A Black and White Christmas. Whatever Happened to a Good Old Fashioned Blue Christmas?

So we made it through another one. A little shaken, but not stirred. It has often been said that Christmas comes and goes like a winter storm, and that was more than appropriate this year. I don't recall ever seeing this much snow in Vancouver. I have a feeling that Al Gore might have to go back to the drawing board. In the meantime, I will be praying for that almighty power El Nino.

I find myself unable to remember when the snow came, it's one of those things that grows irritating enough to become a part of everyday life. I do know that Christmas Eve was one of the worst situations I have ever driven in. The video's I posted the other day don't do any justice to the scenario that was at hand. As I mentioned, Danny had been talked into abandoning his car so I at least had someone to ride shotgun with me.



The plan was to make a beeline for the highway, a snowbound drivers sanctuary. A place where you would imagine your journey would be laid out like two giant piano keys to your destination. Didn't work out that way. It was a struggle enough to get out of the drive. These times always call for horsepower, and thankfully my little mule pulled through like a Clydesdale. We were stop and go everywhere we went. A couple of times we literally had to make a run to crest a hill. When we finally got to the highway, I felt that instant pit in my stomach. It was like finding a Pharaoh's tomb to find it already striped of its treasure. The highway had as much snow as all the other streets, and it was approaching a white out. The eastbound was essentially closed, fortunately we were heading west to the promised land. The promise of friends and some Christmas cheer that is.

We were in high five mode by the time we made the Lonsdale exit ramp, breaking the rule of celebrating before you reach your destination. It was at that point of course that the rear end of the car broke loose sending us sideways towards the ramp barrier. I whipped up my parking brake like a gunslinger, I had that split second hope that I had drawn fast enough. The car swung around and corrected. It was one of those moments where you think your ride is a living, breathing creature. I few pats on the dash and a "atta girl", and we were on our way up the hill.


The hill was horrible, one lane was essentially closed to abandoned vehicles. I knew that if we even had to slow we were done. I tackled it like an uphill slalom. We soon hit the destination, the car gave what seemed to be a dying gasp as I spun it into it's stable.

I being the genius I am decided to wear a pair of $300 Cole Haan's instead of a pair of runners or boots that I don't even own. So Danny had to wait patiently as I did a routine that was a cross between Fred Astaire and Don Knotts across the parking lot.




Pretty quiet once we got in which didn't surprise me. Heck, who would be dumb enough but me to go there in the first place? Before long they started filing in. Those with cancelled flights, those who were supposed to be somewhere but couldn't drive. It was still only a fraction of those that would normally be there. I'm not one to suffer alone so I told Steph to get up there. I had assumed she would have caught a cab or a bus, but no, she slogged through it herself. She had boots though!!

Brad and Ty showed up. The had gone to shovel Ty's father-in-law's roof only to find the 90 year old up there himself. Only a 90 year old would have the work ethic to do that. You could offer a 20 year old 50 bucks to do it and he would say no. That is where the world is at.

And so the night went on. We left early of course. I had a date with a steak and "It's a Wonderful Life." I offered to drive Steph home since I dragged her up there. She asked if the car was going to be able to make it. I said as long as we make it the first 2 feet we'll be fine. We made it a foot. The car went nose first down into the snowbank. Thankfully there were still some people inside, and I was able to get "6 good men" to give us a push.

I finally got home and went to start cooking. I had already said goodbye to the steaks dancing in my head due to time restraints, and enlisted the help of Dr. Oetker instead. The second I pulled the pizza from the box there was a loud buzz, and a flicker of the lights seemingly just given me enough of a heads up to form the right expletives in my mind before the power went out a moment later. Cheese, lettuce, and onion sandwich it was. With luck there were a couple people I hadn't seen to delivery their gifts. One was candles, the other, a book. I sought the refuge of my room and had a very cozy if not short night. The power came on about an hour later, but I was already sound asleep waiting for Santa to arrive.

The morning soon came, as did the realization that I was now beyond a doubt snowed in. Another 6-8 inches had fallen overnight. We didn't have it so bad in the end. Turns out some people were without power for more than 12 hours. I surveyed the sparseness of the tree and waited for the boys to awaken. I did open my gift from Miley. It was a cool shirt from a bar in Park City where she lives. It seems funny, but that was all I really wanted. For some reason it just makes me feel closer to her. She was pretty much in the same spot as me, snowed in. She actually took a tractor to Christmas dinner. I don't know how much fun it was at the time, but I'm sure it will be a great memory in the future. It's funny how that works.

The boys got up and we did our quick exchange. I scored a set of noise cancelling headphones from Roman. You can never beat the gift of music, never. But as soon as they were there, they were gone. Danny to his Mom's, Roman either driving him, downstairs wrapping, or at Janine's mom's. It's a different feeling being alone on Christmas. It's as if the world is throwing a party and you are the only one who wasn't invited. Admittedly it was by my design, and there are never any regrets. But the loneliness was so thick it almost took on a liquid form. I always feel like I'm supposed to be somewhere else at Christmas.

It was time to queue up the flicks. First up, a DVD my mother gave me of our old family movies. Nothing cheers you up like watching the cowboy outfit your Aunt and Uncle give you making your pants fall down in front of your family because your holster is too heavy. Next up, Big Fish. A classic, and a film I hold quite dear. Once that was finished it was time to get to cooking. I still did the full dinner with all the trimmings. Almost like making a place setting for some unexpected guess. I had dinner planned dead on for 8 o'clock. Another one of my favorites was on, The Sting. A fitting tribute to the passing of Paul Newman. Roman arrived home for dinner, and we sat to feast. Danny arrived at pretty much the same time and we all got to enjoy the movie together, and I guess that's what Christmas is all about. Sharing an experience. Even though the movie is 35 years years old, neither had seen it through before and both enjoyed it to the fullest. Throw in some apple pie and ice cream and a night was made.

Boxing Day brought the snow back and pretty much matched the conditions of Christmas Eve. And now just as the magic of Christmas is gone, so too the snow disappears. It's as if we have been living in some elaborate Hollywood set the last few days. And just as quickly as it arrived, I see it as it leaves. One drip at a time from the eaves above my window.

Someone once said "Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree, in a childs eye they are all 30 feet tall." I think that represents a lot about Christmas to all of us. It is magic, and no matter how stressed, or lonely, or busy we are leading up to it, it still wraps us like a blanket when it arrives.

Winter Wonderland (Merry Christmas Everyone)

Hartwick vs. Carlsen (Patio vs. Inside)

CLOSE THAT DOOR!!

Placido and Sissel Do Christmas

I love how these two do this song. Sissel has an amazing voice, the kind that only an international audience can enjoy. We North Americans tend to be blind to such talent.

I particularly enjoy the fat kid in the blue jacket. You just know that his mom has hidden a candy bar in there somewhere.

I was actually introduced to this concert by Rick Mark. It was on an old beat up VHS tape that his mother used to play every Christmas. He played it for me when I made him Christmas dinner one year. Song can accompany a dinner far better than most fine wines. The most amazing thing about the dinner that year was realizing that a 50 year old man did not know how to operate his own oven, yet this same man is able to criticize anyone's political beliefs as if we aren't intelligent enough to be able to decide for ourselves.

Zing!! Merry Christmas Rick!!

You haven't really done a Christmas if you haven't dressed up, gone out for a nice dinner, and taken in one of these concerts.

Come and Sit By My Side if You Love Me

What a c-c-c-crazy week!! I knew it was going to be a tough week, but the snow didn't help.

I got up at 4 to catch the ferry on Tuesday. I was already dragging my tail as I shuffled up to the main deck. It was a beautiful morning for the voyage though. That's 16 sunny visits to Victoria in a row, not bad. Even the clerk at my hotel always smiles when she sees me because she always knows I bring the sun.

The person I had the meeting with had to go to the ER with his mother (she's alright) so I was there for pretty much nothing. Checked into the hotel and ran into Bobby O at the Sticky Wicket. It's always nice to have someone to hoist a beer with. I soon fled back to the hotel before it got too cold out. The weather on the Malahat was supposed to be nasty so I wanted to get an early start. Besides, The Grinch and Frosty the Snowman were on the tube to boost my x-mas spirit.

Got up at 4 again to hit the road for Nanaimo. The Malahat was a nightmare. One lane was solid ice, and the road as always was black as pitch. By the time I hit Nanaimo it was a classic winter blizzard for sure. Flakes the size of golf balls. My meeting lasted about 3 hours, but the time I got back to the car it had about 4 inches on it. Nothing better than a sports car with summer tires on it in this weather believe me.

Thankfully caught the early ferry back. Crazy rough seas and unrelenting snow. They told us halfway across that the hill above Horseshoe Bay was closed and that we would be re-directed through the Bay itself. When we finally docked they told us the Bay was now closed and we would have to take the hill. The two people in front of me collided just going up the ferry ramp. By the time we got to the end of the overpass, you could already see what was going to unfold. I decided to stop at the top of the ramp as did the fella beside me. Sure enough the red light came on at the bottom of the hill and everybody on the ramp rear ended each other. A classic Vancouver moment. A few minutes later a semi jack knifed on the hill, me and a handful of other people crept through after that from what I hear it was essentially shut down.

Next morning I was up at 4 to catch a flight to Kelowna, a place where it was -33 when I landed. Holy Crap!! Michael and I just wanted out of there, and the flight crew did tell us they didn't know how much longer the airport would be open so we just rushed through our meeting and thankfully caught an earlier flight.

Anyhow, it's all behind me now. The weekend is here and let the season begin. I am waaayy behind on things I have to do, but I guess i'm just going to have to deal with it. So it's time for us to raise a glass and enjoy all the season has to bring. It's time to reflect on our stories from the year, only the joys of course, we will leave the other stuff for New Years, something we can say good-bye to. I have been inside for a couple of weeks now, but have so far only seen my motley crew. It's time to be counted people, we all know what a grumpy person I can be this time of year, I need cheering up, get on with it!!

There is no charge for admission. Just a smile and perhaps a story or two. Tell me what made you laugh, tell me what made you dream. Tell me what changed your world.

The first three people that mention this post get a drink on the house.

As my old faithful friend Reno used to say, "BOOF! BOOF!"

What I Want For Christmas

Please shoot all of these people.

Money Talks. But it Don't Sing or Dance and it Can't Walk

The year is starting to wind down, and what a year it has been. We are starting to see the end game of corporate greed. It will still live, like that last ember of a forest fire that hides underground waiting for just the right conditions to resurface. Even as I write this the Board of Merrill Lynch is meeting to try and pass a bonus of 10 million dollars for their CEO before Congress can get involved.

We have seen companies we have known our entire lives vanish into thin air. I remember the impact I felt when Eaton's closed a few years ago. I felt that my personal choice was taken away. Eaton's had a level of class attached to it. Whenever I go into The Bay, I feel like I should be exchanging beaver pelts for whatever I am purchasing. Now so many businesses are disappearing just as Eaton's did. The auto companies are seeking 34 billion from Congress to stop the bleeding. Congress is offering 15 billion. As an industry insider I can tell you the real number they need just to turnaround is 125 billion.

Staggering I know. So I figured with the year coming to a close, and to also offset the negativity of my Toronto trip, I would list some of the simple things that made my year. They weren't necessarily free, but let's set a budget of say 20 bucks.

So here they are in no particular order:

• Playing mini-golf with my niece and nephew. Never doubt the healing powers of children.
• Making CD's for Miley and occasionally finding that song I haven't heard for years that gets me spinning in my office chair singing along.
• Driving the Malahat on a perfect autumn morning, the trees ablaze in colour that a photograph could never possibly duplicate.
• Water skiing on Lake Okanagan, for the most part carving a perfect line (The pain I felt throughout my body the following day will go on my negatives of the year list.)
• Thinking about Dawn and Stase's spontaneous living room dances.
• Spending my first birthday with "family" in 15 years.
• That ragtag crew that spent Thanksgiving at my place.
• New York (I know the trip cost money, but it was the things we did there that were less than 20 bucks) This part I could rant about for hours. I will sum it up with the joy Dan displayed while running his own photographic steeplechase through Central Park. The look on Dave's face when we had that goofy elevator operator at Tiffany's "Welcome to the third floor, where we have silver and diamonds and ohhh so much more." The feeling of being a wide eyed child again as I absorbed the impossibilities of architecture and art and music that surrounded me, and of course my late night sandwiches at that deli on Lexington and 53rd.
• Perfecting my tennis serve after my shoulder drama.
• Playing basketball with the neighborhood kids.
• Finding a bunch of songs I wrote years ago and realizing I never finished any of them.
• The sunrises on the 97 connector.
• The music that went with the sunrises.
• Three words SUMMER RESTAURANT PATIOS
• Finding out what really happened. (Although I don't think I really did.)
• Running into an old friend at the airport and finding out it wasn't actually something I said.
• Racing go-karts with da boyz.
• Saying good-bye (or not.)
• Sunday mornings with coffee, Dean Martin, and the New York Times crossword (no, I have never finished it.)
• Afternoons at the beach with a good book.
• The snowball fight in Nanaimo.
• Tonia putting me in my place.
• Learning to laugh again (For the record, people that make fun of one's laugh should burn in hell.)
• The macaroni and cheese at Duece.
• The words hola, buenos dias, and buenos noches.
• Being perfect from the key not once but twice at the basketball court behind the house.
• The first sleep I had in my Columbia Sports wear fleece sheets.
• Dancing in the snow with a group of people in Banff that I didn't even know.
• Crunchy peanut butter and crumpets.
• Swimming in Broame Lake all by myself on a summer morning.
• Lunches with Mom.
• Watching Phil build a wall for no apparent reason.
• Sirius Radio and long drives.
• Any texting conversation I have with Miley that includes "hahahaha", all you "lol" people are lazy and fat.
• Watching numerous people walk into the sliding door because they think it is open.
• Watching someone smile with their eyes.
• The scent of a woman.
• All of my Saturday night movies in bed.
• The pizza that I am eating as I watch Saturday movies in bed.
• All of my Sunday morning movies in bed.
• Not finding pepperoni stuck to my back as I watch movies in bed.
• Meeting someone that inspires me.
• The crisp, cool mornings leaning on the railing of the ferry.
• Any story that Nick tells me.
• The Jets having a winning season.
• Sunny September mornings.
• Brunch at Tom and Binnie's.
• Playing the drums on my dashboard.
• Having a conversation with someone that totally gets me.

That is only a small sample of course. But each and every one is better than a $300 bottle of wine. There are kids starving out there people. Get your priorities straight and appreciate the simple things. Make your own list and check it twice, Santa needs all the help he can get.

Attack of the Ontarian's!?!

So I'm finally back, and not soon enough might I add. Air Canada pulled out all the stops this time. They were hell bent determined to ensure this was THE worst trip that I have ever had.

Let me give you a little time line of my journey to the center of the universe:

Tuesday December 2nd, 7AM PST: Left for the airport after about an hour of obsessive compulsive packing. I was frisking myself so much looking for cell phones, passports, etc, that with my leather jacket on I sounded like Scatman Crothers playing the hambone.

7:45AM: Arrived at the airport. Proceeded to play the hambone on my way to the terminal. So much so that I was repeatedly mistaken for a busker.

7:55AM: Used spare change thrown at me to purchase a coffee in the terminal.

8:05AM: Checked the flight board. Flight was surprisingly on time. Celebrated by playing the hambone and collecting my boarding pass. Then waited in a line for 20 minutes just to flop my suitcase onto a conveyor belt.

8:25AM: Outside for one last smoke, try to remember what I forgot in the car.

8:35AM: Go through security gate. Thanks to various pieces of jewelry, I now have friendly people wearing strange uniforms playing the hambone on me. It was the most "action" I've had in months.

8:45AM: Finally get to the gate, sit down to read my paper.

8:48AM: I hear the first crackle as the public address system comes to life. Having flown Air Canada so many times, I know it's not going to be good. "ATTENTION PASSENGERS OF AIR CANADA FLIGHT 181. WE ARE BEGINNING PRE-FLIGHT CHECKS. PLEASE PREPARE FOR PRE-BOARDING." Well that didn't seem so bad, maybe I'm overreacting.

8:55AM: "CRACKLE CRACKLE, ATTENTION PASSENGERS OF AIR CANADA FLIGHT 181. APPARENTLY THE PLANE IS BROKEN. THEY WILL BE TOWING AWAY THIS PLANE AND BRINGING US ANOTHER, BUT THE FLIGHT WILL BE DELAYED 1 HOUR. whisper whisper AN HOUR AND A HALF, whisper whisper I'M SORRY, THE FLIGHT WILL BE DELAYED 2 HOURS." That is an actual announcement, "the plane is broken." I'm certain the collective exhalation of air rage, as everyone muttered under their breath, was opening doors around the airport. I think the word disgust had to have been born from the word gust.

11:00 AM: Take to the air.

7:00PM EST: We finally land. The actual airtime was about 40 minutes longer than usual due to being held in a holding pattern for a ridiculous amount of time.

7:15PM: Finally leave the plane. I've found a secret path to where I can go for a cigarette while waiting for my baggage. Not the greatest security around this place. The only thing worse is their baggage handling, hence the cigarette.

7:45PM: My bag is finally spat out of the bowels of Pearson Airport, slightly damaged, but there at least.

8:00PM: Jump in the cab for my preposterous 30 dollar five minute cab ride.

8:05PM: Arrive at the "hotel." We received an e-mail from our director of human resources that he had taken the liberty to change our reservations from the Marriott to some place called the Stage West. I know, it does sound like a strip joint. But we all must do what we can during these tough economic times (except Dubai remember?) The place was a complete rat trap. All of my partners had already eaten, so I just threw my bags in my room and joined them for a beer and lacklustre hamburger before bed.

9:00PM: Checked the room for any critters that weren't supposed to be in there, and checked under the bed for any bodies. I then proceeded to climb into bed and stare at the ceiling.

10:00PM: Staring at ceiling.

Wednesday December 3rd:

1:00AM: Staring at ceiling.

3:00AM: Staring at ceiling.

4:15AM (approx): Fell asleep.

5:00AM: Alarm went off.

5:25AM: Wandered into the breakfast buffet and made of with a plate of the most lifeless eggs on the planet. Even if Mrs. Dash was an ER nurse she couldn't have saved these things.

6:00AM: Enter the Mitsubishi Triple Diamond Boardroom. You have to remember this is 3 o'clock in the morning my time. I am always the first one to have to do my reports.

10:30AM: Finished my reports. I now have to wait for my boss to perform my personal assessment. Something I always get to do last, even though I was the first one to finish my reports.

5:40PM: Start my assessment.

6:50PM: Finish my assessment.

7:15PM: Meet the boyz for dinner. We go for all you can eat ribs. Somehow Campisi the smallest guy in the group (he's about the size of my leg) was the only one to order seconds.

8:30PM: Back to the hotel. Another night with maybe 2 hours of sleep.

Quite the 48 hours. I woke up like a walking zombie. I banged the TV on and flipped on the news. Just for the record, there isn't any news outside of Toronto at least according to them. They have this morning host named Alan Carter that is pure nails on a chalkboard to me. One of those little irritating people with a booming voice that you know for the most part is faked. I can see his real voice being something like Mickey Mouse on helium.

They were doing a story on the auto industry in Ontario. Now I grew up in Ontario and have been there many, many times over the years. The one thing I had never heard is what they have decided to call themselves. Ontarians, they called themselves Ontarians. Isn't that just soooo Toronto? We are so freakin' lazy and self absorbed, we are just going to ignore any of the rules of grammar, and drop the "O" and call ourselves Ontarians. The funny thing about this is that they call themselves Torontonian's. ??? Does any of that make sense at all?? And besides, Ontarians sounds like some sect of the Aryan Nation that gets controlled by radio signals from the top of the CN Tower. Hmmm, it is starting to make sense.

I went into the office and started talking to people about it. They started staring at me almost as intently as I had been staring at the ceiling every night. It almost had a children of the corn feeling to it.

Oops, I'm running short on time, I better pick this up.

The next day was our x-mas party at the Crowne Plaza Hotel. We already told the HR director to get stuffed and had checked into the Crowne Plaza instead.

The party itself wasn't bad, but the food was horrible. It takes a lot for me not to eat something, and I literally just nibbled on a bit and pushed it aside. As always I quickly transformed our corner into the party table. It was Rob, Michael, and I from the west, and our Quebec partners, Daniel, Patrick, and Phillip and their wives. My tables tend to be the stuff of legend, and the VP of Sales already told me I was supposed to look after his boys. Michael was already gone, the shooter king lives. Before you knew it we had a pipeline the Saudi's would be jealous of running from the hotel bar to the ballroom.

Within an hour I saw a circle of women dancing around the floor. I darted around quickly with my eyes and soon realized Patrick was missing. Some cheesy dance song was playing, like the Macarena or something like that, they started clapping their hands. Patrick is a small little guy, I knew he was in there somewhere. That is when I saw the belt waving through the air like a whip and the woman started spreading out their circle. There he was, the shirt was already starting to come off, and the pants were undone. The CEO was already making a dash for the door, I guess it isn't really Japanese custom to strip at x-mas parties. It took a few of us to get control of Patrick, but we managed to subdue him before the pants came off.

I got a pretty good haul that night. I was given floor seats for a Raptors game, but the VP that put me in charge of Patrick felt bad so he swapped me with the 30GB video ipod he was given. I was also given a $600 Best Buy card. Not bad.

I finally went up to the room on an empty stomach and opened the room service menu. It was about midnight. They had a late night menu that ran from about 1AM to 5AM, it just had some simple sandwiches on it. I called down and asked for a tuna sandwich. A snooty voice replied that it wasn't 1AM yet and he didn't know if they could do it. I being very tired at this point responded with many colourful words and phrases how ridiculous it was that I could order a Prime Rib with lobster tail with spring vegetables in a fig reduction sauce, yet I couldn't order a $%# &%$# &#$%ing tuna sandwich. The tuna sandwich was there 5 minutes later.

I did finally get some sleep that night. 12 hours total for the 5 day trip. I met Rob in the lobby at 7 to head for the airport. The schedule board again said the flight was on time. We got to the airport where the flight was cancelled. I can't even explain the expletives that were leaving my mouth at this point. It was as if I was speaking in tongues, some of them didn't even make sense to me. In the end I would have more than 4 hours to kill before I got on a plane. Thankfully I had some magazines, a paper, and a text buddy to keep me company.

The only seat I could get on the plane was the very last row. Beggars can't be choosers and believe me Air Canada sure makes you feel like a beggar. Pearson's new terminal doesn't really allow any restaurants of any type for whatever stupid reason, so I waited to eat until I got on the plane.

I was supposed to fly out on a brand new 777, instead I got a 767 that I think at some point was used to transport livestock. No seat back entertainment system here, just one of those lovely projection screens about 10 rows in front of me. They finally came around with the food, I was starved. But of course they ran out of food about 10 rows in front of me. They were more than happy to sell me an expired cookie they found in the back for 2 dollars.

The icing on the cake was the movie du jour. "The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants Part 2" I find myself questioning the validity of a part 1 for a movie like this (sorry Miley), but this just is not a guys movie on any level.

There is probably more that I am forgetting, or at least blocking out like some traumatic event of the past. Buts that's all I got. Horrible place, horrible people.

BEWARE THE ONTARIANS!!

Off the Air

It's back to Toronto for me. I wish I could be saying I have assembled an elephant army greater than Hannibal's, and I was going on safari to "stomp" some sense into some Wal-Mart shoppers. But no, just some cold weather, and I'm certain some even colder shoulders.

I think that it's best that I get out of Dodge for awhile. I've tried to go x-mas shopping twice, and have managed to do nothing more than to add to my already full closets (lot of skeletons in there.) I had to look in the mirror as I left Harry Rosen today to make sure I didn't have Tootsie Pop written on my forehead because I sure feel like a sucker.

When I was a kid they had these clothes called Garanimals (I'm not a linguist, but I think it's a cross between garment and animal). You simple matched the tag on the shirt, say in this case a zebra, with the label on pants, another zebra, and you had a matching outfit. I always thought it was kind of funny because the clothes were for the ages of like 3 and 10. When I grew up, nobody picked out their own clothes at that age, so all it was saying is that North America was full of tasteless mothers.

Anyhow, all I need is for somebody to match the zebras for me and I will buy it every time. I literally just have to go in with a blindfold and ear muffs on and grab the one item I need instead of the six I don't. So the budget for everyones x-mas gift has gone down, sorry.

I have to hit the pub to smooth the pre-trip jitters. See you next week.

A Hazy Shade of Winter

So here we go again. The turkey leftovers are stewing in the soup pot. The registers are ringing like the bells on Santa's sleigh, and the Salvation Army has embarked on their annual war on poverty. The x-mas merchandising machine has to come to life once again.

You look at everything going on in the world. The attacks in Mumbai, the world economy burning like a raging California wild fire, pirates stealing oil tankers. It just seems crazy. But do you know what seems really crazy? How about a group of Christmas shoppers fueled with visions of grandeur (of saving two bucks on a piece of crap Taiwanese Cuckoo clock) trampling a young man to his death just to ENSURE they could get their hands on the &^%$ing Tickle Me Elmo first?

How appropriate that they call it Black Friday. This ACTUALLY happened. We are talking about a Long Island New York Wal-Mart. We are not talking about some Wal-Mart in a slack jawed Alabama town. We are talking about LONG ISLAND!!

I have said it before, and I will say it again. We can't comment on what goes on in the world, the genocides, the tortures, the cleansing of nations, until we can bring in the reins of our own society. There is a 34 year old man dead today. Why is he dead? Because some psychopaths decided that they had to wait outside of a Wal-Mart starting at 9 o'clock at night for a 5 in the morning opening. This is a &%$*ing Wal-Mart, a god damn &%$*ing Wal-Mart!!

The young man went to unlock the doors at 5. The crowd, a crowd that was already being "controlled" by the police surged forward crashing through the doors. The man didn't stand a chance, falling back and screaming for his life. His fellow workers were yelling at the top of their lungs for people to get back. Even the police were pushed aside. The man was trampled repeatedly. People were "cognizant" that they were stepping on a fellow human being, but they had to, HAD TO, get to the "deals". It wasn't that they finally got the crowd under control, quite the opposite, they had to wait until everyone was in before they could find his body lifeless on the floor. There were already people demanding service at the registers, people that went into further rage after being told the store wouldn't be doing business. Employees with tears streaming down their faces tried to explain the situation, but to these SAVAGES, that wasn't acceptable. SHAME ON YOU PEOPLE!!! SHAME ON YOU!!!

You have to keep in mind that Wal-Mart has hundreds of every item they sell. It's a month to Christmas for the love of God. What would happen if these people actually shopped at a place like Neiman-Marcus, or Nordstroms? Places that literally only have a few of each item, items that are quality made. Items that aren't made by children in the sweatshops of Asia.

I just hope that everyone of those %$#&ers look at the joy on their childs face Christmas morning as they unwrap their blood covered gift, I hope they pause and reflect on the mother, father, siblings, wife, children, and grandparents of the man they killed to get it. I hope they feel a pain for every tear they will shed. And I hope they get to say hi to the RCMP, YVR, and border services employees responsible for Robert Dziekanski's death as they all burn together in Hell.

Merry Christmas you %$#&ing bastards!!

That's How it Happened Living Life by the Drop

I heard this song last night for the first time in probably 15 years. You really have to wonder what Stevie would have done if he had been around longer. Incredible talent.

Beware the Cobb Salad

So I fancy myself as a bit of a wiz around the kitchen. I've had to look after myself for so long, it is something that eventually just comes to you. You can't survive on restaurant food, at least I can't. I need soul food, I need stick to your ribs home cooking, hopefully incorporating as much cream and cheese as possible.

Being single of course I don't tend to capitalize on my cooking skills during the weekend. Nothing says loser like sitting around home all night and cooking by yourself, or perhaps sitting around a public house night after night for no particular reason?!?! I don't tend to do the restaurant thing much on weekends because most of the time it turns into some type of disaster. People will fight over the bill (classless), some will drink too much, and some people will make the plans and just not show up at all. I was invited out for dinner on Saturday night. I thought about it, but to start with it was around six, that is usually the time I have lunch so that wasn't going to work. Secondly, it was an invite from people that had been drinking, and take my word for it...you can't trust that. Sure enough I heard on Monday that nobody even made it to the restaurant, so I would have been sitting there on my own. That is a big no no people, that's the kind of thing where you can invite me out a hundred more times and I will never say yes.

Anyhow, with a weekend full of hockey and championship (CFL, you decide) football, I hadn't eaten the best, so I decided it was salad time.

I have always loved Cobb Salads, they are just not very popular on the west coast, but I fell in love with them all over again in New York. Now I try to have at least one a week, whether I go to Bacchus or just make it myself at home. I was fresh out of ingredients yesterday, so it was a full start from scratch. For those of you in the know on Cobb Salads, that means chop city.

I'm pretty handy with a knife, and I must say we keep very high-end ones around the house. A good, well-balanced knife is important, especially when you are doing as much chopping as it takes to make a Cobb.

Since my youth I have had a propensity of damaging myself with sharp objects, so I always have to be extra careful around knives. Last night my mind was many miles away so it probably wasn't the best time to be chopping as it was. Sure enough, I had made it through almost all the ingredients when I decided to get a little cocky with my cucumber slicing. I made it through about four slices when the inevitable happened, right through the tip of my finger.

It's funny, I'm never one to panic, the knife was so sharp I didn't even really feel anything. I just knew. I looked down at the finger for that split second when all still looked fine, then like a spring river it came. Still no panic, but also a REALLY bad time to be out of paper towels. I had no choice, I had just pillaged Linen 'n Things earlier in the day for a well deserved new bath towel set. It ain't new anymore.

I used to have industrial first aid, I was the king of applying pressure, all that other stuff took too long. I have been told many times after the fact that cuts that I had applied pressure to on myself obviously needed stitches. Normally the pressure I was applying was just my other hand. I even went as far once to put hot wax on the cut to seal it so I could go back to what I was doing.

So following my medical checklist I first got the towel and applied pressure. Second on the checklist, I lit a cigarette and took a seat. Within a couple of minutes the new, Twilight Blue towel was looking like a sunrise that a sailor should take warning of. This was not going well. I made a vain attempt to find a band aid I knew I didn't have. I rummaged around in Danny's washroom to no avail. I finally went downstairs where Roman was watching the hockey game. He thankfully found some and I ran back upstairs.

I carefully unwrapped the band aid and had it ready by the sink. I finally took the towel off and quickly realized I was in over my head, there was no pressure or candle that was going to stop this. As quickly as I had walked into my room, I exited. Roman asked how it was, and I was just like "clinic time!!!"

He flipped the phone book open for me and found the Park and Tilford one open until 9. It was about 8:30 at this point. I had found some paper towel in Danny's closet while looking for the band aids and wrapped a bunch of it around my hand as I dashed out the door to my car. I made it there fairly quickly, and thankfully there wasn't a lineup. The paper towel on my hand looked like a large cotton candy by now.

The nurse saw me get out of the car and was holding the door open for me as I came up the walk. So told me to go to the room in the back on left and she would send the doctor straight in.

He came walking in and said the old "let's have a look at this" a phrase I had heard so many times. He held it over the instrument tray and unwrapped the cotton candy. When I had climbed out of the car in front of the clinic I had noticed how the inside of it now resembled a CSI scene (I just want to put in a shameless plug for the detailers at my North Shore dealership who dealt with it today) so I knew it wasn't going to be pretty.

The doctor, and I think this is hilarious said "Say, you don't get nauseous looking at stuff like this do you? Man, that's a lot of blood." I told him I was fine to which he said "Really? that stuff always gets to me. I'll be back in a minute." He seriously went to the washroom, I don't know what for, and I don't want to know.

He came back and wrapped a tourniquet around both my finger and wrist, and then let me sit in his office and watch the hockey game for a minute waiting for the flowing to stop. After he froze it, I got to help him with the stitches, something to do with "an impossible angle". He was a really nice guy, but I don't think I would want this guy in surgery.

So I'm all stitched up now and stuck with them through my Toronto trip. I hate having things on my fingers. Still beats sitting alone in a restaurant though.

During These Tough Economic Times We All Must Learn to Live With a Little Less (Unless You Live in Dubai)

This is the opening ceremony of the new Atlantis Resort on Palm Island in Dubai. Just to put it in perspective for you, that outer ring is more than 11 kilometers long. It's nice to know that not everyone is suffering.

I'm sure when we open the Olympics here they will just hand out a bunch of sparklers.

7 Degrees of Separation

It's that time of year when just like the birds, the mercury heads south for the winter. We have been somewhat lucky lately, it's been a little mild but that will soon change.

With our new "situation" on the patio, that will mean more inside visits than the past. Back when the patio was mostly enclosed I used what we called the sandal index. If it was below 8 Celsius, you couldn't wear sandals anymore. If it was at 1 Celsius or lower, you headed inside (this could be delayed by the consumption of spiced rum.)

Lately it has been hovering around 11 degrees. I figure with the walls out the most that can be tolerated without wind as a factor will be around 4.Those are the 7 degrees of separation before I join my friends that are through the looking glass. Heading quickly toward December, our days are surely numbered. Summer is so far away even though it feels as if it was yesterday.

So I'll get to the point. I know I need to get re-acclimatized to the indoors. I want to a lot of the time, there are people that sit in there that I would like to talk to, but they won't sit outside not that I can blame them. I actually tried last night. I ran into Dan in the washroom. As we were walking out he said "I'm over here" pointing to the side bar. "I'm out here" I said motioning for the patio. I went back out and it looked like it was thinning out pretty quick. I was about to go in when one of the boys showed up, so I put in off for awhile longer.

About an hour later I decided to do a reconnaissance run, sort of dip my toe into the bath water to see where it was at. I have problems with the noise alone when I go inside, it has this white noise type din like that of an aircraft engine. 20 conversations always going on at once. There is no order, your seat has the validity of a prospectors claim in the old Klondike. You go into town to get supplies (go to the can) your stake is gone as soon as you return. I ambled over toward where Dan was. He was sort of blocked off by some imaginary line that I will not cross in a crowd of people. I made some comment of how the collection of people resembled a blood clot, they were all just jammed around this central point. I mumbled a few things about football to Danny, and then plunged into an anxiety attack that made me run straight back for the patio. I think when I do eventually go inside I will have to dress like the Unknown Comic so I can talk and hyperventilate at the same time.

I am just kidding around, but I have always had problems walking into a big crowd and having a conversation. Introversion is my specialty so maybe I can just sit at the fireplace with my back to the wall and just yell things from there. The 7 degrees of separation are getting closer, so to all my inside friends, and there are many, fasten your seat belts, Johnny's coming!!

Somebody Filmed Me Enjoying My Sunday

The Re-Taking of the Patio (Charlie Don't Smoke)

Okay, so it didn't really happen that way. There was loud music, but it was just me approaching in my little mule listening to the appropriate "Hey, Hey, What Can I Do?" on Sirius 12. But common sense did prevail, with the beer bellies around there it would have been more "Battle of the Bulge" over "Apocalypse Now" anyhow.

Thankfully I don't have to worry about the pursuit of the happiness anymore, I can just go right back to my mundane life. Just in time for the weekend!!

I was trying to think of some smart quote I could end this with, but this is all I have.

"Thank you for your support"

-Bartle and Jaymes

No Man is an Island (Unless He is a Smoker)

"It's easy to quit smoking. I've done it hundreds of times."

-Mark Twain

So I have a little problem that I alluded to yesterday, I have been forced to make a change in my life.

I have never had the easiest life. I'm not saying mine has been harder than others, but it has been hard nonetheless. People have always tried to take my personal freedoms, they have tried to clip my wings. Sometimes they have won, but I will tell you one hard truth. No one has taken my freedom since the day I brushed the sand off of my jeans and left the homeless streets of Vancouver forever, and no one will take it ever again. I have fought for everything I have, whether it be the clothes on my back or the company I keep. It is mine, I have shed the blood, I have wept the tears.

Life can either be accepted or changed. If it is not accepted, then it must be changed. If it cannot be changed, then it must be accepted. We all have the hurdles that are thrown at us. We all must address them in OUR way. I for one have always been subjected to being alone. My family moved a lot when I was young, and it seemed every time I had finally made friends I was pulled back like the small child that could never reach the brass ring on the carousel. It made me quite introverted over the years, with almost a crippling shyness. I fight it all the time but it's one of those things that lives in the back of our minds that I can't control. It led me to needing constants in my life. The constants could be anything, my beloved dog Reno, a favorite shirt from years gone by, a recipe for some soul food from my Grandmother, and most importantly, a cigarette.

I know smoking is the shits. I know what it does, I know what it does to others. Hell, I used to flush my mothers cigarettes down the toilet I hated them so much. But until the day I find "it", or the "one who", I need it. My mind races sometimes, a cigarette slows me down. It lets me pause to remember, it allows me to look forward into the future, it lets me reflect on all that I have, all that I had, and all that I want.

I would like to think I have always been a courteous smoker. When the new laws came into play in 2000, even though there was leeway, Kelly and I permanently moved to the patio without a single complaint from either of us. And there, over the years we found our band of brothers. We came together, smokers and non-smokers alike. The best people I have known in my life I have bonded with through that patio. Beyond no doubt I found a great part of what I have been looking for in my life through the smiles and stories of that patio, and I would like to think I had the same affect on them. Pericles once said "What you leave behind is not what is carved in stone monuments, but what you have woven into the lives of others." And I hope I have had that to offer to some people, because I know it was given to me.

Now the patio is gone, but it is not gone physically, it is just empty. Empty of the stories, empty of the laughter, soulless and cold as when we first found it. And I now once again find myself alone. And why did this happen you ask? One cannot say for sure. I know a few people had a problem with a gate being locked meaning they would have to walk an extra 10 feet to get into the bar. This opened it up for non-smokers to walk through and be exposed to our cloud. I can't really blame them for being angry, but I tried to stop it by having the gate locked. I wouldn't really say it was a selfish action on my part, I would question the intentions of those that wanted it unlocked. Then again maybe I tried to take away their freedoms once and don't remember. (If there is some award for sarcasm, this should be a shoe-in.)

So that's it. That's all. I will not return until it is the way I want it, which is only the way the district wants it. I know, seems kinda odd.

As Green Day would say:

My shadows the only one that walks beside me

My shallow hearts the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

Until then I walk alone

And a little Woody Allen just for the hell of it:

"And remember, if you smoke after sex you're doing it too fast."

The Family Sports Legacy Continues

It's been a long twenty fours hours. I am not one that tends to subscribe to or accept change, and after all I've had to fight for in my life, I'm tired of fighting. I don't like being told what to do...hell, who does?

So I needed a day off from it. I took my nephew Parker down to the aquarium in the morning, and follwed that up with a very nice autumn walk through Stanley Park. Once we finished that, we wolfed down a couple of Pirate Packs at White Spot before going to Burnaby to watch my nieces ringette game.

As you can see in the video (she's number 9), she is still getting her ice feet, and is slowly working her way into the action. I especially enjoy the panning shot I did showing where she was compared to the action. Hockey helmut 30 dollars, ringette stick 15 dollars, watching your niece not having a clue what is going on around her....priceless.

I will take about the change stuff later, I'm just really not in the mood for it right now and I need to go find a place to hang out.

A Prairie Home Companion

I don't know if you have ever heard of A Prairie Home Companion or not. I have a long history with it. I have always been a big fan of Sunday night radio shows, just something that I can throw on and slide under the covers. Radio shows almost seem to amplify your sense of hearing, you just get so much out of it.

I first heard of Garrison Keillor's radio show from Charles Kuralt when he used to do his "On the Road" segments for the CBS sunday morning news.

His did this one segment about this simple old school radio show that still broadcasted for two hours every Saturday night from the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul Minnesota. A great little variety show where they still sang their advertisments (love that) between songs by various guests. Very down home.

I soon found it simulcast on a Spokane station on Sunday nights. I always looked forward to my Sunday night bedtime stories.

Once we moved to Vancouver, it took a little while, but again I found it broadcast from a station in Seattle on Sunday nights.

Anyhow, in 2006 Robert Altman, the great Robert Altman decided to make a fictionalized account of A Prairie Home Companion into what would be his last movie. He put together one of the fantastic ensemble cast he was known for, Garrison Keillor himself, Woody Harrelson, John C. Reilly, Tommy Lee Jones, Kevin Kline, Lily Tomlin, Meryl Streep, and Lindsay Lohan in what I think was the only good role she has ever played.

This IS the best movie of 2006, I don't give a rats ass what the academy thought of 2 gay cowboys, this was the movie that should have won it all.

Great music!! Great acting!! Great direction!! They say Altman made all the stars sing their own songs, and they all had to do it in one take. Amazing once you watch it. It is on MC2 at 1:30 today, but if you can't watch it rent it. Hell, buy it, you wouldn't regret it.

Did You Happen to See the Most Beautiful Girl in the World?

"There is something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself"

- John Gregory Brown

Miley sent me these pics last night, I must say I got lost in thought for hours. When you live your life through photos there is no transitional time, just suddenly, when you are not really expecting it, the beautiful little girl becomes a beautiful young woman.

I had hopes that watching Miley gracefully ascend to adulthood would have a type of Dorian Gray affect on me, but no, I looked older in the mirror today than I care to remember.

She has been extremely busy this school year, and I miss the frequency of our spontaneous talks of music, politics, movies, and whatever else seems to come up. But if there is one thing I have always been, it is patient and understanding, and I think that is all anyone needs to have around them. At the same time it makes you treasure what you have, and when my phone rings, or I receive an unexpected e-mail with photos like these, I am like a pat of butter in a hot frying pan.

Campaign Wrap-up 2008

I can't beat that.

And as I Watch the Drops of Rain...Weave Their Weary Paths and Die (10 Years Later)

I know it is election day, I will get to that. This day marks something more important to me. It was 10 years ago tonight that I found my "balance."

It was a random meeting that turned into so much more. I now have that voice that tells me when to quit while I'm ahead. The voice that has no hesistation to call me a "weenie" (more often than not), and most importantly the voice that will sincerely ask me if I'm okay.

I went to a place not knowing what I would find, and found all that I wanted and more. The years have flown by, there have been highs and lows, yes and no's, and a caring that has grown stronger than oak. Everything I am today started on that night. Sometimes when I think about it, it just doesn't seem possible. And now I find myself forever inspired.

Don't Forget What Happened to the Man That Suddenly Got Everything He Ever Wanted (The Comedic Genius of Gene Wilder)

He should have made way more movies, but like Johnny Depp once said "nobody knew how to write a script for him."

I felt so bad for him when Gilda died. I am certain she was the only person on the planet who understood him.

This is What Tim Russert Was All About

Sorry John McCain, you're busted!!

Plaster of Paris Bagel and Cream Cheese Paperweights

"After Hours" was on this morning. One of the classic black comedies. Anyhow who has even questioned a directors talent will be rendered silent by Scorsese's one night romp through Soho.

Griffin Dunne shined in this role, before moving on to a producing career.

We have all had a night like this. Just nothing seems to go right. Defines most of the '90's for me.

I love this scene. We have all had that moment where we were toltally into somebody, but then instantly wanted out. Fast!!

It is on again at 6:20 on Encore Avenue if you want to see it. Nobody does New York like Woody or Martin.

Hey There Little Red Riding Hood

Happy Halloween!!

It's not so much halloweeny (is that a word?!?), I've just always dug this song. Some of the artwork/photos are cool too.

I tend to hid on halloween, so I'll see you in November.

P.S. Johnny's on holidays!! Owwwwwwww!!!!!!

This Gun's for Hire

You know what really gets me about this U.S. election process? It's all the damn bias. I watch all of these talking heads debate the issues and explain their angles. None of which, for the most part makes sense. The problem with a two party system is that you simply get two opinions whether the person believes in the opinion they are stating or not.

For example. You have one party that is pro-abortion, and one party that is anti-abortion. Can every person in the party that is anti-abortion actually be against it?? It has never affected any of their lives?? Is that possible?? I really don't think so. They think that a young girl that has been raped in one of cruelest forms of violence, has to carry a baby to term??

#$%*ing savages.

Oops. I might have just stated MY opinion. Anyhow, I will get to my point.

Ignorance breeds pestilence. And bias breeds bullying. I've always found it very profound that someone that is considered an intellectual, more importantly, considers themselves an intellectual, can belong to a single political party. How can bias and intelligence sleep in the same bed? Does intelligence not suggest that you are open minded enough to seek and find your own answers, rather than relying on the collective?

#$%*ing savages.

Take note here, because this is the one and only time Britney Spears will be quoted on this blog.

"Oops, I did it again!" There I go with MY opinions again.

What I really wanted to focus on was bullying. I obviously don't have a problem with someone having an opinion. What I do have a problem with is that #$%*ing ^!#$sucker, trying to make his opinion mine. I have witnessed and been victim to this, not just in my "extended living room," but elsewhere as well.

It's bullshit. Let me tell you something about bullying.

When I was a pup, grade 9 to be exact, I was living in Calgary and going to Nickle Jr. High School. At this time Calgary was as white as a Cape Cod bed sheet blowing on clothesline in the summer breeze. The school yearbook for grade 8 looked like a casting call for Children of the Corn.

In grade 9 a student started, one Uttam Sharma. He and his family moved to town and took over the local 7/11. We were living the dream, and they were living the stereotype. Doesn't matter, very nice people. They actually made the 7/11 a place you wanted to go to again if that is possible.

There was another kid in grade 9, Todd Dean. How reminiscent is that of those goofy movie characters that tied their sweaters around their necks and had girlfriends named Boof or Buffy? And let me tell you, he had the personality to match. He took it upon himself to make Uttam's life a living hell. You know the kid didn't already have enough on his plate moving to a new country, and looking and sounding different than every other kid, he needed this #$%!er to bug him as well.

Todd would tip his books (this was the process of punching his binder at the top of the stairs so it would fall and split open spilling its contents onto the floor for all the other students to walk over at class change,) he would dump his food tray on him at lunch, call him names, and on and on. All the classic maneuvers of a little man with piano key teeth, as long as he smiled he thought he was doing the world good.

Todd was on the same football team as me. I would tell him every week or so, "you know, you should really knock it off with Uttam, he's harmless, he's done nothing to you."

Todd would never answer me, he would just mutter "whatever" or something along those lines. It would seem Todd was under the impression that bullying some lonely boy increased his social status.

Uttam would often work at his parents store after school hours, he would see me often due to my closet addiction of comic books and Slurpees. I was always kind to him, so he would often come out front after I made my purchases to talk. For some reason I always had his dad put my comics in a flat brown paper bag. All of my parents friends picking up milk on the way home must have thought I was buying porn or something. Anyhow, I would always pull them out of their paper sleeve, and look at the covers as I took pulls from my Slurpee.

He started asking me all the time if I could do something about Todd. I could see the pain in his eyes, I think it was the first time I had actually see stress on somebody as a physical element. I always told him there was nothing I could do. "It's your fight Uttam, you must fight it or you will always be running." I know, quite profound for someone my age, but I had actually seen it on a movie a few weeks before. I believed it though.

Later that year, Uttam joined my soccer team. He was quite good, being the little beanstalk he was. He could play circles around most of the guys, and it helped him bond with a few of the guys. It's amazing what sports can do sometimes. (That was just a random plug for my company's charity "Right to Play", check it out!!)

Enter Todd again. It would now appear Todd was a little jealous of Uttam's new found acceptance into the community. He decided to step it up a notch. He would push Uttam around, call him names, you know, the REALLY intellectual stuff, but more importantly, he became much more vocally racist with his remarks, and was using his intimidation of people to make them join his ranks, at least to the point where they would agree or laugh at his comments in front of Uttam. But you could tell by the awkwardness of their laughs what was really going on.

Soon enough push came to shove. Uttam did push back one day. I got there about 30 seconds after it happened. I guess he was just walking down the hall to class and Todd pushed him into a locker. Uttam got up and pushed him back. That was it, the glove had been thrown. Fight time behind hill in the schoolyard at 3:45. All of Todd's symbiotic friends started laughing and patting him on the back as if he had already won as they walked away from the scene. I stood there as a tear rolled down Uttam's check. He begged me again to do something, "do something or I will run." he said. I just repeated what I always said to him, and pointed out that regardless of what would happen, it would all end today. You can run, and always have it chasing you, or you can turn and face it, and have it stop now. I left it at that and walked to class.

I walked behind the hill after school. The mob had already collected, somehow having the collective sense to form somewhat of a circle. Todd was already there, stupid &%$^ing piano key grin. His "manservant's" were still patting him on the back. I was standing at the far side of the circle with my "crew", I hadn't seen Uttam yet, I really didn't know if he would come.

Sure enough, he crested the hill a few moments later, appropriately alone, this was his fight. He didn't even get a chance, Todd lunged through the crowd yelling racist slurs as he planted the first hit on Uttam's nose instantly drawing blood. Uttam fell to the ground with Todd jumping on top of him delivering blow after blow. The poor guy, he was crying, and I could tell he had already had the wind knocked out of him. It feels like death at that age, unimaginable. I bumped Trev with my elbow and nodded over towards the fight at him. He knew what I meant, and went and started pulling Todd off. The crowd, save for a few of Todd's cronies, was silent. Uttam lay alone on the ground in a fetal position, he body shaking from the unstoppable sobs.

Todd grabbed his football jacket from one of his toad like friends and started walking towards me. I took off my jacket and handed it to Trev. I walked straight up to Todd. Keep in mind at this point Todd was about 5 foot 5, and maybe 150 pounds soaking wet. I was 6 foot 4 and pushing about 230. I stared him straight in the eye and said "now it's my turn."

Todd was instantly frozen, the high of his victory was quickly removed from his formerly smug face. "What did I do to you?" he asked MOST urgently.

"The way I figure it, about the same Uttam did to you." I replied to him.

"But he did nothing to me." Todd was loosing credibility faster than a New York investment banker.

I said something stupid like "Well this is going to be a painful lesson for nothing then, isn't it?" Then I proceeded to beat the tar out of one Todd Dean. I didn't stop, I kept going until he was lying in the same quivering heap he had left Uttam in. Todd didn't fair as well, he got to spend the night in the hospital.

The gathered kids cheered now, the same kids that were silent just minutes before. The kids were not cheering for me, they were cheering for the process itself. What had happened? What had changed? This is my point. It shows the silence an individual can hold inside if they are bullied. Had Todd bullied all of these people? I doubt it. Had most of these people seen him bully someone? I guarantee. They had all been frozen in silence, most since grade school I'm sure.

I left Todd where he lay. None of his friends were coming to pat him on the back now, if fact no one was coming towards him at all. Trev tossed me my jacket and we walked toward Uttam who was now standing up but still crying and wiping the blood from his face. I just told him "good fight", and walked away. I never told him why I did what I did to Todd, and I moved away the next year. Uttam did have to fight his fight, and he did. Todd actually transferred schools, and was rarely seen again. It is my understanding Uttam became quite popular when he went on to high school. As for me, the rest of that year I got all the free comic books and Slurpees I wanted.

Was that my agenda? If you ever really want the answer, make a racist or demeaning comment to someone that is defenseless while I am sitting in the room. You should be able to figure it out pretty quick.

But more to the point of the story, if Uttam and Todd were running for election, and they had the vote before the downfall of Todd, who would have won? Todd. Was he the right man for the job? No.

Bullying and politics don't mix. I hope you have enjoyed my simple explanation of why.

So please, the next time you are in my company, keep your $#%&ing opinions to yourself!! Unless of course you're willing to listen to mine. (insert happy face here)

There is a Rose in Spanish Harlem

You know, being on the road by yourself can have an odd effect. Last night I was all gunned up for the last few innings of the ball game, which had already been postponed again...but I didn't know it. A friend pointed it out to me soon after. But not to be deterred, I pressed on.

I wandered down to the hotel bar. Frank the bartender is always happy to see me, more evidence that no matter what you think, I can be low maintenance. We did the usual "how's the kids?, how's biz?" all the regular stuff.

For some reason the beers were really socking it to me. Maybe that crap at the Cross is watered down. After a couple of hours I decided to grab a six pack to go, and head up to the room to watch a bit of the Canucks game and a movie.

I sat out on the balcony before turning the tube on and cracked a beer and fired up a smoke. The balcony is right above the lit pool, and the light danced and swam across the surface of the water, reflecting up to my room and surroundings. I just seemed to drift off for a minute. I had been thinking a lot during the day, and I just seemed to get lost in the moment...and then this song pops into my head. I probably hadn't heard it in 10 years, but it instantly took me to another time and place.

I already had the laptop running, so I just clicked on itunes. I had 'er all loaded up in a few minutes. I sat on that balcony for more than an hour just swaying away to the watery light.

I probably listened to it 10 times on the drive home today. Love stuff like that.

The Duke of Dublin

Another crappy week. I hate the law of averages, I knew it would catch up to me. It doesn't help that the weekends just seem to fly by.

Anyhow, I was going to do a rant today about how Richard Dreyfuss' character was wrong in his statement at the end of the movie Stand By Me. While he is right that friends do tend to go through our lives like bus boys in a restaurant, he was wrong about the final part. It's funny how a weekend can change your perception, and it's even funnier that I had planned to write on that very issue only to see it unfold before my eyes.

I have a very old friend that calls me "The Freak", just for that reason. If the impossible or improbable can happen, it will happen to me. She has witnessed it too many times. So anyhow, out with Stand By Me, in with the Duke of Dublin.

I had my monthly meeting out in Abbotsford. A friend of mine lives out there now and we hooked up for lunch. Abbotsford is going through a much needed revitalization, and it seems to be starting right at the five corners.


A new pub called The Duke of Dublin opened about a month ago. It is literally pub as art. Every detail of this place is amazing. If they can do this with the rest of the town, Abbotsford will soon be a contender. The owners obviously took great pride (and probably more than they wanted of their savings) putting this place together. It's stunning. Cobb salads on the menu to boot. Homerun for me.

The only thing better than the setting was the company I was keeping, I needed a good end to a bad week. We all need to vent sometimes, and I find it best to do it 80 kilometers from home.

If you get a chance, go. You won't be disappointed.

T.J. The Three Legged Poodle Part 2

Well that weekend didn't really go as planned, though they seldom do. I will get some business out of the way first. It's Stephanie's birthday today. I ran across a quote by Robert Frost a few weeks ago that I found quite appropriate for the occasion, although I did had to adjust the numbers due to ummm....inflation.

"Time and tides wait for no man, but time always stands still for a woman of 40."

Happy Birthday Steph!!

So where was I??

Oh yes. So we left elementary school with a bang and moved onto Nickle Jr. High. It had already been communicated to the school that Trev and I could be a little bit of a handful, so they already had some ideas of how to cope with us. They put us in two special courses that the Principal taught, just so he could keep an eye on us. One was a pilot of the Junior Achievement program, and the other an advanced science class (perfect).

We actually did quite well in the Junior Achievement program, Trev and I led an initiative that created a new business that built toys. The toys would then be sold by students and the funds disbursed to agency's that helped under privileged children, any unsold toys would be given to the children themselves. In the first year of the business we made more than $40,000. The business is still running today. This started my entrepreneurial spirit.

The science class introduced us to chemistry. Now I don't know about you, but I would think if you have two young boys with an appetite for destruction, the last thing you would want to do is expose them to chemicals and how to get rich from them.

One of the first things we were introduced to was saltpeter, a type of potassium nitrate. It is essentially a very nasty accelerant, and at the time, very accessible at any grocery store. Our textbooks in very roundabout ways pretty much described how to make some pretty sweet smoke bombs.

Before you knew it we had a mini lab set up in Trev's garage. It took us about a week, but we soon found the right balance of saltpeter and sugar to make a bottle cap full of nastiness. Once we had the one product, we expanded. I always used to walk the railway tracks in the summer, and I knew there was an abundance of sulphur that dropped out of the freight cars as they rolled by. I went down and collected a few pounds which I then grinded down and mixed in with the other mixture. Not just a smoke bomb anymore...a super duper stink smoke bomb. Soon to be added were the ping pong balls filled with the powder and double match heads, you just had to throw it at the ground and it would launch off on its own.

The kids loved them, especially the older kids. We sold them for $5 each, whichever one you wanted. We made a killing, we literally sold thousands. We couldn't walk down the hallway in school without being hit up for a sale. We were living like kings.

I always took the same route when I went to Trev's, he was about 3/4 of a mile down the lake from us. There was a friend of ours, Sheila, that lived about half way between. She had a little toy poodle named T.J.. Now T.J. was a legend in these parts. At this time he was only about 4, when he was 2 he developed cancer and they had to amputate of of his front legs. You would never know it from T.J., he protected that house like he was a German Shepherd, he was one of the most active dogs I've ever known, and a prince among dogs at that.

I would always smuggle a milk bone out of the house to give to T.J. as I rode over. He would always be waiting for me, and would run beside my bike for the length of a few houses until I reached down and handed him the bone. He had this thing where you would say his name really fast three times and then go owwwww!!! And he would howl along with you. It still sticks in my mind sometimes today, T.J., T.J., T.J., owwwwwww!!!!!!

Anyhow, Sheila was having a big Halloween party, and the who's who were invited (very cliquey crap, I always hated it but I still went.) So Trev and I decided we would put on a big show before we got to the party. The idea was we would do a smoke show on the front porch of the house, then after watching the show we would sneak around the back of the house through the lake side and pretend like we were there the whole time. We played rock, paper, scissors, to decide who would do the deed. Trev lost, so I got to hop over the fence across the street and find my perfect knothole to look through. I saw Trev sneak up through the bushes in the front of the house, thankfully T.J. wasn't out tonight. The lights were off on the front of the house, only the jack-o-lanterns flickered in wispy candlelight from their watch points at either end of the porch.

I saw Trev kneel down and I saw the flash of light in his hand as he struck a match. The smoke started billowing out, I saw him reach up for the doorbell and then run in full sprint until he hopped the fence and joined me.

The houses in this neighborhood of Calgary are quite large, and it always took some time for someone to answer the door. It didn't really look right, there was far too much smoke, you could barely see the house.

"Trev? You only used one right?"

"Nope, I used all three I had."

"You moron. They were at least the steel ones right?"

"Nope, plastic."

"Please tell me the porch was concrete." (All the porches in Calgary are concrete)

"Nope, they have that really cool astro turf stuff, it's like a little football field."

"IDIOT, IDIOT, IDIOT!!!!"

Just then as I rammed my eye up against the knothole, I could see the flames starting to lick up towards the night, the carpet was on fire. I was just about to make a break for the door to stomp it out when the front door swung open. Mr. Neilsen was one big, bad ass man. He already had the extinguisher going, he placed T.J. over the smoldering mess and was yelling find them T.J., find them!!

That was it, we bolted. We hopped another fence into a back alley and started sprinting down towards my house. We got to a cross way on the alley and the next street. We could see some people walking down in the darkness in the next stretch of alley where we were heading, I pulled Trev off to the side for a moment so we could think (well, so I could think, he could sit there and drool on himself, idiot). I could hear their voices, it was some older kids we had been having some problems with, and there were at least 6 of them. We had to go back to the main street. I told Trev to run and shoved him in that general direction. As we rounded the corner, Mr. Neilsen was a couple of blocks away with T.J., he saw our shadows race across the street, and again voiced T.J. into action.

"Shit, shit, shit." That was all I could think as I went Rambo through all the neighborhood gardens trying to escape the ever approaching three legged dog. The street came to a point where it widens out and is more well lit. I knew we couldn't go back into the street, and we couldn't access the lake at this point. Stuck.

There was one house that had a small brick and wrought iron fence around their garden. The gardens was filled with the remnants of summer flowers and small cedar bushes. I grabbed Trev and forced him down. I was hyperventilating like I was gasping my final breaths. I could hear the unmistakable tap of T.J.'s three little feet on the sidewalk approaching us. Mr. Neilsen, as far as I could tell was still a couple of blocks away. You know damn straight T.J. found us, he didn't care about Trev, he was looking for a milk bone. I don't know how much experience you've had with little dogs, but they can be very "ticklish" when they are trying to find something on you. Between gasping for breath, and trying no to laugh, I was dying. T.J. did finally relent as Mr. Neilsen was approaching, but I would assume he had no intention of leaving empty handed, and I can assure you, what happened to me next never happened to me before or since.

T.J. started to hump my leg. I didn't have a clue what he was doing at first, but it quickly dawned on me. This dog was actually humping me. Fortunately with only one front leg he could only get so much grip and he kept falling off. I literally had to smack my hand across Trev's mouth he was laughing so hard. I was trying to whisper, "T.J., stop, go away....milk bone tomorrow, go away!!" He just kept hammering away.

Finally Mr. Neilsen's calls to him went answered, and T.J. left. Mr. Neilsen never caught us, but I think I got the punishment I deserved. I dry hump from a toy poodle can be very enlightening.

The house was undamaged except for the carpet. And we closed down our "side" business forever.