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Went Dancin’ Last Night

10 Mar

Went dancing last night. Yes, I know, disbelievers, but I do dance. No, not by myself.

Seems S-S and I crashed a party. We’ve done that before at a Parrot-Head convention in Key West but that’s another story.

For the first Twenty minutes or so of music we were the only couple dancing, the sole, single solitary couple. An eerie feeling. Had we crashed a funeral? So we took a break and went outside for a bit of fresh air.

Well it seems that before dancing can start there must be three conditions met:

  1.  Wine and beer must be consumed in copious quantities
  2. The meal must be served

And then the most important condition of all: 3. The DJ must play Alice. You know, Alice. A little dittie about living next door to Alice. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.

The tune started. The dance floor was instantly packed, like the Tokyo subway in rush hour

You haven’t lived until you’ve seen and heard 60, 70 and 80 year olds screaming out the improvised, four-letter add-on to the song. On one level I see it as  a celebration of life; on the other hand, aren’t they just ‘dirty old people’?

I tend to lean to the former since I was also up there yellin’ and hootin’.

Living Next Door to Alice

Living Next Door to Alice

Here is a link to the song just in case you are still pretending to not know what I’m talking about.

There now, aren’t you happy you are enlightened. I know some of my children think I walk on water and am above such crass things as dancing but the truth is, life is too good to just keep getting your feet wet, and I do like to dance.

And for those of you who still claim to have not known the song your life education is now complete and you have discovered a new ear worm that you can hum along to in a crowded elevator or in a business meeting. See who joins in.

It’s Tough Being A Cool Dude

27 Feb

Went to a blues jam session today. Had to wear my “cool dude hat”. S-S says that if I have to call it a cool dude hat I ain’t a cool dude. We cool dudes ignore comments like that, most of the time.

Cool Dude Hat

Cool Dude Hat

Six months ago S-S told me I should be wearing said hat more straight. As if cool dudes wear their hats straight! So, I jumped right on it to check, that is, six months later, today. I noticed that if the hat brim was straight, the crown was off. If the crown was straight the brim was off. S-S said the hat’s OK. It’s my head that’s off.  Cool dudes ignore comments like that, most of time.

So off to the jam session we go, cool dude and fashion/posture critic. It’s said that in a bar after drinking four or five beer you see only beautiful people there. I don’t drink beer so I have trouble finding the beautiful people. But I do drink lemonade. After four or five lemonades I don’t look for the beautiful people, I’m looking for the bathroom. Trying to hop to the distant loo, through the crowd,  with my legs crossed, and one hand holding on to my cool dude hat is something only a cool dude can handle.

Coming out of said facility, I hear, “Hey, cool hat, dude!” Yes, vindication! Cool dudes don’t ever ignore comments like that. Waiter, five more lemonades!

Mowing the House, Or Green Grow the Houses, O

22 Feb

I always thought mowing the friggin’ driveway was  challenge.

I’d like to meet the person who has to do this house in Wales. I showed it to Brute. He said it made his wheels feel sore just looking at it.

How do you mow this?

How do you mow this?

How do they do the fiddly bits around the windows?

I Could’a Been A Star

30 Jan

Went to a blues jam session today. The sound of the harmonica brought back a flood of memories. I could’a been a star!

horses-behindPicture this: London 1956. The Boy Scout troop, the Kiwis. My patrol, the Peewits (I kid you not.) We are going to put on a big concert in the local school. I loved to sing; therefore I must have a great voice. I auditioned and ended up as part of a dancing horse, the hind part; OK the horse’s rear end; OK  then, as the horse’s arse! I could’a been a star!

Now picture this. It’s the mid ’60s. I am a camp counselor. Off to sing campfire songs. I bought myself a guitar thinking someone at camp would be able to give some lessons. With guitar on my back, Kumbaya  and Michael Row The Boat Ashore dancing through my head I hitchhiked to the camp.  Watch out Joan Baez and Peter, Paul and Mary.  It was the ’60s remember. But, surprise, surprise, no-one at that darned camp knew how to play a guitar! So no-one got to hear my chords, my plunking away, my embryonic talent. It might have helped also if I knew how to tune the thing. Eventually gave it away to a nursery school teacher who claimed to be able to play it. Hah! I could’a been a star!

scared-dog-4Many years later my innate musical talents burst forth again to entertain the world. I bought a harmonica. Oh those sweet sounds from my harp, the blues world beckoning me. Watch out Little Walter, Charlie Musselwhite and the like, ‘Blues Barry’ is coming to town. I practised and practised. ‘Where’s the catch?’ you might ask. That came in the form of our little wheaten terrier, Ginny, who for some reason or other didn’t like my playing style. Now a normal dog when frightened will run away and hide after a bark or two. Not Ginny. She would come and sit in front of me, eyes wide, trembling, shaking, quivering, quaking, glued to the carpet, upon which she would then pee profusely. ‘Stop it, you’re scaring the dog,’ would come the yell from the kitchen. No mercy from the critics. No more harmonica playing. I could’a been a star!

Early Rising

15 Jan

people-who-get-up-earlyHad to get up early just the other day. What an experience!

There I was downtown at 9:00. Yes, that’s 9:00 in the morning! Shops were open. People were walking around, even talking to each other. And I hadn’t even had my coffee yet

Sometimes it’s good to break routines and find out how others live in this world. But let’s not get carried away. This is not the new norm. Thank goodness I could recuperate with an afternoon nap. Life can be tough sometimes but only we the strong will survive.

9:00 a.m.. Who invented such an ungodly hour!

 

‘Nuff Said, Friday the 13th

13 May

Have you ever had one of those days when you wake up early at the ungodly hour of 9:30, stagger to the bathroom, and on looking in the mirror you can’t figure out whether you nose hairs are growing down into you moustache or your moustache hairs up into your nose,  and you you should probably go back to bed? Yes, I’m sure you all have. It’s Friday  13th. ‘Nuff said.

Friday 13th May 2016Yes, that is snow today. Temperature soared to 0°C. It’s May, Friday 13th.  ‘Nuff said.

Went shopping. On coming home the garage door opened to let the car in but then wouldn’t close all the way and decided to remain jammed halfway. Car trapped inside. Had to check the mechanism box: gear and worm screw stripped and need replacement. Oh joy! Me and electricity and mechanical repairs. Better check medical insurance. Friday 13th. ‘Nuff said.

Meanwhile discovered  a lone can of soda pop, carelessly left in the garage fridge over the -30°C winter, had decided to explode. It has hardened, solidified, something like granite. S-S hasn’t volunteered to clean it up. Friday 13th. ‘Nuff said.

Back into the bathroom after all this trauma, checked into the mirror to see how much I’ve aged over the past few hours. Horror! My eyebrows now grow up vertically! But I only just turned thirty some forty years ago. The eyebrow bush has become a tangled jungle reaching up my forehead! I’m beginning to look Like a mad scientist, or even worse, a blog writer!  Maybe I’ll get a new mirror. Happy Friday 13th. ‘Nuff said.

 

 

Some People Just Can’t Seem To Take A Compliment

17 Jan

 

Sometimes no matter how hard I try I can’t get people to appreciate my generosity, my admiration for the results of their hard work.

Recently S-S and I with friends had the unpleasure of having to renovate a condo that tenants had basically trashed after living there for nine years. Big ugh factor. We essentially spent the entire Christmas and New Years period doing major – and I mean MAJOR – cleaning painting and flooring. Big time Ack on this stuff! Not my favourite activity! No way, especially at Christmas. ‘Holmes on Holmes’ can keep this non-delight to himself and his minions,

Anyway, S-S was doing a major cleanup of the door knobs that were covered in tape and paint and some other disgusting grey stuff that was its own ecosystem. She was using Brasso and some liquid that would remove skin, warts and nasal hairs. The results were fantastic. The door knobs glowed a soft pewter-brass, like sun through a light mist on a summer’s day. I was so impressed with the excellent result. But had breathed in too many paint fumes. I merely said,

“That’s fantastic! You’re the Queen of the Knobs!”

offwith his headThe look I got was one of “Off with his head!” or some body part lower down.

I tell ya, some people just can’t seem to take a compliment.

 

Birds in Trees and Watch the Hallelujahs

19 Jun

Many, many, many years ago I was teaching an evening art history course at Sheridan College in , Oakville, ON.
It was early April and stinking hot. The school had stuck us in  a portable, no air conditioning. Everybody had just bought brand new $80 (expensive in those days) text books: big, fat, and heavy, with lottsa pretty pictures. A student suggested we have the class outside, plein air, under the shade of a big oak tree.  Birds were singing in the tree, evening song; hundreds of them.

A slight cooling breeze came up. “Hallelujah”, I shouted in the cooling zephyr.

They're smarter then we think!

They’re smarter then we think!

“Screech, squawk, croak,” went 500+ birds taking flight.

“Screech, squawk, croak, Aaagh Eeuw!” went 30 students as 500 fleeing birds crapped all over their brand new $80 text books, and their hair, and their faces, and their  clothes.
Me, I wasn’t under the tree. A fact soon noticed by what was becoming an avian-poop-encased mob.
“Oh”, I quietly whispered, “Shall we call it a night?”
Silence. No birds. No students. It happened so quickly.

Of String Bikinis and Christmases Past

13 Apr

Have you ever had one of those moments when what you thought would happen, wished would happen, didn’t? Like that time at Christmas long ago when you so wanted a new bike or that record player. Instead all you got was a box of crayons, or even worse, clothes!

 

String Bikini Fantasy

String Bikini Fantasy

My most recent moment was a few days ago. S-S and a friend I’ll call Super-D were shopping in a local market. They stopped and started handling string bikinis. Little itsy bitsy teenie weenie string bikinis. Heaven on earth.

My heart started pounding harder, and faster, and faster. Drool and sweat started to flow. I was starting to dehydrate.

 
Then with that sense that only wives have S-S, without even turning around, said,

“Cool it. We’re just admiring the hangers.”

Hangers??? Hangers!!! It was like that Christmas all those years ago. So high, then so low. Oh the humanity!