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Robert Everett-Green

Robert Everett-Green writes about music and cul­ture for the Globe and Mail. He lives in Toronto.

Robert Everett-Green on Geist.com

Ordinary Weekly Deaths

If Toronto were like Baghdad, thirty-nine res­i­dents would die vio­lently every week.

Portrait

“I am I because my lit­tle dog knows me.” The words are Gertrude Stein’s; the dog in this pic­ture knew my par­ents and lived with them before I was born, and they cel­e­brated its exis­tence in a pair of stu­dio portraits. 

The Main

Last sum­mer, dur­ing a visit to Vancouver, my nine-year-old son climbed the ped­i­ment of a cast-iron traffic-light stan­dard and put his palm on the glow­ing hand that warns pedes­tri­ans to stay put. My mother pointed out after­wards that my pho­to­graph of the event con­tained its own French cap­tion, in the word vis­i­ble over his shoul­der: main.

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