Jodie Ponto Photography

I must confess, I have never killed anything, not even a mouse. Some rural Canadian upbringing I had.

In light of this fact perhaps you can understand my bizarre photo-centric reaction to witnessing a wee mouse end his life in the mousetrap in my office while pursuing a piece of popcorn slathered in peanut butter.

My first reaction was of course to remove the dead rodent from the trap. However, I found myself unable to do so, even after telling myself the mouse was most likely severely depressed and had probably committed suicide.

So what did I do instead? I took some photos of it and had my roommate Michael flush it down the toilet. Don’t ask me why I photographed this mouse’s suicide, just send me a cat, it seems obvious to me now that I need one.

Once upon a silver mining boom in the late 1800′s The Village of Slocan City was actually a city … however, now it’s population hovers somewhere around the 357 mark.

Jason Collett (from Broken Social Scene) at The Royal in Nelson during his latest solo acoustic tour. Featuring Al Tuck.

Al Tuck

Jason Collett

This is the holiest week of the year in a ski-centric town. The week of the first real snowfall, that is.

All the ski-bums are frolicking about twitterpated with Mother Nature … and I’m not saying that I don’t appreciate the magic of a deep mountain winter … I’m just fucking cold.

I know, I know … today it was allegedly -127 degrees Celsius in Fort St. John (my Northern hometown). But I happen to know for a fact that you all live in new-ish, well-insulated homes with central heating systems. I, on the other end of the province, live in a heritage home which turns into a drafty deep freeze at the very mention of snow. So, although it may not read anywhere near -127 degrees on the thermometer, I’ve spent the better part of the week trying to avoid frostbite in my own house.

Due to a variety of size and positioning factors, our little office happens to be the warmest place in the entire house. It’s as toasty as a sauna once you suit up in your long janes, wool socks, slippers, scarf, fur hat, and mittens, have a couple cups of tea and bottles of beer, and do a few blood circulating exercises. Although, I am starting to wonder if I’m beginning to exhibit signs of cabin fever by spending so much time in the office.

Today I realized that,  just like messages in my cell phone text message inbox, when the items sitting on top of the beer fridge in our office were taken out of context (by being photographed, that is) they created a hilarious portrait of home office life.

From left to right: whiskey, tea, cider, trail mix, rescue remedy, international phone cards, greens, condoms, duct tape.

What band can rock a pregnant saxophone player on the verge of popping her baby out right there on the stage and get an entire room full of people down on their backs doing the bicycle?

Only one that I know of – Vancouver’s Blackberry Wood.

The photos below are from Blackberry Wood’s all-night alt-country gypsy circus boogie-down at The Royal in Nelson, BC.

I’m liable to OD soon if so much great music keeps rolling through town and in front of my camera.

Last night Halifax’s Wintersleep and Syracuse, New York’s Ra Ra Riot annihilated Nelson’s Spirit Bar with an absolute indie rock explosion. To see photos of Ra Ra Riot, click here.

I’m liable to OD soon if so much great music keeps rolling through town and in front of my camera.

Last night Syracuse, New York’s Ra Ra Riot and Halifax’s Wintersleep annihilated Nelson’s Spirit Bar with an absolute indie rock explosion. To see photos of Wintersleep, click here.

Like a kidlet on Christmas morning, I awoke today clasping my hands in anticipatory glee. That’s because the night before I had checked the status of a Purolator package I had been patiently awaiting and discovered it would be delivered the very next day. Inside the package were two brand spankin’ new lenses that are absolute low-light warriors and I was planning on putting them to the test at a big concert tonight.

Unable to concentrate through my mounting excitement I entered my tracking number into the Purolator website once again:

08:33 – On vehicle for delivery via CASTLEGAR, BC depot.

Hooray!

09:29 – Scheduled delivery appointment required via CASTLEGAR, BC depot.

What the hell were the new objects of my affection doing back in Castlegar only one hour after setting sail for me?

Calling Purolator’s helpline I was informed the package had gone back to Castlegar because the driver said the road was closed.

“Oh no, was there an accident on the highway?” I asked.

“No, the driver said the road to your house was closed”.

Puzzled, I thought for a moment before speaking. “The road to my house? Oh! They’re doing construction right in front of my house, but I wouldn’t exactly say the road is closed. I’m confused why the driver didn’t just park further down the road?”

“Well, if the driver can’t park at the delivery address he can’t make the delivery now can he?”

“Uhhhh … But … Why…”

And that’s about where I was cut off with a curt “Goodbye”.

Hey you haughty helpline hag, my house is within sight of the nearest intersection and my street isn’t exactly what I’d call Hollywood Boulevard length! If you and that dunderheaded driver seriously think that it’s quicker, easier, and more reasonable to drive the package all the way back to Castlegar (and consequently have to drive it right back to Nelson the next day), instead of parking further down the street and walking to my door, dropping the package off at Nelson’s Purolator location, or even just calling my phone number written right on the package … well then I only have one thing to say to you. And that one thing is contained in this picture:

Taking out my frustration by strangling a Purolator driver dummy. Coincidentally, I’m pretty sure the Purolator driver is an actual dummy and probably also wears a moustache and hippy hat.