Tried to start this one a couple of times but too often I go for art instead of just what is.
So what is is that another aspect of my compulsive behavior complex kicked in – again last night – after kicking in – again – last Monday. You’d think after all this time I’d have figured this “all” out……but it’s so complicated and entrenched. I wish it were so but I am getting there.
I de-activated one aspect of it last fall involving an inter-personal situation which I am still smarting from and which involved trying to achieve resolution on something. ACOA’s, I’m told, (adult children of alcoholics) aren’t good with ambiguity. However, I am learning or have learned (I think I have), to let go and allow things to be what they will. This is a direct 180 of where I came from where everything was controlled and decided and acted upon without question; the alternative? physical violence.
This one – the current and overpowering one (since pain-wise, my neck is pretty much where it was 2 days after the accident: almost immobilizing agony) – involves non-thinking doing surrounding “getting things done (at any cost)” and ignoring gifts from the Universe.
That table I saw at the Thrift store was just perfect for what I needed. I could have just picked it up and driven home, job done. But no, I had a vision of what I wanted and had fallen in love with that vision. The one at Ikea was expensive – and heavy. There I was struggling with 100lbs of awkward packaging trying to wrestle its 2 pieces into the back seat of my rented car: it was madness, now, upon reflection. Then, yesterday, it was a ‘drive’ to save $79 on a delivery charge: a demonstration of successful conditioning.
Now, I have to go back to Ikea – probably by TTC (bus) – to reverse everything except the pain although I do have a massage scheduled this afternoon.
What is the lesson? For I clearly did not learn it last week when I hefted 2 x 50lbs of water into my car and set myself back a little more!
Lessons – more
That good enough is fine. That my level of neatness and organization is probably on par with most people’s. That it is of paramount importance to take care of myself. An old lesson that, but one to be more conscious of.
Hooray for Me!
Even without my latest self-inflicted setback, I did not want to journey south for my nephew’s wedding. It’s not about him: he and I get along great and his fiance is a lovely person. It’s the coterie of combatants that would surround me that would be the problem. I knew that months ago and finally gave myself permission this morning to decline. The question is, would I have done what I wanted to do if I hadn’t partaken in this latest lesson? I dunno – but I know now. Learning happens in so many ways. How do I know it is the right decision for me, notwithstanding my poor decision-making last night? Because I am happy!
Angst That Won’t Be
I dreaded the thought of meeting my next oldest brother (who ripped off my younger brother for about a million five) and wishing him well or listening to my eldest brother, after watching him get drunk, try to be the oldest, wisest sage this side of the Ganges and watch the faces of everyone who secretly telling him to “shut the fuck up.” Or, to steal looks at my younger brother having to face his betrayer and then witnessing him emulate, quite naturally, the meaner aspects of his eldest brother with all those snipes. Or, maybe he wouldn’t do that. That’s how it was when I was down there for my sister-in-law’s passing. Or listen to my youngest and oldest siblings share their redneck media-driven hatred of Muslims which is one of the biggest set-ups (with them being the unwitting and perfect patsies) of all time.
I’ve already experienced all this in separate situations and I didn’t like any of it. I saved an email sent to me by my younger brother about Muslims; it is just amazing. And I should have saved the diatribe email from the eldest raging about “the brave men of women of the United States Armed Forces who will have to save my fellow Canadian socialists and communists when we’re invaded by the Russians.” The guy was serious! I’m sure he watches re-runs of the tape of former Secretary of State Madelaine Albright when she said she felt “the murder of a million Iraqi children was justified.”
There’s some other family scenery I could describe but I think this suffices.
Who knew this band could rock out like this: another gem
Dear Prudence
‘Decided this morning, lying in state, that less YouTube would be a good idea and more real writing, learning, walking, socializin’, etc. would be a better idea.
As Siouxie Sue says, “Look around and round….”
I always thought she was hot.
Email Message just now:
Younger brother: “You’re not going because of a sore neck?”
Me: “You’re not in my body and i don’t have to justify anything to you.”
I love thrift stores. Not those chintzy Dollarama nightmares, I’m talking about the ones with the big white sign with the red writing which are sprinkled throughout the city (Toronto). There’s also just plain junk stores which I also like. There’s one down near where I live that has all sorts of everything in it. Plus, there’s Arlene and Allan who run it. Their claim to fame is that they both worked on the Avro Arrow project back in the mid and late 50s.
So today, I saw one during my travels and stopped in and what did I find? A Braun 4262 food processor for $10! It’s not the newest model – probably about 5 years old, maybe more. But it works and I can now set aside my former workhorse Braun that I’ve owned since 1991 and which I’ve maimed several times through successive attempts to pick it up with one hand. It drops well, cracks well and still runs, although with the last smash-up, the on/off dial snapped off. Which means that once plugged in, it just goes regardless of whether the bowl and lid are secured. For the uninitiated, it could mean shorter fingers.
I am very happy about this. Then I spied this table that i sat at and 1/2 decided that it was all I really needed in the kitchen. But I still went to Ikea and bought a computer workstation and then arranged for its delivery. Then I came home and realized, “Why am I blowing almost $300 for all that when I found that table?” So I’m going back tomorrow and canceling the order. No point. And that dough can be put towards fixing my old Honda.
Commando – always a Ramones concert favorite! And mine too.
I have this album, actually it’s a 2 album set that clocks in at slightly more than 30 minutes. 33, I believe during which one should engage in driving as fast as can be accommodated or drinking fast or whatever you like doing the best as fast as possible.
I paid about $30 for it back then which was a princely sum but when I put it on my dad’s muscular quadraphenic Technics system, it felt “Alive.” Later in University art class, I desecrated part of its inner sleeves (it was a fold-out, full color display) by injecting a leaping DeeDee (who really did leap with his legs outstretched in the shows I saw them in at the Concert Hall (Yonge & Davenport) into one of my conceptual, psychologically-driven art pieces that totally baffled both my class and my “instructor” who told us his art movies had him dress up like a chick and act the part. He had the lips for lipstick but he would have made a repulsive woman: a disgrace, really, to femininity in general. Anyway, my class was baffled by my wizardry but that’s because they were stupid. I still have project and would explain it to anyone that cared to listen.
My favourite Ramones album. I’ve hated myself since I got rid of my old Akai speakers which had a deep rich low end that brought out the best in ‘Commando.’ Computer speakers do little for this masterpiece. Why did I dispose of them? At the time, I was kind of a clutter kind in accepting whatever shit my sister and mother gave me, furniture-wise. Then I overreacted by enacting a series of purges where i virtually emptied my place out of anything that wasn’t moving. The patch of fuzzy stuff on the kitchen floor survived as it had grown somewhat.
I saw this movie at the Bloor Cinema eons ago but I’ll always remember it due to its luscious women and Ken Russell’s lavish treatment. There was a slew of these types of movies and I enjoyed them all like Delicatessen, How to Get Ahead in Advertising, Naked….I forget the rest. I watched a lot of movies in theaters in the 80s.
….Somebody up there or out there has been assisting me with my lil’ business and I want her / you to know that I appreciate your efforts.
I just have to get things going like my website-blog and the video thing so I can move to the next steps…..and learn a new program for the Mac which will allow me to post graphics like before….that ole’ customizing thang….
After taking all my insurance info down, Discount Car & Truck Rental gets my phone number wrong, can’t get a hold of me, knocks on my door (no one home on Saturday afternoon), doesn’t leave a note, then re-possesses their own car!
Because their staff also forgot to remember my insurance policy number and “thought” I was renting it for just 5 days, not the extension of another 5. Panic mode ensued due to the previous weekend’s experience where one of their customers was arrested for theft (of another of their cars) last week + drug charges. Anyway, the car’s supposed to be out there now so I’ll go check.
As it turns out, going through an agency is risky as they haven’t seemed to have been trained adequately: a stubborn Canadian business habit.
Lesson to me:
I should have checked the sheet out that they gave me because as I look at it now, the problems are all there.
I left my place at 6pm to drive over to my friend’s place, tried what I thought was my car, discovered it wasn’t then realized that the Mazda 6 I was driving, courtesy of my insurance company – was missing. It was gone!
Last accessed: Saturday morning to obtain a cheque from it.
It was a nice car and it hasn’t been towed; I checked. I’ve had two cars violated by break-ins but none were ever driven away. And people wonder why I drive beaters – old cars. Really old cars. Because no one ever fucks with them.
The cop said cars were regularly stolen in Toronto and I’d heard of it happening but not to anyone I’ve known.
So, I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I still have my old Honda ….
Just imagine if I’d never adopted my sister’s car! None of this would have happened.
So, I’m going to go across the street to the local bar where I will, undoubtedly, have another strange experience with the driftwood who gather there.
Ok, Correction
I’m back now and Wow!!! What a great game! My team won in dramatic fashion – and – I met nothing but nice people including a woman (married) who’d spent time in New Orleans and had watched their quarterback, Drew Brees, when he played for Purdue, lead the upset of some higher ranked team in a Bowl game. And I met George and Caroline as well. After Caroline had suffered an aneurysm 2 years ago, George proposed to her after dating her for 30 years.
And I didn’t eat any meat which upsets my system and would have wreaked untold damage to my brand new hemorrhoid (let’s call him Junior) who has set up shop where they normally do. I thought perhaps that Junior was caused by not eating enough roughage but, apparently, his kind pop up – or out – from sitting too much and I’ve been doing far too much of that. Scale-wise, I could take a knife and fork to Junior and be fairly full after a sumptuous meal.
Return to the Scene of the Crime and WTF!!!!
I called the cops inquiring about whether I’d been towed and they directed to Downtown Towing. I phoned them and no dice then, THEN the guy that answered the phone launches into this diatribe about “the young people of today” with the same fervor of the former hockey star of his own Fantasy Universe League, none other than F.U. as was mentioned in a former post.
Here I am phoning about a missing vehicle that I am responsible for and feel responsible for and this maniac “goes off” for 10 minutes in one long stream of consciousness about everything I’ve already heard about – and experienced, thank you. He covered permissive parents, the Young Offenders Act (which is a joke) and which he blamed this crime on “because they can act with impunity” (my lone comment), and the girl he hired who didn’t last very long. And what’s more, “none of them last very long.”
And maybe you’re wondering why I didn’t interject? A: the words were pouring out of his mouth, and B: I thought maybe he’d tell me more about the whole stolen car game or offer some words of comfort, empathy, tips, hints, constructive advice…..but no, nothing of the sort. He just kept going, a mile-a-minute about some girl that he hired and how the first things out of her mouth was “you have to respect me.”
To which he replied to me, “You have to earn respect!”
So, I would classify him, paint him with the same brush – or one related – as he’s applying to his younger sisters and brothers; he’s an impatient, ill-tempered bastard who probably didn’t train his new employee very well, or at all, because that’s not what he experienced way back when – when he was subjected to, as I was, to the scary, intimidating “sink or swim “training” regimen which ensures that the one calling the tune can never be blamed for anything that goes wrong and more or less expects something to go wrong and can then be a contemptuous prick about it.
I am in shock about the car and view it as my fault because had I gone out on Saturday like my little voice suggested, I’d probably still have it. I ducked into a bar on Saturday afternoon where someone had been gunned down in front of a couple of years back. It was called ….the Duke, I think. I dunno, actually. I stepped in and it looked like an old honky tonk bar that Toronto used to have a lot of back in the 80s and before. All wood, no glitz, a decent band stand, gritty, dirty, my kind of place – even if I do look like a cop to some people.
But no, I was determined to make some big changes to my place and set to work last night. And continued all afternoon today assembling something which will make my life a lot easier: a shelving unit on wheels, complete with stoppers to make it stationary. I will use it as as kitchen counter and storage-utility station for my appliances, fry-cooker and baking sheets.
But I do realize a lacking in my life: I need live music to renew my life spirit and I haven’t had any of that since even before the accident. And I need a girlfriend as I am tired of hanging around my apartment. Cabin fever extraordinaire.
And Now It Begins …. Again
I agreed to a price for my now ex-car this past Friday but does this latest travail complicate matters? I have no idea. The adjuster guy moved up a little in his starter price and quoted some figures from AutoTrader which I saw as well so it’s fine, we parted company on-the-phone as amicably as could be expected. Did he buy my argument about the parts being more valuable than the car? He considered then asked me if I was planning to start a parts company and I replied that I was considering it based on a generous start-up grant from his company.
And now a different kind of tension will ensue. I’ve made all the pertinent calls and the circus will begin tomorrow at 9am. Hard to say how it’s all going to shake out. A friend says I’m being tested. Ok, so what?
Epilogue
I have battle fatigue from writing all these accounts. So, I am going to tail off on them as there are many, many things I need to attend to and my sense of humor, mood, and sense of joie de vivre are not what they have been. I am not very good company right now.
The stolen car situation has really taken it out of me even though there is nothing I could have done to prevent it. I should have got out of town into the country like my little voice told me late last week; instead, a different type of drama will now unfold followed by another and then the wedding in the ‘States which I am not really looking forward to. What I need is a vacation somewhere warm – far from the maddening crowd.
‘Woke up this morning with my body telling me that I wasn’t quite there, healing-wise. Reminders in my neck and lower back, left side. Or, reminding me that I’d skipped its bath 2 days in a row. Emerged just now.
Finally picked up the toe nail fungus killer lacquer I got a prescription for last November and it wasn’t Lamicil. That “medication” fucks with the liver and frequent blood tests are required to make sure no damage is occurring. What enterprising company invented that ‘fix?’ The little bottle of unknown clear sauce was not cheap at $144 but if it can deliver model-type tootsie’s, well why not?
If I had a card reader, I could show you a picture of my right foot’s big toe. Unsightly? That depends on your perspective. I compare it to the changes that The Fly’s Seth Brundle experienced, but in the reverse. Ordinary clippers cannot cut a fungus-infested nail; what is required is a scalpel which my doctor entrusted me with a while back to cut out some growths from the soles of my feet. So, when the nail has grown too long and too dense, i’ve been getting out on the stoop in my rockin’ chair and take to some whittlin’. Oh sure, people give me looks but it’s interestin’ too….
Insurance Schmazzle
Last week was uncomfortable for many reasons. The obvious + this adjuster guy was hectoring me with his “your car was 12 years old, it wasn’t worth much” routine, giving me a low ball approximation. I didn’t react but I didn’t like his reasoning, his tone or him: he was a prick and his job was to be a prick.
I took to thinking and my subconscious did the rest. The idea that filtered down was not spontaneous. But first, I attended to my physical state which was just a little more pressing.
‘Realized that adjuster was using an argument he had long ago accepted as fact and the remainder of his “approach” was to implant desperation-type thoughts into the minds of his victims. “You only have 5 days for the rental,” he kept saying. Yea, so what asshole? I briefly considered stalking him and arranging a contracted beating or, at least, a sound berating. However, I recalled the Canada-U.S. Free Trade negotiations and stood pat.
Canada’s guy, Simon Reismann, staged a histrionic show featuring slamming his fist on the table, bellowing, screaming, etc. whilst the Yank, Peter Murphy, just sat there impassive – a poker player, I suppose.
Well, after listening to Roger (the tow truck driver) tell me about the plenitude of parts for Honda cars and about the scarcity of those for my ex-car, I realized that my wreck was actually quite a valuable item – not as a drive-able car, which it no longer was, but as a parts depot. What would a 200 watt Bose stereo system with all those intact speakers and wiring fetch? Quite a lot, I imagine. Or the exhaust pipes, the doors, the trunk, the side panels, the back lights, the gas tank, etc.?
Why did a black market exist for human organs? For the same reason that the parts of my car were salvageable: because they had value and people would pay huge for them. What would be the difference in a car door from a 98′ model and one a year more recent? Unless the car bodies were re-designed, not very much.
So, I left a message for the adjuster and for my case file ‘worker’ sent in my stuff and now I wait. But what I should be doing is researching how much these parts are worth and I’ll do that today to further strengthen my case. The guy wanted the repair records but they belonged to my sister who kept our family’s last name. I sent them in and I’ll see what shakes out …….so this will be interesting. As it stands, I have up to a year to settle this so maybe it’s now a waiting game. I dunno, not having been through this process before.
Not all bad though because my case worker did extend the time of my rental – which I thanked her for. Was this her gambit? I dunno
This band almost single-handedly saved me during my last year at the phone company.
Yet Another Re-Org
My kitchen-office re-do several weeks ago did not take, on account of my being a giant and visually-oriented; if I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist. So, it’s off to Church – the Church of Ikea – which I worship for its adjustable height everything. ‘Gonna move my kitchen table back into the kitchen so I can eat my meals in the room designed for that purpose. Have some separation….
Virgin Mobile: Death by a Thousand Communiques
Fuck, these people have pissed me off. Their whole pay-as-you-play is like playing the slots: I have to keep feeding them money despite being on a flat rate plan. I’m getting an inkling of their business model: weird renew dates and refresh patterns disorient the user to the point where I turn into a zombie and keep committing more dollars – $15 at a time, sometimes 3 times a month to pay for 10 cents a minute which easily turns into 30 cents a minute owing to my general confusion and not “watching” how the minutes and dollars spent is working out.
I am ready to migrate to a smart phone and may sign on for 2 or 3 years, as mobile isn’t going away and the project I’m working on will require mobile integration – at least, that’s where I plan to take it.
But will I lose my phone number? Hard to say; I’ll have to check.
Bell for Internet: Ditto
Been with them forever but their increasing my monthly rate by $10 without telling me and ‘grandfathering’ my “old” plan pissed me off. What they did was get a fix on my usage, come up with a new plan where the minimal usage was 25 Gg and the higher one was 60 Gg for a whole lot more money. Even if I added on the surcharge past the 25 to equal my 33 average, it would work out to be the same as I was paying on their new plan they didn’t tell me about.
I’m sure it was their plan all along. There are alternatives and I will find them.
Can’t remember what I ate 2 days that would cause the nausea and ugly shit parade that transpired last night. ‘Used up a whole sock diaper post-outpouring. And so I sat there spent, contemplating whether to go big, meal-wise, or settle for cereal … before The Big Sleep….
Wait a second, what about that mention of diapers? I’ve been wearing diapers? Yea, why not. You know that weight you thought I gained? It was really Pampers with those elastic leggings…..not really. Rather than use a tree’s worth of ter’let paper, sometimes, in dire emergencies, I reach for a worn out white sock – it’s best for effect – to take care of bid’ness.
So, to all would-be identity thieves, mine is not the garbage to ransack
(pun?).
Actually, my weight situation is crazy right enough. Due to my sports bar appearances and inevitable ingestion of alcohol, I was up to 240 then I cut out the booze and began walking miles and got down to 230. Now, it’s back up. A nutritionist or dietitian is in my immediate future, me thinks.
I’ve met some really dilly’s these past month and there’s no real way to vaporize the build-up of bile or vanquish the crowding stench of ‘Ripley’s Believe it or Not’ fumes except to write about it.
And with so many morons to choose from, who do I crown as Fuckhead of the Week or Month? Well, let’s examine the line-up before i get to cipherin’. Who knows, it could be a tie. I’m going to go in chronological order, beginning with last week’s wonder and tracing back.
Ambitious Shrew who Tried the “Shake Down”
This one’s really my fault and can be described as: “If it walks like a duck and sounds like a duck, it’s a duck. My problem: I refused to believe what my ears and judgment were telling me – that, there, right in front of me – was a duck.
I met this woman about 3 months ago at a business networking function and thought she might be a good fit for a client project I’m working on. She started in on me immediately about our business card. The fact that its front could not be written on was viewed, by her, as a major marketing flaw and the reason why she should meet with us. “No,” I said, “because people can write on the back.” I know; that was a clever. How long before Donald Trump or some other corporate bigwig would be calling me?
She invited me to her and her boyfriend’s place for lunch because he’s a gluten-free chef and positioned him as valuable to my future: “What if you were going to get married? You could hire my boyfriend as your caterer.” Oh, I see, an ulterior motive. There really is no free lunch is there?
I called her up last week looking for her information; instead, I received another diatribe. This time, about our website: it sucked. It’s not the actual website, I told her, it’s more of an information site. The real one’s getting built right now.
Not good enough. Not nearly good enough. She knew people that could be reviewers too but that website had to go and “quite frankly” she would not recommend that they move forward with this and it was obvious we had problems and we should invite her in because she had the resources “to fix them.”
At this point, not yet feeling even fairly well because of my car accident injuries, I almost lost my cool and replied cool-ly that “there was nothing she could tell me that I didn’t already know and that “I don’t care if you don’t join or about your people because there are thousands of other brilliant people in this city.” That sent her into a nose dive and our phone call ended soon after.
Prognosis: Fuck off and don’t come back. And stop bluffing and trying to use me as a widget into your little favor system.
This “person” was relying on an outdated sales approach based on the 1980s (Xerox) Professional Selling Skills course. It was called SPIN – Situation, Problem, Implication (what could go wrong), Need Pay-off (here’s what I can do to make the world safe for democracy).
However, she’d replaced the “Implication” part with “Intimidation” and an attempt to bully. And in calling herself a “marketer,” the latest, fatuous title floating about, she was lumping herself in with the multitude likewise claiming to be some worth. My question: would she or could she pick up the phone and make a cold call to someone she’d never met and get an appointment for her client? Highly doubtful because that was sales, not marketing.
Stumble Bum with Ego-itis and Delusional Pipe Dreams
This is almost too frustrating to re-think about, never mind write about. Abridged version: I arrange a meeting with my client and a graphics arts couple who know a lot of web designers for another project. I thought a symbiotic arrangement could be arrived at and the female part of the duo made me hopeful of such a prospect.
Never mind that they were an hour late and phoned me 1 minute before our meeting (thanks for the notice), the guy sat there like an impassive bullfrog for 90 minutes while we poured words into their wooley heads then he says, “there’s this question I thought of asking a half hour ago during a conversational meeting. Their follow-up email was a cross between vague and cryptic. A requested elaboration suggested that we pass up the opportunity for an article about our project in a prominent financial newspaper and launch, officially, at “his” graphic arts magazine beansprouts, bean bag, and medical marijuana kickoff event. Let’s do the math: exposure to millions of potential customers vs. ………
They were serious. Egocentricity supreme. You can’t even tell people like this to fuck off; they wouldn’t get it.
Epilogue: these whiz bang graphic “artists” inscribed their names and titles in grey on a white background so that the words became illegible, almost invisible. Brilliance all around.
#3
Lunch 2 weeks ago with Mr. “I’ve Got It All Figured Out except For The Big Ideas that You’re Going to Come Up With then I Will Access the Gigantic Talent Pool is Asia Who Don’t Know, at Present, That I Exist and/or Why They Should Talk to Me.” Not to worry though, because he’s got a BIG idea: “Personal Branding for Individuals” Hey, that’s great, except that everyone’s chasing that one. What is missing is the sales piece which I could handily provide – in theory, the plan, plus the doing – if I was interested in doing that, except that I’m not. If it’s sales, I belong at the top.
Blah-blah-blah, I was wondering what he wanted to talk about, since he called me. As per usual, we didn’t even get near that because he was keenly interested in what I was up to: dead giveaway to his real aim and question: just how vulnerable and/or unhappy was I? And how cheaply could my intellect be purchased for?
Right after, he felt compelled to tell me how much money he’d made last year (347k) doing at-home trading, then we assumed a familiar routine: I sketched out a few more possible directions and his eyes got all glittery – but directions are just that. Actual results arise from proper execution – creating a realistic yet ambitious plan and carrying out each point in the right sequence with appropriate effort and intelligence. Not having been in sales, he wouldn’t have a clue as to how to do that.
Then the guy uttered a line I heard twice before, “I bet you’ve got an e-book (more of my knowledge that I would notate on some pages and give away to help “our” business become established) inside you!”
Original problem: He lied to me a while back about a whole lot of things and added conditions to an existing deal, claiming I had ‘misunderstood.’ So, he’s rich, miserly, and has poor ethics: not my kind of business partner. You see, fuckheads expect those they’ve used to have as short a memory as they do for their fibs and gloss-overs.
Now, someone reading this might ask “why would you/I have sat down with this guy for a 3rd time?” Well, we do get along; I mean he’s a fun person, socially, but also because I view it as good experience for me in the area of self-control, trusting myself, practicing active “character” listening (because people always tell us who they are), “monitoring” the COA tendency of “people pleasing” (developed in kids whose parent(s) relentlessly ridicule them or subject them to perfectionist, autocratic behavior). And then, there is the consideration of reaction to previous injustices or misunderstandings.
We parted on favorable terms and after a week or so, I considered my options:
1) Send him a neutron bomb (kills people but leaves buildings intact) with lots of rhetoric, action verbs and colorful adjectives – but no profanity
2) Send him a bill he would deny, enact a passion play over, then refuse and break off all communications. I called a client last year who I thought owed me some cash, we discussed it, he apologized and cut me a cheque. He remains a client.
3) Do nothing.
#1 was never considered, seeing as it’s never worked and tends to leave a stain on people’s brain that doesn’t wash out, #2 was considered, then dropped because it would embroil me in something COA’s (his dad was an alcoholic) love: wrangling. #3, then, is the preferred route as it requires no further action on my part and it also gives this fuckhead the opportunity to show the world – and me – what he can do, by himself.
#4 Fuckhead: F.U. The ex-Hockey Player Local Legend (in his own mind)
I know it’s a crazy concept but I actually visit sport bars to watch sports on their lovely HD wonder screens. And maybe, engage another sports fan in insightful discourse. Perhaps, I’m asking too much; actually, I am asking way too much because I realized only a few weeks ago that 99.9% of the people there, of them 90% are guys, already own TV sets so they go to these places for social or psychological reasons. I don’t presently own a TV but there are developments ….um, developing …..
Scene of the Crime
About a month ago, I was watching an NFL game – by myself and quite content – when F.U. (initials changed to protect my sanity) glides over to address me with several assumptions (“You’re quiet, a decent fellow, a common sense guy”…he forgot about my arson past so I updated him…) then began his address to Parliament with a blitzkrieg style that didn’t allow comments, rebuttals or exceptions. That’s probably his approach with referees – and 3 year-olds.
He starts crowing to me that he’s somewhat of a hockey legend in these parts and played up at this rinky (no pun intended) covered wagon of a place that’s about 80 years old and that he was one tough customer.
I could’ve stopped right then, “stood him up” is the correct phrase for a defenceman that dishes out a spectacular and punishing body check to an advancing adversary. Anyway, I could have said, “Oh yea, my sister-in-law’s dad made the Montreal Canadiens team in 1955, the year they began winning 5 cups in a row. Or, that my older brother had been scouted by the pre-expansion Toronto Maple Leafs in 1966, the outfit that won 4 cups in 7 years!
But I didn’t ’cause I didn’t think of it and because this bastard was on a tear with nary a breath taken ….
Ok, long story short:
F.U. “Yea, so when I got married my wife was really nice – and young – know what I mean? Now she’s just a fucking cunt! Raked me over the coals during our divorce, has my kid, got real nasty, you know! Ok, so I fucked up, I’m like most guys, I’m a skirt chaser and I met this other hot chick in a bar and my wife found out about it and that was it! (Oh, really!) But she’s still a fucking cunt!” My, my, such language…
Then he got married again (but he didn’t go into that) – then got divorced again (another surprise). Now he’d met another hottie – a 31 year old Brazilian beauty whose mere mention provoked the “must display her photo” reflex which I hadn’t seen in 20+ years. He had something to prove, obviously. In the photo, she was riding a horse at her family’s farm. Agreed; she was beautiful.
But, lately, there was trouble in paradise: a) her dad hated him (no surprise there), b) Due to her dad hitting his newest senorita when she was a little girl, she was in therapy which was slowing down his fun quotient. And then the kicker – which I’m pretty sure is going to win F.U. ‘Fuckhead of the Year’ honors, never mind the month – this paragon of loyalty, sensitivity, maturity, learned judgment and evenness of mood was doing the therapy with her!
I was taken aback: genuinely shocked. And then the fateful question and my silly, poorly thought out comments – for I had forgotten where I was and who I was talking to – plunged me down into an abyss of disrespect and doubt.
F.U.: “Can you believe it? A hot looking chick like that in therapy?”
V.F.: “What do her looks have to do with it?”
F.U.: Shoots me an incredulous look then “… all for something that happened 20-25 years ago.”
V.F.: That kind of stuff really fucks up little girls – and boys, and often those people don’t figure it all out until, well, until they’re adults like your girlfriend – and then, stupidly, I added in some things about “me.” Big, huge sigh. For in real-man land, only weak guys go in for that sort of thing while the captains of industry drink a lot, smoke a lot, lie a lot, whine a lot, live in the distant past, hang out with their own types, belong to their own clubs (thank you again) and distrust plain talkers like me.
A couple that knew him joined us and I had some laughs with them and almost…almost ….. reduced F.U. to the ant he was with a sarcastic comment that would have made him drop his gloves right there. And this after he informed the three of us that “he couldn’t afford another assault charge.” I held my 8-word cluster bomb back because I knew good ole’ F.U. would have seen red and it would have destroyed the convivial atmosphere. Rarely can braggarts take a “real” shot or even come back with anything decent enough for me to say, “Nice one.” They’re good at trash talk but my Scottish-type comment would have zeroed right into his faux self-image and revealed to all what he was: a lowlife fuckhead of ever diminishing worth.
Well, it’s like that old saying: Discretion is the better part of valor.
Needed some culture besides what was growing in the back of my fridge. Initially, thought some photos might do it then decided upon the museum downtown. However, a scant week after a car accident was not the day to partake.
My lower back began to really ache on the subway ride down but I persevered. Fingers of sciatica then began creeping down my left leg…..which was strange because the surgery, long ago, relieved the nerve impingement in my right one.
I got in, paid, then sat down and knew all was not right. It was killing me and I get irritable, fidgety and impatient when it gets like this which is not often. Plus, the pain doesn’t go away; it just hangs about. The lady across looked at me with this worried look on her face. I said nothing. There was nothing to say.
Museum Exhibit Poorly Designed
Went upstairs to the Cut N’Paste Canadian Culture exhibit. The information plaques for each station were 2 feet(!) off the ground and the overhead lighting was super dim. Just an absolute waste of money for the museum. People stayed for about 2 minutes, if that. Unless you were a child, in a wheelchair or less than 6 feet tall in height, and had a miner’s helmet on with a 100 watt light, it was impossible to read what was written, never mind examine the artifacts.
I strode out, got my money back, then went for a 2 mile brisk walk. Home now, I realized that’s what the ole’ back needed: a long walk to work off the adjustment and burn off any of toxins loosened up by the epsom salts bath + a lot of icing to reduce the inflammation in the soft tissues. Ditto for my neck.
Conclusion:
Recuperation takes the time it takes.
I will write a letter to the museum and see if the situation changes.
Not feeling well right now. Could be hunger. But probably is hunger combined with the wave of released, pent-up nerve energy from today’s decisive chiro treatment. Got a pleasant surprise: the recent hire that was taking the place of the vacationing Captain Crunch has excellent technique and was able to get at the hard-to-crack spot between my shoulder blades.
That’s T4-T5 (thoracic) where all the neck muscles attach to. A rolling tidal wave of tension and discomfort had built up since Wednesday and I was going squirrely. And this is due to the fact that practically every joint in my neck is locked up. But the connective tissues are still too tender to adjust (he wanted to, I said no) so, with the ‘body’ liking balance, nothing’s going to be right until my neck can be cracked. I imagine it’ll make the clickety-click sound of a baseball or hockey card clothes-pegged to a bike frame where it made contact with the rotating rear wheel. Or how the World Trade Tower sounded when their successive floors were dynamited by the nano-thermite charges.
‘Should Have Known Better
I should have skipped last night’s meeting about changing my website into a blog since the transition and set-up is the easy part. The more challenging bit is the content strategy which I hadn’t give any thought to whatsoever. Why did I go? I’ve recently become enamored of my ability to be on time for things. Plus, I’d done no thinking about it with all this accident stuff and accompanying pain.
I was way too tired and contracted blabbing disease where I empty out my entire wooly head of details, selling theories. The situation was ridiculous and I deserved it for not thinking it through well enough. The lady was from Mongolia and she and her husband wanted to start a business of some sort ….. and I tried to be the Magic Man with all of the answers but actually had none of them. It was a shitty trade for me since the other web designer said the transition wasn’t very hard to do. At the very end, she added the kicker: she was looking for funding (who isn’t?). I was amazed – even in my delirious, starved state.
No Thanks
A long-time musician friend called me last week and my spidey-sense signaled imminent danger; I let voice mail take it. A couple of days ago, he called again and left a a message requesting my presence at his latest country & western hayseed hoe down. The guy’s gone soft in his advancing years. In days of old, he was lead singer of a very respectable punk rock-satire band, Drums Along the Gardiner, with hits like ‘Beer Gut, He’s My Brother and He’s a Bum, and Kick the Cat.” Now he’s hooked up with some mediocre strummer who bores me into a fence post.
The only possible way I could watch them – again – is if I visited a bunch of thrift stores and bought up all their old small kitchen appliances then sit in the back of the space and begin heaving choppers, can openers, and egg timers at the stage. I love the sounds of things smashing.
A while back – in the summer, I think – I was entrapped into going as I was given the impression that this was a party affair. But it wasn’t; it was a ruse followed by the gathering of several musicians playing country and blue grass, I guess, to other musicians and these people all love each other. There’s not bad song among the bunch. It’s like porn ’stars’ doing their thing in front of their colleagues.
However, for a rocker like me, it is a death knell. I was going quietly mad, and almost at once a flashing fire door ‘Exit’ light began flashing in my head. I decided, right there, to invoke a measure used only once before: the staged “dire emergency” phone call from a family member. ‘Went downstairs, called a friend, gave him instructions then went back up. Precisely 30 minutes later, 5 or 6 songs in, my phone rang and I became animated…….minutes later, I was saying my good byes. Luxury in its most basic form.
Preference for …
I like some old country music and by that I mean a few at a time, not a whole lot of it at one time in a situation where I cannot leave gracefully without a chorus line of hang dog looks of disloyalty and betrayal.
The genre of country music I most prefer is the ‘cunt-try’ variety with its penetrating insights, torrid pace, and generous use of the mouth-harp.
WTF was I Thinking?
I went out to my mom’s condo to visit my old/new car today; I really went out there to fetch the repair records for last Saturday’s auto fatality. The insurance adjuster guy wanted me to round up whatever was spent on crash-up derby loser in ‘09 by my seezter. Nice guy? Not when I fax him the research I dug up on what that car was worth.
Holy Cash Furnace, Batman! A 4-wheel brake job and oil change cost $1,780!!!! One disc brake caliper cost $258.99 vs. $79.80 for my old/new Honda beater. Like Roger the tow truck driver said, “There’s more Hondas on the road then ‘98 Infinitis, so parts will be a lot cheaper.” An alternator for the former luxury car? $380 + $166 to put it in = $546 for a single repair. The guy across the street put in a new starter motor into the Honda for $297.
My sister probably thought I would look at that repair file but I was busy at the time and I didn’t; otherwise, I would have sold it immediately. But not really because she could have sold it too! So, I was kinda’ tied to driving it around or saying ‘No’ to Door #1.
The Almighty Works in Strange Wayss
Was it divine Providence that caused me to see nothing but a clear lane last week? It must have been. One repair to that former King of the Road
by this King of the Road
would blow my bank account like a tire on the Indy 500 speedway.
Scene of the Crime
I went out at the fateful intersection with a camera to check out out if there was an incline that would have caused me to miss that oncoming car. There was no such thing. It was a clear lane, with an descending incline! I took a picture anyway.
Then i went over to empty out the wreck. My sister was heavily into First Aid kits. There were 4 of them but they were all of the itty-bitty variety, like what you’d find in Ken & Barbie’s trunk.
A good thought but band aids and a 4″ square gauze pad aren’t going to do much for trauma injuries like concussions, compound fractures, and crushed anything. Maybe I’ll start a collection. Come to think of it, I should really get one together in my new-old car – but a bigger one with splints, 40oz of Jamaican rum, 1/2 ounce of medical marijuana, 12 pack of condoms, a warm blanket, a survival pack of food, like that.
Took photos of all the features that made up the Touring option package, so as to ensure that the adjuster guy knew about all the spare parts that would and could be sold for a price much higher than the total car was worth….maybe – and did I mention that it was fucking cold out? My fingers were turning into mini popsicles. Actually, when me and my brother walked to school when I was 8, 9, 10, it would be as cold then in the morning (0 degrees farenheit) as it is outside now – only it was dark. Still, I wasn’t used to it. Really enjoyed Indian Winter of a few weeks ago.
Back to the Future: WTF!
‘Drove over to the condo garage to grab the paperwork and start up the Honda which has been on vacation for 2 months. The driver side seat was firm and I enjoyed sitting up straight. The seat, being cloth, was warmer too. It was then that my aching body asked, “Why did you bother with that padded monster anyway?” I guess because it was my dad’s car and when I originally drove it back in ‘02, I was seduced by how smooth a ride it was. Plus, that 200 watt Bose sound system which may have lulled me last Saturday. Plus, I thought I’d be driving around doing sales presentations and I know many people like the look of an expensive car. Why, even my upstairs neighbor Christina commented on it a couple of weeks back. Practically salivating, she described my old Honda as only “an A to B car” then looked at me suggestively while her legs parted ever so slightly, while standing up.
I was unmoved. She’d offered me a couple of years ago a”bed buddy” opportunity but I ….just….haven’t …..found time…..or lost enough of my mind to take her up on that “offer.” And dear, all cars do the same thing. My mechanic friend, Geoff, calls them – all cars – shit boxes because they’re all different yet they all break down. Plus, he’s was frustrated by the manufacturer’s abysmal engine compartment design. Those GM and Ford vans with their front mounted engines were a nightmare to fix. I visited him on many occasions when he was applying his BFH (big fucking hammer) with aplomb to the bench in frustration. ….If only I’d have reviewed those repair bills, I surely would have backed off.
What’s Old is New
I have about 20 posts I’ve started but haven’t completed so I will endeavor to publish those. A broad variety of topics are covered. And now, it is time to feed.
