I hesitate to bow to hyperbole, but I’ve been weeping and wailing and gnashing my teeth trying to figure this ticket stub out.
Starting with the obvious, it’s from a presentation at the IMAX theatre in what was then called the Canadian Museum of Civilization in what was then called Hull, Quebec (Hull became Gatineau; the museum changed it’s name to the Museum of History). Essentially, it was a big screen movie, in this case one about orphaned orangutans and elephants and the like. It’s barely worth writing a ticket story about, arguably not worth one at all (you should have heard the arguing going on in here about this one) but I found the ticket stub (it wasn’t in my book or anything, which was a key arguing point for sure) so I have to write it. If you need to know why I have to write it I’m sure wikipedia has a page on compulsion that could illuminate you*.
But mostly what has been vexing me is whether or not this was from the time my youngest nephew came from Moncton to Ottawa for a solo visit and I tell you, it’s been bugging me.
I asked his mom if she remembered when he came and she didn’t, though she said a good mother wouldn’t have let him miss school for it so he had to have come either during March Break or in the summertime. There was no way I’d have agreed to host him or any family member in the summertime, that was prime concert season and when I wasn’t at one Ottawa music festival or another I was in one city or another seeing any number of bands (okay: Phish).
And I knew it couldn’t have been March Break because the two of us went cycling on the bike path along the canal. I know this happened because he kept riding in the opposing lane and the pathway was rather busy, I barked at him to CUT IT OUT! and I still feel terrible about it. So much that aside from Spencer spending his entire trip budget on some device at the RC store (the trip to the store was the highlight of his stay, for sure) most of what I actually recall from his visit is me continually asking him what he wanted to do next on this, his first time visiting the great and varied city of Ottawa. And every time the answer was the same, a half-mumbled “I don’t care” that was somehow pronounced as a single syllable and without any vowels, in a wonderfully endearing way that only a teenager can pull off. It never got old.
I wrote and asked Spencer if he could remember when he came to Ottawa for that visit. He replied with a resounding “I don’t know” that was all consonants, no spaces.
But you know, as I pondered it occurred to me that maybe I didn’t remember so much from Spencer’s trip because it was a short trip. Like maybe a long weekend or something and BAM! 0.46 seconds later I discovered that April 22nd, 2011 had been Good Friday. Spencer must have visited during Easter weekend! Of course!
I can’t actually recall whether or not we went to an IMAX movie though it seems tantalizingly likely, but really, I suspect that with just a modicum of research one could easily unearth greater inaccuracies and anachronisms within these voluminous ticket tales than this anyways. Hence, I can’t see any reason why I shouldn’t just put this one to bed and state for the record that this was that time and that’s that.
Whoever writes history creates history, and so it is so.
*Of course I couldn’t get through this without actually checking wikipedia’s page on compulsion – actually titled “compulsive behaviour” – and it is quite extensive. It slows down for a while near the middle but otherwise it’s a pretty good read.
Incidentally there are also three novels titled Compulsion, four movies, a play, an Irish punk band (that was a rabbit hole!), and a 1967 jazz album by a pianist named Andrew Hill that to my ears is sounds very loose and free. I quite like it. The play was good too, as was the movie from 1959. The ones from the 2010’s were a bit odd and I don’t have high hopes for the movie from 2009.
Great story all about nothing. Reminds me of Seinfeld
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Writing about nothing is increasingly becoming my specialty. To continue your analogy: When I do it my brain feels like Kramer is trying to change out of a soggy wetsuit and into a freshly-ironed tuxedo while locked inside a cluttered broom closet.
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