One day I may write a book, I'd like it to be a tome of insight and reason that, through metaphor and real life experiences offers the reader a small glimpse into me and the world as I see it. What it will probably be is a how to date in your 40's manual...just saying. I've joked often enough about cobbling all the stories and experiences I have come across or had happen to me over the years as a chef and innkeeper. I think the everyday world offers so much material that surely some of it would be good enough for a laugh in a book....have your publisher call me.
Have you ever wondered how a guy like me became an innkeeper? Let me fill you in a bit for I feel that it will provide some context. Many moons ago, while still living in Toronto my then fiance and now ex wife and I had travelled to the Thousand Island area in Eastern Ontario. A short little get away to experience the touristy life for a few days. Before the advent of the internet I decided that we were going to stay in a B & B, enough with the hotels and resorts, let's try something different and out of our comfort zone. When we pulled up in front of the monstrosity of a semi urban resort that I booked I drew a line in the sand...no said I. Let's go find a true B & B in town and let the chips fall where they may. We were in Gananoque and I must say I loved that small town, Victorian homes, quaint tree lined streets, out of the way restaurants, it all felt right. We stumbled upon a grand Victorian B & B called the Victoria Rose Inn. Smitten...that's the place, let's go. Suffice to say we had a wonderful stay and there the seeds were planted for our own place sometime in the future. Myself as a chef and my ex as an interior designer, it was mentioned a few times that we would be naturals for this kind of business. And we were, mostly. A lot of people that get into the business do so with a romantic Martha Stewart kind of Utopia that is simply not the case...ever. No matter what you may think when you meet your hosts, as charming and engaged as they may be, to varying levels they are contemplating slitting their wrists or counting down the days to the end of the season. It is a lot of work and a lot of your time, actually all of your time. Have no illusions, it is an all in kind of job. And forget money as a thing you should be used to. We made all kinds of money during the season and than for entertainment would watch the oil tank level go down in the winter wondering if it would make it another week before a delivery was needed.
I and I alone (haha) had no illusions about the way things would go. I know the hospitality business so I was not expecting to have every, or any, weekend off during the season. For that fact, any days off. I generally worked from 6:00 in the AM until 11:00 or 12:00, everyday. I won't bore you with the routine but I will share some stories. And despite all that and so many other things I loved doing it for a few years. I was the boss and I made the decisions with regards to the restaurant, I enjoyed meeting people, most of them, and I felt like I was part of something important. My kids were raised there for the first few years of their lives, we had fun while we worked hard regardless of what was to come, there was general happiness. And stories....
The time that the racist peanut farmer came to town is an early experience that still makes me shudder. This giant of a man had arrived in the middle of the typical two week heat spell during the 1996 Atlanta Olympics. He was all bling decked out in gold rings, chains and watches and not an ounce of humility. Sitting in my parlour watching the lone TV we had he would tell me about how he had to get out of Georgia because the heat, the games and all the black people.......uhm, yes, he said that. OK then, look at the time, gotta go.
Or perhaps when the smuggest person ever came to the Inn and was put out be the fact that he wouldn't be getting a full hot breakfast the next morning as we would be out of town for the day for a family event. Certainly there would be a breakfast, a very nice continental that Scott was prepared to take care of for me. Not a word of a lie, his name was Finkelstien and he acted like a Finkelstien, that absurd annoying kid that couldn't take a hint and leave, except now he's a somewhat successful lawyer who not only hasn't learned how not to be annoying but has taken on an air of superiority that comes from having some money in the bank. I apologised profusely to Scott before and after.
The recently wedded older gentlemen that felt it was ok to call me out in the dining room asking me about the doughy risotto he had ordered. I'm certain he has never heard of a risotto before and why he didn't order the well done steak is beyond me, but seconds after getting praise for my risotto from a loyal guest, this clown embarrasses me, himself and the table with his boorishness.
The quintessential Hamptons old money elderly gentleman that arrived on my doorstep at 10:30 at night. White perfectly pressed pants and a sailors cap, he introduced himself as Cappy. He was such a nice fellow and totally lost track of time while driving in from Yarmouth. I knew there wasn't a room to be had from Lunenburg to Halifax, it was crazy busy but there I was on the phone for an hour until I found him a place two hours away in Truro...man I hope he made it.
The wonderful couple from the Magdalen Islands that rode in on their motorcycle and ended up staying three nights with us. They appreciated la dolce vita as much as anyone I have ever known. Good food, good wine and friends to converse with...what more could you want. They came back year after year and a friendship grew out of our times together. I would make him my white chocolate creme brûlée for breakfast and he would bring me stinky unpasteurised artisan cheese from the Eastern Townships...I loved this guy and his wife. And recently I managed to find them again and reconnect, thanks Google.
The nature of the business provided for an endless amount of these kinds of experiences. I've met some truly wonderful people, a few that were totally repugnant and everything in between. The characters that have walked through that part of my life are the basis for so many stories and anecdotes, a wonderful cacophony of highs and lows, laughs and tears that will continue to be shared for years to come. Indulge me if I repeat myself from time to time OK.
Ciao
D
Wednesday, 10 August 2016
Tuesday, 9 August 2016
Just Because II
"This above all: to thine own self be true" ~ Shakespeare
"And with my voice I will give you the confines of my heart" ~ Gord Downie
"And the men who hold high places
Must be the ones to start
To mold a new reality
Closer to the heart" ~ Rush
"Every man dies. Not every man lives" ~ William Wallace
"There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in" ~ Leonard Cohen
"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." The Beatles
"If you love somebody enough
You'll go where your heart wants to go
That's how I got to Memphis
That's how I got to Memphis" ~ Tom T Hall
"I will not carry a gun, Frank. When I got thrown into this war I had a clear understanding with the Pentagon: no guns. I'll carry your books, I'll carry a torch, I'll carry a tune, I'll carry on, carry over, carry forward, Cary Grant, cash and carry, carry me back to Old Virginia, I'll even 'hari-kari' if you show me how, but I will not carry a gun!" ~ MASH
"You're giving me the 'It's not you, it's me' routine? I invented 'It's not you, it's me.' Nobody tells me it's them, not me. If it's anybody, it's me." ~ Seinfeld
"If you want to make peace with your enemy, you have to work with your enemy. Then he becomes your partner." ~ Nelson Mandela
"Women ! What can you say? Who made 'em? God must have been a fuckin' genius. The hair -- They say the hair is everything, you know. Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... and just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips -- and when they touched, yours were like... that first swallow of wine... after you just crossed the desert." ~ Scent of a Woman
“Belief, like fear or love, is a force to be understood as we understand the theory of relativity and principals of uncertainty. Phenomena that determine the course of our lives. Yesterday, my life was headed in one direction. Today, it is headed in another. Yesterday, I believe I would never have done what I did today. These forces that often remake time and space, that can shape and alter who we
imagine ourselves to be, begin long before we are born and continue after we perish. Our lives and our choices, like quantum trajectories, are understood moment to moment. That each point of intersection, each encounter, suggest a new potential direction. Proposition, I have fallen in love with Luisa Rey. Is this possible? I just met her and yet, I feel like something important has happened to me.” ~ Cloud Atlas
"And with my voice I will give you the confines of my heart" ~ Gord Downie
"And the men who hold high places
Must be the ones to start
To mold a new reality
Closer to the heart" ~ Rush
"Every man dies. Not every man lives" ~ William Wallace
"There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in" ~ Leonard Cohen
"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." The Beatles
"If you love somebody enough
You'll go where your heart wants to go
That's how I got to Memphis
That's how I got to Memphis" ~ Tom T Hall
"Women ! What can you say? Who made 'em? God must have been a fuckin' genius. The hair -- They say the hair is everything, you know. Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... and just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips -- and when they touched, yours were like... that first swallow of wine... after you just crossed the desert." ~ Scent of a Woman
imagine ourselves to be, begin long before we are born and continue after we perish. Our lives and our choices, like quantum trajectories, are understood moment to moment. That each point of intersection, each encounter, suggest a new potential direction. Proposition, I have fallen in love with Luisa Rey. Is this possible? I just met her and yet, I feel like something important has happened to me.” ~ Cloud Atlas
Why are you still alive?
In the movie One Week our hero finds out he has cancer. Aggressive cancer that has the doctor casting about trying to sound positive but instead comes across as the grim reapers younger wannabe side kick. So what does Ben do? He buys a vintage Norton motorcycle and ventures out on a meaning of life ride across half the country instead of jumping into treatment. Romantic? Noble? Important? Yes to all those I think. I don't know many guys that haven't thought about the open road, not only as an escape but as a way of discovery. Shit has to happen to you for you to learn from it...plain and simple. I've thought about it, before the cancer diagnosis even, there is a romanticised version of life out there, just waiting to be discovered if you would only get on that bike and ride. Ride dammit ride!!! I'd love to have a bike and I hope to in the future. Right now the almighty dollar, or lack there of, and the lack of vision in my left eye are stopping me.....sigh
And before my mom calls me to hit me over the head with a wooden spoon through 2000 km of space or my daughter blinds me permanently as a way of clipping my wings, I'm not talking about the crotch rocket, I'm more of the cruiser kind of guy...that Norton looks like my type of ride actually. I even like those Russian side car type bikes...told you I was old school. Scott has a Ducati and while it is a beautiful bike and stupid fast 100% for sure I would be dead on one of those. For me it's not about the speed it's about the journey and being "free". Truth be told I would feel similar in a car, like a BMW Z3 with the top down, but a bike is that much more visceral...maybe some day.
Having read some of my other posts you may be asking yourself why am I still alive and are you fucking crazy, a bike? You? Why don't you hold this stick of dynamite for me while I grab a match? I've wondered myself how I have managed to live this long, seriously. Save for a few exceptions barely a scratch on me considering what I have done. Maybe a charmed life, a cats life, God watches over drunks and fools...whatever it is it does seem like I've avoided meeting the grim reaper in person despite numerous close calls. I don't have a death wish I just wish to live my life, so if that means exploring the Azores or bungee jumping off a bridge or riding my scooter around the peninsula, I'm going to do it if it feels right.
I've been thinking a lot about Gord Downie the past few days, his tragic and heroic plight as he battles brain cancer mounting one last tour of this great country. I'm not going to any shows but I will find a place to watch the final show at a public gathering as my way of saying farewell. He'll be missed, the Hip's music has a played in the background for over 20 years in my life, and while I like them well enough, like Blue Rodeo, you don't realise how good they are until you stop to actually listen and appreciate their body of work. The other night I watched a bit of the opening ceremonies from the Rio Olympics and in the run up to the show CBC had a montage designed to make you tear up and celebrate life. It worked with me at least, so job well done. There was a little clip of Downie and he said this "and with my voice I will give you the confines of my heart". Fuck....that is the same freedom that you get from riding, here it is world...take what you will, do what you must, I'm unfettered by your walls and notions.
A death wish? No my friends, I do not wish to die. There's too much to see and do, explore the world and the reaches of my heart. Please sir, can I have some more.
Ciao
D
And before my mom calls me to hit me over the head with a wooden spoon through 2000 km of space or my daughter blinds me permanently as a way of clipping my wings, I'm not talking about the crotch rocket, I'm more of the cruiser kind of guy...that Norton looks like my type of ride actually. I even like those Russian side car type bikes...told you I was old school. Scott has a Ducati and while it is a beautiful bike and stupid fast 100% for sure I would be dead on one of those. For me it's not about the speed it's about the journey and being "free". Truth be told I would feel similar in a car, like a BMW Z3 with the top down, but a bike is that much more visceral...maybe some day.
Having read some of my other posts you may be asking yourself why am I still alive and are you fucking crazy, a bike? You? Why don't you hold this stick of dynamite for me while I grab a match? I've wondered myself how I have managed to live this long, seriously. Save for a few exceptions barely a scratch on me considering what I have done. Maybe a charmed life, a cats life, God watches over drunks and fools...whatever it is it does seem like I've avoided meeting the grim reaper in person despite numerous close calls. I don't have a death wish I just wish to live my life, so if that means exploring the Azores or bungee jumping off a bridge or riding my scooter around the peninsula, I'm going to do it if it feels right.
I've been thinking a lot about Gord Downie the past few days, his tragic and heroic plight as he battles brain cancer mounting one last tour of this great country. I'm not going to any shows but I will find a place to watch the final show at a public gathering as my way of saying farewell. He'll be missed, the Hip's music has a played in the background for over 20 years in my life, and while I like them well enough, like Blue Rodeo, you don't realise how good they are until you stop to actually listen and appreciate their body of work. The other night I watched a bit of the opening ceremonies from the Rio Olympics and in the run up to the show CBC had a montage designed to make you tear up and celebrate life. It worked with me at least, so job well done. There was a little clip of Downie and he said this "and with my voice I will give you the confines of my heart". Fuck....that is the same freedom that you get from riding, here it is world...take what you will, do what you must, I'm unfettered by your walls and notions.
A death wish? No my friends, I do not wish to die. There's too much to see and do, explore the world and the reaches of my heart. Please sir, can I have some more.
Ciao
D
Monday, 8 August 2016
It wasn't Dr Seuss
Heard in university lectures, wedding receptions and floating around the internet is a little anecdote on what is important in life, usually told by a caring professor. I'm sure you've heard or read the thing, a large mason jar is filled with golf balls, marbles and sand in different orders of filling.....the sand representing the smallest of things in our lives and the golf balls the most important...if you can follow the lessen of course. A simple but effective way of illustrating what really should be important in our lives.
This led me to think of a quote, (go figure), that I really liked. Often attributed to Dr Seuss but not really his "Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter." You're probably thinking you know where this is going....well you'd be right. You're getting very good at figuring me out aren't you? Which can be both a positive and a negative, but since I decided to make this public I suppose I have to live with all the consequences.
Yes Virginia, this is about choices - the existential conundrum of destiny, fate and chance. Are we like Forrest Gump's feather floating on the wind, reacting to what happens in the moment? Blowing this way and that and adjusting to what we are faced with creating the illusion of choice, but is it really a choice? Or are we living a life of destiny and fate, regardless of what we may think we are going to end up doing exactly as a grand plan had said we would. Are we the masters of our own future? Was this road I took what was supposed to be my life or is it the end result of the thousands of choices I have made over the past 48 years? Or is the answer "c", all the above? Pressed to choose I will answer "c" but it seems like an impossibility to know for certain. Spoon or fork???? Argh!!!!
And what has this bit of rambling have to do with that quote above? The answer helps us to understand the people we have decided to surround ourselves with, we choose (or not) the people that come into our lives on a daily basis. The people that have become significant to us, be it family, old friends or new found love; these are the ones that we should want to matter and not mind. Is there anything that my kids could do to make me stop loving them? Nope! But I didn't choose them, did I? My best friend is a source of many vital experiences in my life, him I chose. Do you see the conundrum?
Surely our humanity is enriched by the moments that create lasting and meaningful memories and relationships. Are they diminished somehow because we have chosen to be there at that time with that person or, conversely, because we had no choice as fate was the master. I know for me it doesn't matter, and more over regardless of the how and why what matters is the end result, in many ways they have become my 'raison d'etre'. A smile crawls across my face as I think about the people that bring me happiness in my life, the people I am glad to help out when I can, the people that I know I can count on when the shit goes down....you know who you are. Provided you're reading of course, if not I am positive you know regardless.
The people that mind don't matter. Taken as a whole I would say I generally believe in that statement. For me it follows the whole I don't give a crap what you think of me kind of thing. I will qualify that by saying that it doesn't mean I'm throwing you out with the trash. I don't want your negativity or your holier than thou judgement on me but if we can come to detente and accept that we are not alike I can move on to a relationship of some sort. See, I'm not all bad ass. Those of you that matter already know that of course, but now my readership in China and Germany will know as well. And bad assery (not sure if you can do that to the English language) aside, if I want people to accept me for who I am I should probably offer the same courtesy. Right?
To you, my friends that have become part of the fabric of my life, with shared memories and a bond that has left us laughing and crying...you are the golf balls in my life, the ones that matter. And even if you did mind, that would be OK, we get each other.
And here endeth the lesson.
Ciao
D
This led me to think of a quote, (go figure), that I really liked. Often attributed to Dr Seuss but not really his "Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter." You're probably thinking you know where this is going....well you'd be right. You're getting very good at figuring me out aren't you? Which can be both a positive and a negative, but since I decided to make this public I suppose I have to live with all the consequences.
Yes Virginia, this is about choices - the existential conundrum of destiny, fate and chance. Are we like Forrest Gump's feather floating on the wind, reacting to what happens in the moment? Blowing this way and that and adjusting to what we are faced with creating the illusion of choice, but is it really a choice? Or are we living a life of destiny and fate, regardless of what we may think we are going to end up doing exactly as a grand plan had said we would. Are we the masters of our own future? Was this road I took what was supposed to be my life or is it the end result of the thousands of choices I have made over the past 48 years? Or is the answer "c", all the above? Pressed to choose I will answer "c" but it seems like an impossibility to know for certain. Spoon or fork???? Argh!!!!
And what has this bit of rambling have to do with that quote above? The answer helps us to understand the people we have decided to surround ourselves with, we choose (or not) the people that come into our lives on a daily basis. The people that have become significant to us, be it family, old friends or new found love; these are the ones that we should want to matter and not mind. Is there anything that my kids could do to make me stop loving them? Nope! But I didn't choose them, did I? My best friend is a source of many vital experiences in my life, him I chose. Do you see the conundrum?
Surely our humanity is enriched by the moments that create lasting and meaningful memories and relationships. Are they diminished somehow because we have chosen to be there at that time with that person or, conversely, because we had no choice as fate was the master. I know for me it doesn't matter, and more over regardless of the how and why what matters is the end result, in many ways they have become my 'raison d'etre'. A smile crawls across my face as I think about the people that bring me happiness in my life, the people I am glad to help out when I can, the people that I know I can count on when the shit goes down....you know who you are. Provided you're reading of course, if not I am positive you know regardless.
The people that mind don't matter. Taken as a whole I would say I generally believe in that statement. For me it follows the whole I don't give a crap what you think of me kind of thing. I will qualify that by saying that it doesn't mean I'm throwing you out with the trash. I don't want your negativity or your holier than thou judgement on me but if we can come to detente and accept that we are not alike I can move on to a relationship of some sort. See, I'm not all bad ass. Those of you that matter already know that of course, but now my readership in China and Germany will know as well. And bad assery (not sure if you can do that to the English language) aside, if I want people to accept me for who I am I should probably offer the same courtesy. Right?
To you, my friends that have become part of the fabric of my life, with shared memories and a bond that has left us laughing and crying...you are the golf balls in my life, the ones that matter. And even if you did mind, that would be OK, we get each other.
And here endeth the lesson.
Ciao
D
My faithful steed
The car that never really knew what it wanted to be, an aimless after thought from the bad old 1970's car industry. My dad's Chevy Nova, circa 1977 if I remember correctly, was a nondescript grey hunk of metal on wheels. Not a big car but today it would be considered full size I think. And it wasn't small either, it would laugh at a Golf or Tercel if it pulled up beside one. It was an enigma of a car...I loved it for all of its faults.
It seems that the day after I got my license gas went from 32 cents a litre to 54 cents a litre, as if the driving gods knew I was coming and they better make it worth while for all to be on the road with me...a little skin in the game if you will. It should be said that I am a kick ass driver, I simply feel comfortable and confident behind the wheel. Maybe a little less so now because of the lack of clear vision in my left eye (fuck cancer) but back in the day and especially with that Nova...I was king. I pulled a few movie quality driving stunts, taught that thing to let go of its inhibitions and feel the wind through its hair, errr, grille.
That car went everywhere with me for a few years. All the parties, the escapades with my friends, it took me to the prom and the after prom party at the cottage. Run ins with the police, donuts in the winter where donuts really shouldn't be done. If there would be a symbol for that time in my life it would be that car...or a beer bottle. OK Both. With its hot vinyl bench seating and crappy handling, that six cylinder horse was an extension of me.
My dad being my dad had only the standard radio in that car, AM and FM, no tape deck. How can you get your motor running when you can't listen to your own music? By the way, mixed tapes had two reasons for existing back then. One was for the girls, how else would they know you liked them? And the other was for your car....music you drove to, music you chose based on mood and other occupants. I had the Best of Rush 1, 2 and 3. Metal Mix. Mellow. Comedy. A tape I called RAW. And simply Tunes. The added benefit of tapes was that the box was a good stand in as an ice scraper...see, we could think sometimes. So obviously driving a car without a tape deck was unacceptable. I asked my dad if he would buy one, he said no. I'll go halves on it, no. OK, I'll buy it, no. What? Don't put a tape deck in that car. My dads word was law, so I did what I usually did at that point in my life...yep, got myself a tape deck. And since gas was so expensive I decided to install myself. Well, well, well. My dad blew a gasket when he saw what I had done to his car. The deck went in rather easily, it was the speakers that were the issue. I'm not much of a measure twice cut once kind of guy so you can imagine what the holes for the speakers looked like and the bolts holding them in place were jagged little shards of metal waiting for an unsuspecting hand. If you weren't careful you could lose a finger with those bolts hanging down and you could lose small animals in the gaps I had left where the speakers had gone in. Whatever...listen to that music baby. I think the only thing that saved me from running around the house with my dad chasing me is the fact that my mother seemed to have given tacit approval...it was really her car as my dad was driving the Vega....ahhhhh the Vega.
Music at the ready I went forth to live the life I was meant to live. That car has seen kegs in the trunk, musical instruments everywhere, too many people to count it would seem and a few drag races. I beat Zvonko's Camaro, my claim to fame really. Always the car and the music. As if a vortex of stupidity engulfed me and my friends when we got into the car and hit play on the tape...how else can you explain Rudy getting flung across the back seat, smacking his head hard on the window, 2112 blaring as I pulled a perfect movie like manoeuvre to transition from a side street to a main street, doing 50 and not stopping for the lights. We, especially me, had no fear....we were protected by the car and our wits. Sorry about your head Rudy. I had so many speeding tickets that I lost track of them all, actually gave up driving for one year because I got kicked off insurance and couldn't afford my own...go figure right.
There was some sort of goopy crap in the trunk interior that was a sort of rust proofing, that crap got on everything and especially Danny's keyboard case it would seem. That's where I should have locked him up in hindsight. I think the goop gave the car it's special powers. It was seriously fast for a piece of shit and as far as American cars went I could coax it into any direction I wanted, but let go of the wheel and the stupid thing would make a left turn by itself. That car was me...old school, rebel in disguise, hand crank windows, no ac and heating that was suspect in the winter. But it moved like crazy and it had my music and my soul in it. I miss that car.
Those few years together were magical, like Costanza's perfect high score in Frogger - the perfect combination of Mountain Dew and mozzarella, in my case, the wheels, the music and the gang. Perfect.
To my faithful steed, I hope you fell doing what you did best....driving the roads like a maniac with the volume on 11. Cheers
Ciao
D
It seems that the day after I got my license gas went from 32 cents a litre to 54 cents a litre, as if the driving gods knew I was coming and they better make it worth while for all to be on the road with me...a little skin in the game if you will. It should be said that I am a kick ass driver, I simply feel comfortable and confident behind the wheel. Maybe a little less so now because of the lack of clear vision in my left eye (fuck cancer) but back in the day and especially with that Nova...I was king. I pulled a few movie quality driving stunts, taught that thing to let go of its inhibitions and feel the wind through its hair, errr, grille.
That car went everywhere with me for a few years. All the parties, the escapades with my friends, it took me to the prom and the after prom party at the cottage. Run ins with the police, donuts in the winter where donuts really shouldn't be done. If there would be a symbol for that time in my life it would be that car...or a beer bottle. OK Both. With its hot vinyl bench seating and crappy handling, that six cylinder horse was an extension of me.
My dad being my dad had only the standard radio in that car, AM and FM, no tape deck. How can you get your motor running when you can't listen to your own music? By the way, mixed tapes had two reasons for existing back then. One was for the girls, how else would they know you liked them? And the other was for your car....music you drove to, music you chose based on mood and other occupants. I had the Best of Rush 1, 2 and 3. Metal Mix. Mellow. Comedy. A tape I called RAW. And simply Tunes. The added benefit of tapes was that the box was a good stand in as an ice scraper...see, we could think sometimes. So obviously driving a car without a tape deck was unacceptable. I asked my dad if he would buy one, he said no. I'll go halves on it, no. OK, I'll buy it, no. What? Don't put a tape deck in that car. My dads word was law, so I did what I usually did at that point in my life...yep, got myself a tape deck. And since gas was so expensive I decided to install myself. Well, well, well. My dad blew a gasket when he saw what I had done to his car. The deck went in rather easily, it was the speakers that were the issue. I'm not much of a measure twice cut once kind of guy so you can imagine what the holes for the speakers looked like and the bolts holding them in place were jagged little shards of metal waiting for an unsuspecting hand. If you weren't careful you could lose a finger with those bolts hanging down and you could lose small animals in the gaps I had left where the speakers had gone in. Whatever...listen to that music baby. I think the only thing that saved me from running around the house with my dad chasing me is the fact that my mother seemed to have given tacit approval...it was really her car as my dad was driving the Vega....ahhhhh the Vega.
Music at the ready I went forth to live the life I was meant to live. That car has seen kegs in the trunk, musical instruments everywhere, too many people to count it would seem and a few drag races. I beat Zvonko's Camaro, my claim to fame really. Always the car and the music. As if a vortex of stupidity engulfed me and my friends when we got into the car and hit play on the tape...how else can you explain Rudy getting flung across the back seat, smacking his head hard on the window, 2112 blaring as I pulled a perfect movie like manoeuvre to transition from a side street to a main street, doing 50 and not stopping for the lights. We, especially me, had no fear....we were protected by the car and our wits. Sorry about your head Rudy. I had so many speeding tickets that I lost track of them all, actually gave up driving for one year because I got kicked off insurance and couldn't afford my own...go figure right.
There was some sort of goopy crap in the trunk interior that was a sort of rust proofing, that crap got on everything and especially Danny's keyboard case it would seem. That's where I should have locked him up in hindsight. I think the goop gave the car it's special powers. It was seriously fast for a piece of shit and as far as American cars went I could coax it into any direction I wanted, but let go of the wheel and the stupid thing would make a left turn by itself. That car was me...old school, rebel in disguise, hand crank windows, no ac and heating that was suspect in the winter. But it moved like crazy and it had my music and my soul in it. I miss that car.
Those few years together were magical, like Costanza's perfect high score in Frogger - the perfect combination of Mountain Dew and mozzarella, in my case, the wheels, the music and the gang. Perfect.
To my faithful steed, I hope you fell doing what you did best....driving the roads like a maniac with the volume on 11. Cheers
Ciao
D
Saturday, 6 August 2016
Now I lay me down to sleep....
I can fall asleep pretty much anywhere, awkward places or not, many is the time I have found myself waking from slumber wish a puzzled look on my face. Dentist chairs while being worked on. Driving the highways. At the movies, ha...I like paying $12 for the privilege of taking a nap. In the front row of a bar with a band playing in front of me....the bouncer was going to do his bouncy thing until I awoke and told him I wasn't drunk. Which segues nicely into places that I have awoken in that I wasn't entirely sure how I got there. You know what I am talking about...are you sitting comfortably? Good.
Giant wooden prep tables are not entirely comfortable, actually I would go so far as to say they aren't meant for sleeping on at all. Save them for chopping flour. Well, while I have seen people asleep on said table and have thought about it a few times when slightly hung over I haven't fallen victim to it's natural tones. I did however wake up one morning on top of a TV. That table would have been better. So you see, Slutty Gary threw a bachelor party for a co-worker, which I won't detail here, that a number of us were invited to. Quite the soiree we had, full of mirth and a bit of alcohol. The story becomes a lot shorter without the gory details but I will fast forward to the end of the night. Slutty Gary is driving me home, and I'm up front for the record. We all had to work the next morning at the Golden Griddle, save for the groom and that meant Slutty Gary was going to pick me up in the morning to ensure I got to work. Now, normally, I'm fine after a night of you know...I have never missed a shift because of the drink. So when I left Gary's van and walked into a wall, I mean my house I was sure that there wouldn't be an issue for work in a few hours. Turns out I never made it to my bedroom, hell I never made it on the ground floor. Where I ended up was on this huge TV console that my parents used to have. Stereo on one side, radio on the other and TV in the middle...and me on top without my pants. I'm assuming one of my parents came down at some point to see why I hadn't made it upstairs to my room and simply left me there to rot, I mean rest. I'm assuming it was around 6:00 when I heard banging on the side door that somehow woke me up. I trudged over to the door to see Slutty Gary looking like shit but wide awake and angry because I wasn't ready....five minutes buddy. Ugh. What a mess of a day, five of the seven people working in the kitchen that morning were in no condition to work. Obviously we lived even though I am sure I wished death would visit me.
All these stories probably happened with a few years of each other, my rebellious years as a teenager of course. I'm not sure if this was before TV bed or after but the general gist was the same. Our little gang of misfits had just dropped off the girls at the airport as they went down south for a girls vacay away. What that meant for us, well for those that were dating those girls, it was a license to drink their faces off. The rest of us single guys didn't have any restrictions upon us...hell, the legal age for drinking never factored in with us. I have vague recollections of the night, there might have been a walk through the MacDonald's drive thru, a vibrant discussion with a bunch of half wits from another high school, bad food at a sub shop...oh, and quite a bit of liquid gold. At some point we ended up at a friends house that we really shouldn't have been at. His parents were ultra strict and ultra conservative Hindu. They may have been away which goes to explaining why we were there but it didn't explain why when I woke up from the floor there were pop tarts sticking to my shirt..WTF? Wait, where is everyone? Did you see the movie the Hangover with that opening scene...that was how I felt. We didn't have a tiger but there were a lot of unexplained things in that basement rec room. Where did those hub caps come from? And is that a cover from a city electrical junction box? I found people sleeping/passed out in bath tubs, behind couches, under stairs and inside closets. Not one of us was on a couch. Every where but the couch. And we were missing one guy. Maybe two. Still don't know what happened to them but since I didn't attend any funerals I assumed they lived. Good times!!!
My first trip to Quebec City on one of those ski trips that nobody actually skis on would be where I really came into my own as a prodigious proponent of party life. There were no rules, not for those five days at least. Seemingly god was watching out for me as I am still unsure on why I didn't die, but that's for another day. In between runs to the liquor store, lame attempts to pick up women in bars and the general mayhem that we were causing I usually found my way back to my bed at the end of it all. One night though, not so much. I do remember sitting in an upstairs lobby kind of area of the Auberge du Gouveneur, chatting amicably with a plant that I had my eye on when a gaggle of slightly younger school mates walked on by. For whatever reason they invited me back to their room. Next thing I know I'm waking up in a queen bed with seven other people in it. Fully clothed like the rest of them I wasn't sure how or why this had come to pass but I knew I needed to get out, something was nagging at me..I wasn't safe here. I found my way back to my room and a barrel full of trouble. Danny, I really should have locked him up in that closet, was freaking out because they couldn't find me. Seems I had been missing for a few hours and supposedly the hotel management was possibly looking for me as well. In hind sight I can see why they kicked us out...just saying. Chill man, it's all good. No, I'm not telling you where I was because you're being a pain in the ass and if you say one more word I'm throwing you thru that plate glass window. Buzz kill!!!! Now shut up and pass me a beer.
Seriously, how are we still alive?
Ciao
D
Giant wooden prep tables are not entirely comfortable, actually I would go so far as to say they aren't meant for sleeping on at all. Save them for chopping flour. Well, while I have seen people asleep on said table and have thought about it a few times when slightly hung over I haven't fallen victim to it's natural tones. I did however wake up one morning on top of a TV. That table would have been better. So you see, Slutty Gary threw a bachelor party for a co-worker, which I won't detail here, that a number of us were invited to. Quite the soiree we had, full of mirth and a bit of alcohol. The story becomes a lot shorter without the gory details but I will fast forward to the end of the night. Slutty Gary is driving me home, and I'm up front for the record. We all had to work the next morning at the Golden Griddle, save for the groom and that meant Slutty Gary was going to pick me up in the morning to ensure I got to work. Now, normally, I'm fine after a night of you know...I have never missed a shift because of the drink. So when I left Gary's van and walked into a wall, I mean my house I was sure that there wouldn't be an issue for work in a few hours. Turns out I never made it to my bedroom, hell I never made it on the ground floor. Where I ended up was on this huge TV console that my parents used to have. Stereo on one side, radio on the other and TV in the middle...and me on top without my pants. I'm assuming one of my parents came down at some point to see why I hadn't made it upstairs to my room and simply left me there to rot, I mean rest. I'm assuming it was around 6:00 when I heard banging on the side door that somehow woke me up. I trudged over to the door to see Slutty Gary looking like shit but wide awake and angry because I wasn't ready....five minutes buddy. Ugh. What a mess of a day, five of the seven people working in the kitchen that morning were in no condition to work. Obviously we lived even though I am sure I wished death would visit me.
All these stories probably happened with a few years of each other, my rebellious years as a teenager of course. I'm not sure if this was before TV bed or after but the general gist was the same. Our little gang of misfits had just dropped off the girls at the airport as they went down south for a girls vacay away. What that meant for us, well for those that were dating those girls, it was a license to drink their faces off. The rest of us single guys didn't have any restrictions upon us...hell, the legal age for drinking never factored in with us. I have vague recollections of the night, there might have been a walk through the MacDonald's drive thru, a vibrant discussion with a bunch of half wits from another high school, bad food at a sub shop...oh, and quite a bit of liquid gold. At some point we ended up at a friends house that we really shouldn't have been at. His parents were ultra strict and ultra conservative Hindu. They may have been away which goes to explaining why we were there but it didn't explain why when I woke up from the floor there were pop tarts sticking to my shirt..WTF? Wait, where is everyone? Did you see the movie the Hangover with that opening scene...that was how I felt. We didn't have a tiger but there were a lot of unexplained things in that basement rec room. Where did those hub caps come from? And is that a cover from a city electrical junction box? I found people sleeping/passed out in bath tubs, behind couches, under stairs and inside closets. Not one of us was on a couch. Every where but the couch. And we were missing one guy. Maybe two. Still don't know what happened to them but since I didn't attend any funerals I assumed they lived. Good times!!!
My first trip to Quebec City on one of those ski trips that nobody actually skis on would be where I really came into my own as a prodigious proponent of party life. There were no rules, not for those five days at least. Seemingly god was watching out for me as I am still unsure on why I didn't die, but that's for another day. In between runs to the liquor store, lame attempts to pick up women in bars and the general mayhem that we were causing I usually found my way back to my bed at the end of it all. One night though, not so much. I do remember sitting in an upstairs lobby kind of area of the Auberge du Gouveneur, chatting amicably with a plant that I had my eye on when a gaggle of slightly younger school mates walked on by. For whatever reason they invited me back to their room. Next thing I know I'm waking up in a queen bed with seven other people in it. Fully clothed like the rest of them I wasn't sure how or why this had come to pass but I knew I needed to get out, something was nagging at me..I wasn't safe here. I found my way back to my room and a barrel full of trouble. Danny, I really should have locked him up in that closet, was freaking out because they couldn't find me. Seems I had been missing for a few hours and supposedly the hotel management was possibly looking for me as well. In hind sight I can see why they kicked us out...just saying. Chill man, it's all good. No, I'm not telling you where I was because you're being a pain in the ass and if you say one more word I'm throwing you thru that plate glass window. Buzz kill!!!! Now shut up and pass me a beer.
Seriously, how are we still alive?
Ciao
D
Friday, 5 August 2016
Faithless
Prophecies, signs, fate, destiny...shit happens? Can any of us really know? If you say you do, then I would argue you are not using fact to stake your claim, rather faith in things unseen and unproven. A whole heart belief that Karma is a bitch or you were meant to be standing where you are standing right now. That's OK of course, I'm not claiming to know anything better but let's be honest with each other for a minute if we can. I seem to recall that I promised I was going to be honest so let everyone do their part.
What do you believe? Are we here with purpose and plan, mapped out by some omnipotent spirit to an unknown end? Our lives a prelude to ever lasting life in the beyond or doomed to hell without an electric fan if we haven't done what ever version of scripture we are supposed to be following? Or, this is it, you're born, you live and you die. Nothing more. Potential fuel for the earth is what we have to look forward to, if you're really good or rich you can have a building named after you.
I don't know if you can avoid getting religion mixed up with this kind of question but for the sake of argument let's not close any doors or for that matter, minds. I am not a fan of organised religion. Everyone should know that about me from the get go. I do however believe in a god. My atheist friends will be raising an eyebrow now, but before you get yourself all twisted up know that I am pissing off some of my religious friends as well, so before attacking me with either pitchforks or the periodic table can I say everyone just chill out for a minute. Yes, I sit squarely in the middle of the great debate. I'm comfortable with that. and as long as you aren't trying to convert me we can get along.
I was making a comment on something once and my youngest said, but you don't believe in god. No, I never said that...I don't believe in religion and those are two different things. Seeing an opening I chose to voice my side of the story as I see it. Believing in a deity is about understanding that perhaps we do have a destiny. Not just an end game where we get to drink from the cool kids fountain but a general kind of thing as well. I was meant to be a father, how I got there and with who was free choice. I'm good at helping and serving people, my free will with some outside influence pushed me into what I do but my personal helping spirit is by free will. I choose to be a good guy instead of that ass-hole guy. While I was raised a Catholic my humanity is not defined solely by that fact, I'd be a good guy regardless of what religion I was forced into.
Religion is mans attempt to understand and explain the unexplained, which in the end turns to control and power. If absolute power corrupts absolutely then divine power derived from the gods is the ultimate power play in my book. That to me is what is most insidious about organised religion, yes they can do very good and important work but that work is over shadowed by corruption and malice that is no different then regular society but made worse by standing behind the shroud of holy writ.
I prefer to believe in people and myself. The simple fact that we have people trying to kill each other in the name of religion should be enough to dissuade people from joining any particular cult. Sadly, this is not the case and I'd be willing to bet all the money in my pockets that god is shaking his/her head at what is being done in his/her name...what the hell did I do? That wasn't what I wanted....hmmmmmm, maybe not so omnipotent after all.
Let me end thus.....
I don't have faith in faith
I don't believe in belief
You can call me faithless
I still cling to hope
And I believe in love
And that's faith enough for me
What do you believe? Are we here with purpose and plan, mapped out by some omnipotent spirit to an unknown end? Our lives a prelude to ever lasting life in the beyond or doomed to hell without an electric fan if we haven't done what ever version of scripture we are supposed to be following? Or, this is it, you're born, you live and you die. Nothing more. Potential fuel for the earth is what we have to look forward to, if you're really good or rich you can have a building named after you.
I don't know if you can avoid getting religion mixed up with this kind of question but for the sake of argument let's not close any doors or for that matter, minds. I am not a fan of organised religion. Everyone should know that about me from the get go. I do however believe in a god. My atheist friends will be raising an eyebrow now, but before you get yourself all twisted up know that I am pissing off some of my religious friends as well, so before attacking me with either pitchforks or the periodic table can I say everyone just chill out for a minute. Yes, I sit squarely in the middle of the great debate. I'm comfortable with that. and as long as you aren't trying to convert me we can get along.
I was making a comment on something once and my youngest said, but you don't believe in god. No, I never said that...I don't believe in religion and those are two different things. Seeing an opening I chose to voice my side of the story as I see it. Believing in a deity is about understanding that perhaps we do have a destiny. Not just an end game where we get to drink from the cool kids fountain but a general kind of thing as well. I was meant to be a father, how I got there and with who was free choice. I'm good at helping and serving people, my free will with some outside influence pushed me into what I do but my personal helping spirit is by free will. I choose to be a good guy instead of that ass-hole guy. While I was raised a Catholic my humanity is not defined solely by that fact, I'd be a good guy regardless of what religion I was forced into.
Religion is mans attempt to understand and explain the unexplained, which in the end turns to control and power. If absolute power corrupts absolutely then divine power derived from the gods is the ultimate power play in my book. That to me is what is most insidious about organised religion, yes they can do very good and important work but that work is over shadowed by corruption and malice that is no different then regular society but made worse by standing behind the shroud of holy writ.
I prefer to believe in people and myself. The simple fact that we have people trying to kill each other in the name of religion should be enough to dissuade people from joining any particular cult. Sadly, this is not the case and I'd be willing to bet all the money in my pockets that god is shaking his/her head at what is being done in his/her name...what the hell did I do? That wasn't what I wanted....hmmmmmm, maybe not so omnipotent after all.
Let me end thus.....
I don't have faith in faith
I don't believe in belief
You can call me faithless
I still cling to hope
And I believe in love
And that's faith enough for me
From my friends in Rush
Enough said
Ciao
D
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