Not a typical hide-at-home Saturday morning

I managed to snooze for a couple or three hours with Seinfeld providing a soothing white noise. I have to go pick out a goofy tie, perhaps a tie clip, maybe even a ring. Have to give my hair and beard a trim, spiff up some goodish shoes, shower and brush. Lay on some Old Spice (or is that Olde?)

Pack a small briefcase with my relevant notebooks, crossword mag, wallet, keys, mask, pens.

Get dressed, and lumber outside and sit on my rollator walker seat for about 11:15AM to soak up some fresh air before the DARTS bus comes to pick me up.

Catch the train out of the harbour station. Transfer to local bus, exit a couple blocks from the church at about 2:25PM which gives me an hour to migrate the two blocks on foot to get to the 3:30PM wedding.

Remember Rockin' Roddie anyone? He's finally marrying his sweetheart after fifteen or twenty years of dating. Crazy kids.

Knowing Roddie there will be very decent red wine and scotch on hand so I plan to drink like an absolute boss monster and catch a morning train home again. I'll figure it out as I go. It'll be an adventure. I got $20 in the bank and another $25 in my Presto (transportation) account. I can't imagine anything going wrong.

Cheers

Day 1: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.

Biodad: I know what haunts you. But there are other ways to defeat your fears. The drinking days are over. Help is available. The choice is yours; to live or die.

Neo: I believe in you. Always.

Jerry: I'm sorry I hurt you - what - 25 years ago? Whether I was right about you or wrong, it never was my place to judge you.

Doctor Lock: Thank you for coaxing the music out of me. You have changed my life profoundly

Mateo Jordache: Get that beautiful #@*%">#@*%>!* album on the damn market before I lose my marbles. I want a copy NOW!

Skeeter: I have a good hunk of respect for you. Any time you want to talk about the dark stuff; I'm there.

Jeff L: I miss your amazing energy. We must get together. Been way too long.

Rockin' Roddie: Thank you for taking a chance on me. It was an amazing time for those six years. I learned a lot about the world and about myself.

Dave: Many compliments are useless to me but you gave me a very fine one indeed. It's good to know I can be an inspiration to friends because my friends certainly inspire me.

Tati: Miss you. I will find a day to come soon. But we should do more than tell stories. You must put me to work!

Where were you...

You know, whenever people say to me, "Where were you when you heard Kennedy was killed?", I have to say, "Sorry. I wasn't born yet. I wasn't even germinating in momma's tummy yet. I wasn't even a sparkle in some rapist's eye yet. I may posess the wisdom of a two-hundred year old guru, but I'm actually only forty. Kennedy departed six years before I came along."


[Editor's note: No one has ever asked FWG where he was when Kennedy was shot.]


But if Michael Jackson's death is the Kennedy of my generation -


[Editor's note: Not very likely. Half of FWG's friends are cheering, "The PED is DEAD!"]


- then I will not forget where I was. I was on Facebook chatting with Cap'n Vino. Here lies the transcript, forever immortalized:

FWG [is off duty ‘til Monday night!]

coincidence? obviously not.

Cap'n Vino [Wow, Farrah and MJ on the same day?]
I've never really been into it myself, but who am I to judge?

FWG
been into what?

Cap'n Vino
duty.
ok, I clearly did not get enough sleep.

FWG
I was talkin bout MJ and FF

Cap'n Vino
ok, now your comment makes more sense.
add Ed McMahon to the mix and there's your 3.

FWG
what about the leblanc guy?

Cap'n Vino
Patrick Swayze is wiping his brow, I'm sure.
who?

FWG
whatever

Cap'n Vino
matt leblanc? joey from friends?

FWG
no this guy was 81 and died yesterday and the newspaper ppl thought that was significant
and he was canadian

Cap'n Vino
oh, romeo

FWG
tada

Cap'n Vino
but he wasn't in entertainment, so apparently he doesn't count.

FWG
he probably watched TV
thats entertainment

Cap'n Vino
I don't know...a guy named romeo...he was probably more into reading shakespeare

FWG
u win

Cap'n Vino
excellent. it's all about winning

FWG
THIS JUST IN...
rod has emailed cottage response

Cap'n Vino
und?

FWG
he only has one vacation day left
what a loser

Cap'n Vino
and I guess he's not willing to take a leave of absence for the remaining 6 days?
you told him there'd be booze right?

FWG
friggin guy's back and forth between his office and Dallas office all the time
he should just tell each office he's at the other

Cap'n Vino
that works for me. he could go into town every couple of days and make a call. problem solved.

FWG
presto

Cap'n Vino
I'm growing basil...I could make that
oops...presto. never mind

FWG
I'm lost. what's the word I'm looking for?

Cap'n Vino
map?

FWG
something -esto

Cap'n Vino
manifesto

FWG
pesto?
thtz not it
is it?

Cap'n Vino
basil, olive oil, pine nuts? yep, pesto is it.

FWG
okay. dunno why it became so unfamiliar to me all of a sudden

Cap'n Vino
it's a funny word. I say we call it presto from now on.

FWG
I'm in.
and a one item pizza is called pepperonli

Cap'n Vino
I'm having a hard time saying that one and I'm nearly sober.

FWG
PEPPER... ONLY
CINCH
oops - cappslock stuck

Cap'n Vino
stop yelling at me!!!
I think the I at the end threw me off
if I were to have a one topping pizza, it would probably be mushrooms.
we could call it mushroomi

FWG
not in my house you wouldn't
but you're at the shop

Cap'n Vino
I am so

FWG
you are so

Cap'n Vino
what did you call me?!?

FWG
So.

Cap'n Vino
I see.
I'm sending off a message to my friend jeannine to see if they are available.

FWG
bravo

Cap'n Vino
I crack me up.

FWG
yeah, that word 'available'

Cap'n Vino
What are the chances that you guys have some vacation time available Aug. 29-Sept. 5? We've rented a cottage up north with our friend FWG. Stacey (our wedding photog, and Plonk's gay cousin's ex-wife) was due to come along but just bailed.So FWG and us decided to take turns asking people who would be fun to see if they are available. He got first dibs, but his person only has one day of vacation left. Our turn!You're my number one! (of course, if you guys can't make it, I'll be telling all my other picks that they were number one, but you seriously ARE my first pick.) It is such an awesome place. This is our 3rd year there. It's the only cottage on the lake. VERY PRIVATE. No hydro. Propane appliances and lights.Anyhooo, let me know if you guys are interested.ciao baby.
there...sent

FWG
Nice.
All your previous picks were busy, I guess.

Cap'n Vino
ya, pretty much.
I'm hooked on this damn bouncing balls game!

FWG
sounds painful

Cap'n Vino
it's not a real hook

FWG
ew

Cap'n Vino
I'm getting a hand cramp from playing so much

FWG
i think i've heard enough
did you guys ever meet my friends tim and aaron from Florida?

Cap'n Vino
yes, many years ago

FWG
they've talked about wanting to visit this summer. They may be my next proposal if Jeanine ixnays.

Cap'n Vino
sounds groovy

FWG
did u just say groovy?

Cap'n Vino
no, but I may have typed it

FWG
oh yes - there it is.

Cap'n Vino
yes, I've just browsed the transcripts. I did, in fact, type "groovy"

FWG
would you call the cottage wheel-chair accessible?

Cap'n Vino
well, there's a ramp to get in, but I'm not sure about door sizes and all that.
getting to the beach could be a chore too

FWG
acknowledged.

Cap'n Vino
why? who's in a wheelchair?

FWG
Frank of "Frank and Jeff"
awsone fellas
aw-SUM, I mean
hates me this keyboard

Cap'n Vino
tim & aaron already get the boot?

FWG
No. I'm already planning the next 88 rounds of picks

Cap'n Vino
good plan.

Cap'n Vino
won't you take me to funkytown?

FWG
in your dreams

Cap'n Vino
I love the 80 's lunch

FWG
oh

Cap'n Vino
bastard!

FWG
i wish you'd stop bringing that up

Cap'n Vino
I'll try...how about shithead?

FWG
no thanks. cutting down.

Cap'n Vino
peckerbreath?

FWG
i haven't had oral sex recently, if that's what you’re asking

Cap'n Vino
I wasn't, but thanks for the info

Cap'n Vino
hey

FWG
horses

Cap'n Vino
peter (of doug & peter) just signed a lease for the shop two doors down. He's opening a gluten-free bakery in September.

FWG
wowzers I say

Cap'n Vino
ya, I think doug's got some nervous diarrhea now.

FWG
[pushes lunch away]

Cap'n Vino
Mmm...lunch. I should have mine soon

FWG
please. take mine.
I'm gonna head outside. Enjoy the weather.

Cap'n Vino
I'm going to stay in and enjoy the a/c

FWG
Let me know what Jeanine and whozits has to say, buc

Cap'n Vino
have fun!

FWG
...karoo

Cap'n Vino
will do

FWG
later gator

Did you make it to the end? Sorry for doing that to you.

Tag

Claudia Supermom passed this tag along in open invitation style. Yes, I’m accepting the tag. And yes, I’ve previously behaved as if these tagging things are annoying and that I’m too good for that sort of thing and only participate when cornered. And yes, I’m now participating of my own volition. And yes, that makes me an arrogant hypocritical pompous ass. Just wanted to be clear on that.

The legislation:

1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share seven random and or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag seven random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

And now -- seven random (or weird) things about moi:

1. I hate the cartoon Charmin bears on the TV toilet paper commercials. The way they get all cutesy and shake their furry little asses at us. I won’t buy that damn product just because those commercials wig me the hell out. I assume these bears are only cutesy on TV and that in private they do horrid unspeakable things with each others feces. Sometimes I dream about them and wake up screaming.

2. I like Billy Bob Thornton. I like everything about him. I like his ugly toothy smile, his vulgar disposition. I like just saying his name. Billy Bob. Say it with me. Billy Bob. No, no. Say it like this, in one breath: Billibob. That’s right. Billibob! Fun, eh?

3. Christmas songs get on my last freaking nerve. Oh, they really do. Except for a very rare few that I really quite like. There are just enough to make one perfectly awesome Christmas album from them. I would pay dearly for such an album: If you make me this album I’ll love you madly forever and ever!

Happy Xmas/War is Over – John Lennon
I Saw Three Ships – Bruce Cockburn
Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24 – Trans-Siberian Orchestra
Pachelbel’s Canon
Do They Know It’s Christmas – Band Aid
I Believe in Father Christmas – Emerson, Lake and Palmer
Step into Christmas – Elton John
Last Christmas – Wham
Christmas (Please Come Home) – U2
Run Rudolph Run – Chuck Berry
Feliz Navidad – Jose Feliciano (Sorry, Babs!)
Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy – Bing Crosby/David Bowie

4. I flooded my YouTube favorites menu with videos of kids getting hit in the head by balls. Soccer balls, basketballs, footballs, tennis balls, baseballs, giant exercise balls… you name it. I just want someone to come across my favorites menu and think I must be some kind of freak. Which – you know – I probably am. ‘Cause I really split a gut watching kids getting beaned out of nowhere and falling on their ass. As long as they’re not seriously hurt, that is. I’m just a freak. Not a monster.

5. I am not a monster.

6. I’ve had five broken bones in my life but all below the ankle. Both heels (tennis accident – don’t ask), and three toes – two, being slashed playing ball hockey on separate occasions, and one upon kicking the door of a van that belonged to a complete a** hole who much later was charged with the murder of his wife. Yeah. True story. Told you he was an a** hole.

7. I have witnessed with my own very eyes the most hideous flower arrangement ever to grace the earth. I nearly fell over. It belongs to Rockin’ Roddie. He served me a fabulous meal last night and fabulous wine – a ’95 Wolf Blass Premium Selection Shiraz that was to die for, then pointed out the monstrosity and asked what I thought. I couldn’t lie. Mostly because I was speechless – as in – dumbfounded. I just gave him a horrified stare.

Apparently an acquaintance of his is in the business and donated this work of art to a charity, throwing in a pair of lamps. Roddie liked the lamps and dropped a couple hundred for them, assuming that the flowering antichrist was the throw-in. When the – ahem – artist learned that his masterpiece fetched less than $500 he was a tad put off. Oh well.

Roddie didn’t want me taking a photo of it, assuming it would end up on the blog and Google Images failed to produce anything remotely similar so I’ve recreated the image through a little rudimentary photoshopping. It’s very very close to the genuine article. Sincerely. Enjoy:

I hereby tag... You. Just you. That's right. I know you're reading this.

Whiling away at the Want-n-While... Monday

Plonk picked the perfect path for a hike. Here's Vino choosing the perfect walking stick from a very generous selection.




Arrived at a very impressive look-out station.

Had to snap some pictures of mushroom growth just to show Rockin' Roddie. He's the world's foremost mushroom photographer in case anyone didn't know that.

Much reading, writing and cigar-smoking all day with shaved ham, aged cheddar, veggies and fresh basil on a bun for lunch. And then another.

A rollicking Texas Hold'em poker contest ended in bizarre fashion as we tired of the endeavor one by one and adopted suicidal exit strategies.

Paulie-wog and Chili dog did the swim thing but could not convince the rest of us to join them despite Paulie's insistence that swimming was "What cottages are all about." Vino kept us mildly entertained singing, "Mini-wheats-wheats-wheats, la-la-la-la-la-la-la!" all day.

For supper: Thick pork chops in a complex curry rub, a very hearty Greek vegetable salad, oniony garlicky buttery baked potatoes, a 2000 Cab Franc and a 2001 Cab Merlot. Boy, this roughing-it business sure is a struggle!

Plonk placed in the pit a properly packed stack of logs providing an excellent campfire. One of his great many skills. We mourned the absence of marshmellows.
.

Dish Frog

Meet the Dish Frog. He's an orange wide-mouth frog with a big yellow tongue. Despite his modest stature he garners a fair amount of attention being orange and yellow in an otherwise somber environment. Rockin' Roddie gave him up for adoption along with a couple fine bottles of vino back at the Grotto of Cool house-swarming bash and Steve-o and I have since grown fond of him. So have many of our guests. But some, sadly, have not. And unbeknownst to them we pay careful attention to their reaction to Dish Frog.

You see, he is one of two Grotto of Cool guardians. While Cardboard Regis haunts the shadowy places - the closets; the shower; the other side of a closed door, Dish Frog rules the kitchen. And from his countertop perch he stares into souls with his black beady eyes.

Those who like Dish Frog are forever welcome at the Grotto and may move about freely within. But those who poo-poo Dish-Frog... Shall never be fully trusted here. They shall always be scrutinized.

FWG

Fun at the office

You ever see those pictures going around the internet of office cubicles redecorated as a welcome back from vacation gift? They've wrapped everything in tin foil or newspaper or covered everything in post-it-notes. In one case they planted some kind of seedlings in the keyboard and the plant-life emerged between the keys. In another they sealed the cubicle entrance with stretch-wrap and filled the cube with styrofoam nerds.

About a year ago my buddy Frank went to Spain for a couple weeks and on one of those days we had a massive server crash. Faced with the prospect of eight hours of thumb-twiddling, Rockin' Roddie and I came up with a worthy offline project. We bought 300 square feet of brown kraft paper and resurfaced ol' Frankie's entire office.

He has a big office. Besides what you can see in the photo above we papered his table and guest chairs, his file cabinet, stereo components and framed pictures. Even his dirty mug and drinking glass and his stacks of documents (separated into random wrapable-sized piles). It turned out 300 square feet wasn't enough. So much of it was done in newspaper instead.

He was back in the office for all of about five seconds before everyone squealed on Roddie and I. Bastards.

The sign on his monitor reads, by the way, "Welcome back from vacation, bitch." Nice touch, eh?

My boss just returned from a ten-day Florida vacation today. We've been too busy to spend a day wrapping all his belongings in newspaper as I'd suggested to the team. But it so happens that one of my clients is one of the leading chocolate bar manufacturers in the world. Thus Joe returned to find his desk burried in something a little more desirable than kraft paper...

Still cranky

By the afternoon the mood hadn’t improved much. I had a lunch date with Rockin’ Roddie. He proposed a new Indian food buffet restaurant he’d recently discovered. Surely this would be the cure.

“Sweet,” said I. “I loves Indian buffets.”

We arrive at the joint. Big place. Big parking lot. Only one other car. No problem. It’s early yet. Not quite twelve o’clock.

Something is wrong. Out of place. It takes me a moment to comprehend it. It’s a big sign that reads:

100% VEGETARIAN

??

“Um… Rod?”

“Hm?”

“What – what’s that?”

“Eh?”

“Rod.”

“What?”

“What’s with the sign?”

“What sign?”

“That doesn’t apply to us, does it?”

“Hm?”

“Tell me that doesn’t apply to us.”

“Oh – that sign?”

“Rod...”

“Um – surprise…”

“Are you fucking with me?”

“Just trust me, okay?”

“ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME!”

“Just give it a chance, okay?”

“I don’t believe this,” I’m whining. We’re out of the car. I’m following him across the parking lot. “I can’t believe this. After all we’ve been through.”

“It’s good, FWG. I promise.”

“Don’t do this, Rod.”

“It’s good. Trust me.”

“Have you ever seen me eating Indian food without meat? Ever?”

“Have you ever tried it?”

Silent pouting. We’re entering the building.

“I hope you’ve accomplished all you wanted to in this life, Roddie,” I hiss in his ear, “Cause you are this close to checking out. THIS CLOSE!”

“I know.”

I feel a small pang of guilt. I think he’s actually a little afraid at this point.

Inside, a very nice polite woman dressed in colourful sari invites us to choose any table. Oddly Rod chooses the one that is strangely centred out under some kind of gazebo-like architectural structure. This way we’ll be the centre of attention when I tire of the curried peas and go for his jugular. There’ll be plenty of witnesses to later finger his killer.

I wear a scowl as we approach the rather large buffet. Sari lady follows us. Roddie stops at the salad section and I pass on by, resisting the urge to give him the Gordie Howe elbow.

There’s a very large selection at the main counters. The first two items are labeled ‘Sweet Dish’ according to the post-it-note tacked overhead. I take a very small sampling of Pinkish Shreds o’ Mush and ignore the Bobbing For Testicles for now.

Note: There are no other labels at this buffet other than ‘Sweet Dish’ for these two items so I’ll have to make up my own names for all this stuff as we go along and I’m not even apologizing for it. So there.

I raise the plate to my face, trying to smell the Pinkish Mush Shreds.

“That is sweet dish,” says Sari lady, smiling kindly. I’m too miserable and/or stupid to realize just yet that sweet dish means dessert. Duh.

I give her a brief humorless smile in return.

Her finger moves back and forth between the Pink Mush and the Bobbing for Testicles. “Sweet dishes,” she says.

‘Can it, lady. I’m not in the mood’

I move on. The plan is to try small bits of everything remotely interesting – in the vain hope I will find one or two things enjoyable to which I’ll return for more.

I take a Patty of Blecch in a Yellow-Grey Bile Sauce and a couple Glumps What Could Resemble Chicken if you Squint in a Gooey Bright Red Sauce. Sari lady insists on staying close – presumably ready to assist in identifying what is a sweet dish and what is not. She keeps standing right in front of whatever item I’m keen to try next. I persevere. I sample a smattering of Reddish-Brown Goop #1 and a dollop of Reddish-Brown Goop #2. I take a samosa and Sari lady points out the samosa sauce which I dip into liberally. I finish off with a couple spongy spheroids in a light brown sauce – let’s call it – Sponge Ball Brown Pants.

Back at the table we’re given a pitcher of water and a basket of naan bread with baked-in garlic. Very nice.

The Blecch Patties, Mushy Pink Shreds and Reddish-Brown Goops #1 and #2 all heartily fail to impress.

However…

The Sponge Ball Square Pants resembles butter chicken but with balls of sponge instead of chicken. Between that, the samosa , the naan bread and the squint-chicken glumps I enjoy a very satisfactory second course and leave the restaurant very full, festively plump and kind toward Rockin’ Roddie once again.

All’s well that ends without a crucifixion.

FWG

Reviews Galore -- continued

Oh dear. I've dropped the ball, haven't I? Alright, I plead guilty to all of Mr. Dave's charges; angry man, caffiene intolerant, eye-tease. Whatever. Apologies to the kind people at Petro Canada. I don't know what came over me.

Fine. If you really want the gory details -- here are the rest of last weekend's befallings:


Saturday. 12 PM. Toronto

Drinks at the Duke of Argyle on John Street. They have both Guinness and Strongbow Cider on tap so of course I must take advantage of that and order them half-and-half - layered of course. A Black Velvet. They have a Guinness-sponsored digital calendar on the wall than counts down the time 'til St. Patrick's Day in days, hours, minutes and seconds. Brilliant! I must get me one of these.


1 PM.

Around the corner to the Princess of Whales Theatre. The curtain does not exactly rise to start the epic musical stage performance of Lord of the Rings. It begins rather cleverly with the party for Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday. A quorum of Hobbit party guests are already on stage amusing themselves as the audience makes their way into the theatre. The further accumulation of Hobbits and progression to the scripted party scene is gradual and seamless.

This is a four-hour performance including two intermissions but doesn't feel like it. They pack so much into it; it's a roller coaster ride. Think about it. The story is, in essence, seven books long (The Hobbit, plus three LOTR tomes containing two 'books' each). Peter Jackson's movies, combined, totaled around nine hours.

I won't spill particular details and risk ruining anything for anyone. I will say this. This must be the most ambitious stage performance ever attempted. I think 'attempt' is the key word. While I enjoyed the effort immensely, I'm not convinced they really pulled it off. The technological aspect was immense. The stage is a massive circular puzzle board divided into separately mobile rings and a radiating array of hydraulic sections that raise or lower independently allowing for almost any imaginable scenario of topography and movement. The lighting and other special effects were ingenious.

For instance - and I will be deliberately vague: The scene with Gandalf battling the giant demonic Balrog as they free-fall together down a massive abyss. They tackle this scene! Do they simply drop out the centre core of the stage and have the combatants dive in? No. They turn the entire theatre into a whirlwind and we all, the audience, go tumbling into the abyss along with Gandalf and the Balrog. Incredible.

The problem with such ambitiousness and such reliance on the technical is of course, that something is bound to go wrong. The actor's ability to improvise in the face of discord is perhaps the most fascinating aspect of live theatre. But when faced with uncooperative computerized lighting and stage gyrations combined with intense choreography, improvisation could be a recipe for injury and disaster. Perhaps all one can do is throw their arms in the air and flee the stage. Alas, this is what became of the great Battle of Helm's Deep scene - twice. They declined to reset the stage and lighting to the close of the previous scene and try again a third time. Instead an announcer came on, apologizing again, and he gave a brief dissertation of the scene that we would be missing. Now, this announcer's accent - and whether this is unfortunate or brilliant is debatable - was British. This is significant. A musical stage rendition of Lord of the Rings, with all it's mock-sword play and running about - already dances dangerously close to world of Monty-Python style satire. I think this was on the collective subconsciousness of the audience. For the response to the announcement was one of great laughter. Should Tolkien's masterpiece be reduced to a comedy? God forbid. Did we need an easing of tension after such a debacle with tickets a 3-digit investment? Probably.

As I said, this project is possibly too ambitious. Some of the scenes where the special effects were intense came across muddled - unclear.

The special effects - when working properly as they did for the other 3-and-a-half hours, were simply amazing. I applaud their ingenuity. Also to be applauded is Galadriel's enchanting voice and the singing and dancing of the Hobbits. The marvelous thing about this 'musical' is that the music doesn't pervert the story - the reason I generally hate musicals. This isn't rival gangs with knives in the streets of New York singing and dancing with each other as in West Side Story. All the singing and dancing in this performance happens at times when the inhabitants of Middle Earth might actually sing and might actually dance!

I loved that they included the post-climax scene involving the freeing of the ruined Shire from the Sauron-sponsored gang of ruffians that had conquered it - an impactive scene that Jackson declined though justifiably so. But what really stayed with me from the books was the malaise that haunted Frodo and his terribly sad eventual departure from the Shire. This was a rather profound statement that a great hero, while saving his people and himself is guaranteed no glory or even happiness. Neither movie or play picked up on this significantly.


5 PM.

Five blocks west to Crush Wine Bar for dinner. They leave a bottle of mineral water on the table. Nice touch. The Warm Goat Cheese with roasted veggies, Belgian endive and toasted pistachio ($12) is yummy, we both agree. The rack of lamb at $38 (if I recall) is tasty and goes well with the mashed potato and herbs for an extra $5. Value? No. By Toronto standards, I couldn't say, but this outlander can get a delectable rack of lamb/garlic mash combination of superior flavour and richness at the Mono Cliffs Inn for $22. Spuds on the house. Literally half the price. I adamantly recommend the Mono Cliffs Inn to any individual who enjoys food or who must eat for reasons of survival etc. It's easy to find. Just go the middle of nowhere and it's right there. You can't miss it.

Rockin' Roddie does a wine ride. Four of their feature whites. I stick my nose up at such a concept and go straight for the 1999 Rioja Crianza from Bodegas Lan (Spanish, $47). It's touted in the extensive wine menu as being generous, fresh, velvety and lively with showings of plum and cherry and accents of cinnamon and orange peel (not orange mind you. God forbid! Just the peel).

I'm sure it's technically an excellent wine but as I mentioned earlier, my taste buds are few and far between and I found it frankly docile.

"Friendly," I say to Rockin' Roddie when he asks. He laughs.

"You can do better than that," he admonishes.

"Okay. Cuddly. How's that? I'd like to take it home and go to bed with it." He seems satisfied with that.


8 PM

We have found our way to The Mask on Church street. I am seriously in the mood for a rusty nail without ice or any hint of ice.

"I'll have a rusty nail please. No ice."

The rusty nail comes without ice. Excellent. Sip sip. It has also come without Drambui. Not so excellent. It has in fact come with Amaretto and it has been chilled. Thus it has all the flavor, vitality and texture of a glass of cherry koolade with a peanut at the bottom. But the wait staff are far too cute to complain to so I drink it and then order "A rusty nail with Drambui and no Amaretto, neither shaken or stirred please. Just warm." It is, of course, delicious and now we can get down to business.

Rockin' Roddie and I discuss life, love, god and society and how to possibly navigate through such the mess it has all become. I think we make progress.



10 PM

Down the street to George's Place. Their bar is stocked less fully than my own at home. This immediately, does not speak well of the place. What this says about me, we shall not explore, thank you very much.

Chris Edwards is on the stage doing a drag performance. He is not strictly a drag queen. He clearly falls under one of the 552 classifications of transgenderism, though which, I know not. Hmm. Spellcheck has ix-nayed 'transgenderism'. Well, I don't care. I'm sticking with it. Well, dammit. It's also ix-nayed 'spellcheck' and 'ix-nayed'! Oh, and 'dammit' too. I think my spellchecker is developing an attitude problem.

Sorry. Where was I? Ah, yes. Chris has enough cleavage showing to certify the boobs are real. Manufactured by doctors of course, but real. They're not tennis balls or bean bags. I have a little trouble with drag shows. I only find them amusing for a short time and then feel like I'm missing the point or something. Don't get me wrong. I have no trouble with people exploring gender. Whatever turns your crank, I say.

But why is it that we ran Milli Vanilli out - (damn - hang on. Turning off this spellchecker.)

Why is it we ran Milli Vanilli out of town but throw a dress on a dude and he can lip-synch til the cows come home - no problemo? Is the dress some kind of diversion tactic?

There is a very animated fellow on a bar stool with longish curly dark hair and a moustache. We're pretty sure he's John Oates from Hall and Oates and we have a laugh over that. He's clapping and singing along to all of Edwards' song selections, none of which I enjoy, by the way, until she does A New Day Has Come by Celine Dionne. This by the way, is the only Celine Dionne song I like but it spurs an argument. Rockin' Roddie, like everyone else on the street it seems, poo-poos Celine Dionne and chastises me for my lack of conformation. Why does he poo-poo Celine Dionne? I didn't ask. I have to assume it's because that is the hip and cool thing to do and what everyone else on the street is doing. Only once did I ask a friend why he hates Celine Dionne.

"Because she tries too hard!" he replied.

What a great point. Because, of course, one should not expect a musician to find success and make it to the top by putting forth any effort. How absurd. Jesus.

Well I like Celine Dionne and I don't care who knows it. Her music leaves me limp. Okay. But I like that fact that she's a warm and kind person and treats people with respect wherever she goes and has a great reputation as a person and is a great ambassador for Canada to have out there in the world - propagating the myth that us Canadians are nice harmless people.

Well - everywhere but in the United States I suppose. All this baloney hype about 'anti-Americanism' may be eroding the Canadian good-guy myth down there as far as I know - thanks to the wonderful work CNN and FOX News are doing with their make-believe stories about Canada. Not the real Canada of course. The other Canada. The 100% fictional Canada that some of these 'news' programs have dreamed up. They're utterly hysterical. I used to watch them during dinner 'til my fits of laughter threatened to choke me to death. AMericans may not realize this but in Canada we play re-runs of FOX News on our comedy channel. We've resorted to this ever since John Candy died.

Okay, enough of this. We'll get into the whole Anti-Americanism charade another day. I'm kidding about all of this, by the way, my Yankee friends. Don't be offended. I love you all madly - well - except for George. It's true. Hugs and kisses!

So anyway - The queen starts singing I'm a Barbie Girl by Aqua and this is John Oates' cue to join her on stage. When he climbs down off the bar stool we see that he is quite small and moves with the aid of two canes that strap to his forearms. So now we feel like shit for making jokes about a handicapped man but we work through the guilt rather quickly and are okay with ourselves again.

The stage show turns ugly. Oates is doing the male parts of the Barbie song complete with rude gestures to make very clear to the audience the carnal undertones of the suggestive lyrics. In fact, he eventually worms his way out of his shirt - ick! - and is practically trying to rape Edwards. The dragster gets a hold of one of Oates' canes and is making threatening gestures with it in hopes of scaring off the diminutive aggressor.

The song ends to a collective sigh of relief.

As does this blog entry.

FWG

Reviews Galore: 3 stage performances, 3 restaurants and a movie

Yikes. What a weekend. No rest for the wicked and debaucherous.

Friday. 8 PM. Toronto.

Dinner at Da Gianni & Maria Trattoria on St. Clair roughly 10 blocks west of Bathurst St.

I ask the waiter for a menu recommendation bearing in mind my penchant for pasta that is both creamy and full-flavored. I have little sissy taste buds you see, so I always demand a lot of spice or what not. He plugs the Tagliolini Della Langhe. I order it and it is seriously TDF (that is - too die for - in cool kid lingo - I hope. Truth is I’m going out on a limb here. I don’t know any cool kids). ‘Twas aburst with flavor and oh-so-creamy. An utter delight at only $22 if I correctly recall. The portion was responsible. Not too big. Not too small. I appreciate that.

My dinner/theatre companion - Rockin’ Roddie goes kookoobananas over the orange-flavored black olives. Utterly kookoobananas I tell you. (Apologies to those of you whom I promised I would stop saying kookoobananas. Last time. I swear.) They were indeed scrumptious but - you know. They’re just olives, man. Small things amuse great minds, I guess.

So the chef, Gianni Poggio, comes by and is friendly and animated but brief of course. He’s a busy guy. He asks how the food is.

“Lovely. Delightful,” we say.

“Bravo!” I add, all proud of my sophistication and the ethnic authenticity of my comment. But they one-up me at the next table.

“Magnifico!” they shout. So I stick my tongue out at them and give them the finger.

The Cologno Chianti Rufina 2000 is almost silky enough to make this former Chianti fan a Chianti fan again.

The service is strictly excellent. The waiter shows up every moment we could use him, is engaging and tolerates our inane chatter with good-natured grace. It’s one of those rare encounters where I get to pull this little stunt:

I demand to see the manager who seems slightly frightened of me upon arrival. I bark, “THIS waiter…” (while said waiter sweats profusely) “…gave me the best service I’ve had in years! I insist you double his salary! That’s all. Go on now. Get me my bill, Chop-chop!”

Both parties exhale with relief and go get on with their lives and pray they never see me again. I then leave a 20% tip which marginally disappoints the waiter having just been told he’s the best I’ve had in years but hey - waiters make more money than I do so suck it up, I say!

That waiters work harder than I do is beside the point.


9:30 PM

Down St. Clair a block to the Zemra Lounge, haven of chrome and veneer, for some live music. Rings of June are slotted to play the first and third sets and are touting a new bass guitarist. He is sports journalist and touring solo children’s musician Ben Knight. He’s also a pal of mine and a character of the most free-spirited variety.

I forget the name of the middling band. Shame on me. Something Train perhaps? Soul Train? No. Freedom Train? Train in Spain? The Train in Spain Chugs Mainly Down the Drain? I give up. Can’t do it. They’re young and loud and full of piss and vinegar. I like the guitarist with the grey suit jacket and the Beatlish mop top.

Sarah, the lead singer/songwriter/pianist for Rings of June has an enchanting voice - akin to Loreena McKennitt I would say, and I would make the same comparison with regards to some of her music. Rockin’ Roddie prefers to compare her to Sara McLaughlin, Celine Dionne and Kate Bush but he’s still swooning over the orange olives and not thinking straight.

She and singer/songwriter/guitarist Jeff Stamp are the architects of the band that also included a drummer and two violinists on this night. I would prefer to call them ‘fiddlers’ but I can’t be certain that’s not some kind of faux-pas.

Unfortunately things go rather astray and rather quickly. The sound system goes schizophrenic. The violins are mute. Jeff’s mike peters out. I count only two or three songs where all six musicians take part. On one of these occasions I finally get into it. I dig the song. I feel the energy. We finally have some momentum. The song ends and four of the members go and sit down in deference to a pending duo performance. We never get on track after that. I presume the fleebing sound system is plenty to blame. Stamp is noble and declares responsibility for the technical bamboozlement.

“God’s been after me all day,” he explains. I find that concept rather fascinating. That God was after him all day and he has not yet been done in is high testament to his durability I must say.

The rest of the night amounts to a jam session. This is kind of fun actually. A casual environment. There’s enough inspiring moments to guarantee my return and probably soon, and to get a few bucks out of me for a copy of their CD.


Saturday. 3:30 AM.

We finally make it back to Rockin’ Roddie’s house for a modicum of sleep. His ten-year-old daughter is at mom’s house this week. I sleep in her bedroom surrounded by stuffed horses.

Speeking of sleep. It’s getting late. We’ll have to pick this up tomorrow…