today was spent at the second telephone city art and craft show in brantford, ontario. first, i should explain why brantford (a seeming ghost town in many respects) is calling itself the telephone city. apparently the city lays some sort of claim to alexander graham bell (similar to the way lincoln is claimed by states ad cities all over the united states). aitor seemed to feel that tuberculosis was the only reason bell lived in (actually, near) brantford. this isn't so. it really was his canadian homestead. but most of his telephone inventing was done in boston. in brantford, he did come up with a transliteration system for the mohawk language, though. i find this more fascinating but it probably wouldn't fit as nicely onto a sign.
but back to the show...i have to admit, it was slow. unexpected torrents kept erupting from the sky. there were even reports of hail. it's a shame, too, because the ladies who put the show on really hustled their butts off - newspaper ads, radio spots, blogs. what gives, brantford? is there a better way to reach you? are you just not down?
as an upshot, i did get one of lee meszaros' amazing merit badges to go home with (mine is 'for getting back on the horse' - i hope it is prophetic). actually, lee has updated her designs so we each got one of her old ones. it was really sweet to drive home with amy and aitor, each of us sporting our badges (amy's, another horse, and aitor's 'for being a dirtbag').
i really liked the venue, too. the ford plant is a semi-dilapidated space downtown that usually serves as an open music venue. it is decaying in a beautiful way, even though a few patrons didn't appreciated the loveliness. things overheard: "it's so bad, it's good" & "there's no way they made cars here." apparently one vendor called it a hole and refused to set up. so much for craft cross-over. i guess spaces like this are reserved for people with at least a drop of punk rock in them. i loved it.
i was also obsessed with this building across the street that i was convinced was smiling at me crookedly all day:
aitor was more into the heaps of meat from admiral's around the corner:
so much for taming our road guts.