Monday, May 31, 2004
Buy Me Some Penis N' Crackerjack
William Hung is in the WRONG TOWN if he thinks he can come here and buy penis n' crackerjack. He and his handlers should know better than to come here and make a mockery of our loose by-laws regarding lap dances and pot-smoking.
William Hung is in the WRONG TOWN if he thinks he can come here and buy penis n' crackerjack. He and his handlers should know better than to come here and make a mockery of our loose by-laws regarding lap dances and pot-smoking.
First Rugby Game
I played in a real game on the weekend. I got to the field and warmed up with everyone. I suited up. I wore the sub number 16. The plan was that I would watch the first half and then play in the second half. The coach thought I would last about 20 minutes.
Let me back up to say that I was SHOCKED and APPALLED to learn on Thursday that the game is two 40 minute halfs! Holy SHIDT! I figured it was , oh, I dunno, 3 periods of 15 minutes or two halfs of 30 minutes or some damn thing, not 80 MINUTES! Also distressing is the fact that the players stay on the field for the whole game, for the most part. No line changes. Few subs. Man-oh-man, I would probably not have joined if I knew that back at that party when I got drunk, met Alison and joined the team.
Anyhoo... during the first half I ran along the sidelines and watched the play closely. I brought water. Then at the half I joined the game. I ran around and chased the play. I was in two scrums (I play #3, prop, first row of the scrum, tighthead), a couple of rucks, was responsible for 1 tackle, gave some support, and then oops, someone passed me the ball. Instead of making contact I passed it to our hooker and got tackled. My right knee seemed to over-extend and it made a funky popping sound. And then I had to be helped off the field. Then I iced my leg and limped around. We lost 20-15. I played about 10 minutes. It was the most exciting 10 minutes of my life.
I continued to walk on my sore knee and do all the normal weekend things I like to do, except that on Sunday I stayed in bed and iced my knee until about 11am. I watched most of Coronation Street and then some of the Fox rugby highlights.
I played in a real game on the weekend. I got to the field and warmed up with everyone. I suited up. I wore the sub number 16. The plan was that I would watch the first half and then play in the second half. The coach thought I would last about 20 minutes.
Let me back up to say that I was SHOCKED and APPALLED to learn on Thursday that the game is two 40 minute halfs! Holy SHIDT! I figured it was , oh, I dunno, 3 periods of 15 minutes or two halfs of 30 minutes or some damn thing, not 80 MINUTES! Also distressing is the fact that the players stay on the field for the whole game, for the most part. No line changes. Few subs. Man-oh-man, I would probably not have joined if I knew that back at that party when I got drunk, met Alison and joined the team.
Anyhoo... during the first half I ran along the sidelines and watched the play closely. I brought water. Then at the half I joined the game. I ran around and chased the play. I was in two scrums (I play #3, prop, first row of the scrum, tighthead), a couple of rucks, was responsible for 1 tackle, gave some support, and then oops, someone passed me the ball. Instead of making contact I passed it to our hooker and got tackled. My right knee seemed to over-extend and it made a funky popping sound. And then I had to be helped off the field. Then I iced my leg and limped around. We lost 20-15. I played about 10 minutes. It was the most exciting 10 minutes of my life.
I continued to walk on my sore knee and do all the normal weekend things I like to do, except that on Sunday I stayed in bed and iced my knee until about 11am. I watched most of Coronation Street and then some of the Fox rugby highlights.
Who Are The People In Your Neighbourhood?
Just a few of the street folks I see with regularity. First there's Wavey Lady. She's about 5' 5", long greasy blond hair, usually wears a long black leather coat, smells a little of pee, extremely weathered-looking tanned face, always walking, slightly stooped, and constantly waving a hand in front of her face. She cannot be a day over 35 however, she looks about 55. She's out everyday in all weather. I see her near my home and near my work (midtown) and downtown. Basically, I've seen her all over town, in about a 10 mile radius. Sometimes I see her twice in one day but many many miles apart. Then there's Diva Man. Diva Man is the tall, super-thin black cross-dresser. He stalks around Dundas and Parliament or Sherbourne in a red satin dress and heels and his afro pinned up on one side. He's all tilted when he walks. He often shakes his finger at you and says "You don't know NUTH-in', YOU don't know NUTH-in...". You can tell up close that he's pretty young too, probably in his 30's. Then there's a girl I see everyday with her dog. They sit outside an abandoned Beer Store at Yonge and Hayden Streets. She wears a green jacket and sits in a sleeping bag and her dog sits beside her perfectly motionless. The girl constantly has her hand out and says "Spare some change, have a nice day." By her accent, the girl sounds like she might be from Atlantic Canada, but of course I'm not sure. Then there's the Yorkville Vietnam Vet. He is an older guy, looks Vietnam-vetty in that Born on the Fourth of July, lieutenant Dan sort of way. He wears fatigues and has a cardboard sign that says he's a vet. Once I was drunk and gave him $20. He's well-spoken but doesn't want to talk about Vietnam. One of my favourite people that I see everyday is The Rat Man. He's this guy who is stationed on the east side of Osgoode Hall on Queen Street, to the left of the City Hall green P parking. He's got a sandwich board-type of sign that says he's homeless and looking for work. He also has about 5 or 6 gym bags hung on the Osgoode Hall fence that hold the cages for his rats. On nice days his rats perch on his right arm and he reads and smokes with his left hand. His rats really love him you can tell.
Just a few of the street folks I see with regularity. First there's Wavey Lady. She's about 5' 5", long greasy blond hair, usually wears a long black leather coat, smells a little of pee, extremely weathered-looking tanned face, always walking, slightly stooped, and constantly waving a hand in front of her face. She cannot be a day over 35 however, she looks about 55. She's out everyday in all weather. I see her near my home and near my work (midtown) and downtown. Basically, I've seen her all over town, in about a 10 mile radius. Sometimes I see her twice in one day but many many miles apart. Then there's Diva Man. Diva Man is the tall, super-thin black cross-dresser. He stalks around Dundas and Parliament or Sherbourne in a red satin dress and heels and his afro pinned up on one side. He's all tilted when he walks. He often shakes his finger at you and says "You don't know NUTH-in', YOU don't know NUTH-in...". You can tell up close that he's pretty young too, probably in his 30's. Then there's a girl I see everyday with her dog. They sit outside an abandoned Beer Store at Yonge and Hayden Streets. She wears a green jacket and sits in a sleeping bag and her dog sits beside her perfectly motionless. The girl constantly has her hand out and says "Spare some change, have a nice day." By her accent, the girl sounds like she might be from Atlantic Canada, but of course I'm not sure. Then there's the Yorkville Vietnam Vet. He is an older guy, looks Vietnam-vetty in that Born on the Fourth of July, lieutenant Dan sort of way. He wears fatigues and has a cardboard sign that says he's a vet. Once I was drunk and gave him $20. He's well-spoken but doesn't want to talk about Vietnam. One of my favourite people that I see everyday is The Rat Man. He's this guy who is stationed on the east side of Osgoode Hall on Queen Street, to the left of the City Hall green P parking. He's got a sandwich board-type of sign that says he's homeless and looking for work. He also has about 5 or 6 gym bags hung on the Osgoode Hall fence that hold the cages for his rats. On nice days his rats perch on his right arm and he reads and smokes with his left hand. His rats really love him you can tell.
Friday, May 28, 2004
Child Transportation
My childhood nemesis Campbell Thompson had a Big Wheel. Lots of boys had them, and sometimes girls did too if it was passed down or discarded by an older brother. Sometimes I got to drive Campbell's Big Wheel. While not the fastest ride around, it sure was the noisiest. The plastic wheel would just get chewed up by the sidewalk pavement and make a hellish noise, up and down the street, all day long. And there was some kind of "brake" lever that allowed you to spin out, maybe in front of your lady's house, or the corner store. Man, I remember getting on that thing, being so low to the ground, and having to strain and pump my legs around like mad just to get some traction to get moving. Cool.
My childhood nemesis Campbell Thompson had a Big Wheel. Lots of boys had them, and sometimes girls did too if it was passed down or discarded by an older brother. Sometimes I got to drive Campbell's Big Wheel. While not the fastest ride around, it sure was the noisiest. The plastic wheel would just get chewed up by the sidewalk pavement and make a hellish noise, up and down the street, all day long. And there was some kind of "brake" lever that allowed you to spin out, maybe in front of your lady's house, or the corner store. Man, I remember getting on that thing, being so low to the ground, and having to strain and pump my legs around like mad just to get some traction to get moving. Cool.
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Phish Breaks Up
Dear losers, Phish broke up. Maybe they will have a 2-year long farewell tour like Cher. Maybe not. Either way, I think it has something to do with Rupert's incessant tye-dye t-shirt wearing on two seasons of Survivor. RRRUUUAAHH! His tye-dye, and thus the band Phish, made him very strong indeed. Pass that bong.
Dear losers, Phish broke up. Maybe they will have a 2-year long farewell tour like Cher. Maybe not. Either way, I think it has something to do with Rupert's incessant tye-dye t-shirt wearing on two seasons of Survivor. RRRUUUAAHH! His tye-dye, and thus the band Phish, made him very strong indeed. Pass that bong.
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
The Moon is Full of Roses
When I started grade 12 at St. Joseph's Wellesley I would walk by a sort of vacant lot / parking lot space near St. Nicholas Street just east of the Sutton Place Hotel. Someone spray-painted "The Moon is Full of Roses" in huge plain red letters along the short brick wall separating this little anarchic square from its more dignified neighbour to the west. I don't know what it means and I can't find a reference to it. Is it a Morrisey lyric as someone once speculated? Or just some random poetry? I wish I knew.
When I started grade 12 at St. Joseph's Wellesley I would walk by a sort of vacant lot / parking lot space near St. Nicholas Street just east of the Sutton Place Hotel. Someone spray-painted "The Moon is Full of Roses" in huge plain red letters along the short brick wall separating this little anarchic square from its more dignified neighbour to the west. I don't know what it means and I can't find a reference to it. Is it a Morrisey lyric as someone once speculated? Or just some random poetry? I wish I knew.
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
When I Grow Up
These are the things I wanted to be at various stages in my life.
Artist. This is was earliest recollection of an answer to the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I think this was because I LOVED to draw and paint and my mom used to keep me well-stocked in artist supplies. I was also quite fond of crayons, construction paper, glue, sharp scissors not baby scissors, and paint by number kits. I also used to rug hook and knit as a little kid!
Comedian. At the very bad private school I went to (St. Clement's) the grade 5 class did a session on percentages and the exercise was to create a survey and present the results. Of the 5 choices offered by someone's survey, one was "comedian" and I thought that was the best, so I got on that kick for a while.
Actress. Back in the 70's girl-actors were called actresses! Back in the day, maybe grade 4 or 5 St. Clement's put on some elaborate musical "The Emperor's New Clothes" and I was cast as the creepy dude who fools the vain king into buying an invisible suit of "clothes". This was definitely a character-driven role and not based on looks (except for the fact that I had boyish, short hair), although the ability to sing was necessary. Later I would actually star in every camp musical I ever auditioned for. Let's see... Finian's Rainbow, Oliver, The Sound of Music, Free To Be You and Me, The Wizard of Oz, From Anna, Annie, help me out here people, I can't remember them all.
Nurse or possibly Doctor. I was always facinated by the fact that growing up, every time some kid fell off his bike or got stung by a bee in our neighbourhood they would come knocking on our side door to get attended to by my mom. I think maybe their parents weren't home or maybe their parents WERE home and they just sent the injured kids over. She was good and I learned a lot from her, like finding out what happened, the importance of engaging the patient, observing their "pallor", putting pressure on anything that's bleeding, ice on anything that's swelling, elevate, rest, calm down. And then in health, phys ed, science and later biology I was a total freak about anything to do with human anatomy, blood, organs, osmosis, Krebs cycle. I was into all of it. But I was talked out of it by both my mom and my guidance counsellor. My mom was frantic that I would go into nursing and "waste my mind" cleaning up adult diapers and dealing with disrespectful doctors for bad money, but my grades were never good enough anyway. Maybe if I had gotten the hang of studying... And why a nurse over a doctor? I don't know, it always just appealed to me more because you're more on the ground level of helping and service. And more nurses in my life have impressed me as people, but that's not true for doctors.
Journalist. When I announced to my assembled family one Thanksgiving after my dad had died that I wanted to be a journalist in war-torn countries everyone laughed. Fuck! It bugged me then and it bugs me now! Did anyone have a fucking clue how hard it is for kids to decide what to do with their lives and even be excited about something? Adults -- good at CRUSHING THE DREAMS OF CHILDREN. Thanks, family! But, despite writing op ed pieces for high school and uni newspapers, I was never really into it that much anyway. After graduation I applied to journalism at Ryerson but I messed up my interview so badly it was a relief to both the interviewer (respected professor emeritus Don Obe) and me when the process was over. It was THAT painful.
Some Kind of Writer. Please take into account that I'm: bad at research, non-methodical, prone to using silly adverbs (truly!), only a fair speller, mediocre at grammar, bad at getting to the point, not proficient at getting across a point, a bit of a procrastinator, only moderately funny, weak at forming strong opinions, etc. Still, I like to write.
Firefighter. Advanced through several stages but was finally rejected from the applicant pool due to poor eyesight. I've since had laser eye surgery.
Cop. Got the forms but never did anything with them. Fantasized about being a detective rather than a beat cop sweating it out in a bullet-proof vest everyday.
Lawyer. I think writing briefs is cool. In my only "case" which involved becoming my brother's trustee I did a lot of work for the lawyer in order to save the family money. I liked considering all the points and composing the various statements. I love dealing with facts and telling a story. However, defending bad people? Not so much. Defending anyone...? Maybe not. I'm a MUCH better public speaker now than I used to be. I'm better at collecting my thoughts and I've always been kick ass in an argument. However, I did not do well enough on my LSATs to get into any law schools.
These are the things I wanted to be at various stages in my life.
Artist. This is was earliest recollection of an answer to the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I think this was because I LOVED to draw and paint and my mom used to keep me well-stocked in artist supplies. I was also quite fond of crayons, construction paper, glue, sharp scissors not baby scissors, and paint by number kits. I also used to rug hook and knit as a little kid!
Comedian. At the very bad private school I went to (St. Clement's) the grade 5 class did a session on percentages and the exercise was to create a survey and present the results. Of the 5 choices offered by someone's survey, one was "comedian" and I thought that was the best, so I got on that kick for a while.
Actress. Back in the 70's girl-actors were called actresses! Back in the day, maybe grade 4 or 5 St. Clement's put on some elaborate musical "The Emperor's New Clothes" and I was cast as the creepy dude who fools the vain king into buying an invisible suit of "clothes". This was definitely a character-driven role and not based on looks (except for the fact that I had boyish, short hair), although the ability to sing was necessary. Later I would actually star in every camp musical I ever auditioned for. Let's see... Finian's Rainbow, Oliver, The Sound of Music, Free To Be You and Me, The Wizard of Oz, From Anna, Annie, help me out here people, I can't remember them all.
Nurse or possibly Doctor. I was always facinated by the fact that growing up, every time some kid fell off his bike or got stung by a bee in our neighbourhood they would come knocking on our side door to get attended to by my mom. I think maybe their parents weren't home or maybe their parents WERE home and they just sent the injured kids over. She was good and I learned a lot from her, like finding out what happened, the importance of engaging the patient, observing their "pallor", putting pressure on anything that's bleeding, ice on anything that's swelling, elevate, rest, calm down. And then in health, phys ed, science and later biology I was a total freak about anything to do with human anatomy, blood, organs, osmosis, Krebs cycle. I was into all of it. But I was talked out of it by both my mom and my guidance counsellor. My mom was frantic that I would go into nursing and "waste my mind" cleaning up adult diapers and dealing with disrespectful doctors for bad money, but my grades were never good enough anyway. Maybe if I had gotten the hang of studying... And why a nurse over a doctor? I don't know, it always just appealed to me more because you're more on the ground level of helping and service. And more nurses in my life have impressed me as people, but that's not true for doctors.
Journalist. When I announced to my assembled family one Thanksgiving after my dad had died that I wanted to be a journalist in war-torn countries everyone laughed. Fuck! It bugged me then and it bugs me now! Did anyone have a fucking clue how hard it is for kids to decide what to do with their lives and even be excited about something? Adults -- good at CRUSHING THE DREAMS OF CHILDREN. Thanks, family! But, despite writing op ed pieces for high school and uni newspapers, I was never really into it that much anyway. After graduation I applied to journalism at Ryerson but I messed up my interview so badly it was a relief to both the interviewer (respected professor emeritus Don Obe) and me when the process was over. It was THAT painful.
Some Kind of Writer. Please take into account that I'm: bad at research, non-methodical, prone to using silly adverbs (truly!), only a fair speller, mediocre at grammar, bad at getting to the point, not proficient at getting across a point, a bit of a procrastinator, only moderately funny, weak at forming strong opinions, etc. Still, I like to write.
Firefighter. Advanced through several stages but was finally rejected from the applicant pool due to poor eyesight. I've since had laser eye surgery.
Cop. Got the forms but never did anything with them. Fantasized about being a detective rather than a beat cop sweating it out in a bullet-proof vest everyday.
Lawyer. I think writing briefs is cool. In my only "case" which involved becoming my brother's trustee I did a lot of work for the lawyer in order to save the family money. I liked considering all the points and composing the various statements. I love dealing with facts and telling a story. However, defending bad people? Not so much. Defending anyone...? Maybe not. I'm a MUCH better public speaker now than I used to be. I'm better at collecting my thoughts and I've always been kick ass in an argument. However, I did not do well enough on my LSATs to get into any law schools.
Friday, May 14, 2004
Remember When You Were a Star?
Remember when you were a star flying around the neighbourhood on your no-speed bicycle inherited from someone who once lived at your house but then moved on. The blue bike was left, probably by one of your much-older cousins from the near north who needed a place to stay in the big city... Remember how your older cooler next-door-neighbour Marilyn Wallace taught you how to ride that bike in one afternoon? After a few tries you finally got it and as you wobbled on up the street on a two-wheeler for the first time Marilyn casually turned and walked off into her own house, not even bothering to see if you could manage the brakes or get off by yourself. For the first little while your patented dismount method was to crash lightly into someone's cushy front lawn. But then you got bolder doing no-hands and poppawheelies, racing with your friends, or riding around the laneways alone in the evening because no one could play with you. Remember when you were a star?
Remember when as a star you followed Kelly and Campbell on your bike down the steep hill at Glenview and suddenly the peddles were flying around too fast and you couldn't brace your feet on them and you just smashed face-first into the handrail on the hill and your mouth was too full of blood you couldn't even scream? The only sound above the heavy buzz of cicadas was the sound of footfalls coming closer until they stopped and suddenly the strong arms of a stranger, a mere passerby are lifting you up as you choke and cough on your own blood and teeth. A man is prying your 7 year old body apart from your mangled bike and heaving you back up the hill and the front of his bowling shirt is stained with your blood and the only words he says are Mama Mia.
Your star is starting to blink out. Remember when he pulled your ear and asked you where you lived but all you wanted to do was sleep but he wouldn't let you. He ran with you carrying you all the way to your house and your mom answered the door and her face was like a silent scream when she saw you. And they put you in the back seat of the Ford LTD and they didn't even let you in the house. And they put tea towels filled with ice on your face and someone's old spring jacket under your head. And Kelly and Campbell ran all the way home to tell their mom and their mom drove the car to the hospital while your mom gripped your hand and looked down at you with a very white face.
Remember when the triage nurse put you all in a special room because everyone was staring. Everything below your nose was just a bloody great hole. They called in a dental surgeon to put the inside of your mouth back together and a different guy wired the jaws shut and a third guy sewed up your torn lips with black thread like whiskers and you watched the clock hands spin and spin. The little hand went around 5 times and the room was hot and the second doctor kept asking for glasses of water from a nurse. It was a very hot night, but eventually you got to go home and your mom put you to sleep in your dad's bed because he was away and she wanted to be near you and she had to give you morphine in the night.
And remember after spending several days in bed and only eating soup (even though it was hot outside) how your dad came home and asked you what happened and wanted you to explain everything even though you couldn't really talk because your jaws were wired shut. And your nose was broken and had to be reset and your eyes were black and nobody wanted to look at you. And then your dad went off again and you started to go outside and play in the sunshine.
And the very saddest thing was Campbell's birthday pool party (June 1st) and all the kids looked at you with your crazy mouth and you had to eat a bowl of soup with a straw and everybody else was eating hotdogs and running around and screaming. So instead of crying you just tried to leave out the side door but the oldest sister saw you and by then you really were crying and you just wanted to go home so she said ok and put a Laura Secord chocolate bar in your hand. You couldn't eat it but you took it anyway.
And then your dad came home again from one of his work trips and bought everyone in the family new bicycles and even your mom got one -- a giant adult tricycle because she couldn't ride a bicycle and she also couldn't swim in water over her head. And eventually you got your jaw unwired and your stitches came out and your adult teeth came in totally crooked. And you rode your new bike and you felt like a star again.
Remember when you were a star flying around the neighbourhood on your no-speed bicycle inherited from someone who once lived at your house but then moved on. The blue bike was left, probably by one of your much-older cousins from the near north who needed a place to stay in the big city... Remember how your older cooler next-door-neighbour Marilyn Wallace taught you how to ride that bike in one afternoon? After a few tries you finally got it and as you wobbled on up the street on a two-wheeler for the first time Marilyn casually turned and walked off into her own house, not even bothering to see if you could manage the brakes or get off by yourself. For the first little while your patented dismount method was to crash lightly into someone's cushy front lawn. But then you got bolder doing no-hands and poppawheelies, racing with your friends, or riding around the laneways alone in the evening because no one could play with you. Remember when you were a star?
Remember when as a star you followed Kelly and Campbell on your bike down the steep hill at Glenview and suddenly the peddles were flying around too fast and you couldn't brace your feet on them and you just smashed face-first into the handrail on the hill and your mouth was too full of blood you couldn't even scream? The only sound above the heavy buzz of cicadas was the sound of footfalls coming closer until they stopped and suddenly the strong arms of a stranger, a mere passerby are lifting you up as you choke and cough on your own blood and teeth. A man is prying your 7 year old body apart from your mangled bike and heaving you back up the hill and the front of his bowling shirt is stained with your blood and the only words he says are Mama Mia.
Your star is starting to blink out. Remember when he pulled your ear and asked you where you lived but all you wanted to do was sleep but he wouldn't let you. He ran with you carrying you all the way to your house and your mom answered the door and her face was like a silent scream when she saw you. And they put you in the back seat of the Ford LTD and they didn't even let you in the house. And they put tea towels filled with ice on your face and someone's old spring jacket under your head. And Kelly and Campbell ran all the way home to tell their mom and their mom drove the car to the hospital while your mom gripped your hand and looked down at you with a very white face.
Remember when the triage nurse put you all in a special room because everyone was staring. Everything below your nose was just a bloody great hole. They called in a dental surgeon to put the inside of your mouth back together and a different guy wired the jaws shut and a third guy sewed up your torn lips with black thread like whiskers and you watched the clock hands spin and spin. The little hand went around 5 times and the room was hot and the second doctor kept asking for glasses of water from a nurse. It was a very hot night, but eventually you got to go home and your mom put you to sleep in your dad's bed because he was away and she wanted to be near you and she had to give you morphine in the night.
And remember after spending several days in bed and only eating soup (even though it was hot outside) how your dad came home and asked you what happened and wanted you to explain everything even though you couldn't really talk because your jaws were wired shut. And your nose was broken and had to be reset and your eyes were black and nobody wanted to look at you. And then your dad went off again and you started to go outside and play in the sunshine.
And the very saddest thing was Campbell's birthday pool party (June 1st) and all the kids looked at you with your crazy mouth and you had to eat a bowl of soup with a straw and everybody else was eating hotdogs and running around and screaming. So instead of crying you just tried to leave out the side door but the oldest sister saw you and by then you really were crying and you just wanted to go home so she said ok and put a Laura Secord chocolate bar in your hand. You couldn't eat it but you took it anyway.
And then your dad came home again from one of his work trips and bought everyone in the family new bicycles and even your mom got one -- a giant adult tricycle because she couldn't ride a bicycle and she also couldn't swim in water over her head. And eventually you got your jaw unwired and your stitches came out and your adult teeth came in totally crooked. And you rode your new bike and you felt like a star again.
