Thursday, August 16, 2001

Blocks.

My wife wants me to write something for her zine project. I'm having some trouble, not so much with the article itself, but with a writer's block in general. (I use the term "writer" in the loosest possible sense, and keep Oscar Wilde's critique, "That's not writing, that's typing," close to the surface at all times.)

I barely remember the last time I put anything up here. It's not like nothing has been happening. There's been plenty of stuff going on, from sorting through 400-odd pictures of our trip (q.v.), to wondering what I am going to do when I grow up (and may I say by way of digression that the Monster job site doesn't offer me much direction in that regard), to agonizing over getting the car fixed (a nearly-$3K bill at Aamco), to reading a bio of Charles Lindbergh, to my stepdaughter going back to the US for the school year, to who-knows-what-else.

Writer's block be damned. I'm just hammering away at the keyboard; I'll keep at it until I get bored. I can always rewrite later.

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Friday, July 27, 2001

Car.

It's been a while since anything has been posted in this space - the brief version of the story is this:

Me and the wife and kid drove to Oregon from Toronto. We were gone twenty-nine days, drove nearly twelve thousand kilometres (about seven thousand miles), travelled through thirteen states and four provinces in two countries, visited friends and family, shot seventeen rolls of film and wore out ourselves and a clutch.

Pictures will be posted at my other thing when they're back from the photo place. I may also post bits from my travel journal - I haven't decided yet.

But for now I'm going to rest a bit.

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Wednesday, June 27, 2001

Westbound.

Tomorrow we leave for Oregon, a four-day drive across America, with stops in Chicago, Des Moines, Cheyenne and Boise. And Who-knows-where-else, USA, too.

I've been looking forward to the trip since February when we decided we were going to do it. Louise was originally a little leery of the idea of a week in a car, but Amelia has been very excited since we told her of our plans. (Part of her excitement stems from being told that we'd get a portable TV for her to watch in the back seat; now that it's the day before we leave and we still haven't found that TV, we're switching to plan B - and hoping that a Target store along the way has one.)

Anyway, we're mostly packed, the catsitter is hired, the perishables in the fridge are eaten and the car is due back from its tuneup in about an hour. Off we go, into the great western yonder. Updates in this space and at my other thing will be sporadic. But fear not, gentle reader (I wonder if the singular is apropos here - is there a noun for the non-existent audience I may be writing to?) - I will be back.

In the meantime, the CANOE website reports that the 'Survivor III' film site has been found. Normally, I wouldn't care about this bit of less-than-trivia, but it's in Kenya. Toronto's Mayor had a few things to say about Kenya recently, so when I read this article, I pictured all the contestants asking themselves "What the hell do I want to go to a place like that?"

Maybe Mayor Mel can offer some advice on how to greet the natives.

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Thursday, June 21, 2001

Goodwill.

So the Mayor of the city of Toronto (population three million, give or take a few), leaving on a "goodwill" trip to Kenya to drum up support for the city's attempt to host the 2008 Summer Olympics, stopped to talk to reporters.

"What the hell do I want to go to a place like Mombasa?" Mr. Lastman asked. "Snakes scare the hell out of me. I'm scared about going there, but the wife is really nervous," he said. "I just see myself in a pot of boiling water with all these natives dancing around me."

The Kenyan deputy ambassador to the UN said it best: "I think he is deranged."

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Tuesday, June 12, 2001

Wheeling, Part II

A few months ago in this space I wrote about meeting an expatriate Canadian in the parking lot of a drugstore in Wheeling (follow the link and scroll to the bottom of the page to read the bit). Last weekend, the Wheeling wheel turned full circle.

My wife and I were standing in the checkout line of a No Frills grocery store in North Bay when she noticed that the guy in front of us was wearing a West Virginia University cap.

"I see you have a WVU hat," she said. "Are you from West Virginia?"

"I was in Wheeling last year," the guy answered. "I played there."

"You're a Nailer?" I asked. (Digression - Whenever we visit Amelia, we try to get to a Wheeling Nailers hockey game. In March, we stumbled across then-coach Alain Lemieux (Mario's brother) in a restaurant a few hours before game time. He signed Amelia's jersey. Later, at the game that night, my wife spotted an acquaintance of hers who happens to be the Director of Community Relations for the team. We all got passes to the VIP Lounge and Amelia got another dozen signatures on her jersey. About two weeks after that, Lemieux was fired.)

It turned out he was. Scott Wray played four years of Junior A in North Bay, then spent last season in the WPHL and ECHL. Scott wasn't planning on going back (maybe the Nailers' 24-40 record had something to do with it, but he didn't seem to like Wheeling much and said he was going to try his luck in the CHL next season.

"Pays better," he said.

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Saturday, June 2, 2001

Walking.

I got recruited by a friend to join a walking relay team in a fund-raiser for the Cancer Society; the idea was we'd get pledges and walk for twelve hours to raise money and camp out in the ballfield beside the stadium where we walked.

Our team raised nearly seven grand for the Cancer Society. I have no idea how many teams there were, but there were hundreds of people and about forty tents in the field.

There were twelve of us on the team I was on. The plan was to walk in pairs in half- or full-hour increments. In between shifts we'd retire to our tent to play cards and relax.

Ostensibly an alcohol-free event, some of our number smuggled in beer (two brands), vodka, rum coolers and, in a display of preparedness that would set the Boy Scouts to shame, Ruby Red grapefruit juice and cranberry juice, specifically for use in the making of Seabreezes.

While not all of us drank (I was a:driving, and b:picturing the headlines - "Drunken Revellers Expelled From Cancer Walk"), we all ate. When camping with these people, dietary considerations are subjugated to the junk food imperative. Our tents were filled with bags of chips, cheesies, pretzels, cookies, Ritz mini-cheese sandwiches, licorice and Pepsi. With what we had to eat, it would be entirely possible simultaneously to gain twenty pounds and die of malnutrition.

My first shift to walk was at around ten P.M.. As Stephanie and I made our way out onto the track, it was pouring rain, but it soon thinned to a drizzle and then stopped altogether. The half-hour went quickly.

Back to the tent for more eating, cards, eating, and eating. Every calorie burned on the walk was replaced and buffered by more chips.

At some point there was another walk, then another couple of hours in the tent, and then, at four A.M., Al sticking his head back into the tent and saying, "Brian, get up, you're late. I'll see you on the track."

I pulled my jacket on, fumbled around for my shoes, grabbed a Pepsi and stumbled onto the track. After about a lap I shook off the fog in my head. Al and I walked for an hour; even at this hour there were fifty or sixty people walking. Then it was back to the tent and down for the count. Al, Iron Man that he is, took the next shift too and walked another half-hour with Jeff.

The next thing I knew, it was five or five-thirty and we were all up again. I don't even remember the sun coming up but I do remember the gang of girls at one of the nearby tents singing 'Wake Me Up Before You Go Go' at the top of their lungs sometime between three and five in the morning.

Our idea was we'd break down the tents, pack up the cars and everyone would walk the last half-hour. It ended up with about six of our team walking; the others loaded up and went home. Next year, we're all sleeping in for cancer.

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