McSweeney’s List (6 August 2025)
I knew this day and article were coming, but it's still super weird.
It's the anniversary of my Dad’s death, which is a super weird thing to celebrate, but would perhaps be an even stranger thing to forget. This year marks ten years since his passing. Ten years. Where did that time go, and how did it go so quickly? I clearly remember standing on the street in tears, waiting on both a taxi and my fiancé at the time, hoping against hope that one of them would arrive and get me to the hospital before it was too late. It feels like yesterday; but it wasn't yesterday, it was ten fucking years ago.
That's 4 apartments ago; a global pandemic ago; 2 Trump presidencies; 3 serious relationships, a couple of false starts, some delusions and fuckbois ago. I had different cats then, and my mother was alive.
What I remember about that summer was that it all happened so fast. On the day of my daughter's high school graduation, he didn't make it to the venue; he was rushed to hospital by ambulance. Things were bad. Colon cancer. Not long.
My brain reeled, and I was angry first. Why wasn't he taking care of himself? How are we only learning this now? How long is not long? For fucks sake, Dad, I told you to eat better. I remember him telling me that a guy came around the hospital rooms telling patients how he had beat prostate cancer, and my dad sounded so hopeful. And I, so mad, so painfully realistic, told him that his prognosis was different.
I was mad at him for all the things he had put off. All the maybe one days, the I'll get around to its came to a head, and time was nearly up. I was filled with I told you so, and also the realization that there was no point in saying it, as there was no time for him to turn his truck around. It leaked out of me, but I don't think I ever said those exact words. He wasn't supposed to die yet; he was supposed to see the error of his ways at some point, change his path, live a long, healthy life.
There was business to attend to. Of course he hadn't written a will, of course there were no plans in place. It's both awkward, and a waste of precious time to talk to a dying man about finances, but we did it. We knew it would take time to get everything settled by the book, so I began clearing out his accounts while he was alive. The bright side of this was that it felt like we were getting one over on the system, working things out on our own terms without The Man involved. He was big on that in his youth; he was on record as saying that he and my mother had only gotten married because they planned to have children. Otherwise, why should The System be involved in their love story? At some point though, The System had slowly crept into his life. He would've been a wonderful misfit if he hadn't always felt like such an outcast while simultaneously trying not to be one. He never did find his place or people in this world.
There was a moment when the doctors thought he could go home, live his life as he wanted for as long as he had left. I remember standing in the sun with him waiting for our ride. I was listing the things we could check off the Maybe One Day / We’ll Get Around To It List. The Fine Arts Museum, Tam Tams…it was more my list than his; things I believed he would enjoy even if he didn't believe me yet. We didn't do any of them. I don't remember how long he was out of the hospital (a couple of nights maybe?), but he was back in no time, and any hopes we had of him getting the most out of his last summer evaporated.
And there was more business to attend to. My mother and sister hadn't seen him in nearly 10 years, and it was time to mend bridges. They'd gone MIA intentionally, and I hadn't had tabs on them for years myself, making things more complicated. A family friend acted as an intermediary, passing along a social media handle. I can't remember if she broke the news to them or I did; I didn't see them until the funeral, an awkward, but probably super common place for family reunions.
When they visited him in hospital, my mother had the nurse bring my father ice cream, because he liked ice cream. It was a sign of how much she cared, and I lamented that I hadn't thought of it. How many ice creams had he missed because it simply hadn't crossed my mind? I brought him sushi, something he should've tried ages ago, but better late than never. He loved it. He ate the wasabi like it was candy. Don't wait to try things.
The day he died, he asked me if it had snowed the night before. He thought he'd seen flurries through his window. I told him it had been a dream. He asked me not to leave. I wasn't intending to go for long; just grab a bite, come back that evening, and I told him as much. “You're not intending to go today, are you?” I asked, as if it was some choice, or if Death was something a dying man could see lurking in the shadows, tapping his watch. “No,” he said, and I left.
When I rushed back later that night, he was unconscious. The nurse who’d called had let me know he might be gone by the time I arrived, but he was still technically there. I thought he was waiting for his last rites, and through tears I told him he was silly; but he'd already gotten them. He waited for me. And then he died. I kissed his forehead and said out loud without thinking “you were a better man than you were a father”, and he was. The turmoil of my childhood and the tumult of my parents' marriage had left a lot to be desired from a parenting perspective, but in my adulthood, he and I had found our level. He would sit with me on the phone for hours while I cried, or talked. Every friend I introduced him to thought he was great. He was the least judgemental person, for better and for worse.
On his death bed, he told me to keep doing my art. What does that mean though? I wondered. I'd just started doing visual art, and my novel was in process. I was writing poetry and fiction, and felt that he had some superhuman insight at that moment as to where I should direct my energy, but he said “art”, and it was such a vague, all encompassing term. All I could do was keep going.
Today is less of a death day, and more of an anniversary for all that has happened since. Ten years since my daughter and I started rebuilding our relationship on new terms, ten years since I've had my sister back. Ten years since I knew with certainty that art was my calling, and I had to keep it up, in all forms, at all costs. I didn't marry the man who rushed me to the hospital that day, and the breakup hit me extra hard; my father would never meet my real husband, whoever that would be. He died, however, believing he had, and believing I was in good hands.
As for the art, as much as he appreciated the art I was doing, I can only imagine how proud he would be to know I'm doing comedy. He loved a lot of things, but comedy was top of the heap. And I know he and my boyfriend would get on like a house on fire, and there would be so many puns and dad jokes flying, that anyone within ear shot would eventually cover their ears until they tuckered themselves out. He would be glad I quit drinking, and impressed I'm still at the same job (I'm impressed too, tbh).
And so today isn't a day for grieving, it's a day of reflection. In a world moving so fast, burying its own past at an unprecedented rate, today stands as a marker in time. A reminder of how we grow and change even when we're not looking, of how fast time flies even when you cherish the moments. This is your sign, Dear Reader, to eat all the ice cream, and try all the things, and not to rely on the sense of one day. One day is a lie. Now or bust. Consider the things you're putting off saying until the time is right. Consider how the weight of your words once spoken can alter the trajectory of someone else's life, and your own too. Reflect on how few summers we truly get in this life, and don't let another instant slip away.
With that in mind, it bears noting that my father always offered himself up as an excuse to get me out of things. Don't want to go to a thing? Tell them I have to go help my dad. So it's only fitting that I pass that vibe along: call in sick and tell them a family friend / uncle / whatever died. While he would've told you to use the time as you want, even if that meant wallowing, my standards are higher: use that time for adventure, exploration, the embrace of your soul. Laugh. Sing badly (and tell your kids which songs are good, even if they don't agree yet). Go do the one day things, and try the weirdest shit on the menu. Eat sweets like it's your last day.
If your boss is an asshole and asks for deets, his name was Ed McSweeney, and he was 63 years old. He typed please and thank you into his Google searches, and the world would be a better place if more of us did.
Soul Hop
It's Montreal's premiere Hip-Hop & Soul party!
Every LeCypherX show is totally unique, pushing the boundaries of the future of hip-hop. This live band creates uninterrupted sets on the fly, all while keeping the dancefloor moving and the imagination racing. With every performance, instrumental and vocal virtuosity of the highest degree are on display, from blazing guitar solos to epic freestyle raps.
LeCypherX features some of the city’s most sought-after musicians and vocalists. They’ve held residencies at the Montreal Jazz Festival’s after-hours party series since 2015.
Cash only.
$7 Early-Bird < 9 PM
$7 Student with ID
$9 Regular
$70 Pre-Paid Fam card (10 entries)
WHAT: #LeCypher Hip-Hop Thursday
WHERE: O Patro Vys, 356 Mont-Royal Ave. E., Montreal, H2T 2G4
WHEN: Every Thursday @ 8 PM
METRO: Mont-Royal (Orange)
DETAILS: Facebook
A Whole Vibe
The perennials have been planted, the seeds have been sown, the rocks have been piled up. All that's left is to water our metaphorical musical garden, and it's best done in good company! Come raise a glass at Barfly for an evening of energetic trad music with Jardin de Cairns. Expect magical arrangements, and an authentic atmosphere!
WHAT: Single Launch - Jardin de Cairns with Brenna Logan
WHERE: Barfly, 4062 St. Laurent Blvd., Montreal, H2W 1Y8
WHEN: Thursday, August 14,
METRO:
TICKETS: TicketLeap
Here's to Humans
Stolen Moments is my tribute to the human spirit – a collection of visual fragments highlighting the inherent beauty and diversity of Life Itself.
Yourself. Myself. Ourselves.
My goal… to document everyday triumphs and tribulations to remind us that being alive is a gift, a gift to be actively celebrated.
Sharing my visual journey is an invitation to momentarily observe and revel in Life through my photographic lens. A fleeting moment captured, immortalized, inviting you to pause, reflect and appreciate the magical moments in your own Life.
All proceeds from book and photo sales will be forwarded to Beni Nepal, an NGO/charitable organization providing vital support to people & communities in need.
This photo book celebrates the Human Spirit.
A bird frolics in a water fountain, wings radiating energy and light. A stranger, in his element, vamps for the crowd. The interlocking gaze of BFFs The pulsating power generated by musicians on stage. People in moments of quiet solitude Motion in Stillness...and vice-versa.
Stolen Moments is my tribute to the human spirit - a collection of visual fragments highlighting the inherent beauty and diversity of Life Itself. Yourself. Myself. Ourselves.
My goal... to document everyday triumphs and tribulations to remind us that being alive is a gift, a gift to be actively celebrated. Sharing my visual journey is an invitation to momentarily observe and revel in Life through my photographic lens. A fleeting moment captured, immortalized, inviting you to pause, reflect and appreciate the magical moments in your own Life Discipline yourself; to look for them. I assure you, they're just waiting to be discovered.
Carlo's "Art for Positive Social Change" practice donates a significant portion of proceeds from all his art activities (sales of original pieces, books, events, private commissions) towards helping needy organizations, communities and social causes.
To date, the art/philanthropic initiatives have benefited the Douglas Foundation by financing a Pet Therapy program, as well as a Music & Art program for inpatients at the CPC 2 unit in Montreal.
Additionally, your generous support has also helped finance activities such as the Eye Care Program in Nepal.
WHAT: Carlo Bianchini - Life. Art. Gratitude. - Vernissage - Book Launch - Artist Talk - Charity Event
WHERE: BBAM! Gallery, 808 Atwater Ave., Montreal, H4C 2G9
WHEN: Friday, August 8 - Sunday, August 10
METRO: Lionel-Groulx (Orange & Green)
DETAILS: Facebook
Comedy!
The Straight Shooters Stand-Up Comedy show features and produced by graduates of the Joke Club comedy course. Come early, enjoy an amazing meal, and then watch the city's best up-and-coming stand-up comedians for a hilarious night of comedy.
Free shot with every ticket!
This edition features Shosho, Estelle Afi, Bia Vasalos, Janelle Hacault, Gowthaman Kasy, Emily Sharma, Rodney Ramsey, Claudio Capri, Erik Intrevado, and Carmina Barberi Daou.
WHAT: Straight Shooters Stand-Up Comedy Show
WHERE: Le Tequila Bar, 4401 Notre-Dame St. W., Montreal, H4C 1S2
WHEN: Tuesday, August 12 @ 8 PM
METRO: Place St. Henri (Orange)
TICKETS: Eventbrite
‘Cuz Punk Rocks
It's gonna be an incredible evening of punk under the overpass, which is arguably exactly where one should see a punk show.
Join Wegothistory, Shriya J, Radiance of Life, and Parapariah for a free, all ages show!
These DIY shows are a dying breed, pushed out by gentrification and corporate greed. Supporting these shows is imperative to the preservation and continued growth of the various local art scenes. When they come for one of us, they come for all of us. Go see some punk.
Check out Ask A Punk for more awesome shows.
WHAT: Van Horne Under the Bridge
WHERE: Van Horne Bridge, H2S 2X3
WHEN: Saturday, August 9 @ 7 PM
METRO: Rosemont (Orange)
DETAILS: Facebook
World's Smallest Comedy Festival
The third WSC Fest kicks off Monday with wall to wall shows, laughs, and friends! I wrote a whole piece about it right here, with all the show links and tickets (‘cuz you know I love that shit). Snatch up your tickets now, because you won't want to miss a minute of how great this is about to be.
McSweeney’s List drops every Wednesday with the best events, workshops, and more, each week in Montreal!
