Et ego odi

I hate people!

In the same vein, there is literally no one that I don't hate right now! Nice right? I said that once in the car as a way of diffusing a small bout of road rage with the kids present.....dad? No not you guys....you I love.

One would gather that when I call for throat punchers to unite I might have an issue with some homo sapiens. I suppose I could qualify this and limit it to people that are stupid or have pissed me off for being stupid, but that's just using more words.

Let you in on a little secret, I actually do like people...some I even love. People can be spectacularly awesome. All we have to do is look around to see examples of it every day. But sadly right along with those shining examples of awesomeness there are the other people. The dumb ones, the mean ones...those that have gone through life without learning much of anything...you know whom I speak of. But remember, this is our secret...tell no one.

I was relating a story to someone the other day to illustrate my level of comfort with using a few well placed minor swear words. Way back when during my college days, as part of our final year of culinary management, we had a major class project. Each week a different student would be chef of the week. Plan and execute a dinner service with a theme, costings, menu development, organization of work schedules and so on....pretty much what I do every day right now, go figure. Anyhow, my night of Swiss cuisine ran...wait for it...like a Swiss watch. Truly the night was a success and I had a great time running the show. The accolades flew in, many from my fellow students. Part of the process was to have your compatriots make comments and grade you. I have a pretty thick skin so I wasn't worried about anyone with an axe to grind or an agenda but I was pleasantly surprised that I received an almost unanimous endorsement from my band of heathens. Save one...in her comment section she indicated that while the night was a success she thought I swore too much. As luck would have it people were still milling about while I read this, so I turned to her and asked quite innocently..."I don't understand what you fucking mean? I don't fucking swear a lot. Seriously, what the fuck? Fucking Tony over there swears a shit load more than I fucking do? Fuck off" Luckily for me I had a smirk on my face and she didn't kill me where I stood. I briefly dated this amazon in college and she scared me a bit...in a good way. Actually...that reminds me of a story...but that's for later.

Swearing is like punctuation. It is colour, seasoning if you will. And when used properly and with a modicum of restraint it is quite effective in conveying a message...as long as the other side is listening...which brings us back to the hated people. One wishes that a good verbal thrashing would work to some degree on these people, maybe make them slightly less hated. It's almost hard to believe that there are people that can defend Drumph and his ilk....solution? Fucking verbal lashing followed, if needed, by an elbow smash!. It might not change a thing and you risk the chance of stooping to their level but man it would feel good wouldn't it?

Here are some examples of behaviours that may require some errrr, adjustment:

Preaching for conversion sake, be it a Catholic or an atheist or a Jehovah's Witnesses...

just leave the rest of us alone. You do you and I'll do me.

Being an ass hole, in all its many guises. 

Moms and dads that have abandoned their kids. I subscribe to the Godfather belief....

you can't be a man if you aren't a father to your kids.

Politicians. The corrupt, manipulating and obstructionist types.

Those without integrity and honour.

The Donald Drumphs, Bill Cosby's and Brock Turners of the world. 

And the people that enable them.

I should probably stop now, the list would be huge and I want to avoid any more libellous statements.

So, in the end maybe I am just conflicted with how much I like people and how much I hate them, the constant struggle for understanding...the battle between the heart and mind. Send help.

Ciao

D

Summer of '77

Ahh, the glorious parent road trip. Being dragged from historic location to historic location all over southern Ontario when we were young. Visions of Martyrs Village, Pioneer Village, Fort Henry and many more have all blended together 30 years on.  We never had a lot of money growing up so to cut the cost of travel we would get crusty Italian bread or fresh croissants, mortadella and prosciutto with some cheese and fruit for meals on the go. Stopping at whatever version of Denny's or the Golden Griddle we would find along the way before hitting a motel for the night. At the time I was blissfully ignorant of the fact that I was actually learning something, focusing more on the idea of my resting inertia being disturbed for the summer, but now....these are the things I like to do. Discovery, history, simple yet good food.

The venerable Chevy Vega followed by the Chevy Nova being our transport during those summer road trips. Yes, that Nova My Faithful Steed To think its warm and fuzzy beginning was to be sullied by my coming of age as a driver of ill repute. Seat belts were a thing to slip off without your parents realizing it, of course a parents ear is finely tuned to that kind of thing and for a short guy my dad incredible reach to the back seat - I'm sure you get the picture. Certainly no car seats or anything resembling a nod to safety. Parents up front smoking their faces off from a time when they used to smoke. Radio tuned to some nonsense talk radio show for some reason and long boring drives punctuated by visits to little towns and nondescript motels. All the things an 11 year old kid looks for. The only fun was torturing my little sister, I mean pestering her a tiny bit in response to her provocations. She started it!

The summer of 1977 was the year we did the 1000 Islands and Gananoque region. I remember Boldt Castle and the ferry ride to it...sitting atop a cannon with my gaudy brown leather jacket and shaved head. What? Oh...let me rewind a bit. This is the summer that my dad took it upon himself to have my head shaved. I suppose in a fit of like father like son togetherness, he took to be to get my scalp freed of that annoying mop...just like him. Now, truth be told, I don't remember going or even getting the cut but my sister says she vividly remembers it. She might have even been scarred by it. Once again, I swear I was dropped on my head a few times. I understand my mom was quite upset when she got home from work late that night to find me with some stubble where my brown locks were. What I remember was having to face my friends with that shiny dome...baseball hats weren't in vogue back then. If I was scarred I got over it pretty quick.

Now, there may be something to be said for my thick lustrous hair that I currently sport...perhaps that ritual shaving helped, but I suspect that comes from my grandfather on my mom's side. Which brings us back to the cannon between my legs....right. Photos of me look like a mini me to my dad, brown leather jackets, bald heads and silly/sullen grins on our faces. Can you blame us, we've been stuck in a car with no air conditioning for days on end driving all around the damn 401. Are we there yet? In one picture, I am straddling a huge cannon with my shiny noggin and SS era jacket...ahhh, the 70's and their fashion mistakes and photos not thoroughly thought out..

What I also remember is driving along some highway, staring out the window where one could see a sun shower happening off in the distance...it was almost surreal to watch rain falling elsewhere. And almost fittingly in the surreal department was the radio announcement that Elvis had died. The King was dead....one of those where you when moments. Stuck in a car...that's where. I must admit I am a fan of Elvis. My parents, I suspect more my mom than my dad, had a few 8 Track tapes of Elvis that I listened to, I watched all his silly boppy movies and remember most of the lyrics to the songs in them...actually one of my favourite song  lyrics comes from one of those movies, Fun in Acapulco:

"Drink, drink, drink

Oh, fiddle-de-dink

I can dance with a drink in my hand"

And you can watch the video here Elvis ...how does he make his body go in 17 different ways at the same time. Cheesy and really lame? Yep, for sure. So what. The man died, cut him some slack.

Like Michael Jackson after him and just about any mega star, Elvis turned into a caricature of himself...what you heard and saw more of was the excess that he had become. Think his Vegas shows, bedazzled outfits and fried peanut butter sandwiches. Jackson had his ranch and Elvis had Graceland. Something about absolute power corrupting absolutely comes to mind but at least there were the early days. He was a bad ass before he came to be that special agent for the government. He had moves, he could sing and he looked like Elvis...seriously. He was the man...one of five guys that I think are "the man", The others being Johnny Cash, Leonard Cohen, Neil Young and Bob Marley.

Shaved heads, ugly jackets and the passing of Elvis....that was the summer of 1977 for me. What were you doing that summer?

Ciao

D

Auld Lang Syne

This time of year it seems people are either airing their children's achievements in their yearly "update" letter or airing their grievances a la Festivus. For the record, I never liked those letters. Certainly not sending them out, they weren't my idea but invariably I was the one that ended up polishing them before they were sent out. It simply felt too much like bragging for me...my kids did these awesome things and my kids did those awesome things. You see, we never strutted growing up...my parents were proud of us to a fault but we were taught to keep our mouths shut. So this exercise in flag waving always seemed too extreme for me.

Having said that, there was some value to reflecting on the year that passed...much like many of us are now doing as 2016 winds down. With the inevitable march towards the new year, let me add my voice to the chants of "fuck 2016". I'll be glad to see this year go, both personally and on a broader scope...this blog basically exists because of my own personal crap that started nearly a year ago and dominated a big part of the year for me...health wise at least. You can read about some of it right here...knock yourself out.

I think it's easy to lump the year together and say it sucked ass...I know I feel that way some days. The grim reaper taking legends from us, the strife and abject destruction in Syria and elsewhere, the refugee crisis, daily reports of mass killings and to top it all off the election of the orange clown Drumph. That's a tiny snippet of the broader picture and sure it does look like we had a bleak year, but like in all things, perspective is part of the bigger picture. All around us there was life and beauty, laughter and love...yes, I'm the half glass being full guy, no surprise there is it?

I like that graphic that floats around every once in awhile showing a persons business success trajectory....what some people see as a straight line of an upwards trajectory of someone they know or admire. Reality is something else entirely, a squiggle of epic proportions, ups and downs in constant battle but always moving towards that higher goal. Our lives are like that. Looking back on 2016....I'm not sure how my head is still attached to my body, what with the head spinning and the back and forth that the year was.

It started with a cancer diagnosis and ends with my father in the hospital. How's that for bookends to a year, mortality faced in a very personal way. Stay tuned to how it all comes out. In between I've had kidney stones as a running joke, and by joke I mean excruciating pain. I've lost sight in my eye as a result of the treatment for the cancer. I've loved and lost in my romantic life. Family and friends have gone and continue to go through their own personal crap yard as well as their triumphs

Fuck you 2016! I know, a simplistic response, but seriously...leave us alone, haven't you done enough this year? I'm not saying it was all bad but it just seems that the over arching sentiment, for a lot of people I know, is that this past year was less than stellar...too much negative, too much uncertainty and too much orange. What bothers me is that the things that have contributed to that sense of negative are things outside of my control...I'm reduced to reacting and sometimes I reacted negatively. While it can be explained away and even justified I still don't like it. I made a pact with myself after my separation that I would be me again, and mostly I have been...save for the past few months when flashes of gloom would appear.

I'm turning a page though, after realizing that I was the one having a problem with my responses, I needed to refocus a bit. While I am still very worried about my dad it is something that will have to be dealt with...I know that's the exact way he would move forward. Cracking bad jokes and laughing in the face of his own mere mortal existence is exactly the way I would react so I know I'm on the right track. Bring on 2017!

To all my family and friends, too numerous to list, I feel like you already know how I feel about you, and at the risk of sounding too sentimental, you are truly treasured by me. I find my strength and my soul within you all. In your own little ways you are a part of who I am.

I love you all.

Happy whatever you want to insert here. Be safe, be merry and above all else be happy.

Ciao
D

Highway to Hell

Before I begin, please watch this video Stairway to Heaven It's Heart performing Stairway to Heaven at the Kennedy Centre with Barack Obama and a host of luminaries in attendance, including the surviving members of Zep. Funny to watch Yo-Yo Ma tripping on the performance and when the choir kicks in as the song hits its crescendo it always bring a tear to my eye...powerful performance I must say.

Today's little spiel is about the other place...Hell...metaphorically speaking of course. I was sharing a glass of wine with a friend last week and I made some comment or observation about something that I can't recall. She laughed while telling me that I was going to hell...and that she would gladly be the bus driver. Which got me thinking of who I would want on a bus trip to hell. So in no particular order...here are some of the people (real and not) that I would like to have surrounding me for this journey.

Despite the fact that she volunteered to drive the bus I think I'll give that position to someone else, for my friend Lena though....she's the master of the karaoke. She likes to belt out tunes so let her belt out an homage to the bus ride to hell. The position of driver of the bus is going to be Cosmo Kramer from Seinfeld fame. Anyone that can come up with the Peterman reality tour and save the little toe while making all the stops on a ride to the hospital, well...he's got things covered I think and he'd always be good for a few laughs. We'll bring along George Costanza as well...because he's George. Oh, and Joe Pesci. You think I'm funny?

Of course Scott would be there...hell, he's half the reason I'm on the bus in the first place, willingly of course, because in the end it will simply be a hell of a ride. A combination of anarchy meeting a three ring circus on steroids while living a Marx Brother's movie. Anna and her hubby Danny along with their three daughters would be a great addition as well...unique good people to join the ride.

While Lena entertains with her sing alongs I think I'll have George Carlin and Dave Allen for comic relief, maybe throw in Danny Bhoy as well. I think Neil Young, Johnny Cash, Elvis and John Lennon would be some good musical guests to bring along, to name just a few. Bob Marley, Pink Floyd, U2, Peter Gabriel, Genesis and of course Rush to name a few more. It should go without saying that this bus will have any music I want at the ready so we will never be without tunes.

We're going to need some fun loving ladies that don't take life too seriously. Suzanne, Sarah, Joni, Elizabeth, Susan, Margo....and one of my closest friends Daveda. Please feel free to bring any friends that you feel like bringing, we have lots of space. I think a few guys from high school would be in order as well; Dom, Dave, Steve, Joe, Vernon, Rudy, Connie, Lena-Marie, Stacey, Ciupa, Dennis, Flip and John.

I'll need a bartender, so I think I'll have Don Draper mix a few drinks while smoking his lungs out. Scratch that, Sinatra can do it. Since there's no way in hell that I'm feeding this lot of misfits and malcontents, I'll need Chef Ramsey to do the cooking along with Nigella Lawson, I have a thing for her. Speaking of people that I have a thing for, Minnie Driver, Charlize Theron, Helen Mirren, J.K Rowling and Isabella Rossellini...just to name a few...they will be there as well.

We will want this ride documented, so Aaron Sorkin, Ernest Hemingway and Pablo Neruda can put paper to pen. I think I'd like to have Einstein there....my son could talk to him. Of course my kids will be there. They should get to see this side of dad...hahahaha

Sitting in the corner will be Leonard Cohen doing what he does best, making every other male feel inadequate. Since I'm a fan of movies and a few TV shows, I'll need Alan Alda, Martin Sheen, Jack Nicholson, Dick Van Dyke, Bogart and Steve McQueen to keep order, such as it were. Alan Rickman and Richard Schiff along with Paul Giamatti....I'm starting to think I'm going to need a bigger bus.

I think you're getting the idea...this is going to be one interesting bus ride, it better take a good long while. a take on the classic what person from history would you want to have lunch with. The list is immense and I have scratched the surface, barely.

All aboard
D

Is that a machete in your pants or are you glad to see me

Through my adventures in life I must confess that I think I've led a bit of a charmed life, despite ample opportunity for catastrophe I have suffered only a little by my way of reckoning. Scrapes and sprains where amputation and horrible consequences could have and should have been the result. Actually, while I'm typing this I am remembering when I suffered second and third degree burns on my lower legs and feet when a steam kettle full of boiling water poured over the front of me....narrowly missing the family jewels. OK, maybe I like to gloss over things but I really do believe that I've had it easy...so when I was mugged in grade eight I ended up not with a scar but with a decent story to tell.

Back in the summer of 1983 or so there was a sort of resurgent interest in 3D movies being shown on TV. One of the TV channels was advertising a string of movies that were made using 3D technology, probably from the 60's, and you too could enjoy these movies if you purchased your very own 3D glasses from Becker's...a Kiwk e Mart harbinger where smokes, lottery tickets and milk for $2.99 a jug could be picked up in convenient locations throughout the city. Including all manner of candy and frozen treats, including the "lola"...sigh, I miss lola's.

So, I don't recall the movie that had my buddy Humberto all hot and bothered but he wanted to go pick up some of these 3D glasses. Now, the nearest Becker's was a ten minute walk in the centre of a three building complex that you generally didn't want to be near after dark. To say that it had a rough reputation would be an understatement. I never went there alone and never at night...generally speaking I avoided the place.

As you may recall, Humberto was the older brother of Paula...the Portuguese girl I was half seeing in those hormone charged years. The same Paula that wanted me to commit to marriage at the age of 15...click on this for that little story Piri Piri Humberto, being fast as hell and pretty strong with his wiry drummer strength, was my usual travel partner and I always felt a little safer around him What I didn't know was that he was a runner. As in there is danger...run away!!!! This would have been helpful knowledge before making the trek for our 3D glasses.

As we left the centre ring of the complex heading for the path along the fence on the edge of the highway we were chatting away about Rosemary's butt or something similar, so we did not notice that guy walking up behind us. What we did notice was the second fellow come out in front of us from the bushes along the path. That stopped us dead in our tracks, which also allowed us to see that we had that other fellow right behind us...uh oh. As they closed in Humberto did his 50 yard sprint routine and left me for dead. Literally he ran off and I had two rather large and menacing looking guys closing in on me...or shall we say, they had closed in while I watched Humberto run away. To his credit, he stood on a hill looking down yelling something like..."hey you, leave him alone!!!" Thanks man.

There I was, left to my own devices with two Jamaican wannabe gangsters in my face. At this point I'd love to be able to tell you that I fought my way out of the predicament or even better, I talked my way out with a combination of guile and humour and me and the boys are still friends to this day. Nope. One of them had grabbed my arm in a vice like grip and started pulling me down an embankment. With his other hand he grabbed the 3D glasses from my back pocket...I was being mugged for 3D glasses, can you believe that shit? You may be wondering what the other fellow was doing as I was being pulled down this little hill to my certain demise, well, let me tell you. He was moving slowly towards me when he lifted his shirt and pulled out what looked like a scimitar or machete from down his pants. Read that again. He pulled a huge ass knife from his pants and walked towards me...and in between visions of being shish kabobed I was seriously trying to figure out how he walked around with that thing down his pants...what with the legend of endowment and all.

I was shitting bricks...this guy was going to knife me for a pair of 99 cent 3D glasses. He was saying something to the effect of let go of the glasses, despite the fact I wasn't in possession of them. The dude holding me now had both of his hands holding onto my arm as I tried to pull away, thus exposing my arm to the machete wielding fellow. He stepped up, raised the blade to shoulder height and came down on my arm sharply and quickly....with the flat edge of the knife. I then yanked my arm as hard as I could breaking the hold and bolted as fast as I possibly could.

Obviously these guys were not going to kill me for these glasses, but it sure felt like it at the time...they did manage to put a shit scaring into me though with that knife. I never saw the movies and I never went back to that complex....and I gave Humberto quite a bit of shit for bailing on me.

And that my friends is my "I got mugged" story. Told ya!

Ciao
D

Dinner with Stephen Fearing

A few years back I was dating a wonderful woman that was instrumental in my growth as a newly single 45 year old man. She was eclectic and interesting along with being a whole lot of fun to be with. She also managed to say one of the nicest things that anyone ever said about me, I felt encapsulating my persona; when responding to a pet nick name I had for her she said that I was a combination of a farmers market in the south of France, an Italian man sitting in a sidewalk cafe watching the women go buy and a whistling Irish man setting off on a long walk. I liked that a lot...her perception of me brought a smile to my face.

She also knew a shit load of interesting people, famous and infamous in and around the city. Where she grew up and the business she had once owned made for ample opportunity to get introduced to them...and by extension I had met a few of these people in our short lived romantic time together.

We were planning on attending a show at a local brew pub one night, Tom Wilson was playing a solo acoustic set during HUFF. Tom is a hulking beast of a man that used to lead Junkhouse, with their classic bit of Canadiana in the song Shine. More recently and currently he is part of Blackie and the Rodeo Kings along with Colin Linden and Stephen Fearing, a sort of country roots, but not really country, homage to Willie P Bennett. Prior to the night of the show she had suggested we go to dinner with Stephen Fearing and his wife, whose name I forget. Not being one to shy away from things I was all in. Plans were made and off we went for what turned into a very interesting evening.

We dined on Lebanese food, drank wine and got to know each other a little bit. I was definitely the odd one out as I didn't know any of these people outside of my girl and I had no history with them to make a connection with. It didn't matter though, I was made to feel very welcome and, most interestingly to me at the time, an equal - no better or worse than anyone there. My married life did a good job of casting people into categories and grading those categories, something I was always uncomfortable with especially related to the church. We all came from differing back grounds with different careers and experiences, but what mattered that night was what we were doing in the moment. No pretense, no bullshit.

Stephen was genuinely interested in my life as a chef as I was in his life as a musician. We asked questions and told stories and I like to think that his warmth and interest in every one was authentic. I felt at ease. I also felt that this was how he gleaned ideas for songs...life expereinces forming the basis for his music. I do that now with the writing of this blog, as you have probably figured out by now.

After dinner was done and our goodbyes were said we parted ways and headed to the pub for the show and some more wine. This is where the night takes on a bit of a surreal tack. It seems that there is a slightly famous comedienne that has a thing for Tom...and I guess they had a thing for a while and she reportedly wanted some more of that thing, but Tom was not obliging with his thing. Which is the pre-amble on how we found ourselves sitting behind this lady, in her very short and tight skirt doing her Basic Instinct routine for Tom who was playing in front of her. The show was great, he is a performer of note, but it was distracting to have this lady do what she was doing a few feet away from us. I wondered how distracted Tom might have been but I think he was high as a kite at that time so he probably never even noticed...that and the lights were probably in his face the whole time.

Suffice to say I have no idea how the night ended for the two former love birds but it really did cap the night off in hilarious fashion. That and the rendition of Shine he did using only his voice and his body as a percussion instrument...wow...just wow.

It was a good night all around, one of those nights where you can imagine yourself sharing a cab with Neil Young or having a late night drink with Peter Mansbridge in the lobby bar at the Chateau Frontenac, all by chance and circumstance to be sure. A treasured memory born of serendipity.

As things happen to go, she and I parted ways as a couple but we have remained friends. Every once in awhile getting together for a coffee or a glass of wine. Wishing eachother the best when things change for the better and being truly happy for eachother when it does.

Life is beautiful

Ciao
D

27 Bones

"Look at your hand. It’s one of the most incredible instruments in the universe.
Of all the bones in the body, one fourth are in the hand.
Forget the hand. Look at your thumb; that wondrous mechanism that separates us from the other animals.
The world-famous opposable thumb, that amazing device,that has transported more students to college than the Boston post road. Ideal for sucking, especially as a baby, and lauded in song and story as the perfect instrument for pulling out a plum.

Or, in the case of the Caesars, for holding it down for the gladiator to die, or holding it up, which means "See you later at the orgy." My friends, for getting up and down the pike, in your pie, in your eye, I give you the thumb.

Have you any idea, Farmer Brown, of the incredible complexity of this piece of human apparatus?
Of course not. Never having spent any time at Sol and Sol’s swilling borscht and jamming Latin into your brain while trying to imagine if Lefty the waitress is wearing a garter belt, you have no idea of the balletic interplay of parts that make up the human thumb.

The flexor ossis metacarpi pollicis flexes the metacarpal bone, that is, draws it inward over the palm, thus producing the movement of opposition. And the Boy Scout salute. Because of this magical engineering, we could do this. And this. And this.
But our greatest triumph comes not from flexing the metacarpal bone and making a fist,
which always seems to be thirsting to be clenched…No, no, no, no, no.
Our greatest moment is when we open our hand:

Cradling a glass of wine, cupping a loved one’s chin. And the best… the most expert of all…
keeping all the objects of our life in the air at the same time. My friends, for your amusement and bemusement, I give you the human person. Thumb and fingers flexing madly, straining to keep aloft the leaden realities of life: ignorance, death and madness. Thus we create for ourselves the illusion that we have power,that we are in control, that we are… loved"

My friends, if you believe, as I do, that we are the sum of everything that has happened to us...that we are nurtured into what ever it is that we are, than this quote from MASH is probably as good as any in coming to an understanding of why I am the way I am. I grew up on MASH, the combination of humour and humanity that made that show one of the best ever helped to mould and form my way of being and thinking. I am Hawkeye....that Alan Alda shares the same birthday as me confirms it in my mind.

But my being the way I am is not really what I wanted to talk about. Rather how his semi soliloquy from the show, where Hawkeye finds himself stranded in the arms of a Korean family after rolling his jeep and suffering a concussion, has always stayed with me as one of those brilliant illumination events. You know the ones I am talking about...where maybe your world makes a little more sense after having the light shone on it from an outside source. Music and movies have done this countless times for me. A number of times people have stepped up and showed me the way and on a few occasions I've even woken from dreams with this sense of definition.

I remember watching this episode and being struck by the simple but pure truth behind it. Those 27 bones in our hand have the power to do so much, both good and bad, and what we choose to do with them really depends on where we are in our lives and in our heads and how we came to be at that point. As an illustration, I really only had one fight growing up...one where I purposefully swung my fists to injure. Not because I am a pacifist extraordinaire or anything like that, I just never felt the need to fight and usually tried to diffuse the situation before fists were a flying. This has almost always been the case, even verbally...I don't care to fight and I certainly don't care to carry anger and resentment with me, so I, by nature, try to make the peace if the peace is breached. That one fight on the bus home ended in a couple of swings by us both and the driver kicking us off. I don't recall what it was over but I'm sure it was trivial. No harm done to my knowledge.

Conversely I remember thinking that G.W. Bush was the wrong guy at the wrong time when 9/11 happened. Absolutely a hard response was needed, but not the way he did it and to the extent that he responded. Call me crazy but maybe the Muslim world really does have some legitimate beefs with the west. The extremists way of responding ends up feeding the fire even further by ensuring a like minded response, but what if instead of bombing the shit out countries that farm rocks for a living we sat down and talked to them. There is bad blood and history that goes back to biblical times...I get that, but surely any long and painful discussion is infinitely better than worrying about if the next guy walking down the street has a suicide vest under his coat or if that buzzing in the air is a drone about ready to drop it's load on my family. Bush wouldn't see this as an opportunity to do anything other than to feed the war machine in the search for "revenge". It seems that clenching that fist is just easier. I wonder what Drumph does when an attack happens...do you think the "art of the deal" will come into play here? Yeah...me neither.

The wisdom of Solomon might not be able to solve any of the serious issues that we face. Is it simply too much? Would we be better served by everyone simply acknowledging we have issues and than turning our attention to finding a solution together? I wish I knew but I can't help but feel that opening those 27 bones instead of clenching them into a fist is the way forward.

Perhaps taking those 27 bones and holding on to life and all that it offers, metaphorically and literally speaking, is a good way of showing respect for the marvels of the human body and spirit. As 2016 winds down, a year I would like to see in the rear view mirror, we naturally come to a time of reflection. My own reflection on the year has me trying to look forward to more positive times to come...2016, in too many ways, sucked ass. It wasn't all bad by any stretch but all the same I'm ready for a kick ass 2017.

I read an op ed piece just this morning in the NY Times and I think I may have found a buddy spirit in one Roger Cohen. He writes well and with a certain amount of passion, something to aspire to for myself and my new career goal....a recluse writer with an affinity for wine and women..the three W's. While 2016 does it's disappearing act and we can declare "fuck you 2016" we should be looking up to 2017 with excitement and anticipation, actually everyday we should be doing this, why wait for a new year. But since we are in that season, when in Rome....you know the rest. Read the piece here if you like Do Not Go Gentle

Grab the coming year with all those bones and do as Mr. Cohen exhorts, borrowing from Dylan Thomas "Love more, love better. Do not......go gentle into that good night."

Ciao
D

Mirrors

Maybe I can call this Askew Revisited, for the original see here Askew

I tend to be a very positive and fun loving kind of guy, but I must admit that the past month or so I have felt off in that department. And it took me the better part of that month to first realize it and than figure out why it was so. Was it the "eye"? Was it work? A budding relationship? All those things in small doses but the conclusion was that because I was getting dragged back to court for a divorce that was signed, sealed and delivered I was feeling kind of bitter and angry. Maybe rightly so but I do dislike going down that negative road...it's not me.

From time to time a mirror has to be held up right in front of me, the me that can be my harshest critic, so that the first step to correcting a problem can take place. Which of course is realizing that there is a problem. Sometimes someone else will do the mirror holding for me...close friends, family and lovers...and I am always and forever grateful that they would do this for me. It makes me feel kind of special to be honest.

So, while I work towards rectifying this confounded divorce once and for all....I hope, I'm hitting the reset button on my attitude thing. Hmmmmm, I wonder if Drumph winning has anything to do with it? But seriously, despite the above mentioned Debbie Downer routine I already feel a little better about things.

Unfortunately the budding romance fell apart the other night...a result of a number of factors that just seemed to weigh on us both. We ended well though and I have a good feeling that we will remain friends and that is a good thing. While writing an email to an old friend of mine relating this turn of events, a quote popped into my head (go figure right). While I'm unhappy that the relationship fell, the fall didn't kill us...which led to this from the movie The Lion in Winter...  

"As if it matters how a man falls down. 

When the fall is all that's left it matters very much"

It does matter how things end and it does matter that we take the high road. Putting aside feelings of hurt and understanding that sometimes things simply stop working and no one is to blame. If you can take a positive or two away from the experience than that should be considered a good thing. I do and almost always look for the positives...I think in the end that's one of the things that people like about me.

A new month, full of holiday parties and turkey polluza out the wazula, a little melancholy aside I'm feeling like I've crossed a bridge from that negative shit. So welcome back to normal, or what passes as normal in my life.

Ciao
D