The Mighty Humber

Through younger eyes I remember thinking that the Humber River wasn't much of a river. Hell, the place I knew as the Humber could be jumped over in places, more like an ever flowing bath tub drain to be stepped over with a long stride. Turns out what I called the Humber was actually a tributary to the river known as Albion Creek....it makes much more sense but it will always be the Humber River to me.

In the days before video games, the internet and social media a kid of 11 or 12 could be counted on finding themselves out in the wilds of the surrounding area for their entertainment, education and, on occasion, misadventure. It would have to be a torrential downfall of epic proportions to force us inside at that age. You knew to come home when the street lights came on, not that we actually did, and you could tell where everyone was by where their bikes were strewn about. Yeah, we drank out of garden hoses, hopped fences, got chased by angry neighbours for climbing into their yards to eat apples and all other manner of things that now live in memories and Facebook posts waxing nostalgic about the good ole days.

And we could be found down by the river...like Robbie Robertson sang, "somewhere down that crazy river" Strictly speaking it was outside of my permissible range but then, I wasn't much for rules...shocker eh? It was, for me and my buddies, an extension of our backyards. Crossing over John Garland, past my school St. Dorothy's and into the subdivision behind it we would make our way down to Turnvale, past one of my first loves place of residence and into the park. Yeah, Angela lived here...read about it here First Love There was a trail snaking it's way through the river valley that would lead you all the way down to Lake Ontario at Sunnyvale if you so chose to explore further afield.

Once in the park we had choices, right near the entrance  was where we could find sustenance in the form of crab apples. A huge tree that just begged to be climbed for the juiciest and tartest crab apples that were sure to make your stomach rumble if you consumed too many of them. Off to the left was our usual area of exploration as you could jump across the flowing waters easily to find adventure on the other side in the form of a bike path that went up some steep cliff like outcroppings. The movie the Gum Ball Rally was a cult hit back then and we had visions of doing our own version right up until the moment when Pat thought we could easily jump the chasm ahead on our BMX bikes. Don't be daft man...we're peddling here with zero chance of success.

Off to the right the path would lead you to Etobicoke General Hospital. Behind the building and bordering Highway 27 hid a few chestnut trees over hanging a real steep drop to jagged rocks below. If you wanted the best chestnuts for nut wars this is where you went...the thinking was that the farther over the side you went the better the nut to be found. Again...how I'm still alive is a bit of a mystery to me. I can't tell you how many times I have fallen out of trees in that valley. And one could be sure that no matter what I was doing, there was a good chance, better than 80% I'd say, that I was going to get wet from that creek. I have fallen in, jumped in, been pushed in and more than a few occasions broken through ice to get some extremity wet. I do remember walking home with frozen stiff jeans from the knees down on one particularly cold day. I think my parents just resigned themselves to the fact that I was going to be the head shaking kid...as in of course he ripped his pants again, at the knees, or of course he's soaking wet in the middle of the winter. Good thing my dad was trained as a tailor, he could put patches on my knees...real fashion statement there.

To our addled minds the Humber river was our place so we could do as we pleased there. So when we were sitting around talking about girls or the Leafs with a small fire going we figured it was no big deal. I'm certain that the two firemen coming towards us that afternoon probably didn't see it quite that way. As it happens, I had stood up to relieve myself and caught a glimpse of these two fully festooned public servants trudging our way. In a moment of panic we all relieved ourselves on the fire and took off....what an awful smell I must say, but at least we did the right thing.

At that age we naturally would leave the park when dusk approached and I suppose that kept us safe, to a degree. I'm sure the darkness would bring older kids with their illegal and suspect shenanigans. Not that I would have ever participated of course but I'm sure it gave my parents some small comfort that I wasn't hanging by the river when I should be in bed.

On the cusp of beginning to see the world for what it was really like, living that naive innocence of boyhood, hockey cards and bicycles, that river represents the idyllic lazy summer life that slipped away a few years later when the first baby steps towards becoming an eventual adult began. A few years later I had my first real job, we moved, yet again, and life was just a little less innocent.

I hope that little valley is still providing a place to play and imagine for the eleven year old kids today. A shame if they didn't get to have those experiences...just avoid peeing on a fire if you can.

Ciao
D

Field of Dreams

I was chopping onions the other day while watching the movie Field of Dreams and I'm not sure why but I shed a few tears and almost had my version of an ugly cry...damn onions! They sometimes make an appearance when I don't even see them lying about, much less when I'm honing my knife skills...but again, the tears show up. It can only be the onions right?

Yeah, yeah...big sap I know. What I found intriguing this time around was that I've seen this movie before and I don't recall shedding a tear ever, so why now? Did my kids actually hide onions under the couch? Did I suddenly form an allergic reaction to my cat Boots? Why this movie and why now, stranger still that I had come in part way through the movie and was preoccupied with other distractions.

And this just as I was heading out to have dinner with a friend. Why I kept thinking as I drove? I don't know if I actually know the answer but if I was to guess it was related to the poignancy of the regret that Ray felt about his dad John. Or maybe it was James Earl Jones voice...what the fuck? The running theme through the movie was the "pureness" of the game of baseball, playing for the love of the game, Ray Liotta, miscast as an almost evil Shoeless Joe Jackson, claimed he would play for nothing...let the feel of the grass and the scent of his leather glove be his reward. Seriously, I can't look at Ray Liotta with out having images of Goodfella's show up in my mind, so having him play a baseball legend with dreams of wide open fields and the simplicity of bat and ball, well...it just don't work I say.

But I digress. Ray hears voices and suddenly he's building a baseball diamond in a corn field. He hears more voices and he's driving across country in a Westphalia hoping to figure it all out. He comes back to his dad often and one line stands out for me. Doc Graham essentially speaking of the "what ifs" and relating how he gave up on baseball to become a doctor..

"You know we just don't recognize the most significant moments of our lives while they're happening. Back then I thought, well, there'll be other days. I didn't realize that that was the only day."

Not regret but a case of the "what ifs" This swirling mass we call our lives seems to always be in a constant push and pull against forces seen and unseen that look for order and uniformity where there is often just the opposite, chaos and uniqueness. Why do some amongst us feel nothing but regret and others not an ounce of it? Why is happiness so elusive for some and others seem to be happier than you would think possible? Is it perspective? Wisdom? Experience? Yes...and other reasons as well. This leads me to what I think this movie is about really, closure.

Ray needed closure on his broken relationship with his dad. The baseball players needed closure with the game of baseball. Terry needed closure with his past. Actually, the past is what this is all about, be it coming to terms and acceptance with an event, a person, a crisis. Whatever it is, not letting it rule your tomorrow. I used to think of closure as a sort of forgive and forget kind of thing so I wondered if I ever did have closure on some of the major events in my life if I hadn't done the forgetting part after the forgiving part. I think differently now and I do believe that perspective is what I was missing. I will probably never forget certain people that have hurt me in my life, whether purposefully or not, it's the nature of us as humans I think. It does not, however, mean that I haven't moved on...if that's closure than I'm OK with it. I've made my peace with the past and spend little time worrying about that distant slight.

The image of Ray standing in the midst of the corn could be a metaphor for us. Standing amongst the memories of our lives, each stalk representing a time, place or person that has...here it is again, been woven into our tapestry. Like Moonlight Graham said, we don't often recognize those significant moments as they are happening. Often it comes as an "oh...right" kind of realization that there was something else entirely significant to the time you held hands with Jenny and she gave you her number, 867-5309.

Ain't life grand? I sure think so my friends.

Ciao
D

Tripping

Had myself a little adventure yesterday with the kids. While not a long weekend off like the civilians out there, this Easter "long weekend" did afford me some time to do a small road trip. Since I was planning on heading down to the south shore on a decent looking spring day for good Friday, I did work a solid and promised to deliver a van to our sister property, Oak Island. We are unloading our old catering van so they can use it around the property for body removal, I mean housekeeping services. Since I was driving the bucket of bolts my oldest followed behind in my car should I need assistance....see where this is going?

I was warned that the van has a tendency to shake and shimmy when it gets up around 60 km/h. That was an understatement of epic proportions. After getting the van on to a longer road for me to build up some speed to test out its limits, I saw that the van, between say 55 and 80, shook so violently that I thought my teeth would smash together. Obviously this was going to be a long drive doing 50 all the way to the resort. But lo and behold I found out that once over 90 or so the shaking stopped, so my plan was adjusted and I decided to take the highway.

This is what I was thinking as the van tried mightily to get up and over 100 and past the violent spasms. Well, what a way to die and how crazy will it be to have my kids watch me die? This thing would not need the sign "if this van is a rocking, don't come a knocking" Nobody in their right mind would approach it for fear of getting engulfed in its impending doom. No exaggeration here...it was shaking so violently that whatever was loose in the cabin was flying around smashing into the side walls (later to be determined as a fire extinguisher and tire iron). It was crazy loud and a tad scary but all I needed to do was pass 90 and I would be OK. And I was....I even got the thing up to 120 to see how it handled and it was no problem.

This is what my kids saw driving behind me, also contemplating my death right before their eyes. Not only could they see the disturbing shaking of the van on it's axles but things were flying off the van. According to them I lost at least one hub cap and multiple lug bolt plastic covers, spraying off from the wheels at an alarming rate. To their credit and my pride, they laughed at how silly it looked once I got the thing under control.

Finally safe and sound we enjoyed some lunch at the resort and made our way to Lunenburg for a bit of nostalgia, a footnote for another adventure survived. Which got me thinking about the epic road trips of my youth. Not the ones with my parents and forced confinement in either the Vega or the Nova...no, that all too brief period of time from when I got my licence to when I supposedly grew up a few years later. Road trips, ahhhhhhhhhhh...the memories.

Any of these will probably make it to its own deserving post, I think maybe a wide angle snap shot is in order for today:

Wasaga Beach 1 and 2.0. I laugh out loud at what it must have looked like when the three cars that we were crammed into arrived that first time to that shit hole cottage as we sprang out of the cars at full volume and pent up testosterone. "Oh look, these must be the guys that rented the place for the week....oh my God!!! What the hell are they doing? Oh shit!!!" We were, as a group, loud, crude, without fear and completely devoid of boundaries. Think the Tasmanian devil on crack.

Dave's cottage after graduation. I still have the scar on my ankle from flying over the handlebars on that mini bike. Racing through towns at 150 km/h with a couple of kegs in the back of the Nova and Vernon's Nova right behind us. His was attracting a little more attention for we had soaped it before leaving, meaning we had "painted" his dad's car with bars of soap...wrote things like "don't laugh, your daughter is in here" "drink stupid" and all manner of things that made sense to us alone. I hear he got in so much shit afterwards because we couldn't get all the marking off that his dad may have forbade him to ever hang out with us again. We ran out of the beer from the kegs on the second night of a five night trip...so much for the beer budget boys.

How about driving down to Buffalo to watch the Habs play the Sabres for my birthday one year. Shitty city with a shitty team but pretending to be a drunk French Canadian provided for a laugh or two. You can yell out names of food items in French and sound like you're cursing and still make friends with other drunks...."come on ref, pomme du terre!!!!"

I could go on of course but I think I will save more details for later on. I guess the memories of these glory days will live on forever, maybe the details become a little fuzzy, a little less clear but the general feeling is so very sharp. My friends and I had some amazing times. Surrounded by people you really cared for because, for a moment in time at least, we shared the common bond of being in the weeds together. The time I was pulled over and surprisingly let go from my stunting is something those five other guys in the car will always be a part of. Or the time Ciupa, on his very first time driving his dads car, smashed it with the rest of us drunk fools as witnesses. It was surreal to be in the car behind watching the carnage unfold and all of us say, almost simultaneously, "did he just get hit?" I know almost all of these stories fall into the "you had to be there" category and you know what, you really should have been there. I suppose you were having your own adventures.

That tapestry word comes to mind once again. Those moments in time that have woven together to form what my life is today. I'm still adding to that magnificent piece of art work of course and I imagine today will be looked back upon with the same sort of nostalgia. The only difference being, that I'm not a young kid but an old fuck, and so my perspective is a tad different, coloured if you will by the past 30 odd years of experience and even maybe a bit of wisdom. No less important and probably a little more tame...

Happy Easter
D

Songs From the Big Chair

"All men's miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone"

Hmmmm. Is it really that simple? Not that this thing is actually simple, far from it I think. But is it possible that every misery we have stems from this Pascalian thought? I don't believe it but it does open the door to thinking about this thought and what it might mean today.

Personally, and I've said this before, I don't have any phobias or anxieties that I am acutely aware of. Sure, I think crocodiles are vile killing machines and they give me the heebee jeebies and my well known aversion to stupid is legendary, but I'm not sure those qualify as anxieties per se. I'm not debilitated by them in any way if that means anything. Having no real "issues" and certainly no regret to hold me back I may not be the poster child for how meditation can help someone. And I do think it can help...quite a bit actually. I have seen this in friends and while it borders on voodoo to me I don't discount it for others. Nay, nay...I say if it works for you then by all means....slow your breathing and be in the moment. We could all probably use more of that...myself included.

Back to this not being so simple. Try this sometime and tell me how you do. Find a quiet place and turn off everything that could possibly be used as a distraction. No music, no background noise of deep forest or whale song. Your phone and pads or pids or pods or whatever they are...stowed away. Sit upright and simply be. I threw in the sitting part because I would be asleep in about three microseconds so I can assume there are others like me out there. Those of us that don't mediate would find it difficult, I think, to simply turn off the brain and let it do other things than simply be spoon fed stuff on Facebook or Instagram. I think our brains crave input...I know I do often, even banal idiocy is preferable to actual nothingness. 

I have a hard time turning off my brain. And as has been commented on numerous occasions, even slowing down would be a goal to strive for but not likely to happen. My brain is like that proverbial pinball machine...ping, pong, ping, ping, pong...and on and on. I actually think the majority of us are like that, a million things running through that grey matter. I simply lack the good sense to stay quiet about it. On the contrary...I say just about everything that comes to mind, makes for interesting pillow talk I'll say.

So does that mean my miseries are tied to the fact that I can't or won't sit in a quiet room alone? I think not but I can understand where this sentiment comes from and where it might go in the greater context of the world at large. The ills of the world aren't going to be solved if Drumph would simply go sit in a room quietly, although if he never came back out that would be pretty awesome. If I may, I think this is a more personal sentiment...one of self reflection. Quiet your mind and listen to your heart...hold that mirror up and look beyond the reflection to who you truly are. The search for truth is a universal constant and I think it is never as important then when looking for our own truth.

A million years ago I took a drivers education course. From it I remember two things, lanes are 11 feet wide and aim high. The first thing is simply inane trivia that has somehow stuck in my brain...that stays but I can't remember my own medical history, WTF. The second piece of information is quite useful for driving and life in general. The theory is that when you stop looking down at the road in front of your hood ornament and instead look to the horizon, better drivers we become. Our peripheral vision picks up on anything around us while the bigger picture is being focused on...potential issues are picked up on before they become issues.

As much as possible I use that principle in my life...think big picture and the little things will be taken care of. Of course it doesn't always work because as we know, all too well, life has a habit of getting in the way. I say fuck it, deal with it and move on. It works for me, mostly. If I look back on my life, the times when I felt bogged down and driving through negative town can probably be tied to times that I was looking down at the road in front of my hood, so to speak, and not aiming high. Not seeing the forest for the trees, keeping my eye on the ball...yada, yada, yada....you get the idea I'm sure, you're smart that way.

So, either literally or metaphorically, being able to sit in a room with my own thoughts should provide the one thing that really matters in this discussion, perspective. Despite the domain of this blog and some of the things I may have written here, I am a pretty calm and reflective kind of guy. I don't over react, I rarely make large decisions without thinking things through and I almost always look at the bigger picture. That is perspective...working for me.

Ciao
D

All the Worlds a Stage II

Concerts! Absolutely love them. These days I am more inclined to the quieter show in a smaller venue, say The Trews at the Cohn or something similar, as opposed to the full concert experience of my youth. One of the perils of getting older is that I have less tolerance for huge crowds and ringing ears, not to mention trying to justify spending $120 to see a band that I used to pay $17 for...fuck inflation!!

And that's OK really as I have seen more than my fair share of stupendous shows. So much so that I am now at a point in my life that I have a few bucket list type acts that I would pay a lot to see and after that, whatever. Leonard Cohen was one of them and sadly my chance has passed...R.I.P. Monsieur Cohen. U2 is the other group that I would drop a small fortune on...and the stage is set for that this June when I am in Toronto for an eye doctor appointment at the same time that U2 is on their Joshua Tree revisited tour....I'm pretty stoked I must say! I've always wanted to see them but for one reason or another I never made it...not this time pal. I'm there.

From my very first show, Motely Crue at some cow dung palace on the grounds of the C.N.E. for $14 and general admission to Pink Floyd filling the mistake by the lake, I've seen a lot of shows. Rush several times, Van Halen, The Moody Blues, Def Leppard, John Mellencamp, Blue Rodeo, Genesis...well, the list is almost endless. Here are some of my most memorable....you might be surprised:

Seeing my favourite band several times over the years is a highlight in itself, but I have to say seeing them on the Power Windows tour was pretty special. That album will forever hold a place in my heart because I associate it with a time in my life when all things were firing well for me. The band was polished, tight and since they are all virtuoso's on their chosen instruments, the music was perfect. I've seen them five or six times easily but that show stands out.

There was one week in grade ten, during exams mind you, that I saw three concerts in four nights. Toronto was great for this kind of variety...I saw Howard Jones, Heart and The Moody Blues in that short span. Didn't do that well on my typing exam but who the fuck cares about that. Heart was OK. The Moody Blues were as expected, as I had seen them previously...Howard was amazing. He put on a great show with a lot of dramatics backed by simple energy and his own musical prowess.

The one and only time I have danced at a concert was during John Mellencamp on his Lonesome Jubilee tour. To know me is to know I don't dance...this guy got me out of my seat with Connie and someone else if I recall correctly. The album is a masterpiece and I have been a fan of his ever since...they say Springsteen puts on the best live shows, well, I never saw him but I did hear a radio announcer the next day declare that Springsteen couldn't hold Mellencamp's jock strap. He rocked...and I danced.

Whitney Houston. Yep...you heard me. Vocal solo, that's all I am going to say....unfucking real.

The Rankin Family at Old Massey Hall...a foot stomping good time. In fact, any show I have seen at Old Massey Hall has been great. Marillion, Tom Cochrane, others I can't remember....and the crowning show, ELP. Hanging from the rafters watching Keith Emerson unleash on that organ was amazing. He beat the shit out of that thing and then stabbed it to hold the final note of the show....I think it was a "C" You have not lived until you have heard Hoedown live.

Kim Mitchell and the annual trek to Canada's Wonderland for summer concerts. I wonder if they ever replaced the turf that was almost completely ripped up one year....flying grass bombs everywhere. Which didn't come close to the scene at the Ex when Van Halen played and pizza boxes littered the sky. Probably the best part of the show...they sucked ass that night.

Iron Maiden on the Power Slave tour was fantastic. The ridiculous Twisted Sister not being fit to share the same stage as an opener aside it was one of the best concerts I remember seeing at Maple Leaf Gardens. You always saw the same scalpers at the shows there, and an Alice Cooper look alike would be standing at the top of the subway exit hawking his tickets...Who needs tickets? Got tickets!

And while I wasn't there in person, the Hip finale last summer will always be a thing for me....read about the night here The Hip

The list goes on with more shows than I can actually remember. Like great restaurants to choose from, Toronto offers up a veritable cornucopia of music events to satiate ones desire for live music. It's one of the few things I miss about living there. Nowadays I am quite content with the occasional show at The Carleton or The Cohn, smaller and more intimate...and if someone worthy of a cash expenditure rivalling a car payment comes through at the Metro Centre I will consider it. For now I am planning for that bucket list cross off with U2 in Toronto. Who wants to come?

Rock on Chakka Khan
D

Of Age

From here to there...from the day we're born to the day we die it seems that we spend an inordinate amount of time marking off milestones in our calendar of life. Our early birthdays when we knew not who came and what we got, we just wanted cake so our parents could take those pictures of us with frosting on our noses or if they were very lucky, our entire faces. On to our social forming later years when we would make a list of friends to attend, doling out loot bags with all the grace of Drumph trying to be genuinely empathetic. Skip forward to old age and again, people we may or may not know showing up to sing that song and wait for cake. Milestones. First drink, first smoke, first love, first having to explain to your parents why you were walking through the living room with your bedroom screen window coming in from the backyard...true story.

When I turned 16 it wasn't that big of a thing. Some close friends decorated my locker and some tried to embarrass me. I didn't rush out to get my drivers license or anything like that, I actually waited a year for some reason. When I turned 18 and was now of legal age to vote, again, not a big deal, although I have voted in every election I was able to since then...I figure you can't complain if you don't show up....so there.

Turning 19, the legal age to access all forms of liquor and beer, well...that was a hootenanny and a half. As they say here in the Maritimes....loooaaaaaddddeeeeedddddd!! It was a night to remember and I hope I can remember it all here.

My buddies decided that we needed to do this in bar with a band playing. At the time, Hooligans was probably one of the best cover bands around in the big smoke back in 1987. They played the best from The Who and were very good at it. I've seen a lot of cover bands and some have been good, like the Genesis cover band and some have been horrible, like the John Mellencamp cover band. Hooligans was easily the best. They were tight and one hundred percent engaged with us drunkards. But more on that later.

I may have just turned 19 but it wasn't the first time I had drank...nay, nay...I'd been buying beer and other libations for a few years with no trouble at all. I guess I looked older than I was as I was never carded. In fact the only time I was carded was a few weeks after my 19th birthday...I laughed as I let him in on the secret when I showed him my I.D. Now you want to I.D. me? Coming here for two years and now you want to verify my age....smooth man. Needless to say I was familiar with the ins and outs of consumption, actually I was a bit of a legend as Quebec had already happened...twice.

The boys had got me a bootleg Rush album, which I still have. A live recording that captured the rawness of the band before they polished things up in studio. The sound quality of the recording was garbage but it's a nice collectors piece to be sure. I believe I received some bottles of gin, which I couldn't drink as I was still recovering from my first and last experience with gin in Quebec City. I gladly shared with my buddies as we made our way down to Rock and Roll Heaven. Not a metaphor for the best place to see a live show, the actual name of the rats ass club that we went to that night. It was sort of the home club for Q-107, the home of rock and roll back in the day. Located at Young and Bloor 30 floors beneath the radio station with low ceilings and as much cachet of a Toledo Holiday Inn circa 1975. It was poo.

We couldn't care less. Drinks were cheap, not that I bought any, the girls had huge hair...as a matter of fact so did many guys, the band was awesome and I was 19. Fuck yeah mother fuckers. Did I mention loooaaaaaddddeeeeedddddd? Absolutely shit faced that night. My friends were buying round upon round and we were all pretty looped even before the band came on stage. Once they started up though we were burning off energy fuelled by 100% alcohol at staggering rates. Hooligans played the greatest hits of The Who....reminding everyone why they were bad ass in the late 60's and early 70's. Baba O'Reilly and Magic Bus as the finale certainly got our attention. It seemed we got the bands as well....we were right up front singing at the top of our lungs at the lead singer often would jam the microphone towards us to allow our soulful penetrating version to ring true and ring loud. He thought we were nuts and he was probably right. Same type of thing happened to Steve and I when we saw Marillion at Old Massey Hall, still the best place to see a show. We were literally hanging over the second floor balcony and Fish, the lead singer, pointed to us in awe of our stupidity and audacity. It was quite the night. But wait, back to heaven and all that jazz.

I might have mentioned something about drinking a shit load that night, even for me, and while there was never any issue of drinking and driving, we felt we should know our blood alcohol levels before leaving the club...with Magic Bus still ringing in our ears. To that end, there was a vending machine size Breathalyzer at the club. You took a straw and blew into the machine for a quarter. Supposedly to prevent drinking and driving, but we of course turned it into a game. Who could score the highest? I won of course and the international signal for touchdown went up. Boy my parents would be so proud...hahaha I suppose you could chalk this up to another one of those "why are you still alive" stories but because it marked that milestone, that coming of age chapter in my life, it holds a special place in my heart. The end of the line when it came to my partying days was really less than a year away. We graduated high school a few months later, enjoyed our last summer as a group and began going our own ways after that. There was, of course, copious amounts of drinking all through that time but there was something special about winning the night and turning 19 with my best friends.

Maybe when I turn 50 next year I can replicate that night....hmmmmmmmmmm

Ciao
D

Did you say balloons?

Today I feel it...

I feel the years, I feel the long hours, I feel the abuse of years gone by when I was young and immune. And I feel the cold I'm fighting today...my voice sounds like gravel on helium. Funny when I start laughing uncontrollably and then my throat reminds me that it's probably not a good idea to do so.

My knee aches from when I fell on black ice in front of the hospital, mere seconds after my oldest told me to watch for the ice. The fall exacerbated an already sore joint so now I walk a little slower and find it hard to bend that bum knee. It's been a busy stretch and burger hell was the capper....2200 burgers in seven days. My whole team is a little worn out and you can see it in their eyes. They worked incredibly well and I'm in awe of how they pulled this off...a testament to their collective work ethic but still...they're done.

I recall reading in Anthony Bourdain's bible of kitchen life, Kitchen Confidential, that he had the hands he always wanted and the feet he deserved. This business puts you through the ringer on many levels and the physical scars that you are left with are very real. My feet ache sometimes from a lifetime of abuse. I was once assessed by my chiropractor and he couldn't believe I wasn't racked with back pain. I was so tight and fused together that he kept asking me if I was in any pain. And kept asking. Nope...I feel fine doc. Remember, robo-chef!!! I should probably find the time to start seeing him again....it felt good once I got over the initial cracking.

I'm sure I feel it more today because of the combination of a weakened immune system and the fact that we have been busier lately. Oh, not to mention the fact that my eye went all fucked up last week...hence the trip to the hospital. A blood vessel had given out and it clouded up my vision again. Thankfully it's nothing serious, like a detached retina, my body should be able to process that blood out over time. But it was quite a dejecting thing to see, from the inside, my eye fill up with blood.

I'll feel more like myself in a few days I am sure and be back to normal as well, whatever passes for my normal. This combination of aches and pains as well as a lack of sleep are taking a toll but you must know by now that you can't keep me down for long.

Yet again though, no regrets my friends. Like John Mellencamp sang in Minutes to Memories...

Another hot one out on highway eleven

This is my life It's what I've chosen to do

There are no free rides, no one said it'd be easy

The old man told me this my son I'm telling it to you

I like hard work and I especially like being able to point to what I might have done with a sense of accomplishment, however small the task it forms a part of the larger body of work. I've had a hand in serving...shit I don't even know. A million people or more? 35 plus years in the industry and I would average about 78 people a day to reach a million people...that's not a stretch by any measure. My first restaurant job would have been 500 people a day just for breakfast. No wonder I'm tired. Or maybe I'm just an old fuck right?

Of course, this didn't stop me from letting loose on some helium balloons that came across my path...I'm still that 14 year old kid at heart after all, and a chance to have my team in stitches whilst making an ass of myself I can not pass up.

Ciao 

D