In Prince George thousands reveled, raged, and paraded since the most Honourable Gordon Campbell, apparent Premier-superstar for B.C, gave a gazillion dollars to the UNBC for building the Northern Sports Centre.
An eco-spec university set amid autumnal pines on the side of a mountain, with green banners waved by gorgeous Aboriginal athletes to usher in the 2010 Winter Olympics, and enough lumpfish and ice-wine to sink a yacht of Monte Carlo's most affluent; Holy frick, I thought, how unlike gritty ole Winnipeg...
Yet how different we are here is why I love here - what trite vodka-maxims from a red-eye flight. For if we are anything in Winnipeg we are a community of artists and our venues.
I was reminded of this fact when seeing none other than the esteemed David Bergen sharing passage homeward in economy class (likely even a Giller can't take the bargainer out of a Winnipegger!)
And it's not just the writers at this year's festival that have me so horny, but the venues: the metal ribs of the Millennium Library for freaky sci-fi guy William Gibson: the narrow alleys with boarded-up warehouses in the Exchange for writing workshops: plus enough midnight slam poetry for the peeps and gangsta-girlz in the hood to keep amped....
How relevant internationally our festival has grown in a sense overwhelms; while waiting for my luggage to clunk down the airport shoot I've a good mind to walk over to David Bergen and ask him if he's attending this year's Thin Hair Festival.
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