the long and winding road

i was standing on top of a huge flat roof, packing. it felt like i had been packing for the better part of the day but then it's hard to tell. Dave was around but he wasn't around. maybe he was distracted because Manemou was back in town. maybe he was just distracted. but i did almost all of the grunt work on my own, sometimes mistaking the door to our apartment for another that opened right into this huge empty mezzanine filled with nothing but a thin layer of fine plywood dust. it smelled freshly cut but i was still scared to look over. when i made my way back into the place i was leaving i ran into Jules, only half surprised when he opened the door to the same bedroom i was walking toward. the door was open enough so that i could make out sweaty sheets behind him - he had just gotten back into town and Kim was probably there scrambling to get dressed. he asked me if it had been me playing the drums before and i said yes, half embarrassed and half proud. "not bad, not bad" he smiled at me. "so I guess you really do have a lot to tell me these days?" i meant to answer but felt there was no need. relief gave way to a quiet joy as he said something about how maybe our own story had yet to be fully written as well.

the blur that was my weekend

Manhattan. Town of extreme character. Patricia Field and Cafe Gitan. So unique. So tasty.
Cheap Mexican beer cans on unimpressed subway carts. Aggressive shorts and women with turquoise shoes. No time to think too much about Amy, the latest fight, the cats or even Tisha being put to sleep.

Do my best to make sure I'm not in the way. No need when I'm here.
Speed walk through dinosaur bones and sleep it off at Yankee Stadium in a pile of your own peanut shells. Dreamy night view of the George Washington Bridge. So tired, Mounamou. Too tired to even gather my own thoughts.
Never did make it to Union Square to see the rats but did see big Mama Bear and her two cubs run away from us in the woods. In Smokerise, with the deer and the gated community folk. Walking through the forest barefoot with Kevin and his air rifle after the pedicures in Astoria. (Actoria). Where Dave and I nearly cracked up under intense tickling. Where we did got lost.
A good shot apparently in the need of a moving target.
Speaking of snipers. Grilled in the Jacuzzi and again the next morning by Camille. Folding under intense questioning. Apparently no longer the smooth talker I once was. Tom remains optimistic about the economy and thinks people generally think too much.

Ain't that the truth.

happy meal. happy thoughts

For a good half hour last night, bordered between the indoor kids park and the drive through, we sat on our bikes and talked about death. I think it probably started with near-death experiences of the snowboarder, neck-breaking variety and then kind of took off from there. The unnecessary costs of caskets and the absurdity of renting a space in the old marble wall. The strange feel of a cold, exposed body. (Tigger, I haven't forgotten) Living wills and the legality of having your ashes spread on land or at sea. All very grim stuff for a bunch of young thirty somethings. It kind of made me feel a little bit better about everything, oddly enough. Like getting to celebrate life all over again without the fuss of an untimely funeral.   

or so the Germans would have you believe

don't worry, Bloggy. i haven't been ignoring you.

i've just been busy. busy coping with things. coming to terms with things. and trying to enjoy it. regardless. the little things in life that sometimes feel like they're not worthy of blogging. even though they are. of course they are. like watching the quarter final with your best friend. and then walking around your neighbourhood like you at least partially own the place. (because you actually do at least partially own the place) and watching everyone, happy and full of life. two, three stops and all the familiar faces. all the familiar faces that you hope to keep seeing as long as you can keep seeing.

staggered, in the vineyard

The last couple of weeks have taken on quite a blurry quality.
Not much is standing out right now.
I have been navigating from backyard to building, through rain and shine and at all hours of the week.
Hacking through weeds. Digging up asphalt. Shovelling and then raking and then dumping and then hauling and then filling and then backfilling that same mountain of screening in and out of various holes; and into and out of a grumpy but otherwise willing Franco.
And I've been doing it all with a peaceful calm. For the most part.
Start in the morning, skip lunch and do it until its done. And even though it's never done, sooner or later you turn around and realize you've gotten somewhere and created something beautiful. Another something to look at. Another somewhere to be.
I got a really nice feeling when my brother and I picked out that perfect little Japanese Ivory Silk tree - just realizing that I might be lucky enough to watch it grow for the next twenty five years. It was almost the same feeling I got the night before when the three of us were out in the backyard, finally planting the garden by the portable spotlight. Like we were the coolest kids on the block.

wade in the fire

what a day. what a night. what a weekend. hard to sum up all the emotions of the last two nights into proper sentences so I'll just lay it out it in fragments. pad barbecue. solar eclipses we never quite caught but some beautiful climbs up to the roof anyhow. tennis balls and power lines. delicious slices of salty Argentinean beef and plenty of beer to wash it down. music talk, protest talk. and more Lafleur hot dogs than I'm proud to admit. not enough sleep. and before i know it, Piknik Electronique. packing coolers in the metro with Davey Cleinfeld. not quite like old times but always good times. the unmistakable rumble out Jean Drapeau and the giant Star-Trek-looking monument overlooking the deceptively blue St. Laurence River. a perfect Montreal summer day in Spring. beautiful people and perfect strangers soaking in the sun. butterflies for Dubfire, sharing beer and water bottles. getting lost in the crowd and dancing like no one's watching. and that shit-eating grin you just can't wipe off your face.

because the beat goes on. and on.

tonight i walked right into a little slice of my own past and realized that not much has changed. it's comforting to know that most people, when left to their own devices, will more or less do exactly what they were doing back in the day. Davey had already warned me that B'Ugo and Inobe were still very much the same guys, appearances, mannerisms and all. but i just had to see it with my own eyes. and sure enough, they walked into the club and six years just bended into that present moment. a giant, heartfelt hug and some excited, rapid-fire exchanges of "where-you-beens???" competed with the loud beats. and everything about them and the party scene and the music and the random shivers just brought me back to those good old days when all this was still fresh and waiting to be discovered. and i suddenly made a lot more sense to myself.

want to time travel on a regular basis? forget meddling with astrophysics and quantum mechanics. just go out on a limb on an otherwise random night and reconnect with some perfect strangers from your own past.

works every time.

tonight i took it on the chin

My first real wipe out. It stings. I feel like the smart ass kid that tried something that didn't work out too well. Safe to say I had a little help from Davi because I definitely wouldn't have attempted that downhill on my own. I thought I was going to make it but then the board started rocking and I just lost control. It could have been worse - and I`m not just saying that. Just some minor scrapes and bruises and maybe a sore left wrist and a scratch on my chin where hair won't grow for a little while. But it could have been worse. Still, I'm happy Amy's sleeping. I`m happy I don't live at home anymore. I'm a grown boy now. Dabbed my own wounds in alcohol-laced cotton balls and sat there, wincing. Not trying to make too much noise. And wouldn't you know it - Chopin just starts playing all loud from my schizophrenic home theatre system. Yes, Tigger. I`ll try not to be such an ass next time around.  

flash, flash. everything with the flash

Davey Cleinfeld isn't one to mince words. That's what I love about him the most.

"I really feel like last night was super junkie," he tells me over the phone. "It's like I had quit smoking for a year and someone handed me a cigarette. And I took it for no good reason."

I can hear him pacing upstairs as he's talking to me. He's right. Him and Vito went way too far on the slots yesterday. Which apparently makes me the big winner of last night's random midnight casino escapade. I was literally out the hospital door when I got the offer. I agreed more for the outing than anything else. My luck usually stinks. I am an avid believer in the reversion to the mean.

My parents might secretly suspect I'm some kind of closet gambler, but I'm really not. I just like the momentum of it all. I only play when I win. So I stop dead in my tracks when I lose. Dave plays until his pockets are empty. And he knows it. Which is why he rarely goes anymore. Fair enough.

But there we were. What makes Montreal's casino so rotten is that there is no attempt to even glam up the fact that most people are there to lose money they don't even have. The decor is stale. The dealers lack personality. It's like the city's biggest back-door gambling operation with the collective charisma of an indoor parking garage. Nobody looks like they're having all that much fun.

At least we were having a good time - a Wednesday night and all. Another three Campari Grapefruits on the way would have made it even better.

I abstained from the slot machines but the two of them fed every Monte Carlo, Wheel of Fortune, Grand Prix, High Roller and Vibrant Seven machine they could find, zipping from floor to floor and constantly splitting cash and winning tickets fifty fifty. Cash in, cash out. Cash in, cash out. They were doing alright pre-Roulette (an impossible table that kept our collective $60 in chips entertained with endless black for a good 45 minutes) but it was all downhill after that.

And the more they lost, the more they bet. We ended up staying way longer than any of us were comfortable with. And in the end, I was the declared winner because I left with five bucks in my pocket.

We negotiated the "walk of shame" and promised a better outing idea next time.

But then again, it's just money. And in the grand scheme of things, not all that much of it. I'm much more interested in lazying around all day and might just take Davey up on that offer to go play in that nice, light snow that's been falling steadily since last night. And clean up nice.