Fast Car

You got a fast car

I want a ticket to anywhere

Maybe we make a deal

Maybe together we can get somewhere

Any place is better

Starting from zero got nothing to lose

Maybe we'll make something

Me myself I got nothing to prove

And that's how Tracy Chapman burst on to the scene back in my final year of high school. A songwriters song with poignant imagery, sad and hopeful at the same time. It tore at your heart strings, at your humanity. An example of a song that, if you allowed it to, would draw you into a world you had no real knowledge of. Dilapidated and broken inner cities, abject desperation with a simple hope of a better life. A country as rich as America's shouldn't have this problem to sing about...but it did, and still does. It always did. It drew me in.

Thirty years. It seems like a lifetime ago. I laugh at my then self today. Thought I knew the score, I had it all figured out and I was the best I was ever going to be. I suppose we all do that to one degree or another. We just don't know what we don't know,we don't have experience to lean on, to learn from. We were young and alive and the world was at our feet. And it really was. Growing up middle class in a suburban wasteland is a hell of a lot better than inner city Detroit, any reserve anywhere or the refugee camps dotted through out the world...hell, we had it gold as far as the big picture was concerned. That's why we should be able to understand that taking a risk that seems foolish is all related to context, we're talking about people with nothing to lose deciding to hop onto a floating desk passing as a boat or tying their hopes and dreams to a guy with a fast car. Do something, do anything, just to get out. While I know better today I still don't really know...many of us don't.

Thirty years ago I fancied myself as a thinker when I wasn't partying. A guy with a bit of a social conscience that never really did more than talk about issues. Take away the partying and you pretty much have the same thing today. I might do a few more things on the "social responsibility scale" now and then but essentially I join the other Facebookers in voicing indignation and pontificating about a better way. Told ya I was going to be honest. I'm OK with that though, despite the truth hurting a bit from time to time. My heart is in the right place. And who's to say that I'm not having an effect? Maybe I am. Certainly I feel that in myself so that has to count for something. Not everyone can move the world, so being part of the solution by not making the problem worse is not a bad way to be. The unexamined life thing comes to mind.

A friend of mine, when talking about the crazy world of dating in our 40's and soon to be 50's, described it as our own personal journey, something that each of us has to  live and grow from. All of life is like that. Everything we do, see, hear and learn is part of becoming who we will be tomorrow. And the day starts fresh each morning, that endless progression through this thing called life. Do we get in the fast car with the hope of a better tomorrow? Are we resigned to dreams only? Where is this car going? 

Ms Chapman simply pulled back the covers on a sliver of life, allowing us a glimpse into what is out there. As almost all artists do, she reflected back to the listener a message, a reality. After that, it's up to us alone to do what we will with that information.

You got a fast car

Is it fast enough so you can fly away?

You gotta make a decision

Leave tonight or live and die this way

Ciao

D

Culinary Tales

Recently I was recounting a story to one of my team members to illustrate whatever point I was trying to make, a learning opportunity I suppose, one in which I got to relate on a personal level since I had a similar experience. And that experience triggered a memory that continues to make me laugh at the absurdity of it all....30 odd years later.

Shortly after graduating college with my Culinary Management diploma myself and two friends decided to open a business together. Peter and Caesar and myself formed Chiltons Catering. The name had no significance to us, it simply sounded good at the time. We were under no illusions to begin with, we would have a part time business in addition to our regular jobs. A way of earning an extra buck when we could and slowly start the process of building an empire. Don't quit your day job boys, this will take sometime to build. Three or four weeks later we got a call from the college about some sort of catering gig. Thinking it was an event someone needed a caterer for we go ahead and set up a meeting. Well, not too long after that meeting we became the official caterers for a sailing club on the Toronto waterfront. That was fast and totally unexpected. Since this was for the following season, we all kept our jobs which is actually the focus of this little story.

One of my jobs was at a hotel in Mississauga, in the interest of improving pastry skills I had joined the pastry department part time. That place was so poorly run that it could have made it's own TV show of ridiculousness; think Fawlty Towers. For myself, it was two or three 5:00 AM shifts a week. Which meant I was up at 3:30 to get out to this hotel. In addition, I had a job at the Boulevard Club, a private members geriatric gathering place on the waterfront...not too far from our soon to be club actually.

The Boulevard Club was simply weird in my book, like all member driven clubs they seemed designed to lose money and offer up nothing in the way of innovation or sometimes even flavour. Caesar worked there in banquets and I worked the restaurant line under the tutelage of one Robin the sous chef. All under the steady of hand of an Indonesian chef named Ramli. Robin, as it turns out was struggling with being a woman in a position of responsibility in a slow to evolve kitchen world. She would have been a pioneer of sorts back in the late 80's as there weren't a lot of women in supervisory roles back then. Thankfully this has changed to a degree but for certain there hasn't been enough of a change I think. Too many old fart attitudes out there still.

I felt that she tried to hard to be all things to all people. With the chef she was somewhat submissive and quiet, with her underlings she was simply trying to be hard as nails, as I'm sure people have been with her. Instead she came across as prickly and unstable. Prone to emotional outbursts...with some of them directed at me of all people.

I had on one occasion showed up a few minutes late for my shift due to the notoriously bad traffic along Lakeshore Blvd, I am never late but this was simply out of my control, and before the advent of cell phones I could do nothing but fume as I sat in my car waiting to move at times. The minute I walked in I apologized profusely and made for my station. "Wait...office please" was the command from Robin. At which she felt it necessary to read me the riot act on the importance of punctuality. An over reaction in my opinion but I come from the era of "yes chef" as the only acceptable response. Yes chef.

Wouldn't you know it, the same thing happened the very next day. The hotel was busy and I had to stay an extra few minutes to clean up because the pastry chef coke head was off doing who knows what. So sure enough I walked in late two days in a row and she lost her shit. I had no recourse but to simply take the dressing down, I was, after all, late. There was no dispute to that fact. This is where it got weird and than comical.

My punishment for the night was to stand the line but do nothing. Read that again. Stand at the end of the line and don't do a thing. I'm not entirely sure how that was supposed to be a punishment for me, if anything she would end up suffering trying to run the line herself. Maybe she thought she could teach mke a lesson in how easily I could be replaced by nothing at all. That she did not need me if I didn't care enough for the job to show up on time. "Yes chef."

So for the next two hours of prep time and the first few hours of service I did nothing but stand there. Personally, what a waste of labour I thought, but sometimes you just go with the flow. Normally the dinner line consists of nothing too busy at all, truth be told a capable chef could handle the whole thing by themselves. Doesn't take much to over cook some salmon with dill sauce or slice a hunk of well done prime rib for the crowd. Not tonight though, she was busy and getting into the weeds. I so desperately wanted to jump in and help but my earlier attempt was rebuffed in anger. So I stood and watched her sink deeper. It would have been funny if wasn't completely absurd. At some point the chef walked by on his way to leaving, looked at me and asked why I wasn't doing anything to help. I explained that chef Robin had instructed me to touch nothing and observe. He looked at me, looked at her, tilted his head in a funny manner, turned on his heel and walked out. I tried hard not to laugh.

Twenty minutes later she relented by way of saying, "OK, I think you've learned your lesson, please take your station." Yes chef. I helped get her out of the weeds and that was that...or so I thought. After the shift was over she pulled me into her office and waxed on about all manner of scary things coming our way and how I needed to get my shit together. She thought I was nuts going into business with this new GST thing coming down the pipe, it's a very dangerous time to take risks and so on. Then she cried a bit. Told me that she was worried about me because I seemed to not care about the job, what with me being late twice. Cried a bit more and than cried a lot more. I simply wanted to get out of the room and go home....but she seemed to have more crying to do. Then she threw down the gauntlet, so to speak. "I want you to come up with the special tomorrow night, show us what you can do." Yes chef. I'll think about one tonight. Can I have another chef. See you tomorrow chef. Whatever.

Tomorrow came, as it always does, I wasn't late and my stuffed pork tenderloin was a hit with the old fuck crowd. I think I pissed her off with that. At this point I didn't care of course. I had lost respect for her and my chef, since he did nothing to address an obvious problem. Today I know different, he was letting her stretch her wings a bit I imagine. Oh, who knows, maybe he really didn't want to deal with it so whatever once again. I had one foot out the door at both the hotel and the club since they were both fucked up places.

Chiltons went on to spend two years at the club, providing daily service and all manner of catered events to deal with. Having a good time and working hard, a few laughs and a few bruised egos and I am sure it was par for the course. Learning a lot about business and when it was all said and done we parted ways in the pursuit of other experiences, for me specifically, moving east to begin the Nova Scotia chapter of my life.

Of course I have come to learn that just about every place is screwed up in one way or another. Nothing works as you think it should, so simply work with what you got or blow it up and start again. What I have learned from that experience was the same I had learned from other managers that were either bad at what they did or simply had no respect from the team; watch, learn and do the opposite. I'm not saying I am perfect in what I do by any stretch but I have learned to work the floor in such a way as to get the best from my teams. It's a continuous learning journey and just when I think I have it figured it out, the pony arrives GDFP!!!

Ciao
D

GDFP!

A lovely Sunday afternoon spent on my balcony, my doppelganger cat sunning himself next to me, tunes in the background and reading with my feet up. Not a bad way to spend some time. It was just hot enough, with no real humidity, rather pleasant...yeah, the simple life can be pretty good sometimes.

As is often the case, whether reading, listening to music, watching a show or simply driving around doing what I need to do, I will get struck with an idea for a post on this little blog o mine. I'll jot it down to come back to later on. This day was no different, with the sun slowly slipping across the sky and myself reading Stuart McLean stories, since I couldn't focus enough on For Whom the Bells Toll, I came across a line that stuck, "life needs complications." Hmmmmmmmm, I agree, it does.

I like the idea that life can be hard at times. I like that relationships take work, sometimes a lot of work. And I like complications. I feel I am pretty adept at handling 'complications' as they arise, indeed my business is full of them. Five minutes before serving a plated wedding for 250 people is exactly the right time to let me know that half the head table is lactose intolerant or gluten free. In one part of my head I am cursing the living hell out of these people...I'm pretty intolerant of them actually. At the same time as this internal venting is going on I am moving mountains to "make it happen." The guest is king, the customer is always right. Sure they are. In my experience they are almost always wrong or out to lunch, but we still make them feel special.

Complications, as they were, are what keep life interesting in my view. If your job was static with no flux whatsoever could you be easily replaced by a computer, a monkey? I would probably shoot myself in that case. My career has given me opportunity to have a different day all the time...there is no way a computer, or a monkey for that fact, can replace me. OK, maybe a monkey but that's it.

But that's work....life in general is what I like to talk about. My best friend Scott had an initialism for those unexpected moments. GDFP. What is GDFP you ask? Well, let me tale you. You're driving along the highway, cruising at 150km/h on the Autobahn. Everything is perfect, zipping in and out of traffic, dodging the semi's and little Yugo's that dot the road ahead. You and machine are one, unified in purpose and performance....and out of the blue, without warning, in the German heartland, there is a pony crossing the highway. GDFP!!! God Damn Fucking Ponies!!! What separates you and Ayrton Senna from the gomers is how you react to those fucking ponies. Gaping mouth open and asking yourself if they are real....well, you're about to be a smear. Chuckle at the colouring of the pony as you blow past at 165, you're gold. That highway is life of course and those ponies can go fuck themselves....they won't stand in your way will they? Ponies are the complications, the moments we have to figure it all out.

Those challenges, those changes, those things are what give colour to life. They help to build character, drive experiences to new levels and help to define who we are as we weave our tapestries. Taking yourself out of your comfort zone should be mandatory for all to learn. I mean really, figure out a way to incorporate adapting to change and complications into the curriculum. It will help us all in the future.

While there is beauty and intricacy in the greys that we are surrounded by, the explosion of colour that accompanies really living and being complicated, make those complications badges of honour. You've smelled the smoke as the generals would say, been in the weeds as us cooks would say. Regardless of the cliche used, those experiences that allow us to face new challenges with a shrug and a grin are so important on this journey. Life should be a bit hard, a bit complicated...certainly a lot less black and white.

Ciao
D

American Idiot

I might need some secret service protection soon. Seems I may have offended some Drumph supporters last night with a not terrible but not entirely nice comment I made on Donnie's FB page. I simply conveyed the belief that he is sucking the oxygen out of the world and that he was a liar. Well.....people be freaking out, calling me all sorts of names and telling me to mind my own business. Followed by declarations that Hilary was a known paedophile and Obama was a tootsie roll lying do nothing liar, and for sure a Muslim plant in their great white society. Seriously better than TV I must say.

I guess that was a precursor for the following rant, augmented by the stifling humidity that we all know how much I love. Let the festivities begin....

I am still beyond understanding why this orange turd still has the support of his base. Even if 75% of the allegations and innuendo about him are false the remaining 25% would be enough to throw the bum not only to the street but most likely in jail. One wakes up every morning not at all surprised by anything that he says or does, we have become immune to his buffoonery. His multitude of believers literally think that everything that comes out of his mouth is gospel...that the entire world is out to get him so they are going to defend him regardless of his transgressions.

He threatens the special prosecutor, cuts the legs out from his own attorney general, calls out fellow republicans for their failure to pass their healthcare bill, calls the Russian meeting that his son went to a fabrication, despite his son admitting it happened and still people are believing it is a witch hunt. I don't know what kind of weed they are smoking but I want me some...escaping reality in that way seems pretty good on this shit show humid afternoon.

One more time to the well...Donnie boy, shut the fuck up you moronic lying piece of cow dung. Stop shaking hands, stop tweeting, stop everything. You actually stand for nothing but your own self interest, that's why this Russian thing won't go away...it smells of collusion. But not for political purposes, I betcha it's the money...somewhere someone bailed you out or something to that affect and in return you're the puppet of Putin. If not....then he is playing you like a cheap fiddle. Either way your reckoning will come...I hope.

And if that wasn't insidious enough, your quick dismantling of reality with claims of fake news and outright lies is the gas lighting to end all gas lighting. How supposedly conscientious people in our party support you still, speaks to their end game...."I want mine". Those fuckers....yeah you, McConnell and Ryan and your filthy fuck heads that joined the orange turd in political divisiveness and simple awful behaviour should find out what a bag of shit tastes like.

Tax cuts for the rich in the belief that it will trickle down to the working class....what a crock of shit!! If you actually believe that, you're just plain stupid. But most of you know that your power derives from keeping the masses under the thumb of big everything. HMO's succeed because they make money off of peoples pain and suffering. Big oil have no desire to see the electric car and big banks...well, we know what you're all about. And look who Drumph has surrounded himself with....he drained the swamp and filled it up with worse things. Much, much worse things.

A huge bottle of bleach and plenty of sunlight to bring everything out of the shadows for some good sanitizing is what the doctor is ordering. Before real damage is done the breaks have to be put on this orange menace. That's job one. Job two is harder and much more important. Reform your system. Get the money out of politics and open it up to multiple parties. Get going to the grass roots and start wiping out those tea baggers and the religious right. Get them off school boards, state houses and local councils. They care not for the general public....simply their own agenda...which entails imposing their beliefs on to all. In the not to distant future America will be espousing creationism and gospel, Noah's ark replicas will be the new Disney land and there will be a 100 foot wall surround the country...unless people like that fucker are stopped.

Get to work America....NOW!!!!!!

The Whitewash

This past weekend there was a minor disturbance in the bowels of little old Halifax. Seems we have a statue in a park dedicated to Edward Cornwallis, who besides being the "founder" of Halifax was a bit of a, how do I put this? a feral beast that offered rewards for Mi'kmaq scalps. Actually decreed this. Nice eh? Fucking people, doesn't matter what generation it is there are douche bags through out them all.

So one can understand how indigenous people today could be upset with statues and schools and streets named after this clown and many others. Our entire country is littered with this type of objections glorifying and the original Canadians have a right to be upset about it. Not to mention all manner of large and small injustices that have stained the soul of our country when it comes to the deplorable treatment that indigenous people have suffered. Obviously we still have a lot of work to do.

Having said this I guess I question the action that this group of people wanted to take. In their words, the statue is coming down. They have had all they can stand and they won't stand anymore. I'll admit I am torn by this. On the one hand, I get it, as far as I, as a non native person, can get it. That statue symbolizes oppression and it stands there as a testament to his "greatness". It should come down. On the other hand, it isn't the only thing he accomplished in his life. He is woven into the history of the city the same as John A MacDonald would be for the country...and he was no saint either.

Do we run the risk of sanitizing our past in the name of reconciliation? Maybe there is a better way of achieving that outcome while addressing everyone's concern. It's our past, it happened and there is no denying it....maybe we can use this and other instances to educate, a way of ensuring this kind of thing doesn't happen again.

The Germans teach about the Holocaust and what their grandparents did during the Nazi regime. I'm sure that's not a comfortable subject at the dinner table over bratwurst and beer. So tell me Grandpa Wilhelm....were you a brown shirt wearing, goose stepping Nazi fuck back in the day? We learned today that you killed a lot Jews for being, well, Jewish...what do you have to say about that? If the Germans can learn to live with the shame that uncle Adolph brought on them, then so should we for all of our misguided attempts at assimilation and extermination.

It's uncomfortable and painful to think of our perfect little country being imperfect in some way, but again...that is our past. So, along with the smugness over Tommy Douglas and Terry Fox, we have to come to terms with Ryerson and Cornwallis.

The old adage that you can't know where you're going if you don't know where you came from certainly comes to mind, in addition, those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. Woven into our collective tapestry there are a lot of blood stained strands, we have to accept them as our past, learn from them and ensure that we never repeat them.

That's my two cents worth.

Ciao
D

The Reason

98 years ago my fiance, and now ex wife, and I were forced to take a marriage preparedness course through the church in the build up to our nuptials. It was part of the deal with getting married in the church, ensuring that you were ready to accept Christ in your marriage and you actually knew a thing or two going in. All snickering aside the course actually was kind of useful to me, but not in the way I'm sure it was meant to be from a church perspective or my ex's perspective. It's always fascinating to me when knowledge comes at me, be it from passed on wisdom or fortune cookie foolishness, I like to learn I guess.

So, what did I learn? In hindsight I learned that we don't know anything when we are young. Certainly not anything close to understanding the gravity of getting married, interpersonal relations and the real reason marriages fail. The affable priest, who I had known for a few years, talked about the importance of openness and acceptance of not only Jesus but each other within the context of the church and marriage. I do recall wondering if Father Callahan was into the sacramental wine again but of course I was viewing everything from my own prism...I'm much to independently minded to let a church dictate much of anything to me. My attending mass and being involved with the church, even in my limited way, was a direct result of my desire to do my part in making the relationship work with my ex.

No, what I learned was a little tid bit that even now seemed like a throw away statement from vicar Keith. Near the end of the session he had us all sitting around in a semi circle and spoke of things somewhat philosophically. Looking around the room, probably laying bets on who would stay together, he laid down some simple things to think about.

• If you think you are going to change someone into your version of a better person, you're doomed, people essentially stay the same
• Those little cute and slightly annoying habits that your life long partner may have will get less cute and more annoying over time
• Failure to communicate will lead you to divorce

Hmmmmmmmm, anyone care to comment on this?  You know I have my opinion but this isn't about that...I'm not going to point the finger at my ex and say see, the priest even knew. No, I'm more interested in the whole changing thing.

A few years ago there was a band called Hoobastank that had a hit with the song The Reason. I actually liked the song, it had a good little melody and despite its newness it kind of grew on me. At the time we were in the midst of our troubles in the marriage and I kind of took the message of the song to heart.

I've found a reason for me

To change who I used to be

A reason to start over new

And the reason is you

I had myself convinced, with a great deal of help from my ex, that I needed to change things, that I was the reason (get it?) that things were rough between us. You know what? I was the problem, at least half of it. And if I could listen to what she was saying and adjust a few things maybe we could save this. Trouble was that this is a partnership and the other person needs to be fully invested in the whole change idea as well and secondly, people don't fucking change!!!

It's a nice sentiment but a fools errand I think. We are who we are and to have faith in the ability to change the core of someone else is folly. Maybe a few small things can change, like I'll put the toilet seat down and fold the towels your way, but to think that someone could change my beliefs, my sense of jocularity, my capital "T" for Tom and capital 'F" for Foolery is just asking for trouble. 

Not to say that the sentiment of making changes for one that you love is bad, don't be silly, indeed it's probably a good idea to keep your soul mate in the equation that is love and forever. But equation, by definition, has more than one part and that everyone needs to be part of the discussion. And by looking at it as a way of bringing us closer together as opposed to keeping score and "winning" the fight over the other, we may actually be serving a higher purpose. Not the Jesus kind, the whole of us kind.

I have made plenty of changes in my life in the interest of harmony, an exercise of getting along and being part of a larger thing. Not an actual fundamental change though, nothing that I would have thought earth shattering. But what I had done was dilute "me" to a degree. I always thought of myself as the same guy but the outside world, those that knew me well, probably saw something different. In small increments I had "changed" into not myself....and eventually I realized that I couldn't do that anymore. Not if what I was living at the time was all that could be hoped for. Not one more day I remember thinking to myself as I said the divorce word.

Sound familiar? I know for certain I'm not alone. I finally screwed the courage up to say it out loud. And I'm happier for my choice. It wasn't easy and there continue to be challenges but on the whole I am far more happy than I was....reason was beat out by heart and soul. Don't be afraid anymore.

So, Father K, you were right, bigly. Hoobastank...go fuck yourself and stop being so wishy washy. I still like your tune but not the message boys.

Ciao

D

A Day at the Fair

As a young teen I used to love going to the "Ex" every summer. The Canadian National Exhibition, CNE or the Ex was a summer ritual for all us suburbanites. Before the time of Canada's Wonderland being launched your thrills could come only from the Ex. The Flyer coaster...a wooden death trap that visibly shook it's foundation as it whizzed by. The Zipper, The Skydiver, The Polar Express...all of them evoke memories. Some great and others....well, continue reading.

I don't know how the Ex compared to other big temporary extravaganzas. It always seemed to me to be a bit chintzy but what the hell did I know? What it provided was a distraction, a thing to do on a hot summers night, a chance to see some grown up shit going down. A chance to make an idiot of myself. True story.

As I started to think back to those glorious days more experiences started flooding back. This was going to be a post about hitting myself in the head a few times with a baseball but then I started remembering other events....lo and behold we have other things to talk about.

The CNE was where I was at when the Edmonton Oilers won the cup, yanking it away from the Islanders dynasty in 1984. A cheer ran through the crowd as a Canadian team had finally won the cup again and because Gretzky was a golden child at the time, we were happy the Islanders had gone down to defeat.

The Ex was where I had seen mob mentality in close up action for the first time and I and my buddies actually had  a very tiny cameo in this sad night. A few of us were riding the subway down to the Ex...riding to Bathurst as I recall and taking a streetcar or bus the rest of the way. Along the line we met two unlikely friends headed in the same direction. Swan, as he called himself, was a good looking likeable guy with long hair to match our own and an easy way about him. One could tell that everyone wanted to be Swan's friend. In fact, through the course of the night we would glimpse him in the distance every once in awhile, making out with a different girl each time. A blonde near the Zipper, a red head behind the Gravitron...you get the idea. I suspect Swan borrowed his name from the gang leader in the movie The Warriors. Tagging along with Swan was another fellow that looked as odd a match as possible. His head was closely shaved, he wore green track pants and carried a Kendo stick. Right?? If I was to guess I would say that Kendo man and Swan were childhood friends that went different ways but still hung out from time to time.

As we arrived at the Ex we all hung out for a bit to start but eventually went our own ways, us three and them two, to find adventure, vomit inducing rides and in Swan's case, lots of female attention. The night wore on, we were having a good time and suddenly there was a commotion. Fights were not an uncommon occurrence in those days. An 80's version of the The Outsiders really as some groups of people simply did not get along with other groups. Mostly we stayed out of it but from time to time it did affect us, as this night kind of did. The commotion was a sickening display of the crappy part of humanity. Kendo man was getting the crap kicked out of him by a small mob of leather jacket wearing wannabe hoods. I don't know what started the melee as it was already in full swing by the time we managed to get a view, but it's not hard to imagine that the Kendo man had said the wrong thing to the wrong guy....and when faced with retribution, made the worse mistake possible...used his stick to defend himself. I've seen fights before but I've never seen six guys beat the tar out of someone like that. Personally, I wanted to leave, under the guise of not being around when the cops showed up but really because I'm not at all comfortable with violence, especially this kind of display. But we stayed. The fight, if you can call it that, ended when Kendo man got the Kendo stick across the top of his head and was knocked out. It was sickening.

One year the bearded tattoo clad ride operator of the Sky Diver stopped the ride to let me out because as he put it, I was screaming like a little girl. Inside the death trap car, Humberto was spinning the car on it's axis non stop and the ride spun around the larger wheel...I do not like those kinds of rides! Although I didn't think I was yelling that loud....hmmmmmm

I've lost track how many concerts I had attended to be followed by a quick jaunt into the Ex for one last quick ride or a scope of the area. Nothing like 30 or 40 thousand people emptying the mistake by the lake onto the grounds of the Ex. Sizzling energy you could almost see...anything could and often did happen.

It may have been one such occasion where I found myself with Dom strolling around, looking to meet girls. It seemed to be a running thing with Dom, be it Wonderland, the Ex or anyplace else, what stupid line could we use to say hello to some pretty girls....such as this one "Mary!! Oh, you're not in my English class? Hmmm. Wanna go on some rides?" Yeah...classy. Anyhooooooo...for whatever reason we decided to play one of those carnival games to win something stupid. The idea was to knock the wooden slat over with a baseball. Simple enough right. Not with yours truly around. My first throw bounced off the wooden base rebounding back at me perfectly hitting me directly on my forehead. Bahahahahahaha....we all laughed. Well, I don't know how much I was laughing as I was the one embarrassed but for sure Dom and the carny laughed. "Here you go man, take another throw" said the still chuckling carny. OK, here we go again....if you guessed the same thing happened you win the prize. Exact same thing happened. I think Dom was crying at this point. The carny just stared at me...."why didn't you duck?" I walked around with a red welt on my head for the rest of the night.

My last foray at the ex included my one and only ride on the Gravitron. I'm not a fan of rides that spin you so going on this ride wasn't really on my bucket list. It also meant I didn't know what the Gravitron was all about. If I was a tad smarter I might have asked a few pointed questions to get more information on said ride and thus avoiding said ride. But I'm not, so I went along with the crowd. Moron!!! All I knew was you stood in place as the ride spun around with us leaning up against this slanted wall. As we spun around ever faster the floor seemed to dropped out...uhmmmmm OK. I'm sure they would't make a ride to specifically kill someone so I'm sure that's supposed to happen. And next I saw the craziest thing....people were upside down next to me and across from me. I figured out, within half a minute, that the thrill of the ride was to "defy" gravity as centrifugal force pushed you against the wall. That half a minute, in the end, was the difference. As I started twisting myself into a new position, upside down in this case, my fellow riders were already planning their return to normal starting position. The ride wound down as I was slightly horizontal and when gravity struck I slid to the floor with a thud with much laughter from my friends. I know....why am I still alive?

Good, wholesome, scary, funny and painful memories of the summer extravaganza know as the CNE. Like the weekend forays to a cottage, drinking marathons by the tomato gardens, cold beer on the patio at Stripes, the Ex brings about many fond memories of that distant past. Summers gone by intertwined with all manner of tom foolery...ahhhhh, the good old days.

Ciao
D

Oh Shenandoah

I'd pray at the church of Aaron Sorkin if he was a religion. I know I've said this previously and I stand by this even more so today, the man often writes the way I feel. Extracting emotion and passion with seeming ease that leave me wondering if perhaps he is tapped into my head sometimes. If I can capture a tiny fraction of his lightening in a bottle when it comes to crafting prose I'd consider myself lucky. If he was a religion, I'd bow down...At least momentarily.

Combine his themes, style of writing and the usual great music to accompany his vision and I always find something to think about and often to write about. As he would have opined, good writers borrow from other writers and great writers steal outright from them...I'm borrowing as much as I can.

At first listen, the folk/country song Oh Shenandoah would be a love song about the meandering river, and it may very well be...but I wonder if it isn't about other things a tad more existential, living a life say, being open to where that river runs but remembering where it came from. Listen to Tennessee Ernie Ford sing it Oh Shenandoah and now listen to this version that was used on the show The Newsroom Oh Shenandoah  It's hauntingly beautiful and plays against a back drop of tragedy and joy. It's a tear jerker and between them both it is a very different song. Again, masterfully chosen works of art paired to masterful words acted by masterful artists.

My take away is about living life intentionally or as intentionally as possible since I think it would be a near impossible thing to do so all the time, life is too grey to plan everything out in advance. Not knowing which of the roads we will take tomorrow, how can we assume we will always be able to make intentional choices? This past week work life has been thrown into chaos...no one, least of all me, knows what will come tomorrow. But that doesn't stop me for making choices that point me in the direction that I wish to be going....it just means I need to be fluid and think things through. Try not to act rashly if you get what I mean. In the end there will always be roads not travelled and it does no good to fret over it after you have made your choice. The "river" will run it's course regardless.

Rivers run swift into seas that run deep, the constant ebb and flow, giving sustenance to life and sometimes taking life away. All we can do is build a better boat, be better sailors or simply know that water, in the end, will find a way.

Ciao
D

Burning Down the House

Sometimes you can't help but be caught in a trap not of your own making. Forces around you conspire to put you in a place you simply don't want to be in. More often than not those places aren't actually places, they are circumstances or states of mind. Arriving in Negative Town with Negative Nelly and Debbie Downer is what I'm talking about.

To be clear, this isn't about someone having a bad day or week for whatever reason...I get those. Hell, I sometimes literally get those. Or any sort of mental health issue that our brothers and sisters deal with on a daily basis with lack of support from the world. No...what I'm talking about is those miserable fucks that seem to take joy from being negative...always. You know the ones...they sap the energy out of a room when they walk in, you dread going to work knowing they are going to be there, you do a little dance when you see that they aren't working with you for a couple of days. Those people.

I worked with a guy a lifetime ago. Super nice guy and always upbeat. Despite my frustration with his "way" of doing things I really liked him. He ended up going into business with a couple of guys on a banquet hall in Burlington if I remember correctly. A shaky venture in a more than shaky building. My buddy was telling us how good of a deal they got on rent and all I thought I can't believe they have the nerve to charge you rent....but I digress.

As was often the case back then my buddy Peter and I would lend a helping hand to our mutual benefactor. It's what we did as he would do that for us as well if we ever needed a hand. So we found ourselves working one Saturday afternoon in the hall from hell doing some prep with one of his partners, an older Italian guy named John. Now, John was a good cook, old school but still a good cook. He had a great mushroom soup which was surpassed only by mine, and he did traditional Italian food well. And he was negative as fuck.

I mean it looked like he was sucking on lemons half the day. The rest of the day he was trying to erase his sour look with acts of contrition and kindness which you knew weren't genuine. Which of course simply added to the negative experience. I've met many people that seem to like being in a cloud of darkness but John even talked negative in regular everyday speech. Such as this: John, do you want me to put the knife on the counter for you? "No, no....put the knife on the counter." WTF? Do you want the knife on the counter or not? "No...on the counter please."

There's a line from the Godfather novel that Don Corleone utters when talking about Luca Brasi that I think of often when I come across these people that choose dark over light:

"There are men in this world who go about demanding to be killed. They argue in gambling games; they jump out of their cars in a rage if someone so much as scratches their fender. These people wander through the streets calling out "Kill me, kill me." Luca Brasi was such a man. And since he wasn't scared of death, and in fact, looked for it... 

Sometime I feel that people like this are simply happiest when they and all around are unhappy, shared misery being a bond of some sort. Or maybe "some people just want to watch the world burn." I don't know but I work at keeping those people out of my face, less they find out what a 2x4 upside the head feels like. I simply don't have the patience for it anymore...there is a good chance I will cut you out of my life if you are going to piss on my Corn Flakes. At the very least I will marginalise you and your effect.

I've been to Negative Town a few times in my life, didn't stay long though. I just don't want to be there and you can't make me. We all have our down times, that's normal, but fundamentally I think how we choose to react sets the tone for us as people. I choose to be happy...to look for the positive wherever I can find it. Sometimes it's not easy but perspective helps a lot.

"Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable

And lightness has a call that's hard to hear"

Closer to fine indeed.

Ciao 

D

Of all the gin joints...

Buried deep on one of my Spotify playlists is the Tom Waits classic "I Hope I Don't Fall in Love With You". If you're unfamiliar with it go listen to it a few hundred times before proceeding. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Now, for the rest of us...what does that song mean to you? Love lost? Love found? Not sure? What the fuck are you talking about? The gravel like voice of good ole Tom over a simply strumming guitar. Heart laid open for all to see...you can almost see his puppy dog eyes. For me....well, it's complicated.

Taken personally, I can apply this to women I have known over the years. In a literal way I can connect this song through it's lyrics to a few people and for better or worse this song strikes a chord when thinking about a time in my past. Once again...music doing what it does best.

"Well I hope that I don't fall in love with you

'Cause falling in love just makes me blue,

Well the music plays and you display

Your heart for me to see,

I had a beer and now I hear you

Calling out for me

And I hope that I don't fall in love with you."

Mostly it's about fear I think. Fear of exposure, of hurt, of letting go and of falling in love. I've said this before and I truly believe this, you have to be willing to get kicked in the teeth to find true love. As Epictetus said "If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid." To me it's not caring a wit about what anyone thinks about you and deciding to live life on your terms...and if declaring your love for someone results in humiliation and failure, you have let it all hang out for the world to see. That is living. That can also be pretty terrifying for some. Lay your heart and soul bare for all to see? Hmmmmmmm

If you subscribe to the belief in the idea of "no fate but what you make" then the above matters a great deal. To find your true love you have to decide to find her or him or it. It's your imperative to let yourself go and open up the door to the possibility. In essence you are setting yourself up for that epic kick to the mouth.

If you believe that you are simply reacting to what fate presents to you then you're either going to get kicked in the mouth or you will not. In the end though what does it matter, you're still the one that has to be willing to get kicked. And I mean really willing....no lip service here pals.

Doors open and close throughout our lives and no one, not one of us can say with any certainty what will be coming our way...who will walk into our joint and change our lives forever? While the end goal is important, how we get there is just as vital for me. I for one am eyes wide open to any possibility and I refuse to build walls to protect myself or limit myself. When I hit that wall you will see a hole in the shape of me in the aftermath. No fear.

"Now it's closing time, the music's fading out

Last call for drinks, I'll have another stout.

Well I turn around to look at you,

You're nowhere to be found,

I search the place for your lost face,

Guess I'll have another round

And I think that I just fell in love with you."

Repeat often....no fear.

Ciao

D

Rolling Down the Tracks

Back from my mini vacay and reflecting on the week that was I feel the creative juices flowing a bit the past few days. Ideas are presenting themselves more readily, thankfully I'm not out hunting for them. I wouldn't know where to hunt and I'm not really a hunter kind of guy, cammo isn't my thing, so I'm glad the ideas still come. It leads to nonsense such as this...

When I was in my teen angst years I would, from time to time, take an afternoon and ride the subway back in the big smoke...people watch just because I could. The rocking and swaying of the subway car racing along from Kipling Station to whatever was the eastern end of the line provided the 'music' for the ride. You can and will have all kinds of people pass through your field of view in those few hours. Families out to the market or making a day in the city, workers going to work or coming home for the day, teens heading to the strip known as Young street to drop quarters in video games or buy records and everything in between. It is an enclosed steel sausage tube microcosm of the city above. Diversity abounds and it's something I kind of miss. Maybe Toronto's greatest plus is its multicultural kaleidoscope...take a stroll through Kensington Market and breathe in the aromas, that delicious smell is diversity. While we may always have conflict because of it I for one think it's a good thing, something to embrace.

The other day while on a train of another kind I started to see a few other things that maybe I'm not always equipped to see. As my daughter and I rode the GO train into Toronto for an appointment I couldn't help but be struck by the differences the subway and the commuter train present. The GO train was comfortable, less crowded and completely antiseptic. The upper level of the car is designated a quiet zone and it pretty much prevails all over the train. Endless staring at phones or lap tops open trying to get the jump on that report. Sleeping soldiers on their way to the front and eyes cast down. Not an environment for a knuckle head like me...I was shushed once on a train for daring to talk to my daughter in a quiet zone. How they escaped without a backhand to the head is still a mystery. While I enjoyed the comfort of the ride I didn't care for the lack of anything resembling a pulse. Sure, I didn't have a guy yelling and cursing into his back pack to worry about but come on man....smile a bit will ya.

As we whizzed by industrial complexes, new gleaming condos butted up against 1970's era concrete creations, backyard gardens and garbage dumps gave way to trees and bushes and back again. I was thinking about the stories out there....literally millions of them. A city of immigrants is going to have some amazing stories, ones that would shock us and inspire us. All we need to do is look and listen. I might move back just for that...and the food of course. They call it the triumph of the human condition but most people will tell you they are just getting by...doing what they can for a better life. That grit, that perseverance can be awe inspiring if we let it.

Funny dating story here. A few years back I had arranged to meet a woman at a bar for a drink as a first date. While greeting each other I realized that she was from the old country....her accent gave her away as Serbian or Bosnian or Croatian. It turned out she was Bosnian and came to the country as a refugee from the Balkans war. As she waxed poetic about her ex husband and how she wasn't crazy at all, I could only think of the fact that there must be story upon story of everything she would have went through to get to here, and all she wanted to do was try and convince me she wasn't still in love with her ex. OK. Can I have my hour back please. Those human connections we make are what I crave, and before beauty I want an engaged mind. And that's what I want from the world around me.

Here comes that word again, tapestry. Be it the personal tapestry of our own lives or those of the city around us, I think we are better when we have the diversity, the colour, the flavour of many woven into our lives. Speeding down those tracks, zooming by those tattered threads I have to say I was feeling the pull of the big city in the same way I feel the pull of Europe. It's there, in the back ground, reminding of what lies at my feet if I care to pick it up. Dare to pick it up.

Ciao my friends
Happy Canada Day
D