Belch, part one

G's birthday was yesterday, so I met her and P-Doug down at Jawny Baker's, which you see below. Actually, I took this shot on the way out, around 9PM, and cranked the exposure up a couple of notches so it wouldn't be too murky.


Here's the streetfront of Jawny Baker's on O'Connor Drive...

The card I made up a couple of hours ahead of time, that paid tribute to an inside joke involving the occasion P-Doug, in a hurry, bought G an anniversary card titled "To the man I love", went over exceedingly well. They both got an honest laugh out of it.

The restaurant was paying part of the freight for G's meal, since it was her birthday and she's registered there, so they sent her a discount card. They each ordered a steak sandwich; I ordered the Monterrey chicken salad. It came in a tortilla bowl. Pretty neat. I had the presense of mind, about half way through, to take a shot of it. Hell, I brought the camera. A nice, colourful dish, you'll agree, and it made pleasant fare.


Alas, poor salad; I ate it, Horatio...

...Actually, now that I come to look at the photo, it looks like the autopsy of one of those face-huggers from Alien. Okay, trust me. The picture doesn't do it justice. It really was a nice medley of vegetables, salsa, and chicken.

I admit, I feel sorry for the chicken. She didn't ask for this. I hope her family never sees this entry.

Firefighters' Memorial at Queen's Park

One of the new things in the city is the Firefighters' Memorial. I was down there a few weeks ago with P-Doug and my buddy Richard, visiting from New England. It's of some importance to me personally because my great-grandfather's name is carved on it. He died fighting a fire in northern Ontario not quite a hundred years ago.

One leaf of the memorial, Queen's Park in the background.

The memorial is situated just southeast of the provincial legislature (a.k.a., Queen's Park) near the intersection of Bloor St. and University Ave. I heard for some time they planned to build it, but the weird thing was, the three of us just came out out of the subway and there it was, fait accompli. It was a wonderful personal bonus to our little sight-seeing trip.

Me culpa: I'm a dick

Jody's friend Jenn sent me a little package late in May; I got it a week ago today. I still haven't phoned, e-mailed, or responded in any way. I meant to! I really did. But there are some inadequacy issues...

First of all, she's moved around a lot, and she e-mails very rarely, so I'm not sure I even have her correct address. I talked to Jody's dad Tuesday evening and he gave me her phone number, but I hate phoning people. I'm not the most spontaneous conversationalist... I prefer media like this where I have time to compose my thoughts. Like now... I'm about to get up for a cup of coffee. Be right back...

There. Miss me? So anyway... Jenn seems to be doing a lot to keep Jody's memory alive. She sent me a tiny piece of agate from the road near the driveway to his home when he was in high school. She sent photographs — I mean the real, glossy, hold-in-your-hand photos like we used to have before computers — some of which I hadn't seen before. I found myself looking at them and wishing I'd known him, and having to remind myself I had already been his friend for two or three years when they were taken! Jody and I had a deeply intimate relationship on the spiritual level, but we were completely alienated physically by distance. This is the world we're living in. I probably only spoke to him on the phone a half a dozen times. Anyway... there were other items... a brochure from UNM, questions from a logic test I can't begin to understand, a little plastic cheetah I've placed on the cedar chest with his ashes, and, most touching of all, a bracelet she made for him, but never got to give him. I'm wearing it right now. It's cleverly, beautifully constructed of alternating short black beads, and longer amber beads with black spots... a cheetah motif. Cheetahs, as you may by now have guessed, were Jody's all-time favourite animal. In her letter, Jenn said she thought it was appropriate I should have the bracelet.

So you see, I'm a dick for not getting back to her right away. The way I expressed it to Jim (Jody's dad) is that I feel like the Little Drummer Boy. I have no gift to bring, pa-rum-pa-pa-pum. She knew Jody face to face... all I really have of him is my memories, my logged conversations. I don't feel like there's anything I can give back. I guess I've partly been holding back, hoping that inspiration would hit me and give me the answer. Something worth responding with. But I have to bite the bullet and own up that really, all I have is my gratitude.

The other reason I don't want to phone is, like, she's married (or as good as). That always feels awkward. "Hi, can I talk to your wife?"

Yes, we fugly bananas...

The Royal Ontario Museum's in the midst of going after the crown for Canada's ugliest public building, currently held by Mississauga's city hall. They're building a new wing on that's supposed to resemble a crystal when it's finished, but which looks to me, and most people I've talked to, like something that fell down. Here's what it looks like as of a couple of weeks ago...


Coming to a subway stop near you: fugly!!!

Supposedly, when it's all finished, it's going to look like this. I'm reminded of the scene in The Blob when the blob escapes from the movie theatre and oozes around the side of the building, partially engulfing it. Apparently, among other things, the museum's dinosaur bones are going to be displayed there. No doubt the dinosaurs will be powerfully reminded of their final moments as the asteroid smashed into the Earth.

Keep on workin' in the Free World

Here's something kind of new. The Province of Ontario is tabling legislation to end mandatory retirement at 65.

I'm not sure exactly how to feel about this. I've always understood "mandatory" retirement to be a form of protection for people. The idea was that as they got older, there was a set date at which they'd be allowed to quit the 9-to-5 grind, and that they, the government, and the company they worked for would all be aiming at making sure there was something there to support them. This seems like a good idea to me, overall.

Some people, of course, manage to find other jobs after 65. They don't pay as well, but they're usually less demanding. It seems to me a good compromise.

As well, it gives younger people a chance. Positions open up for them to move into. They get their chance to shine in turn, have the bigger salaries (and the lifestyle that comes with it). This, again, strikes me on the whole as a good thing.

At first blush, I'm suspicious that this is the thin edge of the wedge to getting people back to working their whole lives — which are bound to be shortened by the prolonged stresses. The sooner you die, the sooner you're off the OHIP roles. The sooner you're off CPP. The sooner your estate gets inherited (i.e., taxed). The less urgency there is for companies to invest in your retirement fund... since you ain't gonna retire. I might be overreacting here, but on the whole, this strikes me as a retrograde idea. Why don't we get kids back in the workforce while we're at it? No doubt they'll thrive on the experience they're denied languishing in public education...

Blues and booze

This is a shot of The Boiler Room from September last year.

This weekend, there's a blues festival going on down at the Distillery District. I'm not really up on the blues, but I didn't think I was up on jazz, either. But last summer my buddy P-Doug took me down to the DD and we sat outside The Boiler House here, drinking beer brewed by the Mill St. Brewery just across from this shot, to the right, sweltering in the heat, and listening to Kevin Clark's Jazz Kitchen. Clark was a tall, blondish, bespectacled guy of about 40... not the stereotype for a jazz man. But he was, believe it or not, from Louisianna (he married a Canuck and moved to Toronto), and he's also a chef. His CD has New Orleans recipes on it... P-Doug's tried some, I think. But the music was great. One of his songs, Tom's Jones, about a fellow jazz musician jonesing for Diet Coke, is one of my favourites to listen to. The band's great, and I'm looking forward to seeing them down there this summer over the suds, God willing.

Anyway, this weekend is blues, not jazz. P-Doug's tastes are pretty eclectic; he favours baroque, but jazz, classical, rock, and apparently blues are also in his repertoire. The weather folks are warning us of 40 degree Celcius weather with the humidex; that, and / or thunderstorms. P-Doug's hedging, but that kind of weather's just my cup of tea. If it's warm, and I don't have to be anywhere sitting around right afterwards, I don't mind getting caught in the rain. I think it could be great, to tell you the truth. We'll see how it goes.

Da, tovarich!

From e-mail with P-Doug today:

Me: The QA guys have invaded my room here at work. They're led by a guy from Newfoundland called Leslie, but otherwise, to a man (and woman), they're Russians. So yesterday before I left, I went on Altavista and translated "This person needs to learn the Russian language!" into Russian and printed it, and tacked it on his cube. The Russians all got a laugh out of it (I had fun listening to them explain it to him this morning), and one Russian woman, not even his group, came up to me today and congratulated me on the joke. Leslie's decided to leave the page up. :)

P-Doug: When Leslie is not looking, replace the sign with one that has the Russian translation of "This person is proud of his three testicles!" and see if he notices. If the Russians can't keep a poker face, who can?

June 7th, a year come and gone

Well, here it is. June 7th. A year ago today, Jody died. I guess as I write this, he was still with us a year ago, but obviously in a very bad way. Sometime between 9 and 10 in Dallas that morning, he woke up in distress, tried to call his roommates, and collapsed on the floor. Timber found him and tried to resuscitate him, in vain. Jody's Uncle Jesse thinks it was Jody's liver finally giving out, since he says Jody's body was jaundiced. I know there was a big tumor there.

It still amazes me and frightens me how sudden it was. Not just Jody's death itself, but the course of his cancer. I can still remember him telling me, online, that he felt a disturbing pain in his side... I was there (if you see what I mean). That was very late in October or early November of 2003... it's hard to remember exactly. And then, early in June, with all these tumors, gone. Fine in the fall, gone before summer. And only 26.

I knew him about ten years, and now a whole year's gone by without him in my life. There were gaps in the conversation early on... I'd say our correspondence was pretty spotty from about 1998-2000, but never more than a few weeks at a time, I don't think. Once we were both on the net during the day, things really took off again. I thought it would be this way for years. It should have been.

Jody deserves more than this, but today promises to be a busy day of meetings (one rather early that I'm not looking forward to with my boss), so I really need to close off for now and get rolling. I need to think about things, try to consider what's changed. Hopefully I'll get back to this later today or this evening.

Peace, Jody. Peace and love.

Weekend weirdness :)

Before I forget, I want to record a weird dream I had last night. Remember that guy from Third Rock from the Sun, the communications guy who used to say "Incoming message from the Big Giant Head"? Well, in my dream, he was running some little space-themed tourist spot I was visiting. He seemed really nice and personable, enthusiastic about what he was doing and helpful to folks. He started the spiel with that line from the show, too. Quirky little dream. I barely remember it.

Anyway, this weekend I didn't do much. I took off Saturday morning to photograph the Jane and Finch street signs for R-Lang. While I was there, I walked a little ways up Jane St. and saw a sign for the Montego Jerk restaurant. Someone had rearranged the letters of the special to read "JERK ME OFF", and I got a shot of it. Okay, juvenile, but I got a good laugh out of it reviewing the pictures later. I also went to the bridge at Morning Star Drive over the 427, and took a few pictures of what used to be the intersection there in the middle of the superhighway. Part of the road surface the led up from the highway to Morning Star was still there, but all cracked up and beginning to grow over. I still find it utterly amazing there was ever a stoplight there, but there was. I stopped it myself, years ago, when Alan and I used to visit Brad in Malton and get off the highway there. That chunk of dying pavement was a road we drove up and down, dozens of times.

Sunday I just stayed in. Rained pretty hard for a while. I just drew, watched movies, ate too much, goofed off. Well, it was Sunday, after all.

I've heard good things about Madagascar lately... the animal movie, that is. Both R-Lang and Alan (guy at work here, not my high school buddy) both give it thumbs up. I might go and see it cheap tomorrow night. Maybe I'll suggest it to P-Doug and G.

Oh yeah, at one point, Larry was over. Brought his new MST3K DVDs. They were pretty funny. Rum, otter chow. All in all, a good evening.

Chocolate appendix

In my entry about what I got up to when R-Lang was here, I meant to make a note about the chocolate, but I neglected to. What happened was, just after I got back from the airport, I threw most of it down the chute. Wasted money. I always do that. Buy stuff I shouldn't eat, eat a little of it, get guilt, and throw it out. It's a form of idiot tax; a tithe to a lack of willpower up-front.

I still feel awful about yesterday. I'm thinking about taking another wander in the woods this afternoon at lunch time... we'll see. It may rain, but even that would be a new experience.

Tomorrow I'm hoping to get to Jane and Finch to photograph the street signs for R-Lang... his didn't come out. Then I want to see about getting down to the old intersection of Morningstar and the 427, take a few shots. You know me; I love that kind of thing. Old roads, unused bridges. Hey, there's the old 9th Line bridge near Upper Middle Road and the Ford plant out in Oakville... maybe I could make a day of it. Again, we'll see.

I've decided not to go to Hamilton tomorrow. I should call my folks and let them know. Put it off till mid-June when I know I can cover the maintenance fees on the car.

In fact it sucked

Oh yeah, and Thursday sucked. I headed to work early to get a jump on whatever revisions anyone sent me for the release notes I was working on, and of course the traffic was the shits any way I turned. Exiting the 404 to Hwy 7, stuffed. So I took the 407 to Warden; that's gonna cost me $8. Then I couldn't get on Apple Creek. Up to 16th. On and on, more traffic at every turn. A 15 minute trip turned into 40, eating up the extra time.

Worked on the notes during the day, and just when I thought I had it, I remembered the project manager had suggested having a section for the patches we'd done to the previous iteration. Never been in the release notes before, and this was my first crack doing it. Like a fool, I called him up to find out if he wanted all the defects related to them in there, or just the ones already in scope for the document. He involved my boss, and she wasn't pleased. I was on the phone with her with one of the business analysts in our office, and when she said she was "disappointed" because this was happening like an hour before the deadline, I felt two inches tall. Ever since I was transferred to this new section I've felt like a disorganized fuck-up. Not only do I no longer expect to be promoted, I'm not sure she'll keep me around. Probably wouldn't take much at this point.

Anyway, we ended up working like mad to plug the hole, and I was there till 7 getting it straightened out (I had to leave a message with P-Doug at work telling him I'd have to give the IMAX show a pass this evening... figures it would be the one night in the year). Turned out we only needed to add three tickets and amend a handful of others, but the damage was done. She knew I'd let it slip past me, and I've probably used up the last of the confidence she has in me. She's been spoonfeeding me the job for six months or more and she's probably wondering what the fuck the company kept me around for this long, but I never had the demands on me like this previously. It's not that there's too much to do, it's just that everywhere I turn now, there's more detail, more fucking red tape. It's too hard to keep it all straight. It's beyond my capacity. I probably shouldn't be doing this job.

She's off tomorrow and Monday (Memorial Day in the US), so a bit of the pressure's off, but she's going to remembering how I fucked up come Tuesday. Man, I don't know what to say. Anthony, the guy I was working with this afternoon, seems to feel it was all smoothed over, but he has her confidence. She knows he's competent. I feel like I'm right back at square one, which is a shitty place to be five years and change into the job, and eight months into the position.

The scent of a song

They say that smell is the most immediate sense where memory is concerned. Funny, because it's pretty much our weakest sense. Music has always been the great placeholder for me. I don't pretend to be a musician. But the right song can take me right back to something and fill me up with whatever I was feeling long ago.

Just a minute ago I listened to Yellow by Coldplay. It's a song that came along for me after Jody died; two or three months later. I've mentioned it here before. The chorus lyric about "skin and bones" will always remind me of Jody and Jenny; one human who wanted to be feline, the other a feline whose whole world was occupied by humans. I have the ashes of both of them, at least in part, on the top shelf of the cabinet in the living room. I still ache when the thought strikes me that this is the only way I ever came into Jody's physical presence in life... well, my life, anyway.

It's been a while since I cried for him, but I guess that's why I played the song. Like pouring wine for an old flame, I wanted to offer my the deep waters of my feelings to Jody. I can feel the hot salty sting on my cheeks. It's all I have to give him.

We're closing in on the anniversary of his passing. I try to think back a year to the place I was in before he died. Worried for him, of course. Fearing the worst, eventually. Wishing I could ease his mind, his pain. Little suspecting how little time we had left together. How little time he had. I think now he suspected he had very little time left but never said so to me. I know I've taken you down this road before, but I'm the sort of person who will always revisit comforting memories, or cling to what he's lost. This is the only way I can reinvent Jody for myself, keep building him up in my mind even when he's not here to re-enforce the effort. Ten years, and I took so much for granted. I'm bothered by the knowledge that my parents are getting older... they're in the 60s now, just passed the 40th anniversary. I barely speak to my dad... it's not that there's any enmity, it's just we don't have much in common. You'd think 32 years in the same house would leave you with lots to talk about but he's WASPishly guarded about his feelings and embarrassed to discuss them or his life, so it's hard to know him as anyone other than my dad, you know what I mean? It would probably be easier if I lived closer, but I don't. I'm sure most people have these regrets.

I visited Timber's blog today for the first time in several months. That guy is living five times the life I am. I can't believe it; it's nearly a James Bond novel. "Should I move to India? Or just Baja California?" Shit, there's no one in the next town interested in moving me away. Jealous? Oh, hell yes. :) He's tall, thin, good looking, and not even 30 yet... and the whole world's flirting with him.

On the other hand, he walked into a room one morning with one of his best friends lying cold and dead on the floor, and worked frantically to revive him. Timber's a man who's lived some extremes in his short life. Not quite the extreme Jody did (after all, Timber's still alive), but probably a broader range of experience, all things considered.

I haven't talked to Jody's dad in several days. Weeks, really. It's down to e-mail. Curse the company I work for for needlessly shutting down AIM and ICQ. There was no real need to do that. It was mean-spirited and gratuitous. Thanks be to God they didn't do it while Jody was still alive. I feel bad for how it's isolated me from Jim. When I get home, I just want to cocoon. But at work, I'm online anyway, so I was open to the world. It was a grace. I suppose I ought to be thankful for what I did have... it allowed me years to cultivate a wonderful friendship with Jody, and his dad, and Richard as well. But all I can focus on now is my anger and frustration at needlessly having that taken away from me. Motherfuckers.

That's enough rambling for tonight. I'm too sober to justify this.

Milling around

Yesterday, actually in the course of writing the previous entry, I managed get out of here over lunch and get up to the Bruce Mill Conservation Area.  I've been waiting since October to get back out there.Yesterday, actually in the course of writing the previous entry, I managed get out of here over lunch and get up to the Bruce Mill Conservation Area. I've been waiting since October to get back out there. It was gorgeous. I was expecting to be hit up for a $4.25 entry fee but the booth was still unmanned, just like last year. Hope it stays that way!

Oh, it was gorgeous. All the trees leafed out... a perfect sea of green. If you've read the journal from last fall, you'll remember that I started wandering the woods barefoot in a minor communion with nature. Did that again yesterday. I was always afraid I'd rip myself open in two seconds, but it's not really like that. I'm sure you can get hurt, but if you just look where you're stepping, or keep to the path while you're looking around, it's not a problem at all. It's like opening both eyes and suddenly seeing in three dimensions. Walking the forest shod is like wearing a clothespin on your nose in a bakery. Barefoot, you can feel the soft, crisp leaves of last autumn; the cool, moist clay; dry, brittle twigs and the surprisingly soft pine needles. Warm wood of the smooth planks on the path and the bridges. The differences in temperatures between light and shade is startling. It's a lot more interesting when you approach it with a whole other sense. I took a lot of pictures with the little $80 digicam I bought last winter... dozens. Even took a few videos, birds chirping, trees in the breeze. I guess I was there not quite an hour. I got as far as last time, and this time went down the hill on the far side. There was an even more elaborate bridge down there. I would have forded the stream in the soft mud, but I had to get back to work so I couldn't get too mucky. Maybe some Friday when I'm not working. But it was fantastic. It was like I had the whole forest to myself. All the time I was there, I didn't see another person. I walked on mossy fallen logs, took pictures of the sky through the trees, watched a light grey squirrel run past me, and investigated what seemed to be an old ruined bridge. I sat in the forest gloom for a few minutes and just relaxed with myself. I wish I'd had all afternoon.

I wish there were some way to post a few of the photos; they're so full of colour... but I think you have to be a paying user to do that, and I'm not. I'm here on the blog's good graces. But I just thought I'd share one of the simple joys of life with any of you who happen by. If you're bored some summer afternoon, go experience the forest. It was gorgeous.  I was expecting to be hit up for a $4.25 entry fee but the booth was still unmanned, just like last year.  Hope it stays that way!

Oh, it was gorgeous.  All the trees leafed out... a perfect sea of green.  If you've read the journal from last fall, you'll remember that I started wandering the woods barefoot in a minor communion with nature.  Did that again yesterday.  I was always afraid I'd rip myself open in two seconds, but it's not really like that.  I'm sure you can get hurt, but if you just look where you're stepping, or keep to the path while you're looking around, it's not a problem at all.  It's like opening both eyes and suddenly seeing in three dimensions.  Walking the forest shod is like wearing a clothespin on your nose in a bakery.  Barefoot, you can feel the soft, crisp leaves of last autumn; the cool, moist clay; dry, brittle twigs and the surprisingly soft pine needles.  Warm wood of the smooth planks on the path and the bridges.  The differences in temperatures between light and shade is startling.  It's a lot more interesting when you approach it with a whole other sense.  I took a lot of pictures with the little $80 digicam I bought last winter... dozens.  Even took a few videos, birds chirping, trees in the breeze.  I guess I was there not quite an hour.  I got as far as last time, and this time went down the hill on the far side.  There was an even more elaborate bridge down there.  I would have forded the stream in the soft mud, but I had to get back to work so I couldn't get too mucky.  Maybe some Friday when I'm not working.  But it was fantastic.  It was like I had the whole forest to myself.  All the time I was there, I didn't see another person.  I walked on mossy fallen logs, took pictures of the sky through the trees, watched a light grey squirrel run past me, and investigated what seemed to be an old ruined bridge.  I sat in the forest gloom for a few minutes and just relaxed with myself.  I wish I'd had all afternoon.

I wish there were some way to post a few of the photos; they're so full of colour... but I think you have to be a paying user to do that, and I'm not.  I'm here on the blog's good graces.  But I just thought I'd share one of the simple joys of life with any of you who happen by.  If you're bored some summer afternoon, go experience the forest.

Victoria Day weekend: The Doings

I had a pretty great long weekend there with R-Lang visiting from Connecticut. I took off Friday and Tuesday (Monday was a holiday here, Victoria Day).

I spent most of Friday cleaning up my apartment... never really did finish the job; never will, I imagine. I guess I'm not my mother's son in this regard. Was always lazy, and always resented housework. Living alone, I let the place get in a state before I do anything about it. This usually results in weekend-long bouts of cleaning every month or two that are quickly undone over the course of the following week... but hey. It does get done. :)

He was due in at 5:02, so I left my place at 3:45 to get to the airport. Tons of time! Or so I thought. The 401 was just creeping. Naturally, just as I was getting to the exit to the 409, the highway that actually goes into the airport, cop cars and fire engines rush past me. Obvious conclusion is there's an accident ahead. Yup. Sign tells me it's blocking the two right lanes before Islington Ave. These are, of course, the exit to Hwy 409. So I got off at Weston Road and headed north to Finch. At Finch, it took three lights to turn left because assholes there will continue to turn left for about three days after the light turns red for them and green for anyone else, eating up the advanced greens. I gave the asshole in the van who did this to us the finger, and promptly went on to do the same myself. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Fuck 'em. I had to get to the airport, and if courtesy's dead, I'll spin my tires on its corpse too.

I got to the airport about 5:30. In the distance, I actually saw R-Lang milling around, but he didn't spot me, and he vanished behind a bank of phones. I caught up to him just before he made the call. It was great to see him again and as we put his stuff in the trunk, he presented me with two three-disk sets of the Benny Hill Show. I couldn't believe it. So I now have the whole show from 1969-1974 or so, I think. We ended up watching the first three disks over the course of his stay. Not everything Benny did was funny, but man, when he hit the mark, it was laugh-out-loud hilarity.

We headed up to an Indian restaurant in Malton called the Dawat, which is traditional on his arrival. Closed for renovation. Cripes. Nice fucking timing, boys; first long weekend of the "summer". Did you pick it out of a hat, or are you really that stupid? Anyway, we went on to an Indian restaurant I know in Markham (Jikoree), which I think R-Lang preferred anyway. At least, he said the naan was better, though he felt it was blasphemy to say so. We had an eggplant paste (quite good, in fact; guilt-free till he told me it was actually full of oil) and Tandoori chicken.

Saturday we were due to link up with P-Doug so we headed down to East York to his place, walked to the Main St. subway station, bought day passes, and headed downtown. We went to the National Film Board, the new computerized displays that opened just days after R-Lang's last visit. We spent most of the time watching animated shorts, although R-Lang indulged me and we also watched Ryan, a film about 1960s NFB animator Ryan Larkin. The film won the Oscar recently. P-Doug, who was doing his own thing, came up and asked if I'd shown him Cactus Swing yet, and we watched that one too. After about two hours, we were ready to eat, and we went looking for P-Doug. Guy was invisible! We couldn't see him anywhere. He did find us as we left the place. He'd been sitting behind a pillar or something. We went to one of the Firkin pubs and began the long weekend of indulging in fatty foods. Burgers, fries, onion rings, beer. Nice warm sunshine; interesting and/or attractive people wandering by... it was everything I hoped it would be. We caught the subway to Queen's Park, couldn't get in; wandered up to the Royal Ontario Museum but they were rebuilding it so we didn't get into the gift shop, though we did agree the "crystal" section they're adding on will be an eyesore. After that, we caught the subway again, wandered through Nathan Philips Square on the way to Yonge St. We made our way through the Eaton Centre and then went to HMV and Sam the Record Man. After that, we caught the subway again to eat on the Danforth. R-Lang and I got off at Chester, and P-Doug went on back to Main to link up with G. R-Lang and I got us a place outside the Poppas Restaurant, and he ordered a couple of appetizers I'd never seen in my life before. One was a flakey pastry filled with spinach and the other was vine leaves stuff with rice and ground meat. I still don't know why, but it took P-Doug forever to get back with G and park; most of an hour. During that time, the temperature fell and it was less comfortable outdoors (I was in shorts; fine all day till then), but we toughed it out and ate well. I had chicken souvlaki and rice and Greek salad. Great stuff. Afterwards we all went to Dezzerts where I, for once, managed to avoid temptation. The coffee and conversation were just fine; I honestly didn't feel at all deprived. Though I did sample the sweet goo left on various plates afterwards. :)

That evening we watched the first half of Team America World Police. It was pretty funny alright, but the famed puppet sex scene included some scat elements that went beyond the pale for me, and I won't be sorry if I miss that scene next time I watch the movie. But otherwise, they nicely pushed the envelope.

P-Doug and G suggested meeting up with us at The Great Khan between 11:30 and noon. Just before we headed out, R-Lang suggested calling them. Turned out to have been a good idea indeed; P-Doug had not roused G yet, and hinted that was my fault for not calling him at 10:30 as he'd understood I would. Given the number of times they've promised to call me "on our way out the door" only to actually do so as they drove past the intersection of Sheppard and Don Mills, giving me two minutes to shower and dress, I was a bit put off by that suggestion, not to mention the fact that it was clearly understood we'd be meeting them there at an appointed hour. As it was, we postponed heading out for an hour and met them there at 12:30. We ate well, and I remarked, only half-jokingly, to R-Lang that sprouts tend to make me gassy (sometimes they do, sometimes they don't). About the time we arrived at the Ontario Science Centre, they did. As we visited the space section -- essentially a large, donut-shaped room -- I quietly vented. And it was a powerful force of nature, despite its stealth. Moments later from behind us came the comment from a little girl entering that "it stinks in here", and her mother first agreeing, then cutting herself off as she observed what the smell likely was. R-Lang and I both fought to maintain our composure but moments later, at another display, we both fell into a fit of giggles. It was a classic moment that only men can understand. :) Serendipity was with us; the day before, while meeting up with P-Doug at his place, we encountered his neighbour Joanne, who works at the OSC, and furnished us with a free group pass. It saved us about $30. I think the Science Centre is somewhat underwhelming, myself; it's probably just that we live in an age where we're extremely difficult to impress. I imagine R-Lang felt the same way but was too polite to slag the place in front of me. IMAX might have been a little more interesting, but the timing wasn't right, and somehow, it would have taken the cool edge off the place if we'd (or rather, probably, R-Lang; let's be honest here) had wound up paying for anything. We got in free and to the best of my recollection, didn't pay a dime aside from parking (which we also could have avoided by parking elsewhere and walking for a few minutes). So in a way I'm glad we skipped that.

Sunday evening, we had pizza. Pizza and beer, while we watched movies. Hey, that's what it's all about, right?

Monday we set off for St. Jacobs. Our first stop was Picard's, where in spite of the promises I made to myself, I spent about $12 on chocolates. We split a peanut butter bar in the car; it half melted, but we recovered it. As for R-Lang, he bought about $90 worth of stuff, mostly as gifts for people back in Connecticut. After that we went to The Crossroads, and I ate well, but fairly sensibly for once, the Boston cream pie slice notwithstanding. It was good food, things that R-Lang liked, and he seemed surprised that it was rather less expensive than he'd anticipated, though irked that the coffee was not included in the buffet. He has a point there; if coffee's all you're having, I can see charging, but if you're doing the buffet, you're going to want to drink something. A coffee or soft drink could be folded in there and cost the place virtually nothing.

After that, we went to St. Jacobs proper. We spent an hour or so in the antique shop where I found a number of old books and got them pretty cheaply. While we were there, the fellow running the place put on a record (and I do mean an LP), and the music was really pleasant. I remembered to ask him what it was. It was Eric Clapton's 1985 album Behind the Sun. I checked for a track list this morning on the net and Knock On Wood, which I remember hearing, was on there, so I know that was the one. I'll have to see if Sam's has that downtown. Maybe I'll call. Anyway, after that, we went into the market we usually go. P-Doug was right; they've been extensively rebuilding it. The hot sauce shop is now on the ground floor. It was closed momentarily when we got there (turns out the woman manning the register was in the washroom), so we amused ourselves making fun of the kitsch in the souvenir shop next door. Then the hot sauce joint opened up and it was all business! They didn't have that "Z" stuff I was looking for so she showed me a number of other hot sauces. There were some good ones, and I finally settled on a sweet apple cinnamon one, and another very hot one that came in a clever wooden case. After that, R-Lang and I headed back to Toronto, where we ate at Swiss Chalet on Leslie. He had the chicken and ribs combo (shared a rib with me; very tender) and I had the Santa Fe chicken sandwich.

Inevitably, Tuesday rolled around, and it was time for R-Lang to head home. He booked a later flight so we could linger a little. We headed for Perkin's on Dixon Road, but the 401 was ridiculous (we saw it on the Weather Network), so I headed west on Finch. R-Lang remembered a drawing I'd done years ago with a wild rabbit doe at the corner of Jane and Finch and asked if we'd be passing it, so rather than head down to Lawrence at Bayview, I asked if he cared to just keep heading west on Finch. He agreed, and had the chance to snap a couple of shots at that intersection. It'll be interesting to see if they come out. We turned south at Martin Grove and ate at Perkin's, per the plan. R-Lang had the breakfast with the twelve items he'd been craving (damn him for being so thin!), and I had an omlette with hash browns and a pancake. I took him to the airport and saw him off... these days, once you check in your baggage, you go with it. So that was that.

I headed home up Airport Road but did a deke onto Morningstar Drive to see the bridge they built over the 427. I was telling R-Lang that when I first started driving, they actually had a red light intersection there on the highway to give people access to Morningstar, and I can't imagine how many accidents that must have caused. It's long gone, but as I drove over the bridge, I glanced right and caught sight of the old road surface snaking up the side of the hill, all cracked and broken and getting overgrown. Made me realize how much time has been passing.

I got home about 12:15 and decided to go to the mall. I ended up seeing Star Wars Revenge of the Sith. Best of the recent three, without a doubt, and for me, one of the better of the six. They did pull a lot of stuff right out of their ass at the end to tie things up, but I don't mind. It hung together well enough, and the transformation of Anekin (did I spell that right?) was believable enough.

There... I think that's about all there is to say on all that. :)

Remembering to remember

It's been a couple of weeks since I bothered to come on here and blather. Lately it just doesn't seem as important to slop down a thick lather of what I'm feeling or up to, but it's due, so I suppose I should get caught up... if only for myself.

And that's the weird thing. I've gotten used to the idea that no one reads this stuff (why would they?) and I'm just jotting stuff down for myself that someone might trot along and read sometime. It's just in the last few days that I've been reminded it isn't always so. Most recently, I just noticed that Dave in Dublin seems to have taken some minor offense at my characterization of his call in January. Sorry, Dave, didn't mean to slag you, if that's how it came off. I just commenting on how strange and out of the blue the whole episode was. I wasn't upset by it or anything, or trying to make fun of you, just felt weird and kind of put on the spot. I'm not much of a phone person; I tend to like e-mail and that kind of thing, where I can take a few minutes and compose my thoughts. Spontaneity isn't my bag.

Also, this weekend, a friend of Jody's also got in touch with me. Her name's Jen but she goes by Cran, so I think I'd better get used to that. :) Cran had a much more face-to-face relationship with Jody than I did (hey, who didn't?). She went to school with him and sent me pictures of the highway that went past his place. I remember Jody talking about it; Route 217, I think. It was kind of what I imagined; rural, isolated, big, wide expanses of awing vistas. But it was still something to actually see it. I had a moment like that kind of in reverse after visiting Dallas... Jody's dad, Jim, pointing to a mall parking lot and saying "that's where Jody got his suit for work when he started here..." and later, when I was home again, Jim sent me the photos of that occasion, years ago. Suddenly, there was Jody, standing in the place I'd been. Kind of a weird time-loop thing going on. Anyway, this time, it was having my imaginary view of the road paved over by the real one... which is more in keeping with how these things usually go on.

I didn't forget the 7th, incidentally. It was a Saturday. And, as usual, Jody came to mind when I was in the shower. Nothing salacious, it's just one of those places where you're pretty much utterly alone with your thoughts. There's nothing distracting going on. You're not cutting onions and trying not to slice your thumb, or guessing if the Mustang's going to cut you off, or typing in your blog. You're just standing there in the warm water with nothing in the world but what's going on in your head. So interesting things, or nagging things, or regrets tend to show up to wash your back for you. Typically, since Jody got cancer, this is where I've found it least avoidable. Talking to him on ICQ I was nearly always chipper. He was alive, he was so dear, he was talking to me. There was hope. It was standing there alone in the gloom in the mornings when I would entertain those dark considerations that actually finally came to pass last June. It didn't end there, of course. Saturday on the 7th they were still in there with me, even though Jody is not in pain and I'm not longer afraid for his life, his comfort. Regrets, sadness, loss. I wonder what purpose they serve. Sure, they're part of being human, they're part of what makes us what we are. But if they weren't part of us, we wouldn't miss them. So why do we have them? I'd be loathe to give up my feelings for Jody, even though he's gone... but I wonder what reason behind it is. If there's a biological survival advantage in it, I'm not sure what it is.

This time last year, as this year, I was preparing for the Victoria Day weekend visit of my friend R-Lang, from Connecticut. We have a lot of things planned this year. He's a creature of habit. The things we've done before he largely wants to do again. But I understand that. If I had a place I went once a year for a few days, I think I'd be like that too. Show me one or two new things, but let's do something familiar... something that re-enforces the good feelings and good times we have before. Unfortunately for me, a lot of this is based on food. I was pretty good over the past month about sticking to program, and I lost about 9 lbs. I really blew it out my ass this past weekend, though. Probably put back 3 or 4. And next weekend, same deal. I really do want to get back under 200 and go back to Harvey's in triumph. But fuck me, it's hard. I mean, you have to be pure and fucking virginal 100% of the time, and you just squeak a little more off here, a little bit more off that. But slip up even a little, and you're right back where you started. I know I have this cross to bear, but Jesus Christ, it upsets me that it's that fucking one-sided. You can't live at all. Not at fucking all. No goddamn fucken margin AT ALL. So next weekend, without really living all that badly, I'm going to piss away all the progress I made since March, no doubt.

Anyways, I suppose that's it for now.

Sculpting in cyberspace

Ugh... how long will it be before "cyberspace" is one of those eye-rolling anachronisms from a naive age? Is it already? I don't know what other word to use yet. So we're stuck with it, you and I.

What I'd like to do here is just talk a little about my wanderings. Nothing big or fancy. Just something to remind myself where I've been, what I saw. If other people come by and find it interesting, so much the better. Just sort of starting out here. I don't even know what's possible yet. I'll work it out as I go along.

I'm kind of here because I stumbled across Laura K's We Move to Canada blog a few nights ago, and I feel kind of strange posting anonymous comments there. I figured I should probably have an ID of some kind. But what to do with the blog? Well, I've always wanted to kind of showcase the personal-interest research I've done into the city and some of its places and the way it's changed, so maybe I'll give that a whirl. I don't know how much room the blog affords people graphically, but maybe it'll be the start of something fun to do. Who knows? I'll just roll with it for now. :)

Come First of May... oops, missed it

It's the lusty month of May. It's not very warm yet, though. It was hailing a few minutes ago as I sat in a phone meeting. Outside, I mean. The hail, that is. Not the meeting. Anyway...

Friday I went out with P-Doug and had pop and bruschetta. Cost me about eight bucks. We talked for a while, but nothing gelled for the weekend. I had my heart set on going to the Anglican Book Centre and he was talking about going the following weekend when he'd have money. For me, I'd have even less by then. Mostly, I think, I just wanted to do the subway adventure.

G, apparently, we keen to get out of town and do some driving. So, Saturday morning when we all touched base, it was clear to me it was a loss to make it all work. So I wished them well, got dressed, and headed out. I walked up to Fairview. It was cold enough that I wore my sneakers, but I did see people here and there in sandals. But I had a lot of walking to do and it was cold on my hands, so I think I made the right choice. I got the subway and transferred at Yonge. The trip to Bloor was shorter than I remembered it. In the course of it, I ended up surrounded by these four women, one of whom, it seems to me, had been on the train even before the others, but they clearly knew her. How they found her in that particular train and car I don't know. These women switched back and forth between French and unaccented English with the ease of an automatic transmission. It was interesting, if strange.

Anyway, I got off at Bloor and made my way to Hayden. Turns out the ABC is across Church Street. I went in, went downstairs, and there it all was. There's a lot of interesting material down there. I was introduced to a couple of intriguing Bible translations I may eventually follow up on. The NRSV has the whole Apocrypha, and has a version where it's presented in the Catholic format (Susanna and Bel and the Dragon are put into Daniel, for instance). Very cool. I bought a book on the Anglican catechism called "What Anglicans Believe" and another book called "In the Beginning" that's about the creation of the King James Bible and the conditions leading up to it. It's a really good read so far; I'm about 160 pages in, just getting to the point where James commissions the new bible to supersede the Geneva Bible he found too republican. I was at the ABC a little over an hour, and $40 later, I left to go home. This was about 12:45.

I got on the subway on the same side. Bad move; that sent me southbound again. I couldn't easily switch to the northbound train till Union Station. Oh, well. I had my books. So I got to Fairview about an hour after leaving the ABC. I bought the chicken curry and lentil soup at Fit for Life and a couple shots of the frozen yogurt at Cultures, and when I left the mall, it was 2:00. Lunch was good. I really enjoyed it. I spent the afternoon just quietly reading "In the Beginning".

Sunday, Roc came by around 11. About noon, we went to Swiss Chalet. We both had the Santa Fe chicken sandwich, him with a potato and me with a salad (he had a salad for starters and I had the soup). We shared a bottle of White Zinfindel, and then had the frozen yogurt. It was his treat; cost him about $70. It was a really nice afternoon.

I had a couple of encouraging signs of spring, despite it all. At Swiss Chalet, I caught a glimpse of a guy about my age in sandals and peddle pushers, so I'm not the only guy who likes them. Also, Roc had to go to Aurora to get his mom and sister, so I suggested showing him how to get to the 404. As we drove up Leslie, I saw a woman walking barefoot up the sidewalk with her sandals in her hand. I was pleased by both of these occurrences. Maybe I'll be a little freer myself this summer.

April 15, the First

This is the first April 15th since 1978 without Jody in it.

Today is Jody's birthday. It's also tax day in the US. I suppose that's one way to get your friends to remember it. Even ones in other countries, like me (our tax day is April 30, as it happens). I suppose I should look back in my logs and see what we were talking about today last year. If he was on. Jody was pretty sick those last few months and wasn't on for days at a time. But it was often that way the first time, so I guess I wasn't seeing it for what it was. I guess he was, but he rarely let that show through. I guess the death of hope in me would have been the death of hope in him. Or something like that.

Tuesday, a little package arrived from Jody's dad, Jim. He saw The Corporation, a three-part documentary on corporate culture, and he wanted me to see it so he sent it on CD. He also sent a card for my birthday. It had two little bugs sitting side by side on a swing hanging from a flower; it said "Friends Forever". It just overwhelmed me for a couple of minutes. Everything came flooding over the dam. My love for Jody and how much I miss him and how shitty it all is that he went through what he went through for nothing, how we've lost him, how much I've come to love his dad, and this gesture of remembering my birthday five days before the birthday of the son he lost. And the bug motif, harkening back to Flea... I don't know if that was intentional or not, but I bet it was. I put the card on Jody's cedar chest on my mantle. I don't know if I'll ever take it down.

Today I'll go to Wal-mart and buy a couple of copies of the new book, Terry, about the life of Terry Fox. I'll keep one for myself and send the other to Jim. It will probably be a hard read for him, but it seems appropriate. And it has to be today, Jody's birthday. I remember telling Jody about Terry back when Jody was in remission, in the summer of 2003. That's getting on for two years ago now. I guess at the time we spoke about it, Jody actually had less than a year to live, though neither of us could possibly have imagined that at the time. I remember being a little wary of talking about it because, after all, Terry's cancer came back and killed him. I know it's just a coincidence, and that it happened because it was going to happen. But it sure seems bitter now that we talked about it.

I was going to get a new vacuum, what with my raise and all, but it turns out to be about $100 a month, effectively. Big deal. I guess it's better than treading water, but I did so much this year. Travelled, took on a whole new job, ramped up to new products, new applications, new people, got a 2 rating... and I got less of a raise this year than last. I still got the same line I got from "Devil Face" three or four years ago. "We know you're not even making the median salary for your job in your market... we're working on it." Yeah, for five years. I'm probably making the median salary NOW for the job back THEN, anyway. So, no new vacuum. Between the books and the $60 Larry asked to borrow from me, that's my fucking raise for the month, right there.

We were out last night, me and Larry and P-Doug and G, at Swiss Chalet down Don Mills. It was nice. P-Doug wants to do the beer thing tonight, but I'm 215 lbs. Like, Christ, it's time to put the brakes on and really mean it. So I'm going to say no. Maybe we can go somewhere for coffee, but the beer thing's got to get more infrequent. I am going to get down to 200, and I am going to go back to Harvey's this summer. That's all there is to it. The fancy restaurants and cut corners are out. My pants are still comfortable, but only just. I'm bulgy, though. I'm not going to take the deliberate step of buying bigger pants. That's just hopping on the slippery slope. It's barefoot weather again, and I want to feel good about being out in the sun with some skin showing. There are shorts I want to wear I can't, and I need to get back to the 180s. No more goofy shit about being happy with the 190s. The 180s.

As God is my witness, I'll ever be hungry again. :)

God bless you, Jody. I'm going to be your "sex beast" again. At least, inasmuch as I ever was.

Not quite, but almost...

I always wondered when the first 7th of a month would come and me not remember. Well, it nearly happened. It's nearly 4:30 as I type this, and I went nearly the whole day without remembering Jody died on the 7th. It's been ten months since he died.

But I did remember.

May's going to be tricky. June, of course, it goes without saying that I'll remember. But April... should have been on my mind. His birthday is Friday next week, the 15th. Tax day in the States. Payday for me.

Obviously, I haven't done a lot of reflecting about Jody's death today. Things have been busy. I think he'd forgive me. Right now, I'm copying my work directory to my portable hard drive. I'm going to back it all up on a DVD — or maybe several CDs would be a better idea — and free up some room on this computer. I have stuff backed up on the corporate drive that actually predates my employment here... stuff my first boss worked on in 1999 before he hired me. I don't know when, or if, I'll ever leave this job and have to hand stuff over to a successor... but man, is he or she ever going to have the whole enchilada. There's stuff here that's useless to me now. So why do I keep it? I guess so I can look at it and go, yeah, this is what I've been doing for the past five years.

The copying dialog box keeps swinging back and forth in its estimates of how long this will take. Right now, it says 25 minutes. There, it just fucking crapped out, like I knew it would. Windows is such a piece of shit. It can't hold it together long enough to write 1.8G down a USB cable, so I'm pretty much obliged to fucking start over. What a pain in the fucking ass.

Rainy April

A couple of days shy of April. That's the month that houses both my birthday and Jody's. This year, I'll be 37. Jody would have been 27 five days later. What was I doing at 27? Still struggling to get established. That was the year I got my first real full-time job, computer animating at Hoffmann. Shit, has it been ten years? Apparently it has. Back then, Jody was just a teenager finishing high school, fretting about things that didn't matter, and spending time with me and DM online.

Jody really got out of the gate faster than I did. He was a really sharp programmer and it didn't take employers long to spot it. He was better off at 26, when he died, than I am now. Almost infinitely further ahead of where I was at 26, scratching at the Animation House, employed this week, laid off the next. What a nightmare. Fucken Waiting for Godot. Still, here I am, all this time later. I'm here, and he's gone. It just doesn't make sense, does it? And that's depressing all by itself. Not that I wanted the pain and suffering he had to endure. But if someone had to go, frankly... It's not self-pity, honest. My life's not bad. It's just an academic anger at the illogic of it.

The weather's finally, finally getting warming. It's been a long winter. Snowy. Never tons of it, really, but it just kept falling. It started early and fell as late as last week! I remember going for a walk without my jacket on St. Patrick's Day two years ago. But I'm looking forward to being able to get outside in sandals and shorts again, that's for sure.

Company's about to shut down AIM. Probably ICQ, too. After all these years, I'll be knocked out of touch with some of my friends during the day. Particularly Jody's dad Jim, and R-Lang. I don't know why they have to do this. It seems gratuitous. The company hasn't been hurt, that I'm aware of, in allowing it all these years.

That wasn't very interesting, was it? :) I'll try to remember to log on and record fun and interesting things. I'm not as good at it as I was last autumn.