Very few enterprises begin their days with as much jocundity and hubris as Thicke of the Night at its inchoation. Fred Silverman’s latest blockbuster proclaimed itself to be a new and bold spring morning that would lead moribund late-night entertainment out of its dark and dreary winter. The talk show format had become stale and uninteresting. A pallid and tiresome visitor in the sexless bedrooms of America.
The battle continues to rage over what stays and what goes in the purging of my suburban bungalow. And if you think you’re sick of hearing about it, try living it. It’s mindboggling. It’s the longest and most brutal ride ever.
Of late I’ve been finding myself going through my album collection to find something, anything worthwhile to listen to during my 13 ½ hour shifts patrolling cemeteries in Toronto. I’m lucky enough to be driving a current model Dodge Avenger – which is a Dodge Charger on steroids – with a sound system that rocks. It’s fun to toss in a disc while I’m issuing fines to people for letting their dogs piss on tombstones or skiers running rip shod over graves.
A short rewind this week to May of 2005 and a road trip to Cleveland to see the re-united New York Dolls. It first appeared in Gasoline Magazine which was owned by Darryl Fine from the Bovine. It was a great full-colour glossy free mag but ran out of money when the ads stopped coming. Darryl, photographer Laurence Laberge, and I loaded into my Toyota Highlander and headed off to the home of the Rock’n’Roll Hall of Fame.
Radio – Same Ol’ Same Ol’
I don’t listen to the radio much these days…okay….sometimes when I’m driving but that’s mostly for road and weather reports. Music….not so much. What music I do hear is the rotation of the same songs or the same tired formula over and over and over…. I will admit I tune into Q107 but that’s more for the DJ banter and the stories than the music. ….and the commercials, on any station, send me over the edge!
Denmark. Home of danish pastry. Kind of. The Danish, one of the States’ most treasured pastries, might easily have been labeled the Austrian but for the Great Danish Pastry Strike of 1850. Seems like the strikers told the bakeries to take a flying suck at a rolling donut (or Danish, if you prefer), so the bakeries imported artisans from Austria. Now that, sports fans, is interesting. If you like Danishes, anyway. Or Denmark.
I have amazing friends.
Without them, I would be eating cardboard by the middle of the month, getting drunk by mixing Windex with Tang, or chugging bottles of Listerine, and enjoying snow on a 17 inch B&W TV while I licked pictures of popcorn.
It was one of these friends who made it possible for me to endure stepping out into what I can only describe as a Montreal Winter in the normally mild confines of Toronto, not once, but twice, last week.
Because he secured invites to a party for and tickets to a screening of a documentary about a time and place and group of people that has been 20 years in the making…and invited me along.