Hard to Resist a Box of Free Books

           

            For the sixth Friday in a row no one came to my yoga class at PARC. If no students show up by June 24^th I’m going to pack it in. I’ve got better things to do with my Fridays.

            On the evening of June 10th I rode out to Broadview, then north to O’Connor and east to Pape, then north to where it meets Donlands at the bridge. I went down Rivercourt, which has a few cute little houses, some of which look pretty expensive for small homes. I still have four more streets to explore between Donlands and O’Connor before I cross the bridge.

            On the way east, as I was passing Brunswick and Bloor, I noticed some books had been thrown out. I took the same route home just in case they were still there, and they were. The books were not, for the most part, in sellable shape, but they were all intact. Of the thirty or so that were there, I took, “The Coming of the Revolution: 1763 – 1775” by Lawrence Henry Gipson; “Long Days Journey Into Night” by Eugene O’Neill; and the Norton Anthology of English Literature, Volume 1 and Volume 2, the first of which covers the literature from the Middle Ages to the mid-18^th Century, and the second from where the first left off to the 1950s.

            My Ontario Trillium benefit came through, so I took out sixty dollars, went to No Frills. My groceries cost $59.70.

            As I was leaving I saw Igor, the ancient man who comes to Fat Albert’s and recites poetry. I greeted him, but he seemed kind of indifferent.

Obese Bastard On A Bike

           

            On Thursday, June 9^th, I’d kept the windows and my door shut all day and even wore a long sleeved shirt because the temperature on the previous day had really cooled down the apartment.

            I washed a very dirty bathmat, a yellow sheet and a tasselled beige tablecloth that I’d used for many years in lieu of a curtain, and hung them out back. It was really not bad outside and everything dried quite quickly. My apartment takes quite a while to warm up once it has cooled down.

            I had brought my long sleeved shirt along in my backpack when I went for my bike ride that evening, but I really didn’t need it.

            The ride east is always a challenge during that time of a weekday because of all the bicycle traffic. I can get ahead of most all the other cyclists if I can find room between them and the car traffic to do so. At Broadview, a bunch of us were lined up at the light, when the same overweight rider that I’d passed a couple days before rode slowly up from behind to the front of the queue. After the light changed and I got ahead of everyone else but the fat man and another cyclist. I think that the younger rider was trying to talk to the obese man about jumping ahead, but just as I was passing them both he was being told to “go to hell!” His response was, “You know what sir? Have a nice day!” I wonder why the flabby cyclist is so bitter. He acts like he’s being forced to ride a bike, doesn’t like it and is going to take it out on everybody else. Or maybe he’s an inconsiderate ass in all of his activities.

            I finished exploring all of the streets south of O’Connor between Broadview and Donlands. I just have a few more streets to look at and then I’ll cross the bridge and see what’s in the area on the other side of the river and south of Eglinton. That might take the rest of the summer, so I’ll miss riding on the Danforth. It’s kind of a pleasant neighbourhood.

            The way home tends to be more relaxing because I don’t have to pass so many other cyclists.

            At Yonge and Dundas, there was some kind of idiotic “food challenge” going on in the square and an equally idiotic evangelist preaching about Jesus, though his idiocy was exoticised by his African garb.

Senior Moments On A Rhyming Timepiece

           

            The evening of Wednesday, June 8^th was so chilly that I actually felt the need to wear my motorcycle jacket to ride my bicycle to the Steelworkers Hall for the Fat Albert’s open stage.

            When I arrived in the “coffee house”, Charles Winder and Dark Cloud were practicing in different parts of the room. On the open stage sign-in sheet I had a choice between numbers two and five. I would have preferred number three, but I figured that if people were not going to listen to me when I played I’d rather not wait till later for that non listening to take place because the Fat Albert’s audience tends to build momentum in its non-listening as the night rolls on.

            I mounted the speakers on the tripod and then practiced the song I was most nervous about being able to play. I set up the keyboard stand and put the piano on top of it. Then I put what I thought was a folding piano stool behind the keyboard.

            I chatted with Dark Cloud and asked him if he was from the United States, since so many of his songs are not only set there but are also patriotic about the States. He explained that he’d been born and raised in Canada but that his father was originally from the States.

            We talked about the open stages that are available in town. He wanted to know if there were any other weekly events like Fat Albert’s and the Tranzac open stage. He complained that it’s too hard to remember all of these “second Saturday of the month” or “last Tuesday of the month” events.

            When Tony Hanik arrived, I asked him if I’d mounted the speakers properly. He told me that they were too high and that the legs of the tripod were too far apart.

            Later I overheard Glen telling someone that the previous week, when Christine Gaidies had featured was the biggest turn out of the year for Fat Albert’s. He voiced the opinion that booking people that will bring in a crowd is the direction that Fat Albert’s should be going. That won’t be very good for Fat Albert’s regulars though who deserve a longer than two song showcase of their talent from time to time as a reward for their weekly support of the event. Also, when a popular performer is featured, it will always be a problem for the person that follows them if the feature’s entourage decides to get up and leave as soon as the one they came to see is done.

            The open stage started on time, with Charles Winder, as usual. He began to play even before Tony miked his guitar. He always plays Flamenco, but this piece was slower than usual. I think that his performances of these compositions would flow better if he’d learn to play them by heart, but I guess that might be difficult as these pieces are a lot more complicated than songs like mine in which the chord changes are fairly repetitious.

            I went to use the washroom while Charles was playing, and when I came back Mary Milne observed that I’d been sleeping on the left side of my hair. She was right.

            Charles’s second offering would have fit well into the soundtrack of a spaghetti western, but it was a very long piece. His entire set lasted fourteen minutes.

            I was next. I started with “Cha-Cha of the Wolf”, which is my translation of Serge Gainsbourg’s “Cha Cha Cha Du Loup”- “ … There was an ingénue who took a walk in the woods, she was much like you, she wore a red riding hood, but then suddenly, between the trees there came out and bowed a big bad wolf that began to howl, the cha cha of the wolf …”

            I followed that with my own song, “The Next State of Grace” – “Well I’m sitting here cooking in the stew of the street, I’m the part that won’t ever get stirred, and as I am boiling I drink my own broth then bend noodles to the shape of these words …”

            It went over well. People always seem to like that old one of mine, which would be depressing if I bothered to think about it.

            After me was Dawn. She doesn’t talk to the audience to introduce the songs she sings. She just starts to play right away, so it’s hard to tell whether they are originals or composed by someone else. In this case she was singing what sounded like a collection of non-rhyming quotes from “A Streetcar Named Desire” by Tennesseee Williams – “ … I’m not young and vulnerable anymore … I have the misfortune to instil a reverence for Shelly and Keats … but there are things between a woman and a man … What you are talking about is brutal desire, the name of that streetcar … You can’t suppose that any part of a gentleman is in his nature … When I was a very young girl I made the discovery of love … An hour isn’t just an hour … who knows what to do with it … An ocean as blue as my first lover’s eyes … that man is my executioner …”

            From her second song – “ … The world I have known is no more than a place … only to be lost again … having crossed so many boundaries … I could no longer find my way back home …”

            Then it was Dark Cloud’s turn. He said that he would be dedicating both of his songs to Marianne, I assume because it was her birthday.

            He started with his song about Martin Luther King – “Well I woke up that morning and what did I see, tears of a nation wiping out my sweet dreams … Do you remember me, I had a dream, do you remember me fighting self esteem … Some folks just don’t like to shine … I’m goin down to see the swingin man and his unfinished frown … Do you remember the shots and the screams.

            Dark Cloud’s next composition was, he said, one of three or four cocaine songs that he’d written. He told us that it is said that a songwriter needs to have written at least a song each on the subjects of cocaine and mother or else he or she isn’t a songwriter.

            From the song – “ … So sad, Johnny’s packin heat today. He aint nice and he don’t play … Never had these problems back in Maine … You better have money if you like cocaine … If you love cocaine, don’t forget to pay …” When he was done, someone called out, “What if you just want to be friends?”

            Next was Kirk Felix, with his frequent percussionist, Darlene Saxon and her cajón, for which she brought brushes this time.

            Kirk introduced his first original song by telling us that he lives across the street from a French Canadian school, and that every morning he can hear the children sing “O Canada” in French.

            His song was called “Great Canadian Day” – “I woke up this morning with O Canada in the air … it’s a splendid Canadian morning, shout it out into the world … Heading out into the city, oh how it’s changing, there’s so much more to see … More traffic and congestion … It’s better to be rambling than sitting in some city park … It’s great to be Canadian …”

            Kirk told us that every one of his songs start with a poem.

            He said that this would be his last night at Fat Albert’s for a few months because he was going to go on a trip back to where he was raised, which I think he said is Maryland.

            His second song was entitled “Going Home” and even though it was his own, he read the lyrics from a music stand. Darlene played the tambourine for this one – “We’ve been gone too many years now … we’re going home where the bluebirds sing … Stayed with old friends from Burlington … Back to the valley where the pine trees sway … I’m going home where I was born … home to stay.”

            It was then time for our feature performer, which for a rare treat was not a musician this time, but rather a poet. That poet was one I’ve known for years, both for her solo work and for her performances with the poetic trio known as “Uncritical Mass”.

            Linda decided to sit on the edge of the stage with her feet on the floor, because she didn’t want to have to climb up onto the stage.

            She began by confessing that she’d entirely forgotten that she had been booked to read at Fat Albert’s until just a few hours before that. It was only after someone had said to her, “I’ll see you tonight!” and after she’d responded by asking, “Why? What’s happening tonight?” that she’d found out that she was scheduled to be there.

            She read a first poem with the title “Candidate” – “Ink stains and roach bowls …”

            When this short poem was finished, Mary approached her and told her that she would have to sit on the stage to read, because no one could see her. So she did so.

            Linda’s next poem was “Time Out” – “We were always one … there never was anyone else … hid ourselves in mysteries … one was bad and one was good … behind the mask, beneath the paint …”

            From “Gospel Truth” – “Adam and Eve, we are led to believe … the serpent was allowed to remain in the garden.”

            From “They’re Playing our Song”  - “The mind is timeless, the heart is young, so hold me honey and let’s waltz.”

            From “Lost Fortune” – “I notice today that licorice pipes and penny candy have gone to the dinosaurs … a red cent is rarer than a blue moon … The penny has dropped out of sight … Women called Penelope will now be called Nickel or Nothing.”

            Linda then read a few short pieces with no titles:

            “I’ve spruced myself up and added some bling … looking as good as an octogenarian can.”

            “When marital sex becomes an obligation … Marry for love, not just cause you’re horny.”

            “Even the gods are impermanent.”

            “We actors are caught up in the play … Cast the star of yourself … rest between roles.”

            It looked to me like Linda was having a problem reading her poetry. I called out to ask if she needed more light. She replied, “That would be nice!” I asked if the lights could be turned up. At first Glen answered, “Not really!” but finally he turned on the fluorescents. It wasn’t as atmospheric for us, but at least Linda could read.

            From “Except Ye Become” – “I went to the circus and became a child … I am still a child tonight.”

            From “Book Report” – “I read a book years ago … the only remaining solution was spiritual … I hope and pray that the author was a prophet.”

            From “Chatter” – “If there must be words, let them be words of peace. Lacking that, let there be silence.”

            From “Denial, or I’ve Got to Stop Reading the News” – “I am not moved to despair as children starve and as men are tortured and women are sold into slavery … I am told that I scream in my sleep.”

            From “A Calling” – “Make of your life an art … Every sound a vibration of ecstasy, every touch a caress of the beloved … We are all creators.”

            From “A Contemplation” – “Let go of ignorance … You are one with infinite love …”

            From “A Fine Mess of Potage” – “Hanging out with the raving poets … we have abandoned sanity … our dedication to truth … redefining sanity.”

            Linda’s next poem, “Epiphany”, tells of her impressions after a bird pooped on her head – “Last week as I passed under the branches of a budding maple … I stood, blotting my pate with a Kleenex … This synchronicity of step and sphincter … Am I a lucky shit-head or simply an avian latrine … Is all the shit in my life a forerunner of wisdom … I have concluded that this was a spiritual wake-up call.”

            From “Abandonment” – “I was not done with you … By the code that forms my flesh … Sometimes I see your specter on the street … I cannot follow you or bring you back … Do not begrudge me your release …”

            From “Funny” – “Things are funny again … comical … droll … ha ha … I have gone from a grin or a grunt to a guffaw … side-splitting is no longer anathema … We are once again amused … Isn’t that funny?”

            From “Humanity As A Write-off” – “Who will come next, I wonder … compose symphonies … write poetry … almost come to consciousness and destroy itself.”

            From “Marijuana March 2009” – “There’s a desert of youth … costumed and coiffed … but the vibe’s not here … These kids don’t know shit!”

            From “I’m Liking It” – “I like my skin, not too tight for living in … I like the way my fingers flex … I like the way my toes are splayed … I rather like the way I smell … I like the living of my life and I shall like the leaving.”

            From “Dance” – “Isn’t it strange … It is what it is and it’s all gonna change … Rejoice in what is … dance with impermanence … for the sake of the dance.”

            From “Self Centred” – “Through my eyes, my ears, my fingertips … drunk with fragrance … I am the conduit for pain and bliss … I am a sentient cell …”

            From “Fragility” – “ … Who can I tell about you … Friends don’t come easily to me … You never did the usual thing … I could never tell about you … Sometimes even love is no reason to stay …”

            From “Aphemia, Aphasia or Just An Eighty Year Old Brain?” – “ … Pocket gremlins … From time to time they come back at inopportune moments … and show up too tardily.”

            There was very loud applause after Linda was done.

            Linda Stitt’s writing often has more the feel of well-written aphorisms than poetry. She doesn’t tend to try to find new ways of arranging words or phrases to communicate, but rather uses clever observations to arrive at what are often charming and witty gems.

            After Linda, the open stage continued. Mary announced that from that point on it would be one song each, and first up was Bob Allen.

            Bob was accompanied by Tom on violin, Glen on piano and Darlene on cajón. The song was Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues”. Glen got two solos but Tom none. I wondered if Bob just forgot that Glen had already had a turn.

            Next was Andrea Hatala, who played a very melodic intro to her song, “The Bridge” – “You are out on the sea, sailing, and I stand on the shore, calling to you … Take a look inside me … We can build a bridge out of love …” Tom played along whenever Andrea returned to the hook of the song, from off stage, over by the sound board. “ … Walls hide us from unknowns, tie us to our own …”

            After Andrea was her boyfriend, Heinz Klein, though he put himself on the list as Mr. Bittersweet. Tom joined Heinz on stage. Heinz didn’t tell us the title of his song – “Sun goes up … Everything is not too bad … Everything is half as bad … Don’t hide between walls … You have to step outside … Even if you’re feeling down … it’s not that the world could break apart …”

            Heinz sure does seem to enjoy himself onstage.

            Then it was Bridget’s turn, and she of course also wanted Tom to accompany her.

            Glen turned the fluorescents back off and said, “A little ambiance!” to which Tom responded, “Call an ambiance!”

            Bridget’s song was called “Rise Up” – “Can you see the lightning flashing, can you hear the walls come crashing down … Can you see the darkness fading, can you feel the light invading your soul …”

            Following Bridget was Elizabeth Block and as she began to introduce her song, Kirk Felix came up to my side, slightly behind me, and kneeling down so as to not obstruct the view of those behind him, and whispered an inquiry. He wanted to know if I would be posting what I was writing online. I told him I would, so he gave me his card and asked if I would send him a link.

            Elizabeth’s song was “The Bedstead Men” by Flanders and Swann – “When you’re walking in the country far from villages and towns, when you’re seven miles from nowhere and beyond … you may come across a lonely pool or pond and you’ll always find a big, brass, broken bedstead by the bank … Don’t think it’s there by accident, it’s us you have to thank, the Society of British Bedstead Men … Every eel and fish and millpond has a beauty all can share, but not unless it’s got a big brass broken bedstead there … We drag them cross the meadows when the moon is in the sky … The precious load of bedsteads must get through …”

            Next was Marianne Peck, Glen on guitar this time because the song was “Your Cheating Heart” by Hank Williams. Tom stood off stage and to the side to play along and I could hear Honey Novick singing behind me.

            After Marianne, the St Germains took to the stage to play and sing Bob Dylan’s “Make You Feel My Love” – “When the rain is blowing in your face and the whole wide world is on your case, I could offer you a warm embrace to make you feel my love … The storms are raging on the rolling sea and on the highway of regret, the winds of change are blowing wild and free, you aint seen nothing like me yet …”

            Then came Tony Hanik, with help from Tom. As usual, Tony didn’t tell us whether he wrote the song that he sang or not. Maybe those that have been coming to Fat Albert’s for years already know. Honey Novick was singing along on the chorus from behind me, so I assumed it was a cover, but the lyrics that I wrote down didn’t snag any songs posted on the Internet – “ … pictures of someone I used to know … She reminds me of a crane, an exotic water bird or maybe a giraffe …”

            Following Tony was John Stroud, who began with a joke. He said that his minister told him that he should start considering the hereafter. He responded that he’s been doing that a lot lately. Every time he goes to the basement he wonders, “What am I here after?”

            This was meant to be a segue into what he said was the “Senior Moment Song” by Tom Rush. What he sang was an internet hit for Tom Rush but it was actually by Steven Walters and called “The Remember Song” – “I’m looking for my wallet and car keys, well they can’t have gone too far, just as soon as I find my glasses I’m sure I’ll see just where they are. Supposed to meet someone for lunch today, but I can’t remember where or who it is that I’m meeting. It’s in my organizer somewhere … The last time that I remember driving was to that memory enhancement seminar. What’s that far off distant ringing and that strangely familiar tone? Must be the person I am meeting calling me on my brand new cordless phone … ‘John, this is Gwendolyn, and I’m trying not to cry, but I’ve been waiting here for over an hour. I thought you loved me, this is goodbye!’ Well, the voice sounds familiar, and the name it rings a bell … Let’s see now, where was I … oh well.”

            Next on the list was Darlene Saxon, but she didn’t seem to be there. I didn’t say anything because they immediately moved on to Glen Gary, but I think that Kirk Felix left shortly after giving me his card and I suspect that he was Darlene’s ride.

            Glen sang and played what seems of late to be his favourite song, which is John Lurie’s “Mystery Train” – “Train I ride, sixteen coaches long … that long black train done took my baby and gone …” Glen was accompanied by Fat Albert’s pet violinist, Tom Hamilton.

            After Glen was Peter James, who improvised a very short piece on the piano, with accompaniment from Tom. When he was finished asked, “That’s your song? It sounded like a sweet musical interlude!”

            Then Mary Milne stood at the front to say, “An now, for the un-grand finale!” To which Elizabeth Knowlton called out in protest, “Hey!” I think that Mary had made a copy of the list to keep with her, but that the original list had grown since then, so though Mary had thought that the night was over, it wasn’t.

            Mary read a poem by Peter Viereck, called “Which of Us Two” – “When both are strong with tenderness … both to such see-saw mutuality of hard pressed opposites as smelts a tree … in marriage as a very skeleton: - When, then, soil peels mere flesh off half this love and locks it from the un-stripped half above… or merely midnight in an unshared room … Knowing only you have somehow left my side, I lie here wondering which of us has died.”

            Elizabeth Knowlton followed Mary, with help from Tom. Glen, who was sitting in the front to record her with his phone, urged her not to either plug or mic her guitar because it’s already a loud instrument. So she just used the microphone for her voice – “If you could see the beauty of this world … you would be strong, you’d know your way through right or wrong … I know you would forgive … Your suffering would end … Everyone would be your friend …”

            The second to last performer was Audrey, who sang Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young” – “ … May you always do for others and let others do for you … May you stay forever young … May you have a strong foundation when the winds of changes shift … May your song always be sung …”

            Finally, we had Igor, who started a poem he has recited at Fat Albert’s before, and of which I don’t know whether it is one of his compositions or not  – “You fill my every waking hour, I know that you’ll devour me in the end … Time, got enough to fill, though we know we never will …” Then Igor hesitated. Glen called out “Take your time!” But he gave up, and that was the end of the night.

Finding Nourishment Between the Bricks

           

            I discovered that there was construction on Cowan as I headed down to the food bank on Wednesday, June 8th. There was a pink cement mixer about to pour concrete into a rectangular mould that had been cut out of the street, so I had to walk my bike on the sidewalk for several meters before remounting. Hopefully they are going to fix all the potholes on Cowan.

            The Noble Health Works van was in the driveway, once again, and a guy was approaching people and asking if they wanted a hearing test. There was a shorter man standing, slightly smiling and watching the technician work. When the technician tested the woman that had been in front of me the week before, I’m not sure if he was considering the possibility that her hearing might be fine while her reaction time could be slow. He looked puzzled, and then he called the other man over to check the headphones. The shorter man asked her if she’d step into the van with him. Meanwhile, the technician continued with his tests. When he approached me, I asked him how come all they ever do is hearing tests, and suggested that the testing of blood pressure would be a better random examination for the poor. He agreed that it would be, but he said that they do hearing because the man in the van is a hearing specialist. He informed me that they also do dental and asked me if I wanted a dental check. I answered that I didn’t want any kind of check, but had questions about the Noble Health Network. He seemed slightly defensive when he said, “Sir, we go around the community, helping people by offering to check their hearing!” “Right, but what is the Noble Health Works?” He went to the van to get me a card, but the card said, “Chit Chat Hearing”. I asked why the vans say “Noble Health Works” and he answered that they would be changing the vans soon. “Oh, so it’s not the Noble Health Works anymore?” I think he was used to dealing with passive poor people and so he seemed a bit frustrated when he explained that Noble Health Works is the owner of Chit Chat Hearing. “So is Noble Health Works a clinic?” He affirmed that they have a clinic located on Yonge Street. “And are they covered by OHIP?” “Yes, they are covered by OHIP!” “I read online that Noble Health Works is planning on expanding into the Middle East” “What? You heard that? No!” Maybe in my previous research I got Noble Health Works mixed up with Noble Health Alliance. I later accessed he website for Chit Chat Hearing, but there is no link there to Noble Health Works. I called the number and after the second try reached John Galoni. He told me the Noble Health Works is not a clinic in itself but a company that owns clinics and he started the company in Hamilton. I asked for a website url and he gave me www.noblehealthworks.ca but informed me that it’s down right now. He answered questions like he was on trial. I was later able to connect, but there’s not a lot of history. When I searched John Galoni I found a few business profiles. He doesn’t seem to be a physician and his previous businesses or the businesses for which he worked were not medical in nature. It was shown that he graduated from Mohawk College with a diploma in advertising and communications.

            The big talkative thirty something White woman who is there every Wednesday was talking with a big, attractive Black woman who is also a regular. One thing that came up was the packages of bacon that they’d given out the week before. The big White woman commented that it’s rare that they would have bacon because they usually take it for themselves. I wonder if that’s really true. The big Black woman said that it was nice to have gotten some milk the week before.

            For the last few weeks there has been a new, more colourful graffiti on the back of the building that houses the food bank. I had wanted to get a picture of it, but the light hadn’t been right before. This time it looked like I might be able to get a good shot and to maybe include in the shot a bit of the line-up. When I started aiming my camera, a man that saw he was in the frame where he was sitting, got up and moved. The big White woman and the big Black woman also moved and the big White woman asked if they were in my way. I explained that it was a new graffiti. She commented to her friend that she likes graffiti when it’s well done, and gave the example of the portrait of the sleeping woman in the alley behind Dundas and Dufferin.

            As the line started moving and the two big women were just ahead of me at the front of the line, the guy in charge of the door that morning stepped out. “What’s up Desmond?” asked the big White woman. Desmond reached for the crotch area of his jeans and answered, “Oh, well that’s not up!” The big White woman told him, “You know, I could twist your nipples so hard that it would make you cry!” Desmond smiled and suggested that he might like that. She said, “You know, I’m a big woman! I could put a lot of weight behind kicking you in the butt and shoving my leg up your ass!” Again, Desmond was not phased and said that maybe she’d like that. “What? You think that a woman would enjoy having her leg shoved up a man’s butt?” Then she turned to the big Black woman and commented, “You know what new fetish men have? They want to be treated like a dog! They want to be kept in a cage, be taken for walks on a leash and fed dog food just like a dog!” Desmond told her that it wasn’t new and had been around since the 70s. I would say that it’s a lot older than that and also that it’s not a gender specific fetish, but I wasn’t part of the conversation. She added that another one is that men like wearing diapers and being treated like a baby. The big Black woman shook her head and declared, “That’s not a man!”

            I got number 14 and went home.

            When I came back I found a smoke free pocket of the driveway. From where I was standing I noticed that there is a bush growing from out a crack in the bricks, halfway up the wall at the back of the building. It’s amazing that its roots could have found nourishment in there, but I guess that maybe the wind has blown dirt into the crack and of course the rain must make its way in there too. I love that kind of nature that adapts itself rebelliously to the urban environment.

            Once I was inside, my helper was Desmond. At the top of the first shelf they still had some of those cans of olive oil spray, but they also had a box of graham cracker crumbs and Desmond told me that I could have a package of lemon pie filling to go with that. I took the crumbs and the filling, but I forgot to read the label on the latter package. I didn’t find out till I got home that the filling is sweetened with aspartame, so I’ll have to cycle it back.

            From the bottom I took another package of honey-roasted almonds, which is almost a meal in itself.

            From the soup shelf I took a couple of packages of ramen noodles.

            The bean shelf was stocked again this time, so I took a can of chickpeas.

            I wasn’t interested in taking a box of Apple Jacks from the cereal section, but below them were hand-filled bags of granola, of which Desmond gave me two.

            Someone new was minding the refrigerated food. She gave me two litres of organic chocolate soymilk, a small tub of spicy Yucatan guacamole, ten eggs, a bag containing four mystery sausages and two bags of pre-cooked chopped and mixed vegetables consisting of potatoes, turnips, onions and some kind of stalky green veggie. Later, when I got the latter home, I figured I’d better use it right away. I tasted the concoction and found it extremely bland. I decided to throw it into a soup with chicken stock, lima beans, salt and paprika, but it still didn’t have any flavour until after I’d added an onion bouillon cube and a package of onion soup mix. 

            In the bread section they usually just say take as much as you want of what you want, but this time a young woman was minding it and said there was a limit of two loaves per person. I took two loaves of multigrain bread, but one of the loaves was three times the length of the other.

            The tall woman that I’ve come to know as Theresa was minding the vegetable section. Several people called her “Hazel” this time though. That was my grandmother’s name. For the last few months I’d been turning down a lot of the vegetables being offered because I had some extra money for fresh produce and meat to supplement what I’d been getting from the food bank. Summer though is a time when I can’t be as picky, so I told Hazel I’d take a little bit of everything, which included, ripe tomatoes, potatoes, small cucumbers and baby carrots. There was one item that she’d left out. “Aren’t those peas?” I asked of the pods in one bin. “Oh yes!” she said, “A lot of people don’t know what they are!” as she gave me a few handfuls. “Well, I was raised on a farm!” I explained.

They're Back!

           

            On the Tuesday evening of June 7^th, when I took my bike ride, it was nice out but much cooler than it had been lately and quite windy. Once I’d built some heat up in my body, the wind was refreshing. There were lots of big, bright, fast-moving clouds overhead. I had to compete with a lot of eastbound bicycle traffic.

            The right-hand lane coming off the Bloor Viaduct leads directly into the exit to the Don Valley Parkway. Up until a year or so ago, cyclists were on their own in getting from the right lane to the inside lane so they could avoid getting caught up in turning traffic heading for the DVP. Now though there is a bright green lane with arrows to guide cyclists out there and to warn motorists to stop for them.

            There was an overweight rider moving pretty slowly on the left side of the green bike lane, so I had to pass him on the right and called out “Passing!” as I did so. In an annoyed voice he shouted back, “Yeah, yeah! I know!”

            I pumped my way to Pape, rode north to Gamble and across to Donlands, then north to Torrens and back to Pape.

            On the way home I went south on Yonge Street and while I was stopped at the Victoria Street light, a thirty-something woman crossed to the west side. She was approached by a man of about the same age. He had a beard, but he was otherwise clean-cut, wearing a white shirt and dress pants. He said, “Excuse me, I’m hoping that maybe you can help me!” She stopped, and showed she was receptive to hearing what he had to say. He proceeded to tell her a story about just arriving in town and all of his luggage having been stolen. My light changed, so I didn’t hear the rest of it, but it sounded like one of the spiels of a professional panhandler. When I was on the street, especially out west, I knew guys that would dress up in suits, tell very similar stories, and make a hundred dollars a day.

            That night I was sitting at the computer and I heard some noise out in the kitchen that was a little too heavy for my cats. I turned and saw a raccoon poking its head into the living room. It saw me and ran, but when I went out to the kitchen, it seemed to be disoriented. It went into the bathroom, but seeing that as a dead end, headed for the far window. I stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen and said, “Hey! What are you doing? Get out! That way!” and pointed to the door. As if it understood, the raccoon left the way it came in. It’s that time of year again!

Does Any Film Maker Plagiarise Himself More Than Tim Burton?

           

            Rain was forecast for late Sunday afternoon on June 5^th and so I used that as an excuse to not take a bike ride because I was so behind on my journal posts. It didn’t rain at that time after all, but I took a rain day anyway.

            I’m about halfway through watching the first season of “Have Gun – Will Travel”. I enjoy the character of Paladin, however unrealistic it is for a hired gunfighter to get wealthy from offering his services while travelling through the Wild West. On top of that he’s highly educated, cultured, well read and has good taste. I noticed that four of the episodes in a row were written by Gene Roddenberry, though they didn’t really stand out in terms of the plots in the same way that Robert Altman stories for “Bonanza” and the Sam Peckinpah screenplays for “Gunsmoke” did.

            For the last month or so I’ve seen the posters for the film “Through The Looking Glass”. I think it’s extremely sad when a director gets so stuck in a style that one can tell just from the imagery of the promotional ads for one of his movies that directed it. I would never be able to discern from the poster of a Milos Foreman film that he was the one behind it, unless his name was on the poster, because all of his movies are different. I can’t think of a single director, even among the bad ones, that plagiarizes himself as much as Tim Burton.

            I wrote the above and then looked the movie up, only to see that it was not directed by Tim Burton after all, but rather by James Bobin. But just as I was feeling like I’d put my foot in my mouth, I saw that it was produced by Burton and since it’s a sequel to a movie Burton did direct, it’s a rehashing of the visual world that Burton created. So my criticism stands untarnished and James Bobin is a puppet.

            On the Monday, June 6^th, there was a shower in the late afternoon and another at around dusk. I wasn’t sure if I was going to go to the Tranzac because I didn’t fancy getting wet on the way there. It’s not as bad on the way home, but that’s no picnic either.

            At 20:30 it was raining, so decided not to get ready. It’s nice to go there on a nice night. When it’s pleasant out it’s almost okay to be going home after midnight. I had writing to do anyway.

Frequency Z at Penny's, with Nick Love and Starpilot

           

            As I rode north on Brock Avenue on the evening of Saturday, June 4^th, the sky was full of purple bevelled clouds. I passed an ice cream truck, whose siren call to local children was “Turkey in the Straw”.

            It had begun to cool down outside, but when I walked in to Penny’s at 20:50 the first thing I noticed was that it was very hot in the bar. At that time the only person on stage was Bruce Brandao, the Frequency Zed drummer setting up his kit. The only person in the tiny audience area was a young woman who looked like a dedicated girlfriend, sitting and watching him as he worked and as he sang along with the pop songs that were playing on the bar’s sound system.

            I sat at the far back and in the corner, on the end of an old fashioned but probably not antique gold coloured ornate sofa like the kind one finds in working class Italian furniture stores.

            Nick Cushing, Bruce March and Zedman Slavinsky (Slava) arrived together because Nick transported them and their equipment.

            When Slava saw me he thanked me for sending him the words to the song “Stanislavski” by Silvia Fine. He had sent me a birthday greeting, and in response I’d sent him the funny song about a famous Russian because I think that Slava likes humour and because he’s Russian.
           

            “Who is world’s greatest actor, and how did I get that way?

            Who made me a genius,

            The greatest projactor who ever wore a toupee?

            Who made me most melancholy Hamlet,

            the deadest Romeo who died for his bride?

            Who made me most awful Doctor Jekyll and then made me Hide?

            Stanislavsky! Stanislavsky of the Mosky art!

            Stanislavsky! A director from the heart!

            I’ll never forget first time I meet great master …

            He took me by the hand and beat my head against the

(sound of banging five times) wall

and in one word he tell me the secret of the great Stanislavsky method … Suffer! … That’s all.

            Suffer! You must live before you give!

            Suffer! You must ache before you make!

            Suffer! You must think before you stink!

            Suffer! Suffer! Suffer! Suffer! Suffer! Suffer! Suffer!

            Suffer … and the audience suffers with you.

            Stanislavsky … Stanislavsky …

            I will never forget the day I get first part to play

            They tell me I am to be sailor

            But first I must suffer

            What I’m going to do?

            I join navy … become sailor

            First day out … big storm … It was terrible!

            At first I was afraid I was going to die

            Then I was afraid I wasn’t going to die

            But I suffered

So if you want career on stage

You mustn’t dream of merely acting

Use the Stanislavsky method

Of mental chiropracting

Be a tree, be a sled,

be a purple spool of thread

Be a storm, a piece of lace

A subway train, an empty space

Take it fast, take it slow.

Hello Moe! Hello Joe!

Just got back from a Vaudeville show!

I’ll never forget the day Brooks Atkinson say I stink

I was playing part of stable boy

It was a great Russian tragedy

It was beautiful! Everybody died!

I also played part in great Russian comedy

Everybody died, but they died happy

This makes it funny

But I will never forget the day of my greatest triumph

I am playing part of antique mahogany bureau

So convincing in the third act, my drawers fell out!

And who was the man who loosened my screws?

Who pulled me all apart?

            Stanislavsky! Stanislavsky of the Mosky art!”

            Silvia Fine wrote the song for her husband, Danny Kaye, as she did most of the songs that he sang.

            Slava began to set up the sound for their show. The cords that one of the other acts brought were not compatible with the house system. Someone declared that he was tired of dealing with cords, and asked, “Isn’t this the wireless age?”

            The line-up for the night turned out to be pretty much the same set of performers that I’d seen share the stage on the first occasion that I’d seen Frequency Zed play at the Smiling Buddha a couple of years before.

            There was an extremely talkative man at the bar and on the television above the bar, “Blade”, starring Wesley Snipes, was playing.

            This event was officially the launch of the Frequency Zed single, “TTC”.  Nick was telling me about how he’d made an animated video of the song for the band.

Suddenly there was a loud electronic screech from the sound system as the musicians continued to set up their equipment.

Nick tried to give me the rest of his beverage because he’d accidentally bought a disappointing wheat beer. I turned it down and told him he’d have to “say his prairies”.

Duane Starpilot, one of the opening acts, was drinking a glass of ice water and explained that it’s supposed to loosen up the vocal chords for hitting the higher notes. This is the kind of thing that needs to be researched, so after following up I discovered that muscle function of the voice can be inhibited by cold fluids and relaxed too much by hot fluids. Lots of water is very good to lubricate the voice but it should be taken at room temperature.

The first performer was Nick Love, singing physically alone on stage but backed up by a pre-recorded soundtrack of his band, including himself on lead guitar. The first song was called “Love Will Be Love Today”. Nick Cushing had told me beforehand that Nick’s sound is very 80s in style, and that was clear from the start. Nick’s guitar work on the soundtrack is quite good. Nick Cushing says that he doesn’t understand why the guy doesn’t at least play his guitar at these gigs when his band can’t make it.

The second song had the great title of, “Danger Danger” and the music was fine but the lyrics were nothing to speak of.

“Radio”, his next song had a hooky intro but the hook went away.

It not only looked more like karaoke for Nick to be just standing there and singing with a soundtrack, but his stance, with his thumbs and sometimes his entire hands in his pockets, was extremely undynamic. Nick Cushing called out to Nick Love, asking, “Where’s your guitar?” His answer was that he’d forgotten how to play the guitar solo.

Nick’s soundtrack was being played out of his cellphone and through the house sound system, but it sounded great. The only problem was that while he was singing his composition, “Nature of the Soul”, his phone actually rang, cutting off the music, until he turned it off and continued. It would have been funny and interesting if he’d been able to incorporate the interruption into the song, by actually taking the call and talking for a few seconds.

His physically absent band, called Symphonic Envy, is actually pretty good and it has a good name. The titles for his songs are also interesting, such as “Ominous Plane” – “ … Where the skies are dark, the stars are gone … Break down … on the ground … the world is spinning round … No one can find us anyway on this plane.”

Another song was named “Takers” – “ … Don’t lose control, that’s not the way you know …”

Nick Cushing thinks that Nick Love’s music is sort of a mix between Journey and prog-rock.

I hear Nick’s vocal style to be more that of a crooner than a rock and roll voice.

Bruce March, the bass player for Frequency Zed, and someone that I’ve known for twenty years, came over to where I was sitting to tell me that he was going to buy me a beer later on. While walking away though, he tripped over the cord that was running between Slava’s phone-sized recording device where it was sitting on the coffee table and the wall outlet where it was plugged in. The result was that Slava’s recorder was knocked to the floor, causing, it seems, a piece of the apparatus to come off. Slava spent a lot of time looking for it and I had to get up several times while he kept on moving everything around to try to find it.

Nick Love’s final song was called “You Are”.

Nick Love is a good songwriter of pop-rock tunes and his voice is pleasant to listen to. It’s awkward though to watch someone perform their own material as if it were karaoke. I agree with Nick Cushing that if Love had even brought a recording of his own band without the guitar and had brought his guitar to play along live, it would have made for a much better show than watching someone sing with his hands in his pockets. The titles for his songs suggest that he has some lyrical creativity but that doesn’t show itself much in mediocre poesy of his songs. Perhaps he deliberately holds back in that field to prevent him from sounding too heavy.

When Duane Starpilot was introduced, I began singing, “Staaaaar pilot!” to the tune of  “Sky Pilot” by Eric Burdon and the Animals. When Duane came up to the microphone he acknowledged my chant by saying that he’d actually gone to see Eric Burdon and the Animals a couple of years before, but the only original band members were Burdon and the piano player, while the rest were in their twenties. He didn’t say which original piano player from the Animals that he’d seen though. There had been several.

Like Nick Love, Starpilot played to a backing track, but it was a track that he’d created electronically and he also was playing his guitar live, demonstrating quite well Nick Cushing’s point.

Starpilot’s first song was called “Hollyhocks” – “No one gives a shit … social atrophy, don’t tell me what’s good for me … Need someplace to calm me down … Swallow pride and carry on, always something going on …” The song had kind of a Punk feel, only it was more organized, with a marching beat.

For his next piece he started off kind of scatting in a Punk-Ska style. He has a good voice, and almost sounded like he was yodelling at times and though the music was different, the vocal reminded me of the song “Hocus Pocus” by the Dutch 70s band, Focus. From the song – “Slips on his brain and thinks he’ll never be the same … He climbs the stairs to find the roof … It’s just a way to hide … Over actor … It’s too late … Haunted captor …”

His guitar work was quite interesting and overall he laid down a wide variety of sounds.

He said that his next offering was a My Bloody Valentine cover. He got very animated during the strumming instrumental break.

His next was perhaps called, “There’s a Soul In Your Head” and the guitar work was kind of funky, but this song and some of his others do not end well. They just suddenly stop, with no transition.

From another song – “ … It’s just another angle that you move through life …” A lot of Starpilot’s music has an 80s feel.

There was an instrumental piece with the title, “The Future Is Not The Past”. He uses quite an eclectic mix of styles in his song writing.

Next, Starpilot performed a cover of  “Whoever You Are” by the Brian Jonestown Massacre, and was dancing as he began to play and sing – “I will take you for a ride deep inside, won’t beg you step inside, please …”

Between songs, Starpilot needed to tune his guitar. Nick commented that he needs more than one guitar and someone to just hand him a tuned one when he needs it.

From his last song – “ …What is the point of all this, of everything you feel you’ve got to do … I can see how everything’s a mess … I would kill every single one of you if I could …” It ended with a dramatic guitar solo with lots of sustained, vibrating notes.

Duane Starpilot is an eclectic songwriter with some interesting lyrics, good guitar playing and a dynamic performance style. His ability to digitally create the sounds of a backup band is also quite impressive.

Slava’s recording device was not working after the accident, so he asked Nick Cushing if he would record the frequency Zed show. He told him he would but said to me that his field recorder is not good for loud concerts.

It was quarter to midnight when Frequency Zed took to the stage. Slava spoke into the mic, “Testicles, one, two, three …”

From the first song – “ … I feel so down inside of destiny … the walls are turning back … A creature of the night … a stranger to yourself …”

Frequency Zed is mostly a prog-rock band and Slava and Bruce are quite good. I think though that they need a better drummer to match the quality of their playing.

Slava tells us that in their studio in the Junction their neighbours keep asking them to turn it down.

All of the songs they did on this occasion were written by Zedman Slavinsky, but I know that Bruce also writes songs. I have yet to hear him play them though.

They did their song “Never Late To Party”, which has lines such as – “Always late for school, never late to party … Always late for work, never late to party …”

Another song was “Thick As My Prick III” – “ … Karma’s gonna get you, karma for everyone …” with some very heavy guitar.

In another more pop-rock styled tune, Slava sang – “ … I wanna fly away … I gotta try … Starlit sky …” Slava told us that the song was a big hit in Vulgaria.

Slava said, “Never trust a digital tuner. I wish I’d that sooner.”

Their next song was more of a Heavy Metal piece called “Anthrophobia”, and it had a strong guitar solo by Slava.

Judging from his voice and the nature of his comments between songs, I’m pretty sure that Slava was a bit drunk at this point.

Slava asked us, “How do you kiss a girl where it smells?” and then he answered, “Take her to Hamilton.”

Then it was time for the song around which this event was built. Slava called their new single a “folk song” – “Ride the rocket, ride ride the rocket … I’m late for a date with the girl of my dreams … TTC, TTC, the better way for you and me … out of service … I got tired of waiting, so I started to walk … They don’t care if you’re late because when they go on strike, they will still get paid …”

They followed this with “Queen of Darkness” – “ … My queen of darkness, she has taken me away …”

Between songs, Slava started making a comparison between Canadian and US money, saying, “US money looks cheap, but they got all the money in the world!”

Bruce the drummer said to him, “Come on! Don’t scare people off!”

Their next song had the musical feel of an anthem – “ … Endless possibilities … the actors getting laid and getting paid … The world’s a nightmare or a dream …” For the only time that night, during this song Bruce March was given space for a bass solo. Afterward the song continued. I was exhausted. I leaned my head against the vibrating wall and went to sleep for just a few seconds, but long enough to have a dream that Satoshi Nagasaki, the mega-guitarist waiting at the other end of the couch to go on stage after Frequency Zed, was the manager of a food co-op and he was giving away free food.

Nagasaki and Bruce March were the only people in the bar that didn’t drink any alcohol that night. Satoshi nursed a bottle of spring water for hours, while Bruce brought his own green tea. This couldn’t be said for Slava, who I think was pretty hammered by that point. The drummer, Bruce Brandao was looking a little drunk as well. He noticed that the movie, “Rocky”, was playing above the bar and he shouted, “Give it up for Rocky Balboa! I fucking love that movie!”

Their last song of the night was another progressive rock song called “Burn Baby Burn” – “I still can hear your crystal voice … I’ve got to look for someone new to please my necrophilia …”

Slava thanked everyone for coming to their show.

Zedman Slavinsky writes songs in a variety of styles and though his lyrics are not generally great poetry and are often clichéd, some of the images are interesting. It’s in his guitar playing that Slava truly shines, and he may be one of the best rock guitarists in Toronto. I think though that Frequency Zed though would benefit from Slava not drinking so much at his shows. Also, although Slava can manage as the lead singer, the band might get further if they had a professional lead singer who can more easily hit the notes than Slava.

Bruce March’s contribution to the band as a bass player is considerable, and I think the quality of his playing is a good match for Slava’s guitar.

Bruce Brandao, while an adequate drummer, is less of a fit for Frequency Zed. I think that a polyrhythmic percussionist would top up the abilities of the rest of the band.

I would have liked to stay to watch and hear Nagasaki play his giant guitar, which is its own light show. I heard him at my first Frequency Zed show and his playing really was impressive. It was at least 1:00 though by the time Frequency Zed had finished and I was dead. I had to get home.

Slava was nice enough to give me a copy of their “TTC” single.

            I walked out into the pouring rain and saw Starpilot smoking in a doorway. I told him that I’d really enjoyed his set. I think I was pretty well soaked even before I’d unlocked my bike. At least home was only ten minutes away.