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The Whole Nine Yards

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Suspiciously prognosticating, I could see this coming, combining my limited high school science knowledge and a decent amount of palliative hospital time with our dearly departed. On first glimmer of bicycle weather, I escaped our families self imposed hunkered-down quarantine headquarter, slash, cuckoo’s nest, to enter the outside world and try my luck with newly implemented public health protocol requiring, ‘social distancing’, or to aptly describe, ‘mental distancing’. Heard somewhere, a leader claim, we aren’t socially or economically designed to endure, self-inflicted precautionary all-encompassing shutdowns, in protecting against an invisible enemy virus. I haven’t slept this well since my last long ago trip to sparsity, in vicinity of our family farm. We subsist deep inside our city jungle and finding normally bustling streets evacuated, exaggeration begins to almost hear, a pin drop. Some oddity has taken place, displacing the casual savagery. Having been deployed to the front lines of humanity my entire adulthood, a suddenly now threatened into extinction career, I find this change refreshing. I could get accustomed to it. It’s hardly a surprise as to why leadership, with collective zeal, is attempting to put Humpty Dumpty together again. Freedom is beautiful to behold and with it, the multitude and those plainly incapable of physically recovering, may ponder moving off the plantation, forever. Cobbling the fragile bonds that tie man together, has never been easy, even in the best of times.

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Of course it’s evident this isn’t for everyone, the looming threat of horrible, painful, lonely death, added punishment if loved ones mourn in absentia but put that aside and this episode has been a breath of fresh air. Apparently India is mystified. Looking to the skies, invisible of littering airplanes, unintrusive open spaces between clouds, void the rumble noise of artificial, breaking speed noise, removes the mind from pressures affiliated with the pace of, to and fro. ‘Twas a peaceful rainy day feeling that never seemed to end’. The racket buzzing of steel glass plastic cars, replaced by silent scents, portends the impending arrival of hummingbirds, mosquitoes, butterflies and bees, ever so benevolent by suggestive comparison. Highlight was witnessing in sequence, a pole fisherman catch decent length gill, photographed in lawfully distanced pride, along my devotedly traversed route, on the periphery of Cabbagetown touching the Don River banks, a mere stones throw from the Toronto Stock Exchange. Buses that cavalierly carriage free slaves, packed as canned sardines, saunter by in emptiness, instigate thoughts of converting to limousine or mobile home. It all felt quaint and civilized, as if meant to be. Crossing our byways and highways, the noticeably fewer motorists are liberated to movement, in fashion intended by city planners projected design, as my senses are shattered from such obvious sensibility.

 

We were smitten in outrageously referencing our society ‘the rat race’ during my teens and this unabated pyramid scheme for decades, exponentially multiplied, so imagine the size and number of them now…. Hearing another infamous leader chime “We have to plan restarting life”. Maybe it be a good time to reconsider some of our prior failed follies but powers that be, seem to still be paralyzed, of lamenting. Grieving is, as functioning adults know, a stage, before determining an objective way to move forward. Expropriation of lands from other forms of life would seem to need, halt. Depopulation, reclaiming slums, cessation in creation of new ready made slums, growing local and sustainable development would be a fulfillment of some wonderful concepts, begging implementation. The oddity in my words is that I’m a right wing liberal. Whatever that still implies. It doesn’t mean destroying the planet. Efficiencies prolonged, turn into deficiencies. A former now deceased Canadian Prime Minister as well philosophical theorist, argued during a university visit to South America that political systems are engine’s, when successfully functioning, are depended upon, to solve a countries evolving national interests and these systems might need to change should conditions require drastic action.

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Golly, who was aware the barely lucrative ‘restaurant business’ was vital to the socioeconomic dynamics of nation building. Appears that food and booze served in a preferred setting, is the glue that holds communities together. The livelihoods I had contemplated studying, to complete my soul, have lost luster during pandemic. An epic accident of fate, has elevated my self-worth from the trash heap of the ketchup industry. Engineer, architect, human trafficker, physician, epidemiologist, drug dealer, marketer, lobbyist, politician, gaming operator, officer, diplomat, administrator, pimp, corporate lawyer, journalist, coalesce their brain thrust and lubricate our financial system through patronage of the hospitality trade. Suggestions of gloves, mask, thermometer and who knows, a child’s playful fantasy stethoscope, could be sophisticated trickery of promotion but how to draw energy to proceed, with suspect opportunity to gain, should it all be wasted, displaced effort. Mapping the way forward, needs vision. Foreshadow a swell of plague, should we return to previous habit and can we ignore this premise, in crafting new solutions. Historically supernatural events were attached to omens delivered by soothsayers warning humans to impending unknown dangers. Before and after predictions, ‘I told you so’, are forgotten, until the next approach of a high body count. The unfortunate side effect of genius pharmaceutical development, is false security, exposing us to ever increasing vulnerabilities of calamity, in our misplaced belief of science superiority. We need to apply layered defensive approaches to our survival, given that mad men in control, periodically run amok, a recognized tendency. Conundrum when wise men discard their appreciation to awe, anything but themselves. Nature won’t be outmaneuvered. Begrudgingly, we shall learn to cohabitate with other living, or face an ugly surrender. Adjustments wouldn’t be profound upon the arrival of an acceptance. Our foundations utilized properly could make us healthy and prosperous. Uncompromising greed, is the real virus.

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Cycling along, observing unusual, contributing self induced amusement enhancement imagery, I was undesirably visited by an absurd dark visual, from a particularly disturbing movie. Dennis Hopper is responsible for a collage of mind numbing theatrical performances, interrupting two generations of who’s who in Hollywood. Cataloging a subconscious list of sick cinematic memorabilia is short, mostly the result of infrequent dead time or derived from unwanted invitations, as ‘must see’. Sometimes there’s absolutely nothing else to watch and while lulling, the quality of filming engrosses, capturing an outpouring of deranged passion, submitting to squirm. ‘Blue Velvet’ and other things ‘Lynch’ or genre and scenes accredited to Hopper are unbearable to watch without prior conditioning to a world of morbid cynicism. His portrayals messaged controversy and skirted realms of twisted.

 

Jargon familiar to insiders, lined-up, packed, in the weeds, my four four tops seated, the love couch was being reset, as I was picking up drinks at the service bar. Returning to intersect a fellow waiter, he and I having come on board this fledgling tour, from separate postings, when one could shoot a cannon and strike loneliness. Each week our stature as ‘hot spot’ was elevating and camaraderie was gaining hold, in sharing this accomplishment. Dino, an endearing personality, dutiful, organized, efficient and thoughtful, possessed the qualities of an A grade employee. Initially a part time commitment, we hired into placement because of similar profiles, regularly serving powerful, intelligent and prolific people. Identically in mid-life, wasn’t much we hadn’t seen, so when Dino gave an exuberant grin, as if flashing all the keys on a baby grand piano and threw his hitchhiking fist with thumb over his shoulder, this motion clearing the tassel of hair from his lively eyes, awaring me “You’ve got Dennis Hopper”, was another notch, indicating we were hitting the top of our game, which is why we play. Twelve paces around a pillar, in those moments having grafted from air, said recognition, was to the next, looking at Hopper, leaning forward over the table with a menu in hand, his female companion, adjusting, seemingly perturbed, into her position of cushy couch. “You got a burger”? Placing down the menu he probably hadn’t looked at, making a circular gesture with both hands suggesting the preferred size of patty, his head tilting repeatedly, motioning peek at hopeful portion. “I just want a burger, you got a burger”? “I want a burger”! I refrained because patron’s were within earshot, instead internalized my response, ‘You want a _uckin’ burger, I’ve got a _uckin’ burger’. For providing me over the years, hours of thought provoking, certifiable, film entertainment, I’ll produce one, ‘come hell or high water’. He’d probably have laughed and if the clock permitted, I’d have ventured probe of his disposition. Feasibility, prioritizing, prerogative, perk, standing, goodwill, command structure and distribution of responsibility are a number of elements, functioning waiter’s filter to complete tasks. Customer obligations were consuming my concentration. On advancing and receiving his affirmative, still carrying alcohol on my tray during interruption, continued with delivery, then headed to see chef about mincing a steak, peeling some potatoes and agreeing to send my busboy to purchase condiments, further to the bakery for hamburger buns. Reactions to this blurring emotional pace of rigmarole, are suspended, then reconvened to digest in the solace comfort of bed, where your mind is a darkroom, reflectively reprocessing snapshots of incidents, leading to releases of delayed amusement, sorrow, shock, discovery and stamping indelible marks on later to become hardened opinions. The space separating an actor’s on screen aura, to real persona, is negligible. Who and why they really are, well, it takes a lifetime knowing oneself. Film gimmickry and sleight of hand shan’t obscure a rabid public, from idealizing their favorite. To do so would defeat the purpose of adulation, connecting to remunerative interests. However, and here I’m not dissecting Hopper, having had the luxury of intimate contact with movie star’s and celebrated musicians, I’ve had to bite my lip, stopping myself from asking, “you do actually understand the implications of your film, do you grasp the significance of your ‘popular song’? The disconnect is numbing, or maybe it’s us, or me, or the audience, drawing pie in the sky, of malleable performers, guided by an ensemble of direction and an undefined personal belief system. Interpret, as generalization, impressionability and detachment, are applicable constructive methods, as if canvass, of an actor’s art form. On the other hand we have Dennis and I doubt just anyone would want to crawl beneath his skin, to take a good look under the hood and examine influences of his distress and torment. Some having attempted to brush up, uncomfortably close and were forced to leave disillusioned.  A counterweight to tinseltown reputation, he was fearsome, sometimes loathsome, the bad boy was always hardcore authentic, appreciated among his and my piers for his work. Certainly a great guy to visit, valuing spirited insight but you probably couldn’t want to live there, for preservation of sanity, only if you happen to know, what’s good for you. I’d give him this unmatched legacy. The lesson, personified, avoid evil, it isn’t pleasant. I had the good fortune, to briefly, bask in his presence, demented as that might be.

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The strange about this virus, is how it has rendered our intelligentsia, downright stupid. I consider this the upside. It places the power of humans in perspective, relatively speaking, in light of the unknown vastness of, you know, the universe. Of course we have to worry about the downside, that being, we completely lose it. In that case, grab a rake, for gathering of dead leave’s we are about to receive and prepare ourselves for the next growing season, should good fortune provide us this opportunity. For other’s, things could get dicey, turning into something resembling, a dog eat dog world. We expend endless amounts of energy, selling theories (bullshit) we absorb ourselves into trusting, discounting every evidence to contrary, as it’s linked to a means of financial reward. There’s the crux. I wait on the novelty and distinction of receiving my first government check, never having utilized the welfare or unemployment system. Things change. Fascinating to see our way of life inverse. I feel like bursting out laughing but we must for the sake of appearance’s, remain solemn. The government is sending us money to sit at home. Will wonders ever cease. You know organized crime is in crisis. Amusingly, that’s always messy. And they scratch their heads, huh, feigning surprise, huh, about what amounts to temporarily ordering soft martial law, generating the highest unemployment rate since the Great Depression. This is what cheap labor brought our continent, mass destruction. Imbeciles. Blowback ramifications to ameliorate the entire system from crashing will be mighty interesting, mighty interesting indeed. Knowing my fellow man from both sides of this equation, they’ll be chasing and dodging these monies, all over Gods acre for years to come. A likewise stunning anomaly is television doctor’s and health professionals pretending to represent integrity. False Gods. Updated. Fake Gods. Their tentacles, scour the globe, probe every crevasse, came weeks, months, late to the party, with a diagnosis. How useless are they. Why are we giving them our attention. My pets serve better as early detection warning systems and can’t speak the lingo, nor are we beached in far away tsunamiville. Dontcha know. Highly dubious, doesn’t add up, for ‘the evening enlightenment news’ to be this out of the loop, at bare, have laid ground work to assess images from the east, hundreds of bio-suited teams spraying city streets with lord knows, what kind of chemicals. Didn’t look healthy. Am I to understand, skeptically, computer models forecast this disaster? Are we off human input altogether and have the high tech martial art guru puppet billionaire giants, become mere talking heads to there robot master’s? Did a supercomputer and a batch of humanoid zombie operatives order this up? Is the 010101010101010101 dial, set to high probability loss ratio? People I was indulging, surmised this incoming pandemic problem, minus a background in medicine or foresight from access to hundreds of employees embedded in corporate tech networks. Before Christmas the uptick of transit commuter’s wearing masks was noticeable, due to foreign exchange student’s in our neighborhood college. Overheard a couple chattering, some wear masks to hide their acne, resulting from soot. How gullible am I. Meantime the House of Representative’s was focused on eating or growing or canning peaches, or something. What the heck was that about? Circumventing democracy? Why celebrate with gusto, women’s suffrage, to a century later water down and disqualify every citizen’s vote. The fourth pillar is complicit due to lethargy, performing the prerequisite qualifier of their mandate, mainly rigorous investigative journalism. They don’t seem remotely moved to outgrowing their useless pretenses, because the truth is increasingly inconveniencing their sponsor’s agenda’s and the days of extrapolating life saving tidbits from their manipulations, are kaputski. The question is, who’s pocket is W.H.O. in. Certainly no one I know, directly. Demeaning the motive’s of people isn’t what this is about, as optimism is a virtue I best cling to, but comes a time, things get out of hand and we need intervention. I’m convinced this virus, is that. An intervention. If your okay, don’t bother paying attention but continue to follow the guidelines provided by your province or state ministries, to a tee, additionally tailoring them to your criteria of common sense. If you don’t happen to survive, you can always be content knowing, that you knew, ‘only the strong survive’. The rest needs to be ignored, for their own sake, as taking themselves too seriously isn’t helping. Delightful in observation, is our controller’s rationale, as they seem sad and ever sadder, yet manage never take an eyeball off the prize of clinging to power, even if we’re all depleted to death and there’s nothing left to power. My peeve with liberal communism, it desperately needs someone to communist. Prejudice is an ingrained defense mechanism, when it shows up collectively, becomes an uncompromising vicious animalistic mob. Is the collective mind more interesting than the individual mind? I would argue that larger mass is cumbersome and oppressive, the individual free and nimble. The one threaten’s at every level, the other open to comprehension. A babbling authority figure, unwittingly spewing matter’s of fact, as foresight to his constituents, interlinked to discussion of mortality rate statistics, stated “we’re all going to die eventually,” anyway. They are now indulging in lecturing the apparent, as strategy to make us feel better. It’s a stretch to believe, this governor of large jurisdiction, has ever been to funeral and there contemplated implications of biblical events. If you wonder how scenarios like Jonestown and Flavor Aid happen, look no longer. Me, I’m running, running like that first American upon realization of crashing wave, away from the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant, it’s precursors Hiroshima and Nagasaki. But Where? We created this monster, now we need to put this Chernobyl, Three Mile Island type genie, back in the bottle before we exterminate ourselves. I’m tired of them saying we’re all in this together, because if we were, you’d be following my advice. I’m tired of them thanking anyone and everyone who’s listening, as substitute for payment in helping the distressed, because good intentions have never been affordable. Sounds like begging. Who do you think you’re fooling. Just make sure you have the wherewithal to keep feeding me. What’s with the steady stream of attacks on worshipers? I know members of my sect can be a bit crazy, but no more, or less, than any other relevant group of religious and institutional fanatics. Ain’t no better policy, ‘moving forward’ (another overused catch phrase that ill’s me, where’s the cliff?) than removing any breath of hope to your followers. This is a winning formula? Stigmatizing the quality of our mental capacity, as master plan, to eliminate our doubting the possibility of an afterlife! Give us something. Com’on throw us a bone. A warning would do, otherwise leave us, to our own vices and our way of expiring. People devoured by science are morons of a special sort, smearing themselves in omniscient stoicism, like honeytrap, they come across as instruments of the devil. Research, experimentation, hypothesis, out the window, when spirituality becomes the topic, simply because it isn’t tangible. They’ve turned it toxic. They need tangible. Microscoping lounge time to debate weather the covid-19 catastrophe was intentional, or a breakdown in shoddy enterprise, (most likely) fluctuates. Either deserve outrage and an ensuing explanation is essential to determine a first step towards healing, however, the invested are busy diverting our attention, from a definitive answer. To me, just like they, we’ve all become part of the same problem, which is the problem. I need a bit of space, to breath and grow and find myself, then maybe I and the rest of the world, we can hook up again and find a solution to these troubles, or if need be, go our separate ways. (permanently). No hard feelings, we just weren’t meant to be, you and I. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to manipulate, hopefully on another planet, in the mean time let the judicial system run it’s course assessing blame, if it can locate it’s misplaced scales of justice and blindfold. Initially, you’ll have to clear the buildings of lawyer’s and the body politic, fumigate, then search again. Oh yes here it is. The statue of liberty. Needs a good wash. Whoever or whatever unleashed the conditions of our consternation, screwed up, big time, because they’ve screwed a system that needed to be screwed on behalf of all the living things it was screwing. For me the seed of this destruction was planted with Sunday shopping. I new something irked me then and they went ahead and did it, without my consent. Instead, we should have cut our hours of labor, added a day of leisure and extended religious holiday’s. Disheartening, is finding my idealized childhood hero’s, for their profundity, performing music as shtick, while background slot machines, roll out sounds of jingle jangle, between guitar licks, bing bang bong. Feel good words and meaning, have lost value. At the cusp, we were sold out, to carpetbagger’s. I’m guessing all those joints we smoked, dumbed us down, made us lazy. While I’m in this area of poker chips and touch screens, here we find example, of good intention, turned nightmarish. Our public transport seating is arranged to facilitate conversation among strangers, when in the company of a hostile, glaring us, we uniformly become hostage to a steady diet of deranged, or walk. Can’t tell you how much I miss the lunacy. As we sit there singing ‘Kumbaya’,  spittle visibly or invisibly all over each other, thrashing around, holding for dear life to our handheld technology, between stops picking at it with our finger, like someone’s nose and no less applying make-up, because we got up late, as some guy, who hasn’t washed his body in six days wants the window seat, ‘gotta get to work’, ‘gotta get to work’, a too loud, yoga vegan tattooed environmentalist who’s multi-manifold fuel injection car broke down at the airport, “yeah, I’m on the bus, no, no, seriously, I’m taking a bus”, and as you place that cellphone to your mouth to answer dad’s call, overhearing the latest tomorrow, some children in New York have died mysteriously, might be virus related, well you can see why everything has gone to shit, until we have a vaccine. Or Plan B. I’m in for plan B. By the way, I’m not George Carlin.

 

Here, I have to give a shout out, addressing two groups of concern. My fellow restaurant workers must be insanely fidgety, given the physical and cerebral qualities of our occupation, having been squashed, like bugs, from employment. Waiter’s in their secretly nameless contribution, ‘disseminating thought’ and for those that wholeheartedly deserve to be in this field, appreciating the unique feature’s of our job description, I sympathize, especially the youthful, capable and exuberant. Hopefully the duration of your inconvenience is short, although I’m sure the emotionally stable will adjust without fuss and move into other opportunities, representing your numerous skills. Consternation is directed at the hygienic aspects of duty, accounting for most of what we do as second nature, in preparation for receiving and during the service of our guests. Under normal conditions this work load in the hands of conscientious employees is essential and therefore can’t be understated, time consuming. With the advent of this pandemic atmosphere, the idea of fulfilling intimate service safely, is stretched from logic, in particular when assessing those segments of our work force, that are altogether incapable, of this expected performance. They become a menacing hindrance. Training and overseeing people who should already have been put to pasture, as they were never remotely capable of achieving the fundamental standard, well, this mountain is too steep to scale, rationally. The profit margins will disintegrate and the paranoia of advancing germophobia, disable our jobs disagreeable. This of course is my humble opinion. Until the disease is eradicated or designated boundary type conditions secured, to strictly protect abiding groups in isolation, I won’t be a customer to any location, what’s the point of being an employee. This leads me to regard the status of high-octane performer’s, including the casual philosophic adherent’s of physical fitness, correlating the symbiotic relationship of body and mind. I feel terrible for our professional athlete’s and the egregious livestock treatment they’ve been forced to swallow, mummifying men of action to mute. It’s a cruel world we live in. The strongest, quickest, flexible, mathematically accurate member’s of our physical world are forced to park their specimen torso and add insult to injury, devoid them of noticeably participating as moral support, to following in footsteps youth, who are in evident need of continuity.  Admittedly bizarre, we can’t place sport’s legends, into hospitals or direct social contact with fans, because apparently the healthiest are unwittingly rabid spreader’s of this pandemic, alarmingly infecting those with weakened immune systems and compromised organs. Protecting the vulnerable is a cornerstone, in a thriving compassionate civilization and humiliating that we find our elderly in nursing homes ignorantly sacrificed. Helpful honest input should be dialed in remotely, communicating with past and present athlete’s, unbridled, uncensored, unapologetic views as contribution to solution and counterweight to verbal diarrhea politicians, irrational opinions, related to unknown positions counter to our countrymen’s needs. It will be curious to examine on sports imminent return, the impact covid-19 has on athlete’s who’ve had the misfortune, contracting this virus. Be patient, for what is man, without the joy of games.

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Sci-fi novels, movies and comic books copiously portray villains unleashing bio-warfare and in pursuit, a gaggle of Superhero’s, to spoil their sadistic entrails, always in the nick of time. Roused into this imaginary world, finds youthful beginnings with the needle prick of a child’s inoculated arm. Fear and wince, the unwanted forced administrative subjugation of foreign substance into the blood vein, awaiting a herd of perturbed classmates. We sense our frailties and in lieu of comprehension, summon the superhuman, mixed in good measure super-animal hero’s, as resource, to help in formulating a defense. Batman, Robin, Catwoman, Captain Fantastic, Superman, Superwoman, Spiderman and my personal favorites, from bygone era, the bad discreetly good, defender’s of social justice, The Outlaw Kid, Kid Colt and Rawhide Kid. Today the luster shine of these supernatural figure’s has replacements in the form of space character’s and robot’s, that walk, talk and evidently are able to produce hard up espionage sex to infiltrate the enemy. Leadership’s biggest fear? The off switch! When you realize you’ve become your own worst enemy. When psychotics overtake positions of power in thirst to complicate self-absorbing suicidal tendencies, eliminating everything and everyone with them, to make depraved. Cowards. Drones, have replaced the old world charm of rapacious Al (Kool) Capone and the gang’s notorious hit men, as they mysteriously blow a noggin to smithereens, while the unaware target, isolates in desert, during habit of answering a brand new, gifted, no return policy, cell-phone bomb. Projection is, coming soon to a dealership near you, because surveillance by intent is inherently evil. The futuristic self-drive vehicle, will indulge monitoring every aspect of external and internal surrounding, included penchant and quality of your lifestyle. Decidedly disapproving of a dissatisfactory trajectory, self-lock, allow for last-rites if that happens to be part of your problem, permit final vaping, drive scenic picturesque lakeside, tenderly drown you, reverse out of the water, deliver your corpse to crematorium, drop by the car wash for detailing and return to lot, for resale to the next unsuspecting victim. (idiot)  Alas even as unsafe children we despised being spied on but for needed parental guidance, saving our bacon, from some obvious. If Moses had to do it all over again, the 11th engraved Commandment, THOU SHALT NOT BE A PEEPING-TOM. Stealth bomber’s, facial recognition, fingerprint and retina identification, soon they’ll micro-chip the male member upon birth and in adulthood, charge tax, according to how often I’ve intercoursed my wife. As I partake viewing our current road rioters, in political protest, swearing profanities, coagulating in violent march, was it this way,  centuries ago, fighting tyrannical regime and the use of expletive F.U.C.K. Fornicating Upon Consent Of The King, or version. Modern day argumentative by etymologists denounce this conjecture, yet from linguists in my associations, I’m dubious of recent dismissals. On a wide field, deciphering subtleties is interpretative. Did royal subject enjoy control by Monarch, deep inside the loins of sleeping quarter, without a murmur of conflict? Or does the ruling class find implication of this connotation inconvenient? Who knows, maybe the acronym will evolve into meaning something apparent and profound, if it wasn’t. Thou doth protest too much. The future is a battlefield of thought control and mind meld gestalt. So I ask myself in this framework, where they can locate, forget humans, but a particular type of insignificant cockroach, desolate on region planet earth, capture it some distance below the surface membrane, but an entire city can have all it’s movement wiped out by edict and no one knows anything about what’s really going on. Again, I am a gullible guy. It helps in creativity and adventure. Welcome to topsy-turvy downtown Toronto, the present set of ghoulish Gotham City, chock-full stocked with complimentary cast versions of Joker’s, Riddler’s and Penguins. We always had plenty of lunatics, now we have plenty of diverse lunatics. Density and anything related is unfriendly, is what makes this virus ‘so acutely spectacular’. Bring your own bag, don’t bring a bag, we only take cash, we only take cards, wear a mask, don’t wear a mask, don’t stand, don’t stand, don’t stand so close to me, false positive, negative negative, negative positive false negative, positive negative false false false, send me out an S.O.S. send me out an S.O.S. message in a bottle, message in a bottle. I heard people are drinking a lot, chug chug chug and work place hostilities, have come home to roost. Divorce is imminent. Who let the dogs out? Break the glass ceiling. Our entire approach to living  has been upended because we outsmarted ourselves, again. Dense. We have rules that usurp the rules. I’m so confused. I think I’ll stay home, or thereabouts. Tranquility is around the corner.

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I want a wide berth, the full nine yards. I don’t need to know your philosophy, your views, opinions, beliefs, who you work for, where your from, what you like to eat and how you got here. The suicide hotline number is posted on the subway platforms. If laws provide for six feet, tack on a significantly increased orbit for me, otherwise your terribly close to becoming an enemy combatant, or surely a heathen. Consider me exactly as the character played by William Holden in conclusion of the 1953 movie ‘Stalag 17’. I have an abundance of friends, family, considerations and conditions, without inadvertently being culpable for having endangered their lives, through contact with unidentified mental degenerates. Shocking incident’s, if I cared to relive, would volume another chapter. I’ve had female friends claim this virus a godsend, because the traditional custom of hugging and kissing can be omitted. Who new there were so many undesirables in their sphere. This plague could be an enormous premeditated fabricated farcical fiasco for all I care, because more than two months in, I’m unaware of a single person who’s died from this thing and if I wasn’t connected, this mightn’t seem unusual. From the severity of our institutions reactions, you’d think, I’d be seeing stacks of piled up bodies and they’d be scrambling diligently, gleeful to show me terror. It’s certainly possible that I fought and disposed of this virus, back in December during a serious bout and the Parents/Grandparents being of firm stock were mildly impacted. That’s not the point. Point is we started down this road as precaution and if World War 2 didn’t get them, then in the off chance we are coincidentally overreacting, so what? How many times have we heard ‘better safe than sorry’. Yes we’re on the way out but not this flu. Could be something worse but not this flu. Drowning in a bowl of porridge would be far far far better, then some asshole quacks screwing around with virology. We survived the Mengele era (Angel of Death) phase of our lives. Not looking for repeat. Sorry. However, this reexperienced bunker mentality has caused hardship to member’s of my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder relatives and won’t any amount of war reparation payments, suffice to comfort. So keep it. Limiting our already diluted movements, restricting the methods of grandchildren physically interacting with elders, well, we’ll keep this pretense up a little longer, then let wild, have them go out in style, with their boots on, at a place of our choosing. That’s the plan, Stan. See you at the backstretch! We’re dying on the finish line!

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A relative, recently sent informative reading, that deserves a gander. Should be helpful to insightful futures investors.

The Risks – Know Them – Avoid Them            Erin Bromage University of Mass Dartmouth

 

Canada should identify, functioning as the planets lung, identical in ideological theory to the Amazonian Jungle of Brazil. A one two punch contributing to ecological well-being. This pandemic is a glorious opportunity, speaking as an environmentalist, to reconfigure our economy and create a peaceful coexistence with our fellow critters, insects and plants. I was aghast recently on trek North to pristine Muskoka after some twenty years, to witness incredulous scaring of countryside from an overrun of human manipulations. And equally offensive, the trash, garbage and crap littering the fields. What’s happened to my country? Have we become barbarians? We should eliminate immigration to zilch and decommission human trafficking pawn brokers, as currently we are beautifully diverse, descendants representing a collage of all the peoples in the world. Before we proceed evidence is needed that other regions in the world are capable of these same policy characteristics, with equitable percentages of diversity, before we allow any more radical changes to our current structure, otherwise it’s only a flawed exercise in domination. We can’t allow this continued assault on the fundamental values of Canadians. Allowing hordes of invaders to escape their captivity to exploit our wilderness isn’t going to benefit them, or us. Might make us some money upfront, down the road it’s going to get ugly. Pressure them to address overpopulation, make repairs internally on their soil, for the good of mankind. Continue to hesitate, sink into this quicksand mentality, of lowest common denominator, will suddenly result in, too late. It serves no one, past, present or future. Curtail mundane unneeded travel by every speck of moving molecule to interject on each others domain, as if mop. It’s asinine. We need to appreciate and be responsible for where we’re from. Our movements unless holistic or purposeful should be bike, jog, walk, run crawl, hop, skip, jump, waddle, swim and in the off chance a truly balanced puritanical local community transportation system. Take pride in enjoying who and what, we are, where we are. The metaphor ‘the grass is greener on the other side’ could soon fail to qualify because at this breakneck rate of deterioration, it will come a horizon, they’ll be no grass whatsoever on the other side. We shouldn’t permit every Tom, Dick and Harry as part of a work vacation package, pay homage to Jacques Cousteau, in tow a tranche of National Geographic photographers, leading safari a military charge the few remaining earthly elephants or invasion of polar bears skinny dipping the subarctic circle. There’s been a clatter of bitching about how marine-land and zoo-world or is it zoo-land and marine-world have exploited wildlife to detriment and now we’ve taken this same audience, lock stock and barrel, transported all, to harass the concerned in their own enclaves. This is better?  We don’t need another brick in this wall. Many of our inner-city problems are related to ownership and taking away peoples ability to be responsible for some kind of personal space or possession. How much ownership should be relegated into the hands of one person or corporation? On the one hand you wouldn’t want to abandon ambition, to lazy, on the other hand you don’t want ambition run roughshod the rights of the individual. It’s a balancing act, but important to temper with the widest scope of opportunity, to relieve the masses from oppression. I think racial discord is less severe, than financial greed. If, this virus has exposed an obvious weakness that will lead fundamental change, is density and over-population is restrictive to decent living and manifests human hardship. I’m against centralized control because it eliminates choice, options and eventually thought. We’re committing the world to globalist uniformity and turning it into one weak organism as opposed to strong separate entities, as a result, we really can’t afford to make error’s because the surging cancer will envelop the entire body to disease and destructive force. Not to bright, placing our fragile collective eggs in one early evolutionary basket. Woe are they who err on our behalf, should they even care. There’s nothing complex about this thinking, so it feels silly, berating.

 

Witnessing the first positive signs out of the good old U.S of A. in years, a rocket launch into space strata, instead of skirmishing, beheadings and anonymous violence. Formerly as a liberal apparatchik, had never supported these policies, beginning with the Vietnam War, yet we seem steady in quagmire, through any of our administrations, from decoupling, despite consuming promises to the contrary. “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind”. The next intelligent action would be for them to withdraw their overblown military forces, bringing them closer to home and let all these great nations resolve there own disputes, under there preferred auspices, enhancing there own identities without interference. Also smart to hit a reset button on 200+years of gratuitous industrial revolution and do a reexamination of when things looked big and we looked bigger. Wouldn’t want to indulge the general public of notions prude, as I entirely support the awesome adventure of technology, mechanization, super-computers, robotics, genetics, artificial intelligence, my driving concern, the complex issue of unfettered dispersal and use. The accident of Covid-19 should serve significantly to curb our appetite for consumerism and gateway restructuring the methods we operate, smatterings of which are already occurring. This is essential for locations on our planet that haven’t already been spoiled, ransacked, or slaughtered altogether. Others will have ample opportunity in this new environment to claw their way back to decent, should be pristine. Cities are growing monuments to irrationality. We have become the infestation that needs to be culled, presumably, hopefully, humanely, as infringing expansion is a death wish and the attaching lifestyle, an exercise in schizophrenia. Density contributes to mental health problems, which never amounts of social work, will rectify. It also contributes to reductions in intimacy and compassion. Cage conditions lead to violence. What’s the rush? Where are we going? Why are we so selfish? Why do we need to construct so many toilet’s in the sky, that more recently have begun to emulate incarceration, that illogically includes mortgaging ourselves, for double whammy of enterprising hallucinations. Bring back the good old-fashioned outhouse, please. To merely get back to a position of sanguine, to again contemplate compromise, consequences will demand creating space, until we’ve gauged our motive’s in a world diseased by frightening deceptive intention. Fully believe when we get to a place of removing incessant overcrowding, perturbs will resolve themselves and we can plan on maintaining equilibrium. It’s not just about us but the ground beneath our feet. You’ll not have a movement, of effective human rights reforms, in isolation, until you advocate to honestly arbitrate respectfully in serving all living forms. It’s tomfoolery. It’s shenanigans. When we have destroyed what created us, we will have destroyed ourselves. We need a complete overhaul of our current contracts, meaning, that unbearably many will have to climb down from financial positions they’ve established or been clinging, to jackpot. Historically situations similar have lead to civil unrest or war, or global war. The one advantage the America’s still have is manageable size. We don’t need anymore inhabitants on our continents as we are self sufficient with our numbers.  I find it spectacle, frequenting my local food or beverage mart and employees on behalf of management intrusively instructed, as if paupers, to shame me donating to a charity. In internal retail researching the status of clients, be they some fraction of sum means but they continue as if unaware, that majority are living hand to mouth and likely worse, indignantly, still have the audacity to guilt us into feeling we have fragments of energy to keep the Joneses in an accustomed lifestyle. This isn’t right. It smacks of desperation or dishonesty. A true testament of how poorly our leaders are managing our resources.  Have we witnessed a single significant contribution handed from corporate or individual billionaire to fund society currently in need from epidemic. Now I do understand these resources are precious, to competitively keep the industrial complex afloat, peons working and molding capital, requires a skill set but can our governments refrain from panhandling our point of purchase. Have we lost all decency. We can individually determine which needy from our pittance surplus to worthy of our donate, before attempting to ‘head us off at the pass’. These extreme’s are indicator’s, a system out of kilter and on the edge of imminent potential collapse.

Maybe it’s time to usher in

As I literally role out of bed, position my head as not to be impolite, would have included my elbow, to attend an online staff meeting, I’m loving this, I mean, I am loving this. Extinguished is the need to hurry through routine procedures, such as a perfectly adjusted  shower temperature, careful shave, look for matching sock, press pants, tie tie, worry about state of the ‘son of a gun’ SUV, repeatedly stuck in traffic, press gas pedal, press brake, press gas pedal, press brake, idling for a lineup of habitual coffee and d-nuts, you can flip all this into feeling good about yourself not wasting time or gas or wear and tear, captured in vicious cycle like hamster suspended in wheel. Just bring brain. Straight from silent sleep, think in on a virtual meeting, where virtually nothing might be really happening anyway but for exchanges of bravado to justify expected levels of salary, that is usually not mine. Talk about saving myself humongous amounts of tick-tock. Instead of physically zooming in and out of these gatherings, pretending scatterbrain due to rushed busy, returning to your now coronavirused cubicle, we simply produce a cardboard cutout of our favorite bikini location, rolling back into bed to listen to everyone’s machinations. Gone from interpretation are the forbidding glaring stare’s of echelon and a clearer cut to facts, reducing redundancy. There are gains in participating, more so when we scratch the bullshit of getting there. Virtual technology presents challenges to the status quo because it eliminates waste. Currently waste is a primary source of production. If we run efficiently we obsolete 60 to 70% of our economy. The fulfillment of human contact smorgasbord, to grapple, probe, frisk, dismantle, ego stroke, judge, ally, join forces, defeat, spar, demean, shame, prestige, jealous, laughter, share, well basically what makes man a spirit, be it for evil or good is altered by this new medium. For many, virtual communication liberates, pushing to the sidelines the control freaks that make life uncomfortable, worse if unbearable. This advancing technology revolutionizes the need for unmitigated travel, providing new opportunities in production, self awareness, independent thinking and expanded leisure, attached hand in hand to increased education. Less is more, quality over quantity,  possession of craftsmanship, instead of unlimited irrelevant trinkets and toys. Redonkulous you say? If you’re committed to higher education in any field how can you honestly support this current kind of unsustainable economics. The planet according to most recent census is 7.6 billion. Removing friction and conflict is terrible for an economy that demands this inorganic lifestyle for activity. In a pinch to travel distances for specialty exceptions could be expected. Jetisoning 300 to 500 humans from a steel tube with wings uses an enormose amount of energy for the sake of speed. Turning planet earth into desolate planet mars or a gaseous cloud Jupiter is radical, very radical. Professorship in commonsense tutelage must include reviews outside the specialty programming vaccum, instead of intermitently servicing as breeding grounds for jadded prolonged adolesence. Schools have become thought control centers instead of sticking to criteria’s of  knowledge studies and information.

Curtailing the auto-mobile-motion industry is an extrodinary hit to every aspect of our economy, because the proto made for everyone’s personalized tank is resposible for a percentage over 90 of all human involment and endeavor. Oils plastics lubricants steel glass aluminum copper  If we innitiate a poison bullet hit on our population advantaging our computer advancement superiority, we can eliminate large volumes of waste.

It begins innocently, first it’s about protecting rights, then when that has been acheived and are empowered they begin taking rights away from others, in there infinite wisdom.

The revived importance of the family unit from it central location

We haven’t reached catharsis because I don’t think anyone or any group has begun to address the situation clear headedly.

problem in our system is decent people tend not to be involved in politics, they’re generally happier therefore less ruthless, it the squekey wheel gets the grease types

market for grouped internet viewing and following

 

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, …”        Charles Dickens

 

Big Yellow Taxi—————-Joni Mitchell         Woodstock————-Joni Mitchell

Carey——————————Joni Mitchell          California————–Joni Mitchell

Monday Monday–Mamas and The Papas   California Dreamin-Mamas and The Papas

Born To Be Wild—-Steppenwolf     Tambourine Man—–The Byrds  written by Bob Dylan

Me and Bobby McGee–Janis Joplin  written by Kris Kristofferson

Piece Of My Heart——Janis Joplin                                        This Is The End—The Doors

The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down—-Joan Baez       written by Robbie Robertson

The Weight—The Band                          Message In A Bottle——————-The Police

Signs—-The Five Man Electrical Band       Here Comes The Sun——The Beatles

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Titans

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Our family moved to the suburbs of Toronto in the early 70’s, ending my hockey playing at St Michael’s arena. We were searching for a new team to join, closer to home, to shorten Dad’s travel. I had tried out for a couple of Scarborough clubs, Wexford initially and later caught on with a weaker Dorset Park, an unfortunate indicator that my abilities were lagging. It was during this time Dad became acquainted with George Chuvalo, also having a son my age, wanting to make a team. Dad, the always curious social butterfly and from the same country of origin as Chuvalo, found himself in the stands speaking Croatian with the Canadian heavyweight, numerous times, watching their children practice. Many years later I asked “hey do you remember talking to Chuvalo” and Dad telling me he still often ran into him in the Junction, a mid-west part of our city. “Did you ever ask him about his fight with Ali”. (Actually two fights) “Yes”. “Well what did he say?” “He said he couldn’t hit him.” “Go figure”, I thought to myself. I felt sadly for the Chuvalo family, sympathized with the sometime harsh reality of our ferocious ancestry. The characteristics needed to be great, can also destroy everyone around you.

Boxer Ali Dodging a Punch From Frazier

Boxer Muhammad Ali steps away from a punch thrown by boxer Joe Frazier during their heavyweight title fight at Madison Square Garden in 1971. Frazier became the undisputed heavyweight champ of the world by winning a unanimous 15-round decision.

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Sylvester Stallone began showing up at a restaurant I worked in, one late summer and basically stayed for a few weeks. I served him twice, whereby he was always considerate and noticeably polite with good spirits to all our staff. In our youth, the boys in my neighbourhood loved Rocky. His scripting was a simple idea, at the right time, capturing the imagination of many. It was a decent attempt to portray man, removed of options, struggling to survive in the face of brutality.

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The fascination is durability of skill and strength, while under the duress of pain. The asked unanswerable, Who was the greatest boxer of all time?

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The added zeal with excitement, prejudices our belief, freezing the consciousness of an individual spirit, because we were witness. The “Thrilla in Manilla”, and the “Rumble in the Jungle”, were hands down, events of a lifetime. Criteria coalesced as if magically and the one ingredient making it spellbinding, was that Muhammad Ali was a highly intelligent athlete in a sport perceived to be for the stupid.

 

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Prospects

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I appreciate your measured clinical response and cautious gumption. For the sake of speed and to disqualify a potential waste of time, I will elide the volume of detail each thought can produce. Most generally, to describe myself, I am an ideas motivated individual who has witnessed many of my concepts become realities, long after having conceived them, usually to the benefit of others. The road of development I find boring and consuming, so I’ve neglected the tedious aspects of business, to continue unabated, thinking and more immediately doing things I like. However, an idea that struck me as doable, about four years ago and long shot, is of such intrinsic merit, that after sincere contemplation I couldn’t allow it to escape my attention. The potential largesse allows me to examine and incorporate other interests of personal value, within the framework. The prospect of failure is mitigated by other successes, resulting from. My thing is, I find satisfaction, in my creative conjectures becoming fact.

As a proud project, from my individually conceived concept, with due given to unanticipated props, which will come to serve as evidence, I intend to see through to conclusion, the building of a new stadium over the existing colosseum, principally untouched, in Rome, that will house a soccer field as centrepiece, for a 2034 and 2070, World Cup in Italy, amongst several other stimulating dynamics. My fallback positions from this mammoth, I believe eventual historical occurrence, will prove unnecessary, are curious and complex in themselves. Sounds farfetched? Conversations, interjected with meetings, of contributing architects, engineers, stadium designers, financiers and trades friends, primarily from this continent, maintain this building still resilient enough to endure the procedures required to bring it back to life, likening this to the raising of Lazarus, as a breathing, working again venue. To have a Wonder of The World refurbished, revitalized and protected for generations to come, as an again intended functioning stadium, can be appreciated by even those devoid of a significant higher education. Like myself.

Drawbacks? I don’t own the colosseum, as any single entity would or should and those that do, including the Italian government, plus others with political suasion, would be highly motivated to protect their central positions. Secondly, I precluded, as part of the equation, it would be an embarrassment to the powers that be, that a mere mortal such as I, should feel empowered to touch the face of their history and believe the idea ingenious to be so presumptuous as to bypass their projections for the future of something of this significance, that they control. This was anticipated and incorporated as part of strategy, prior to advancing the concept in increments, to the general public. This process is on-going, as you can witness should you have the desire, to squash curiosity or provide an eventual gaming contribution, for you’re own profitability or marvel. Feel at liberty to contemplate, should you detect worth. My end game isn’t personal recognition and it isn’t money but should either find me, I wouldn’t be cynical, to reject from God, a gift. My satisfaction, again to reiterate, is creation and preservation.

Your potential inclusion, is simply an extension in the function of chance and my belief that there be no such thing as squandered effort. Of course withdrawal to focus on another task, is always an option and eventuality. I currently find support for this theory, through the impact that writing this letter contribute’s to some of my other observations, that would otherwise have been amiss. I believe myself of course amongst many, a precursor to the concept of gamer. That’s why I lingered longer than planned at the accidental for me, hotel convention gathering. Father taught me chess, which I later played in high school at the U of T club. My first cousin is Grandmaster, despite shockingly blind, virtually from birth, has defeated me lifetime 23 times, to my 1. Of course Monopoly, Bridge, Scrabble, Diplomacy, Trivial Pursuit, a German card game and for simple fun, Risk. The first complex military board game I indulged, was based on the Battle of Gettysburg and The American Civil War. Hundreds of pieces of thumbnail size cardboard cutouts represented the Union and Confederate Forces. Each provided information related to type of infantry, cannon, cavalry and also strength, firing range, movement. Cumbersome it was to stack and maneuver simulated units with the variable of dice on a hexagonal topographic board map. Games would take hours or days dependent on our stamina. The advent of computer technology brought additional relish because of convenience, sophistication and graphics. Panzer General, then Civilization 1,2,3 later Call To Power. Also enjoyed Real Time Games although a tad manic for an older person and Counter-Strike but always reverted to the preferred military strategy re-creations. These days I have little time for hobbies although on occasion play my favourite, billiard’s. Many of the new age computer games use the colosseum motif to promote product but none have theorized the reconstruction of a new stadium over the existing one. On a personal level the virtual-reality concept of players playing in say Savannah Georgia a real game, while simultaneously, as an illusion inside the colosseum, seems obscene. However, Universities and technology companies project virtual-reality a main stay of life in the future. Who am I to judge?

My Web Site is Blue Quadrivium and the content therein makes up probably about 7% of the anticipated whole, that my intended projections determine need to be concluded within two years. I’m currently not interested in volume of viewership. These blogs are rough drafts and many of the visuals are pilfered from the internet and in due course will be replaced, withdrawn or dealt with. Should you find intrigue now or in the future, feel free to connect. I saw a picture of the three of you and thought you all family oriented and Celtic. For me these are positive’s. If I don’t hear from you, I’m certain you’ll go on to have interesting and fruitful lives. I extend my best wishes.

As I found time to respond to you, we become witness to the burning disaster of the iconic Notre Dame Cathedral. The hypocrisy of the imbecilic bureaucracy, that wine and cheeses itself to gory gluttonous death on the backs of tax-payers, to the sum of tens of billions in hard currency, at the expense of true appreciators of architecture and art, boggles the deteriorating collective civilized mind.

Regards:

 

 

 

 

 

Ljubljana Marshes Wheel

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I’ve often paralleled my parent’s ancestral home as the inspiration and foundation for the Biblical description of the Garden of Eden. As the Ice Age receded man became witness to the beginning, evolving, positive expression of active life and “saw that it was good”. If your doubtful, vacation Slovenia/Croatia for yourself. Pristine, plush, fertile and if you have a camera, picturesque. The immediate family at times behaves, as if active remnant of the Adam and Eve narrative, we are banished, try as we might, can not find our return to paradise. Thus far anyway, it’s been to no avail. This is the seed of my personal ambition and discontent, reaching for home where I belong but something always presents itself, to stand in my way. Can’t stop a coffin. “Miles to go before I sleep”. So it shouldn’t come as surprise, to any, that we are deeply religious, devoutly Christian and perplexingly Catholic. Consequentially, on our lands, one will find a surplus, of worshipping life and death churches. Perspective’s of religion and faith are drawn into focus, for our countrymen, when invaders, whoever the historical fashionable flavour, attack our body-politic and property, attempting to overtake us, because, well, we just happen to occupy a fantastic piece of real estate. images (6)Our determined unity, exposes our superhuman stubbornness, against the face of vicious enemy oppressors, lust and greed. To criticize this hardened national trait, is deduced a ruse, to surrender our guard, expose a weakness and leave us vulnerable to destruction. We’ve seen it all, in every form, currently known, manmade method of manipulation, habitually. This day is without difference as the games continue. Ask me how we got there? Probably equivalencies, of violence, barbarism, some assimilated others obliterated, with the help of plague and pestilence, or miracle of well timed flood, all under the guise of our own endurance. Life is a double-edged sword. Maybe one day we will tire of this gruesome, glorious, self assigned protection of heaven and dustbin ourselves into a footnote of history.

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View across the Ljubljana marsh with the Ljubljanica River. The Ljubljanica River flows into Sava and later joins the Danube. The Ljubljanica River possessed strong religious significance for the inhabitants of this region and has also played an important pragmatic role, not just for the people living next to it, but also for people traveling east from the Italian peninsula. (Photo by Arne Hodalic/Corbis via Getty Images)

Everybody wants a finger or two in our pie and who can blame them, unless I inform, of how much blood has dropped to protect this popsicle stand. You begin to wonder if the Slovenian/Croatian people would better live without water, in desert, as cactus. Abundance can be a countries worst burden. And what, from all this, my fellow inhabitants of heaven are often a less than a happy people and the difficulty is determining if this resignation to sadness is reflective of their own spirit or the drain of constant interference from larger than us powers. I beseech you, leave us to our own vices, for a few centuries, so we can observe ourselves.

 

See what I did there? Diplomacy and shrewdness are vital peacetime characteristics. Survival relies on the negotiated goodwill of our neighbours and the continued balance of struggling adversaries. The mission today is adapting to high-speed, high-powered technology and requires my people to be nimble, spry, and insightful. Oh yeah, that’s not new either. New is when our children and innocent, live in an increasingly over-populated, hypocritical, dangerous world.

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The wheel aside from it’s obvious usefulness as transport, was the first primitive significant mechanical form of communication and civilization. The wheel is what allowed me to paint so many walls, move all my crap, then call it temporarily home. Otherwise moving my belongings would have taken an unjustifiable length of lifetime. Hauling credenza by pack mule, through rough terrain, should still be considered tedious. I jest with obvious, but consider water rafts and boats as modes of transport for village, to hut, to modern day condo and that 500 years ago, most or all, remove a thoughtful handful, the world somewhere was ominously flat. I mean I would include myself as inept of any other conclusion. Only theorizing friends could save me from my ignorance.  If you had a pulsating imagination, sharks would be of minor concern, compared to falling off our still undiscovered planet, into the abyss of waters unknown. Pythagorus believed the Earth was spherical some two, plus a half thousand years ago. Aristotle and others were convinced, the world as round, including Ptolemy, such that it was studied as an institutional fact. However, if everyone was certain and not just speculating, why did shipbuilding take such a long time to develop, comparative to metal forging, and weaponry capable of catapulting tons of projectiles? I guess we were busy, as usual, tormenting each other. True the oceans are deep, as they are vast, as is the unknown.

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The year 2002 brought the discovery of the Ljubljana Marshes Wheel and official radiocarbon dating, places the wood and it’s age of construction, in the range of 5200 years ago. It is considered to be the oldest and largest wheel ever found. The wheel is made of ash and the axel is made of oak which implies they were discriminating tree properties and quality. Also interesting is that they were able to define the origin of the trees used, to be close to the find area, of Marshes, some twenty kilometres south of Ljubljana.

 

Where’s the other piece of this wheel? Where’s the wheel on the other side of this axel? Where’s the piece that sat on top of this heavy duty axel? Detectives please. I can speculate some obvious assumptions. The only surety, is that a fluke, plus accident of man, combined with the physical properties of nature, to await present day technology and provide our museum important evidence of our history. What if found fifty years prior by a farmer and not as an investigation by educated trained professionals? Most certainly the unknown parts have disintegrated and decomposed.

 

As evidence suggests, the conceptualization of a push-cart comes into existence, at a simultaneous period of history in the areas of Mesopotamia and Europe. Useful inventions spread uniformed through man’s consciousness. The first to adapt new information to it’s military and foresee an obvious advantage, most often turn this into a moral imperative to attack a perceived enemy. If successful in it’s military tactics with limited damage to themselves, they will begin to create enemies to advance the greatness of their thinking. So it was and so it is.

 

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So in the name of goodwill and common purpose I suggest we develop a road race for the following nations of Slovenia, Croatia and Austria that can rival the Tour De France. For my personal interest I wish to incorporate any one or all of the following towns as passing route or primary stage. Prebold Slovenija, Podvolovljek Slovenija, Luce Slovenija, Bled Slovenija, Klagenfurt Austria, Graz Austria, Zelezna Gora Croatia, Strigova Croatia, Prelog Croatia, Pula Croatia.

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I also advocate for a larger European multiple stage bike race that finds it’s finally, inside a new stadium extensively built with grandiose, over and including a preserved colosseum of Rome. With the last stage encompassing multiple laps over the border lip of the gladiator ring in front of an audience of no less than 50,000 people. This restoration of peaceful spiritual revival, of the most brilliant architecture of antiquity, would become a modern day enigma. It would also participate to preserve the living relevance of history, for future millennium generations of humanity.

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Giro-ditalia

 

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Waiter-Resume

photo_0001                                                    MILAN MICHAEL MAKOVAC

                                                           TORONTO, ONTARIO

bluequadrivium@gmail.com

 

MOTIVATION         To make a living and simultaneously enjoy working in an environment                                   where people can relax and savour one of life’s great pleasures; Food.

PERSONAL ATTRIBUTES         Independent, Honest, Diplomatic, Organized, Reliable

CAREER STRENGTHS              + Able to identify and respond to potential problems and                                                               needs of customers and staff

                                                    + Expedient and resourceful under challenging                                                                                 circumstances

                                                    + Able to engage customers in the dining experience and                                                               thereby entice people to visit again

                                                   + Understanding and responsive to a diverse and multi-                                                                 cultural clientele

                                                    + Excellent at all practical aspects of being a waiter

EMPLOYMENT EXPERIENCE          2003-2017   Chartreuse, Waiter                                                                                                           2001-2002   Club Victoria, (Croatia) Bartender                                                                                 1997-2001   Sassafraz, Waiter                                                                                                               1989-1997   Ed’s Warehouse, Waiter                                                                                                   1987-1989   Artful Dodger, Waiter/Manager                                                                                     1983-1986   Bloor Street Diner, Waiter                                                                                               1982-1983   Frank Vetere’s, Waiter/Assistant Manager                                                                   1979-1982   Sunshine’s, Busboy/Waiter

INTERMITTENT/PART TIME          George Bigliardi’s, Ribiero’s, Zum Rhein, Golden Griddle

EDUCATION                                     + University of Toronto (Political Science and Economics                                                             + York University           (English)                                                                                                         + Centennial College      (Accounting)

POLITICAL INVOLVEMENT           Vice President——-Davenport Liberal Association                                                                                                            (Federal)                                                                                                                  Policy Chair———-Davenport Liberal Association                                                                                                            (Federal)                                                                                                                  Delegate—————-Liberal Provincial Leadership                                                                                                             Oakwood Association                                                                                          Delegate—————-Federal Liberal Leadership                                                                                                                   (Davenport)

OTHER ACHIEVEMENTS                 Underwriter License (Sun Life Insurance Company)                                                                    Apprentice Mechanic (Gerrard Motors/Sunoco)                                                                              Taxi License                                                                                                                                            Apprentice Carpenter (Germany)

HOBBIES AND INTERESTS             Billiards, Chess, Backgammon, Cards-Sixty-Six, Reading-                                                              Military History

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Suicide

164578017-niagara-falls-wallpapersDuring childhood my babysitter doubled as language teacher and was mother’s inseparable Slovenian friend. Mia and I had a chance crossing, at a cultural event common to our heritage, a subsequent 25 years after her moving from Toronto to Vancouver and a job related to a fine arts program. On leaving church, we decided to reminisce this spring evening, strolling from the streets at Bloor and Manning, to Bloor and Ossington, where she was visiting her ill ageing mother. On passing through our old neighbourhood, Christie Pit’s park was burgeoning with activity and as we conversed about our reflections and perceptions, I rediscovered the enormous impact she had with my life. It felt as if she had planted the spirit of herself in me. Minus my ruthless streaks. I was taken aback by her projections, of the anticipated direction my career choices should have led to, as a social worker or teacher because I personally regretted for years, having rejected those professions as a means of livelihood. I guess her observation of personality and passions allowed for an unbiased identification of my motivations. As a waiter, it generally served me well to enlighten families and member’s, of unique perspective’s or abilities they may have, as people are often unaware of having special skills, more prone to believing they have special needs. So grateful to have had that walk with Mia and all the selfless care she sent my way. She was childless. I believe I was the fortunate benefactor of her compassionate nature.

When I began contemplating and visualizing the content of my biography I found myself interjecting segment’s with, oh yeah, it was around that time, that guy killed himself and how do I explain the emotional impact as an aside, from my intended theme, even if I could speculate to begin knowing. On noticing the numerous multiplying incident’s to be significant, there was wonderment if everyone is inundated with so many periphery experience’s, of the awful choice of someone’s self-inflicted death. I decided to withdraw these violent vignettes from my other subject matter and catalogue all the not so nice incident’s, into a few blood soaked chapter’s.

The three sister’s without brother’s, had a deep winter freeze, toga party and I as any sensible, hormonally charged teenager, needed to be there, but because of some responsibility, was to exasperation, likely to have to omit. At some point that evening I blew off the shackles of my restriction and with haste headed to the modern day, of my imagination, good natured orgy, that wasn’t. That I wasn’t inclined to make it, was reason I showed up mimicking a bundled rock star musician ‘Bryan Adams’, in jeans, cowboy boots and lumber jacket. The sheets they were a missing and ‘The Times They Are A Changin’.  I was preparing a polite gradual increase of forceful pounding on the front door to compete against the piercing volume of Cinderella Man permeating the shores of ice cold silence outside. Carol togaaaad the door open, drawing to halt, my breath, before I had attempted the pounding. Girl always had an uncanny sense of space, time and guys. I had a brief motivational peek of Rome’s conquering and enslavement of British subject. She looked like a happy victim but apparently the troops were already out of lager. She pulled out some young man like magic trick and if I minded driving to the beer store immediately, should disaster strike and leave us without libation. I didn’t know the kid, who would never make it to man, as I hurriedly drove to his apartment complex to pick up gold coins for the additional ounces, a semi-successful conquering army would require. It was frigid. I pulled up to the dimly lit, covered from the element’s, concrete roof entrance and he darted, disappearing into the building. Some moment’s drew a senior female driver also with passenger, forcing me to continue forward around the island so that she now occupied where I had been and I placed opposite direction, parallel. What appeared to be her off-spring, followed the same approach of hurried exit and entry. I sat there for a few minutes, marvelling the Leaning Tower of Pisa grey hair and how so many layers escaped touching the ceiling of her car, somewhat explained by, her eyes peering beneath the lip of the large old-fashioned, late model steering wheel. She never glanced over, to acknowledge my waiting and observing. She may have been frightened. On his return that boy dashed through two glass doors, ever so fleetingly greeted the forbidding air, in one motion opened the car door and plopped himself in the vacant seat. He looks over at me and says, “Let’s go”. Unfortunately, me wasn’t me. Me was now a screaming with terror old lady, with poofy hair, removed of intuition and the harmless nature of this kid. Poor guy was thoroughly embarrassed as he humbly pardoned himself from her car and repeatedly, kindly apologized, even as he rounded the front of her car, bowing with sorriness, heading to where I was. That red faced boy, man, boy, man, well he was of age to be drafted. I didn’t know him and if we had created dialogue amongst ourselves, it was absent significance, as our focus was the at hand business of beverage procurement. There were some sixty to eighty teenagers at the hearty party and I recall never seeing him again that evening. The next afternoon I inadvertently showed up for the after event gossip and our habitual post party, party. We had a firm understanding of priorities. The sisters and some others of our inner circle were sitting around cozy, on the parent’s plush couches but on this day seemed fully at odds with comfort, griped by abnormal visual signs of distress. Carol acknowledged my silent expression of query, saying, “You know that guy you drove to the beer store?”. “Yeah”. “He jumped from his apartment”. I was speechless.

Jane and I had similar urges for fine food, as we did a skip and a jump to Sherbourne subway station and headed to a favoured kitchen, crossing the Broadview bridge to Greektown. We whipped through the sliding door of the front car, slipping into the available seats on the right, behind the compartmentalized driver. Our internal sensors pressed the alarm button instantly. Sitting directly across was a caucasian, approximately thirty-five years of age, dirty curly dark brown hair, jeans, running shoes, white top, obviously in some kind of internal emotional distress, female. We were alerted into hush, fearful to where this might be heading, seemingly barreling towards destruction. The cabin to our left was sparse with commuters and our quadrant had just the three of us. She seemed absorbed by trauma and there was good reason to believe she was unaware of our obvious presence. We were pulling into the next stop when she stood up, but had no intention of getting off and providing us with relief. Instead she went with daze to the front cabin door and placed her hands on the glass as a child with some height might. We couldn’t see her face. Pulling out of Castle Frank station the tunnel approached the speeding stark reality of outside and the previously unnoticed, hopeless grey day, begging to feel like the foreshadowing of doom. We re-entered the darkness before Broadview station, except for the slowing artificial light and a premonition, implicating hell. Jane and I never referenced each other, we were simultaneously, fully attentive to her impending actions. The train started out towards Chester, a stop before ours and we’d be able to leave this scene, with the grateful, pathetic excuse of our hunger, when I saw the poor soul lower her right hand to the door latch, lurching to open and make a calculation I’d never have contemplated. She was preparing to jump on to the tracks, through the front exit door, of the moving train! Who knew. I was on her like a leopard on prey, grabbed her garment by the scruff of the neck and flung her the four or five yards slamming her body into the original seat she occupied. I yelled at her, “You’re not ucking killing yourself in front of me”! She brought home the meaning of the word sulking, as it was profuse. On re-establishing this memory, why didn’t I throw her into a closer available seat? Why speculate the unanswerable. We got off where we were supposed to, the next stop, at Pape and had lunch. We left her in that seat. I hope it got better.

 

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A grotesque story needing to convey, describing the insanity some jobs can require a human to endure. A Toronto Transit Commission manager acquaintance, relayed a horrific suicide situation. A person threw himself off the station platform, literally into (as opposed to in front of) the oncoming train with ill timing to the extent, at point of contact, his body became twisted and lodged, between the seemingly impossible small space of platform and train. I believe they are referred to as ‘gophers’, are employees who must deal with cleaning up the messy aftermath of mauled bodies. On this occasion they arrived under the train to find a body sliced in half at the waist but the upper half protruding above, still alive and probably, unfortunately, fully aware.  The self inflicted victim was engaged in conversation with security and later Emergency Medical Services as his innards were pincered together maintaining his life. The train wasn’t going to stand in the station forever. Ask yourself, who is required to make a procedural decision and the protocol, whereby this persons body organs, drop out, to the ground, when the train is ordered to move? Here buddy want a cigarette. Rush hour traffic you know. Who wants that job? Where do you apply?

Good friend, had a most prevalent half Canadian Indian girlfriend, the tribe escapes me and we often engaged in engrossing conversation. At one time  during the eighties when liquor licensing laws required early closure, she ran or similarly, was the proprietor of, an illegal after hours, more affectionately referred to as a booze can. These places quite usually by there nature, included an incessant drug using clientele, often of influential artistic types, than the mainstream watering holes of the time and were an advanced indicator to the direction and good measure of a societies immediate evolving future. Her chosen location was unique in that she had a bar area, that included an ice producing mechanism, glasses, wine, bottles of beer, hard alcohol, condiments and shank, placed entirely inside an elevator, of a basement floor. Should the authorities need to arrive, the touch of a button would become the stuff of Houdini. I never had the occasion to be there, as it was before my time. Confirmed true, possibly embellished but with her, I wouldn’t doubt the raw nerve of her character, to have connections and concoctions of the kind necessary, to run this kind of business successfully.

She was recalling a history of herself and a rock plateau placed partially internally and externally to a waterfall, by which no human having walked the river’s edge, along a deep, long path to stand on this spot, they were, as the fact of legend knows, destined to never return. The most likely circumstance of witnesses and conditions, wouldn’t be as strong as her faith.  It may have been a challenge, which in my opinion would be equally insane or it may have been a change in plans, to leave this life. She never said. However, she was proud to have endured and I having bestowed upon me, the pleasure of her presence. Angelo always kept the company of interesting people.

Bobbie Gentry………..Ode to Billie Joe            Elvis Presley……..Heartbreak Hotel

Rush……………….Cinderella Man                      Bob Dylan….The Times They Are A Changin’

Utada Hikaru……….Boukyaku                         Elton John..Someone Saved My Life Tonight

Pink………….Who Knew              Mylene Farmer… C’est Une Belle Journee.. Timeless 2013

Amy Winehouse……..Back To Black               Bryan Adams……….Cuts like a Knife

 

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Into Politics

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My first official entrance into the boxing ring called Canadian Politics, began with an invitation from my sister, to help with the Provincial Leadership run of Conservative Frank Miller. She worked for a mining firm that had skin in the game and I contributed as warm body, in the required effort of promotion and ‘we can’t live without this guy adulation’. For a few days, I rummaged the in’s and out’s of convention mania and why wouldn’t I enjoy a bit of of hysteria and pandemonium, to break up the monotony of my simpleton life. My effect on the outcome was negligible, as I never had conversation with the man who briefly became Conservative Premier of Ontario. His campaign however, cut my teeth, for an eventual journey into the Liberal Party of Canada.

The final grade’s of elementary school as designed by curriculum, cover an introduction of the major policy themes, of the day. Our teacher’s encouraged us with headings and we were responsible for individual or group perspective, used in competitive debate to support our position’s and attack each others counter-argument’s. Population explosion was already a concern in the sixties and early seventies as a precursor to the environmental issues we face today. Seems as if all that foreshadowing, researching and debating, culminated in a waste of time. Reproductive rights, the way we are lurching, will soon infringe the territory of legalizing fratricide, as the potential profit from harvesting organs and other prolific selfish purposes, are destined to eventually breach a recent allowable termination at nine months, to mother’s aborting their children up to and including the child’s first birthday. Blood money. This sums up humanity and our benevolence. Imagine the situation for the rest of our poor, dumb, animal kingdom and an inability to create a verbal argument to defend their interests in a court of law or public opinion and vote against their own extinction. If only these creatures would somehow learn to speak. Man shouldn’t be counted on. Capital punishment at the time I advocated against the death penalty simply as recourse against multiple murder. A killer believing an eventual way out of prison, may deflect his damage and the secondary pervasive reason, potential abuse by authorities or the legal system and preventing an innocent, from persecution. Otherwise, with definitive proof, omitting the need for safeguard’s, I’d hang’em high, with impunity. Anyway, as my uncle (Bless his soul) Tonce once told me, a witness to many atrocities, there’s a noteworthy amount of money in the business of death. I concur.

War and peace, inclusive of foreign policy and economic prosperity were my subjects of engrossment. This was an extension, to my hobby of historical and contemporary military tactics. My position, should have I become a member of the political establishment or the Canadian Defence Department, which I consider overlapping and operate as one and the same, as all government ministries are required, to be effective, would be a representation of my personal philosophies. Ultimately, I can’t do anything for my soldiers once they’re laying dead in the field, therefore, my responsibility is to ensure the survival of my troops and the society they serve, in any rank or ministry deemed to require my expertise. This could mean anywhere from regular forces and hand to hand combat, to Field-Marshall co-ordinating my troops movements on the battlefield, to Minister of Defence and the procurement of arms, to Leader of a Nation and the inherent function of diplomacy. The role of my auto-biography, aligns and contributes, for the likeminded, comprehending these parameters.

It was a fine early afternoon weekend day and our front door was an invite open to the warmth of our neighbourhood. My good friend, on seeing the moving bodies through the screen door opened it and called my name in earnest and I popped my head around the kitchen wall, happily greeting him. Instantly, we were a rush and as often in mission mode, bid the family a quick goodbye and bequeathed we’d both show for early dinner. We were on our way to a recently built community centre for some kind of political action and I was dragged along as last minute support because his dad (unbeknownst kingpin) was unable to attend. Although my friend had grade average always touching the skies, the procedural steps we were rolling into were as foreign to him, as myself. I was probably solicited because of our past penetrating conversations of situational geo-politics the likes of, Panama Canal, The Golan Heights, Vietnam War, Suez Canal, Idi Amin, South African Apartheid, The Khmer Rouge, Mao Tse-Tung, Fascism, Stalinism, Nicaraguan Sandinistas and Contras and so on, all speculative, removed of practical experience, just self thought theory. This was about to become our first youthful venture into political reality.

We were seated high up in the convention hall admiring the eclectic architecture, exploiting fresh space, filled by glistening sun. Intentionally alone and happily isolated far and away, in the stands, we believed ourselves immune of any kind of potential fermenting embarrassment, of our situational awareness, we were surely clueless. From our distance it wasn’t disturbing, that the faces of individuals were indistinguishably mulling around makeshift greeting and receiving tables. There were some small groups clustered together in the seating more directly in front of the action we eagerly intended to bypass. My friend of long standing and I, by our calculated location, seemed more destined to Apollo into orbit as astronauts then partake in anything that was going on down there, somewhere. This as you gather was all fine with me, as I had already settled as observer and my sidekick, limited in the scope of information he’d received, was uncomfortable to press forward as anything, but same. None of this would have retraced my memory if the following events had not continued to unfold. Suddenly, as if leaving a mothership, some individual male, broke away from the main body we were hell bent to avoid and climbed the universe towards us. We were dismayed at someone’s approach because this probably meant motives of a kind we would be unable to ascertain. We speculated quickly about nothing, for what seemed like eternity, even as the lanky man bounded the stairs by two’s, approaching. Fear of the unexpected was consuming us.

He shook my friends hand up and down with the efficacy of a car salesman’s exuberance and was simultaneously satisfied with his identity, as someone who’s name he had obviously anticipated. I unfortunately, as it turned out, wasn’t the father who couldn’t come. Time was of the essence, as is so often the case, in the needs speed, of big city life. As he extended his velocity to me, the gears in his manipulative little brain had already bypassed courtesy and moral standard. From everything he’d immediately concluded I was a useless unknown entity and to be purposeful in his world, would have to alter my name, if to become substance as a historical figure. I was taken aback. To represent myself as another human being, in my life was an occurrence I couldn’t begin to contemplate. Isn’t that illegal? The gall. Wasn’t I just at home with my family. What’s next the trunk of someone’s car. Dead. I mean if someone can flippantly eradicate a person’s name, is anything else a stretch. He doesn’t know me from Adam but is quick to assume that I’m willing to be, Satan’s little brother.

I was confused as he began ushering, towards who I now considered the core of other kool-aid drinking devil worshippers and I felt as if on a long downward trajectory to the gallows of an anticipated hanging, or better yet, a gruesome beheading. My being was screaming discontent. “What should I do”? I kept asking myself, “how do I get out of this”? Surely, I’m not to pretend to be someone else, going low, how far can I go. Documentation and identification would seem to be a precursor to legitimacy yet my pallbearer seemed adamantly convinced of unnecessity. The gates of hell forgo the rules required by mere mortals. Welcome to politics.

My friend and I helplessly glanced at each other, in fashion similar to villains on docket, left holding the bag and we stood mingled with others, moping with predicament. ‘Please make this stop’ and around the same time, as if heaven had received the echo of my hopes, it did. Relief. Indecision worked. Things were postponed or something something something, I could care less for how the dagger of corruption, was removed from my throat. We evacuated as if soldier’s, on first recognition, that valour and courage were no longer a useful commodity against imminent slaughter. Years later, to disgruntlement, I observed this same horrible individual become an elected Member of Federal Parliament.

Around this time and in between, I fell into conversation with a blast from the forgotten past, with Larry Grossman’s father, who’s son, also became temporary Ontario Conservative Party Leader and confessed to him my propensity to liberalism, having moved away from my initial socialist New Democrat Party leanings. He laughed politely in my face and said, “well you’re heading in the right direction. One day you’ll be a conservative”. At that time I wouldn’t have thought that plausible because I couldn’t associate the anti-war movement as compatible with Republicanism. Harken to today, the adage, “politics makes for strange bedfellows”, rings as always true, in more beds than one. “If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts; but if he will be content to begin with doubts, he shall end in certainties.” Frank Miller’s political victory was my first.

 

 

 

The Greatest are never Boring

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I have to confess that I’m not an avid football fan but I do have an interest in all things military and this game is closest to simulating war, disguised as sport. So when everyone is showing up, I find the spectacle enthralling.

Growing up I had disdain for Bobby Orr. He was the nemesis and super villain that every frustrated Leaf fan understood him to be, of epitome. If I could have reached through the T.V screen and pummelled him, well maybe not that. Broken glass probably does some self inflicting damage. He was sleek, too sleek, he was fast, too fast, he was smart, too smart, and he was great, too great. So with him around, we never even had a sniff at winning the whole enchilada. He came to represent the antithesis, of every type of hate I had, for preventing us from our success’s and discarding us to year’s of failure. It all sounds way beyond serious. Ergo memorable impact.

Many of these childhood anxieties thankfully suppressed, I happened to find myself at a charity event, that most of my recollection is missing. I’m certain it was at the old Garden’s arena, involving college students and flying something priests or maybe nun’s, engaging in humorous hockey action. Happenstance, Bobby Orr in proper referee uniform (looking sharp) drifted tenderly around pretending to officiate. I glanced towards him often, never having had the opportunity to witness him so close, as my face was partitioned by ice level glass. Most of my attention was directed at the pre-conceived good natured shenanigans on display, all in the name of a worthy cause. Towards the end of our entertainment, an aberration took place. One of the college players, not having yet been of this world when Orr was a household name, became sentimental of the coming conclusion to his presence with greatness. Kid offers Bobby his stick. As if on a frozen pond. From my distance you could discern his surprise and humility from the gesture. Certainly, with his body motion, if I may have actually seen him mouth the words, “I can’t”, it seemed to be the first time he had to utter those words, since the doctor’s (specialists) performed multiple surgeries some fifteen years earlier and warned him, he could never play again. The kid persisted, probably unaware, surely not fully aware, as most of us, of the looming danger should Orr attempt to gain high speed and incidentally find impact. The other college student’s by this time had perceived the teammate effort to persuade and also now, the four or five thousand naive to the danger fans, were vocally contributing to cajole. He plucked that offered stick out of the kids hand, like gun and a man, who knew the time was now, to go defend his country. The spur of the moment, contrived yet hockey accurate, for the player who did it better than all, the puck lay resting behind the net. From the blue line, he headed to retrieve. He got on that horse of his, in that deliberate skating style, with you know what’s going to happen, when I really start moving attitude. No one can stop me. Not man, nor immortal. I had seen this hundred’s of times, live and through a box, rounding the net, before ejecting into flight not with the same former flashing speed but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw next, as he passed centre ice along the boards, some four yards away against an imaginary team of leafs. His left leg wobbled furiously at the knee, inexplicably it held together as if limb on bone held in place with scotch tape and the frailty of our hero to potentially disintegrate, was wiped away by the joyous determined look on his face, to again have moving remembrance of something he so loved.  I cry then and now.

Life’s odd that way. Not always, but when misjudgement rears it’s ugly head. Without reason for disliking someone or even venomously despising them and you come to understand they’re great people and love them. Happened to me many times. The opposite occurrence is also true.

I have participated and observed practically any kind of sporting event for over fifty years and reverting to my opening statement unbiased of football, however, Tom Brady, in my humble opinion, of the recent modern era, is undoubtedly the Greatest Athlete Of All Time. The prerequisite for this title can be debated by other’s, across all the variables and disciplines of sport, as I ponder a media determined, post Super Bowl game narrative, demeaning, this nerve-wracking fantastic defensive struggle, to having been one long-drawn-out bore. It’s amusing to see we’ve become bored of greatness, as we must be moving in the right direction away from hate, if to nonchalant genius. Hope to be bored again next year with the Rams notching an added year of experience, or the Saints gaining revenge, or maybe the Kansas City QuarterBack begins to become the next superstar Brady. Challenges. Can’t live without them. Long road to being the best.

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Women I Should Have Married

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She was, as if, forcing the earth down repeatedly with the palms of her hands,”This is hell and when we leave here we go to Heaven”, and she flicked her wrists upward. Obviously a church goer and when your girlfriend makes a serious statement you should probably listen. When you both leave the Louvre and barely acknowledge the existence of, the most diagnosed painting in human history, the Mona Lisa, your probably in love. Those moment’s of happiness I wish too longevity are lost, never to be replaced in intensity and my memories are shadows I attempt to resurrect, through words. Mankind (excuse my Christianity) by way of painting, music and dance, statues and structures, according to the second woman I loved, has been trying to produce great works here in hell for a long time. Therefore the study of history and therefore something to keep ourselves busy with, while were hanging around waiting to go, to God knows where, next. Damn it, it’s just one never ending roller coaster ride. Blessed are they (could have been us) who can feel so much and peacefully surrender to eternity. More sensible than doing a “Romeo and Juliet”. So I ask myself, how could I be so stupid? Stupidity and ignorance is probably how I got there. Probably how anyone ever gets anywhere.

Problem with love is you’re having such a good time, you forget to know you’re in it. Better that. That’s perfect love. The savouring ends, the pain begins. Your with the illusion, this is a normal state of being, that you’ve only finally just come to discover and later it will be like candy, whereby, you can just pick it up, any old time. Boy is it fleeting. It’s not as if you’re in that long drawn out process of sitting there debating is she good for me, or am I good for her, or this and that and all those other things that mean, your not. That’s why I’m fond of the word ‘oblivious’. It’s always been my rarely attainable, favourite state and I’m not talking with support of drug inducement. The natural unaware kind. Maintaining oblivion here in hell is impossible but it allows for us to suspect heaven is a possibility. If we have momentary senses of euphoria (before our, recent clinical understanding of why) would there be place for it’s constant? Well we have hope, that other fantastic human emotion that in earthly form transforms into ambition. The groundwork for all of man’s endeavour to secure fulfillment and forever, but all we have here is common trivial tangible raunchy pleasure. Our physical form that cultivates sustenance for our brain, from where all of our speculation finds construction, research and information by way of observation, conversation and community.

Deborah was part of a group of four girls who were classmates and close friends, of which, one of them, I was head over heels for, from the age of fifteen. They grew in influence by osmosis, during my deserving and unrelenting adoration for my first female, have to have, which I shan’t mention in name, at this time. These things still bite. Only as recollection. As gratefully they should. Contact exponentially grew upon legal eligibility to chauffeur, as I immediately made myself valid. So coincidentally activity accelerated, with before or after school pick-ups, lunch venues and as we moved into our late teens, there were parties, movies and events.  I was participant to many, a small talk and question’s, inside the front door foyers with the parent’s, as they investigated if I was a trustworthy accompaniment to their daughters adventures. “What’s your father do”? “Mechanic”. “Your mother”? “Housewife”. “What school do you go to”? “O’Conner”. “You”re Christian”? “Catholic”. “We’re expecting you won’t be later than midnight”. “Definitely”. Everything was generally smooth and uneventful because they were all aware it wasn’t their daughter’s I was chasing but were nevertheless curious, to see the potential smitten interest, of one of their children’s friend’s. As always, I did better with father’s and brother’s, in particular if they were straight up guy, type of guys.

Deborah began dating, I suspect her high school sweetheart, earlier than the rest of us. Her best friend, “Janis”, was next. He was noticeably older and already a successful architect. Their relationship was traditional, whereby,  marriage, plus four children, including a permanent move to California as a corporate partner, was an outcome. Victoria, herself became an architect and met her future husband inside her university program. By casual semi-interested interaction my impression was they were all decent men. My focus, my thought’s, my beliefs and intentions always included the feelings of the one, I believed would become my significant other. The peripheral relationships by extension I protected, as a course to this happy to be, anticipated inevitability. “The best laid plans of mice and men”. For the outspoken, opinionated person I tend to be, I reflected much of my time with the girls as listener. I felt fortunate to have perspective included in my repertoire that wasn’t so Julius Caeser and Alexander the Great oriented, which made up most of my neighbourhood friends. I loved the disco era as I loved dancing but when I was out with the girls the reprieve from machoism was a welcome change. They were primarily Anglo and I loved all things that touched on Western Europe.  The girls were bright, smart and fun to be with. I was one lucky guy, to be keeping their company.

So it was, the girls at varying times, accepted part time jobs at a local upscale restaurant, amongst a collage of other jobs and locations they collectively spun as opportunities for each other. I happened in on one of these cycles as a busboy and when after a few weeks was asked to become a waiter I turned it into full time employment. Janis one evening while hostess, referenced that Deborah and she were planning to work in Europe for a year and I had been having thoughts of similar purpose, whereupon on our return, we intended to pursue our studies. So a few weeks later when they asked if I’d like to D-Day with them the first week in London, I happily latched on to this launch point for the European Continent. We departed sometime close to the beginning of the school year as is still habit today for these types of potential transitioning students.

Together we allowed for a minimum of a full week at a charming hotel and room, that captured the essences of London’s character. The girls to my advantage, by way of their admirable ability to organize had us well placed, safe and comfortable, to explore a thoroughly interesting and entertaining city. I loved London. What you see is what you got. My anticipations were accentuated as evidenced by my relentless desire to forgo any kind of sleep. During the day the three of us were prototypical tourists and my love for history and all English was absorbing. Come nightfall the girls were always in readiness, to turn in. The first evening, as I departed for music, dance and exploration,  I left thinking they were tired and rejuvenating. By the third night I assessed this was becoming a pattern of security, likely initiated by the parent’s. Ultra attractive women they are, but 1980 London for me was well demarcated in it’s potential dangers. I never had a situation or witnessed a confrontation. Today, I don’t know.  Paris on the other hand necessitates extra care because the corruption is hidden with sophisticated manners and the dangerous are disguised with fine clothing. Figures the French are notorious for perfume. By the fifth or sixth night I was freaking, “Are you kidding? You’re not going to party while we’re here! “Couldn’t get them out, couldn’t believe it.  I’d roll in at 5 or 6 every morning for a power nap and there they’d be, anticipating my arrival, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “I’ll catch you up, for breakfast”, I said. My friend’s and I had a wonderful time.

We said our goodbye’s as I boarded a train for Dover and on reaching the port I casually asked a women seated across, why everyone simultaneously, seemed to be preparing to disembark. “Where are you going”? “Through Italy to Yugoslavia”. “Well you have to take the ferry”. “Ferry”? “You must be an American”. I didn’t say it, well I did say, “Canadian”, but to myself, ‘I need a vacation from this vacation’. But of course I like taller than me, German Blond’s, so I chatted her up, until we separated east and south, some twelve hours later and exchanged possibilities.

I remember thinking that I should prepare to stay awake as the train was soon to pass through the city of Milan and surrounding area. Of course, I slept during my given name and hours passed, when daylight at the border, startled to the sight of communist soldier’s, machine-guns and a tall watch-tower. Upon entering my province/state of Slovenia, I immediately began having problems with authorities, related to insignificant issues, as an obvious opportunity for bribery. To be short, my third luggage check was apparently needed because I was on a fast train with slow ticket. Questionable tactics. The normal civilized procedure of upgrading wasn’t available, as the hand-gun carrying ticket attendant rifled through my stuff, he slowed to a stop on Miss September. Smut, the harder the better, in Christian territory, is a cheap and effective way to deflect yourself through some marginal situations, if your basically innocent. I said to him, “Vzami vse te knjige, ze sem jih precital”. “Take all these books I’ve already read them”. He left me with the Economist and Time magazine but he also left me with a teaching moment. Cash bribes can turn hostile in a hurry.  I always made a point to carry the American glossy stuff if I could get my hands on it. They’re good for bartering, especially if your product is scarce. Almost instant gratification is a money saver, or maker.

After a few weeks of this kind of Marxist mentality and cultural extortion, had me seeking alternatives. The pace of mountain and farm life was snail like, so when a cousins friend offered shared transport to Germany, I headed north in search of tall, surrendering to a promised return at Christmas. Bettina was a student at the University of Tubingen, a place I frequently visited, as I unexpectedly showed at her residence, to be reacquainted. Things with her went splendidly and I decided that the Stuttgart, Reutlingen corridor would serve nicely as a temporary base. A few days later I scored employment by way of black market, as a carpenter in a cement factory. There I plied my new trade and lived the life of an undocumented immigrant. My smart, with height, bonus rich, blonde, was of course sceptical of some guy parachuting into her life but none the less, simultaneously fascinated with my enamour. The months I lived there we never consummated, however she was a superlative host as she opened up the flavours of her nation to a suspicious guest. As an aside, shockingly, she wrote me in Canada four years later, lamenting our lost opportunity. “C’est la vie”. Is any full life without the experience of regret? Get over it.

A year of travel is an arbitrary number, an approximate timetable, of anticipated event’s, wherein the wherewithal to survive an unknown distant land, adjustment to the beliefs of foreign opinions, an investigation of yourself through a mirror of uncommon perspectives and an eyeopening, raw examination of evil and how it functions politically without the self preserving protection of your family. After six months I was fortunate to be alive and situations were still in the process of playing out and would need to, as conclusions are a dynamic of my personality. However, the end game began from beyond, with first contact, after these significant months, from my friends in Paris and an arrangement to get together. I rented a car and leaving work early on a Friday, made the long drive from Metzingen to the “City of Lights”, the birthplace of The Age Of Enlightenment. In the evening, along the way, a suspect array of isolated fires and from the periphery of the city Nancy a cathedral burned like inferno, as flames touched and lapped at the black night sky. Omens?OPTM-generic-share

I had suggested a three in the morning rendezvous, at, of course, the Eiffel Tower. To my chagrin, upon arrival, I couldn’t find hide nor hair nor security personnel. Who knew. A landmark of iconic proportions, in my imagination, would have to be a none stop circus of activity. My disappointment was only deterred by my worry, for corralling the girls to meet me in a secluded spot. No people, no washrooms, claim to fame, use one of the Eiffel legs as a fire hydrant. We all want to leave a mark before we leave the world stage. We greeted without incident, enjoyed our weekend in each others company and caught up on our, on goings. When I departed, I was without harbinger of returning to Paris, as I had projected our next hook up, back at home in Toronto and although we were together on our trip for brief period’s, an underlying sense of our common mission, was bonding.

Upon receiving an unanticipated message a couple of weeks yonder, stating one had suddenly lost her employment causing the other to also terminate and together they had decided to move on from France. I casually suggested they come and stay with me in Germany for the few weeks prior to spring as I knew they expected to visit relatives in Spain and England in the warming months. Voila, I once again rented a slightly larger automobile, as I promised to retrieve the girls with luggage but last minute my co-worker and friend changed his plans to fly home for the weekend and asked to join in my return, on the road to Paris again. This factored.

It had never crossed my mind, in any form, or in any part of my active imagination that I would have the strongest affection and desire of my life, in the coming hours, for Deborah. Again with gusto, not an inclination or anticipation or intuition. Overwhelming was my passion and adoration for her and of course these feelings can only be enhanced if they feel reciprocal. I still believe that an occurrence of this nature can only manifest if it isn’t contrived. It’s as if miracle. Do I believe that our love was, more or less, than the love’s of others? Of course not. It just feels that way. When logic doesn’t ask for satisfaction.the-beautiful-city-of-paris-julian-elliott-ethereal-light

In the ensuing forty-eight hours, Deborah and I were already hot and heavy, checking out Paris with a final look and were now standing, the girls and all their belongings, strewn around the car, preparing to leave. You know that visual. Dilemma. Nick my buddy barely knows the girls, Janis was already on the road to matrimony, the luggage is of course shockingly, I say shockingly substantial than contemplated, for the car I’ve rented. Deborah and I had been without remorse, shamelessly, pawing each other as if on an island in the Pacific, somewhere before the current advent of evolution, never to need see the face of humanity and civilization. The garden of Eden was close to finding itself appleless. But God prodded us forward, as if rushing us with his approval. Anyway to remove the intrusiveness of calculations, I allow you to draw your own conclusions. Nick drove, Janis sat in the passenger seat behind the driver with some number of suitcases and other bags squeezing her firm, to the corner. The trunk of course was so full it had displaced all the oxygen. Naturally, Deborah had to sit the journey to Germany in my lap. Needless to say, by the time we voyaged the hours to my place, we were both toast. The jaws of life would be unable to separate us.

On looking back at the entire volume of my life, and the privilege of insight, with an extraordinary level of personal interaction, amongst a significant variety of people, I’m sure that I could have fallen for any number of great women. Some I did and they never knew. Minus the nitty-gritty and responsibility. The degree of contrast in respect to character amongst my female friends, was relatively speaking, insignificant, as their mutual similarities were more importantly pronounced. The aside, of unique individual historical circumstance and the severity of some of their singular realities, would be prominent influential variable’s when applied to alternative viewpoints amongst themselves. If Deborah was a compassionate, understanding, sensitive, loyal, loving, considerate, motherly, sensual, natural person, with a ruthless will to survive, how truly unalike could friend’s in each other’s orbit possibly be and in turn, a large portion of the female population that I personally tend to find attractive and gravitate. That we surrendered our inner emotional selves to each other and shared intimacy was the factor of cardinal significance. That I later betrayed these feelings and the events of which my resulting culminating actions produced, can still bring to me, a cringe. And the details of which are stored away in the filing cabinet of my mind under the heading “Shame”, never to see the light of day. I wish to apologize for harming the fraternity of womanhood, whereupon they bestowed to me a gem and I failed to appreciate there blessing. Well thankfully I can blame my immaturity, it’s the one useless crutch I can hang on to, while I lament and be despondent. In the end it’s all good. Stage right, enter, ‘cliche’, “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”.

So it wouldn’t be a stretch for my dreams to be soothed by romance films, of which I have several favourites. None can match, or emotionally correspond as succinctly, with the exacting psychological detail and of riveting character’s, for me, as ‘Casablanca”. In my imagination, which of course omits my weaknesses and I’m not as handsome and debonair, never the less I am much like Humphrey Bogart, and Deborah is as valiant and as stunning as Ingrid Bergman. In the climactic conclusion, the summation is an apropos of my love life. She plane’s away with another man to save the world, while I get stuck with the French Resistance Captain and a life of booze, gambling and women of the night. Life is fraught with missteps and unanticipated happenings but in the end, “We’ll always have Paris”. Plus a few extra picturesque weeks of European locations.

I had already put too torch our relationship, prior to Deborah’s return to Toronto. I made overtures and attempts at reconciliation after my far late realizations, even as she mercilessly rejected me and frustratingly, with elegant kindness, as was expected, of one I should love, so. I simply failed to recognize how rare these feelings were and that I needed to thoughtfully protect them, for both our sake’s. Of course I’ve had many substantial failure’s but this was far and away, my best work at destruction. We all eventually moved on from each other and as is common, snippets of information of each others lives somehow intermittently through the years, finds you. Nothing unusual to detail. The last time I looked into the beautiful face of Deborah is probably about thirty-seven years asunder. She is always my inspiration.

Irony, came out to play, as always unexpectedly, early in the year 2015. as a concept I conceived for reviving the life of a historical building, had in it’s infancy, received considerable support amongst a small group of building and financial professionals. I had hunted down Victoria’s phone # in New York by way of my father’s consistent friendship with her father. I had known that as a final arbitrator on the feasibility of a major structural project of this nature, it was easily within her purview of architectural experience to make a judgement. If information needed to be extracted for definition she and her surrounding group of peers had the means to make a final determination. On my initial call she had marvelled at the grandiose of potential, and ended our call, likening me to Santa Claus as in bringing her a gift. Nothing surprises me anymore.

I waited some weeks, as I had a preplanned stratagem in place that was going to suffer pace and had hoped for an unsolicited return call, supporting my internal conclusions. It never came, so I forced myself against my nature, to interrupt Victoria’s life a second time in an attempt to retrieve a bonafide answer, based on her initial positive response. Lo and behold, she answer’s and identifies her location as street level close to her abode, just around the corner from the 9/11 buildings and for me, as if knowingly, to guess who was with her, visiting. “No, who”? I asked. “Deborah”! Even to my heart-pounding surprise, with light-speed, it left from me, “Tell her I still love her”, and I immediately returned to the subject of my call. I found it strange that I couldn’t extract an answer from Victoria that would satisfy me one way or another. Can this building physically withstand the pressure necessary to become a viable, functioning again, structure? And Deborah, is a woman I should have married, of course if she had wanted to say yes. But that would have needed a mountain of forgiving. If you come to bliss, treasure it, once finding heaven here on earth, if rejected, it will be lost until you leave the human form.

Scorpions———-Holiday                                The Hollies—All I Need Is The Air That I Breath

Puccini: “O mio babbino caro”/Fleming . Marin . Berliner Philharmoniker

Buzzcocks—Ever Fallen in Love                   Sade———No Ordinary Love

Diana Ross——-Love Hangover                    Ruth Etting—–Love Me Or Leave Me

Serenade Enrico Toselli. Violin and Piano Natalia Walewska and Tomaz Zajac

Rolling Stones—–Angie                                  David Bowie——Hero’s1529062138_89955797_ver1.0_640_480

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shooter

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On my thirteenth birthday or there about, I came home from school to have my mother lead me downstairs into our recently almost completed recreation room, to present me with a top of the line, brand spanking new, 4 by 8 pool table. How she ever came to this idea, I will forever be grateful and sacrifice every gift I’ve ever received, to what became my lifelong hobby. I suspect her capacity for craft and thrift, induced an effort to kill two birds with one stone. She was an avid dressmaker, sower and knitter so the pool table served the dual purpose of workstation, by simply covering the top with a firm plywood board. She loved shopping for fabric and patterns to maintain an active use of her collection of industry quality machinery. My sisters served as models to dresses and I tended to be the recipient of winter wool sweaters. The pocket billiard table was to become an adventure into the unknown and if my initial enthusiasm was lacking, that changed as I began assessing the games charm and complexities.

On occasion, relatives of the rural kind, would test my mantle by pushing a pistol or rifle into my hands and suggest I take the life of rodent or varmint. I couldn’t do it. City born living had quashed my desire to eliminate a cat or wolf or Richardson’s ground squirrel, primarily for the sake of protecting crops or livestock, but included sport. I received the shrugging of my cousin’s disapproving shoulder’s with embarrassment, as I manipulated the situation into wasting ammo on inanimate stationary target’s. Here in Toronto my Godfather was an avid hunter with the Slovenian Hunters lodge and served for many years, first as director, then as chairman. I had ample opportunity to hunt in Ontario for dear, moose, or rabbit but never had stomach, for joining my dad and others of our clan, on these northern expeditions. Without the inherent violence of hunting, billiards served as substitute for my desire of shooting, with the practicality of living in a city. I had other strong interests and always work, but because I loved pool so much, I began excelling with the intricacies of the game where the real joy lies, as with all things, great.

Billiard’s or pool, at the highest level’s is a sophisticated, intelligent, physical and psychological battle against the widest spectrum of, to be adversaries. To become a world class shooter you need to acquire ability, through volumes of practice and experience, by seeking out players of better quality and varying approaches. The price demanded by the hierarchy for pilfering of said craftsmanship, is cold hard currency. The larger your arsenal of skills, or as I refer to them, weapons, evolved your strategies, nimble the awareness and creative your game, the more difficult it becomes to defeat you.  It comes that time, where you are aware, of only a hand full of players that can still challenge your game. In Toronto for me that time came to realization between 1987 to about 1997.

To be an achieved player, initially the springboard to success favours the loner. Being similar, to perfecting a musical instrument, whereby endless hours of trial and error beckons an endless allocation of time to self absorbing practice. You become hermit.  To have chance at the long road to master, you love it and all consequence is surrendered. Intermittently you will marvel at air and breathing, or sun and tanning. Then as if butterfly escaping cocoon, you set forth, in quest for refinement and the required teaching, repetitive failure, biting lip advice and the criticism that only harsh defeat can bring, to open yourself to interpretation, in hopes of gaining insight, perspective and intuition. To be a high quality player asks for the examination of all things, in particular those elements that are outside of the game itself. You can not plan to draw a line at some arbitrary point and decide I’ve completed learning, for it would deter you as an absorbing student. To fail, implies any amount of weaknesses that can’t be overcome or aren’t understood. A missing mathematical equation against a well tutored and practiced opponent is easily exploited. The very good seem lucky, because they eliminate the chance of failure and maximize on the potential for success. They exert by ambition, drive, and tenacity a tremendous amount of pressure, on an opponent, effortlessly.

I was recognized as a quick, smooth skating, with excellent foot and stick work, hockey player. Leading scorer or vying. In Canada we have many of these. Father had me playing at Saint Michael’s Arena by age five with the downtown elite Toronto Olympic Hockey Club. Many pro-players, some great, came through this organization. Summer’s I spent in power skating school, at a place if anyone is alive to recall, named Tam O’Shanter, (burned down) the grateful recipient of NHL tutelage. The truth be told I was partial to the grace of figure-skating and dance-skating (also as an aside fencing) observing with keen admiration, the skills training that ran concurrently in the adjoining rinks. Unfortunately, developmentally to be proficient in these disciplines, would require more than passing fancy. My growth spurt came late and I was beginning to suffer serious injury, that logically accompanies six foot tall 180 pound, fourteen year old defencemen with sadist streak. I recall one in particular, whose parent’s appropriately named, Houston. I’d come out of the corner boards as if mauled by African wildlife, by these type’s of ucker’s. I was sadly suspecting that it wasn’t going to happen, this dream I shared with my father of becoming pro. In hind sight, there may have been a chance, be it miniscule and would have required regimented devotion to weight-lifting. Some of my friends were training on a regular basis and I could only gag-on, the concept of.  I preferred hours on the billiard table as opposed to the gym. So by my nineteenth I was a sniper shot, unaware of my quality and not caring, because for me billiard’s was an escape from people and school and the overall rat-race of ambition. My hockey career had produced a broken wrist, cracked ankle, intense facial damage, and all around bruising of the torso and legs. The positive that I garnered from these injuries is genetically I heal rapidly, as athlete’s are likely to do, because of increased strength and speed in metabolism.

It was quickly approaching and I was deferring, actually kicking and screaming from the required decision making, the course my higher studies should aspire to, at the conclusion of high school. I was the consummate procrastinator. The recurring theme was social worker, teacher and my secondary choices of journalism or politics as this was consistent with my second obsession, with foreign affairs and history. My high school friends and classmates, to avoid words used on the street, with diminishing (geeks) derogatory fashion, these types, were the intellectuals. I wasn’t hanging with the athletes, the should be natural alliance, or the artists or the pot heads, well any of the factions every school has. The kids I spent time with at lunch, met before school should I choose to go, talked with on school trips or related personal trips, with rare exception, became executives, presidents and vice, lead arbitrage, law firm partners, and as example, to corporation such as IBM, Bombardier, now merged Wood Gundy, other U.S. brokerage houses and Canadian banks. I was Black Sheep. They were securing their future and destiny, I was nomadic, directionless and lost. When I became waiter, I wilfully surrendered to the arbitrary totem-pole of professions and in North America wouldn’t even be considered worthy of any such standing or profile. Personally I never felt shamed despite the stigma, however, the pressure of miscalculating my future weighed heavy. It was as if I prematurely completed school with the worst possible grades but graduated and sent myself to placement.

Pool cue in one hand, serving tray in the other, became my sword and shield on the front lines of mankind’s self-created, by willful ignorance, battlefield, disguised by the presumption of peace. My perspective concludes that the world is constantly at war. Across all income levels mankind at his core is a ruthless animal with periodic stumbles into sympathy or compassion and these too are often used as tools for deceit and survival. Everyone, given enough time to interact, will eventually be recognized as friend or foe. The middle, grey area is only a stage or orbit of interaction, waiting for assessment. My philosophical position’s and statement’s have been visited and revisited by historical scholastic thinker’s from time infinitum. My aim here isn’t to challenge or dissect their position’s and should you have sincere curiosity, university, or a journey of personal research awaits, the study of my regurgitated beliefs.

My new found job and now always hobby, contributed to changing the dynamics of my life. Instead of isolation or feeling always as outsider, hardly a unique phenomena for large portions of the population, I was required to interact with people and fight through insecurities to maintain employment.  “You have to take the good with the bad”, well the surprise for me, the bad after considerable effort, turned good. If I was a self described social outcast, the business of restaurant’s opened new and interesting observations about the world and myself in it. Similarly pocket billiards unexpectedly opened avenue’s to new sometimes extreme situation’s and curious dialogue. One of the first, turning to many social situation’s, was during my away from home, in Germany and an invitation by one of three Marines for the weekend to an American Military Base. Soldier’s of any country and all rank tend to socialize around games that include darts, chess, ping pong and of course billiards. My practical experience’s were finding expression in strange fashion. Minus the normal approach to academia these multiplying events, would feed into the schooling I needed to examine, but postponed and would eventually return to by way of alternate route, as a mature student.

Waiter and shooter turned me into a social animal. If I was reserved and shy and under-confident, the continuos enjoyable foray into the observation and conduct of humans, reversed those natural tendencies of my character. I was never without invitation. The party seemed, as if never ending. If one thing wasn’t going, then another was surely happening. I was in the court, of every form of thinking and conceptualizing. Be they soldier’s, sailor’s, spies, be they dentist’s, doctor’s, nurse’s, be they, professor’s, guru’s, teacher’s, be they carpenter’s, plumber’s, bricklayer’s, be they psychiatrist’s, emergency services, or social worker’s, be they, drug dealer’s, bank robber’s or prostitutes, be they banker’s, builder’s or politician’s, be they media giants, weathermen, or journalist’s, all form would come available to my lair, for frank, enthralling and open conversation, when they were so willing. I was sponge.

Rod Stewart———————-Maggie May                   Eagles————Take It To The Limit

The Pursuit of Happiness–“I’m An Adult Now”     Bob Seger——-Night Moves

Dire Straits————————Sultans of Swing          Juice Newton—-Angel Of The Morning

Pink Floyd——-Another Brick In The Wall              Eagles————-Hotel California

 

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