You can just stop talking, I get it...

New romances... new romances are a trip, no mistaking.

They are like a rollercoaster of fun and nightmare mixed into a ball of hope and desire. All energy and expectation with no tether to reality anywhere close by.

We all do crazy things when we are first falling in love.

No question.

Don't get me wrong. I don't live in a world that believes that every budding romance is a tidal wave of 'I'm in love! I'm in love! I'm in love!'. Not in the least. My world is a world of doubt, second guessing and overcompensation, but it is also a world of grand gestures, small sins and sweet nothings.

The world that I have trouble dealing with is a very small world called 'Regret'. This isn't your run of the mill regret. No that sad-sack of a beast is almost non-existant in the modern psyche, thanks to TV and self-help books. No, the regret that appears is generally a small form of regret that raises its ugly little head one of those sweet nights...

You know the one that I am talking about...

Yep. that's the one...

Out with your honey, enjoying a pint or a coffee, listening to every word they say; like life itself depends on it. When it happens... yup, it happens, they get through an anecdote or life story and you look up, aghast, not knowing whether it is jealousy or sheer regret, but one way or the other you feel small. Smaller than you have in a while, like you don't exist and everything you've done to date doesn't actually qualify you as a human being. You think they are too good for you; they have experienced something you have only dreamed off. Why couldn't that be you?!?

This can hurt and hurt big. Some don't recover from it.

The key is that this is another person. You have to remember that. Every once in a while you luck into seeing that reaction in someone else and then you know.

Yup, you get it.

We are all human. We have all had pasts, some of which we are trying to escape. So what. Some of us have had such glorious pasts that we are trying to relive them, but every cloud has a dark lining.

Buck up.

Sometimes we are the storyteller sitting around the fire, getting the accolades and recognition. Other times we are part of the audience, listening to the story, taking it in. Once in a blue moon we get the chance of being the one that figures out what it means and then goes out into the world and makes our own little narrative.

And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, so I had one more for dessert.

A whole bunch of years ago, before I moved to Toronto, I came here a couple times, mostly visiting pseudo family at Christmas or around those holidays we, as a people, deem travel worthy. During those trips, I met a bunch of people I would have never had to opportunity to. Some good, some bad, these meetings formed some of my earliest connections in this city.

You have probably all experienced them. Relationships by proxy. You don't so much become friends, but you are brought in to the fold because you appear to be someone held in regard by someone that is held, in turn, in regard by someone else. You are basically there because your hosts care about who you are sleeping with, not about you. Don't get me wrong, many strong friendships can come from such introductions, but just as many fizzle and disappear, following the relationship into oblivion.

Back to the memory at hand, I was in Toronto, maybe the second time in my adult life. Being driven all over by someone that 'kinda' knows the city, on our way to a small house party held by her 'best friend from high school' and her boyfriend. After parking on Eglington (to this day I still think it was Bloor and she just didn't know any better) and taking an elevator to god knows what floor, I was greeted by unfamiliar, albeit smiling faces peering out from around the protection of the aged wood and decades of white paint lacquered on their apartment door.

"Come in, come in", the male of the species screeched, holding out his hand in some sort of calming gesture. "Have a seat, have a seat. Can I get you something? A beer?"

Staring at the proffered chair, wondering if the metal bum-mechanism, like I saw in the glass case at Ikea, came with it when my ears perked up.

"Yeah, a beer would be great thanks."

"Is 50 alright?" he probed, heading across the six by six cell of a living room to what appeared to be half a door to the kitchen.

"Sure, a 50 would be great", I lied.

"You like 50? That's awesome. Not many people do. It's my brand, but all my friends think it's piss."

"50's great", I lied again trying desperately to live and breathe the untruth, if only for politeness' sake.

And so it began. The beginnings of my relationship with this guy. Off and on I would see him maybe once or twice a year for 4 or so years. And this was how we were defined.

A little while later, at some acquaintances wedding during a lull on the dance floor:

"Hey, I'm going to the bar, ya want anything?" he'd shout.

"Grab me a beer will you", I'd reply.

And back he came with a 50.

"The last two in the tub! What luck!" he'd gleefully declare handing me the bottle.


A barbeque at their new house:

"Grab a beer. I got a case of 50 'cause I knew you were coming."


And on it went. For a couple of years I was forced to live a lie. Not a big black one, but a little white speck of a lie and it hurt. It hurt like you wouldn't believe. Here I was drinking 50, a beer I couldn't stand. I don't do that. I drink what I want when I want. Domestic bottled beer is for people completely unlike me. Or for long plane rides. But not when you have a choice. Never.

Flash forward a few months or a year, and here I was sitting in a bar/gallery on Queen called 'Social'. Someone else picked it, but it was their day and I needed to make an appearance. Money was tight, the relationship long over, and I had just taken the bus down to Queen. Standing at the bar, pondering what to order, the barman explained the taps.

"Guinness, Creemore and Keiths are $6 a pint and we have 50 at $3 a pint"

Thinking quickly, I reasoned I need to stay for 4 hours, I can drink a pint every half hour, 45 minutes if I nurse. I can't afford $40 on drink. Not if I want groceries on Monday. Not drinking would be too embarrasing and I am sick of leaving early or not showing up at all.

Cinquante, je pense.

And then it began.

Everywhere I went it was a done deal.

"Wanna get a pitcher?" I'd ask on boys night.

"How about Keith's?" would be the universal retort.

"Screw Keith's.
How about 50?"
my id would blurt out.

Sometimes I won. Sometimes I lost.

Thnaks for readin'. I know it has been a while.

Contrary boy says some words, none important

i like that you showed me your favourite movie
and i liked it even more that i liked it too.

Contrary boy meets his fate...

Email and text set the scene.
Volleyball game, a slight pause in between.
Back turned, walking away.
"Can't stay,
have to meet someone important to me."

Irony of location is not lost,
as she enters on a wave of frost.
Pain and hurt read in her eyes.
"I'm sorry", she sighs,"
I don't know what came over me."

On a rough bench facing her,
He admits, "I can't be sure."
His heart on his sleeve.
"Part me wants to just leave,
but most wants you to grab me."

Indecision creeps up his spine,
as he looks into eyes so fine.
Hand follows eye to rest on thigh.
"I am not sure if I can even try.
What you did really gutted me."

Her face so sorry, his heart skips a beat,
making the decision come complete.
"You know? You are a total dumbass,
to drop us into this morass.
So you might as well just come home with me."

If happiness is empty rooms and drinkin’ in the afternoon. Well, I suppose I’m happy as a clam.

There has been a little project I have been working on in my spare time. Considering how much of that I have of late, I thought I would get your assistance.

I have been working on a playlist of sorts. I have been trying to put together a list of songs that have to do with Sundays. But not just any Sunday. A specific type of Sunday. The songs have to be about those Sundays when you are feeling a little down because of all the awful stuff you did to yourself on Saturday. Or about nesting on Sundays. Good examples would be Kristofferson's 'Sunday Mornin Comin Down' or 'Sunday Morning' by No Doubt. 'Sunday Bloody Sunday' by U2 is the wrong idea.

Any takers?

Contradiction Girl wakes up

8am text destroys my plans.
'Don't come. We need to talk.'
three hours before I get a voice, three hours away.
'I'm really sorry.'
huh...
'I am attracted to you.'
but...
'I like spending time with you.'
uh...
'It's some of the best sex I have ever had.'
hmm...
'I just think it's best we end it now,
because it will... hurt... more... later.'

Contrary Boy passes the time

Clutching my cozy arm as we lay,

    her lids get heavy and close.

         Electric twitches find their way

            to arms and legs, fingers and toes.

                As her breath turns deep and even

                    stillness falls upon her body.

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by...

It's been a while, but tonight I feel the need to make a small list of some of the things I am thankful for.

manic girls - dear lord, you make me smile in a way that stays with me for days.

unexpected phone calls - i knew you were there, but was glad you answered.

tacos - when was the last time you had taco night?

home for a rest - you'll have to excuse me i'm not at my best.

small sins - the original version might be better, but hell has a lot of room.

haphazard habitat - it was nice to see the folks and grab the swag.

'There is only so much you can tell the man who can't be told...'

Self-doubt is a curious thing. It creeps up on you and chomps on your behind like a creature from last week's bad horror movie. The chomp hurts and the venom is strong, acting fast, coursing through your veins before you know it, making life a pain in the ass.

But sometimes you get a glimpse, a glimpse of a better way. Like a distant light in a darkened cave, the glimpse draws you ever closer until you smell the fresh air of daylight and you smile. Of course you do, why wouldn't you? The light is shining, the air is fresh and your ass is remarkable well healed.

And mania insues.

But only for a short while.

'Indeed I is, me old cock...'

My trip home ended a couple of days ago.

'Incredible' wouldn't do it justice.

Again, I was surprised, although I shouldn't be time and time again, by how difficult it was to leave. For now, I am just trying to dwell on the awesomeness. Awesomeness of standing on my cabin's deck and looking out to sea to see the Sun, and gulls, and eagles, and osprey, and fishing boats, and humpbacks all living on an expanse I just can't comprehend. And the only human sound to be heard for miles is the 'wow' of the amazing woman standing next to me.

For those few I saw and probably didn't see enough: Sorry, I needed some me time.

For those that weren't there for the whole thing, here are a few words that were said to me and still echo in my ears:

Whatayat
Yummy
B'ys
Cozy
Ducky
Safe
Trouble
Rail
Stunned
Festival
Snuggle
S'mores!
Cracked
Missus
Hola
Roadies?

'She would have to be!' [addled, yet, in unison]

This often happens when I am home, but the need to update seems more urgent when I am back in Newfoundland.

Yup, you read that right. I am back on the island that holds my heart and perches on one or more of my DNA strands.

It is strange coming home. I don't know why that surprises me so, as it seems to happen everytime I get here. The trip is always marked by four distinct themes. And I feel the need to share.

1) Waiting at the airport gate to board the plane, I am always amazed by the number of moustachioed gentlemen that fly to this rock. I know, culturally, the moustache never went out of style in Newfoundland, but it is a little frightening. I counted 23 men waiting for the plane that were sporting upper lip hair, and only upper lip hair. No goatees, full beards, van dykes or any of that fancy crap. If you have the good fortune of visiting this wondrous place, please, try and beat my 23. I dare you. At the least you will be less bored.

2) Flying to Newfoundland on a discount carrier (the only way to go, I might add) you will always be faced with having some sort of sex trade worker on your plane. This is a non-negotiable. There will be some sort of peeler, prosie or some such waiting for the plane. This time I had two strippers who were travelling together. Blonde as the sky is blue and tanned like you could buy it 5 gallon jugs, one of them was wearing an old school hip-hop knuckle ring. Fun, fun, fun.

3) Half the plane will clap when you land, while the other half will complain that that landing was nothing to clap about.

4) As a returning newf, the departure lounge is a uncomfortable place. Standing, waiting for the boarding, you have to eye every other passenger, but like a ninja. You see, every person there is checking you out and you have to check them out, but nonchalantly. Every person could be someone you know, but they could also be someone you don't want to talk to. That is the risk of the departure lounge. Ironically, i caught the eye of a woman I went to high school with. We had been friendly enough back then and early on in university, but it was obvious that she didn't want to see me and I probably conveyed the same message. It was quite a shock when we were seated together. Until she asked her travelling companion to seat between us. Small talk was made, but then for the rest of the flight ignorance was bliss.

contradiction girl meet everyone

I always imagined my wedding
would be on a beach, barefoot.
Or deep in a forest.
Barefoot?
Yeah, barefoot.
So, basically you love being barefoot?
Yeah.
But, you love shoes.
You bought a pair tonight because
they went with your outfit.
Yeah, I really love shoes.
And socks... I luv socks!!!
I have two full drawers
filled just with socks.
I really luv socks!

'Whenever a woman does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.'

At one point, I thought the funniest thing I ever experienced was finding a banana peel on the floor of the Humour section at work. That was comedy on a level only the gods could muster.

Until last night.

Last night I was invited over to a 'special' friend L.'s house as her parental figures were away for the long weekend. She was so excited. She never gets to have me over and privacy being in short supply I was thoroughly looking forward to the night.

As you can well imagine, naughtiness insued and before long I was being led through a darkened house to a stairway on the way down to her room. Not having spent much time there, I was a little hesitant working my way in the dark. Bouncing off walls and into door frames. I made my way towards the top of the stairs.

WHA-BUMP-DITTY-BUMP-BUMP!!!

That was the next sound to fill my ears.

'Was that you?' I meekly called out into the dark.

'Yes,' came a forlorn response from the shadows.

'Did you just fall down the stairs?' I quizzically posed with aplomb.

'Yes,' she echoed.

'Are you okay?' I progressed, managing to hide the panic from my voice.

'No,' she replied.

I bounded down the stairs just as she managed to turn on the lights. Hunched over, grasping her elbow, she looked like a helpless damaged pet, albeit wearing a sun dress. I just wanted to cry.

'Are you okay?' I asked again. 'What's hurt?

'I landed right on the edge of the step with my bum,' she winced. 'I banged both my elbows and I think I wrenched my neck again.'

She looked in a lot of pain. The only thing in her eyes was shock and fear. I just wanted to hug her, but thought better of it, lest she want to hit me.

'You should take some Tylenol or Aspirin or something. You know, the anti-inflammatory one,' I said, trying to be helpful.

'Ibuprofen,' she added. 'I think I have some Advil upstairs.'

And she marched back up the devil stairs, clutching her neck.

'You know,' I said, following her,' I could have gotten it for you. You may want to sit down. Did you hit your head?'

'No.'

'You should ice your neck. It will help.'

'We don't have any.'

'Well a bag of frozen veggies would be better anyway.'

'It's okay. Don't bother.'

'No. You should ice it. I'll need a towel, but something fairly thin, like a tshirt'

'I'll get you something.'

'Will, you sit the hell down. You know you can just tell me where it is.'

'It's faster if I get it. Will this do?'

'Yes, 20 minutes on, 10 off. Now sit down, for God's sake!'

We lay there. On her bed. Her mostly sitting up as she tried to ward off the seizing of her neck. Me trying to keep her happy and laughing.

'It's cold. Can I take it off yet?'

'No, 5 more minutes.'

And on it went, until we turned out the light and fell asleep. Frozen veggies in a pile on the floor. And I slept. I slept like I haven't in weeks. Her sensory deprivation chamber of a basement room sucked me in and knocked me into the deep, deep sleep of the dead. Until.

'Fuck!' she hushed into my ear.

My eyes darted open, my brain still asleep. 'What?' I brilliantly asked.

'They're home!'

I looked at the red beacon of an alarm clock in the dark, dark room. 4:57am, what the hell?!?

'L. whose car is in the driveway!' a female voice called from upstairs.

'Shit! Busted,' my inner sixteen year-old remarked.

Hold on, I'm 32.

'Peter's, Mom.'

'Hmph! Well, we need to park and we are not leaving the truck on the street,' the disappointment almost palpable.

'Tell them you fell down the stairs,' I blurted, the panic seeping from every word.

Hold on, I'm 32.

'Good idea,' she said as she hobbled upstairs in her night dress.

Night dress! When did that happen? I am so dead!

Hold on, I'm 32.

I grabbed my stuff and headed for the stairs. With the minor delay of brushing some soggy green beans off my sock, I made it up the stairs and into the kitchen. L. was engrossed in conversation with her mother.

'Goddamn people behind us! Making so much noise we couldn't sleep! So we came home, goddamit!'

Thin like paper, thin like paper, no one can see you! I thought as I sidled towards the front door and my shoes.

Hold on, I'm 32.

L. backed away, following me out.

'I think I better just go home,' I whispered plaintively.

'Yeah. I think that might be for the best.'

But, I'm 32, I thought as I headed out walking past her step-father unloading the truck.

He stopped and looked. A word wasn't spoken. Just a look. A look, given between Brazilian and Newf. In the dark. A look that carried weight.

My pace quickened heading for my car door.

Getting in, backing out quickly, considering the worst second impression I have ever given, all I could think was She is so cool. She feel down a flight of stairs and didn't so much as make a peep, but when her folks came home and I had to leave she started swearing like a sailor. Awesome.

contradiction girl meet contrary boy

both lying at odd angles.
door open to the world
for fresh air
and freedom.
tell me what you want me to do
said with a wry smile
and trouble in his eyes.
moments delay
or so they seem.
i'm not laughing at you
as she turns away giggling
i'm just really giddy.

He's not getting older, he's getting bitter...

Tomorrow is the first day of summer and my mind is wandering to memories long past.

Three boys riding identical red bikes with identical black helmets along the Musgrave Harbour highway towards a swimming hole. Goofing around, being young. A mishap and one takes a rough tumble. Shaken and shocked they all ride back to the summer home to lick their wounds. One physically the other two worried and guilty at far too young an age.

Lazy afternoons downtown. Bikes and boards. Always looking for just one more quarter at the arcade. Let's go roofin', one suggests. The others follow. Nothing better to do. Over this fence, up that ladder. Watch out for Security. C'mon b'y, sure it's only 10 feet or so. Run run run. Jump! Fly for a millisecond. Knees skinned. Adrenaline pumping. Right on.

A gravel pit with a bonfire has almost become a coming of age cliche around here. Almost. 16 and one half years. Too young to be here doing this, but there is no stopping him. Music blaring amped up by the generator. I think I'm really tripping, he says. The sky is moving. You are such a light weight, b'y. Those are the northern lights.

Years later. Darkness fell, hours before. Drugs forcing him awake. Hair flowing like a mane. Barefoot, running up and over parked cars. Urban primative isn't about piercings and tattoos. Climbing chain links, scrambling over concrete, around the back way. A note left on her window; the one that no one should be able to reach. Shirt torn, feet dark and dirty, but nerves firing, reminding him what it is to be truly alive.

The buddy system. Enacted to serve and protect. At the cabin, on a retreat. Rum and beer, beer and rum. Open fires and drunken lads. Let's go to the park. Everytime a car drives by the drunkest of the bunch dives into the gully. They aren't Nazis and you're no commando, b'y. Dashes off into the dark, no moon. The sound of heavy meat hitting gravel then someone spitting up pebbles. Where's his buddy?, one asks.

Summer is coming.

Snap back to reality, Oh there goes gravity

I opened the door and all I could smell was cheap chicken burgers, fries and weed.

The roomies are back. Blowing in, almost, as unexpectedly as they blew out.

I was just starting to enjoy the solitude; the privacy.

Ottawa was sleepy they said. Thrill's apartment was loud and too clean; creepily clean.

Oh well.

I just need a spaceship to get me outta here...

The roomies left for Ottawa this afternoon while I was at work.

I knew it was coming, but I thought they would leave a note or something. It is like they were abducted by aliens.

It is an odd sensation to come home to a house, once full, now empty of poeple but not their stuff. I love it, but it is giving me the willies. This may be accentuated by the sense of mania I have been suffering from since the onset of the full moon.

Who knows?

One thing for sure. I have been down right giddy the last couple of days. Giddy is the only fitting description. So giddy it is.

A number of you have probably never seen me giddy. It is very dangerous as I become immediate trouble. Trouble to myself and my neighbours. You see when I get giddy, I really start talking out of my ass. My mouth starts writing cheques my ass can't cash. Luckily, I haven't gotten into any arguments or really hurt anyone's feelings yet, but I imagine it may happen soon. Just warnin' yah.

Terror had struck me, but all I could see is your soft skin...

What a day.

Twenty four hours have come and gone and I am finally home, resting, waiting for sleep to gather me up and take over.

I don't think I can begin to describe what a fulfilling day I have just experienced. So instead I am just going to post a short list. A list of the things I am thankful for today. Things that, in my weary mind, as the day comes to an end, mean a lot to me.

• girls with blinders on. They remind you what it is to live, with their crafty ways.
  
• worlds colliding. Its about time and needs to happen more often.
• a bunch of kids that work their asses off every day. I hope I can be good enough for you.
• caring touches when you least expect them. We should all be so lucky.
• finding community where one least expects it. It makes it all seem more worthwhile.
• friends offering you something you need when you don't know you need it. That's why they are friends.
• swinging bats and catching balls. Remember what it was like to be a kid?
• a happy tired. The lack of sleep is irrelevant. If I could do with even less to experience even more, I would. In a heartbeat.
• the joy of a reaching a mutual decision while staring into a wood fire. The thought still makes me smile.

"This isn't how the tours of my house usually end, but I'm not complaining"

The roomies have gone to the mall, not sure why, but I am happy about the peace and quiet.

Just finished watching a DVD with the patio door open. The cool breeze is really pleasant, but I wish it were a little warmer.

I broke a valve on my bike's front tire, which sucks. Now I have two bikes in my front porch with flat front tires. Next week will be bike repair day. I promise.

Last night at volleyball, the skies opened up. We were getting spanked by a nice enough group of players, when all of a sudden it was the best sun shower I have ever experienced. A tiny, dark and dangerous cloud had been hovering over the Pavillion for about an hour when it decided it had had enough. Bam! Rain, in sheets, came down with a vengence, but off to the side were rays of light. Bright sunbeams just out of reach. Of course, we kept playing. The ball got slick and heavy and coated with mud. The net sagged under the weight of a drenching. I went from sweaty to completely soaked in a millisecond. People scattered, trying desperately to get under some cover. Even the dragonboaters (goddamn, dragonboaters) tried to get in. We kept playing. For a little while. It was awesome.

Thanks to everyone who replied to my music email. It was great to hear all the different voices.

And ooh la, she was such a good girl to me...

Monday mornings aren't supposed to be like this
Meet by the Cafe.
A beautiful geisha in the sun
Too bad about breakfast
But a coffee, a coffee would be grand
Lying on a hill
Looking at the Gardiner not the gardener
A glimpse of leg I wasn't ready for
Relaxed more than usual
Drawing circles on her hand
If only it would last
Laughing some; talking some
I wish I could stay
No, Monday mornings aren't supposed to be like this.

"A month of parks, puddles and pleasant sounds"

I just realized that summer has begun.

No, not the solstice or any calendar specific date, but my summer.

In the past 4 weeks, I have visited at least 5 parks at least twice each. For those keeping track they would be High Park, Christie Pits, Dufferin Grove Park, Dovercourt Park and Sunnyside. I guess my Bloor West leanings are really showing, so I'll move on. I have spent hours in them relaxing, talking, laughing and generally doing summer things.

I have spent at least 3 days walking in warm rain and not really caring.

I have been looking forward to thunder showers and sharing them.

I have driven with my windows down most days of the week, except for when I want conversation.

I have gone for midnight bike rides, not because I have had to get home, but because I wanted to.

I have had drinks on patios, in bare feet no less!

I have slept with my patio door open, and haven't been afraid of the raccoons.

Summer is here and with it comes smiles, laughter, friendship and incredibly good things that some of us may have forgotten about.

She's posting all the time, but the boards are down.

Tonight, I was sitting around my house after work trying to decompress.

It isn't like work was overly stressful, the complete opposite actually. It is just that I tend to be keyed up when I leave work at night.

It did only take me 21 minutes door to door to get home.

Mental note: be prepared to get a speeding ticket if you are going to do 130kmh on the QEW. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday the fuzz is going to be bored too.

So I got home and the roomies seem to have made up a little, which means they are back at their normal roosts. It is strange it seems that one of them is perpetually lying on my couch. He was there when I left the house this morning at 10:30 and was in the exact position when I got home at 11pm. I know they went to work, but I just can't figure it. Does he have a continuity girl stashed in his room? How does he do it?

At about 12:30, I got a little stircrazy. I just couldn't deal with being in here anymore. So I left. Got on my bicycle and went for a ride. Went as far as Christie then turned around and went the same distance west from my house. It was such a beautiful night. Perfect for riding. I criss-crossed side streets, took some alleys, you know, just made the trip longer. It was incredible.

Well until I got back on Wallace. I was coming out of the section of Wallace that is a dead end at the train tracks. The spot with the big bridge. Anyway, I was heading east towards Perth Ave, when this van turns on Wallace from Symington heading towards Perth as well. All of a sudden he turns on his high beams and keeps them on until he gets to the intersection.

I get to the stop sign first. I cross the intersection and pass him on the driver's side, sit back in my seat and give him the finger while yelling 'F*ckin' Idiot!' into his open window.

That's when I notice it is a City of Toronto Parking Enforcement van. The lazy SOB had his high beams on so he could see down the street for cars without having to go down into the cul-de-sac. I was pissed, but kept riding.

That's when I noticed he was following me. I took Symington south and then turned on Paton, taking the the odd side streets back towards my house. He kept on following, not doing his job, but keeping track of me. At this point I was wishing he would say something. Driver's generally forget that almost every bike rider is armed with a 5-10lb metal club in the shape of a u-lock, perfect for smashing out windshields. But he stayed back, following me all the way to my street, but not turning down. He just kept on driving down Wallace.

Part of me wishes he would be spending the entire night explaining how his city vehicle had its window smashed instead of spending it ruining mine.

I'll be your distraction...

So, the roomies are fighting.

There was some sort of blow up on Friday night after they were paid for their first job.

Something to do with a bar tab.

They haven't been speaking much since.

This worries me.

There is the possibility that I may get stuck with one of them for longer than I planned. They had planned to move in together after they get their business going. If there is a falling out, there is no business and no moving in together.

That would suck.

I like the money, but part of me hates the lack of privacy. The company isn't bad, but sometimes I wish they would go home.

Oh yeah, this is their home.

I have been on a musical jag as of late. I thinkI have added something like 9 albums to my library in the last 2 weeks. That is a lot of albums.

Yesterday was my friend Scottie too Hottie's birthday. I tried calling, but got the machine. It isn't the same so, to make up for it, here is a big ass shout out:

Happy B-Day, you metrosexual goof!
Hope you have so many more you lose count!
Fer shizzle!

"the simplicity of the stupidity was effin'... ingenious"

My phone rang
I didn't hear it.
Cacophony being the norm
I saw the light and headed for the door.
Plastic nuisance worth more than gold
I trundled through the rain.
Spot found
I focused down, smiling inside.
Tomorrow at one
I said in the alcove.
Plans made
I dodged the drops.
Heading for the door
I wished I was somewhere else.
With her.

And you can be my sugar, be my cherry cola...

Do crushes change as we get older?

What does everyone think?

I think yes, but I have heard some dissenting voices lately.

When was the last time you crushed badly on someone? Remembering back was it different from when you were 15? How about 20? What about 25?

I would like to know.

time to speak out is overdue...

So, I am stuck with them.

The roomies announced tonight that they were staying until July at the earliest.

What shitty timing.

I could do with a little privacy right now; I could do with an empty house.

I guess not.

In response, I have been planning a trip to Sin Jawns. In July, maybe August.
What I would really like is a couple of days at my parents' cabin.

Alone.

In the bush; on the ocean.

It is a big cabin, but has no electricity or running water. Right on the ocean.
It is the most calming place I can think of.

I would like to get dropped off. A bag of groceries in one hand pushing my bike with the other.

Alone, waiting for someone to join me or pick me up.

Boil some mussels in a fire on the beach. Hell, cook all my meals on an open fire.

God, I need to get away.

Anyone want to join me on the Rock?

It'll hurt, but you will be better for it.

"Tu Eres Caliente y Sabroso"

I am so looking forward to Nacho Libre.

It is not right, my feelings about this movie.

Jack Black, Jared Hess and Mike White.

Cause Napoleon Dynamite rocked and School of Rock, well... rolled!

Thinking so hard on her soft eyes and the memories...

there are many roads around the airport.

some dark and haunted.
others bright and busy.

they criss cross and collect,
following the contours of places
we, mere mortals, aren't allowed to go.

chain link surrounds parking lot,
parking lot surrounds warehouse,
warehouse blocks view.

but the car is
comfortable,

with tunes under control
and the map upside down,

comfortable...

there are no other places I would rather be.

"We are a storytelling people. You call it lying, I call it culture."

overheard on MSN...

spezbaby says:
i used to do a lot of interpretive dance.

but it’s a warm rain says:
interpretive dance? lol

spezbaby says:
hey, i was good

but it’s a warm rain says:
what were you interpreting?

spezbaby says:
many things
it wasn't just once.

but it’s a warm rain says:
are you serious? did you actually do real interpretive dance?

spezbaby says:
i am not sure I should tell you. you seem to be such a sceptic.

but it’s a warm rain says:
well then you'll just have to prove me otherwise

spezbaby says:
i am masterful

but it’s a warm rain says:
did you wear tights?

spezbaby says:
one reviewer said they had never seen a sunrise until they saw me.

but it’s a warm rain says:
lol

spezbaby says:
i don't own tights.

but it’s a warm rain says:
did you keep the clipping?

spezbaby says:
it was online. you could probably find it if you wanted.

spezbaby says:
I haven't worn tights in years.
decades, even.

but it’s a warm rain says:
tights, interpretive dance....
there's a side to you that I never envisioned

spezbaby says:
Uh oh, one of the roomies is stirring
he is up and around
so he isn't dead
he is wobbling towards his bedroom.

but it’s a warm rain says:
no, such activity would certainly indicate he is not dead

spezbaby says:
well, I have seen enough zombie movies to not believe that.

but it’s a warm rain says:
zombies aren't real my friend

spezbaby says:
you've never seen me dance. I could make zombies come to life on stage.

but it’s a warm rain says:
lol

but it’s a warm rain says:
how old were you?
when you danced?

spezbaby says:
mid to late twenties, why?

but it’s a warm rain says:
I'm still not 100% sure that you're telling me the truth. I'm waiting for you to tell me that you're joking! do you have pictures?

spezbaby says:
I take my dance career very serious.

but it’s a warm rain says:
career?

spezbaby says:
no pictures, unfortunately

spezbaby says:
well, at one point I thought of it as a career

but it’s a warm rain says:
ok, now you must be pulling my leg.
career in dancing? Peter?
you now know that I expect you to be a fabulous dancer

spezbaby says:
well, it didn't work out,
but I am not bitter

I shoulda turned back; I shoulda known better

Everything is serene.

One roomie is in his room watching Wonder Woman episodes on his laptop.

The other is snoring loudly in front of the TV in a darkened living room.

I am sitting here, listening to tunes and thinking about things.

A week or so ago, I had an odd conversation with a friend.

She told me everything wasn't always about me.

I probably deserved it. I think I had just told her that there was an ongoing theme in my romantic life. It went sort of like this:

I fall for women who, through no fault of their own, end up kicking me in the junk.
And I have women fall for me who, through no fault of their own, I end up kicking in the junk.

Simple.

Well, to be honest, my leg is getting tired and my junk need a nice relaxing vacation.

It isn't all about me, but this work in progress needs to start making a little more sense.

So, I'm an idiot.

And when the word gets out it will get old

Just a straw poll, who here thinks I'm dangerous?

Just wondering.

"Like my cat, I would like to find a woman that when I rub her belly she falls on her back and puts one leg up on the table."

Here I am, sitting, enjoying a glass of port.

Tonight, I bolted.

I was with friends at my local and I freaked out.

It was completely internal, but it happened.

I was done.

I couldn't sit there anymore. I had to move. I had to get out and start walking. Some thoughts had to be thunk. So I left, overpaying, but I left.

It is a very odd sensation; the need to be alone. It sneaks up on you, crawling up your spine, giving you the heebie-geebies the whole time. It is almost like some higher power is pulling your strings. You are the puppet; not in control, but responding to what is done.

So, I left. I got up, threw money down and stormed out, poking my headphones in as I took my first steps. And I walked.

It was what I needed. I wandered to quiet places that I found: through Christie Pits and wandered along the base lines, along Hallam where traffic feared to tread, and along the alleys in my hood, trying never to venture on a real street unless I had to.

It relaxed my head. Allowed me to think some thoughts that were long overdue and listen to some tunes. It was exactly what I needed.

On the first day, I was aching...

Passion is weird.

It is one of those things that you can get used to living without, which is a shame, but does happen.

As we get older, it becomes harder to remain passionate about people, jobs, interests. You may not believe me, but it is true.

Without it, however, life pretty much sucks. You might not realize it. It may seem okay, day to day, but once you take a step out and look objectively down upon what is yours, you will realise you have been withering, just getting by.

But sometimes you see the light. You pick yourself up, find your passion, wherever you mislaid it, and take a step forward, wrapping yourself in the warmth of it all. And that is usually when it all starts getting good.

I'm about to crack, so let's call this the comeback...

The other day, I was on MSNger with G.

G is an old friend from home. We don't see each other much as he is now in Alberta, but I digress.

Anyway, he asked me if I was coming home anytime for the summer, a question posed every year, and never answered well enough I've been told. I didn't have an answer for him, but said I would like to. As I said, never answered well enough. He said he would like to see me and that we would have a good time, but if I came home I would have to do him a small favour.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Bring me some Jamaican beef patties," he responded without skipping a beat. "I miss the beef patties."

This caught me by surprise. How could one miss beef patties? They aren't exactly the foie gras of convenience foods. They are greasy, messy and the stuffing reminds me of cat food.

All I could say was, "Sure."

How could I say anything else? A friend made a request. A request that wouldn't be that hard to fulfill, even if the slim opportunity of going home happened.

But it stuck with me. Why Jamaican beef patties? What was the big deal?

A couple days later, I came home and opened the fridge. One of the roomies had placed a small bag containing, low and behold, 2 beef patties on the centre shelf. This generally wouldn't concern me, but after fixating on these little yellow baked snacks for a couple of days, the coincidence shocked me.

What the hell were they doing here?

"What the hell is with the patties?" I inquired as I shut the door.

"It was late. I was hungry. The only thing open was the Coffee Time," he called back from his roost on the couch.

This made sense. He likes his late night snacking. It goes very well with his other habit. Everything is fine in the world.

I took a couple of steps further into my day, when it hit me. You can buy beef patties at Coffee Time. There are about 300 Coffee Times in the world, mostly in Ontario. They sell beef patties.

Actually, if you think about it, which I obviously have, you can find a beef patty (or chicken or veg) at almost any time of the day.

Have you noticed?

Coffee Times, Supermarkets (by the box) , Mom and Pop grocery store (how many of them have one of those little ovens on the counter?), bakeries, Caribbean take aways. The list is almost endless.

You can get a beef patty almost anywhere in this city. They have become the ubiquitous snack food of Toronto. I am not sure why or how, but it worries me a little.

Oh, and happy b-day, L!

I just don't know where leading ladies come from...

The magic of it all is present sometimes.

But only sometimes.

A good night's sleep can do wonders.

The roomies paid rent. I was as surprised as anyone. Especially since one of them is in Calgary on business.

The grief they give may actually be worth it on some level.

Now, I just need to get a haircut.

Drivin' down the road I get a feelin'

Tonight I got to walk in the rain, not dance, but walk, slowly, without interest in getting anywhere dry or safe. My feet got wet and my sniffles seemed worse than they were.

The company made it better.

No question.

Good company can do that, make things better.

Sometimes the girl is here; with her indigo eyes

Rumour is a powerful thing. It washes over people like a heavy rain; impacting everything in its wake. It might not hurt, but it certainly leaves its mark. Everyone gets wet. Some don't mind, but others catch pneumonia.

A parapluie would help, but they don't catch everything.

The only thing that works is being indoors during a downpour. Watching the rain hit the glass, smiling because you know you are safe.

But people out there aren't safe. People get hurt.

It would be better for everyone if it was sunny all the time. Just like California, but without the freaks or fault lines.

Grown man tactics; no pediatrics

The roomies got to me last night. I have been feeling a little under the weather; rundown as it were. So I tried to go to bed at a decent hour last night. IMing with some friends made the hour a little less decent then I hoped, but I was in bed by 1:30am. Decent for me.

Read.

Fell alseep sometime around 2am. Which is good, 'cause I haven't been sleeping very well lately.

A little after 3am, the roomies struck. I am woken to a heated argument about which hamburger is better, McDonald's or Burger King. Goddammit, I say to myself while I lie back and wait for it to end.

The argument continues. The patio door opens long enough for the argument to blow outside. Then back in again. Wait a minute. There are three voices. What the hell, who else is here?

Close to 4am, I have had enough. I stomp up, put on my robe and head down the stairs.

Lying in wait, perched at different points on my sectional, are now three old friends from home. All pretending to be asleep. Then they start to giggle. Three grown men, all in their thirties giggling like characters from a japanese cartoon. They can't stop.

"Its his fault. He's loud" one of them says between giggled breaths.

"Boys, you had to pick this f'in room. Ten feet below my head"

More giggles.

"Any other goddamn room."

"Its good to see ya, Pete." the new arrival says holding out his hand. "Its been a long time. Sorry about this"

I haven't seen him in 10 years.

"F' this," I say shaking his hand before I stomp back upstairs.

The next morning I come down for coffee before work. There he is, the newcomer, passed out on my other couch.

Like a hung-over cherub in the fetal position.

Godammit, they're breeding.

"Old people do that. They cut up jokes and keep them."

Things I touched tonight:

Frisbee
Blanket
Cheese
Strawberry
Grass
Wine
Olive
Earth

"Chill out! He's only trying to build bridges, not lay pipe."

Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.

Roomies are asleep. Work has started so they are always tired. I haven't actually laid eyes on them in a couple of days. They are still here. The smell of pot and empty beer bottles and take away containers strewn throughout the kitchen prove that, but it is almost like I have gremlins or a poltergeist ('80s movies rock... and roll!).

I never see them, but everything is slightly different everytime I come home. Things are moved barely inches. Sometimes the place is tidied. My cat always seems to be locked out and hungry. It is like I have a mischievious yet under-motivated spirit living in my space. This phantom isn't like any other ghost. No, this one is content. He doesn't have an axe to grind. He isn't trying to avenge some regretted wrong. No, this spirit drinks my beer, smokes weed, watches a lot of TV and laughs alot, but never in my presence. Almost like my presence would banish them to spirit world, never to enjoy the pleasures of this mortal coil again.

The blues, is a low-down shakin' chill...

I have been told that my last entry didn't make any sense. That it contained english words without any attention paid to the rules of grammar. That it was insane.

This may be true.

The intent wasn't for everyone to understand. It was for one person. And I think they did. If not, they will get in touch.

On the house guest front. New developments. Tonight, I walked into a house so blue with smoke I wanted to butcher it and put it on the grill (mixed metaphor?). It reaked of skunk. To my surprise, moving into the sitting room, I found the two of them fast asleep on my couch. One, upright, jay in hand, waiting for a light. The other stretched out, hoodie up over his head, waiting for something exciting to happen on the chat line infomercial.

I stood there for minutes. Waiting.

They could have been dead if I wanted.

Until one of them awoke, 'Hey man, you just getting home?'

'Yeah, you been smoking in the house?'

'Nah, man, that is just residual off us.'

'You sure?'

'Yeah man'

'You want me to turn the light off?'

'Alright'

'What about the TV?'

"Nah man, we need some sound'

Day four.

But they tidied.

Dangling cherries and my asses of myself

Things are never as bad as they seem to that one person that thinks. Never.

But you, generally, can never tell them that so they believe. Which is totally unfortunate.

You just have to say, "Today, I am going to be good and piss off all the people that think otherwise."

Otherwise, you're done. There is no point in languishing.

Ever.

Hey sister are you all alone?

Recently I had the sweetest convo with a friend about the early hours of the day. I proposed that 3-4am was the best time in the world to wander any city's streets.

She, on the other hand, thought that 2-3am was the best time to ride a bicycle through the same streets. Her belief being that bicycling while dark and uncrowded was an incredibly catharic experience.

Until tonight, I didn't agree with her.

Somehow, I had forgotten those easily misplaced sensations: the wind blowing past your face, the sound of the air, tires and gears; rubber on ashphalt; the control you have on machine; the speed you can ride when there isn't a car on the road.

It is incredible. A freedom not known by many; reserved by time and place. But so accessible.

I can hold on; as sure as I'm strong...

Infidels.

I have just put my second house guest to bed. The first dropped horizontal about 15 minutes ago, now I am alone for a few hours until we go for breakfast.

30 days, or so, was bandied around this evening. Then we went for drinks and dinner before they went to the peelers. Four days on the road makes a fella' strange. 30 days of having two extra bodies living in my house. No chance of inviting someone home, because it's not that big of a house. It is pleasant and I like my front room. It is a great front room to entertain in. I love to show it off at the end of a date. Visitors appreciate it. Comfortable couch, arm chair, lamp. Indirect lighting and quite homey. It rocks.

Now, I have two beasts, albeit rent paying beasts, ranging from corner to corner. Looking for beer, rolling, picking things up and putting them down 2 feet further on. Two beasts leaving their mark, not drinking my port, but leaving their mark nonetheless.

But, God, it is good to have them back in the city.

But her eyes glaze over like she's lookin' straight through me...

People!

I am beginning to realise what people offer; what they contribute. The connections I have made in my life mean more and more to me each and every day I breathe.

I am not sure when this change happened. Not truly sure when I started to value those around me and tried my best to stop taking them for granted. Maybe it is a sign of growing up, finally. Maybe it is just a residual effect of harm done. I am not sure, but I like it. I like the smiling I have been doing lately. I like how I care and how it informs my decisions.

I blame Ganso*.

I think I need a T-shirt: W.W.R.D.

*psuedonym

I’ve acquired quite a taste for a well-made mistake...

New work is very different. That's about all I can say at the moment. It is slower yet more intense and quite a change. We'll see.

Someone needs to remind me of all the parties I need to attend this week. I don't have ready access to the bulletin board anymore.

I have houseguests arriving tomorrow. I had one leave today. I could really use some alone time in my house (read: monastery), but that doesn't seem to be happening anytime soon.

Anyone wanna put me up for a little while? ;)

Would you like to make a soldier out of your son Ted?

This weekend hurt.

But not the same way breaking a leg hurts, so this isn't the second installment of my examination of pain (to follow...).

Strangely, this weekend hurt for a lot of reasons. Firstly, I had 4 going away parties to attend. Two for me and two for people I care about.

Party No.1 - Kinda sedate; wasn't overly fun. It almost seemed like it was happening because it was expected, not because anyone actually wanted to be there. A couple of drinks; a little hurt.

Party No.2 - Small, but intense, this was the going away party for GARH!. He is an old colleague and good friend who is moving into my old role at my second last location. He is very good at what he does, although sometimes he doesn't think so. I got to see a bunch of people I used to work with. All of them getting older and wiser and farther removed from when they needed me. A bunch more drinks; a little bit more hurt.

Party No.3 - Big and rather raucous, this was the going away party for J. He is also an old colleague and good friend who is moving into the role I am now leaving. He is being replaced by GARH! (everyone follow that). Once again, I got to see a bunch of people I used to work with. In a moment of self doubt, I took the opportunity to talk to 'Col about my failings as a manager. She gave me a lot to think about. One more drink; a bunch of masochistic self-examination.

Sleep.

Last day at work.

Party No.4 - All about me. Took a bunch of my staff to my local, 'The Tap' and listened to the DJ. It was a remarkable showing. I didn't expect to see all of those that appeared. A couple got lost on the way and for that I am truly sorry. It was just a last minute change. Sorry. Drinking ensued, followed by a quick game of 'Peter's Feeling Old and Sentimental So You Need Advice' (If you liked it, I insist you try the home game. Fab!). The night unfolded and a group of us went to the Dance Cave (Team 3 is away!). We danced, as promised. Leo had fun. I drank too much. Britt proved she was a miracle worker with a marker. Julie went to an event. Elliot got a stern talking to. Rachel played trivia. I was a little disturbed by some things that I saw. I don't think I could have imagined a better send off. Lots of drinks; a whole lot of bittersweet emotions.

The next day was my only day off. I went to work, cleaned out my desk, transferred some files and shared a bunch of sheepish looks and pained goodbyes and walked out the door. No drinking;a small snap! as a piece of my heart fell off.

Something glorious is about to happen...

So, in a fit of self examination and boredom, I have secularized the definition of a monk.

This is how it turned out. Go figure.

monk (mŭngk)
n.
- a male living in a place devoted to seclusion and devoting himself to contemplation, work and earnest requests to a higher power.

The old bastard left his ties and a suit...

I am not a violent person. I think I have struck maybe 3 people out of anger in my life. Which, for a boy who drinks, is probably a fairly good record.

Today, I felt like pounding someone's face in. I was actually standing in front of them and the only thought going through my head was an image of me cracking them in the face. I don't think I have been that angry in years. I remember thinking to myself, "Calm down. Do not raise your arm. Do not make a fist". If you ever think this and feel like you actively have to send these thoughts to your muscles, you know you are angry.

And it all had to do with dealings I have had with the provincial government.

In my line of work, to vent, we often make fun of how idiotic people can be. The greatest gift provided by spending time in the service industry is a real appreciation of how to behave to get the most from a customer service provider, mostly because a sort of empathy occurs with the provider. Today, inspite of how I was feeling, I walked away. I wanted to lean across the desk and strangle the person I was dealing, but I took the high road and moved on.

Having to deal with government service people, I have finally realised that government doesn't provide service. I was always a little amused when one of my business professors delcared in class, staight faced, that he hoped none of us would ever work for government, as it would be a terrible loss. Now I understand.

Government isn't organised to provide service. Unfortunately, competition is the only motivator when it comes to the service industry. It is the only thing that breeds intelligent service. And except for the odd rare individual, government knows nothing about competition. Their hours, their staffing, none of it is actually based on providing the things we need.

The worst thing is that I never think like this. I like big government. I am horrendously left when I think about the 'safety net', but when I think about the service I get, when I need it, my only response is to outsource it all.

Is that wrong?

Everything looks perfect from far away...

I have recently had another change in my work life. When I say another, I mean I am about to land myself in a new role for the fourth time in a year and a half. On Monday, I take control of my own team. I become the big cheese who is ultimately responsible for millions of dollars of sales revenue and about 50 peoples' work futures.

To all of those people that asked me, in the last couple of weeks, how was I doing. Well, I think it is starting to sink in. I'm a little scared, but I think I will be fine. Everyone just remember to think positive Peter thoughts or pray, which ever works best for you.

On that note, I need to say a couple things to a few of the folks I have left behind over the years...

Miss Julia and your beau, who I shall only refer to as K-Rock, have fun this weekend. You guys are great together so take time to enjoy it all.

Pol and Sarah, your turn is coming. My only advice, just stop calling and hanging up. No seriously, stop it. Oh, and Pol, it was all for the best. ;)

Garh, my dear fellow, you're on your way now! Try not to make the mistakes I did, but don't be afraid to ask for help if you need it. I'll try to join you on Friday. Give the good ones props and the bad ones grief.

'thena, it'll get better.

J, you old issunboushi, they are a good bunch and I know I don't have to ask, but take care of them.

Red Fish, don't be so hard on yourself. You've got it together, just give it some time and it will all fall into place.

Jules, Embry, Justin, Lester and anyone else I forced into throwing a party for me. Yes, I will show.

It might be a little biased, but at least I spelled your name right.

Life has the habit of taking the strangest twists. But then again, so is life.

Yesterday was my friend, Bryce's, birthday. He turned an ungodly age , but he did it in style.

Some of you may remember Bryce. He appeared, ever so briefly, on I Love Meatloaf. He was the one driving the school bus to hell, God love him.

Anyway, Happy Birthday Bryce!! You deserve every joy you find and than even a couple you may have missed along the way.

PS
Yes, I changed the template. Life is all about change. Why would anyone expect anything less?

Remember when we were young. young and hesitant...

what matters is they have no one to answer to.
they are what I want. forever and ever.
a smile to kill for; a brain to match.
two perfect souls, doing what is expected.
enjoying youth.
no one expects more
no one expects less.

You don't meet nice girls in coffee shops

Courage is a remarkable thing. It takes an awful lot to take that first step. And to that one person that has to take that step it always seems like stepping off a cliff into a blackness so scary it actually makes it hard to breath. You just want to shut your eyes and cry until it all goes away.

But let's look at the other side. If you don't choose courage, ultimately, you are going to have to settle on regret. It is all that remains when the cowardly path is chosen. Regret is simply the shame of letting yourself down. Of not taking the path of growth; of not steeling yourself for the unknown, an unknown that is never as bad as you imagined. And regret gnaws at you. It eats away at you all the while filling that newfound empty space with just more regret. The only thing holding it at bay is the self-satisfaction associated with taking the high road. By being courageous.

The thing I fear the most is conflict. Screaming, yelling, anger, physical violence, it all scares the hell out of me. Personal human conflict frightens me. It has forever. You would never guess this by looking at me or the career I have chosen. I have been told I am imposing, even intimidating, but playing 'bad cop' truly scares me.

Now, not to say that this fear hasn't served me well at times. Being frightened of something does provide an heightened awareness to its antecedents thereby allowing one to avoid the resulting something. I don't know how many times I have avoided dangerous situations simply because I could sense a change in a person's demeanor. But this is a minor silver lining to a very dark cloud.

Recently, I had someone in my life that truly helped me without, I think, even knowing he did. He forced me to become a more active participant, to not shy away from those dark places. He wouldn't let me get away with avoidance and for this I wanted to thank him. It wasn't that he was my saviour. No one can be that for another person, because, ultimately, the will to change comes from within. We all have to face those dark places alone, but there is nothing wrong with someone standing behind you, telling you to keep going while aiming the flashlight.

Step to the rhythm; Step to the rhyme

My favourite time of day is between 3 and 4am. It has been for years.

I think I was 18 or 19 when I first realised that I was a night owl. Night owls are misunderstood. People who aren't night owls never understand the idea that maybe life continues after 'bedtime'.

It is a little weird for night owls, as well. They don't have the easiest life. Always being accused of being lazy because they sleep late; having a hard time getting routine things done during the day, like passport photos or paying bills. Strangely enough, I think the internet was initially harnessed by big business to tap into the night owl market. But I digress.

I am a night owl and I love 3-4am. The city sleeps at 4am. Some cities sleep heavier than others, but it isn't hard at 4am to actually feel streets that have been put to bed for the night. In St. John's at 4am, it is quiet. There aren't people on the street. The odd cabbie drives by, but, all in all, the streets are asleep. Side streets more so. You can walk down the centre of the road, enjoying a perspective, generally, not available during the day. Rarely, you will come across a window projecting the intermitant blue flickering of a TV screen or hear the music held close by the remnants of a party to remind you that the city hasn't been abandoned only moments earlier, but mostly all the houses sleep. Sometimes you catch yourself thinking, for a moment, that they all have been abandoned and you are alone. The last. And other times, you stand and try to picture who lives in each little house. Who are they and what do they do?

It is a little different in Toronto. The major streets never sleep. Buses run. Cabbies slow and barmp desperately looking for fares. Some businesses stay open late while others open early. Both need people and people need to get to work. But the side streets, the quiet residential roads, they are in deep sleep. Row upon row, street upon street of quiet dark houses. No sign of life except for the occasional light. People don't walk the side roads, preferring the light and trafiic of the streets that never darken.. It actually boggles the mind, the thought of just how many people are asleep at the exact same time. Mothers, fathers, children; each darkened doorstep holds someone at 4 am and most of them are asleep and dreaming. About what I wonder?

Shout out!

Just a quick shout out. I found this the other day. It seems that Chewbacca has his own blog. Everyone knows my fascination with wookies, so have a look.

Ice Cream!!!

Turn your speakers up and have a listen to what Athena was talking about. Eddie was so funny in his day. Warning: there is some strong language


Click to listen to Audio

I can almost hear Mr. Dormody saying this...

From The Onion:

Franz Ferdinand Frontman Shot By Gavrilo Princip Bassist

GLASGOW, SCOTLAND - Lead singer and guitarist for pop band Franz Ferdinand, Alexander Kapranos, is in critical condition today after being shot by a man identified as the bassist for rock group Gavrilo Princip. "We ask fans to cooperate with Interpol to find the assailant, and call upon British Sea Power, Snow Patrol, and The Postal Service for help," drummer Paul Thompson told music magazine NME Monday. "The suspect had links to The Decemberists and The Libertines, and we are following up on all leads." It is unclear whether the shooting was linked to The Polyphonic Spree's invasion of Belgium earlier this week.

I found this incredibly witty, which is odd because I generally don't connect witty to The Onion.

Devil trucks and demon cones

So the other night I had a MSN chat with a friend. Somehow, during the chat we came upon the topic of ice cream.

Peter says:
In the summer, this retired Greek guy who lives down the street from me drives around the neighbourhood in his killer ice cream truck. He always parks in front of my house with his bell ringing. His blueberry sundaes are like crack.

Plant Lass says:
I haven't seen an ice cream truck since I was a kid. You are very lucky.

Peter says:
No, I am damned. He's got two. His son drives the other. I saw them stocking and cleaning them in front of their specially built garages the other day. That means the season is about to start.

Plant Lass says:
Two trucks! That would involve the kind of self-control I just don't have.

Peter says:
These are primo trucks. He does banana splits, sundaes, slushies, chocolate dip and caramel dip. Not to mention soft serve and regular.

Peter says:
It's nuts.

Peter says:
Every night around 7pm he is parked in front of my house.

Plant Lass says:
Do you think they are doing this to you on purpose?

Peter says:
He knows. I know he knows. It's the easiest $2.50 he makes in his night.

Peter says:
He warms the blueberry topping.

Plant Lass says:
You are making me miss Sioux Lookout. I didn't think that was possible.

Peter says:
He also does milkshakes. All from the back of that devil truck.

Plant Lass says:
It's not the truck. It's your ice cream junkie ways... maybe you need help.

Peter says:
Possibly, but addiction is a disease.

Plant Lass says:
And there is no patch for soft serve. I say indulge.

Peter says:
Now there's an idea; a soft serve patch. Although, all I would really need are cotton balls to keep the devil song of the ice cream bell from reaching my ears.

Plant Lass says:
Do you really want to quit though? All this planning could be for nothing if there is no will.

Plant Lass says:
What is so wrong with a milkshake?

Peter says:
You can only say that because you haven't laid eyes on an ice cream truck in years. It would be a different story if they were stalking you.

"Ipso facto, I'm a 'tard"

Something said by one of my staff today. For some reason I found it to be the funniest thing ever.

Brokeback...

So, I read the short story yesterday. I am still trying to figure out what the big deal was. As far as a story goes, it was just okay. I thought the movie was a much finer piece of artistic expression.

The Buddy System

Growing up, this was incredibly important to me and all my friends. The buddy system was our "social safety net" whereby we always knew who was taking care of whom.

Newfoundland is a dangerous place for a teenager. Most young people from 'up-along' wouldn't have the where-with-all to deal with the drinking and drugs. But the 'Buddy' system mitigated the damage we allowed to happen to each other. It made us better friends.

And it lasted. We always took care of our own. Ten years after the enacting of the first buddy system, here I am watching over a little too drunk friend. It isn't a chore. It isn't a problem. He is my Buddy and I am happy to take care of him.

Seventh day at creative writing class

Yashin isn't teaching the next session. He has managed to convince a real Editor to do it.

I submitted work, which I wasn't really proud of, but we will see how the class reacts.

I am a slow writer and it shows.

What the Hell?!?

I can't believe no one has commented on Jesus Williams the anarchist hairdresser. C'mon people, its no Brokeback, but there is a story there.

Fourth Day at Creative Writing Class

Tonight we worked on character. Collectively, we came up with Jesus Williams, an anarchist and gothic hairdresser who is really fond of knitting and James & The Giant Peach. I am really imspired to write a story about him.

Also, I had to submit my first piece of work to the class. Next week they get to skewer me.

I had nightmares for days!

I can't believe they are making a film version of
Young Triffie's Been Made Away With. When I was quite young, my parents took my brother and I to see this on stage at the LSPU Hall in St. John's. Andy Jones' performance as Pastor Pottle gave me nightmares for days. I would close my eyes and see his maniacal laughing face every night in bed. He frightened the living Jesus out of me. I feel kind of creeped out just thinking about it. I can't wait to see the film.

As a citizen, you are duty bound to vote.

Let me tell you the irony wasn't lost on me when I realised that my polling station was also the place I pee, late at night, when I'm in my cups.

Second Day at Creative Writing Class

We spent the whole class working on the differences between Showing and Telling in writing. We had an exercise where we had to re-write a scene and make it more showing. Mine stunk. Not that I couldn't write using imagery and the senses, but I just couldn't write under pressure. I wrote, I crossed out, I wrote some more, I crossed out some more. It was painful.

Also, I have noticed that my dominant voice is first person. Anything I write in third person generally sucks. Go figure.

First Day at Creative Writing Class

He said "the room has a lot of energy," in the first 5 minutes.

You have to be kidding.

Theme Music (Take 2)

I don't know how many of you have been to my store. Or, even better, have been to the washrooms in my store. If not, the washrooms happen to be at the end of a hallway in the basement. Before you enter this hallway, you have to walk down a ramp through the Kids section. This ramp is walled off by book shelves.

Everytime I walk up or down this ramp, I envision wrestlers/boxers walking to the ring for a major bout/match and I want theme music. The only thing missing is the pyrotechnic pots exploding as I move up the ramp.

And I am leaning towards the opening of a techno version of Carmina Burana as my theme music.

Is that so wrong?

Theme Music

I don't know how many of you have ever seen I'm Gonna Git You, Sucka, but it is a fun movie. If you don't know it is a send-up of any and all blacksplotation films., but done by the Wayans brothers.

The key scene that stuck out for me for years was the young protagonist asks the O.G. who the guys following behind him were. His answer, as you'd expect, was, "Oh, they're my theme music."

Everyone has some, but rarely is it shared. In retail, we often think about it. We control a small area for small amounts of time and always is there music playing. One of my fellow managers suggested we always take the floor with our theme music playing. It is a great idea on paper.

Wrestlers have it, so why not everyone else!

What kinda of world would we live in if everyone was followed by their theme musc? It would be insanity. Imagine if, for each mood you had, a different rendition of your theme music would play. Wake up in the morning - a quiet mix; walk out and face the day - a powerful mix; get dumped - a sympathetic mix.

But there are 4 billion people on this planet. That would be cacophony. No one could hear themselves think. Not to mention the embarrassment of bumping into someopne that had your taste in Death Metal.

Say it ain't so!

Actor Cranshaw Dies
"Veteran character actor Patrick Cranshaw, who appeared in movies including Old School and Bonnie and Clyde, has died of natural causes at the age of 86. Cranshaw worked for nearly half a century right up until an appearance in last year's Herbie: Fully Loaded. He also starred in movies including The Hudsucker Proxy and Best in Show. Cranshaw also appeared in TV shows including CHiPS and The Dukes of Hazzard. He passed away at his home in Fort Worth, Texas, and is survived by three children"

Damn you IMdb for ruining my day.