The line-up was around the corner, several corners, in fact, it weaved in and out of the Polo Park Shopping Centre, spanned the length of Portage Avenue to Main Street, some whispered that it even looped around the Perimeter Highway, practically the entirety of Winnipeg (and its nearest rural municipalities) had joined in, each trunk to tail, as close as could be, all eager, all willing, all ready, knuckles were cracked, necks bent in gleeful anticipation, muscles prepped, some held rolls of quarters, others held small pieces of rebar or carabiners or keys, anything with heft, anything to enhance momentum, improve force, some even wielded pool cues or baseball bats, these would be confiscated, of course, but perhaps some would be missed, likely some would be missed, with so many people lined up it’s statistically probable that at least a handful would get through undetected, but most came empty handed, which was enough for them, it was enough to take part, the whole city had a festival feel, it was Christmas and Halloween and Easter and New Years and Thanksgiving all rolled into one holiday, the Premier spoke, he encouraged all Manitobans to get in line, as a show of unity, of solidarity, the Prime Minister held several galas to ensure his reelection, there were parades, a bad idea given how the line criss-crossed back and forth across the streets, but, given the festivities, no one seemed to mind, all were delighted to be involved, all were ecstatic that, once they got to the front of the line, they would participate to the fullest extent of their pugilistic abilities, naturally the festivities extended over the weekend, and the weekend after that, some thought it should last all year round, others thought that was wishful thinking, its significance was in its rarity, they said, in its limitedness, but despite these disagreements everyone believed it was a good thing, a necessary thing, something that all Manitobans were obligated to do, it was part of their role as members of society, this was how they contributed to Manitoba’s betterment, to its prosperousness, to its splendor, it’s what made Manitobans Manitobans, it’s what every Manitoban desired to do, needed to do, longed to do…
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To read the rest of this review — and more by Steve Schmolaris — visit his website Bad Gardening Advice.
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Steve Schmolaris is the founder of the Schmolaris Prize, “the most prestigious prize in all of Manitoba,” which he first awarded in 1977. Each year, he awards the prize to the best album of the year. He does not have a profession but, having come from money (his father, “the Millionaire of East Schmelkirk,” left him his fortune when he died in 1977), Steve is a patron of the arts. Inspired by the exquisite detail of a holotype, the collective intelligence of slime mold, the natural world and the suffering inherent within it — and also music (fuck, he loves music!) — Steve has long been writing reviews of Winnipeg artists’ songs and albums at his website Bad Gardening Advice, leading to the publication of a book of the same name.
