Monday, February 21, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Tony Baloney and the non-grad Grad Party
Went to 2 different high schools in nortend Winnipeg, Garden City and West Kildonan ; technically, neither of them are in the Nortend (Wpg. is divided pretty sharply into hoods, or was in my day) but they were on the north side of the city, as it was in the 70s. I could have graduated high school at 16, due to skipping grade 2, but I flunked 300 math as a result of missing a month with double viral pneumonia which just about killed me at 16.
Anyway, I mostly had friends from way back that I stuck with, but I made a few new ones at high school, and one of these was Tony Baloney, an Italian guy I knew at Garden City. We hung a few times after I went to West K, different school 15 block away, we went to Supertramp at the Playhouse in '76 (possibly on acid), and we would run into each other around.
So after going back to finish 300 Math, plus an option I didnt need, but whatever, if you are at school you might as well learn stuff, I ran into Tony in April, after I had finished all my credits hence, had graduated. It was unseasonably warm, like 24 C. (75 F.) and his parents were away. So we got a 40 pounder of Southern Comfort, Tony's favorite tipple, and adjourned to his back yard.
We had the speakers from the house stereo out on the patio, we were in reclining lawn chairs, and his passion was the Allman Brothers Live at Fillmore East, so we listened to that all day, 4 sides, then repeat. On vinyl of course, but it was one of those turntables that after it finished, it would go back and start again. So we might have heard 16 sides over the afternoon.
We were drinkin the Southern with apple juice on ice in tall glasses. Kinda sweet but had some vitamin C. Eventually we both passed out and woke up with a spring sunburn.
Didnt see Tone for a few years, next time I did, he had lost his football players build, and much of his hair, was workin for the feds and bitchin about office politics. How soon youth fades for some.
But we had us some times. Salut, commendatore.
Anyway, I mostly had friends from way back that I stuck with, but I made a few new ones at high school, and one of these was Tony Baloney, an Italian guy I knew at Garden City. We hung a few times after I went to West K, different school 15 block away, we went to Supertramp at the Playhouse in '76 (possibly on acid), and we would run into each other around.
So after going back to finish 300 Math, plus an option I didnt need, but whatever, if you are at school you might as well learn stuff, I ran into Tony in April, after I had finished all my credits hence, had graduated. It was unseasonably warm, like 24 C. (75 F.) and his parents were away. So we got a 40 pounder of Southern Comfort, Tony's favorite tipple, and adjourned to his back yard.
We had the speakers from the house stereo out on the patio, we were in reclining lawn chairs, and his passion was the Allman Brothers Live at Fillmore East, so we listened to that all day, 4 sides, then repeat. On vinyl of course, but it was one of those turntables that after it finished, it would go back and start again. So we might have heard 16 sides over the afternoon.
We were drinkin the Southern with apple juice on ice in tall glasses. Kinda sweet but had some vitamin C. Eventually we both passed out and woke up with a spring sunburn.
Didnt see Tone for a few years, next time I did, he had lost his football players build, and much of his hair, was workin for the feds and bitchin about office politics. How soon youth fades for some.
But we had us some times. Salut, commendatore.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Leisure Suit Larry and the 50 year old Scotch
From 89-95, I was a Whyte Avenue bar regular, mostly the Strathcona and the Commercial, or the Strath and the Commie in the parlance. I met some great people there, still have good friends from the period, but also met some rather 'colorful characters'. One of these was Leisure Suit Larry, AKA Lightfingers Larry. He was a thief. He always dressed nice, so he could steal lots and not be suspected. The store dick isnt going to worry about the guy in the 1000 dollar suit. But the store dick didnt know Larry got that suit, along with half a warehouse of other clothes, in his only big score. He wasnt my friend as much as one of my bar/pool buds, Sam. Sam had a bit of a checkered past, bouncer at a shitty bar, earned his dough selling hash/weed from about age 14-26, then got his poop in a group eventually, is now a good teacher working in Asia.
He and I were roomies from 95-98, after my bar phase had petered out, but the occasional character would still drop by the pad. Christmas, 1995, Larry called, said he was coming over with a present. We were just chillin with a few beers and the cribbage board, movie on the TV.
Larry arrives, whips out a bottle of Mortlach Scotch Whisky, casked in 1945. At this time, there was a high-end liquor store on Whyte Ave, fancy shmancy, but shite security. With an 1100 dollar bottle of 50 year old Scotch within reach.
Larry mixed Pepsi in his, Sam and I were like 'NOOOOOOOO' and practically stole the rest of the bottle (no honor among thieves) and drank ours neat from some nice big square Luigi Bormoli glasses I had bought for a photo shoot. It was like liquid smoke, little hint of the peat bogs, old tarry rope, and a whiff of the sea on the wind.
We kept the bottle for a while, but when we parted company in 98, him to go to Korea to teach English, me to Manitoba to live in the bush, it went away.
Mortlach 1945, wont taste any like unless I win the lotto.
He and I were roomies from 95-98, after my bar phase had petered out, but the occasional character would still drop by the pad. Christmas, 1995, Larry called, said he was coming over with a present. We were just chillin with a few beers and the cribbage board, movie on the TV.
Larry arrives, whips out a bottle of Mortlach Scotch Whisky, casked in 1945. At this time, there was a high-end liquor store on Whyte Ave, fancy shmancy, but shite security. With an 1100 dollar bottle of 50 year old Scotch within reach.
Larry mixed Pepsi in his, Sam and I were like 'NOOOOOOOO' and practically stole the rest of the bottle (no honor among thieves) and drank ours neat from some nice big square Luigi Bormoli glasses I had bought for a photo shoot. It was like liquid smoke, little hint of the peat bogs, old tarry rope, and a whiff of the sea on the wind.
We kept the bottle for a while, but when we parted company in 98, him to go to Korea to teach English, me to Manitoba to live in the bush, it went away.
Mortlach 1945, wont taste any like unless I win the lotto.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
train sounds, peeing with dogs, courtin distant gals
I grew up hearing the Scrap Metal Express goin out to Selkirk north of Winnpeg, clacking and hootin down the track, echoing across the airfield behind my parents' place. Then in my 20s I live in the Nortend, within hearing of the big railyard that separated the city. Mostly heard booms of cars clanking together, squeal of wheels, but still a sound I like, if it isnt too close. In Edmonton, my adopted home for 1/3 of my life, I used to hear the traincars clankin and puffin from 3-4 different places I lived around Old Strathcona, and even hear them from over here in McKernan sometimes. Trains kick ass.
If am out peeing with the dogs, I do. Was just out doing that, my Germ Shep is right feisty tonight. He had some gravy on his kibble and also some dissolved glucosamine for his achey hips. Gives me a reason to dance to the weather, having a dog in the yard. I peed out a couple beers by the tree where the dogs go, then kicked the tennis ball around and did a little stompy dance with him , also diggin the blue clouds on the horizon and the warm winter wind. Was -18 this morning, but about zero C. now.
Then the basement dude let out his Rottie n Husky, they gave me recognition as alpha male, then peed and got to chomping on ice chunks, all together. Frozen snow, more than hard ice, makes for cool dog water. I think they were showing off, but I accept the salute.
The last topic? well, I have had good luck meeting very smart interesting women the past few years, but all online, and they come to visit and it goes one way or another, but I think it makes more sense to get to know a gal through many many words and gain their trust, and have a short or long romance, rather than just get drunk n screw after the bar. But I have certainly done my share of that. Its great for people who have grown tired of the bar, but I am a bit of an exception, cuz only smart chicks who can put together a paragraph or 5 keep my interest. Still love the 06-07 gal, now having a hard go in NC, bless her. Still good friends with the BC gal (southern AB for a while, but a BC gal at heart), and quite enjoying the Winterpeg gal, building an experience and talking.
As we sail into the Mystic, cue Van the Man..
If am out peeing with the dogs, I do. Was just out doing that, my Germ Shep is right feisty tonight. He had some gravy on his kibble and also some dissolved glucosamine for his achey hips. Gives me a reason to dance to the weather, having a dog in the yard. I peed out a couple beers by the tree where the dogs go, then kicked the tennis ball around and did a little stompy dance with him , also diggin the blue clouds on the horizon and the warm winter wind. Was -18 this morning, but about zero C. now.
Then the basement dude let out his Rottie n Husky, they gave me recognition as alpha male, then peed and got to chomping on ice chunks, all together. Frozen snow, more than hard ice, makes for cool dog water. I think they were showing off, but I accept the salute.
The last topic? well, I have had good luck meeting very smart interesting women the past few years, but all online, and they come to visit and it goes one way or another, but I think it makes more sense to get to know a gal through many many words and gain their trust, and have a short or long romance, rather than just get drunk n screw after the bar. But I have certainly done my share of that. Its great for people who have grown tired of the bar, but I am a bit of an exception, cuz only smart chicks who can put together a paragraph or 5 keep my interest. Still love the 06-07 gal, now having a hard go in NC, bless her. Still good friends with the BC gal (southern AB for a while, but a BC gal at heart), and quite enjoying the Winterpeg gal, building an experience and talking.
As we sail into the Mystic, cue Van the Man..
Saturday, February 5, 2011
the JB story
Back in my yoot, I had a rebel bud named JB. His dad was Icelandic, so it stood for Jon-Bjorn, (pronounced Yone-byorn). Anyway, jumping ahead a few years from the hot-wiring his dad's cars, a 56 VW bug we used to take to a big icy parking lot in north Winnipeg to do 'power turns', which means yankin the emergency brake and spinning in circles, or the 56 Pontiac with the rug stapled on the ceiling and the hookah pipe on the transmission hump, JB got a job at the horse track.
He was 5'5, 126 lbs naturally, but coincidentally that is jockey weight. He was mainly shovellin shit n dealin dope, and walking the horses, but they tried him out as a jockey. Didnt work out, but he was great as a shit-shoveller n dope dealer.
Travelled with the stable he worked for down the middle of the continent, down to Omaha, NB. Got fired in Omaha, no green card, the only folks he knew were his dope connections. Got in with a crew of drugstore cowboys, he had a weakness for the needle. They did a few scores, roamed around a bit, ended up in South Dakota (oh yeah before he got fired, he had a romance with a rich girl in SD who had 20 horses and 100 handguns, she liked the bad boys, and she was short, too) .
So, they are cruisin the backroads, maybe just lookin for some free gas, they pull into a farmyard. There's a fridge on the front porch they can see, and they are hungry. They go check it out, its full of meat. Rather than take the meat out, they decide to take the whole fridge. Druggies dont always think straight. So they are just getting it off the ground, about to step off and put it in the veehickle, when Farmer John comes out with a 12 gauge, and utters the momentous words: "Hold it right there, boys."
JB did 90 days in Jamestown jail, read Serpico and many other books, and possibly learned to like cock. He likes girls still, but jail is jail. Wasnt quite the same after.
A good guy, but still a little too into the dope. Last I heard he was living in a trailer in the boons with a 20 yr old girl with bad tattoos, and working at the rollin mills in Selkirk.
Good luck to him.
He was 5'5, 126 lbs naturally, but coincidentally that is jockey weight. He was mainly shovellin shit n dealin dope, and walking the horses, but they tried him out as a jockey. Didnt work out, but he was great as a shit-shoveller n dope dealer.
Travelled with the stable he worked for down the middle of the continent, down to Omaha, NB. Got fired in Omaha, no green card, the only folks he knew were his dope connections. Got in with a crew of drugstore cowboys, he had a weakness for the needle. They did a few scores, roamed around a bit, ended up in South Dakota (oh yeah before he got fired, he had a romance with a rich girl in SD who had 20 horses and 100 handguns, she liked the bad boys, and she was short, too) .
So, they are cruisin the backroads, maybe just lookin for some free gas, they pull into a farmyard. There's a fridge on the front porch they can see, and they are hungry. They go check it out, its full of meat. Rather than take the meat out, they decide to take the whole fridge. Druggies dont always think straight. So they are just getting it off the ground, about to step off and put it in the veehickle, when Farmer John comes out with a 12 gauge, and utters the momentous words: "Hold it right there, boys."
JB did 90 days in Jamestown jail, read Serpico and many other books, and possibly learned to like cock. He likes girls still, but jail is jail. Wasnt quite the same after.
A good guy, but still a little too into the dope. Last I heard he was living in a trailer in the boons with a 20 yr old girl with bad tattoos, and working at the rollin mills in Selkirk.
Good luck to him.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Pipe band on the Rood
My manager told a funny story tonight, as our mutual friend (just turned 24 with a pregnant wife, God love you son) gave us a ride to a point close to his hame and both a beer store and LRT station for me.
Here's the tale: J (bossman) used to play drums in a Pipe n Drum band, which if you are not Scots or have been livin in a 'reality show' hell, means bagpipes n drums. They played Highland Games type events all over eastern Canada and even went to Scotland once. So the band (as it were) had played a highland games in New Brunswick and were on their way back to east coast Nova Scotia where they came from, and they had ingested a few bevvies, but one guy had a LOT of them. I will call him Hugh. So they are rolling along the road, driver is sober, he is the drum major (different from those twiddly things they do at football games) and kind of in charge of a bunch of kilted c*nts , one of whom (Hugh lets call him) has to piss and cant wait till they stop.
So he slides open the door of the big passenger van, lifts his kilt and lets er rip as they roll down the road. Thats right, they generally dont wear undies under. So he is just getting into a good flow when the cop lights go on behind, Woop woop! Drum major pulls over, a RCMP comes up either side of the vehickle..
At the driver's window, the drum major is saying, 'most of these guys are pretty lickered, we were about to get to the motel, but I'm sober and thats why I am driving". Cop is going to go for it, but buddy , still pissing under his kilt, out the sliding side door by the other cop, says, " We were strollin fer cocksuckers, and looks like we just got a couple !"
Fortunately cop in charge has a sense of humor. Visibly stifling an urge to bust out laughing, he composes himself, and says, 'You guys get home safe now" and let them go on.
J is going to be telling that story for another 30 yrs now, I got some from when I was 19 too, but thats a gooder.
Here's the tale: J (bossman) used to play drums in a Pipe n Drum band, which if you are not Scots or have been livin in a 'reality show' hell, means bagpipes n drums. They played Highland Games type events all over eastern Canada and even went to Scotland once. So the band (as it were) had played a highland games in New Brunswick and were on their way back to east coast Nova Scotia where they came from, and they had ingested a few bevvies, but one guy had a LOT of them. I will call him Hugh. So they are rolling along the road, driver is sober, he is the drum major (different from those twiddly things they do at football games) and kind of in charge of a bunch of kilted c*nts , one of whom (Hugh lets call him) has to piss and cant wait till they stop.
So he slides open the door of the big passenger van, lifts his kilt and lets er rip as they roll down the road. Thats right, they generally dont wear undies under. So he is just getting into a good flow when the cop lights go on behind, Woop woop! Drum major pulls over, a RCMP comes up either side of the vehickle..
At the driver's window, the drum major is saying, 'most of these guys are pretty lickered, we were about to get to the motel, but I'm sober and thats why I am driving". Cop is going to go for it, but buddy , still pissing under his kilt, out the sliding side door by the other cop, says, " We were strollin fer cocksuckers, and looks like we just got a couple !"
Fortunately cop in charge has a sense of humor. Visibly stifling an urge to bust out laughing, he composes himself, and says, 'You guys get home safe now" and let them go on.
J is going to be telling that story for another 30 yrs now, I got some from when I was 19 too, but thats a gooder.
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