is taxes on the beverages and prime real-estate where it is practical for these venues to exist. All such venues provide non-alcoholic alternatives, but there remains a social expectation that an expensive enough tithe is offered at a steady rate to justify one’s presence. It can be destructive enough to simply put anything in your mouth on a continual basis for six hours. Since six hours is often the length of a successful jam, it can put an awful lot of drunks on the road – perhaps toward household gatherings where further alcoholism is indulged. The purpose of being a musician has been replaced with the purpose of being a party animal – in worship of the surrogate tokens which support the venues, and occasionally a few of the musicians.
If a “jammer” becomes popular, other jam-hosts frequently persuade them to attend their jams in other venues in order to keep their own jams popular. This can result in a timetable of consumtion and expansion of co-addicted networks which is nothing short of suicidal, and which ensures that the time and resources to advance as musicians never becomes available. Meanwhile, the most frequent reward of success at this process is to become a jam-host, and thus become another host of a larger suicide cult. What is seldom noticed is that people have begun to watch the same bands over and over, punctuated by a textureless and repetitive parade of jammers. In an excessively popular jam, jammers can attend the duration of the jam while being bumped out of their chance to perform, or not being able to play long enough to develop any rapport with the audience.
By far the most self-defeating aspect of this process is that often there is no reward even contemplated for participating in this process. One would think that a suitable reward would be an opportunity for a longer performance which is paid for, but this is seldom the case. The jam becomes an end in itself, and there is no motive to excel as a performer. It may even be the worst thing a person can do to themselves. Meanwhile, the musicians develop a network of casual, convenient relationships which only exist in venues of consumption, and the pattern of these relationships is reflected in the way musicians relate to each other. In this environment the only practical way to form a group is to get a stream of jam gigs and rehearse on stage. If a member gets a better gig or works in several bands, it becomes another path to stagnation of the group and the rest of the music community. They end out playing to themselves because they never become interesting enough for a real audience.
It is common for many jams to be hosted by the same performers each week. Regardless of the performers’ popularity this inevitably becomes another path to stagnation both for the performer and the venue.

So how can these problems be repaired? First, by ensuring that the opportunity to play longer shows is offered as a reward for participating. This is absolutely necessary in order to give meaning to the process. Second, to sustain a rotation of performances which ensures enough variety to inject interest into the process. Third, to organize jams in such a way that they don’t remain a cattle call of musicians who may or may not perform for fifteen minutes in exchange for their six hours of attendance – which would be relatively easy to organize online. These steps would return some vitality to the process.

In regard to the damage caused by over-consumption, the problems and solutions are both personal and systemic. Financially, it would be necessary to divorce the compensation of venue and performers from the purchase of food and beverages, which of course is a hard-sell. On the personal level, it would be beneficial to develop a self managing social-code among those in attendance to ensure that musicians are not unduly encouraged to over-consume. For those reading from Facebook, I know you don’t actually hate us that much, and for my part there are simply some personal issues which have a social component and must be dealt with before I can contemplate sustaining certain relationships. Unfortunately for me it has become a mortal danger, so I don’t have time to be polite about it.

Many folks believe that jams exist to provide budding musicians an opportunity for exposure, which may contribute to their careers. That is not exactly true. Jams have several purposes. The central purpose is to turn musicians and the folks who like hanging out with musicians into zombies. Of course also to provide the venue with a steady repeat base of popular alcoholics to leech off of. Why pay a few acts when you can pay one act and have dozens of acts paying to play with them?
Meanwhile, these formerly ambitious and creative souls return week after week to hone their three songs for the same audience over and over again, until the audience becomes bored of the songs and just like someone who is somewhat talented to drink with. They become surrounded with bar-stars incapable of love, who pretend to some kind of relationship with them; when their real desire is to twitter about their loveless tragic lives, until the final tragedy of an unfulfilled death which they can mourn together over; while commiserating about the dissapearance of what they thought was their eternal charm.
Career jam hosts are a special breed of musician, who maintain enough popularity to keep the musicians coming out, while lacking the motivation, resources and leadership to make their own careers. They subsist by turning as many musicians and fans into zombies as they possibly can. They are revered for uniting the music community, while leading them to the modern musicians equivalent of the gulag. God love ‘em all.
Come see it all in Calgary, the jam capital of the country. It’s the only gig in town.

Now here is a vehicle for opt-in surcharges I wouldn’t be as quick to complain about as my cel-phone bill. Cel companies don’t charge for the phones, but rather for use of the unit and the network. Now is the time to think that way about 100% electric vehicles.

I recently got a video camera, and have begun recording random things with it. Here is a vid I shot at home. I really should have trimmed it since the action doesn’t start till halfway through, but anyhow the music gets fun after I get off the phone.

It has been my experience that the appeal process is the most important stage in any dealings with a government agency. It is the stage in which they give you an opportunity to state the facts in your own words, after they are finished trying to make an ass of you by stuffing words in your mouth. I will confess that they have succeeded: I have become an unrepentant ass. Better to be an ass than to be dead, the way I see it. So now that I have been refused Employment Insurance like so many in the first wave of abandoned industrial workers in this country – five months after the fact – I present excerpts from my Appeal letter to the folks who can neither confirm nor deny that they work in Edmonton, or for which branch of Government. You aggravate me, I aggravate you back.

NOTICE OF APPEAL TO THE BOARD OF REFEREES

Claimant: Morley Edward Tuttle
Social Insurance Number: [I think they tell us to memorize it so they can keep supporting that crappy plastic-card manufacturer]
Names of Employers: [Business card names, division of tax-form names]
Claimant Address: [I wonder when I'll stop checking my mail for the postal-code]
Claimant Telephone: [how did I keep that one alive...but the internet installs are the real bitch]

I wish to appeal the decision rendered on my Employment Insurance Claim. My decision letter described me as either someone who recently started work or worked sporadically or part-time. None of this is true, and leads me to suspect that my claim was not even read. However, there are complications involved with my file that no website programmer is capable of predicting. In the process of repeated attempts to present the facts through the lens of Service Canada’s online application system, my exposition was inevitably distorted. I will now present the facts along with what evidence I have to substantiate them.

I have worked for Calton Cases of Canada since 1999. During recent years I was able to anticipate the dissolution of the Calgary manufacturing operation, and therefore made various attempts to move into a career which would carry me forward. On two occasions which are described in the attached Records of Employment, I made unsuccessful attempts to enter work in the siding trade. This move was out of desperation rather than preference, and I had difficulties in being paid for my work which almost rendered me homeless.

On both occasions, I returned to Calton Cases. On the last occasion I received a six-month layoff notice soon after I resumed work [....]

I was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 1998, and have been hospitalized five times in connection with the illness. My most recent hospitalization was [...] At the time of my diagnosis, I was distrustful of social service agencies and frustrated that they are administered provincially; so I chose to seek employment rather than accepting AISH. Work plays a role in my will to live, however, other medical concerns have been accumulating in my life recently. I have begun to accept that I can not guarantee I will be employable on a continual basis, but I do not wish to remain in this province for the rest of my life. Meanwhile, I will be initiating my AISH application this week, and continuing follow-up with the Calgary Central Clinic.

I have attached documents I feel will be helpful in evaluating my case. I have not been able to preserve all of my records, but I will briefly comment on what I have included here:
[List of attachments with comments]

Due to the Calgary economic climate I have had to move six times in the past two years. I have lived in accommodations which have caused sleep and lung problems due to noise, mold and inadequate winter heating (my toilet froze solid in last-years cold-snap). I have lost track of possessions and personal records, and any sense of daily routine. I have not received timely assistance in any of these matters, medical or financial. In the past two years I haven’t been able to access health services until my family escorted me. I have stopped receiving GST payments because of my frequent changes of address.

I find Alberta’s policies concerning Employment Insurance and Social Services discriminatory in comparison to other provinces, and I have become exhausted with the paperwork involved in seeking amelioration. My conversation with my psychiatrist in 1998 was brief, and I do not remember him citing the ability to outwit beurocracy as a qualification for schizophrenia, or for that matter unemployment. The next time this province tries to kill me off, I prefer the honesty and efficiency of a gun to the cowardice of social-engineering and beurocratic neglect.

Sincerely,

Certain structural elements were borrowed from the forms provided on their labyrinthine website, but I chose not to use the forms themselves because my experience is that forms prevent reading and comprehension. I believe forms should be abolished wholesale and replaced with simple lists of elements to be included in a discussion. Forms do not cooperate with proper storytelling. In fact they may have contributed to the decline of the storytelling skill in our culture. Fields in forms are generally too short, too long, too anally divided into letter-blocks, etc. I have attempted filling forms where it was impossible to tell which label belonged to which field. I have attempted to write my signature in spaces better suited to the serial-number for an artificial-tooth.[Insert inevitable rant about the salaries of incompentent forms-designers here.]

Apparently not many people do this, but I chose to restrain my inclination to express homicidal fury until the end of my letter. There is some consensus that this improves the likelihood that something will be read in its entirety, but I’m not sure how often that happens with my blog posts. I can ramble on at times. I find it interesting that a relationship can begin with life-threatening neglect, and then continue with the expectation that future communications will remain civil. In any event, it was straight storytelling: start with a statement of what I’m writing about, then a summary of the issues involved, then a reference to all of the facts to be presented, and then a conclusion. 1,2,3,4, and then the song starts – in which the beurocrats whine about the details they thought of that I didn’t, and how they can’t proceed for another three weeks because of it. Amazing how complicated it is to write a laid-off schizophrenic a check. Imagine the paperwork it would take to administer a bullet. Perhaps they were hoping I would fade into another tragic crime statistic. Then they would be justified in their pathetic pop-psych belief that I’m lazy, that I want the suffering in my life and that we need to become a nation of cops, jails, hospitals and taxes. However our current government thinks things aught to be, I’m still waiting for the proof. Viva la Appeal!

I’ve been a little busy lately contributing to the efforts of local dissenting voices. My temptation is to imagine I can just ignore him and he’ll go away with his loot and not trouble us anymore. Of course, allowing his crimes against the people of the world to be OK just makes anything which follows all the more OK. Which leads me to the question: What insanity made it OK?

MY BLOODY INTERESTS:

I’ve had a pretty good month as far as this blog goes (by tonight it will be my best, statistically). Nonetheless, Google doesn’t find this blog until page 8 of a search for Gatecrasher, whereas I currently own much of page 1 in a search for Sodasound which is the name of my newer blog, as well as a list of other places where I guess the secret is out. This is understandable, since the first seven pages of Google’s Gatecrasher links relate to a pool of popular European nightclubs – Gatecrasher One in Sheffield being the most notable. I wouldn’t have noticed, except that a recent “visual” search engine called SearchMe showed up in a sidebar ad, and I decided to try it out. SearchMe couldn’t find me at all, but it’s pretty to look at. I also don’t plan on an SEO war with a bunch of European nightclubs, since the name has lost its edge for me anyway. I haven’t bothered linking to any of them in this post because they aren’t what this post is about.

I also reconnected with an old friend briefly today, and she referred to me as “Random Ed.” I am not sure if this is the first time this nickname has come up in conversations I wasn’t around for, but that kind of thing tickles me in any case. It is a contraction of my middle name, which I used in my youth and was too lazy to change back until a few years ago.

I think I have run out of angles for seeking security in anonymity, but I will state here that if anyone attempts a credit card transaction in my name, it wasn’t me: I don’t own a credit card, and I am not yet convinced that I am willing to accept one merely to carry out transactions which are near-impossible without them. As for the rest, if it becomes your biz, I’ll let you know. I find it amusing that our financial data structure is so fragile that the mere knowledge of someone’s name and some other number is sufficient for some loser to destroy someone’s credibility.

Oh, and in case anyone who reads this receives an automated message on their phone stating that the factory warranty on their vehicle is about to expire, it’s a half-baked scam from someone too dumb and lazy to even work it intelligently.I don’t even own a vehicle, much less one with a factory warranty.

Also, if we could work together as a community to convince all of our elderly relatives that there is no such thing as a “preferred list of potential winners” for any lottery in the free world (whether someone buys a ticket or not), maybe we could at least temporarily save at least one tree per year for each one of them, while reducing the strain on their fixed incomes. Perhaps a more efficient strategy would be to replace the current internees of Guantanamo Bay with the printers who accept such print-jobs, or for paper and ink suppliers to review the publications of their clients when negotiating supply contracts.

Someone’s gotta do it: Who? The postal system? Interpol? Local and national police forces? Who cares? ALL OF US! These are the same dolts who blame any of our misfortunes on our lack of self-esteem, or some-such nonsense. They are the kinds of people who dress themselves up and seek out any field of desperation so they can suck the life out of it by offering some sort of salvation. They are the sorts of people who continually warn us of the infinite list of things we should be frightened of. Then they pop out of our telephones, televisions and computer screens like ’50’s era cartoon superheroes to rescue us. Gee, thanks. I’ll check the mailbox (inbox) every day for the promise of a better tomorrow which mysteriously landed in the pocket of a regular schmo like me, and inspired them to seek me out instead of someone they’ve gone fishing with all their lives.

I admit it, I’m having too much fun. I can type this stuff out forever, and all I waste is electricity and time. No trees, right? That makes it okay. That and the fact that I strive neither to ask for something I don’t earn, or offer something I am not able to provide. And yet I have acquired the nickname “Random Ed.” The truth is that there is nothing random about any of it. All of my explorations are related to my interest in solving a small collection of basic problems. I hate to say it, but music and writing are merely fortuitous vehicles of expression for that interest. I am also painfully familiar with some inherent dangers of that status.

Because of the knowledge I have gained in my life as a musician and self-educated explorer of ideas, I will let the world justify its excuse for squandering the abilities of artists and free-thinkers, and casting us as seeking a free-lunch any way it chooses. It really is a cowardly line of reasoning. Instead I would like to clarify something intangible, which nonetheless has incredible influence over tangible life.

When it seems apparent to a person that they are unlikely to obtain the satisfaction of their worldly needs, especially for a long period of time, the issue can become irrelevant when compared to the satisfaction of spiritual needs. This is a change which becomes irreversible in a practical sense. Does this then make a person infallible? Incapable of “sin?” Does it become a mea-culpa for entry into priesthood, or the creation of a new religion? Not me. I am not aware of an existing religion which completely agrees with my spiritual trip, and I would not endorse one created on my behalf. Such behavior has too much of a track record in justifying atrocity. As far as I’ve seen, all of that stuff gets covered best in School-Rules. After that, “I am me and you are you; now let’s make a deal about all of us having a decent life in the same world.” To come back to the beginning of this paragraph, a change occurs in which self-betrayal becomes unsustainable, spiritually.

This is as true for a psychopath as it would be for a saint. It is therefore perfectly reasonable to be cautious in the company of: psychopaths, saints, steroid-freaks, drug-addicts, quiet-brooders, ice-queens, authorities, mellow-yellow types, people who wear strange jewelry and black-clothing, golf-nuts, fags, immigrants, artists, natives, Buddhists, trophy-hunters, Johnsons, redheads, and so-on. Each of us carries a special talent, a special pain and a special way of coping with difficulties and creating opportunities. SO WHAT? We have simply created an exhausting collection of ways to profile each other, rather than bothering to get to know each other as individuals. We seek ways to stifle abuse by gathering special-interest groups to cook-up clever reasons to repeat the example and inflict it. This may be because it seems we need to know too many people in order to get along and figure it all out. I guess we must have thought it would make us happier, since it was our idea.

I am reminded of some lines from the movie, “Airplane,” which I hope you’ll forgive me paraphrasing, since I have avoided television for awhile: “I have a question.” “What’s that?” “It’s an interrogative statement used to test knowledge, but that’s not important right now…” Are we going to crash and burn? Should we profess our undying love to each-other in our last moments, and then have second-thoughts when we realize we’re going to live? Then bide our time while we look for better opportunities for ourselves?

A sweaty and shell-shocked Barack Obama arrives in the cockpit, shakes-off the acid-hallucination of too many indicators and controls, swats the deflated auto-pilot away from the Captain’s seat and sits before the controls with a determined expression: “Good-luck Stryker, we’re all counting on you.” “Surely you don’t mean…” “I do. And don’t call me Shirley.”

I think I better stop there before I get in real trouble, although I’m not sure I would be able to tell the difference any more. I might even burst out laughing. Aw, heck, I can’t help it: “How are the controls?” “Sluggish. Like a wet sponge.” “Stryker, pull up! You’re coming in too fast!…” “Air India, please stop clogging the runway!” then the “Point-Counterpoint” commentators place their bets, and everyone nods in agreement at the television and scowls at their ignorant companions. We should have known better than to let this plane fly without more testing.

Hmmm. Random Ed, huh? And more proof of our suspicions about gatecrashers. Okay, let’s take a little look back, since it is too easy to just pick a hook-line and stitch ideas together like a quilt… It is a quilt. Or a mosaic. Sure. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say it is a community. We are an incomprehensibly large community. As for “Random Ed — the Gatecrasher,” I am an individual within that community who is acutely aware of it, and who has pursued many interests to the extent which they relate to a few central interests. (In respect to previous posts which I have deleted, Yes, I have been given the diagnosis of schizophrenia. For those still catching up, schizophrenia relates to various sorts of psychoses and hallucinations; but it is not synonymous with multiple-personality disorder, which is comparatively rare. Too many folks misuse this word without looking it up, perhaps because so many journalists and educators keep leading us into it. I can forgive all of this, because I don’t get everything right either. Anyway, I don’t consider myself a community, and neither do I.) If by now I have people screaming at their computers, “What are your bloody interests, then?” I will feel it, I’ll get my cheap thrill and I’ll go get a job as a drywall installer. Now here we go:

• peace
• love
• freedom
• equality
• inspiration
• health
• autonomy
• community
• courage
• grace

I guess that’ll do for now. I could go on but you get the drift. Meanwhile, I sing and play guitar, and a few other instruments, and I like running sound for people, and I like writing and taking pictures. I also get ideas for inventions and different ways of organizing things. I have to admit I was much better at keeping things organized when I was younger, and I remembered more of what I had learned in my Technical Writing class in college. I think I wrote about twenty consecutive 100%-rated lab-reports, as an example. Nobody was interested in that back then, so I guess we all missed an opportunity there. I had other fish to fry at the time.

but here’s the question: There’s an empty house over there, or even an empty room. What’s wrong with somebody living in it? There’s an idle factory over there. What’s wrong with somebody making something useful in it? Somebody came up with a better way to make a car, or a house, or a new way of providing clean renewable energy. Why would it be the end of the world if we just started doing that instead of what we’re doing? Someone took to a life of crime for a while, and then later decided it wasn’t for them. What is wrong with giving them something more fulfilling to do? Someone who isn’t endowed with remarkable abilities accepts what humble employment he or she is able to carry out. What definition of civilization makes it acceptable to provide less than the basic requirements to sustain that person in exchange? Someone has found an inexpensive and relatively safe method of easing the sufferings of life, and providing them with motivation to carry on. Why are we arguing about it, and picking fights with people who are likely to fight back, when it is just another in the eternal list of things they have been told they cannot do? Are we really so in LOVE with the battlefield?

We need to make up our minds about whether we want to live together as a community.

This means that all the persecuted quiet-kids and all the misunderstood bullies are going to have to get together in the school-yard and say their sorry’s and it’s-okay’s like grown-ups, once and for all. At least that’s something I heard many times when I was young. I must confess I haven’t seen a significant body of examples of it lately, so I can understand if so many young people come up just as confused as we did.

In these past few years I have heard the voices of the leaders and the led alike render counsel which has filled me with fury – a fury exceeded only by that reserved for the voices which whispered in their ears. I have now spent a decade learning to see through that fury, and return to a dispassionate appraisal of its causes and solutions. Of course no-one could do that for me, and unfortunately I can’t do that for anyone else. Now I will have to get a job again – possibly one I will not be able to sustain for long. This is because I will be damned if I am going to get in the habit of relying on civilization to care for me, while it remains in its present state. And I will say again, I’d do almost anything to just leave town and go watch the seagulls and breathe ocean air again for awhile, or forever. With a desire like that, the Alberta sick-ticket doesn’t cut it.

If anyone really cares whether I am available to sing a song, or make a record, or write a software manual we can still talk about that. But I’ve got to admit, if people thought I was crabby and quixotic when I was young, I haven’t seen much lately which would motivate me to change. But I swear that if some big-shot I was particularly miffed at were to walk past me on the street today I would simply nod my head and walk on by, as I often have done with celebrities in the past. I just wouldn’t invite them over for dinner. We already know more about each other than we really should.

Every time a siren goes by in the distance, the neighbor’s dog begins howling and adds to the chorus. It’s funny as hell. Meanwhile, it seems that every time I’m convinced I know what I’m gonna do, I get new information which changes the picture. I’m not complaining, because another of my insights recently was that it would be better if I were able to delegate half of the things I think of doing. Now I have been offered web-hosting at comodisc, and I believe I will accept that offer after I have spent a little more time in discussion with people about what can be built here.

At present, the combination of this blog, Sodasound, Shiftlock City, two MySpace profiles and the inevitable Facebook page have become a ball and chain. I’ve spent a little time decorating, but I have a suspicion the days of all of these blogs are numbered. I have a general idea of wanting to work in community development, for which a community blog would be more beneficial. I can’t very well call myself a gatecrasher if I keep getting invited, so what remains is to decide what will sustain it. I don’t believe that includes panhandling online, but a subscription-based community journal would be something different. I know plenty of people who have insight and inspiration which may help us to adapt to the change which surrounds us. Last night was an example of a time when I was relieved to let someone else do the talking.

It was a jam at Mikey’s Juke Joint, hosted as a benefit for the Calgary Food Bank.It was also a reflection of what I have been saying about jams for a long time. The gathering was led by a vocal power-trio: Dawn Desmarais, Trina Nestibo and Heather Blush. It was a structured jam in which only a few performers were placed on the list. They were given time to develop a groove and a rapport with the guests, and they played together rather than going it alone. That is a jam. It is a gathering which is respectful of the magic which is being invited to work among us. If there is a team of veteran doctors out there who would like a friendly competition to see who can heal hundreds of people the quickest, I think we’re game. If there is a group of veteran educators out there who want to compete in terms of teaching folks what they need to know in life, I think we can lap them on that pretty quick too. But something is needed which we have been missing for some time.

I have become keenly aware of the extent to which the familiar order and rhythm in my life has been desecrated by modern times. All of the disparate movements within the spiritually-linked worlds of activism, art, music, health, education and spirituality have become an exhausting and disheartening timetable which we have lost the ability to digest. It is because they are scattered, and because they compete with each other rather than working together symbiotically.

It is a lack of structure, rather than any kind of scarcity; but I believe it was a response to scarcity which gave rise to the Chautauqua Movement which swept across America near the beginning of the twentieth century, and continues to this day. It was a movement which made it feasible for musicians, teachers, pastors and other specialists to serve broad regions of rural America who would otherwise not have access. In a modern urban environment, it would help to return a sense of ritual and community to our lives.

It would reduce or eliminate the feeling of needing to be in several places at once. Operated as a rotating circuit, It could serve to unite suburban communities with the same quality of performances, seminars and workshops as they seek in central communities. It could be something we do together once a week, rather than be subject to the exhaustion of the big annual gatherings. In the far-flung cities and towns of the Canadian Prairies, it could make the most of entertainers who are on tour. It would enhance the life of our gathering places. It is one of the few things I can think of that might get us all back on the same page.