There are not many people I know that have the luxury to be able to do what they love for a living. A large portion of us choose a career based off the many pressures that exist. Our parents, age, and social conscious play a huge part in what it that we "do". Then there's the added aspect of children, and sometimes even family members that we need to support. There are those that follow in their family footsteps with little or no thought. Some succeed, others crash the business into the dirt. I always hoped that I'd be different. I pretended that the world that conforms was a world I'd never be a part of. I stayed away from anything near a real job, avoided saving money, all for the fun of living life. Sure it was lonely at times, and there were days where I was sure that I was a total degenerate, but it was the life.
What was I to do? I'd gone to Los Angeles for a temporary job, and decide to move there. I had a place to live, a job and enough people that were going to aid my illegal stay. It was going to be the new life. The dream of living in Hollywood was coming true, but I was going to be working in a part of the film business that I didn't want to. It would've been worth though, to live by the beach. Sunny smog filled Christmas days, high speed chases, gangs. I was ready for all of it, even though it was not what I wanted, but where I wanted. I didn't go because the pill is only 99% sure. The 1% is beautiful 6yr old named Elizabeth. I wouldn't change that for all the LA Laker games in the world. Something else happened when she was born, I decided to go back to the business in which I'd spent so many years, restaurants. It was means to a paycheck. I never wanted to go back, but I was good at it, unfortunately. We are all good at something, I just hoped it wouldn't be restaurant management!
The years that followed were interesting. I worked in different restaurant and bars, but continued to write at much higher rate then ever before. I thought it was because I had grown up. I had spent a few more years on this earth and was now able to use that experience to further my writing. I'd seen a child born, I'd tackled suburbia, and even put a serious effort into a personal relationship. Of course, I've come to realize that I wrote more because I wasn't drunk every second night anymore. Those days it was difficult to pen a few pages when you're smoking a pack of Lights, and drinking a bottle of Talisker. The ideas were probably better, but the writing sucked. I had much more detail in the scenes of intoxicated girls at an after hours bar, but spelling mistakes and context was pedestrian. I'm not Hank Moody, yet.
I try to believe that the more the years go by the better story teller I can be. My friend that I went to high school with lives his dream, and to see it up close is amazing. He doesn't want money, or fame, he just wants to go to work. He comes from an affluent family and easily could have taken the easy route of following in the footsteps of his father, but he took the chance. He wanted to make himself into what he wanted be. There's risk and reward. The sacrifice is sometimes large, and can even seem unfair, but wouldn't it be worth it to want to go to work? Maybe you want personal success, maybe all you need is to know you're making the world a better place, maybe you like arguing so much that working at a collection agency gets you off. Of course, people have to clean bathrooms, and serve food, but I hope for better from everyone. I know that we all have to decide what it that we want, happiness at work, or happiness at home. But it's not an either or, it can be both. I can say that I'm not a fan of my job, but I love the people that I work with. I try to make the best of each day, no matter how shitty it can be. I want to come home to my kids, without stressing out about the work that I do. My wife loves what she does, but the where can be very challenging. The added kink is that she owns the where. At the end of the day I can separate myself from the people, the complaints, the pressures, the audit and everything else associated with it, and tell myself it's a paycheck.
The conundrum is that if you want more money in this world, you have to work harder. If it's not something that melts your cheese than you have fake it better. It's a dance that we have to do in order get that bigger TV, or second car. The only alternative is to give up everything in order to chase the dream, but how do you start that family meeting? Does everone like the car? Cause we live there now! Life starts to move pretty fast the older that you get. School trips turn into camping with friends, Hot Wheels cars become real cars. You gotta save for university, and retirement. Before you know it you're trying to self -publish some crappy novel you wrote when you were 22, but you don't remember why you thought it was good. Your friends nod pleasingly, while they all secretly wish that you did this 20 years ago. Your big accomplishment becomes finishing a publication rather than editing one, and every time a new TV series launches you're telling the plumber next to you at the bar that you had an idea just like that when you were 35. But your kids have iphones and your wife has implants. I wonder which one takes bigger toll on you...you not following your dream, or not allowing your kids to follow theirs. Either way, it's going to cost you.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
As we head into the final week before the Oscars, I'm always reminded of my true passion. Artistically, I'm probably a better writer than I am an actor, but it started with being on stage. As I learned of TV and Film I knew what I wanted to do the rest of my life. It was never about money, or fame, those were side effects of success. It's too bad that so many with the opportunity end up ruining their lives. Being an actor is difficult. You want people to like you, who you are, and when that public persona gets tarnished, the audience takes it out on the box office. Sure we like to think, "we'll they have millions, they'll get over it", but imagine the difficulty of having every piece of dirty laundry aired. My parent's divorce was a disaster, but at least it was not on the cover of a magazine. My friends broke up because he fell in love with a girl at his work, but they never got the Brangelina vs Aniston treatment. I remember when I met Vince Vaughn a few years ago a girl said to me, "I love him. And I'm glad that he's with Jen(Aniston). I'm on her side, not Brads." I replied, "You know that he was in Mr and Mrs Smith with Brad and Angelina." I don't think he's taking sides like all the readers of Star Magazine. Every time you're drunk, puking, passing out, picking your nose, getting gas, and taking your kid to school in sweat pants some asshole with diggy-cam is in your face. That being said they could move. Or not get wasted a bar where 50 people with flashes aren't standing at the door. As an aspiring writer I want you to like my brain, my ideas, my words. I could be a fat, bald, bearded alcoholic weirdo, but you might think I'm a genius. (only the beard to go!!) what has to be worse is the "journalist\handy cam TMZ reporters" and their brilliantly thought out questions. On a reputable Toronto news station, the lead reporter was asked what is one question she would ask any of the Oscar Nominees, she replied, "I would like to ask Natalie Portman if she knows what sex her baby is?" Would a sports reporter ask a Stanley Cup winner what kind of vegetable would he plant in his organic garden? Probably not
When I was 17 I got to be an extra in an audience scene in the movie We're No Angels with Robert DeNiro and Sean Penn. It was the first time that I'd seen the way in which movies were made. The scale of them, the accuracy. There were PA's pulling leaves off trees to make it look more like winter. All these people, all over the set who's particular job made this tiny stretch of road look like the 1920's. A cathedral, a town ,a bridge, and huge center gazebo. I guess that I looked enough like a homeless child, because they asked me to stay on after the crowd scenes. Before I knew I'd missed weeks of school, and was spending every day watching two greats work their practice on a terrible script. Not to mention that Demi Moore was in it, and I was 17!! Every night closed my eyes and dreamed of that Kutcher-Fucker. I think what struck me the most was when the camera was off. The way in which these bigger than life stars were quiet, soft-spoken gentlemen. Penn was in the midst of being a Hollywood bad boy, and DeNiro was...well DeNiro. I asked them about movies, and how they rehearsed. I wanted to know the angles and the process. I'd watch them repeat the same lines, the same way over and over again to perfection. And unlike every other of the masses, I never fawned over them.
I dreamt of being in their position one day. One day deciding how an imagination can be brought to life. I knew then and there that if I was going to do anything with my life(and I'm still undecided) something about the recreation of words into pictures was going to make me happy. The idea that I write things now that bring any emotion to people, no matter how simplistic, excites me. What's great is that I'm just warming up. I'm just getting into the flow of being able to write everyday. Those of you that read this are fueling my drive, and guiding my ideas and influences the way an audience should. (and I thank you) This process is the step that I need to take in order to keep that person that works full-time with two kids, separate from the brewing volcano of stories that spew from my head.
Of course I hope to entertain. I hope that I can enlighten or inspire. That each reader, whether they like it or not sees effort and desire. That each of you help me grow as writer, and as person. And one day when I'm up on that stage amongst my heroes, and Jason Reitman hands me a golden statue, know that it was you that helped me get there. I'll stumble through a speech remembering all the times that I dreamt of making it there. I'll thank a shit load of people that only other people in the room have heard of. An agent, a lawyer maybe, and all the people that believed in my ability to never shut up. Then the wife, kids, maybe a mistress. The things I'll have to leave out will be much longer. Empty rooms, time alone, long bus rides. All the times that I've stared into the shit pile that life delivers with wonderment. Every time I've seen the world fall apart in front of my eyes. My mother above, Paula, all my brothers and sisters, my Bio-parents, the surrogate family's I've joined, scotch, Dunhill's and fine cigars, BMX bikes, crocs with socks, the moon shining through the window at the top of the stairs, BC ferries, a Car accident or two, and a few dozen hearts. So Since I'll forget to thank you then, let me take the time now. Thank you. Your time is precious and you spent three minutes reading some angry rant about nothing, and I appreciate it. I've tried to be vulnerable and human in my stories, and you've responded by sharing similar information. You've let me know that you like my brain, my words and my ideas, and that keeps me working harder. So years from now when you get out of some piece of shit movies I wrote and wonder what happened, or when I pull it together enough to get nominated for an award, but refuse to respond to your "poke" on facebook, remember this letter. Maybe print it off? I'll eventually become so big that I'll pretend not to know you at some fancy restaurant where I'm complaining about the service, and you remind me that I used to write about assholes like me! In those times ahead it will be about the money, and the fame, and I'll want as much of it as I can get my hands on. Divorces, coke binges, late-night bisexual encounters...that's the life. And it will all be because of you...
Thank You
When I was 17 I got to be an extra in an audience scene in the movie We're No Angels with Robert DeNiro and Sean Penn. It was the first time that I'd seen the way in which movies were made. The scale of them, the accuracy. There were PA's pulling leaves off trees to make it look more like winter. All these people, all over the set who's particular job made this tiny stretch of road look like the 1920's. A cathedral, a town ,a bridge, and huge center gazebo. I guess that I looked enough like a homeless child, because they asked me to stay on after the crowd scenes. Before I knew I'd missed weeks of school, and was spending every day watching two greats work their practice on a terrible script. Not to mention that Demi Moore was in it, and I was 17!! Every night closed my eyes and dreamed of that Kutcher-Fucker. I think what struck me the most was when the camera was off. The way in which these bigger than life stars were quiet, soft-spoken gentlemen. Penn was in the midst of being a Hollywood bad boy, and DeNiro was...well DeNiro. I asked them about movies, and how they rehearsed. I wanted to know the angles and the process. I'd watch them repeat the same lines, the same way over and over again to perfection. And unlike every other of the masses, I never fawned over them.
I dreamt of being in their position one day. One day deciding how an imagination can be brought to life. I knew then and there that if I was going to do anything with my life(and I'm still undecided) something about the recreation of words into pictures was going to make me happy. The idea that I write things now that bring any emotion to people, no matter how simplistic, excites me. What's great is that I'm just warming up. I'm just getting into the flow of being able to write everyday. Those of you that read this are fueling my drive, and guiding my ideas and influences the way an audience should. (and I thank you) This process is the step that I need to take in order to keep that person that works full-time with two kids, separate from the brewing volcano of stories that spew from my head.
Of course I hope to entertain. I hope that I can enlighten or inspire. That each reader, whether they like it or not sees effort and desire. That each of you help me grow as writer, and as person. And one day when I'm up on that stage amongst my heroes, and Jason Reitman hands me a golden statue, know that it was you that helped me get there. I'll stumble through a speech remembering all the times that I dreamt of making it there. I'll thank a shit load of people that only other people in the room have heard of. An agent, a lawyer maybe, and all the people that believed in my ability to never shut up. Then the wife, kids, maybe a mistress. The things I'll have to leave out will be much longer. Empty rooms, time alone, long bus rides. All the times that I've stared into the shit pile that life delivers with wonderment. Every time I've seen the world fall apart in front of my eyes. My mother above, Paula, all my brothers and sisters, my Bio-parents, the surrogate family's I've joined, scotch, Dunhill's and fine cigars, BMX bikes, crocs with socks, the moon shining through the window at the top of the stairs, BC ferries, a Car accident or two, and a few dozen hearts. So Since I'll forget to thank you then, let me take the time now. Thank you. Your time is precious and you spent three minutes reading some angry rant about nothing, and I appreciate it. I've tried to be vulnerable and human in my stories, and you've responded by sharing similar information. You've let me know that you like my brain, my words and my ideas, and that keeps me working harder. So years from now when you get out of some piece of shit movies I wrote and wonder what happened, or when I pull it together enough to get nominated for an award, but refuse to respond to your "poke" on facebook, remember this letter. Maybe print it off? I'll eventually become so big that I'll pretend not to know you at some fancy restaurant where I'm complaining about the service, and you remind me that I used to write about assholes like me! In those times ahead it will be about the money, and the fame, and I'll want as much of it as I can get my hands on. Divorces, coke binges, late-night bisexual encounters...that's the life. And it will all be because of you...
Thank You
Monday, February 21, 2011
Family Dayz
When I awoke this morning I feared the events of the rest of the day. You see it's Family Day and everyone is taking the day off to entertain their children with skating, cotton candy and a severe intake of soda. Driving downtown to partake in some clown festival, or scouring the things to do on family day in your particular town. It's nice that the government has designated a day for people to have to give the nanny the day off and spend time together. Even though the nanny is probably back at home doing your laundry. Awww, parenting! I've often wondered why people have nannies when their kids are so small. That's the time you want to hang out with them, and more importantly, they wanna hang out with you. It's slowly slipping away, and my oldest is only 6! My problem with days such as these is expectations that people put on the one day's events. It's never going to reach them. There's also the part that effects me...some of us have to work these so called holidays!
For the most part people are respectful of the workers that have to work during special occasions, but we in the service world don't remember them. We only remember the assholes that bitch and complain, and then say, "well this whole family day is ruined!!" So even though your idiot kid spilled ice cream down his pants, and your oldest played PS3 the entire time, the speed of your salad getting to your table has ruined the day? Write a letter.
Perhaps all service industries should take down the personal information of all their customers. Then at the end of the night we can sit around and decide that we are going to write a letter to them about their behaviour at the restaurant...
Dear Mr and MRS Jones,
Last night you came into the ______ restaurant and I was your server. My experience serving you was one of the worst I ever had, and I've been working in this business for ten years. First of all, when I arrived at the table and introduced myself you all ignored me. It's bad enough that I have to work here while I'm putting myself through school, I don't need to be humiliated by strangers. When I listed the beers we have on tap you asked for three that we don't have, and followed up your inquiry with the phrase, "are you sure". Having been an employee here for the past two years, I'm certain of what we have and what we don't have. After deciding on your entree, and not helping your kids order, you snapped you finger to remind me that you had ordered a salad first. These salads are not pre-made for you, they are made once we punch the order in on the computer. Also you weren't the only person ordering salad so the three minutes it took shouldn't be a surprise. On that same subject, you continually told me incorrect times you had been waiting. While at the door, for salads, for desserts wasn't as long as you think it was, you're just extremely impatient. I can see why, because your kids were so jacked up on chocolate milk that they were borderline out of control. After your meals had come and I came to check on you, nobody acknowledged me again. There was barely a nod as you shovelled pasta down your throat at a dangerous speed. Only holding up your empty bread basket with a shrug which I assumed meant you were done. You informed me while ordering your wife's 10th diet cola that you actually wanted more, but it didn't matter now that you were done. You swilled back the last of your third pint, while your wife packed every scrap on the table into a take-out container. Although judging by the mess on the floor there was not much. Soon we were arguing about the prices of the beer, you had a lovely story about how cheap they are at the strip bar you frequent. Your wife is very lucky. As I explained the pricing you claimed, "not to give a shit about other people, only what happens to you." You have very lucky children as well. In the end, even though your kids ate for free, I let you drive home when I should've called the police, and you embarrassed everyone at the table but yourself, you didn't tip because we make enough money off the high prices(which I don't set) and the profit of booze(which I don't see). This experience will be with me for quite a while and because of that, I never want to serve you again. The manager and owner feel the same way, so you're not welcome to come back here.
I look forward to your response
For the most part people are respectful of the workers that have to work during special occasions, but we in the service world don't remember them. We only remember the assholes that bitch and complain, and then say, "well this whole family day is ruined!!" So even though your idiot kid spilled ice cream down his pants, and your oldest played PS3 the entire time, the speed of your salad getting to your table has ruined the day? Write a letter.
Perhaps all service industries should take down the personal information of all their customers. Then at the end of the night we can sit around and decide that we are going to write a letter to them about their behaviour at the restaurant...
Dear Mr and MRS Jones,
Last night you came into the ______ restaurant and I was your server. My experience serving you was one of the worst I ever had, and I've been working in this business for ten years. First of all, when I arrived at the table and introduced myself you all ignored me. It's bad enough that I have to work here while I'm putting myself through school, I don't need to be humiliated by strangers. When I listed the beers we have on tap you asked for three that we don't have, and followed up your inquiry with the phrase, "are you sure". Having been an employee here for the past two years, I'm certain of what we have and what we don't have. After deciding on your entree, and not helping your kids order, you snapped you finger to remind me that you had ordered a salad first. These salads are not pre-made for you, they are made once we punch the order in on the computer. Also you weren't the only person ordering salad so the three minutes it took shouldn't be a surprise. On that same subject, you continually told me incorrect times you had been waiting. While at the door, for salads, for desserts wasn't as long as you think it was, you're just extremely impatient. I can see why, because your kids were so jacked up on chocolate milk that they were borderline out of control. After your meals had come and I came to check on you, nobody acknowledged me again. There was barely a nod as you shovelled pasta down your throat at a dangerous speed. Only holding up your empty bread basket with a shrug which I assumed meant you were done. You informed me while ordering your wife's 10th diet cola that you actually wanted more, but it didn't matter now that you were done. You swilled back the last of your third pint, while your wife packed every scrap on the table into a take-out container. Although judging by the mess on the floor there was not much. Soon we were arguing about the prices of the beer, you had a lovely story about how cheap they are at the strip bar you frequent. Your wife is very lucky. As I explained the pricing you claimed, "not to give a shit about other people, only what happens to you." You have very lucky children as well. In the end, even though your kids ate for free, I let you drive home when I should've called the police, and you embarrassed everyone at the table but yourself, you didn't tip because we make enough money off the high prices(which I don't set) and the profit of booze(which I don't see). This experience will be with me for quite a while and because of that, I never want to serve you again. The manager and owner feel the same way, so you're not welcome to come back here.
I look forward to your response
Friday, February 18, 2011
My chunky Valentines
Since the Valentines Blog I've been literally dying from an illness I can only assume comes from being in contact with too many people on Valentines night! It was total horror show and when I got home to drink a bottle of scotch to ease my restaurant chapped ass, my entire family had the vomits. Good times! I had all these wicked rants and suggestions for the common folk on their lame excuse for a "love day" surprise. Among them, don't be surprised that others have also come out on this day and, proposing on Feb 14th is lamer than at a Blue Jays game! But I threw up most of the humorous adages along with a pizza and the "everything" bagel I ate early on the 15th. I'm sure they were both bits of wordy genius.
Whilst I lay sideways in a clench of both my jaw and buttocks, I did however get a chance to watch a fair bit of TV. Now there's a bit of irony in my criticism considering that I'd give up this daily exercise in a moment if someone were to pay me to write TV shows, commercials, or even kids shit. But they don't so here we go...
Now I've mentioned before about the JEEP commercial where the dude drives to the top of the mountain then snowboards down(how does he get his JEEP back!!) and I still believe that it's the worst of the worst. I don't know if it has a professional driver, do not attempt disclaimer, or if it needs one, but I don't plan on it. Those disclaimers are a highlight of my viewing. Like when the guy jumps out of the plane with only a shopping cart. Forgive me for repeating myself, and for the record a friend of mine had originally mentioned this, but I like to repeat myself. (and there are new readers ) My real beef is with how the marketing companies look at the dichotomy of Canadian men. Capt Morgan, Rickard's, Molson, and even Proline have all looked at the men between 25-35 and come to the conclusion that we all only have 3 friends. Now here's where it gets a little insulting\revealing, in each of their ads out of the four friends, One is fat, one has a beard, one has a plaid shirt and the other is a visible minority. How fucked up is that. Okay, all guys right now think about your three best friends.....does it fit? I was furious about this until I thought about the last time there was four of us guys having a beer and guess what, I was the minority and the fat guy! damn it. Now don't get me wrong it's nice to see that there is minorities in commercials that aren't just the tellers at the bank, or trying to buy our used jewelry. I would like to see some interracial couples though, maybe some gay parents. I would like to see some honesty amongst advertisers. I was always a big fan of that Buckley's campaign that said, it tastes terrible and it works. It does both.
Great we have to watch Grey's Anatomy....I'm going to doze back off any second. I'm not sure how I feel about medical dramas. I like the show House because Hugh Laurie is a god, and was in Black Adder. Also for one of the funniest people in the world he really is a miserable prick. It's also produced\created by a Canadian, and there are subtle jabs at the US health care system during the run. These programs like ER, Grey's Anatomy, and to a lesser degree Private Practice are based off a teaching hospital scenario. That's why they get all these cases, but no one ever says, "you don't have the right insurance", or "we can send you to another hospital where the doctors actually care about saving people, not paying down their BMW's" if there was a drama that was actually about the politics of the US health system it wouldn't be very good TV. Although a lot more people would die. I mock the show while T watches it because of that fact. For some reason I can believe that Alien vs Predator is real enough to shush people, but the idea that med students care....
(PS- Shonda Rhimes - I will intern as anything on this show starting today!)
Survivor has had 20 seasons? Who the fuck watches this tripe? They're not actually Stranded on an Island!! unless you count the crew of 70 with catering trucks...
I gotta admit that I do like watching the Bachelor. Not for the drama, or the outcome. And not because I believe it's real in any way, but because the shit these people say to each other is awesome. What's better is they think it's awesome too! Yeah, you're so desperate to meet someone that you believe your only chance is going to be on a nationally televised program where you make-out with 10 different people? You just get drunk and stroll around Spain (basic 2nd date things) The thing is, these people think that they are saying the right things to move the story along, but they are so forced that it's as if an elementary school wrote the script. I've hung out with a lot of dudes, and I've never heard on say that they are ready to find a wife among 25 single, hot sluts!
The sad part about this post is I'll never be able to put into print my hatred for all of those that went out on Valentines day, because I'm no longer angry. I have no energy. And by the time I'm back in the game it'll be the weekend. Sure it's +8 and February, which is like winning 10 bucks on a scratch and win. However, this Monday is Family day. This Monday every jackass and his whinny, screaming sugar filled kids are going to be coming in and freaking out that there is a 7 minute wait for a table. On their way back from an afternoon of fighting, and spending too much on cotton candy they're going to stop by for a quick meal. And for some god forsaken reason we have a promotion where kids eat free on Monday!!!
I predict that my blog come Tues the 22nd will a swear filled raucous that will make you queasy upon reading. And I will have applied to every shit ass job that claims they will pay me to write. I will have entertained the idea of working in a field that doesn't put me in direct contact with people or their children, even if it means a "real job".
I will also be hungover...
Monday, February 14, 2011
Love....is a curious thing
Every year I find myself at a bit of loss when it comes to certain "holiday's". I know you're thinking, what's with the the air quotes? So many of these important days, or momentous situations throughout the year have been spent working, I'm not sure they have any value for me anymore. I've worked every New Years eve in over a decade, Easter, Labor day, even the popular Ontario slang May 24. I realize that greed and an excessive lifestyle have created this scenario, but I've always been okay with it. I mean, that's when people want to go out and spend money on themselves or each other. The only exception has been St Patrick's Day, but I'll work that day too. As a half Irish man this upsets some, but I'm also half Caribbean and was adopted into a Ukrainian house.
When half and half day exists (and god willing it will) I will drink rum, Guinness and pierogi, but I'll probably still work that day.
Valentines Day is kind of a funny one. Sure it's nice that corporations created a multifaceted love fest in order to sell you a shit load of heart shaped boxes. Last years chocolate repackaged for your special person. That white flaky residue all over the inside of a that shiny red and silver foil. Little cute hearts with printed sayings that induce oohs and ahhs from teenage girls. Toblerone bars the size of my two year old, and Hallmark cards that say exactly what you feel, but can't put into words. You can recite the entire Dumb & Dumber movie, and know Neil Peart's air drum solo perfect, but can't string three words together to let your girlfriend of five years know how you feel. (Is there a hockey game on tonight?) The best part about this day is that you'd have to go out of your way to not remember it. It's fucking everywhere. The mall, the corner store, the gas station. Then, at about 11am you'll think I should make reservations at the restaurant and then realize they don't take them, and you should've done this a month ago!! In the middle of your plea/bitch session to the manager of said restaurant you say, but it's Valentine's day! Thanks for the update captain obvious!
- P.S- an aside from the other blog about people going out to eat. Whatever holiday, special event, or personal accomplishment you are celebrating, you cannot use that as part of your complaint. ie - "My steak was over done and it's my wife's anniversary of her third time quiting Jenny Craig".
I've always tried to have a objective perspective on this day. I mean, love is a curious thing.(Johnny Cash) We only gage Love based off of our previous success or failure. As adults we believe that we are good at relationships, but all of them, except for the current one, have failed. When I look back at all of the perfectly good relationships that I've selfishly ruined, I feel bad. I regret the times I've could've been better. I rue the girls that I could have had a better relationship with, but I threw them away chasing another girl that I didn't stand a chance with. Maybe only a couple of times in my life did I ever think of doing something special for someone on Valentines Day, but I had a Groundhog Day party every year six years in a row. My priorities are a little screwed up. As an introverted emotional writer, but an extroverted loud mouth pervert, I struggle with how a feel a lot. I try to live my life with little or no regrets even if I'm lying about not have them. I hate the feeling of guilt so much. I think more than anything, I look back on this day and think about those that I loved. At one time in my life, I loved them. And to this day I still carry that piece of them with me. They are the girls that I see when I write a script, they're the muse in my short stories, and they give me comfort within my memories. I came to the harsh realization a few years ago that they might not feel the same way, and they may never have, but that's no reason not to acknowledge that feeling. We all know that horror that exists when you tell someone you Love them, and they reply thanks. Love makes you do the worst things possible for fear that you might lose it, and when you do fall out of it, it's a pain that cannot be described. (Actually Ryan Adams does a pretty good job re-Come pick me up)
There are women that I've loved my whole life and it was never about sex, or relationships. Others I wish I was good enough for. And the final group(of one!) that I wished I'd never met because of how crazy I became. I saw our future, our life, our love. She saw other people. I think that each time we fail, or even attempt to love someone we learn a little bit more about ourselves. I remember when my Mom would say that she loved me Unconditionally, and I would just say yeah, yeah. Then the moment I held my daughter for the first time I knew what she meant. I told that story to a friend of mine and he commented he knew what I meant. Then he had his daughter and amended that now he did. Love is that crazy thing that you don't know anything about until you are in it. Then you try to analyze the why and how, but truthfully no one knows. It's not until you weight the option without it do you realize the gravity of it. For Men, it's almost like a shut-out in Hockey....you don't want to talk about it for fear that you might get scored on. For Women, it's like an thesis...they research, discuss, do a bibliography, make notes, more research, compare with others, have trials, analyze, hypothesize, judge, do background checks and rate every situation that has every happened between you. Then if you're really in Love, they give you the answer.
I find myself in relationship now where my much better half puts up with my narcissism, and chaotic behaviour with a smile. Or she's drunk. Seriously, we find strength in our partnership. We understand that being parents is a huge a part of this thing, and honesty might be the other. We indulge in each others personal and professional dreams, and give the space needed to survive. She easy on the eyes, way out of my league, and talks like a slut. When she's too tired she tells me to watch porn, and purchases own tampons and lady thingy's. Every man's dream. The shit part is that I think I'm in love with her. I work with all of these young hot girls, but am too lazy or fat to hit on them. And I like to come home to my family, even if it's a day late. (sorry)
What bothers me about this day is that we can use it to shirk the duties of our relationship for the rest of the year. (Except the big ones: Mothers day, Birthday, Christmas) I'm gonna leave with a poem written by some Jackass that destroyed a perfectly good relationship with a beautiful woman. Before he fell victim to his selfish ego he wrote this. It's hopefully generic enough to please everyone. Thankfully she remain his friend, and is one of few that maybe understands his dark emotional scars, but blissfully funny sarcasm...
February Fourteen
Today is like no other
I awake to the sun's morning
It leads me to happiness
then awakened are you
Barely alive, you tackle the stairs
your smile heightens my joy
this day is like no other
We indulge in caffeine and conversation
you yawn, I'm exposed to the mouth I crave
Inside I analyze life, love , and loss
they enter, and exit my thoughts
I can change nothing
this day is not the same
I watch you sleep, still
I feel your eyes in a stare
Your skin is still, like a rose
But your stand is firm
I would be lucky if that changed
But chance plays no part here
As in the day before, I admire you
My distance is at arms length
But touch is out of reach
Maybe you see, and I do not
Imagination opens a delightful scenario
One that lives only there
My lips open and say forbidden words
I shutter at why I spoke
But would cringe if I didn't
Now it hangs between us
Today is different
The sound of your voice
the feel of your body, your touch
This day holds no meaning
it's just a day, as those before it
This day is no different at all
My love was here yesterday too
When half and half day exists (and god willing it will) I will drink rum, Guinness and pierogi, but I'll probably still work that day.
Valentines Day is kind of a funny one. Sure it's nice that corporations created a multifaceted love fest in order to sell you a shit load of heart shaped boxes. Last years chocolate repackaged for your special person. That white flaky residue all over the inside of a that shiny red and silver foil. Little cute hearts with printed sayings that induce oohs and ahhs from teenage girls. Toblerone bars the size of my two year old, and Hallmark cards that say exactly what you feel, but can't put into words. You can recite the entire Dumb & Dumber movie, and know Neil Peart's air drum solo perfect, but can't string three words together to let your girlfriend of five years know how you feel. (Is there a hockey game on tonight?) The best part about this day is that you'd have to go out of your way to not remember it. It's fucking everywhere. The mall, the corner store, the gas station. Then, at about 11am you'll think I should make reservations at the restaurant and then realize they don't take them, and you should've done this a month ago!! In the middle of your plea/bitch session to the manager of said restaurant you say, but it's Valentine's day! Thanks for the update captain obvious!
- P.S- an aside from the other blog about people going out to eat. Whatever holiday, special event, or personal accomplishment you are celebrating, you cannot use that as part of your complaint. ie - "My steak was over done and it's my wife's anniversary of her third time quiting Jenny Craig".
I've always tried to have a objective perspective on this day. I mean, love is a curious thing.(Johnny Cash) We only gage Love based off of our previous success or failure. As adults we believe that we are good at relationships, but all of them, except for the current one, have failed. When I look back at all of the perfectly good relationships that I've selfishly ruined, I feel bad. I regret the times I've could've been better. I rue the girls that I could have had a better relationship with, but I threw them away chasing another girl that I didn't stand a chance with. Maybe only a couple of times in my life did I ever think of doing something special for someone on Valentines Day, but I had a Groundhog Day party every year six years in a row. My priorities are a little screwed up. As an introverted emotional writer, but an extroverted loud mouth pervert, I struggle with how a feel a lot. I try to live my life with little or no regrets even if I'm lying about not have them. I hate the feeling of guilt so much. I think more than anything, I look back on this day and think about those that I loved. At one time in my life, I loved them. And to this day I still carry that piece of them with me. They are the girls that I see when I write a script, they're the muse in my short stories, and they give me comfort within my memories. I came to the harsh realization a few years ago that they might not feel the same way, and they may never have, but that's no reason not to acknowledge that feeling. We all know that horror that exists when you tell someone you Love them, and they reply thanks. Love makes you do the worst things possible for fear that you might lose it, and when you do fall out of it, it's a pain that cannot be described. (Actually Ryan Adams does a pretty good job re-Come pick me up)
There are women that I've loved my whole life and it was never about sex, or relationships. Others I wish I was good enough for. And the final group(of one!) that I wished I'd never met because of how crazy I became. I saw our future, our life, our love. She saw other people. I think that each time we fail, or even attempt to love someone we learn a little bit more about ourselves. I remember when my Mom would say that she loved me Unconditionally, and I would just say yeah, yeah. Then the moment I held my daughter for the first time I knew what she meant. I told that story to a friend of mine and he commented he knew what I meant. Then he had his daughter and amended that now he did. Love is that crazy thing that you don't know anything about until you are in it. Then you try to analyze the why and how, but truthfully no one knows. It's not until you weight the option without it do you realize the gravity of it. For Men, it's almost like a shut-out in Hockey....you don't want to talk about it for fear that you might get scored on. For Women, it's like an thesis...they research, discuss, do a bibliography, make notes, more research, compare with others, have trials, analyze, hypothesize, judge, do background checks and rate every situation that has every happened between you. Then if you're really in Love, they give you the answer.
I find myself in relationship now where my much better half puts up with my narcissism, and chaotic behaviour with a smile. Or she's drunk. Seriously, we find strength in our partnership. We understand that being parents is a huge a part of this thing, and honesty might be the other. We indulge in each others personal and professional dreams, and give the space needed to survive. She easy on the eyes, way out of my league, and talks like a slut. When she's too tired she tells me to watch porn, and purchases own tampons and lady thingy's. Every man's dream. The shit part is that I think I'm in love with her. I work with all of these young hot girls, but am too lazy or fat to hit on them. And I like to come home to my family, even if it's a day late. (sorry)
What bothers me about this day is that we can use it to shirk the duties of our relationship for the rest of the year. (Except the big ones: Mothers day, Birthday, Christmas) I'm gonna leave with a poem written by some Jackass that destroyed a perfectly good relationship with a beautiful woman. Before he fell victim to his selfish ego he wrote this. It's hopefully generic enough to please everyone. Thankfully she remain his friend, and is one of few that maybe understands his dark emotional scars, but blissfully funny sarcasm...
February Fourteen
Today is like no other
I awake to the sun's morning
It leads me to happiness
then awakened are you
Barely alive, you tackle the stairs
your smile heightens my joy
this day is like no other
We indulge in caffeine and conversation
you yawn, I'm exposed to the mouth I crave
Inside I analyze life, love , and loss
they enter, and exit my thoughts
I can change nothing
this day is not the same
I watch you sleep, still
I feel your eyes in a stare
Your skin is still, like a rose
But your stand is firm
I would be lucky if that changed
But chance plays no part here
As in the day before, I admire you
My distance is at arms length
But touch is out of reach
Maybe you see, and I do not
Imagination opens a delightful scenario
One that lives only there
My lips open and say forbidden words
I shutter at why I spoke
But would cringe if I didn't
Now it hangs between us
Today is different
The sound of your voice
the feel of your body, your touch
This day holds no meaning
it's just a day, as those before it
This day is no different at all
My love was here yesterday too
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
I'm just a little disappointed...an open letter to the people of whitby
Years ago, when I grew up in Maple Ridge B.C., two of my best friends moved west from some place called Whitby Ontario. The Zimmermans were confused by the mountains, and lack of all things Ontario, but they adapted. I remember a day that it snow about 3 inches and they were in shock about why the school was closed. Good decent people, who to this day, are my surrogate family. I never felt that they had a sense of entitlement that wasn't deserved. I don't remember them ever expecting that "they" were extra special.
Just over three years ago I moved to the tiny hamlet just north of Whitby. I didn't even know where we were going when we came here to look at the house. There were fields of corn, and it didn't cost money to park you car. I couldn't believe this place. There were no bars for some reason, but there was a cute bakery, Subway Sandwich place and three fish and chips joints. (What the?) My first bartending job was in an area referred to as the AMC theatre complex, and it was a little backwards compared to Toronto. People were always in a rush, annoyed that other people had come to the same place, and thought it was too expensive. Coming from the Big Smoke, I thought it was too cheap!
My new venture is a little bit more in Whitby, family orientated, and popular amongst people that don't want to, or can't spend a lot of money. This is where my eye has been starting to twitch, when I pull into the parking lot.
To the people of Whitby,
If you and your young family are going out for dinner, or just you and a friend, or you by yourself, please be aware of the following:
1) On Saturday night, other people...not just YOU have decide to go out. The fact that these other people have gotten to the restaurant before you, does not give you grounds to be upset. I'm not going to apologize for being successful.
1a) Also, if a hostess says it going to be ten minutes, then you wait ten minutes, you can't complain that you had to wait ten minutes.
2) Saying that you "got something" last time isn't precedent for you to get it again. I got a warning for speeding once, but I don't throw that into the face of every other cop
3) Fire code isn't something the 16 yr old hostess created, you can't put a chair there....deal with it.
3a) if you want to yell at someone don't pick the youngest, most vulnerable person that works there, pick the manager, he drinks for free, he can handle it.
4) When telling me why your job at Future Shop is the same as mine, please remember that we sell alcohol, and you're drinking it. Nobody is smashed buying a TV, except for maybe me.
5) You didn't get that free last time. You're not getting it this time.
6) Complaining that everything happened too fast is you're fault. If you want to take you time you have to tell the server.
6a) don't be offended that you've been offered something. We don't know that you're a recovering alcoholic, diabetic, hypoglycemic, on medication, old, allergic, or on a diet.
6b) if you say you're on a diet, then order the shittiest thing on the menu, extra bread, and dessert, but drink a diet Coke, we will make fun of you!
7) When you argue with the manager, and lose in front of your kids, they will lose respect for you.
8) keeping track of every little thing that you think is not right during your dinner makes you a douche bag. Do you do that at movies? Do you keep track of each thing that didn't impress you at the grocery store? (probably)
8a) If you try and find every reason that you shouldn't have to tip, then you are worse than a douche bag. I can't think of a name yet
9) If you come to a place where you don't like the food, then you're an idiot. If your Mom makes better lasagna, then go home Mama's Boy! If you order something and don't like it, then order something else, and don't like that, but eat it all, you're paying for it. That doesn't excuse your attitude. Check your surroundings. If you're at Susur's restaurant...okay, but if you're at a cookie cutter restaurant, then shut the f*ck up. You knew where you were going, and you knew what to expect!
10) If you complain to your server, then the manager, and the manager comes to your table, that is your chance to offer advice or say your piece. Once that exchange is complete, DO NOT go home and write a 900 word essay about how crappy everything was. Especially after you had you chance to speak, had your meal taken care of, and slashed a big line through the tip line on the credit card slip!
10a) if you are one of these chickenheads that wants to show drama but not talk in the restaurant, and would rather wait until you had the time to type it out(as in a point form blog!! I see the irony) then make sure that you spell check, go over your grammar, and most importantly, do not personally insult anyone that works there. The moment you share your opinion about someone personally, you've lost me. I didn't mention your comb over, or that you haven't quite lost the baby weight, or the fact that your feral child has the demeanor of ill-mannered monkey!
10b) Also don't mention anything about how much money you spend\spent. It's crass. Yeah, you ended up spending 20$, but it cost us 25$ to serve you. Poor you
I could seriously go on forever, but I have stuff to do today, like go to work! So I'm going to leave you with the most important things I've learned over my many years of working in the service industry
- If you start your complaint with I'm never coming back, then I'm not listening...who gives a crap, you're never coming back! And if you do come back, I will ask you to leave.
- if you start your complaint with I hardly ever complain, then you're a liar
- if you are stock piling the things you deem as wrong from the moment you come in, then you want to complain. You're life needs something I can't provide. Take up swimming, skating or yoga.
- if you think that the staff is over in the service area calling you a bitch, they probably are. Your attitude when I come to the table sets the tone. Not mine
- it might not be racism, you might just be an asshole!
I've worked in places across this country and I've never seen the kind of attitude from such a small group of people. This sense of entitlement isn't just in restaurants, it's in Walmart, Tim Hortons, and Dance studios across the Durham region. Of course this isn't everyone, in fact, it's a small part of the population, but it's definitely the loudest. Their kid, their meal, their car, oh and get out of my way, I'm going somewhere. It's the people taking up two parking spots with their trucks, the people wanting the exception for them, it's the person behind me in the grocery line hitting my heals with their cart.
If everyone that had a genuine complaint talked to me with the same respect that they want from me, I would enjoy what I do. But I can pick them out now. I know the people that won't be satisfied regardless of the outcome, they just wanna be the person that complains. They want to be the one that is right. They want to be the guy that proved the big bad company was wrong. All the shit in their own life is crumbling, so who is the easiest person to take it out on, my waitress. If only people could realize the kind of damage they can do to us. We take these moments with us. It bothers us. It's not just about money, we actually like what we do, but now you're trying to break us! No wonder we've become jaded, alcohol swilling lunatics!
A friend of mine is a kindergarten teacher and I tried to imagine what it would be like to deal with children all day long, but I soon realized that children would be easy. You see children don't know how to behave yet, adults are supposed to.
I'm not mad, I'm just a little disappointed.
Just over three years ago I moved to the tiny hamlet just north of Whitby. I didn't even know where we were going when we came here to look at the house. There were fields of corn, and it didn't cost money to park you car. I couldn't believe this place. There were no bars for some reason, but there was a cute bakery, Subway Sandwich place and three fish and chips joints. (What the?) My first bartending job was in an area referred to as the AMC theatre complex, and it was a little backwards compared to Toronto. People were always in a rush, annoyed that other people had come to the same place, and thought it was too expensive. Coming from the Big Smoke, I thought it was too cheap!
My new venture is a little bit more in Whitby, family orientated, and popular amongst people that don't want to, or can't spend a lot of money. This is where my eye has been starting to twitch, when I pull into the parking lot.
To the people of Whitby,
If you and your young family are going out for dinner, or just you and a friend, or you by yourself, please be aware of the following:
1) On Saturday night, other people...not just YOU have decide to go out. The fact that these other people have gotten to the restaurant before you, does not give you grounds to be upset. I'm not going to apologize for being successful.
1a) Also, if a hostess says it going to be ten minutes, then you wait ten minutes, you can't complain that you had to wait ten minutes.
2) Saying that you "got something" last time isn't precedent for you to get it again. I got a warning for speeding once, but I don't throw that into the face of every other cop
3) Fire code isn't something the 16 yr old hostess created, you can't put a chair there....deal with it.
3a) if you want to yell at someone don't pick the youngest, most vulnerable person that works there, pick the manager, he drinks for free, he can handle it.
4) When telling me why your job at Future Shop is the same as mine, please remember that we sell alcohol, and you're drinking it. Nobody is smashed buying a TV, except for maybe me.
5) You didn't get that free last time. You're not getting it this time.
6) Complaining that everything happened too fast is you're fault. If you want to take you time you have to tell the server.
6a) don't be offended that you've been offered something. We don't know that you're a recovering alcoholic, diabetic, hypoglycemic, on medication, old, allergic, or on a diet.
6b) if you say you're on a diet, then order the shittiest thing on the menu, extra bread, and dessert, but drink a diet Coke, we will make fun of you!
7) When you argue with the manager, and lose in front of your kids, they will lose respect for you.
8) keeping track of every little thing that you think is not right during your dinner makes you a douche bag. Do you do that at movies? Do you keep track of each thing that didn't impress you at the grocery store? (probably)
8a) If you try and find every reason that you shouldn't have to tip, then you are worse than a douche bag. I can't think of a name yet
9) If you come to a place where you don't like the food, then you're an idiot. If your Mom makes better lasagna, then go home Mama's Boy! If you order something and don't like it, then order something else, and don't like that, but eat it all, you're paying for it. That doesn't excuse your attitude. Check your surroundings. If you're at Susur's restaurant...okay, but if you're at a cookie cutter restaurant, then shut the f*ck up. You knew where you were going, and you knew what to expect!
10) If you complain to your server, then the manager, and the manager comes to your table, that is your chance to offer advice or say your piece. Once that exchange is complete, DO NOT go home and write a 900 word essay about how crappy everything was. Especially after you had you chance to speak, had your meal taken care of, and slashed a big line through the tip line on the credit card slip!
10a) if you are one of these chickenheads that wants to show drama but not talk in the restaurant, and would rather wait until you had the time to type it out(as in a point form blog!! I see the irony) then make sure that you spell check, go over your grammar, and most importantly, do not personally insult anyone that works there. The moment you share your opinion about someone personally, you've lost me. I didn't mention your comb over, or that you haven't quite lost the baby weight, or the fact that your feral child has the demeanor of ill-mannered monkey!
10b) Also don't mention anything about how much money you spend\spent. It's crass. Yeah, you ended up spending 20$, but it cost us 25$ to serve you. Poor you
I could seriously go on forever, but I have stuff to do today, like go to work! So I'm going to leave you with the most important things I've learned over my many years of working in the service industry
- If you start your complaint with I'm never coming back, then I'm not listening...who gives a crap, you're never coming back! And if you do come back, I will ask you to leave.
- if you start your complaint with I hardly ever complain, then you're a liar
- if you are stock piling the things you deem as wrong from the moment you come in, then you want to complain. You're life needs something I can't provide. Take up swimming, skating or yoga.
- if you think that the staff is over in the service area calling you a bitch, they probably are. Your attitude when I come to the table sets the tone. Not mine
- it might not be racism, you might just be an asshole!
I've worked in places across this country and I've never seen the kind of attitude from such a small group of people. This sense of entitlement isn't just in restaurants, it's in Walmart, Tim Hortons, and Dance studios across the Durham region. Of course this isn't everyone, in fact, it's a small part of the population, but it's definitely the loudest. Their kid, their meal, their car, oh and get out of my way, I'm going somewhere. It's the people taking up two parking spots with their trucks, the people wanting the exception for them, it's the person behind me in the grocery line hitting my heals with their cart.
If everyone that had a genuine complaint talked to me with the same respect that they want from me, I would enjoy what I do. But I can pick them out now. I know the people that won't be satisfied regardless of the outcome, they just wanna be the person that complains. They want to be the one that is right. They want to be the guy that proved the big bad company was wrong. All the shit in their own life is crumbling, so who is the easiest person to take it out on, my waitress. If only people could realize the kind of damage they can do to us. We take these moments with us. It bothers us. It's not just about money, we actually like what we do, but now you're trying to break us! No wonder we've become jaded, alcohol swilling lunatics!
A friend of mine is a kindergarten teacher and I tried to imagine what it would be like to deal with children all day long, but I soon realized that children would be easy. You see children don't know how to behave yet, adults are supposed to.
I'm not mad, I'm just a little disappointed.
Monday, February 7, 2011
In Toronto...
The day after I've had too many drinks I suffer from a condition called "DeadHead". This means that I can complete the simplest tasks but really have no thoughts. It's not like being hungover, because there is no pain. Just emptiness. For example, everytime I drive through an intersection I check the rearview mirror to make sure that the light was green, only to look back at the road and realize I'm running the yellow on the next light. Thus begins the 2nd week in a row of not actually writing the thing I've been trying to write for a month. I digress...
Or should I say digest. Although I've been sculpting a smoking hot yoga body, I do have a lot of clay left over. Sure from the right angle I look better. But so few are going to staring at me from directly under my left foot. So during the "big game" I decide to eat the prototypical Superbowl food. Wings, pizza and an unnecessary amount of Jack Daniels. I had a pizza that literally had every possible dead animal on it, and enough cheese to back up an elephant. I feel great right now, and I've created a book shelf in the bathroom. The people last night were the usual football fan getting in the last meaningful game (for four months), and as if it were a monumental night, the debauchery was on. If you're a Packers fan or Steelers fan, for sure, act a fool. But if you're just gambling and getting drunk, you'd better make it to work today. Every Superbowl party I ever attended in Toronto was fun, but never out of control. Suburbia is a different beast. People here pre-drink their pre-drinks. I feel bad for our women, considering the types of events that we partake in, and expect it to be a get out of jail free situation. Even when the wife and friends want to go out, they go the fucking ballet and have one too many chardonnay's. When I go to the pre-baseball, talk about the rules, afternoon luncheon, I drink 10 past my limit, then go to a different bar. When I get picked up the next morning with a severe case of deadhead, I wanna be forgiven because It was a baseball pool thingy. Oh and by the way, the entrance fee was 300$ and I spent 200$ at the bar. So, I try my best to be involved with the family a day after such, just because I'm positive I've used up all my excuses. If they want to put up with thirty something year old idiot for the day, what do I care. It is literally the least I could do.
We get such a bad reputation in Toronto, but look as the sports media in this town? It's the day after the SuperBowl and they're discussing the 3rd and 4th lines on the Toronto Maple Leafs. I'm sure we're next in line to have a NFL team. I mean, look how much we care. We're a fickle bunch in southern Ontario, and I'm not sure I understand why. Again I blame the weather. I also separate myself from the masses, but fear that I'm exactly the same! No, I 'm not. I was told the other day I was a "snob, who thought they were better than everyone". It's been so long since I've been complimented. Around the country Toronto takes some heat for being pompous, rude, and disconnected from the rest. What's great about being a Torontonian is being pompous, rude and disconnected. Sure there are times that you should check the pulse of a person laying face down in the street, just not if it's King street. Then that fucker is on his own. I've lived in a few parts of this great land and I've seen the feuds amongst cities. Calgary vs Vancouver. Montreal vs Quebec City. Toronto's real fight isn't with Ottawa(unfair fight, it sucks there) or the rest of Canada....it's with itself.
Canada has such vast natural resources, and landscapes that almost every province and major metropolis is associated with a particular thing.
NFLD - icebergs, blisteringly cold weather, fishing, alcoholism
PEI - potatoes, eerily red dirt, you gotta pay to leave the island
NS - Keiths, entertaining bar fights
NB - lobster, over use of the word "eh"
QUE - English hating, Labatt 50 drinkers, Habs fans(possibly the most annoying hockey fans alive)
ONT - financial and economic capital, keepin up with the jones-ites, cottage country( sounds like a oleo spread)
MAN - I'll come back to this one
SASK - painfully flat farm land, painfully flat farm land, Painfully flat farm land
ALB - a shitload of oil, Banff, tonnes and tonnes of bars
BC - the Rockies, forestry, tonnes and tonnes of weed
Toronto is kind of a bi-polar personality. First, the people of Toronto almost don't count because the they aren't the people that call in radio shows, or write editorials in the paper, or complain about the idiosyncrasies of the local government. Those are the people of the GTA. When we open the Province newspaper and the lead story is the mayoral election of one city in Ontario what can we expect. It's not much of a surprise the rest of the people in this province hates us? There were numerous elections, lots of different ridings, but what got TV airplay, newsprint...that Chris Farley look alike. Of course the people of tinytown are going to think Toronto is full of gangs, violence and apparently anybody can run for government. Second, when these GTAers go on vacation, they say they're from Toronto. When they go to Vancouver and complain that the Leaf game should be on, or Moncton and start every sentence with, "well, in Toronto", they give the good people of T-DOT a bad rap. I mean look at this blog, I don't live in Toronto anymore, but I feel entitled to voice my opinion. I'm the asshole I just warned you about!!
But the truth is I still feel more like a Torontonian then a suburbanite. Sure it's been a few years. Sometimes I drive past my old place, see the neighborhood. Please remember that actual Torontonians are too self-centered to be the person you think is being rude to you. If you visit, ask for directions and people ignore you, it's because they're from Mississauga and they don't know their way either. A Torontonian wouldn't ignore you, they just would lift their head in time to realize you're talking to them...iphone bitches!
Or should I say digest. Although I've been sculpting a smoking hot yoga body, I do have a lot of clay left over. Sure from the right angle I look better. But so few are going to staring at me from directly under my left foot. So during the "big game" I decide to eat the prototypical Superbowl food. Wings, pizza and an unnecessary amount of Jack Daniels. I had a pizza that literally had every possible dead animal on it, and enough cheese to back up an elephant. I feel great right now, and I've created a book shelf in the bathroom. The people last night were the usual football fan getting in the last meaningful game (for four months), and as if it were a monumental night, the debauchery was on. If you're a Packers fan or Steelers fan, for sure, act a fool. But if you're just gambling and getting drunk, you'd better make it to work today. Every Superbowl party I ever attended in Toronto was fun, but never out of control. Suburbia is a different beast. People here pre-drink their pre-drinks. I feel bad for our women, considering the types of events that we partake in, and expect it to be a get out of jail free situation. Even when the wife and friends want to go out, they go the fucking ballet and have one too many chardonnay's. When I go to the pre-baseball, talk about the rules, afternoon luncheon, I drink 10 past my limit, then go to a different bar. When I get picked up the next morning with a severe case of deadhead, I wanna be forgiven because It was a baseball pool thingy. Oh and by the way, the entrance fee was 300$ and I spent 200$ at the bar. So, I try my best to be involved with the family a day after such, just because I'm positive I've used up all my excuses. If they want to put up with thirty something year old idiot for the day, what do I care. It is literally the least I could do.
We get such a bad reputation in Toronto, but look as the sports media in this town? It's the day after the SuperBowl and they're discussing the 3rd and 4th lines on the Toronto Maple Leafs. I'm sure we're next in line to have a NFL team. I mean, look how much we care. We're a fickle bunch in southern Ontario, and I'm not sure I understand why. Again I blame the weather. I also separate myself from the masses, but fear that I'm exactly the same! No, I 'm not. I was told the other day I was a "snob, who thought they were better than everyone". It's been so long since I've been complimented. Around the country Toronto takes some heat for being pompous, rude, and disconnected from the rest. What's great about being a Torontonian is being pompous, rude and disconnected. Sure there are times that you should check the pulse of a person laying face down in the street, just not if it's King street. Then that fucker is on his own. I've lived in a few parts of this great land and I've seen the feuds amongst cities. Calgary vs Vancouver. Montreal vs Quebec City. Toronto's real fight isn't with Ottawa(unfair fight, it sucks there) or the rest of Canada....it's with itself.
Canada has such vast natural resources, and landscapes that almost every province and major metropolis is associated with a particular thing.
NFLD - icebergs, blisteringly cold weather, fishing, alcoholism
PEI - potatoes, eerily red dirt, you gotta pay to leave the island
NS - Keiths, entertaining bar fights
NB - lobster, over use of the word "eh"
QUE - English hating, Labatt 50 drinkers, Habs fans(possibly the most annoying hockey fans alive)
ONT - financial and economic capital, keepin up with the jones-ites, cottage country( sounds like a oleo spread)
MAN - I'll come back to this one
SASK - painfully flat farm land, painfully flat farm land, Painfully flat farm land
ALB - a shitload of oil, Banff, tonnes and tonnes of bars
BC - the Rockies, forestry, tonnes and tonnes of weed
Toronto is kind of a bi-polar personality. First, the people of Toronto almost don't count because the they aren't the people that call in radio shows, or write editorials in the paper, or complain about the idiosyncrasies of the local government. Those are the people of the GTA. When we open the Province newspaper and the lead story is the mayoral election of one city in Ontario what can we expect. It's not much of a surprise the rest of the people in this province hates us? There were numerous elections, lots of different ridings, but what got TV airplay, newsprint...that Chris Farley look alike. Of course the people of tinytown are going to think Toronto is full of gangs, violence and apparently anybody can run for government. Second, when these GTAers go on vacation, they say they're from Toronto. When they go to Vancouver and complain that the Leaf game should be on, or Moncton and start every sentence with, "well, in Toronto", they give the good people of T-DOT a bad rap. I mean look at this blog, I don't live in Toronto anymore, but I feel entitled to voice my opinion. I'm the asshole I just warned you about!!
But the truth is I still feel more like a Torontonian then a suburbanite. Sure it's been a few years. Sometimes I drive past my old place, see the neighborhood. Please remember that actual Torontonians are too self-centered to be the person you think is being rude to you. If you visit, ask for directions and people ignore you, it's because they're from Mississauga and they don't know their way either. A Torontonian wouldn't ignore you, they just would lift their head in time to realize you're talking to them...iphone bitches!
Saturday, February 5, 2011
February Stars
February...
The dreary, dank, denouement to another dim winter. The sun rises after seven every morning, gives us the middle finger and immediately heads for cover. At three in the afternoon the daylight is gone, the windchill is at some astronomical negative number, and I'm digging out our Christmas tree that has been buried under a snow bank since the 27th of December. The truck is covered with salt and dirt stains and the inside looks as though someone has taken a stank, diaper-filled garbage bag and emptied it into every crevasse. The floor mats are stained and discoloured, not to mention soaking wet. The kids have dropped every piece of food and drink they've had, which has now frozen to whatever part of the interior it's touching. Do I chip it off and leave remnants of an organic substance that will defrost sometime in March and funk up the inside, or do wait until it starts to thaw....wait I just stepped on a frozen banana end and now it's mashed into the sole of my boot.
The stairs are a death trap half frozen, half salted, all slippery. The little guy has just grabbed a solid piece of snow and rammed it into his mouth only to discover that grime\salt mix tastes awful. He collapses in green bin, which is also a solid mass, so they haven't picked it up in weeks. Off to the side of porch are last years toys, rakes, and coolers that are now cemented in blocks of ice. By the time I get inside, I'm annoyed at how many things of ours are ruined. I shake my boots at the door in the puddle that is our foyer. There are jackets, mitts, scarves, gloves, toques, snow pants, and hoodies spread almost as far as you can see. For the four of us to leave the house it takes roughly an hour! The closet is rammed with extra jackets, and hoodies, at least the stuff that hasn't been raided Barry Manilow. Of course after you get your boots\shoes off, it is inevitable that you step in a pool of freezing water, because there is so much of it that it's impossible to jump across. So you take off your socks, ball them up and add them to the ever growing pile at the bottom of the stairs. The damp, stale smelling mound is seeping into the carpet, which would bother you if the youngest hadn't already coloured a large patch in his sister's room purple. He's been couped up, it's hard to blame him.
Just pass the stairs, is a quick adjustment to the thermostat. After all it feels hot because you just took off 19 layers off clothes. The folded towels and shirts occupy the dinning room table, and dirty dishes fill the sink. It's too early to start drinking...or is it, it does look like it's 5:00 even though it's just after ten in the morning. The clean living room is disaster zone fifteen minutes after the kids awake, the Wii is making noise, and the XBOX has been on all night and now hums moderately. Shane's Facebook status brags about being able to run around the seawall. What a dick, he knows what it's like out here. For some reason I'm personally offended. Alex has placed most his HotWheels cars into the cut out of my good guitar, but has left the broken one untouched. The light burns out after flickering for three days. I scramble to read the numbers of the lotto tickets I found with hopes of a luau. No luck. I shoulda bought two Tim Hortons, I know I'll drink it. I guess I could clean the car, but it's too cold to wash it. I could clean my room, but It'll just get dirty, and I don't want to. I'd play Mario Cart, but getting my ass handed to me by a 6yr old is starting to really frustrate me. She sucks at hockey mind you. Alex says "EA SPORTS" but he can't say Mommy...I'm a bad parent, and apparently play too much hockey. When you live in Ontario, you have to play as the Leafs if you want them to win. A box of Fruit Loops just hit the floor with the pit-a-pat-a of tiny "O's" scattering under every appliance in the kitchen. I give half to Alex, and throw the rest into a bowl for myself. Elizabeth ate Tim Bits for breakfast again...
22 days to go
The dreary, dank, denouement to another dim winter. The sun rises after seven every morning, gives us the middle finger and immediately heads for cover. At three in the afternoon the daylight is gone, the windchill is at some astronomical negative number, and I'm digging out our Christmas tree that has been buried under a snow bank since the 27th of December. The truck is covered with salt and dirt stains and the inside looks as though someone has taken a stank, diaper-filled garbage bag and emptied it into every crevasse. The floor mats are stained and discoloured, not to mention soaking wet. The kids have dropped every piece of food and drink they've had, which has now frozen to whatever part of the interior it's touching. Do I chip it off and leave remnants of an organic substance that will defrost sometime in March and funk up the inside, or do wait until it starts to thaw....wait I just stepped on a frozen banana end and now it's mashed into the sole of my boot.
The stairs are a death trap half frozen, half salted, all slippery. The little guy has just grabbed a solid piece of snow and rammed it into his mouth only to discover that grime\salt mix tastes awful. He collapses in green bin, which is also a solid mass, so they haven't picked it up in weeks. Off to the side of porch are last years toys, rakes, and coolers that are now cemented in blocks of ice. By the time I get inside, I'm annoyed at how many things of ours are ruined. I shake my boots at the door in the puddle that is our foyer. There are jackets, mitts, scarves, gloves, toques, snow pants, and hoodies spread almost as far as you can see. For the four of us to leave the house it takes roughly an hour! The closet is rammed with extra jackets, and hoodies, at least the stuff that hasn't been raided Barry Manilow. Of course after you get your boots\shoes off, it is inevitable that you step in a pool of freezing water, because there is so much of it that it's impossible to jump across. So you take off your socks, ball them up and add them to the ever growing pile at the bottom of the stairs. The damp, stale smelling mound is seeping into the carpet, which would bother you if the youngest hadn't already coloured a large patch in his sister's room purple. He's been couped up, it's hard to blame him.
Just pass the stairs, is a quick adjustment to the thermostat. After all it feels hot because you just took off 19 layers off clothes. The folded towels and shirts occupy the dinning room table, and dirty dishes fill the sink. It's too early to start drinking...or is it, it does look like it's 5:00 even though it's just after ten in the morning. The clean living room is disaster zone fifteen minutes after the kids awake, the Wii is making noise, and the XBOX has been on all night and now hums moderately. Shane's Facebook status brags about being able to run around the seawall. What a dick, he knows what it's like out here. For some reason I'm personally offended. Alex has placed most his HotWheels cars into the cut out of my good guitar, but has left the broken one untouched. The light burns out after flickering for three days. I scramble to read the numbers of the lotto tickets I found with hopes of a luau. No luck. I shoulda bought two Tim Hortons, I know I'll drink it. I guess I could clean the car, but it's too cold to wash it. I could clean my room, but It'll just get dirty, and I don't want to. I'd play Mario Cart, but getting my ass handed to me by a 6yr old is starting to really frustrate me. She sucks at hockey mind you. Alex says "EA SPORTS" but he can't say Mommy...I'm a bad parent, and apparently play too much hockey. When you live in Ontario, you have to play as the Leafs if you want them to win. A box of Fruit Loops just hit the floor with the pit-a-pat-a of tiny "O's" scattering under every appliance in the kitchen. I give half to Alex, and throw the rest into a bowl for myself. Elizabeth ate Tim Bits for breakfast again...
22 days to go
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The past few weeks the little dude and I have been watching a significant amount of Dora the Explorer and her cousin Diego! As an adult the repetition forces me to sees deeper into the characters of children's cartoons. His favorite is an hour episode of Dora is based off the Christmas Carol story from Dickens. It's exactly what you think it is...Swiper steals the star, they have a dancing cape and travel through time until that kleptomaniac learns his lesson. But why would she want to help this bastard? After all the shit he steals, and throws away for no reason? He's probably a drunk. The iguana is an idiot, and the big Red Chicken is retarded. Diego's best friend is jaguar. In comparison, maybe Swiper isn't that bad. I guess he does have some honorable qualities, after all, to stop him you only have to Beatlejuice his mantra three times. Peruvians are weird!
Okay...I'm having trouble writing. After last weeks bomb shell I haven't been able to get out of my own head. For anyone that pretends to know me, knows this can be bad. Inside this twisted brain of mine are several multiple personalities. Some are smart, some funny, some evil, others just plain rude. I find myself hiding from the world, the eyes, and inevitable "are you okay" I am....and I'm not.
I've never been a huge "everything happens for a reason" guy. I find it an empty promise. Like when your car breaks down, then you get fired, and some asshole says everything happens in threes. Does it? or when some old prick says, remember what the bible says....yeah that should apply to me losing my house on betting on the Maple Leafs to make the playoffs. Sometimes you can't help but start to string coincidences together, and I suppose that it helps a certain healing process as well. Over the past few weeks I had been working on a new script project but I found some holes that I couldn't fill. I usually mull over an idea for a few months before I even start, but I had an outline that I liked and went with it. An important part of the plot surrounded a death of a characters father(I'd give you more, but I still hope to get this made and force you all to pay to see it!!) I had put in my notes that he didn't know much about his father, and learned more about the man after he passed. Weird
I suppose the situation has, at minimum, given me a new perspective. On writing, on family, on being a Dad. Isn't that what we all look for in a parent? Or am I creating that scenario because I didn't actually know James, and this creates a character that I'd hoped for in myself, and the other two father figures?
Either way I'm trying to embrace the moment with as little self-pity as possible. Seizing the day through a 10 year scotch breathe.
My kids could easily play Dora and Diego in the live action movie....I wonder if that backpack has booze in it?
Okay...I'm having trouble writing. After last weeks bomb shell I haven't been able to get out of my own head. For anyone that pretends to know me, knows this can be bad. Inside this twisted brain of mine are several multiple personalities. Some are smart, some funny, some evil, others just plain rude. I find myself hiding from the world, the eyes, and inevitable "are you okay" I am....and I'm not.
I've never been a huge "everything happens for a reason" guy. I find it an empty promise. Like when your car breaks down, then you get fired, and some asshole says everything happens in threes. Does it? or when some old prick says, remember what the bible says....yeah that should apply to me losing my house on betting on the Maple Leafs to make the playoffs. Sometimes you can't help but start to string coincidences together, and I suppose that it helps a certain healing process as well. Over the past few weeks I had been working on a new script project but I found some holes that I couldn't fill. I usually mull over an idea for a few months before I even start, but I had an outline that I liked and went with it. An important part of the plot surrounded a death of a characters father(I'd give you more, but I still hope to get this made and force you all to pay to see it!!) I had put in my notes that he didn't know much about his father, and learned more about the man after he passed. Weird
I suppose the situation has, at minimum, given me a new perspective. On writing, on family, on being a Dad. Isn't that what we all look for in a parent? Or am I creating that scenario because I didn't actually know James, and this creates a character that I'd hoped for in myself, and the other two father figures?
Either way I'm trying to embrace the moment with as little self-pity as possible. Seizing the day through a 10 year scotch breathe.
My kids could easily play Dora and Diego in the live action movie....I wonder if that backpack has booze in it?
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