My Favourite Colour

So much sadness on this earth

We get weary, we get hurt

What we need is not for sale

So set your heart down on the rail

Leaving's just another way

To say the things we never say

From Harbour Boys by Joel Plaskett. I first heard this song when he was the musical guest for Stuart McLean a few years back and I loved it instantly. Light and airy yet, as you might guess, a great message...especially right then in my life.

I came here to bring the noise

To the island girls and the harbour boys

Am I the noise maker or the wallflower? Instigator or observer? You can make your own judgements but it should come as no surprise that I feel that I am all of the above. This journey, as a former lover explained, is what it's all about. It's my journey and it has to matter to me. For far too long it seemed that simply being was my best hope. Sure, I had a decently good life and my kids are the very best of me, but there was a certain thing lacking. Passion was absent. In the interest of harmony and stability, there was an acquiescence to the life that unfolded before me. Until that day when there wasn't going to be another day of it. Not one more step.

Whatever the outcome of my life, at the end of it all I want to be able to look back and say without equivocation that it had passion. As the Greeks demanded. The scales will tip on that side if I have anything to say about it.

Walking in the autumn leaves

Let's get lost in record sleeves

Sun goes down upon the bay

Looking for somewhere to play

Racing to the finish line

We've been running, we've been flying

Faster as the years go by

Clouds are scrolling cross our sky

I read a little opinion piece by Neil MacDonald from the CBC this morning which led to this confluence of thoughts. It put what has been swirling around in my mind into perspective. Read it here if you wish Entropy I don't totally agree with his take on the fading of time but then again, I'm only 49 now, who knows what will come to be in 20 years. What does it matter though? The here and now is what matters and this desire to say things out loud, sans filter, to go out and see the world, at least the parts I want to see, seems to be getting stronger. Where will I go?

If we get held by higher powers

It's only in the final hours

After that we'll get some rest

Until then let's make a mess

I can't imagine taking notice of religion in my later years but maybe, like Neal opines, it will happen. Who knows? And again, what does it matter? The journey that we are all on has to matter to us today and we hope it matters tomorrow. Yesterday is gone and tomorrow is simply a wish to be made real. Who we go with and what we do is a matter of choice. Not being afraid to walk alone is the first step to take, being not afraid to make the leap with someone alongside is the hardest step. I've said this a few times I think, and to quote that kid in Love Actually "Okay, Dad. Let's do it. Let's go get the shit kicked out of us by love." Stupid kid knows it...why don't we all?

Sun goes down upon the bay

Looking for somewhere to play

I came here to bring the noise

To the island girls and the harbour boys

Soaking in a summer night

Let me rage against the dying light

Before the by and by

I stand beneath a devastating sky above me

High above, I'll lose myself in everything I love

Until the night is through

My friends, I sing it now for you

Sun goes down upon the bay

Looking for somewhere to play

I came here to bring the noise

To the island girls and the harbour boys?

What's my favourite colour? Red of course....haven't you been paying attention? The red of sunsets and sunrises. The red of the flaming fall colours as the season fades away. The colour of passion and of love. The colour of fire. strength and danger. I almost want to apologize if I sound too preachy or what have you, and then I stop myself and say, fuck that shit. I'm here to bring the noise and quite possibly it is time to turn the volume up.

What's your favourite colour?

Ciao
D

Graduation and Life Thereafter

It's Friday, the heat and humidity are gone for now and I feel like reminiscing about a long past week away that, on paper, should have left a pile of corpses but really only did some damage to a liver or two. Back to the category of "why are you still alive" I bring you high school graduation week!! Kids, don't read this!

After five long years of secondary education within the fine walls of Don Bosco penitentiary, I mean Catholic High School, my buddies and I were being released into society to find our own paths in life. To set forth into the world at large, to be contributors, visionaries and leaders...or some shit like that. I don't recall much from my 'learning' as we were pretty pickled for much of the last year or so, but I never thought high school was about that. It was a big social club. To that end, it worked well.

The ceremonial and official part of the graduation process held a few memories that I cherish to this day, the gathering after the handing out of diplomas was a spontaneous celebration of the friendships that were forged over the previous years. What started as a picture with diplomas in hand for the parents turned into a mosaic of friends lined up against the wall with smiles all around. Sadly, most of these friendships didn't last but a few did and I guess that is something. The prom was a blur, not because we were drunk but because we didn't care about the prom. The prom was a mere formality prior to the after party was where we could truly celebrate. And boy did we celebrate. The dumpy hole in the wall Ascot Motel was our haunt that night and we were truly lucky to have not ended up in jail.  Climbing twig like trees to get to the second floor balconies, walking in on strangers, Willie Nelson wafting through the air...how did we not end up in jail? Clad in shorts and t-shirts, cummerbunds and bow ties I'm sure we young men looked positively GQ like next to our female friends still resplendent in pink and blue ball gowns. We were such jerks back then but we certainly did know how to have good time. The party lasted until sunrise when the police finally did arrive to break up the festivities. Good times.

That Saturday morning everyone had a job to do, a sacred task to make the transition from one party to the next. For you see, we were heading to Dave's cottage for the week to really celebrate with the boys. So all the tuxedos were given to one person to return. Some people were responsible for food and so on. I was the keg master. Since my parents had graciously allowed me to use the car for the night I loaded up two full size kegs into the trunk of the venerable Chevy Nova to sit proudly in the bath tub at the cottage. I recall my dad coming out to inspect why the trunk was propped open and asking me why there were two barrels of beer in his car. Ha...we should have got barrels. Freaking kegs barely lasted one night. So much for the beer budget.

The idyllic dawning of summer in rural Ontario was shattered that Saturday afternoon as we raced through sleepy towns with music blaring and testosterone hopped up on the high octane mixture of anticipation and fading teen angst. Once again, how did we not end up in jail. Locked in some hick jail cell awaiting our parents to come bail us out....maybe jail would have been the preferred place. But once again, the whole fools and drunks thing comes to mind. We lived to tell about it after all.

To detail every happening that weekend would require a lot more effort and memory searching than I can muster right now. Certainly some of the events fall into the category of you had to be there, like our superior rendition of the Sanford and Sons theme while munching on foie gras and sipping Sauternes. Or, BBQ hot dogs and beer. Whatever right. The musical virtuosity we displayed that night was impressive...or really awful. One or the other depending on how drunk you are when you listen to the tape that was secretly made that night. In-between prodigious amounts of beer guzzling and everything that goes with it we always ended up tied to the boom box with our music and our version of foolishness. It all made perfect sense in the moment, 30 plus years later I still chuckle at our glory moments during our glory days.

Some of the highlights outside of drinking and singing were the mini bike rides through the woods. I still sport a faint scar on my ankle when I went over the handle bars on the bike. Fucking front breaks! When I got back to the cottage and put my foot down there was a funny sloshy sensation, I was confused. And then mildly grossed out when I poured the blood out of my sneaker. Somewhere out there is a picture of a dozen or so white asses hanging off the balcony as we mooned the world. The empty kegs sitting as dead soldiers to our 'manifest destiny' of beer. Someone throwing up an entire hot dog, I mean whole. Seriously man, how did you get that dog down there in one piece and then back up in one piece? And what made you think that anyone needed to see it?

As the days went by the constant drinking and partying claimed combatants in small numbers. Roberto Duran's infamous "no mas" was cause for equal amounts of ridicule and a desire to stop as well. No pressure to drink here buddy boy. We drank and we drank until on the very last night there were only three of us left standing, I mean drinking. It was not a pretty site but it certainly was an odoriferous one...for many days after actually.

As you may recall, and if not you can refresh your memory here ROOI, this was the summer that closed out our youth. It started with the cottage after graduation and culminated with the end of summer bash highlighted in ROOI. Gone was the safety net of high school, somehow we were supposed to become functioning adults and I don't recall anyone actually thinking they were ready for it. I wasn't. What the hell did I know about the world ahead? As it turns out most of us turned out OK. We went our own ways and figured things out. Marriage, kids, mortgage payments and RESP's. Slowly but surely we turned into our parents to varying degrees. We forged our own lives and new identities, no longer 16 of us to run rough shod over the world. Some of us forged new lives in far off places and did things we didn't know we could do. The beauty in this chaos of life is that we never new what tomorrow would bring for sure...best laid plans and all. But we clung to the idea of who we were. Those memories, as evidenced by my posts here and the stories I like to tell, are our testaments to what mattered back then. When I had my little mini reunion back in June during my U2 weekend, we, of course, talked of the good old days...the glory days alongside what we were doing now.

In the closing moments of that day I was talking to Steve and Dom and we found that common ground that seemed to bind us all, 30 years later and a lifetime of experiences between us, we still have no regrets for that time of our lives. We were young, we were stupid and smart and we, as only the young can do, lived large with impunity in our own way. It truly was our glory days.

Ciao
D

Holes

"I'm moving through the dark

Of a long black night"

What a powerful thought. This stopped me in my tracks and for more than a pause for thought. It's been a bit of weird week, a lot of that "black night" floating about with people I know, people close to me. Try as I might I don't always understand or comprehend the pain or trials others may be feeling, but I do try and I do think that these people know that I'm doing my best to lend an ear or a shoulder to lean on.

At the close of day though, the inescapable fact is that they are in a hole. Some deeper than others. Reasons as varied as the people involved. Responses that you can surely imagine. Holes. Fucking holes.

The very first person I dated when I separated passed along a piece of sage advice that she had heard from one of her friends. It went something like this; you're in a hole now. Be in the hole. Accept that you're in the hole. Once you've accepted that you're in a hole you'll be able to figure out a way out of the hole. Really it's about accepting the fact that you have a problem, and supposedly that's half the battle right?

Well, I don't know if it's that cut and dry but I do think it's a good starting place. There will be false starts and there will be times when no matter what you do that hole only seems to get deeper, the sheerness of the walls seem insurmountable. The ropes and ladders that are lowered down to you will falter, fall in and be mirages. But you can find your way out. There is a light somewhere.

I won't be so casual with an "I know what you're going through" because almost certainly I do not. However I can jump in the hole with you. And I'm sure there are others that will as well. Family and friends that you trust, that you can turn to, that you can cry with, these are the ones that I would want down in that hole with me. They may know the way out. They may give you a boost out. Or simply lower a rope down to you so you can climb out yourself.

Be in the hole. While not OK by any means, it probably does help to accept the fact. It also helps to  remember that the hole isn't who you are. It is a part of you but it shouldn't define you, you can't be reduced to a hole, to only one thing. The hole is where you are, not who you are.

And I'm looking at the moon

And the light it shines

But I'm thinking of a place

And it feels so very real

Oh, it was so full of love!"

I believe in the ethos that tomorrow will be better, that this day is simply a prelude to the next and when you scrub away the mundane, the routine and the unimportant things you can truly see if you are working towards a better tomorrow. Be it planning to cross off a bucket list item or just taking those baby steps to get out of the hole, the journey is the point, not the thing.

Fuck Holes

Are You Listening?

The other day I was relating to one of my sales reps one of the things that drive me batty in this thing of mine, which is having to repeat myself on simple requests like looking for credits when a product is damaged or what have you. I can be a busy guy with a multitude of things going through my addled brain so if I ask you once please just do it so I don't have to remember to ask about it again. It seems I am going to have to remind the government and the health care system about what we spoke of last year, as they too seem to have forgotten already. Can you throat punch an organization? A province? A country?

Let Me Say This About That was about mental health and the lack of attention, resources and understanding that the powers that be have in this regard. I know people that work in the system and they will all tell you that the issues are complex and desperate and barely addressed in any meaningful way. I don't know what the issue is? There must be study after study clogging shelves throughout the system so it can't be not knowing what to do. If it's money then I'm sorry, that isn't an excuse. There is a shit load of money in the system and I suspect there is a lot of it that can be directed more effectively. So what it boils down to is leadership doing what they are supposed to do, fucking lead!

Listening to the CBC this morning and the issue around traumatic brain injury, also known as TBI, care was in the spotlight. It seems that a few years ago when our provincial government came into power they made grandiose pronouncements around this issue and others that are interrelated to the well being of us. We come to find out that the new health minister hasn't even read the report yet. That's three years with nothing being done of a substantive nature. Are you hearing this? Oh Mr Premier? Look here!!!

You elected men and women have a duty to serve the people of this province, of this country. A sacred duty, that you actually signed up for. It is really that simple. Stop studying the problem and start dealing with the problem. Decide where it is that you want to go and start getting there. Don't tell me or any of the thousands of people that are dealing with a lack of support, bureaucratic red tape, a maze of departments to navigate that we are working towards fixing the problem, because clearly you are not.

There is a lot of pain out there. People are suffering. People are dying. And we ring our hands and send prayers and good wishes. How about sending a few doctors, counsellors and support staff instead. Save your pity, all we want is your hard work, your commitment to make this time better than it was yesterday. Yes, it's not an easy task, I get that, but it's not impossible....so fucking do it.

We can't turn away anymore as a society. It's simply not right. We can do better, we need to do better. In my mind I'm hearing John Mellencamp's song Jackie Brown...

Going nowhere and nowhere fast

We shame ourselves to watch people like this live.

From There to Here

One of the cute and yet not so cute traditions of dating in your 40's (soon to be 50's) is the interview like process of the first meeting. You've managed to find someone that you find interesting and for some reason finds you interesting as well, so a decision to go for a beverage is made. Coffee or something a tad stronger being the usual choice. Honestly, it's a good way to get to know someone...breathe the same air and see if perhaps there is a desire for a real date to go on.

Good first dates can last a few hours, others are too long at ten minutes and I won't bore you with specifics of course but there is a certain familiarity to these nights out. The same kinds of questions are asked, the same information is solicited - all in an effort to see if maybe this person is somewhat normal, someone date-able. You may not know if this person is the one after this initial meeting but you should have a good idea if there is anything there to build on.

You talk about your career, your family and generally you stay on the fringes of anything deep. Well, if you're not me. As we all know I really don't care for the weather talk so if there is opportunity to talk about real stuff I'm there. I was once read somewhere that you don't talk religion, politics and sex on a first date. Whatever. If our conversation goes there it goes there.

Unsurprisingly it comes to what I do and questions around my field of work. How interesting it must be to be a chef or how did you become a chef and did you always want to cook type discussions. Do you want to know? I'll tell you.

I backed into this career. This was not what I grew up wanting to do. I did not cook at my grandmothers side wanting to showcase the food of Croatia as done by her. I was not struck by the culinary bug the first time I tried a bouillabaisse brimming with fresh fish and subtle saffron notes. No, this was really a second or third sort of "might as well" try this option scenario. Sorry to destroy the romanticism of it all but I told you I was going to be honest.

When I was young I wanted to be an architect. I loved the effect that drawing something in 3D with proper perspective gave. I would draw building after building in attempts to perfect my technique. I don't remember if I was any good at it but I was probably better than Costanza in his make believe world was. At some point that dream went away and I really don't recall any other sort of desire to grow up into something. For the longest time I simply did the young guy thing. In grade eight I had a desire to write, which I still do...hmmm, go figure. But it wasn't something to make a living off of, simply that I felt that I had something to say. And as this blog is evidence of, not much of anything really as it turns out.

At some point I developed a desire to be a film maker. I can guess that this stemmed from my thoughts that I had something to say. I wanted to be the next Spielberg, make you laugh, make you cry and maybe even make you think. So a plan was formulated, I was going to attend York University for their fine arts program. You can stop laughing now. The inescapable laws of declining returns meant that my initial output was not going to be enough to get me into the school. Said another way, my party hardy days during the previous years meant my grades were worth shit and out of the 400 applicants for the 60 spaces available I was not chosen. I have to tell you, it was a bit of a blow. The "fuck off" letters we would get from various institutions that we had applied to were never any fun. But I didn't want to go to school just for the sake of going.

So, I made the decision to take a year off from school to work and save money while taking night class to bump my grades up. Additionaly I volunteered at a local cable company to learn some skills and pad my portfolio. As a side note, somewhere out in the universe is actual footage of me playing the part of Pasquali the janitor on my first ever TV appearance. Well, despite these efforts I was once again not chosen for the competitive program. Although this time around I did manage an interview with the selection committee, which in the end did more to enlighten me about this field than anything I would have experienced. Walking through the halls to my meeting I was struck by how out of place I was. Black clad, Doc Martin wearing "artistes" abounded and I was definitely the odd duck in the place. Whatever.

A few weeks later I got the fuck off letter again and now I was not only pissed off but concerned, what the hell was I going to do? I recall playing tennis that day with my buddy Dom and between getting my ass kicked and working up a good sweat we talked about what I could do. At the end of the day I decided to apply to college for Radio and Television Arts, a more technical approach to the industry. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had stayed on that course instead of doing what I did next. The road not taken kind of thing.

I think it was a few days later and I was still agonizing over not getting into university while working a shift at the restaurant I was working at. This was just a job for me, something to help with beer and gas money, before you make the connection. I was working with a less than appealing lifer in the not so appealing world of chain restaurants. I didn't actually like Chris that much because he kind of creeped me out. He was an OK guy but not someone I would want to go out with for an evening of frivolity. But this chain smoking scrawny guy is the reason that I am in the executive chef's chair today.

He asked me what I thought I might want to do. Think about what you can or want to do. My first response was that I thought it would be kind of cool to own a bar. Not because of my undiscovered entrepreneurial skill but because I thought that was easy access to booze and women. I'm 19 years old, what did you expect? "You know what you should do? Take some cooking classes at the college so you know what's going on in the operation." And that my friends is how I ended up here. I thought it was some good advice so I called the college the next day, changed my course choice to Culinary Management and the rest, as they say, is history.

For whatever reason I took to this like fish to water. I somehow got things that I knew nothing about. I was a hard worker and I discovered new talents in creating flavours, understanding team work and direction. While I was good at the actual cooking and I enjoyed the process and the end result (still do) I had found an environment that I felt comfortable in. I fit in because above all else in this crazy world I work in we look for team cohesion and being able to hold up your end of the line. I was hooked.

What followed was long hours, lots of hard work, risk taking, bandages and stitches, burn ointment and sore feet. As well as a lifetime of experiences, a few entrepreneurial adventures, more than a million people fed, ups and downs and of course lots of cursing.

So, while I may not have been born to be a chef I certainly grew into one. A chef, not a dilettante. There is a lot of prestige that goes with the title of chef but I really think it's over blown, especially these days in the age of YouTube hackery and celebrity status. Most of us that cook don't look for stardom, to walk the red carpet as a celebrity of some sort or to make sure we are at the top of Google searches, we simply cook. The other one percent can have that life, I'll be quite happy having you moan a little when you taste my risotto as we sip wine and enjoy each others company...just saying.

And there is a snap shot of how I came to be where I am. An interesting ride that has been woven into my tapestry, providing colour and context to parts of my life and skills that can be used to the day I pass on. Not such a bad thing eh?

Ciao
D

Into the Mystic

Feeling tied to the universe a bit more this day, a little more at one than usual. Why? I don't know but I do know that Into the Mystic by Van Morrison crept into my day recently and for whatever reason, maybe the season, I let the song in more. Let is wash over me, swirl around me some more. I've always loved the song as one of those easy flowing odes to whatever may need your eyes on. To me it's one of those significant songs that reaches in and touches a place you didn't know existed. I've said it before and I suspect I'll say it again, music has power in that way. The gentle melody coupled with the horns accenting and punctuating the soulful voice of the Irish rogue...yep.

I wanna rock your gypsy soul

Just like way back in the days of old

Then magnificently we will float 

Into the mystic

Getting back to the idea of music washing over me. Sipping wine with a friend recently and listening to her eclectic playlist as we took in the music in our own ways, a difference in listening was noticed. I let the music surround me, feeling the rhythm but not entirely moving to it, a strumming finger or gentle toe tap being my physical expression. Hearing the lyrics but not truly understanding them. Put another way, I see the forest despite the trees, I hear the song as a whole as opposed to being able to single out parts. It's why, I think, I am often ignorant of what songs are sometimes truly about. At least at first. I mean I know what the lyrics are I just may not know what they are saying. I often can't pick out the bass line because to my ear it's muted, intertwined with everything else going on in the song. Who knows...maybe my hearing is just screwed up somehow?

On the other side of the couch my friend was grooving to the music, hands flowing and head swaying to the rhythm. In her words the music enters her very body. She's at one with the tune, letting it control her, letting herself go completely with it. Neither one is right or wrong, just different. And I'm sure there are other ways to be as well...the important thing is that it works for you. It's like art and poetry, there is no right way to appreciate it. How the hell do any of us know what was meant by a 300 year old painting unless the artist wrote it down somewhere? But don't you see...that's the beauty of all art, it means whatever it means to each person. 

At "The Met" in New York I saw famous works of art that took your breath away and others that looked like I could paint them with a slight amount of effort. "I don't know much about art, but I know what I like" pretty much sums it up for me. I like to be surprised, I like to be moved and I like to see it all. I don't care if at first glance or first listen I'm not getting it all...they say art is timeless, so what's the rush?

All art, be it music, painting, poetry and prose, is held differently by each. 55,000 people watching U2 a few months ago and you can be sure we all didn't have the same feelings about the song Bad. It takes me to one place. And the other 54,999 people there have their own story. What matters is that we, together, were enjoying the moment while thinking out what it meant to us.

A good friend of mine is gifted in the world of digital art, she truly has a way of drawing you in with images that get you to look past the initial glance...you want to know what is going on there. Is it everyone's cup of tea? No. Of course not. To each his own right. I don't care for rap and country music. So what. An artist has taken part of their soul to show to the world and for that we can all be thankful. Giving credence to the idea that art is the highest from of hope.

That's the beauty. That's the gift. Take this quote away from the religious world for a moment...

"Grace is but glory begun and glory is but grace perfected"

To have grace you need glory, and glory is grace perfected. Art and hope are intrinsically connected, as grace and glory are, they feed off of each other, they nurture each other and they, in the end, need each other to flourish. What would life be without either? I shudder to think.

Ciao
D

Time Stand Still

Time stand still

I'm not looking back

But I want to look around me now

Time stand still

See more of the people and the places that surround me now

Freeze this moment a little bit longer

Make each sensation a little bit stronger

Experience slips away

Neil Peart celebrated a birthday the other day. If you ask me who he is I might throat punch you. OK, maybe not, actually I won't, but you should know he's the drummer and main lyricist for Rush. That woman repelling band of misfits from Toronto that I grew up on. These virtuoso's of their chosen instruments, that could make themselves sound like so much more than they really were, are for me, a musical example of something that was greater than the sum of their parts. They each played their instruments as well as anyone had before, together they simply were legendary in their mastery.

I read an interview in which Neil listed his ten favourite songs from Rush and I was surprised to find that he listed Time Stand Still as one of those. Not a prototypical Rush song, actually as far from it that you could find...there's a female guest vocalist on it. To know Rush is to know that's not normal for them. In the interview he was saying that the song was somewhat autobiographical in his desire to essentially stop and smell the roses more and he said this:

I get frustrated when people say where did the time go. You just weren’t paying attention. 

A day is a day, a month is a month, a year is a year.

As time marches on I hear that sentiment a lot, hell, I've had that sentiment. Time seems to fly by quicker the older we get even though we know that a day is a day is a day. I suppose we could chalk it up to the fact that we are simply busy in our lives and everything seems to be moving at warp speed. The trees become stands and then forests and we lose site of individual trees in the blur of life going by...unless we manage to stop from time to time to see those trees.

The imagery and mystery around the passage of time is, of course, not a new one. It's been happening since the beginning of time after all, I think maybe what is different for the world at large is that everything is now, quite literally, at our fingertips. In a world as interconnected as we occupy now, we have all seen the same cat videos and Drumph memes the instant they hit the web. Obviously it wasn't always like that. When man first flew at Kitty Hawk it took weeks for the word to get around the world. When Armstrong walked on the moon it was a shared event that brought generations together in front of the black and white to witness history as it unfolded. When the Mars rover landed we could simply glance down at our phones to see what had just transpired and get back to whatever it was we were doing. The gravitas of the moment lost to expediency and the next thing that captures our attention.

Summer's going fast, nights growing colder

Children growing up, old friends growing older

Freeze this moment a little bit longer

Make each sensation a little bit stronger

Experience slips away

Experience slips away...

The innocence slips away

Personally I want to do better at being in the moment as much as possible...I want to experience all that life has to offer and as Neil had said,  to "know even better, to value the passing of time and the richness of experience.” It's interesting to me that I care less and less for the "stuff" in life and want to see and do more stuff. As some of you know personally, that direct experience I have with someone is much more important to me than having a bigger TV or cushions on my sofa. 

We can't stop time anymore than we can push on the ocean, all we can do is enjoy what we are doing with the time we have been given. Look around a little bit longer, make the sensation a little stronger.

Ciao

D

Choices

I would imagine that it goes without saying that alcohol and good decisions aren't often used in the same sentence in a positive way. This statement, as hard as it may be to believe, is even more so true when applied to me when I was young and stupid. As opposed to now, just older and stupid. It is no secret that for about three years in high school that I was a bit of a "Fun Bobby" kind of guy along with my mates in the gang known as ROOI. Don't read anything into it other than having a good time, which is what we were supposed to do at that time of our lives. And don't be a buzz kill if you want to talk about the why? Because we did. Personally, I wasn't running from anything, deadening any pain or escaping reality. Life was and is good. At best I was augmenting my normal jovial self. Remember the word tapestry....no regrets

And since I am still alive to talk about it I guess things turned out just fine. I am a well adjusted somewhat normally functioning member of society. Take that statement for what it's worth by the way. What I also have are some funny stories that fall into the "why is he still alive" category. Like the shagging on the bumper of a speeding car and taking short cuts at the top of buildings stories. Sometimes alcohol has nothing to do with the stupid choices I have made, but because I am still here I get to talk about it. Along with my naivete it's part of my charm...right?

So, many moons ago my friends and I found ourselves at a very well to do house somewhere in suburban Etobicoke. What were we doing there? The usual, having a good time. I honestly don't know whose house it was, whose party it was or even how we got there. There is about 45 minutes, by my watch, that I do recall. For instance, I do know that there was a pool, which figures prominently in this story. I do know that we weren't relegated to the furnace room as was the usual price of admission. I also know that we drank a lot. What could possibly go wrong?

Generally speaking I followed a path of non violence and peaceful ways of drinking. I'm not a fighter, I'm the other guy. Except for instances of defending honour or protecting people, I was hardly ever in a fight. Add those circumstances in and I was still hardly ever in a fight. Further more, I usually didn't go for overt aggressive behaviour with my buds. I didn't feel the need to share my Festivus inspired feats of strength or push people around to show I was tough. Which I wasn't anyway but I was pretty strong....able to life a bag of potatoes right over my head and all...hahaha But this night I did.

I was comfortably numb, stretched out on a pool side lounger chatting up someone when my buddy Dave stumbled by. Without thinking I gave him a little nudge with my foot...just enough so that he stepped into the pool without breaking stride and walked right out of it again, hardly wet above his knees. I was impressed with his agility. He was less impressed with me. I want to say that he was furious but I don't think that manages to convey his mood at that moment. He was pissed. I think I may have embarrassed him in someway. Maybe he had shoes that he didn't want soaked...I don't know, but I thought he was over reacting.

Well, this of course set the table for some sort of revenge and knowing that he was as pissed as he was I knew it would be either painful or completely embarrassing, or both. I actually got a little scared, the anticipation building so that I walked around constantly looking back so as to avoid getting surprised. I continued to drink and cavort of course but I was constantly on the lookout for the revenge.

So, choices right.

I chose to drink
I chose to knock him in the pool
I continued to choose drinking
I chose to ignore my muted spidey sense
I chose to stay at the party
I chose to drink some more

And than I made the worst choice of all.

My fear of retribution, somehow, in my addled mind, led me to choose what I thought was a safe place to "hide". In plain site no less. I decided that the end of the diving board was my best chance at staying dry, because I was certain Dave wanted me in that pool. Choices right?

Thinking that there was no way Dave was going to sneak up on me and there was no way Dave was going to reach me out at the end of the board I surmised that I was as safe as I was going to be. Beer in hand, feet dangling as I stared up into the clear sky. Music playing, the sound of young people being alive. Trees over hanging the large backyard creating a mini Utopia right there in the wilds of Etobicoke. It was kind of nice to be honest. I had lost track of where Dave was lurking but I wasn't too concerned. Draining the last drop of my beer I realized that to have another beer I would need the help of someone or I would have to venture back into danger. I sat up to do some reconnoitring.

I barely registered the sound of bushes rustling before I realized that I had made a fatal error. I didn't take in account Dave's disregard for his own dryness. He hit me so hard in the tackle that I may have spit up a bit as I hit the pool with him on top of me. He didn't care about getting soaked, he cared about making sure I was soaked. His revenge was all that mattered.

Afterwards, while towelling off and hving a bikini clad girl dive for my glasses the inevitable "what the fuck were you thinking" question came. In what universe was that a good choice? Told you my brain works funny and back then, alcohol made it work even funnier.

Looking back I realized my folly was tied to detente with Dave. I apologized but didn't see the revenge in his heart as potent, despite his warning that he would get me. I figured it was simply bluster. I chose wrong that night.

But as has been said, God watches over fools and drunks and since I was both that night. all I came out with was a swim in the pool and a funny story to reminisce about.

Ciao
D

Unintended Consequences

"Who is Giuseppe Zangara? I don’t really know.

He’s a guy with a gun who fired five shots on February 15, 1933, killing the mayor of Chicago.

Why? Because Zangara was standing on a wobbly chair. And the mayor of Chicago wasn’t his target. It was the guy the mayor was shaking hands with: the newly elected president, Franklin Roosevelt.

If Zangara’s chair isn’t wobbly, Roosevelt never takes office, and we swear in his running mate, John Nance Garner, a man whose political ideology was the basis for his opposition to a package of legislation that would be called the New Deal.

And we don’t survive the Great Depression."

Yeah, another Aaron Sorkin homage if you will. I told you...it's my blog so I get to do whatever I want. I seem to be on a Sorkin bent lately, or maybe I'm always there and I simply stray away from time to time. Either way, here we are again, once more into the abyss.

History is rife with examples of the what ifs of life that seem to course through time. A recurring theme for Sir Sorkin is the idea of the path not chosen, a reflection of what might have happened if door B was chosen instead of door A. Not a regret, simply reflection. Once again a way for us to do better by knowing better.

What if the chair wasn't wobbly and Roosevelt was killed? Who can say for sure. What if Dr. King hadn't stepped out onto the balcony that day in Memphis. What if Kennedy hadn't been shot on that November day in Dallas? Personally I think that moment was when the country below us began losing it's way. Not because he was shot, they do have an affection for the ways of the gun as we know and tend to feel that it is a viable answer to their perceived and real problems. But because he was cut short in implementing the changes that may have prevented Vietnam from engulfing the nation, which, again in my opinion, is where the country really lost it's way. 

America is an idea, at least it started as an idea, answering to the people and being a beacon for freedom and prosperity. You can judge for yourself what it has turned into over its history but for me it has become a mish mash of power, greed, division and fear. Intricately woven into that is hope, idealism and a capacity for greatness. I feel they have become their own worst enemies and it would take a lifetime of study to plot how they came from the Declaration of Independence to Drumph threatening to build a big beautiful wall to keep out the bad dudes. To be clear I'm not in any way suggesting that the country was pure as the driven snow, they have always had dark spots, like any nation, just simply that it seems to me that they are truly lost now. And I don't think that's a good thing for the world. They wield too much power and influence for it to be OK to simply turn a blind eye to their transgressions....talk about the elephant and mouse sharing a bed eh?

The Democratic party and its institutional machinery had a chosen standard bearer for the last election in the name of Hilary Clinton. A worthy and hard working career politician that simply gotten eaten alive by the fact that the Republicans had gerrymandered enough districts over the past few terms. She wasn't perfect but she would have been certainly more effective in being, you know, human, than that shit head Drumph. The fact that Bernie Sanders was a more populist choice amongst not only Democrats but moderate Republicans points to the unintended consequence that the establishment has to live with...they got Drumph because they didn't allow the process, flawed as it is, to run its course. So Hilary is writing memoirs, Bernie considers another run and in the mean time we have that fuck wad screwing with the world.

If you ask me the biggest issue that "politics" suffers from in America is the money that is thrown around during the never ending election process. In the name of free speech they have, through a series of laws and amendments, legalized bribery in their election cycle. Whether the FEC and Congress meant to allow these things or they were an unintended consequence of the changes they have made over the years is up for debate, what can't be argued is the fact that there is a lot of money being thrown around by special interest groups and industry...that's the real Hunger Games. Eat or be eaten and on the menu is power and influence with the dessert course being bags full of money. That is simply insidious. Closely following is the antiquated electoral college...really??? I mean really? Enough said.

I like to think about that road not taken sometimes and the unintended consequences that I may have inspired by choosing this way or that. It's a good existential exercise. It's also an opportunity to day dream. So that can't be all bad...all us dreamers out here might think...

Ciao
D

Walls of Jericho

Let me set the scene, not that any true Leafs fan would need to be reminded of course. The 1992/93 season was an amazing time to be following the Buds as they put the league on notice that they were back. The stars had aligned and Doug Gilmour put the team on his back while carrying them to game seven of the conference final, one win away from a berth in the final for the holy grail of sports. As most fans know, in game six they were robbed by a non call on the Great One. A missed high stick call by the ref on the greatest player to ever play and then he goes on to score the winning goal in overtime, leading to game seven where he scored three goals and led his team to defeat by the Montreal Canadians.

Two thing here, a) The Leafs would have won over the Habs. It would have been an epic wet dream come true for the hockey crazed cities and Canada in general, with the Leafs finally breaking the drought. Since the year before I was born they have not tasted the champers from the cup. b) It wasn't Gretzky's fault. The refs yes, for sure. But not The Great One. He simply did what he did better than almost everyone ever, he played to win; with style, professionalism and dignity.

But boy oh boy did people enjoy tearing him down. All through his successful career you could listen to all manner of people tear him down, as if by doing so they were made better somehow. This got me to thinking about how we, as a people, do that all the time. We tear down our heroes with a fervent passion that should be reserved for love making and horseshoes. It's sad really.

When the Oilers won their first cup, ending the NY Islanders dynasty Gretzky could do no wrong, he was the best player on the planet and a cup was in Canada for the next four years. When their dynasty ended he was that guy, that Hollywood guy that married the actress while jetting away to LA.

"you either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain"

And the walls came tumbling down. Almost gleefully we enjoyed vilifying Wayne for being Wayne. On the way up we are all impressed and took no small amount of pride watching "one of our own" climb to the top only to resent him once he got there and outlived our admiration. Men and women of inspiration, of passion and determination in all walks of life...Kennedy, Obama, Trudeau, Mandela...loved and hated. History is rife with these heroes and goats. Now sometimes a fall from grace can be understood when they fail to deliver on the promise of their passion, whatever the reason. Think of Obama and his wave of hope that ran smack into a wall of obstructionist and partisan resistance that denied him some opportunities to accomplish what he wanted to do, what we needed him to do.

And while he did accomplish a lot he was still torn down by those that would have supported him because he didn't do it all and even did things that maybe didn't mesh well with what they wanted for him. The world is grey and walking into the oval office to learn how it really is must be a sobering thing to do. I believe he did his best like I believe Trudeau will do his best. But that doesn't seem to matter for the world at large...they're busy tearing at the flesh. It would seem the best in some people bring out the worst in others.

Everyday we can see, if we choose to look, examples of selfless sacrifice, open hearts and minds and a kindness to all that should inspire the world to reach for higher ground together. Instead, often we get the low hanging fruit of gotcha politics and the fortress of us against them that passes for leadership. And as long as someone can get something from it decency is thrown to the wolves in the name of power. No more I say.

Pulling together a few Sorkinisms to say that we can be an inch nicer to the world, we can be subject to one another without asking what's in it for me. In all his madness atop his donkey, let Quixote show us the way for a renaissance of decency. Pie in the sky? Probably. I don't care, I'm on a mission to civilize.

Nice guys finish last? Not for a moment to a believe this and if it were true I would still rather know the nice guy. Be the nice guy.

And you thought this was going to be about the Leafs...hahahahaha

Ciao
D

Unfinished Business

Once again we approach headlong into my favourite time of year, the summer sun is waning and soon the crispness of the fall season will be upon us. The explosion of colours, the refreshing coolness that comes with those just not warm enough days that you think about dispatching your shorts in favour of a comfy sweater...ahhhhhh It seemed like a perfect time this past weekend to do some visiting with a few friends. Some sushi, a movie, a road trip or two and lots of conversations to fill the well.

I love how a conversation starts in one place and ends up in a, seemingly, entirely different spot twenty minutes later. You start talking about a rambunctious kid and end up waxing poetic about the back of a one dollar bill. Like watching a YouTube video for a song you just wanted to hear and ending up watching lions trying to take down a hippo...WTF internet!! Tangential brain at work maybe? But I digress. Certainly watching a West Wing episode or two prior to this road trip visit had the idea swirlings in my head, how it came to make sense in the moment while dodging Nerf darts and talking about the chaos of life in the middle of nowhere...well, life is grand if you allow it to be.

This image of the US dollar bill is a version of the Eye of Providence with the Latin phrase Annuit Cœptis above it. I'm sure it was the Masons that pulled all this together in some fashion and I have to tell you, I really like the symbolism it provides. As I understand it, thanks to Aaron Sorkin for opening the door on it by the way, the great eye and the Latin phrase has the essential meaning of God watching over and approving their undertakings. I'm not so sure he would approve today of course but that's another thing entirely. More importantly, to me at least, is the fact that the pyramid is not finished. Representing the understanding that their country isn't meant to be finished, they are supposed to keep growing, keep getting better...always.

As you may guess, I was struck by that in a personal reflection kind of way. While sipping tea and watching my friend get used for target practice by her son and his Nerf guns we were talking about life's way of kicking you while you're down. She has had some of the worst luck in life and yet still has the compassion and humanity to see through it. Her faith in God and her own intestinal fortitude dragging her through until that better tomorrow finally gets here. I have often said, over the past few years at least, I know that tomorrow will be better, and the day after that will be better still. Like the founding fathers of the disaster below the 49th parallel had envisioned, we are meant to always do better.

We are meant to challenge ourselves, to read difficult things and have difficult conversations. To quote a former girlfriend...when you know better, you do better. And here is where tangential brain kicked in again. As I was saying that little ditty to my friend I was whisked back to the age of 22 or 23. Sitting across from my fiance in a restaurant that she loved and I didn't think was all that good. Over a forgettable meal, in what can only be described as the arrogance of my youth, I had talked about how I felt at that moment in time, how my life was as good as it can be, things were perfect and by extension I was perfect. I had a soon to be wife I loved, a career and business that was growing, I was healthy and things just seemed to be working out so well. Arrogant? Probably, but to be honest, also true for that moment in time. I was on top of the world. Just like I was on top of the world a few years earlier as rulers of the school in our final year of high school. And do you want to know a secret....I feel like that today. The difference is, I know that there is always room for growth. Look at me being all adulty.

We are meant to be always moving forward, rising above everyday to be a better version of ourselves. 2.0, 3.0 and on up to today 18117.0. Sure we are going to have days, weeks and even years that seem to be dragging us down, but the unfinished business of our lives isn't going anywhere....the struggle matters, it is what shapes us for tomorrow. And in those times of despair, when it seems too much, lean on your friends and family. Accept the fact that you will have days that are harder than you think you can handle....trust me, you can get through. Setting goals is fine just don't let them rule you...putting yourself in a box isn't going to be helpful if you don't reach a goal by some artificial date of your choosing. Fluidity in life experiences and expectations is what I am saying.

For me, these small escapades this past weekend have somehow helped to clarify a few things. My pyramid is far from done...and your's aren't close either, and allowing for that fact makes a difference I believe.

Ciao
D

Change the Equation

A long time ago, while providing catering service for a semi private club back in The Big Smoke I had the opportunity to become acquainted with a family from the UK. Husband and wife and teenage daughter. They were nice enough people, the daughter especially was one of those young people that you hope your eventual kids will aspire to be like....intelligent, self aware and simply a good person. You knew she would do well in life.

The mother and father were enigmas in some ways to me. I always had the feeling that the father, Tony if I recall, looked down at me. I know I was barely older than his daughter and still had that rebel thing going on but is that really reason to think that I warranted no thought what so ever? I think not. And then we ended up having a somewhat intelligent conversation about whatever was going on in the world that day, Clinton or Bush had done something and we chatted for a good half hour. I think that opened the door to the fact that maybe I wasn't as dumb as he thought I was. He even mentioned this to his daughter because a few days later she asked me what we had talked about...because he was taken by surprise. Who knew? Keep em guessing I say.

The mother was on a whole other playing level though. Have you ever met anyone that you simply felt that they had lived their entire life without learning a god damn thing about the way the world works? This was her. Happily ensconced in her make believe world of Cosmo and Chatelaine she was blissfully unaware of the world. I couldn't keep a conversation with her for more than a minute or two back then...can you imagine what would happen today?

And why are we talking about this? I don't know to be honest, I sat here poised with fingers on keys ready to start typing away and this is what came to my mind for some odd reason. So let's see if this somehow relates to what I thought I was going to write about.

I used to say, about a certain someone, that they were very binary in their thinking. Ones and zeros, rights and wrongs and so on. And I, in the end, couldn't understand that kind of approach to life, it didn't mesh with my way of living. As I have said before here, the world is grey, our lives are grey. While there are absolutes to be sure, be it moral or not, it is also true that our lives and the lives of all around us are too nuanced to live in the belief that all things can be summed up easily though a series of equations.

Maybe that's what this is? Binary thinking, equations and all that jazz. The wife above, to my limited knowledge of her, seemed to be happy with one plus one equals two. Forget algebra and calculus, keep it simple and pass the champers darling. I'm sure we all know people like that, and whether that is the facade they present or how they really are  in the end we have to learn to get along with everyone. Right?

Well, yes and no my friends. Sure, a co-worker being from the shallow end of the gene pool is one thing; the twenty something cutting your hair and talking about the weather is one thing; but family, friends and lovers are an entirely different thing. What do you do there? If you care to or if you feel the need to, you change the equation. I'm divorced. I changed that equation. It needn't be that dramatic of course, you simply need to open your eyes to a new way of looking and being? Adding some algebra to the equation that is your life, so to speak.

I was asked recently what my grand plan is. I don't know if I have one outside of saying that I want to be happy in my life. Whatever happiness might be on any given day, be it short or long term, it matters not...just be happy. When I skid to the end of my life all I really hope for is no regrets. I know already that I have family and friends that love me. I will meet new people I will have new experiences and I know that I won't be alone. So ensuring that I am not afraid to change the equation as I work through this massive non binary thing known as life is my contribution to the chaos.

This is my approach....what is yours?

Ciao
D