Catastrophe of Life

Reading an on line review of a John Mellencamp concert the other day I came across a song lyric that was cited by the writer...

“I’ve been married two dozen times
Raised 10 children on a workman’s pay
And I’m glad to say I’ve enjoyed every day
Of the full catastrophe of life”

Me being me thought it was worthy of some google search to see what I could see because that last line struck me as important somehow. That search lead me to a quote from the movie Zorba the Greek 

"Am I not a man? And is a man not stupid? I'm a man, so I married. Wife, children, house, everything. The full catastrophe." 

I'm guessing John took his inspiration for this song from this movie, this very quote. And I'm taking my inspiration for this post from them both....except I don't know what it is that I'm thinking about, why this is somehow worthy of extra thought. When I walked out of the movie theatre with my ex wife after watching Cloud Atlas I was thinking the same way...I saw or heard something important just now. I don't know why but I need to follow up on it. She hated it. We were separated two weeks later....and to be clear, it wasn't the movie that did in my marriage. Other stuff figures more...maybe I'll write about that one day...hmmmmmm But I digress, I'm processing the full catastrophe of life as I write so if I sound like gibbering gibbon please forgive me.

One of the definitions of the word catastrophe is as follows "a momentous tragic event ranging from extreme misfortune to utter overthrow or ruin" as opposed to what you may usually think of when someone says catastrophe. Such as what a catastrophe it would be if Donald Drumph won the election or that meteor hitting the earth 65 million years ago was a catastrophe. Not so subtle connecting of Drumph and an event that probably wiped out the dinosaurs along with a whole host of life forms...just saying. But again, taking the whole of those quotes one may come away with an appreciation of the fact that while life may be a catastrophe it doesn't necessarily mean it is a bad thing. The tragedy in life is that we as main characters all die...one of the certainties in life is our inevitable deaths so yes, a tragedy...a catastrophe. 

Having this knowledge, as we all do, what we choose to do with every day in the lead up is what forms our perception of what kind of catastrophe our lives really are. Are you happy bro? Despite what may have happened to you do you enjoy your life? Live abundantly? I try to and mostly I succeed...I'm a pretty happy guy and rarely let the negative crap around me dictate my whole life. It really is too short for that kind of garbage....and for bad wine. So drink good wine. And look for hope and for positivity...seems simple right?

This journey that we all take is full of smaller side road trips that help to form part of that whole journey. Because you dated this person these things happened and most likely would not have happened if you had dated that other person. Taking that much needed vacation to Cuba, while excellent did open doors which when walked through eventually led to my divorce. Cuba didn't do it but I can trace a line back to some of the contributing factors on why I am currently divorced and possibly annulled.....yeah, that came through last week. I'll have something to say about that soon...don't you worry. But, and this is the important part...I'm happy, not because I am divorced but in spite of that fact. The catastrophe of life can still make for happy times...it's how you approach and react to your circumstances. Put another way...choose to be happy and then work towards being just that.

I don't want to come across as Dr Phil....this is for me and me alone. Much like this blog actually. But since I have a few people reading, hello Russia, it may come across as me telling you to act one way or another...which couldn't be further from the truth. Remember my motto? No, not "break everything"...although....what I meant this time around was "you do you and I'll do me". I bet I have more than one motto.....hmmmmm.

Not as disjointed as I thought. Maybe, just maybe I'm more coherent then I give myself credit for.....hahahaha, I couldn't even type that without laughing about it.

Thanks for listening....or reading.

Ciao
D

Things that happen after the sun sets

I wish I was as creative as real life can be. Seriously, the true stories that get related often have the "you couldn't make this shit up" disclaimer attached to them. As you know, I am a huge fan of the story. I love the tangential thoughts, the serpentine way a story comes together and if there is a lesson to be learned, all the better. I'm not above making myself look like a moron and I truly appreciate that in others...be real I say. A comic such as Danny Bhoy is a joy to watch and laugh with because he spins a good yarn...just like Dave Allen before him. To that end I like that this blog has morphed into a venue for sharing stories in addition to ranting about whatever has managed to get my ire up on any given day. Today it will be the former...

My parents had decided to move again in 1986, from the confines of middle Etobicoke to the upper end of north Etobicoke, straight up Martin Grove road....moving on up! This move led to a decision to have a garage sale, of which I made it quite clear that I would not be participating in any way, shape or form. And under no circumstances will you sell any of my things that I haven't deemed expendable...I can be sentimental. Seemingly I can also be a bit of an elitist but that's for another day. Everyone clear on my duties and responsibilities? Which is to say none....great. I lugged a lot of crap to the garage leading up to that weekend...yes father....yes mother. Work managed to keep me away from the deal seekers so I guess all was not lost.

The Saturday evening was my typical Saturday night...a party of some form or other. Whether we were crashing someones house party, having our own get together or hitting a bar to see a band there was a bit of libation involved. How do I know this? Because I walked home drunk...wait!!!! I remember this night now. We had invaded a preppies house party, the gang and I still not being invited to many things at this point. We arrived at what looked like a southern plantation mansion with white columns and a large front lawn, knocked on the door and got the shoulder droop by whoever answered the door. Yes you fuck, we're here....where's the basement? Oh yes...I remember this night well now.

Our usual MO was to show up unannounced, and uninvited, head for the basement, the laundry room or whatever out of the way room we could find to begin our "book reading session." Usually with a couple of garbage bags full of ice and beer. We never caused trouble and we stayed away from the people we knew would end up causing it....hence the basement. We drank and joked and told stories and had epic arguments fuelled by beer and testosterone...it was always fun. After a short while the party would invariably start drifting towards us...at first others would join us in the basement and then bit by bit we would start flowing back into the main part of the house, joining the "cool" kids. We were fun to be with because we didn't take life too seriously and we knew how to drink, seriously.

The fact that we never looked for trouble didn't mean it didn't find us, preppies seemed to really have an issue with us and this party was at a preppies house filled with preppies....go figure. It didn't stop us from hitting on the preppy girls, which I guess actually explains why they didn't like us, the preppy guys taking issue with us hitting on their girls...whatever dude. The party moved outside and somewhere along the line one drunk or another said something wrong and words were exchanged...a fist or two flew and all blew over. Not by me of course, unless you slap someone I care for you're pretty much guaranteed to not suffer my wrath...I'm the lover, not the fighter.

As the night wound down we realized that our drive had left...I don't remember exactly who it was but I'm pretty sure we were abandoned by the girls in our group, left to find our own way home. So a cab was called for the last six of us at the party and can you believe the cab driver wouldn't take six drunk guys in his cab....he took only four people and I wasn't one of the them. Mother clucker!! Screw it, I'm walking home! "Yeah, me too" chimed in Steve...what could possibly happen?

Steve and I started the long trek home, and to be clear, mine was a lot longer than his. If we were at Royal York and Weston Road, he wound up at Kipling and Weston for his place and I still had another 45 minutes after that.  All told I think it would have taken me an hour and a half to walk home. No biggie right. And the truth of the matter was that the damage that we caused was minimal to the city...and maybe one garden gnome. We had discovered that a well placed upward kick would knock the cover off the hydro boxes that dotted the lawns we passed at 2:00 in the morning. Not something I'm overly proud of but I told you I would be honest. We kicked a number of these boxes on our way home. Angry amped up teens that we were...of course we did.

Miraculously we didn't get arrested and or mugged on our trek home. Especially me when I made the last part of the journey home by myself. Funny how I never felt unsafe back then...even though I had been mugged I just never thought to be wary. Hmmmmmm. In any event, as I trudged along not kicking anything anymore, turning onto my long winding street I spied a figure walking ahead of me...also, quite obviously, drunk. Side bar here, if the zombie apocalypse happened, would you remain a drunk zombie if you were changed over while drunk? Anyhow, as I got closer to the fellow inebriate my amazing powers of deduction concluded that the person was a she, long hair and all, and she was favouring her right foot. Seems she had twisted her ankle a bit, what with the high heels and loads of gin she drank...go figure. I had lived on that street for four years and I had no clue who she was...she wasn't new to the street and lived maybe 15 houses away from me. My new found friend was named Karen and we struck up a conversation as we walked along. Did we discuss Socrates and James Joyce? No...probably Motley Crue and Iron Maiden...she was a fellow rocker after all. Which led to a discussion of leather jackets. Which led to her joining me in my garage because I was sure I had a leather jacket in there that my parents were trying to sell at the yard sale....it might fit her. Which led to...well, you know...a kiss or two. Until the garage door flew open with my dad standing there looking wild eyed in his pyjamas. Uhm...oh, hey dad! Seems I'm not ninja like in my stealth while drinking...Lucy!!! You have some splaining to do.

Hey, I was just showing Karen, it is Karen right?, Karen my leather jacket. Where is that thing anyway? You should have seen the look on his face....a mixture of surprise, pride and anger. He composed himself, smiled and lowered the door. The moment ruined Karen decided she should get home...but she left with my leather jacket after some routing around in the garage. And a promise to see each other again was made. Never saw her again. We moved a couple of weeks later so any moments we could have shared disappeared as the truck pulled away. What if? hahaha

Good times
D

Betrayal

This past, somewhat long, weekend provided opportunity for us to binge watch some Netflix...the we being the kids and I. And what did we watch? In between episodes of The Newsroom, please genuflect when you say that, we watched a bunch of How I Met Your Mother...like Friends, a guilty pleasure. A funny show devoted to the search for the one, getting laid, growing up and the Bro Code. The Bro Code you ask? Yes, the unwritten laws that govern male relationships...sometimes known as the Dude Law, and what should be known as The Don't be a Dick Theorem. As an aside my kids have pointed out that I'm a lot like Ted in the show...stupid stories and bone headed romantic misadventures...what? Stories? Me?

Let us delve deeper into that code as I relate a story of betrayal as the summer of 1987 and my life as high school student came to an end. The summer ending party that I related in ROOI talked of our band playing our swan song show...as a tribute to our friends and really as a farewell to our youth. A fun drunken night save for this story, which in hind sight should have ruined a lot of things but instead was a footnote ending to my high school years.

My place in the band as the bassist was, as I have related, nothing more than me being included in the fun. Ironically, at the close of that summer, I was the only person in the band from when it was started...the lineup having changed a number of times due to arranged marriages, the never ending search for lead singers and drummers, a separate breed unto themselves. Not that it matters a bit as almost all of us looked at this as a diversion, something to do and something to help in the meeting of girls. Nothing more....except for Locked in the Closet Danny. For some context read Losing It

And now you know a little of the back ground....let us continue.

Now, I'm the first to admit that I had no idea what I was doing when playing bass for the band...never thought myself a bassist other than the fact that I had the four string instrument and an amp. My parts were taught to me with a lot of help from Danny and Dom, they being the real musicians. We had some fun playing together in that brief window of time in our lives. Most of us had no illusions of anything more than meeting girls playing that last party, so it came as quite the shock when there was a plot revealed to remove me from the band and have me replaced by an actual bassist. And it was revealed to me by chance on the night of that party...by the way told you I was naive.

As I recall, this bassist named Chris came with another friend of ours to the party. That friend, Steve, worked with Chris and Steve had cryptically said to me, at some point earlier in the summer, along the lines of watch out for so called friends. At the party was when I met Chris but supposedly he had met Danny previously and whether that was when this plot was hatched or not I don't know. I didn't think anything of it as I was more interested in playing our set and getting on with the important stuff....drinking and girls. The night was legendary for the amount of alcohol consumed and the small junk yard of scrap being dumped in with the tomatoes...it was just fun. We played our set and than commenced to have some fun....around 11:00 I drove the girl I was dating home. We hung out for a few hours at her place so it wasn't until 2:00 or so in the morning when I strolled back into Dennis' house to commence my partying.

Lo and behold there was Danny and Dom and Chris huddled together and like deer in headlights they reacted by running off in other directions when I proclaimed my desire for many beer while walking in the front door. I don't think you could look any more guilty by leaping away from each other as they did. Instantly my spidey sense was tingling but honestly I was more interested in getting on with the buisness of drinking. I came to find out later that Dom wasn't really interested in doing anything with the band if it didn't include me and was kept as is, meaning a diversion as opposed to devoting our lives to music...for us it was some fun, nothing more. Danny, it seemed, thought that we could go places and to do so a real musician was needed to play my part...I wouldn't argue that point at all. Dom and Danny were very good and I was not. And if it was brought to me in that way, sure a bit of hurt feelings would have ensued but that would have been it...who am I to stand in your way of super stardom. But the code was broken. You don't do that shit, ever. And I'll tell you folks...when I found out after the fact I was pretty pissed....in the end it was the beginning of the long slow decline of our friendship. To have a back stabbing incident on top of the past years nonsense between Connie and Danny, well...fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

Despite the obvious uncomfortable air about the party now, I went on my merry way and pickled my liver for the rest of the morning. I pretended I saw nothing and acted in accordance...let them sneak away and continue the plot, I had beer to consume. Some time later on the news was dropped by Connie, as I recall, that I was being replaced by Chris...sure, thanks. Yeah, I'm OK, no worries man. What would you have me do? Launch a lawsuit to keep control of what? Sulk in the corner? Sorry, I don't do that...ever. So, from time to time there was awkwardness to deal with as we would all get together for drinks and Chris would be there but that was all.

The elephant in the room was the betrayal as opposed to not being in the band anymore. You don't break that sacred bond between dudes for your own betterment or advancement. It had half happened with the whole mess surrounding Connie, but as I was pulled into the fracas by one of the participants and of my own misguided free will participation, I couldn't hold that against him...save the fact that he wasn't up front with me...oh wait, just like this time. Hmmmmmmm, I see a pattern emerging. The fact that our friendship meant so little to Danny was what really bothered me...the previous three or four years of high school life was built around our friendship first and foremost. There was always us, until there was no longer just us. As the fall turned to winter and we began seeing each other less and less due to school and other nonsense our paths were set on different courses. The band, such as it was, never played any shows and disbanded not long after...less because of my departure and more because it was never meant to be the thing for us...Dom, Ivan and Flip knew it, I knew it...Danny had other thoughts in his head. But sadly the damage was done and when you break the code you have to live with the repercussions...the nature of our friendship was forever changed. Sure we hung out some over the next few years but our paths were moving away from each other, like a too long married couple that didn't really fit together in the first place, the slow inevitable decline was in progress. Made worse by the code being broken.

Are we friends today? No. I have been to Toronto many times over the years and have met up with Dom and other friends almost every time I have visited. Plans would be made by Dom and Danny would always back out or simply not show. There was one time many years ago that we did meet up with a bunch of the gang...we shared drinks and memories at our favourite bar but most of our lives were far too different to try and forge more than a few emails and Facebook posts....such is life I guess. Earlier this summer, at Danny's urging we were going to meet up while I was visiting...I had a few hopes since it was his idea, but the not unexpected last minute cancellation came and I was not surprised. Dom and I both realize that Danny has his own life and our part in it is over. That's fine...I won't be bothering to try again. I wish it wasn't the case but there you have it.

And there you have another somewhat painful moment from my distant past. A few more weaves that formed the tapestry of my life to that point. Without us noticing, those strands change us, they give us context and experience, so much so that we ultimately change the hanging art work into something else entirely. While I like to think of myself as essentially the same person as I was in grade 13 with the same passions and outlook, I am with out a doubt different. Passionate about different things, my outlook is viewed from the prism of my 48 year old life. A life of experiences, both good and bad, are of course going to give me a different perspective. It would be impossible to have an un-nuanced life if we are being truthful with ourselves and open, truly open. Where will it take me? How will it end up? I have no clue...and that's kind of exciting to ponder.

Ciao
D

Abu el Banat

I seem to recall saying that what Hilary should do is simply shut up and let the Drumph keep going, he would, in his own way, shoot himself in the foot, narrowly missing his brain. Well...lo and behold maybe, just maybe, we are witnessing the implosion of the Donald, finally. And I say maybe because he should have been sunk on his first day with his Mexicans are rapists comments while declaring his unfathomable campaign...and just about every other day since. But his candidacy has been anything but normal and what would have tanked any other person has elevated him to where he is now...shit rises I guess.

So, I'm not going to speak of him as a voter (not that I can vote in the US), I believe my thoughts are well known on what I and most rational people believe would be the election of a second Hitler. No, today I speak as a father of daughters. Two beautiful girls that are growing up in a world that bombards them with images of the "perfect body" entertainers that call them bitches as a punchline and now a presidential candidate that has come to personify misogyny. I'm blessed that my girls are strong enough and smart enough to realize that their sense of worth and happiness should come from within, not from the messed up world of memes and music videos.

My girls and I talk regularly about many topics, we are pretty open with each other and I wouldn't want it any other way. From abortions to zebras we have talked about a lot of things together, it's a way for them to develop their open minds and think critically, to not be sheep. While I have my beliefs and opinions, some very strong, I have mostly stayed away from trying to impose my beliefs on them. But I mince no words when it comes to issues surrounding someone attacking someone else for being a woman, a minority, poor, gay or with mental or physical health concerns...I have and will continue to say my peace on these issues and if it flies in the face of someone else's faith or belief, too fucking bad. Wrong is wrong...and I'm not abdicating my responsibility as a father or a human being for the sake of some sort of political correctness.

As a father of daughters I am appalled by Drumphs behaviour and for his apologists continuing support...how can you stand there and equate this to a boys being boys kind of thing? Boys being boys is about taking the cinnamon dare or anything that happens after the phrase, "hold my beer for a second". Not this, not for a real man. If you claim that he speaks from the heart, well, he has shown you what's in that pit of hell quite clearly, don't you think? Why is an image of an office full of beauty pageant contestants flashing through my mind when I think of Drumph as president, which is followed by an image of the world actually set on fire and him holding the mother of all flame throwers?

Our daughters need to be protected from people like this, not led by them, and our sons need to be taught that this isn't anything remotely close to acceptable behaviour for a man...ever. I believe in educating both boys and girls on what true equality means and to give them the tools to stand up to the outside pressures that would condone any "isms". It's good that we help girls to stand up to sexism but we also need to include boys and teach them to see that this kind of behaviour isn't acceptable. It will take a lot of time but it's well worth the effort if we can relegate the Drumphs of the world to the darkest corners...make it reprehensible to be like him.

So, Donald, on behalf of mothers and fathers, I feel compelled to end this little post thusly, with all the respect that I can muster....go fuck yourself you ass hole dung beetle.

D

Loco for local

While cleaning out the inbox of my email account I stumbled across an email from last summer. I was asked to write an article for possible inclusion on an amateur wine blog That never materialzed ....this is what I came up with. Hope you enjoy it.

Loco for Local

To neophytes and seasoned (pardon the pun) veterans alike, the wonderful growth of the “local” food and wine movement over the last 10 to 20 years or so is both stunning and welcome. What may seem like an overnight phenomenon would be undoubtedly described as a long and arduous journey by those at the grass roots. Chasing ones passion usually is.

If one were to compare today to twenty years ago, the availability of quality local food and wine, one would be shocked at the differences. In the days before the web as we know it, I spent a lot of time on the phone, at farmers markets and on the road tracking down what I wanted to serve to my guests. I couldn’t hit up the Halifax Farmers Market in its old location on the weekend….no, no….nothing so easy as that, because I was busy making breakfast for my guests. I drove to the valley to get free range chickens from Oulton’s Farms. I would meet a guy in a parking lot in Dartmouth to get some wonderful Northumberland lamb. Forging relationships with farms, fisherman and growers is certainly a great way to understand where your food comes from. Farmers markets are, in my humble opinion, one of the best things ever and it puts you in the vanguard of the local movement.

Conversely, the wine industry, such as it was, was truly in its toddler years. Few wineries with a selection that didn’t inspire the pallet. If you found a Nova Scotian wine on the menu it was generally there because of price. Unlike today where we have some wines we can truly be proud of. Recognition and accolades from the industry and our very own appellation. Of course this was to be expected, despite having some of the first vines planted in North America, we had a young and immature industry. The early stages of building a culture and industry around food and wine takes time, patience, perseverance and of course passion.

That passion, built on the shoulders of the veterans in the food and wine industry, is why we now boast such wonderful and world class artisans and purveyors. Think Dragons Breath Blue Cheese, haskap berries, Nova 7 and Buried Red. We have craft breweries, distillers, wine tours, farm markets and a thriving “foodie” scene that promises to get better.

This inaugural article is an introduction to what will come later. We want to talk to guys and gals with dirt under their fingernails and the smell of hops in their hair. Ok, that’s a little gross, but you get the idea. We hope to bring their stories and make it a part of your story.

Cheers
Dolce Far Niente

To sleep, perchance to dream

The morning sun is peaking through the slats on the shutters, teasing me as I try to get past six hours of sleep. Teasing me with a new day, full of possibilities and discovery. My bed isn't overly comfortable but compared to that cot I slept on in the basement when we separated, it's the king size bed in the presidential suite. I'm warm and cozy as the night chill lingers, the day promises to be glorious...a beautiful fall day that will serve as a back drop to the exploration of my new home, temporary as it is.

I've taken the plunge and chased my dream of living in Europe, taking myself right out of any comfort zone I have, leaving behind family and friends to immerse myself in all things Greek. Here I am, a little apartment over a taverna on the isle of Santorini in the town of Oia, one week in on my three month experiment. Everyone has heard me talk about it and now I get to live it...it took a lot of time and a lot of effort but here I am. Slightly petrified but excited as hell and, so far, loving it.

I came at the tale end of the tourist season because I'm not interested in being a tourist. I want to experience what's on the table as if I am one of them...I'm not of course, nor will I ever be, but I do believe it's infinitely better than stopping in for a week while rushing around to see the Expedia top ten, or worse, pull in on the latest homage to cruising hell at 7:00 AM to "experience all that Santorini has to offer"...please be back on the ship for departure at 5:00 PM. Twelve hours to explore an island? How about a dock and perhaps take a few pictures on the famed white walls overlooking those blue seas. No thanks. I have had first dates last longer than what an average tourist might spend wandering around...and that's why I am living the next few months over this wonderful little cafe.

A bit of time researching and reaching out to people and lo and behold I have a relatively cheap room to stay in for a few months while I absorb. I've already had a night helping out downstairs, just doing dishes and stuff. My reward, some wine and broken English chat...my does it ever feel good. Being born in France to Yugoslavian parents I imagine the pull of the old world has been in my blood always, but has truly taken hold since my 40's...I feel it in my bones, my soul belongs here. I just think that they do life better here, and these few days have confirmed that for me. Sure, it's far from perfect but what is not to like about the warmth of new friends being made, good food without pretension, wine aplenty and a depth of history to explore. I suspect I will return home a changed man.

Today, as I have everyday since getting settled, I will stroll down the narrow streets to the small open air market for a coffee and a nibble of some fresh pastries and fruit. While I can cook my meals in my apartment I like the experience of getting out and seeing, meeting and doing. My grand plan for today is to explore a few streets over from me, to walk the narrow paths that countless others have walked over for generations. Find that out of the way book store, the little shop with the passionate artist doing his pottery...who will I meet today?

For a lunch, taken before a new found joy, the afternoon mesimeri, I will find some fresh fish and light salad to dine on...my room has a large window with a small table in front of it to watch the town move and the seas swell. Fresh fish done simply in the wonderful olive oil of the region with a few pomegranate seeds thrown in last minute and a salad of delicate lettuce dressed with tomatoes and the thinnest red onions gently kissed with a lemony vinaigrette....le sigh. The idea of taking a two hour nap seems odd to my Canadian sensibilities but my god isn't it a wonderful thing to be able to turn off and rest your body, mind and soul before getting back to life. An appreciation of what life should be about and truly embracing "la dolce far niente"

The night will bring cooler air, starry skies and a melange of conversations shared over food and wine...rising and falling in passion as everything from the the national team's latest football qualifier to the state of the street repairs finally being done after years of neglect. The little things that matter for locals provide me with an insight into their world, if conversation flows to grander themes it will be because I sat and listened to the trivial, to the inane and to the deeply held convictions of my neighbours.

And while this all swirls around me I will slowly be working up an appetite for whatever is being cooked over that open fire out front...nothing beats that flavourful meat cooked over the embers of a charcoal fire. The delicious odour of garlic, lemon and lamb or pork grilling away mingles with the scent of the fresh flowers and the saltiness of the sea wind. I am holding out as long as I can, an appetizer of saganaki will hopefully tide me over. My server dousing the flaming cheese with lemon as he places the dish in front of me...that aroma, that sizzling sound...how could you not love this forever?

While I am alone now I won't be for long, in a few weeks my love is coming for ten days to explore with me. I miss her terribly and she I, at least I hope so...she has been so understanding and supportive of my decision to follow this path. In many ways our strong connection is what helped me to get here....her support and understanding helping me to realize that it was OK to go away for a bit. While a long distant relationship is a hard thing, this is a temporary distance...a brief time apart and I do truly believe absence makes the heart grow fonder. I can't wait to see her smiling face again.

For now, as I watch the sun set behind the hills and my glass full again, I will count my blessings and marvel at what I am getting to do. I remember hearing an interview with Mandy Patinkin a long while ago, while talking about his role in The Princess Bride, he was relating what he said to his wife when they first saw the film, through tears he said that he didn't have the chance to dream about being involved with something so magical...tears for the pure joy, well, that's how I feel. Pure joy as I marvel at the beauty around me....my dreams never coming close to the reality of what I have in front of me.

I can hardly contain myself at what tomorrow will bring......

Dreaming indeed.....

Ciao
D

ROOI

My friends, 1987 goes down as the best year of my youth. Everything seemed to click for me that year and in many ways it was my glory year...when asked if I could go back in time this is when I would go. It was fun, so much fun. And even when it wasn't fun it was always interesting.

1987 was when I graduated from high school, barely. Seems my parents were right on a few points when I started to drive the year before...I fucked off so much and studied not a bit that I was kind of shocked that I did pass. This being before the time of not being able to fail students...meaning there were consequences for your actions or lack there of. The great big wide world was before us and I had no particular plan...I hadn't been accepted to the fine arts program at York University and I didn't want to go just for the sake of going. So my summer wasn't going to end in August with the start of university...it was weird but not scary. I was too stupid to be scared. And if my parents and friends pressed me for a plan I was going to take the year off, take night school to bring by GPA up and work to save money...all of which happened except the saving money part. If you're interested, one of my previous posts Artsy Fartsy details how I fared the following year...this one is about the summer to end all summers.

As the school year was drawing to a close, along with it our time at Don Bosco, there seemed to be a lot of nervous energy for me and my cohorts. Times were a changing and we all knew it, whether we wanted to believe it or not...life as we had come to know was about to fade away. We did, in all our own ways, move on with our lives after the epicness of that summer. Of course we fought bravely to keep our gang together. We spent a week up at a cottage after grad and prom, which will probably get it's own post someday. Our local watering hole, a sports bar called Stripes, had become an almost nightly ritual for us. Drunken weekends at one house party or another and the coup de grace of it all...the month of August hanging at Dennis' house because his parents were in Italy...jack pot baby!!!

Dennis had warned us repeatedly, don't shoot your bottle caps into the tomato garden. Every time we were there the same warning was issued and every time we ignored him and his older brother Fred....a real life caricature Fred was. Flick, right into the garden. As a side note, when his parents came back home from their month long trip to the home country the father went straight to the garden to check the tomatoes...I bet you could hear the yell of "Dennis!!!!" across the neighbourhood. Italians and their wonderful tomatoes. Sitting around the garden table drinking and telling stories, relating the days events...it could have gone on forever as far as we were concerned but we knew it couldn't. And born from that knowledge, that certainty, a plan was hatched to have our band play one last party at the house before the summer faded away. This was the last time that our band would play together...our way of saying good bye to the summer of 2017.

I was working at the Golden Griddle still and I had requested the Saturday night of the party off and if possible the Sunday morning as well. I knew Sunday was a no go but I had no worries about the Saturday night as I was always scheduled for morning shifts. Well, moron Peter decided to get cute and schedule me for a 10 to 8 shift for the first time ever...there had never been a 10 to 8 shift until this day. This may have been payback for my errrr....less than exemplary attitude but we were at a crossroads now. I talked to Pete to no avail, I tried switching shifts, again with no luck. Well....this was going to be an issue, I was not missing that party and my chance to play. So, with no one willing to do me a solid I did the only rational thing I could do, for the first and only time in my life I walked out on a job. I didn't even bother saying anything, I just walked...fuck you. I didn't say anything to my parents and when I got to the party I just did my thing. Eventually the story got out and it made for some good laughs. At some point my mom had called to ask me what had happened, which is odd because I never gave out my friends phone numbers so I have no idea how she tracked me down. Anyway, she told me that work had called and said that it was OK and I could still come in the next morning...not fucking likely, I didn't get home until close to noon the next day and besides, I quit.

So, back to the band....we had won the second annual Battle of the Bands earlier in the year and while we wish we were planning a world tour we knew, well most of us knew, that it was fun while it lasted, time to move on. There was one person that had visions of grandeur and this night figured prominently in that vision...but that will be for another day. The night was about to begin...

The five of us arrived early to set up the gear and do a quick tune up, as I recall we were only playing 5 or 6 songs but we wanted them to be our best...our little gift to all of us, a thank you to good friends. Slowly the people started to arrive, cases of beer, bags of ice, bottles of vodka, rum, rye and probably a few of those disgusting two litre bottles of glow in the dark alcoholic coolers...ick. The house seemed to swell with people...every room seemed to be occupied, the back yard was full of people and more were coming all the time. It was shaping up to be quite the night...

In the early stages of the night I didn't drink much as I was going to drive home the girl I was seeing...my beer infusion would have to wait but that was OK, for most of the night I was observing the gang...trying to soak it all in. Let's see if I can recall them all: Steve, Joe, Vernon, Ciupa, Tony, Dennis, Rudy, Lena, Connie, Stacey, Zvonko, Dave, Sue...and of course the band, Flip, Dom, Ivan, Danny and yours truly...a core of 16 to 20 people that eased in and out of the ROOI gang. A non official moniker that simply stood for Right Out Of It...you see, we weren't preppies, ginos, jocks or rockers...although individually some of us fell into those groups we really weren't part of them. We did our own thing. And if you're wondering, I would have been closest to the rocker clan...long hair and all. Partying up with these people was almost always fun and watching the interactions between us all was better than TV...a lot of fondness when I remember those times.

At some point, the band took to the stage in a low ceiling basement with, I'm sure, wood panelling on the walls. A few songs to entertain the masses...our swan song before life took over. And than back to the business at hand...drinking. The stereo replaced us with classics from the Doors, The Who, The Stones and whatever else the DJ of the night could come up with...the most important job at any party is the person controlling the music. You had to have American Pie near the end of the night so all could sing out their hearts. The obligatory Stairway to Heaven to allow for dark corners to be used properly. Throw in a little Ozzy or AC/DC to get the blood pumping. Avoid The Doors song The End, lest you want to bring the night down. I love the song, but not for a party. A few 80's songs would make it in to the mix to keep everyone sufficiently mollified...one can never underestimate the soundtrack of ones youth.

After a few hours absence for driving home my girlfriend I returned to catch up on my drinking, I had a reputation to live up to after all. The party was still going well although we had started to lose a few people here and there by midnight...the witching hour for some I suppose. The consumption of alcohol was slowing a bit, a few yawns could be seen and the music slowly became broodier. The die hards were still there at 3:00 in the morning but we were all starting to fade...a microcosm for the summer, for our high school days. Like this party slipping into the early morning and fading to memories, our lives within ROOI were doing the same.

The party was unrivalled in our addled minds. Music, booze and friends and that's all we ever needed. We didn't aspire to anything more than being with each other and having some laughs, it was the secret of our success in that final year...until reality and doing adult smacked us in the face we were happy as a pig in shit just doing our thing. Minor dramas and affairs of the heart sometimes got in the way but it rarely stopped us from being us. A glorious time in our lives fuelled by beer and music for our gang of misfits. The seasons turned and of course lives went off in other trajectories but like Bryan Adams sang, those were the best days of my life...I wouldn't trade those memories for anything.

Ciao
D