I’ve received numerous emails in the past month asking me the same question again and again: “Phillip, why are you leaving Steel White Table?” My answer: Because one blog is enough, and that blog is Mud Songs. It’s about beekeeping.
Now let us take a journey back in time…
The Littlest Birds Will Eat Peanuts From Your Hand is probably the best thing I posted to Steel White Table. Then there are my reviews of Paul Auster books. Um… what else? My Smitty’s Frog Salad was famous for about two days. All my 4 Star Movie reviews are okay, I guess (but I’ll still see you at the movies). I helped negotiate John Walkenbach’s purchase of Steel White Table back in 2008. That was a debacle. My tryst with Whole Wheat Radio was good while it lasted. I enjoyed writing my list of 30 Songs that left an impression on me. Making ribs was fun. I don’t know. I guess that’s about it.
As for my time at Steel White Table, I believe the dying words of James Tiberius Kirk sum it up well:
“It was fun. Oh my!”
And if you just can’t get enough of me, I’m on G+ for as long as that lasts.
The About page may hold the final word on Steel White Table.
Zero days to go!
Regular posts, until this blog expires, will appear below this post, and there will be at least one every day.
We’ve added a random name generator for Steel White Table because the name Steel White Table is a bit odd, almost as odd as a beekeeping website called Mud Songs. And, really, what difference does it make? It’s not like this is the National Post.
So if you want to give Steel White Table a new name, please leave it in the comments and if we like it, we’ll add it to the rotation. Thanks.
This hasn’t been a public service announcement.
Welcome to the first discussion about anything serious on Steel White Table. The topic of the Bhopal disaster was brought up by the right honourable Tommyboy. First off, let’s read some of the Wikipedia entry on the Bhopal disaster:
The Union Carbide (now Dow Chemical) disaster — also known as the Bhopal disaster or the Bhopal gas tragedy — was an industrial catastrophe that took place at a Union Carbide pesticide plant in the Indian city of Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh on December 3, 1984. Around 12 AM, the plant released methyl isocyanate (MIC) gas and other toxins, resulting in the exposure of over 500,000 people. Estimates vary on the death toll — the official immediate death toll was 2,259, which rose greatly over time. The government of Madhya Pradesh has confirmed a total of 3,787 deaths related to the gas release. Another source says that a few days later the death toll had doubled. Over the next few years, the lingering effects of the poison nearly doubled the toll again, to about 15,000, according to government estimates. Local activists say the real numbers are almost twice that. Others estimate 8,000-10,000 died within 72 hours and 25,000 have since died from gas-related diseases.
Continue reading Bhopal Disaster Discussion
The following story was written one sentence, or one Steel White Table comment, at a time by… too many people to list. It began in August 2008 and was finished in September 2008. I just noticed it a few minutes ago under Random Posts.
The house was built on a cracked foundation. A young man named Peter Wilson lived in the basement with that cracked foundation. Any kind of precipitation, hail, rain or snow, required he lift his shoes and books off the floor where they would otherwise get wet overnight. The water seeping through the foundation at times became audible, the sound of a trickling brook. Inevitably Peter would make several trips to the bathroom. A rug by the side of his bed had to be rolled up and stuffed onto a shelf in his closet. He would have damp feet all night.
Peter lay in bed, tossing and turning because the pervasive dampness made it hard to get warm enough to fall asleep. He imagined the water rising, floating him and his bed out the door as he slept, down the street to the harbour. The harbour, once a place of personal enchantment, joy and laughter, now haunted his dreams. And these slushy, muddy, never-dry dreams, in turn, haunted his waking days, days that he (and his dog Muckmuck) would have rather spent working on his thesis with the ponderous but undoubtedly accurate and important working title, “The Adult-Tiger Relationship in Calvin and Hobbes: A Jungian Archetype or an Adlerian Neurosis?”
One morning, while standing in Home Depot reading the labels of sealers and epoxies, he realized that the long drying times needed for epoxy would enable him to work on the thesis and stop the seepage at the same time, thus breaking the strangle-hold of lethargy and lighting his creative and restorative juices simultaneously. Thus a new sense of optimism prevailed and Peter, with renewed vigour (and dry feet), felt it was time for the fieldwork on his thesis to commence — bring on the tiger!
Continue reading Peter’s Cracked Foundation: A Love Story