Well, here I am again. Here you are again too, if you live in Ontario, anyway. Betty and I are pretty lucky, I am mobile enough that I can go out and pick up anything we need from the mall which is located in our backyard. We have been using the lockdown to develop our relationship and have had a great time doing so.
Last week’s column generated some positive feedback, and I appreciate those who took the time to get in touch with me. As a writer, I want to inform people and let them know that they are not alone and that there are resources and opinions available to assist them in resolving the situation that they are dealing with. I will be doing more writing about toxic people, but this week I will write about something a little more pleasant, a bit easier to read.
I’ve had all sorts of ideas and nonsense going through my mind for the past several days. Some quiet reflection in a totally silent house (that means no music), some on walks in this spectacular weather, memories that keep replaying in my mind translating into some very weird and disjointed dreams, very late nights and very late mornings. It’s a strange sensation feeling like everything rapidly circles around me while I stand still, unsure of the direction I should move in. Like you’re a part of something…..but then you’re not, standing on the outside looking in. I have no idea what’s going on, maybe the planets have misaligned or someone’s in retrograde, or maybe this whole fucking COVID thing has finally hit me. This too shall pass…..it always does.
The second of what will hopefully be many memories from a life of both rock and roll, not to mention radio, television, drinking, and debauchery. Shall we begin?
I’m in London, Ontario attending Forest City London Music Week and the awards gala. Hanging my hat at home with my mom. Music was a huge part of my life growing up whether it was inside or outside the home. In the 1970s London was filled with clubs and bars covering everything from punk, rock, jazz, blues, folk to disco. Venues included The Cedar Lounge, The Diamond Club, Fryfogles Tavern (I celebrated my 18th birthday there), Old City Hall, Kelly’s, Mingles, The Noodle Factory, The West End, Smales Pace, Ridout Tavern…..just to name a few. There was something for literally everyone. Major concert venues included Wonderland Gardens (my favourite spot), Centennial Hall and Treasure Island Gardens…..the latter located way out of town near Highway 401.
It’s Tuesday. It’s sunny. It’s summer…..with a vengeance! It must be “writing day” since it’s not raining and miserable. As I sit and stare out the front window my mind is a complete blank, overwhelmed with the proverbial “to do” list, my brain is at the point where it’s decided to wipe itself clean. The human hard drive. No back up. Just select “reformat” and be done with it. A blank page which is basically what I’m looking at. As my mind drifts into nothingness, you know that stare you get when you’re looking but not really “seeing”. Yep, that’s it. I could close my eyes and…..God forbid!!!!……nap!!!!
Let me start by stating I am not a “political” person. I follow what’s going on the world to keep myself current but I don’t read nor do I decipher every minutiae that is written about “he who shall not be shamed” or anyone else for that matter. However, the latest in a very long string of accusations of sexual misconduct/harassment, particularly here in Ontario, well…..I’ve about had enough. I posted this in Facebook a few days ago and, generally, the respondents agree with me. What follows in a slightly edited version.
“For the first time in years, eons even, I sat down to read something other a computer screen (except for Tom Wilson’s book Beautiful Scars). This time it was the newspaper. The National Post actually. For some mysterious reason it keeps appearing on my front porch at least six out of seven days a week. But I digress…… Continue reading
I’m going to sneak one in this week. I miss writing and Tuesday’s column by fellow writer Frank Gutch Jr. has motivated me. “War stories” of a different type….addiction…”the fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance or activity.” (Oxford Dictionary) In this case, I’m referring specifically to “a particular substance”.
I drove a pace car last Friday. A tiny, hot pink pace car….from Sarnia to London, Ontario….at the top speed of 10k/hr. It took 12 hours. I drove this hot pink pace car with my sister as the passenger. …so you see, I’m not the only person in my family that likes to have fun. But my sister, she likes crazy fun….really crazy fun.
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Yessirreee….it’s that time once again. My dawgs are barking, my body’s aching and wondering what the hell I’m doing to it. Ahhhh….CMW. It’s been such a busy four days and the party hasn’t even started yet.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 