Dear God

Oh unknowable one. Dropper of churches on worshippers heads, smiter of trailer parks, famine lover and flood aficionado. How the heck are ya?

With all respect and humility I must ask you a few questions as I search for answers. Conundrums and oxymoron's plague me at every turn, so I must ask the omniscient one.

According to your many followers here on earth, if you believe that all comes from God and he has a plan, than everything that happens in the world is his doing. The good and the bad.

Evangelicals and fundamentalists all around will tell you that if something horrible happens it was because they deserved it. They had impure thoughts and actions, like support a woman's right to choice or they are gay...and God is watching. So to that end you killed 48 other people with that tornado so they could learn your lesson. Harsh man, just harsh.

Oh God, always trying to teach us a lesson. Seems you are happiest when spreading the word and showing us your love by wreaking havoc and bringing on all manner of calamity. Tough love I suppose. Of course if I pulled that sort of divine inspiration I'd be pretty sure to be in jail, but hey, you're God right.

Sort of like the other day when you spoke to one crack pot, I mean pastor, and told him that Trump had your permission to blow the North Koreans back to the middle ages. Makes sense, the godless heathens after all believe in things other you. And that short guy with the funny haircut sure seems like an evil dude. Who am I to question your mysterious ways? But if I may, killing a few million innocent people, who's only crime seems to be that they were born in the wrong country, might be a bit of an overkill don't you think?

I'm sure your divine plans makes sense to you, such as when you take away young children due to cancer or car accidents. Could you do us a favour though? Your flock needs to cool it with the almost crass way that they look down on people when tragedy(you) strikes and with an almost holier than thou smugness proclaim that the only way is the way of God so obviously, the inference being, that the kid wasn't worthy. Being two years old really isn't an excuse right?

I know I may treading dangerously close to what may be perceived as sarcasm, I assure you that it's really only the tip of the iceberg. Speaking of icebergs, this global warming situation we have is probably not going to turn out well for any of us...your flock included, so maybe turn the AC up a bit will ya.

Considering that the best I can say is that I am agnostic, a pleasant blend of contradictions, sort of like the church really, I feel that if you truly are all knowing you know where I stand and how I stand. Possibly even why I stand. Must be nice, that power, that confidence. You'd do well if you set up a Tinder profile I think.

I often think of song lyrics when I do take the time to think of you. Little treasures that, probably through your good grace, we humans have come up with to express all manner of God related ideals. Here are a few of my favourites:

"Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours?"

"Imagine there's no heaven

It's easy if you try

No hell below us

Above us only sky

Imagine all the people

Living for today... Aha-ah..."

"Your faith was strong but you needed proof

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you

She tied you to her kitchen chair

She broke your throne and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah"

I'm curious what was really meant by that last one, a little bit with the kink maybe?

Like most mere mortals I will often look to what others may have said as a clue to what may be going on, a little bit of help in understanding the great unknown. So, thanks for giving us that at least. I'm sure most of us can do without the fire and brimstone though.

Well, I must go now....infidel time is upon us.

Ciao

D

TFIF

The weekend is here. A somewhat long weekend at that. Freedom from work. Collective Yeah Baby!!!! Scott's cottage awaits for a bit of relaxation by the crystal waters of Lake Annis, no motorized traffic, peaceful bliss and us two knobs. Perfecto.

An escape from the every day grind if you will. Willie will probably join us and good times shall be had, our version of them of course. Times have changed from yesteryear and these kinds of escapes. Be it Bide a Wee cottage at Wasaga Beach, Dave's cottage after graduation, ice fishing near Barrie or sunfish fishing on Rice Lake, good times with good friends and libations enough for all were all we needed. These days debauched behaviour being replaced with observations on daily life and our take on everything from ex wives to religion to politics and farts. Oh, and a little debauchery I'm sure.

Looking back at those epic escapes during what could be charitably called my formative years I am left with a couple of thoughts, brief as they may be. Number one, why am I still alive? Number two, could I do it again knowing what I know today? No kidding, there were a number of occasions that death was a distinct possibility. Swimming across a fast moving river to save a half hour walk to all the action on Wasaga beach would be a perfect example. To our credit we didn't drink and drive but somehow swimming was OK. Fuck we were stupid.

I worked at a golf club a few years back, a sweet little gig that afforded me the opportunity to golf a lot and even work some. What I found shocking was the incredibly bad behaviour that a lot of people displayed the second they got out of their cars for their rounds. Now that's saying something coming from me. I mean it was embarrassing to watch some of these clowns and their total lack of social grace as soon as green grass was at their feet and a club was in their hand...simply horrible. That's the best way to describe us when we got to any "off site" venue for our own amusement. We literally exploded from our cars when we arrived at our place of refuge. In scenes that could be best visualized as watching the cartoon Tasmanian Devil we were a combination of pent up energy, testosterone and angst. Where we went, trouble would surely follow....our vortex of stupidity being fuelled by all manner of combustibles.

Could I do it again? Fuck yeah!!! Probably have even more fun.

For better or for worse those days have been replaced with a mellower version, a kinder gentler but no less fun experience.

I'm out of here chicos and chicanas.

Ciao
D

Walls

Back in the day, I might have mentioned, I was in a band while in high school. It truly was something simply to do and a means to an end. I'm speaking of girls of course, rock stars get girls right? We played a few battle of the band events, actually won one of them but mostly we jammed in my basement, much to the chagrin of my parents. Like I said, it was something to do.

In our last year of high school we were entered into the battle of the bands again and I had made a suggestion on a tune and how we could make it theatrical, really give the audience a trippy experience. I suggested we could do Pink Floyd's Mother and part of the performance would be to have moi building a "wall" during the lead up to the crescendo of the song, and when that moment of heightened intensity arrived, kick through the wall in a perfectly timed display of music and theatre coming together. I got voted down. Probably for the best really, because while I was envisioning exploding Styrofoam bricks flying everywhere with my luck the wall would have simply toppled over in an anti climatic and silent whimper. Which gives these lyrics a little poetic justice in reverse...someone would have been breaking my balls for making fools of ourselves.

Mother, do you think they'll try to break my balls?

Ooh, aah, mother, should I build the wall?

I'm a little on the whole walls thing lately it seems. Maybe I'm a little more tuned into what people are really saying when they are saying whatever it is they are saying. What I'm hearing is walls, walls, walls. Or maybe it's me? Maybe I've erected one or two for a reason that I don't think about. A friend of mine, on her own blog, wrote about people and how cold they can be sometimes...their cold gates closing around their hearts and trying to force that upon others. And how she wasn't going to let that happen to herself. Good for her I say. I also say that no walls makes it pointless for there to be a gate in the first place. And this all reminded me about a line in The Outsiders, Dally imploring Pony Boy to get hard, you don't let anything in and you don't get hurt. I think most of us know that to be complete folly yet we all know people that are like that. Why I ask?

What has happened that you would force down your humanity, to abandon your sense of compassion and oneness with your fellow man, or woman? I guess my point to this all revolves around the idea that we don't know often what happened to this person and what made them this way. We haven't walked a mile in their shoes to know what kinds of things have transpired over their lives to make them the cold hearted bastards that they are. I'm not sure that we give a flying fuck in the end anyway because what we are seeing and reacting to is both immediate, often painful and excuses are like ass holes - everyone has one.

I bet if you sat down with someone and found out more of their story you would sing a different tune. A little light shed on a persons experiences can often give us that "oh, I get it now" moment on why someone is being a certain way. In the end though I don't think that in of itself is reason for someone to be a douche canoe all the time. 

Which doesn't absolve the many people that are simply dicks...and you should know who you are. Be self aware enough to take ownership of your own douche baggery so that the rest of us can adapt as required. These people I have no time for and neither should you, for them it's OK to build a wall around, and probably set it on fire afterwards. I might be a closet pyro...just saying.

In the end I'm just not a fan of walls, hypothetical walls to keep immigrants out (fuck you Drumph), physical walls, psychological walls, emotional walls...just walls. Unless they are bramble covered while strolling along the Irish countryside or white washed on the cliffs of Santorini (you get the idea), I'm all for avoiding them. Let things in and let things out I say.

Ciao
D

Fast Car

You got a fast car

I want a ticket to anywhere

Maybe we make a deal

Maybe together we can get somewhere

Any place is better

Starting from zero got nothing to lose

Maybe we'll make something

Me myself I got nothing to prove

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

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

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

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

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

You got a fast car

Is it fast enough so you can fly away?

You gotta make a decision

Leave tonight or live and die this way

Ciao

D

Culinary Tales

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ciao
D

GDFP!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ciao
D

American Idiot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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