Monday, August 06, 2007

FWG's journey to the sea

Alright, so it's not really a sea. Just a lake. Lake Ontario. But it's about 20,000 square kilometers at the surface with remote shorelines well hidden by the earth's curvature. So from a beachfront perspective it might as well be the ocean for all appearances.

And, okay, the journey was really only a twenty minute car-ride through Mississauga, from Streetsville to Port Credit.

Church of 10,000 Egyptians

- Or something like that. Biggest damn house of worship I ever seen - by surface area anyway. Granted there's some pretty voluminous cathedrals out there. Five towers in this place.

Accidental crotch shot

Oops. Sorry about that. I'm forever hitting the trigger of my shigital camera by mistake. (Shigital is short for shitty little digital).


That's what the red-orange sign says. And good thing because I would have otherwise tried to drive right through the massive barrier assuming it an optical illusion that would vanish upon contact. Thank goodness for the sign.

See the cranes in the distance? I passed at least ten new high-rise buildings under construction. Ten minimum. Our little burg is growing, people. Soon we'll have to put a stop light on the corner and elect a sheriff.

This is St. Lawrence Park

Strangely I've never glimpsed a Mississauga shoreline until this day.

Lots of cement

And lots of trees for shade and park benches too yet never the two seem too meet. Ah! But here's a gazebo offering shade and a bench. Excellent. Oh, and poop too. All the poop you could ever possibly desire. The faux miniature loft above is a haven for pigeons and their poopage.

The Poop Deck

I hate pigeons. Oh, I really do. They used to infest the balcony of my prior apartment. They shit all over my furniture daily and grew ever more bold until the only way to shoo them away was too strike them with a broom (soft bristles - no harm - relax). But I confess, I'd have gleefully shot them with bullets had I the hardware. One particularly dense invader took a broom-whackin' then flew right back to me to perch on the railing again. I know he was a returnee because I spied the dust bunnies clinging to his feathers just before I belted him outta the park a second time.


Also known as a shit hawk among other unsavory monikers. That other breed of flying pig-rat that can't be ushered toward extinction fast enough.

The sky is mostly clear. A delightful breeze passes through the gazebo. I get some good writing in. Carved a strong second draft of the press release for the musician/entrepreneur whom my association with continues to burgeon. And I kicked out a heroic adventure poem. Bard song or what not. A tale of a cursed sword that brings down a Dwarvish king, proposing origin for the Dwarvish subsequent preference for the axe.

A family of three drifts into my haven.

"We should have brought the camera," says the dad. "Could've took some good pictures here."

"Pardon me," I said, proffering the shigital. "Take some pictures. I'll email them to you."

"Oh, no. I couldn't."

"Go ahead. I insist."

"No, really. That's okay."

The youth approached, slack-jawed, and extended a hand. I shook it. "Pleased to meet you," I said. He pulled away and pointed at my brief case.

"Oh, he's special needs," dad explained.

"That's cool," I said. "I have special needs too. I'm sure we all do in some form or another."

He nodded politely and they hurried away.

The morning coffees brought on the call of nature and the search for accommodation turned up The Harp Restaurant and Pub. This led to the testing out of the comfy bar stools, a gander at the menu and a food and beverage order.

These things just seem to happen to me. At least I chose a hearty salad and a low-calorie beer. Or two. At least I'm being responsible.

I was shaken up
though. I received an unmistakable message from the world beyond the grave. Or beyond the galaxy. One or the other. Or both - I don't know.

It came in the form of a slowly deteriorating image built of trails of beer foam residue in the mostly-empty glass. It's sort of a ghost or skull face but with antennas. An alien ghost skull or something. Not sure what it means.


Dr. Brainiac said...

Hmmm....that first shot is vaguely reminiscent of those silly Mega-Churches over in Dallas that the Baptists are so fond of.

Now, where'd I leave my xerqjjld?

Babs Gladhand said...

I think the alien ghost skull on your glass looks quite happy. Maybe a little too happy. He's either drunk or gleefully planning your demise.

Kathleen said...

I never think of Mississauga having a shoreline either. Looked beautiful, too.

When I lived in SF, I never saw any birds other than pigeons. It was pathetic. The last year or so I was there I finally saw a medium-sized (bigger than a sparrow) shiny black bird, on occasion. I never hated pigeons until they were all I saw.

Who the hell is coming up with the word verifications these days?? jhrwheqv

Fantasy Writer Guy said...

Oh great. That's all I need. Another alien entity plotting my demise. Where does it end?

Why won't they all ogyway?