It May Just Be Spring, After All…

It May Just Be Spring, After All…

I think it might be, because the smell outside my window smacks unmistakably of what can only be described as “Old Cat-Box”. Nasty analogy, I know, but there you have it. And the weather has finally been fine long enough for me to trust it.

Which may be a mistake...

Which may be a mistake…

This is Canuckia, after all. It could start to blizzard any minute. But, so far, so good – it was “Walk-About Weather” today, if ever I saw it, so off I went.

Does anybody remember The Pigman? For those that do, look what I came across on my Walk-About today…

The Cup

The Cup

For those interested, my “Road of Life” is, apparently, the stretch of Wellington St. West/East from Gore St. all the way up to Pathways Retirement Home. Now you know. For those confused, you really ought to read Paul Zindel.

Okay, that’s enough “For Thoses”…

I found this on the last Walk-About...

I found this on the last Walk-About…

…but didn’t get around to posting it before falling down the rabbit-hole for awhile there. This is my future home, you know, or one like it, if I ever make The Great Escape (not to mention, get a driver’s license and a truck to pull it with…). I wonder about the possibilities of mobile employment…? I’m gonna need to pay for gas, I think, as it may be difficult to conduct a proper getaway whilst hauling this thing behind me.

I didn’t really get much out of my Walk-About today… the egg salad at lunch didn’t sit particularly well, and usually the walk home will make that sort of thing better, but today not so much. Beer. Beer is the answer.

Kyla is off on her school trip to Toronto – left yesterday morning, walking on air all the way to meet up with her bus. She gets a luxury tour-bus ride there and back, a 4-star hotel (she packed three swimsuits because she couldn’t decide which to wear), a trip to the top of the CNN tower, the Science Center, shopping at the Eaton’s Center, and to top it off, tickets to The Phantom of the Opera…

...to which she will wear this.

…to which she will wear this.

…if she doesn’t chicken out, that is. She and another girl dared each other to “dress to the nines” for this shindig, but she brought a slightly-less formal outfit with her, in case they lost their nerve.

Again, Gramma & Grampa came through for this trip. I managed the cost of the bus/hotel/Phantom tickets, which came as a package deal, but she would have starved while there (not to mention lost out on shopping and sightseeing, which would have just killed her), if they hadn’t offered to help.

Of course, as luck would have it, her camera went in for repair last week, but Louie came through for her on that point, loaning her a camera of the same ilk, just one step up, and in a way cooler colour. She’s not going to want to give it back, I don’t think.

And speaking of cameras, my mom bought me Hilary for my birthday (no, it’s not my birthday), which I don’t generally like to celebrate (there’s something sort of embarrassing about getting a lot of attention for managing to stay alive another year), but my mother always acknowledges it, and who am to take away her pleasure in paying for a camera I should not have bought to begin with, (I’m supposed to be paying down the debt, not adding to it…) since it makes her happy – LOL!

Oddly, I got a call from one sister and a brother as well, which was weird. Possibly even a first. Nice though; I was genuinely touched.

And there! I have run out of steam. I’m going to drink my beer, try not to buy cigarettes, and edit the sound on that “way late” commercial, now that I’ve had a lesson in the software I’m using. Still, I think it’s going to be a long rest of the weekend.

Note to self: Don’t forget to pick up kid at designated bus drop-off at 6:30 Sunday. I don’t suppose anybody out there might think to remind me…?

Random Song for the Day: “That I Would Be Good” – Alanis Morrisette

In Pursuit of a Dream… Take 2

I have been forcibly “de-funkified”. I really should thank Carol for doing it with her nasty comments (and even nastier private emails), but I’m not quite ready to do that, because, truthfully, I don’t think I’m quite ready to be “de-funkified” at all.

But she’s right. Wallowing in it, publicly or privately, only makes things worse.

I still don’t have A Dream. So, I’m going to force one. And I’m going to be purposefully vague about it (sorry), because it’s an old dream, and only a couple of people know about it.

One of those people is the one that killed it. Granted, I let it be killed. I let it be killed because Way Back When, I didn’t have any guts. I don’t have any guts, now, either, but I intend to grow some.

Anyway…! On with it.

Way Back When, when the world was still new (1982, I think it was), I saved up $250 to help make my dream come true. A friend of mine, The Dream-Killer, boosted me along. I worked in a restaurant as a dishwasher for really crappy pay back then, and it was only part-time, since I was in school. Still, when I got that paycheck every week, all I wanted to do was buy jeans and party. The Dream-Killer would remind me about saving for my dream, and I would gratefully set aside some cash, and then steal beer money from my parents. Sometimes, I just cut out the middle step and stole beer instead. Even so, it took a long time to save up $250, let me tell you, but I did it.

I lived in a teeny-tiny town 50-odd miles East of here. I had to come up here to the Sault to plunk down my money and make Step One happen. The Dream-Killer came with me for support. We skipped school and hitch-hiked, of course. I wasn’t about to spend Dream Money on bus fare, was I? I wasn’t stupid.

Hitchhiking 50-odd miles sometimes takes hours. By the time we got here, The Dream-Killer had almost convinced me that The Dream was too big for me…

“You’re too young. No one’s going to take you seriously.”

“$250 really isn’t enough to do this with.”

“That guy is just looking for money. It’s going to turn out like shit.”

Almost convinced me. Almost.

And then, killing time until Step One would be underway, we wandered through the mall… and saw…

The Chair.


It looked a lot like this…

“Look at that chair! Don’t you love that chair?”

(It really was a cool chair. Yes, I loved that chair…)

“That chair would look sooooo gnarly in your room!”

(It really would…)

“It’s only $200! You should buy the chair!”

(I really wanted to buy the chair. But The Dream…!)

And then…

“You know… I don’t know how to tell you this… but… your stuff’s really not…. that… good.”

Poof!

I bought the chair.

My father worked up here at the time, piloting one of the Lock Tour boats, and reluctantly agreed to truck it home for me. Wicker chair… Open truck bed… My chair blew out of the back of the truck at about Echo Bay.

We got turned around to go recover it just in time to see another truck wing by us with my chair in the back! Pissed my dad right off.

He took off after this guy at breakneck speed, berating me the whole time for being so stupid as to spend $200 on a chair for Chrissakes, and now he had to chase it down the damned highway, and so help him God, if he got pinched for speeding, I was paying the God-damned fine.

He caught up to the guy and pulled up beside him. Waved.

The guy waved back.

My dad yelled at him to stop, God-damn it.

The guy wouldn’t stop.

My dad darn near ran him off the road before he gave up and pulled over, telling us he was “trying to catch up with us”… ?! The chair survived with nary a scratch or break, surprisingly, and the story is incredibly funny now, but only because I survived. I was certain through the whole “chase” that my dad was going to roll the truck and kill us.

We pulled into Thessalon an hour or so later; my dad with a snarl on, and me with a crushed Dream, an un-crushed chair, and $50 burning a hole in my pocket. I’m pretty sure I spent the $50 on beer. And probably grass, too.

Every time we had company over after that, my dad would tell The Chair Story, bring people into my room to show them The Chair, and beam as if me spending $200 on a chair fer Chrissakes was the most brilliant thing I could have done. Maybe a highspeed chase down Highway 17 East was one of his dreams, I don’t know…

A year and a half later, my first apartment went up in flames. Wicker burns really fast.

I’ve always regretted buying that chair and forfeiting what I thought at the time was a pretty good chance at a really big dream. I’m not really sure if my heart is in this yet, but I’m going to give it another go.

Step One is now actually Step Three – as the world has changed a little since it was new. I have changed a lot since the world was new, but I’ve already begun Step One. I’ve talked to some people, and got some advice. Step Two is coming in short order.

It’s going to cost a lot more than $250.

I know it’s a bit of a cheat to not actually detail this further, but I haven’t exactly grown those guts yet. And I hope some of you will wish me well anyway. Comments are welcome. No Dream-Killers will be taken seriously. I hope.

Random Song for the Day: “9 Crimes” – Damien Rice

Metaphorically Speaking….

Something came along/happened/was said that slammed me back about six years. I’m kind of in a box now, and I haven’t slept very much since.

I have things that need to be figured out and I haven’t got a clue how to go about it. I know this will somehow “work itself out”, as my mom is wont to say, but that only makes me feel like I’m not the one in control of my own damned life (what else is new?), and since I have discovered that there really is no such thing as God, it’s that much more depressing to realize that if I’m not in control, it’s all just up to chance, after all.

What a waste of years, in other words.

Not-So-Random Song for the Day: “All Those Yesterdays” – Pearl Jam

Meet the New Driver…

Meet the New Driver…

“He’s a foreigner.”

Samoan Jim

I think he’s probably Samoan.
…not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

We went to record the sound for a commercial – a 45-minute job. I think I got home two and a half hours later.

First things first…. we got lost. Well, we weren’t exactly lost lost – we knew where we were. But the client’s store was sure lost! Funny part is (ha. ha.) that Louie and I were the ones that did the original shoot. Of course, that was weeks ago. And they could have moved the store. Or I can blame it on The Samoan being a foreigner. Well, what would you do?!

Next… I dropped Hilary Federwhore in a puddle in the parking lot. Everybody say, “GASP! NOOOOOOOOO!” Yup, I did. She lived, though.

(“Hilary Federwhore” was named by BeckEye, by the way. I’ll probably call her “Whore” for short. The camera, not Beck. Weeeel…. no. No, I won’t do that.)

Then…. I unpacked the laptop, the mic stand, the keyboard and mouse (The laptop’s “t” doesn’t work. And all the paraphernelia spread out looks really, really pro. It does.), and then realized I had left the mic at home. I blamed that on The Samoan, as well, but it didn’t really fly, because he speaks english and was able to defend himself. Foreigners. Figures.

But the recording itself went really well. I am a great director, after all, and The Samoan is a pretty darned good client coach. The client/voice-over artist was a natural, actually – and did a great job with minimal advice and no line-by coaching. And he wrote the script as he went along – I was impressed.

Now I have to edit this stuff. Tomorrow. Yeah.

Random Song for the Day: “One” – Cowboy Junkies

Meet the New Camera…

Meet the New Camera…

Louie took my camera away. Something about his Very Significant Other and Mexico (Damn, but I hate it when people go to Mexico without me! Don’t I, Suzi?).

It’s all good, though. I got pissed (“How do you expect me to work without a camera?!”), and stomped down to the mall yesterday and bought a better camera. Ummmm…. from Louie.

cannona550
Canon Powershot A550

Of course, I went directly on a Walk-About to test it out. And, of course, the feature I like best is the optical zoom.

Can you see it...?

Can you see it…?

Zooooomed...

Zooooomed…
(How ’bout now…?)

I walked up to my parents’ place to show it off. My dad was suitably impressed. My mom offered to buy it for me for my birthday (Ooooh… deja vu…). Not being stupid, I accepted. And no. It’s not my birthday.

Now, it just needs a name. Suggestions…?

UPDATE: Her name is Hilary Federwhore. When I like her, I will call her “Hil”. When she pisses me off, she will be “Ya Little Whore“, just like my dad would do…

Random Song for the Day: “Chicago” – Sufjan Stevens