As I chased down (and failed to find) the source of this awesome quote:
"'Act my age'? What the fuck is that, 'Act my age'? What do I care how old I am? The Ocean is old as fuck. It will still drown your ass with vigor."
...I stumbled across a few others at http://listography.com
“I know you and I are not about poems or other sentimental bullshit but I have to tell you even the way you drink your coffee knocks me the fuck out.” — Clementine von Radics
•
"People say i love you all the time - when they say 'take an umbrella, it's raining' or 'hurry back' or even 'watch out you'll break your neck'. There are hundreds of ways of wording it - you just have to listen dear." - the curious savage- John Patrick
•
The story so far; In the beginning the universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move. - Douglas Adams
•
You were a chapter in my book and i was merely a line in yours. p.b.p
•
“I used to think I was tough, but then I realized I wasn’t. I was fragile and I wore thick fucking armor. And I hurt people so they couldn’t hurt me. And I thought that was what being tough was, but it isn’t.” — James Frey
•
“Everyone says love hurts, but that is not true. Loneliness hurts. Rejection hurts. Losing someone hurts. Envy hurts. Everyone gets these things confused with love, but in reality love is the only thing in this world that covers up all pain and makes someone feel wonderful again. Love is the only thing in this world that does not hurt.” -- Meša Selimović
•
We are all the main characters of our own story, but we play supporting roles and extras in other stories. Sometimes we're not even in a story at all. That's okay though because our story influences the world. Remember that --theprettylittleblogger tumblr
•
“It’s like drowning but you just won’t fucking die.” — Urban Dictionary definition of unrequited love
•
I think we’re each given a gift or two so that we have something special to offer to others. But sometimes we make the mistake of assuming that the things we’re good at are common to everyone. We don’t recognize that our gifts are unique and therefore worth offering…I think sometimes we get confused and believe that our gift must bring us money or success or fame. Sometimes those things do happen, but not usually. The only thing a gift needs to do is bring you joy in the doing of that thing, and not worry about the outcome. - Carry On, Warrior by Glennon Melton
•
You may mess up, but you are not a mess up.
You may make a mistake, but you are not a mistake.
You may screw up, but you are not a screw up.
You may fail, but you are not a failure.
You are not your downfalls. - tumblr user p3rspective
•
"You have been criticizing yourself for years, and it hasn’t worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens." - LOUISE L. HAY
•
"Everybody goes through a tough time and I thought I wasn’t ready or I would want it to stop, but now I’m thanking god for each and every obstacle because he is only trying to bring the best out in us. So I’ll pray that he too will give you guys the wisdom and the strength to get through whatever is going on." - Tiffany Hwang
•
“I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway.” ̶ Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars
•
Just because someone with depression has a better day, doesn't mean that person got better. The day is still grey but without any rain. - Miley
•
“It’s much easier to humiliate, degrade and just generally shit all over someone, than it is to admit that you love them.” — Nathan, Misfits
•
“Maybe the wolf is in love with moon, and each month it cries for a love it will never touch.” — Anonymous (via keimun)
• “Every villain is a hero in his own mind.”
― Tom Hiddleston )
Thursday, December 04, 2014
Friday, September 26, 2014
First Dog on the Moon: Isis' Letter To The West
Classic offering from The Guardian's First Dog on the Moon.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Scotch bar cites “dress code”, tosses kilted Grinch
So here’s one for ya.
Last Thursday 4.4 million Scots voted in a referendum to decide whether to yank the U outta UK, kick the Queen to the curb and go independent. As yer Grinch is Edinburgh sired and papered, he’s a degree of emotional investment in the decision and no strong opinions on the matter one way or the other. A she-kin reduced the possible severing of a 300-year-old relationship to the quandary any bar rat familiar with Last Call can relate to: “Heart says Yes, Brain says No”.
So I decided with a small group of like-minded Scotsmen and Anglos to meet at our local establishment for some discount libations before motoring over to a swanky whisky joint called Nip&Dram (#nipanddram) to mull early results over glasses of liquid fire culled from their (claimed) 400+ bottles of Scotch. I’d been meaning to attend the place for many months as I’ve had a twenty-year fling with single malt and thought it would be nice to meet some fellow travelers, have a cigar and chill.
It being a special occasion I wore my kilt and sporran with Doc Martens and a black-T.
1030ish we drift down to the Landmark Centre in ones and twos. The first hint something was off came when I discovered a gal-pal and her boy languishing in the parking area; refused entry because he’s in shorts and sandals. “Well… aye, I can see how a small, high end club might have a problem with that. Pity though… maybe next time!”
So yer correspondent rocks up, acknowledges the Meathead in a safari suit at the door, and is ushered inside where he’s greeted by two young women in LBDs and heels, one clutching a menu board. I catch my highland pal’s eye across the room; he’s comfortably ensconced with friends listening to the jazz trio opposite, and I make to join them. At which point menu board tells me I’m not allowed in because I’m wearing shorts. Clearly there’s some sort of misunderstanding, laughs I. Surely you recognize this as a kilt, formal attire worn by the male of the species in the lands from whence virtually your entire product line and by extension your current employment, hail! Let me speak to your manager.
The manager, no doubt a reasonable woman, a seasoned veteran of the higher ends of the hospitality industry here and abroad is just the person to see at a thirsty time like this, no? No. “We have a strict dress code and you cannot come in dressed like that,” says she, as Meathead #2 slips into the shadows off my starboard.
You understand that’s like telling a Javanese guy he’s not welcome at the wedding because he’s wearing a batik shirt, right?
Murrmmurr murmmer murmmmur
I’m still laughing when my pal ambles up, asks what’s the matter and makes to call the owner/partner at who’s invitation we’ve come this night. I tell him not to waste a dime because even if I get the green light I’d rather take power tools to my kilted goolies than put money in these fucker’s pockets. Poor fella has just got his obscenely-priced glass of hooch so I tell him to chill with our friends, I’ll wait car.
My pal the security guard Surya is a bit shocked to see me back so soon. He’d been surprised to see a whitey driving a car, let alone one who climbed out wearing a skirt. So I’d taken a couple minutes to educate him on the kilt in terms he’d grok. When I told him I’d been refused entry he was quite literally gobsmacked: he stood there for several moments with his mouth hanging open.
My buddy showed up not long after with the manager in tow: “She’s going to apologize to you now,” says he.
Which she did. Very sorry for the misunderstanding. Please come back… durka durka durka… and I started to think, okay, don’t be a complete ass, Grinch. If you don’t want to go, be gruff and gracious and accept her apology, she’s just a minion after all etc. And then she said the most amazing thing, words to the effect, “We’ll waive the rules this time” (presumably by order of the boss).
Charming, eh?
So, let me get this straight, you’ll let me in tonight but the next time a sober, well-heeled Scottish guy in a kilt shows up at your bar, whose reason for existing is to market and sell Scottish whisky, you’ll not let him in?
I laughed, told her hell would freeze before I’d set foot in her (strangled obscenity) of a bar. Then loaded up the rest who couldn’t be bothered staying, pointed wheels north and ten mins later landed back in the warm bosom of my local, sharing glasses of Quarter-cask Laphroaig with proper friends.
As for Drip and Dram? Well, y’all can…
Last Thursday 4.4 million Scots voted in a referendum to decide whether to yank the U outta UK, kick the Queen to the curb and go independent. As yer Grinch is Edinburgh sired and papered, he’s a degree of emotional investment in the decision and no strong opinions on the matter one way or the other. A she-kin reduced the possible severing of a 300-year-old relationship to the quandary any bar rat familiar with Last Call can relate to: “Heart says Yes, Brain says No”.
So I decided with a small group of like-minded Scotsmen and Anglos to meet at our local establishment for some discount libations before motoring over to a swanky whisky joint called Nip&Dram (#nipanddram) to mull early results over glasses of liquid fire culled from their (claimed) 400+ bottles of Scotch. I’d been meaning to attend the place for many months as I’ve had a twenty-year fling with single malt and thought it would be nice to meet some fellow travelers, have a cigar and chill.
It being a special occasion I wore my kilt and sporran with Doc Martens and a black-T.
1030ish we drift down to the Landmark Centre in ones and twos. The first hint something was off came when I discovered a gal-pal and her boy languishing in the parking area; refused entry because he’s in shorts and sandals. “Well… aye, I can see how a small, high end club might have a problem with that. Pity though… maybe next time!”
So yer correspondent rocks up, acknowledges the Meathead in a safari suit at the door, and is ushered inside where he’s greeted by two young women in LBDs and heels, one clutching a menu board. I catch my highland pal’s eye across the room; he’s comfortably ensconced with friends listening to the jazz trio opposite, and I make to join them. At which point menu board tells me I’m not allowed in because I’m wearing shorts. Clearly there’s some sort of misunderstanding, laughs I. Surely you recognize this as a kilt, formal attire worn by the male of the species in the lands from whence virtually your entire product line and by extension your current employment, hail! Let me speak to your manager.
You understand that’s like telling a Javanese guy he’s not welcome at the wedding because he’s wearing a batik shirt, right?
Murrmmurr murmmer murmmmur
I’m still laughing when my pal ambles up, asks what’s the matter and makes to call the owner/partner at who’s invitation we’ve come this night. I tell him not to waste a dime because even if I get the green light I’d rather take power tools to my kilted goolies than put money in these fucker’s pockets. Poor fella has just got his obscenely-priced glass of hooch so I tell him to chill with our friends, I’ll wait car.
My pal the security guard Surya is a bit shocked to see me back so soon. He’d been surprised to see a whitey driving a car, let alone one who climbed out wearing a skirt. So I’d taken a couple minutes to educate him on the kilt in terms he’d grok. When I told him I’d been refused entry he was quite literally gobsmacked: he stood there for several moments with his mouth hanging open.
My buddy showed up not long after with the manager in tow: “She’s going to apologize to you now,” says he.
Which she did. Very sorry for the misunderstanding. Please come back… durka durka durka… and I started to think, okay, don’t be a complete ass, Grinch. If you don’t want to go, be gruff and gracious and accept her apology, she’s just a minion after all etc. And then she said the most amazing thing, words to the effect, “We’ll waive the rules this time” (presumably by order of the boss).
Charming, eh?
So, let me get this straight, you’ll let me in tonight but the next time a sober, well-heeled Scottish guy in a kilt shows up at your bar, whose reason for existing is to market and sell Scottish whisky, you’ll not let him in?
I laughed, told her hell would freeze before I’d set foot in her (strangled obscenity) of a bar. Then loaded up the rest who couldn’t be bothered staying, pointed wheels north and ten mins later landed back in the warm bosom of my local, sharing glasses of Quarter-cask Laphroaig with proper friends.
As for Drip and Dram? Well, y’all can…
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
25 things you never wanted to know about Grinch On Tour
A while back - prodded by a social media 'poke' - I wrote 25 random things about myself. Here's that bit of navel gazing five years on.
1. I almost died of exposure as a child when my just-off-the-BOAC Dad and his just-off-the-coal-scow Welsh buddy took me hunting in the middle of a Manitoba winter and got stuck many miles up a disused logging road. As dark and almost certain death by exposure loomed, hero Dad flagged down a truckload of hydro workers who literally lifted our station wagon and pointed it in the right direction. A year later I fell through the ice in a pond behind my apartment building. In addition to being first in a long line of near-death experiences these incidents and Neil Armstrong stepping onto the moon are among my earliest memories.
2. I write, carry a hammer and wear a watch on my right hand, but I throw, draw an arrow and lift heavy objects with my left. I punch and kick with either.
3. I can spit further and whistle louder than anyone I know.
4. For as long as I can remember I have spent idle moments I drawing imaginary lines of infinite length through the 90-degree angles formed by tiles so that my eyes pinball around the ceiling or floor until they finally arrive in a dead-end corner. Then I retrace/unravel the pattern. This hypnotic activity keeps me captivated for hours.
5. I feel like a Guy Lafleur soul trapped in a Gille Lubien body: if I have to explain that then fuggedaboudit.
6. At least once a month since I was a child I get the sensation that I'm a nano-second out of phase with the world around me. Ambient sounds echo in my head, my peripheral vision blurs and I become a detached third-party observer to what I'm doing. It can take hours for this sensation to pass.
7. I've always wanted hair like Jimmy Page (or Tony Alva).
8. Hardly a day goes by that I don't think about Trudy (The Wonder Dog) and the way the light in her cataract-green eyes faded and died as I held her in my arms.
9. The Life of Brian was the funniest movie released in 1979, perhaps the single greatest year for comedies: The Jerk, Richard Pryor Live in Concert, 10, Being There, Manhattan, Meatballs, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, 1941 etc.
10. I graduated high school because I could crib a year's worth of theorems or irregular Spanish verbs onto a 2cm x 2cm square of paper with an architect's pencil.
11. I spent a couple of years in my 20s playing Dungeons & Dragons in my buddy Ed's basement: Sunday noon-till-midnight marathons and at least one other day each week. When Tolgar, my righteous, ass-whuppin' Level 16 Paladin was seduced by a horny +24 Charisma wood nymph and vanished into a forest permanently I realized it was time to do something more productive with my life.
12. I never received a copy of my university diploma so I'm not even sure I officially graduated.
13. My first job was as a nine year old picking up newspapers on garbage nights in Montreal for a recycling venture an elder (like, 16) had cooked up. Around the same time I picked up my first Montreal Star paper route. Since then I have: delivered groceries on a 3-wheeled bike, tele-marketed (briefly), recycled newspapers, sharpened skates & sold sports ware, worked in numerous restaurants and bars, split wood, hauled lumber, loaded fat tourists on ski lifts, stocked supermarket shelves at night, made pizza, sold produce, worked as a courier, been a carpenters apprentice, painted many, many homes, committed journalism, worked as a carny, picked grapes (France), peaches, apples and tomatoes (B.C.), managed projects worth millions of dollars and been a tour guide at a Cognac factory. I imagine there’s a few others I’ve forgotten along the way. Ironically, at this time in my life I have a lot of trouble answering the question: “So, what do you do?” and its corollary, "where are you from?"
14. Weed makes me sleep (so what's the point), I dislike the artificial intimacy of club-drugs and 'shrooms take me places I don't wanna go, but I will always have a sweet spot for LSD-25 or a piece of Afghan black.
15. Once upon a time, someone (some group of people more likely) stenciled distinctive bird silhouettes on hundreds of highway overpasses and bridges across Eastern Canada. A guy at a Sally-An soup kitchen in Sudbury, Ontario, was the first to tell me the combinations of birds (sparrows, gulls, eagles, robins etc.) were a code for hitchhikers. One of my great regrets is that years on the thumb and many thousands of miles later I've never met anyone who claimed to be able to read 'em, and the images themselves are long gone.
16. I pepper casual conversation with references to movies, episodes of M*A*S*H*, All in The Family, Taxi and WKRP among others, song lyrics, arcane advertising slogans and other pop culture detritus that no one (except my buddy Marty) ever “gets” but amuse the hell out of me.
17. In my experience when a journalist says "If both sides are pissed off then I must be doing my job well" the opposite is often the case.
18. "It's astounding" but I can still remember the words/crowd responses to most of the songs in The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
19. I believe there is no greater threat to personal freedom than social orthodoxies and prejudices buttressed by religion in the hands of a Charismatic.
20. I have never been happier than during my solo bike trip across North America on a beat-up 1000cc Yamaha Virago that literally disintegrated 45 minutes from the end of an 8,000km journey.
21. Being a freelance journalist in Asia is the greatest job on earth. Being a freelance journalist in Asia is the worst job on earth. This is not a contradiction.
22. I'm a fan of things that require no improvement: 10-year-old Laphroaig quarter cask and good Cuban cigars; the Coleman cooler; knee-high Sorels; CCM Super-Tacks, ACS 651 skateboard trucks and Salomon 747Equipe ski bindings; my 20" iMac, the basic Bic ballpoint and lighter; Volvo D240 station wagon; the combination of a black cotton t-shirt, 501s and Dayton boots; the roll-up crazy carpet snow sled; Export-A rolling papers and, the wooden-handled 4-inch Mora belt-knife.
23. If I could go back and do it all over again I would try not to be such a complete asshole to my parents during the worst of my hormonal teenage years.
24. I'm enjoying watching my face age. From the time I got my first line at 21/22, I've tried to imagine what I’d look like at 80. I even started a scrap book of head-shots – one per page – for ever year starting in 1965 to see the progression: its in a filing cabinet I've not seen in 10 years, 12,000km from my current locale. Now pushing 50 I'm generally satisfied with the pace of decay but would dearly love to drop this last 15 pounds so I can get into a size 32.
25. At the end of it all, I want a proper Irish wake; laid out on the table, lotsa whiskey and poitín, singing, coins on the eyes, candles and photographs and stopped clocks and smoking, much gnashing and wailing and lamentations and laughter, and carousing in the shadows. I've even got an informal list of songs I want played but I'm careful to never settle on more than nine: why tempt fate, eh?
1. I almost died of exposure as a child when my just-off-the-BOAC Dad and his just-off-the-coal-scow Welsh buddy took me hunting in the middle of a Manitoba winter and got stuck many miles up a disused logging road. As dark and almost certain death by exposure loomed, hero Dad flagged down a truckload of hydro workers who literally lifted our station wagon and pointed it in the right direction. A year later I fell through the ice in a pond behind my apartment building. In addition to being first in a long line of near-death experiences these incidents and Neil Armstrong stepping onto the moon are among my earliest memories.
2. I write, carry a hammer and wear a watch on my right hand, but I throw, draw an arrow and lift heavy objects with my left. I punch and kick with either.
3. I can spit further and whistle louder than anyone I know.
4. For as long as I can remember I have spent idle moments I drawing imaginary lines of infinite length through the 90-degree angles formed by tiles so that my eyes pinball around the ceiling or floor until they finally arrive in a dead-end corner. Then I retrace/unravel the pattern. This hypnotic activity keeps me captivated for hours.
5. I feel like a Guy Lafleur soul trapped in a Gille Lubien body: if I have to explain that then fuggedaboudit.
6. At least once a month since I was a child I get the sensation that I'm a nano-second out of phase with the world around me. Ambient sounds echo in my head, my peripheral vision blurs and I become a detached third-party observer to what I'm doing. It can take hours for this sensation to pass.
7. I've always wanted hair like Jimmy Page (or Tony Alva).
8. Hardly a day goes by that I don't think about Trudy (The Wonder Dog) and the way the light in her cataract-green eyes faded and died as I held her in my arms.
9. The Life of Brian was the funniest movie released in 1979, perhaps the single greatest year for comedies: The Jerk, Richard Pryor Live in Concert, 10, Being There, Manhattan, Meatballs, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, 1941 etc.
10. I graduated high school because I could crib a year's worth of theorems or irregular Spanish verbs onto a 2cm x 2cm square of paper with an architect's pencil.
11. I spent a couple of years in my 20s playing Dungeons & Dragons in my buddy Ed's basement: Sunday noon-till-midnight marathons and at least one other day each week. When Tolgar, my righteous, ass-whuppin' Level 16 Paladin was seduced by a horny +24 Charisma wood nymph and vanished into a forest permanently I realized it was time to do something more productive with my life.
12. I never received a copy of my university diploma so I'm not even sure I officially graduated.
13. My first job was as a nine year old picking up newspapers on garbage nights in Montreal for a recycling venture an elder (like, 16) had cooked up. Around the same time I picked up my first Montreal Star paper route. Since then I have: delivered groceries on a 3-wheeled bike, tele-marketed (briefly), recycled newspapers, sharpened skates & sold sports ware, worked in numerous restaurants and bars, split wood, hauled lumber, loaded fat tourists on ski lifts, stocked supermarket shelves at night, made pizza, sold produce, worked as a courier, been a carpenters apprentice, painted many, many homes, committed journalism, worked as a carny, picked grapes (France), peaches, apples and tomatoes (B.C.), managed projects worth millions of dollars and been a tour guide at a Cognac factory. I imagine there’s a few others I’ve forgotten along the way. Ironically, at this time in my life I have a lot of trouble answering the question: “So, what do you do?” and its corollary, "where are you from?"
14. Weed makes me sleep (so what's the point), I dislike the artificial intimacy of club-drugs and 'shrooms take me places I don't wanna go, but I will always have a sweet spot for LSD-25 or a piece of Afghan black.
15. Once upon a time, someone (some group of people more likely) stenciled distinctive bird silhouettes on hundreds of highway overpasses and bridges across Eastern Canada. A guy at a Sally-An soup kitchen in Sudbury, Ontario, was the first to tell me the combinations of birds (sparrows, gulls, eagles, robins etc.) were a code for hitchhikers. One of my great regrets is that years on the thumb and many thousands of miles later I've never met anyone who claimed to be able to read 'em, and the images themselves are long gone.
16. I pepper casual conversation with references to movies, episodes of M*A*S*H*, All in The Family, Taxi and WKRP among others, song lyrics, arcane advertising slogans and other pop culture detritus that no one (except my buddy Marty) ever “gets” but amuse the hell out of me.
17. In my experience when a journalist says "If both sides are pissed off then I must be doing my job well" the opposite is often the case.
18. "It's astounding" but I can still remember the words/crowd responses to most of the songs in The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
19. I believe there is no greater threat to personal freedom than social orthodoxies and prejudices buttressed by religion in the hands of a Charismatic.
20. I have never been happier than during my solo bike trip across North America on a beat-up 1000cc Yamaha Virago that literally disintegrated 45 minutes from the end of an 8,000km journey.
21. Being a freelance journalist in Asia is the greatest job on earth. Being a freelance journalist in Asia is the worst job on earth. This is not a contradiction.
22. I'm a fan of things that require no improvement: 10-year-old Laphroaig quarter cask and good Cuban cigars; the Coleman cooler; knee-high Sorels; CCM Super-Tacks, ACS 651 skateboard trucks and Salomon 747Equipe ski bindings; my 20" iMac, the basic Bic ballpoint and lighter; Volvo D240 station wagon; the combination of a black cotton t-shirt, 501s and Dayton boots; the roll-up crazy carpet snow sled; Export-A rolling papers and, the wooden-handled 4-inch Mora belt-knife.
23. If I could go back and do it all over again I would try not to be such a complete asshole to my parents during the worst of my hormonal teenage years.
24. I'm enjoying watching my face age. From the time I got my first line at 21/22, I've tried to imagine what I’d look like at 80. I even started a scrap book of head-shots – one per page – for ever year starting in 1965 to see the progression: its in a filing cabinet I've not seen in 10 years, 12,000km from my current locale. Now pushing 50 I'm generally satisfied with the pace of decay but would dearly love to drop this last 15 pounds so I can get into a size 32.
25. At the end of it all, I want a proper Irish wake; laid out on the table, lotsa whiskey and poitín, singing, coins on the eyes, candles and photographs and stopped clocks and smoking, much gnashing and wailing and lamentations and laughter, and carousing in the shadows. I've even got an informal list of songs I want played but I'm careful to never settle on more than nine: why tempt fate, eh?
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Grinch Holiday ramblings...
Just back from three weeks R&R in the homeland.
Some musings:
Top Ten Holiday Highlights (in no particular order)
1. 4 1/2 year old female grinchlette in a life-jacket bobbing like a cork down Ottawa River rapids squealing, “Lemme go! Let! Me! Go!” to a clingy Dad. Thanks to Dave at http://www.ottawacityadventures.com/adventures/rafting/
2. Watching reactions in Plateau Montreal shops as the smell of a backpack stuffed with fresh Fairmont bagels infused the air. http://www.fairmountbagel.com/
3. Having the kids identify the Big Dipper the first time they’d ever seen a truly star-studded northern sky (thanks apparently to Disney Channel’s Doc McStuffins & “Celestial Celeste” who is apparently doing a better job edukatin’ my kids than I) http://www.allreadable.com/39316qDW
4. Watching 4 1/2 year old male grinchlette on auto-belay flash a three-story vertical wall at Altitude in Gatineau, pausing long enough to say, “Hey, good lookin’” to my brother, his climbing partner. http://www.altitudegym.ca/en/
5. The Big Family Dinner; many roast beasts consumed.
6. Special evening of fine dining with the famle @ Le Serpent… http://www.leserpent.ca/en/
7. Camping… bc a bad day camping is still more enjoyable than the best day at work (even when it leaves yer Grinch with a severed tendon in his hand that will require surgery within the week) http://www.ontarioparks.com/park/voyageur
8. Street hockey, trampolines, rock climbing, rafting, horseback rides and backyard swimming pools; blueberry pancakes, suitable volumes of decent wine, village-made cheese, and decent beers with buddies in Mtl; the CFL; Franco-Quebecois who default to English and Anglo-Ontarians who default to French; dueling hummingbirds, fat hissing ‘coons at the Mont Royal pullover, gonzo moths, a (sadly) rare tree frog & massive turkey vultures wheeling, watching, waiting; Players Extra-Light Kings and economy-sized little blue boats; needing a duvet in August and family, family, family.
9. Driving the same car for three weeks without feeling like an unwitting participant in a diabolical swarm-theory experiment http://www.scholarpedia.org/article/Swarm_intelligence Taking the same period to figure out wipers and lights have swapped sides on the steering column.
10. Canadian Tire. Before there was anything else, there was Canadian Tire http://www.canadiantire.ca/en.html
Dillon Family Holiday: By the Numbers
Aggregate air travel (4pax) 136,240kms. Total layover time: 19.5 hrs.
Kms on rental car: 1,812. Speeding/parking tickets: 0. Times in the past 15 years when that's happened: 0.
Kms traveled by Zodiac: 9.1. Kms by ferry: 4.8. Kms by horseback: 2.2 (guesstimate).
Tent poles known to be broken prior to leaving to camp ground: 1. Percentage level of importance of that pole in timely erection of tent fly: 100. Minutes required for sky to go from blue to black after setting up camp tent (minus fly): 15. Mins of continuous bloody rain before tent fly successfully raised: 16. Number of new curse words acquired by kids: 3. Number with more than one syllable: 2.
Years rolled back as Dad, Mum and son again wrestled against the elements on a camping trip: 30+
Check-in bags to Canada: 3.
Check-in bags to Jakarta: 5. Weight of return baggage: 97.2kg. Quarts of fresh blueberries crushed in return baggage: 1. Jam jars smashed: 0. Total new books acquired: 17. Total of those books that are for adults: 2.
Bottles of single malt acquired at Doha Duty free: 2. Rank (1-10) of Doha duty free selection of single malts: 8.7. Percentage likelihood single malts to be provided as gifts: 0.
Total clothes and meds bill at Hawkesbury, Ont. Walmart store: $531.
Bill at Hawkesbury, Ont. Harley dealership: $138.48. Number of days after leaving Canada that cast members of TV show Sons of Anarchy will (inexplicably) travel of Hawkesbury, Ont. HD shop to party with locals: 24.
Level of spouse's disappointment (1-10) that she won't meet the guy who plays SAMCRO's sexual deviant Sgt-At-Arms, Tig Trager: 8.1. Level of disappointment had it been Opie: 11
Pax at Big Family Dinner: 16. Bottles of wine drunk: Dunno oshiffer. Montreal-style bagels purchased 24 hours prior to BFD: six dozen. Bagels remaining to be brought to Jakarta (after vultures picked through the remains): six. Actually brought: 0 (bc one does not leave parents without bagels).
New craft beers made in nearby village of 1,500: 2. Taps of craft beer made within an hour's drive of the village in a new local tav: 19. Average alcohol level: 6.8%.
Confirmed number of marshmallows eaten by two under-5s: 15. Stomach incidents: 1. Percentage likelihood daughter will impale marshmallow and eat it before it can be roasted: 100.
Cumulative wasp stings: 3. Wasp stings at 2:30am in a pitch-effin-black bathroom: 1. Number of new curse words acquired by kids: 0.
20-something Arab men on return flight who spoke English when they boarded for Jakarta: six. Who spoke English when mate unloaded on them for behaving like bleedin’ eejits: 0.
Author's weigh gain: 2.5kg. Primary physical activity: opening fridge door; light laundry. Spouse's weight gain: nil. Primary physical activity: 5km morning power-walk. Lessons learned: Sorry… can you repeat the question?
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