You have entered the Twilight Zone

Three days in and here is the scariest thing I think I have ever heard...alternative facts. What in the fuck are they talking about? I wanted to shut up and move on to other things but this is just way too much. For the love of fuck are you literally so shit stained stupid that you can make up your own "reality"?

Of course, this is completely rhetorical since we already know he has been living in an alternative universe and creates his own reality. But now, more than ever, he is trying to drag the rest of the world with him. Greatest attended inauguration ever...way more people than Obama's. Don't look at those pictures, they are part of the fake media, but hey....let me tell you how many people were there...we know the alternative facts. We have the cabinet with the greatest IQ ever...the outgoing Secretary of Energy is literally a physicist with degrees and doctorates from Boston College and Stanford. He worked at M.I.T. And Rick Perry has a nice new pair of glasses to make him look smarter. Is that alternative newsy Donald you fuck wad?

My best friend shared this on Facebook and it seems all the more important now...

I really wanted to let this go, but like a car wreck it's just so hard to look away. All the more so that we are being lied to with such reckless abandon. He is a dangerous piece of shit. And to all you alt right fuck heads complaining that the left should just get over it, he won fair and square...fuck you ass holes. I'll remember that like you remembered that Obama won fair and square and you burned him in effigy hanging from a tree...like your lynchings with some fire do you? Dancing around the pyre in celebration of your supreme whiteness.

I recall writing some time ago that as I approach 50 my filters will totally disappear and my mouth would do what it will do....obviously I am mostly there already because I don't give a good God damn what any racist, misogynist, xenophobic ass hat says or thinks of me. And neither should you....yell it loud and proud, and leave no stone un-turned when it comes to standing up for the things we should hold dear and to the aid of those that need a strong voice in their defence.

It was beautiful to see millions of people, not just women, march in defiance of the notion of what Drumph stands for and says. Captain petulance responds as you would expect and later tweets out that he has loads of respect for the protesters...nobody has more respect, I have the most respect for those protesters. Tremendous respect. Do you think Melania wears rubber gloves when she has to touch him in that special way? Fucking gross...just gross.

We can't, as a society, let this fear mongering freak show of a troll take us down the road of fear and hate. Remember Edmund Burke's words...

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

By the light of the moon

There may not be anything more quintessentially Canadian than hitting the ice for a game of shinny in the great outdoors. The rawness of the day, the uneven ice with not a board in sight. Goal posts marked by boots and surrounded by a wide expanse behind the net....hoping friction does it's job lest you spend the entire afternoon chasing pucks. Or perhaps at any of the outdoor rinks that dotted the landscape around the city. Some with boards and proper dimensions and some were simply tennis courts flooded to allow some skating in circles while rink rats kept you from killing anyone.

I remember skating on Grenadier Pond in High Park a few times as a kid. To my young eyes a giant playground of frozen tundra surrounding a huge slab of ice where we could seemingly skate forever. Wind hard and bitter as it blew across from Lake Ontario to chill us...but not really. The joy of being outside...so primitive and so liberating dampened any thoughts of the cold. These days when I get to skate the oval here in Halifax it's nice and all but it doesn't come close to the almost euphoric rise from my youth.

Somehow in the progression from preteen years to full blown teen angst, that magical pastime was replaced by work and chasing booze and girls. That is until perhaps grade 10 or 11 when a bunch of us found ourselves climbing a fence to play shinny on an outdoor rink. I want to say it was on Martingrove Road just past Eglington but who knows really. I do know it would have been easy to see us climbing the fence but we would have been nearly invisible once on the ice. We played by moonlight and street light. Simply glorious. Our somewhat weekly ritual on a Friday night was to throw our gear over the fence and follow up with our own mad dash over the chain link barrier. These escapades harken back to climbing huge crab apple trees in the Humber valley and making ourselves sick to the stomach with how many apples we would eat. Or dangling from a cliff side chestnut tree near the hospital in the search for the perfect chestnut for our "nut" wars. No phone or tablet to entertain us...no, we lived and survived the very real possibility of serious injury or even death as we tried to remake the Gumball Rally with our BMX bikes.

It future years we made a slow progression to renting outdoor rinks for late night games and even indoor rinks with dressing rooms and zamboni's...imagine that. But these early days still remain the magical ones to me. Time has worn away the cold and the dark to be replaced by the sheer joy of a pure game of shinny. No equipment save gloves, sticks and skates. We didn't need full body armour because we weren't doing anything more than skating and passing the puck and putting it in the "net". It wasn't until our future game incarnations, when we had goalies and a net to shoot at, that equipment became necessary. There is something special to these ears to hear the cut of skates across the ice...like freshly mown grass in the summer brings me back to lazy days in the backyard watching the clouds go by, the sounds of hockey played in the great white north always brings me back to Grenadier pond or that lonely rink on the hill. Those sounds, that crisp air...and me doing my best imitation of a pylon.

Looking back one can see the progression we made from hopping fences to paying for rink time being a mirror to our own "growing up". I won't use maturing because that's the last word anyone would use when talking about our band of misfits. And as we took each step towards the warmth and regularity of an indoor rink we lost a little more of our youthful exuberance for the simple pleasure in hitting the ice. Where we once carried everything on the end of our hockey stick we now needed smelly hockey bags to contain our gear. Our innocence to the love of the simple game was slowly being replaced with making sure we had two goalies and how much everyone owed after the game so the ice time could be paid for. We were, against all the odds, growing up.

Years later, while living in Lunenburg I managed to get myself back on the ice with a good bunch of people on Wednesday nights. All skill levels thrown together for a friendly game, where my pylon work was appreciated, even when held up to the some of the former junior A calibre players. It became what I most looked forward to all year. I played with a number of doctors, which was fluke but a happy one, considering the chances of cardiac arrest from the weekend warriors. We enjoyed it so much that I started up a summer version doing ball hockey...not nearly as fun and way more work (can't glide on the cement) but again, simpler times in relived glory.

A bit of reflection today, it would seem. A yearning for the simpler times in life I guess...when you had to worry about making it home before a loose curfew, you drank out of garden hoses and the outdoors was the only place you wanted to be.

Ciao
D

A Liberal Lament

And so it begins...the end of all things. We stand on a precipice, with the future before us and a guy who should be in shackles for his gross indecency and incompetence is about to become the ruler of the free world...taking the reigns of an even more deeply divided country. Pressing forth in the world with no understanding of realpolitik and a penchant for tweeting before thinking. I'm worried....I think most of us are. And we should be.

A few days out from inauguration and he has suggested that his son in law would be put in charge of negotiating a peace treaty in the Middle East. Let that sink in. No wonder Putin is doing a happy dance in Moscow and the rest of the world is scratching their heads wondering when the joke will finally be revealed. Suggestions that he is already compromised by his dealings around the world, his odd and dangerous choices for cabinet posts and the fact that he let Meryl Streep get under his skin do not bode well for America....and no body can tell me what that means for the rest of us. Hence my apprehension going forward,,,hold on world, it's going to be a wild and crazy ride. Not the kind of ride you want of course...road trip to Montreal to watch the Habs and have a drink or 75 this is not. More like The Revenant meets Freddy Kruger when he's had his claws sharpened...shit's about to get ugly.

I've said this before, the scary part of this is the not knowing what the orange idiot will do. How easy will it be for someone like Putin to goad him into doing something so boneheaded stupid that it'll make the McCarthy years look like a picnic in the park? Pretty easy I would imagine considering that he can't control himself in any way, shape or form. He's taking credit for things he hasn't had any influence on. Throwing the intelligence community publicly under a bus. Calling legitimate news outlets fake news paddlers. Lies upon lies and outright bizarre behaviour and he hasn't even taken the oath yet.

My hope is that at some point even Republicans will throw their hands up and agree to impeach him...he can't last four years. If he hasn't tired of the crap that goes along with being president and quits himself, surely he will be turfed for any number of reasons...and while Pence is scary in his own right, he will be on such a short leash that perhaps the danger can be mitigated. In the end though it's up to everyone else to talk truth to stupid and make sure this orange buffoon doesn't change the faces on Mount Rushmore or flood the western half of the world with pink champagne because he likes the colour and bubbles.

There is no room for complacency. Looking the other way is not an option. He may have won with the antiquated electoral college but he is far from being in the drivers seat...he is in way over his head and trouble will follow. What and how much is dependant on what others do.

Part of me wants to open a Twitter account to see if I can get him to respond to me in some way but for now I will say the following:

Fuck You Donald

Hook, line and sinker

How about a funny story highlighting my almost legendary naiveté? I do so enjoy making myself look stupid and god knows we could all use some more of that. Right?

Being both naive and kind of dumb I often don't have the foggiest clue as to whether someone of the fairer sex is interested in me. On a few occasions I have had other people inform me that I was being hit on. I'm not sure that I believed them but they were pretty certain in their conviction. So this little story should fall under the category of "of course it happened to you".

My first year in college there were probably about 40 students to start the year. Which meant for every task during dining room service there were five or six people to help carry the load...totally realistic in the business. This didn't last long of course, we lost at least ten people after the first few weeks and this was further whittled down to somewhere around 20 people before the first semester was over. My graduating class had maybe 12 people and three of us actually graduated...the rest still needed some credits. But I digress, By the time the first semester was coming to an end there was a core group of people that got pretty close as time marched on. In this group there were only three women, maybe two as I can only recall two of their names. Since we were all pretty comfortable with each other and the industry demands conformity everyone was treated as "one of the guys". Except when it came to, ahem, you know....dating and stuff. Other rules applied to this situation.

One girl, Cassandra, became entangled with Danilo for most of the time in school. Melissa was the other woman in the class. Since I was a tad shy I stuck to my work and learning what I could learn. That is until the night of a house party that first December if I recall. I really don't remember any details, who's house it was? Where it was? How I got there and why I was even there? But I do remember the drive home. Because that's where this story really starts.

Loaded into the back seat of someones car was myself behind the driver, someone else in the middle and Melissa on the other side. Now, the first thing to know is that I am broad shouldered, back then because I was in shape and lifted weights, and now because I am pear shaped. So I always find it more comfortable to drape my arm over a chair or behind someones back to make more room for everyone. The second thing to know is that when I do a thing I do it to make people laugh...mostly myself. So I, forgetting the rules of elementary school dating, thought it was kind of funny to poke Melissa in the ear with my finger. And even funnier to give her a wet willy with said finger. I told you I was dropped as a child. Well...whoever was in the middle of us was just snickering and Melissa was saying something to the effect of "do you really want to do this?" I'm sure I didn't know what she was talking about so I continued doing what I was doing. Nothing happened and I managed to get home in one piece. Didn't think anything of it afterwards.

A few weeks into the new year Cassandra tells me that she is having a party and I was invited. Cool. "Who's going?" Oh you know, the usual. "Steve and Caesar going?" "Uhm, yeah they're going. So are you coming?" Sure...why the hell not. Well, before the time of Google Maps I had to navigate my way to wherever Cassandra lived...I don't recall why but I drove by myself. You would think Steve or Caesar would have been with me but there you go. I found her place and after a few minutes I was ensconced on a couch in an orange basement with some shag carpet...how retro eh? At this point there was only Cassandra, Danilo, myself and, you guessed it, Melissa. "So, where is everyone else?" I asked. They should be here soon came Cassandra's reply. So we had a drink, talked about school and basically sat there holding the couches down onto the floor.

Shortly there after Cassandra got up on the pretence of taking care of the food upstairs, as she was going up the stairs she called for Danilo to help out. As he made his way up the stairs it suddenly became very clear to me (better late than never right) that this was a set up. I was alone with Melissa, the only two other people in the house were probably groping each other upstairs and I was pretty sure Caesar wasn't coming to the party. I turned to Melissa mouth wide open and she just smiled and said "you really made this easy." Sure...easy when people lie to you and conspire together, Ok fine...I'm dumb.

I won't bore you with the mushy sappy syrupy stuff....long story short, we were dating after that. I confess it was flattering to be chased like that. I heard once that to be wanted is the most alluring thing for a man...it might be true.

Would you believe that short lived relationship was what I would consider my first real girlfriend/boyfriend relationship? True story. While I had been chasing girls since grade two this slapstick comedy approach in landing with Melissa marked the first time I was actually dating someone. The very next person I dated I ended up marrying. Yeah. Moral of the story people....we don't know shit when we're that young. I'm not dissing high school sweetheart love or anything like that but we really don't know a damn thing about anything at that young age.

At the end of it all though...no regrets. Not one. Thinking about the road not travelled is not the same thing as regretting not travelling that road...there's much to be said for reflection and understanding how we got to where we are, but feeling repentant or disappointed over it? Sorry...merci mais non.

Ciao
D

Quebec City or Bust

Taking you way back to the winter of 1985....wow, over 30 years ago. So much of the success and fun that I derived from my last year of high school can be directly traced back to this time. Five days...five measly days and things were different at the end of it all. A new course was set and a legend was born.

It started off innocently enough. We had just sat down in math class and Danny leans over with this flyer for a ski trip to Quebec City over the holidays..."wanna go to Quebec?" Ok...do we know how to ski? Who the fuck cares, just go. For the record, I don't even recall seeing skis on this trip...I understand some foolish people did actually ski but they weren't hanging out with us. So, right there and then we decided to go. It was one of those "school" trips that really wasn't a school trip. In fact the school went through great pains to send out notices to parents indicating that this was in no way affiliated with the school. Whatever...the student council president, nick named Spider, organized it. $550 per person for quad occupancy which included the bus trip there, accommodations, ski lift tickets and the services of a Canadvac representative. This would come to be important after a few days.

I didn't so much ask my parents if I could go, instead sort of informing them that I was going. We managed to wrangle a few people to go with us. Dom and John were staying with us in the room...I think. We had Rudy and Dave there as well and for the life of me I can't remember the sleeping arrangements or even sleeping for that matter. Suffice to say it didn't really matter.

Actually, the things I'm going to relate may well be skewed due to age, other people's recollection and a teensy bit of alcohol. We boarded the bus on the day after Christmas, in the school parking lot, at the ungodly hour of 7:00 am. By the time we crossed over through Scarborough we all had a pretty good buzz on. Songs were sung and laughs were had...as the bus made its way across the frozen landscape anticipation was building in the bus. This was new to our little band of heathens...we didn't know what to expect but were extremely excited to see it unfold.

The closest and most apt way I can think of describing the first few days is thus...captive baboons had just been freed from their cages, food was plenty and there were no zoo keepers with sharp sticks to instil fear or control. That was us....a roaring band of misfits hell bent on consuming every drop of alcohol in the city. There were no rules and even things nailed down were not safe. What made this trip so epic was the fact that it had thrown the six of us together for the first time in a party situation....and we rose to the challenge.

I believe we got kicked out of the hotel, Auberge du Gouverneurs, on the third day. This is where the Canadvac rep came in handy, not so much for us but for the other rooms that didn't get asked to leave. While we were out having lunch, so the story goes, the hotel management had indicated that they no longer wanted this tour to stay...we had worn out our welcome. Something like 40 rooms if I recall correctly. Well, our rep managed to get them whittled down to the worst offenders....10 rooms!! Personally I like to think that geography was the real culprit in having our room at the top of the list when the largest police officers I have ever seen arrived at our room. We were located pretty much in the centre of the hallway so naturally people gravitated towards there, making it seem that we were much worse than we really were. Try explaining that to the gargantuan men in blue. But I'm getting ahead of myself here...

Once we established bearings we formulated a plan, one of such cunning and guile that surely our desire for alcohol and girls would be realized. The plan was two fold. Drink a lot and be near girls. It might be telling that we penned our very first hit song those few days....it was called rejected. We went to bars already drunk to save money and not one of us came remotely close to kissing a girl. The individual events have blurred together, but I do remember wandering the streets going from bar to bar, random drunken conversations with other groups of random drunks.

This was the routine for the first few days. Drinking earlier and earlier and partying into the wee hours of the morning. We were loud and I'm sure more than rowdy and obnoxious, I do recall hotel staff visiting us on a regular basis in an attempt to control us. Better luck pushing on the ocean I think, hence the involvement of the King Kong sized constabulary. On the day of our expulsion we had just returned from lunch and as we approached the hotel we were nearly accosted by one of the fellow party kings, a long haired heavy metal dude, younger than us but trying oh so hard to keep up. "Hey man, you guys are getting kicked out!" What? "Kicked out...did I stutter" He was summarily dismissed as a lunatic as we headed up to our room. All it took was the door to open and we knew we were in some deep shit. Sitting on the bed with his head in his hands was Dave....suitcases were packed. Uh oh.

Very shortly after our arrival there came a knock on the door, as luck would have it I answered the door. And that's where the two biggest cops I've ever seen were standing, essentially blocking all light from the hallway with their tree like stature. "Uhm....hello, how can I help you?" From behind one of them I heard a meek voice say something to the effect that we are here to remove you from the premises. Our normal fuck you attitude was severely diminished by the presence of the Ents with guns. Nobody said a thing, we knew we were toast. Except for Dave....he looked up and said "I have one question...are my parents going to find out?" I still chuckle at that.

We were shepherded on to a bus and told to stay put. We would be told the plan once everyone was on the bus. I'm sure we started off a little scared....the damage to the room, where would we sleep? Were we going to jail? By the time the third room of rabble rousers joined us we got bored with the unknown and did what came natural to us....yep, we started to have ourselves a little party. A guitar showed up, tunes were sung, hidden bottles were passed around and we cut the tension as only teenagers know how to. Finally the bus was full and the rep informed us that we were being taken to another hotel. According to him we were very lucky that we weren't heading to jail. Whatever man...get the bus rolling already, we've been sitting here for two hours.

A short ten minute drive brought us to the Concord hotel. A boot shaped high rise that I believe still stands...looked like a nice place to me, much better than the dump we had just been booted from. I'm sure we all wondered, at least a little bit, what sort of deal had to be made to have this hotel welcome us. The more prevalent thought was can we get off this mother fucking bus so we can get back to important things like drinking. That's when the new hotel manager got on the bus and laid down the law. No drinking or smoking or anything  really is allowed in the hotel. We were to leave the property by 11:00 each day and not return until 10:00...he didn't care what we did in that time but we were not to be in his hotel. If there was one noise complaint, one bottle of beer found, or any number of fluid transgressions, we would be left to sleep on the streets. I think he meant it. We ignored him completely.

In no particular order and without admitting to anything, the following things may have happened:

• Fire alarms were tripped as beer was ran up the stairs from the alley emergency exit
• Art work was removed from every floor by the elevators and placed into the elevators for safe keeping
• Willie Nelson could be seen wafting through open windows

Safe bet to assume that there was more, but that would cut down how much I write about New Years Eve. My recollection of this night is augmented with what other people have told me, things said and done to me and by me. I remember much of it but not all. And I have never in my life been that drunk since...not from lack of trying but from sheer volume. Part of the package was a New Years Eve party with other tour groups, at a location that looked to me like the atrium of an office building...it was a tad weird. We were given two drink tickets each, not that I needed mine as it didn't take long at all for Dom to come out of the crowd around the bar carrying two full bottles, rum and gin. It has taken me nearly 30 years to be able to actually smell gin without yakking...just saying. I'm sure I shared some of the gin but mostly I drank it myself....how I didn't end up dead is still a bit of a mystery. The party was a blur. I talked to some girls from Grimsby. I burnt my eye with a cigar. My head was used like a soccer ball...thanks John you ass hole. That last one I don't recall, obviously. Somehow, Rudy and Nancy found my jacket and managed to get me outside as the party let out. They took pity on me and ensured that I was going to get home safe....after I tried to get into a restaurant to use the facilities and instead, supposedly, threw up on their wrought iron fence outside after being denied entry.

This is what I remember from this point on. When I was put into the front seat of a cab, and when I say front seat I mean on the floorboards, I saw Dom outside directing traffic and kicking cabs as they sped by him. I was in a cab first...remember that. As we drove along I realized that I wasn't alone in the cab. John and two girls were in the back seat. So up on my knees I go to see that John is making out with one girl and the other girl is fuming mad. I suspect she wanted to be the one kissing John. So she starts calling this other girl every name under the sun...in Croatian. And I tried to shush her up because I knew the other girl spoke Croatian as well...always the peace maker it seems, even as blotto as I was.

When we got to the hotel I staggered through the lobby, looked back in disgust as people letting out from the ballroom looked at me with shock and their own disgust and I made my way to my room. At this point I realized that I had given my key to someone...I had no way of getting inside. So I made the logical decision and sat down with my back against the door. I had barely sat down when the door flew open and I fell into the room staring up at Dom as he laughed at me. "How the fuck did you get here before me?" "I've been here for half an hour" he said as he dragged me into the room. I couldn't comprehend that....he was just outside directing traffic. Where had that cab driver driven us?

Rudy blames me for puking on his bottle of pink champagne but I don't have any recollection of that and if I'm not mistaken someone was asleep in the bath tub when I awoke with Nancy lying down beside me in bed. This freaked me out because she was going out with Dennis and he was a friend. A quick check confirmed that we were both fully clothed and probably hadn't crossed a line....phew.

That day was hurtful in the worst way. Out in the universe is a picture of us all in front of the Christmas tree in the lobby with me fully adorned with ornaments hanging off my glasses and so on. I was the centre piece if you will. The chicken at lunch smelled like gin so I didn't eat. The bus drive home was way too long and I probably didn't sober up until we were nearly home. Again....why aren't you dead man?

So what did this drunken escapade change? The calculus of the school dynamic. Our drinking and have a good time attitude brought us into the sphere of a few other guys that we were all friends with but not close with. That changed. We morphed together into that loosely held together bunch of degenerates that would crash parties and stir up a little anarchy at every turn. ROOI is where we ended up after the this little trip....this is where it really began. My nick name came from this trip, my "legend" began on this trip. The good old days.

Trying to recapture the glory and magic the following year didn't really work. We had a great time but it couldn't have lived up to the hype...how could it have? Lightening in a beer bottle that first year, a potent mixture of naiveté, teen angst, hormones and copious amounts of alcohol...it was legendary. 

Ciao

D

Han

As one may gather from reading these posts or even more so from actually knowing me, I am a fan of stories. Those undocumented everyday instances of significance that we all experience, be it funny, sad, personal or a metaphor for life. Any number of the coffee dates that I have been on could attest to my love of the story. As always, I come back to the idea that they form part of that tapestry of our lives.

Over the past four years I have been exposed to a wide range of other people's experiences. In a way their journey forms part of my own, and not to sound to hippy dippy here, but that connection between us is what helps us to move forward. A collective group counselling made possible by the simple act of listening. And from time to time when you share an experience that is deeply moving it will, I think, resonate for years to come and in ways unimaginable to you now.

Those life events that shake a person to their core, a death, illness, love lost and hope forsaken, as examples, can form deep wells of despair that are hard to escape. At the moment, knock on wood, I haven't had my own overwhelming life event that has left me unable to even muster the strength to tie my shoes...but I know it lurks out there. And that is why trying to live in the moment and to making each day count is where I choose to be. Lest I find myself facing my own han.

An episode of the West Wing brought this concept to me a few years ago, this idea, this notion of han. It is a sense of hopelessness and resignation to the idea that you are powerless to change that which holds you down. A sadness that cannot be escaped. There but for the grace of God go I comes to mind. I can see how it would be easy to slip into this kind of despair...it's probably just easier to tune out than to fight. And just as easy to see how it could spiral into a vortex of dark, an abject gut wrenching dark that makes it near impossible for the light to get in. It hurts to see others suffer through this...never knowing what to say but knowing you need to try.

I don't have the answers but I can offer that shoulder, that ear. I've been on the receiving end of many stories and more often than not it was the simply being there to talk to that helped. It's not such a bad way to be and in the end if my act of being there helps in any way, alleviates even a little of the lament than that can't be a bad thing can it?

Something to ponder I guess.

Ciao
D

Et ego odi

I hate people!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being an ass hole, in all its many guises. 

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

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

Politicians. The corrupt, manipulating and obstructionist types.

Those without integrity and honour.

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

And the people that enable them.

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

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

Ciao

D