To a great man.

So, this isn't what I am very good at.  I think, if you'll permit me, I am good at a few things.  I think I can lighten the mood at a gathering with a relatively well time jab at someone (oftentimes myself).  I think I can offer advice in the standard situations, the absent boyfriend, the judgmental girlfriend, the overbearing parents, and maybe even as we get older, the rambunctious children.  I think I, as a reasonable man (get off my case), am a decent dispenser of half decent advice.  But in situations like this, I find myself out of sorts.  How does an otherwise healthy, lively, and genuinely nice guy, of 40 years, find himself dead?  The short answer is: I don't know.  Well, I suppose I know what happened...after spending the evening with one of my best friends, Ryan, I have been filled in on the details.  But HOW does is happen?  Let's start off by saying: It shouldn't, and I need to change the subject.

Roy was a real nice guy, and that's not a title I just throw around.  There are a lot of friends I have that are decent human beings, but not too many of them are real nice guys (sorry dudes, but yo now it's true).  I got to know Roy while I was working at a place uptown.  He was like a surrogate family member to a family I happened to hold in (the highest) high regard, and I got to know him through them.  Over the years this fine gentleman charmed me, not only through treating me to drinks, but also through treating me to his outlooks on life.  As an avid reader I connected with him right away; there are very few bartenders in town who can debate the finer points of Kilgour Trout's philosophy, while also discussing Ignatius J. Reilly's popcorn consumption - Roy was one of those few and he took the time, regardless of how packed his bar was, or how packed my section was, to discuss it in detail, always with a luminescent smile.

We spent times in various bars in north york with friends discussing literature and travel, and while admittedly, I wasn't his best friend - there were many who spent more time with him than me, or had known him longer - I aways felt a warm spot for this guy.  He was 40, very well read and very well travelled and 100% enjoyed the life he had carved out for himself (how many among us can say the same?).

Ryan and I talked about Roy tonight, for most of the night.  We talked about what it was that people took pride in, where their life was concerned.  What was it that really drove us?  For some it's an afterlife, for some it is living life to fullest, and for some it's about leaving behind children who carry on one's legacy.  But as we talked, it felt like to me, that in the last seconds of my life, I would like to look back on it, and say "Yup, that'll do!".  Not that I hope to have the greatest life ever lived, but that I hope to have a a life that I was proud to have lived.  In my world view you only get a second to reflect before it is all in the past (becoming a was instead of an is), but if I was him, in that last second, as it slipped away, I would have looked back and said: "Yup, that'll do!".

I hope Roy found peace in the end.  And I hope that my good friends who are going to miss him take a bit of solace in that peace.  And at the end of the day they remember a gentleman who took life seriously enough to make the most of it, but never too seriously that he got bogged down in it.  I look forward to raising a glass with you all this week to a good, scratch that, a great man.  See you soon.

Unions, Socialism and the mystifying Stigma

I was at my brother's house this weekend helping him put up a deck. Not the best way to spend a long weekend but I really didn't have anything better to do...I understand that my life is boring so back off. Anyway, we (my father, brother, uncle and a friend of my brother's) worked from about 1pm to about 6pm, mixing concrete, drilling holes, shovelling dirt and generally having a pretty decent time as far as hard labour goes. When we finished the day's work my sister in law had prepared a meal for us as a "thank-you". She made some excellent pulled pork, which I believe was the first time she had ever made it which made it all the more impressive, and some delicious salads. My brother John threw some burgers on the bbq and cracked me a steam whistle - very nice of him to buy my favorite beer since I know he hates it.

We sat eating and drinking and we got around to discussing the garbage strike in Toronto. As an aside you should know that me and my brother constantly argue about the value of unions. So while my brother and the rest start expounding on how the unions are so greedy and how they should be forced back to work or be fired I came to the union's defence, as I often do. As soon as I started my brother says he doesn't want to talk about it because he is bored with the argument that we always have. His friend and girlfriend then pipe up with "unions make people lazy". Now I have heard this before and it shocks me how little people are willing to apply a little bit of logical analysis to the statement. If unions make people lazy then all people in unions must be lazy. Which is false. If they have met lazy union workers and make the leap that all union members are lazy well that is like meeting Hitler and saying all white people are genocidal maniacs.

But, having heard this statement before (always from Laurier grads, one of whom told me that her business prof taught her that - don't even get me started on that) I switch the question to socialism in general. Is socialism bad? I ask. To which they all reply if I like that I may as well be a communist (to which I chuckled) and I asked them what was wrong with that.

The answer rang down like it always does "Communism (and by extention socialism) is a good idea in theory." This is the most inane statement anyone can ever make and yet it continues to be used. Because past communist countries have "failed" then communism doesn't work. Well tell that to the Chinese who own America, or tell it to the Socialist Scandinavians how have the lowest infant mortality rates in the world, or tell it to the Cubans who have more doctors per capita than any "successful" "capitalist" country.

Anyway, just makes me wonder where (besides from imbecillic Laurier profs) people get their irrational fear of socialism. And why is that the people with the most strongly held beliefs against it are so often practicing christians? Could it be that these people are just susceptible to being brainwashed in their early childhood? I remember being told how evil Russia was and how Jesus would protect me; I also remember being told how generous Santa Claus was but I disabused myself of all those notions as I got older.

Bag Lady / Bag Man

Taking the night bus down Yonge st. in Toronto in the middle of the night is an ill advised activity at the best of times. But sometimes after a night of imbibery north of Sheppard one is too drunk to be concerned with the annoyances one may confront taking the "Vomit Comet". I was in such a state one night last week and was treated to some rather interesting scenes.

First there is a young man (maybe 20) with a big piece of Sony Stereo hardware still in box taking up two seats. He spots two nerdy teenagers and gives them the the finger rubbing sign for money and then look sat the stereo. Unbelievable, this dude is trying to sell a stereo (likely stolen) on a bus full of people. Classic. The kids shake their heads and the guy just smiles and nods. Later he engages and late 20 something man with the same proposition. The 20 something shakes his head but the two continue to talk for the rest of the ride - fast friends as it were.

As I am continuing to ride, with my head buried in a book at this point (Marx, Das Kapital V III - reading it drunk is a complete waste because I have to reread the part when sober, but it never stops me from trying). I notice a rather pungent aroma invading my airspace; I look around to see an old gentleman (hobo) carrying about 8 plastic bags filled with his affects. It's always interesting for me to watch the (presumably) homeless when they are forced to interact with society. He was quiet and reserved, but his eyes were constantly darting about, as if making sure no one was going to make a move on his precious cargo. Others had noticed the smell at this point, some kids chuckled to each other, people made eyecontact with one another and shared eyerolls. I pretended to read whilst observing the old-timer.

A little further down the line a bag lady got on, rare to see a bag man and a bag lady on the same bus (but not so strange on the 320 Blue Night Bus). The two spotted each other right away, but didn't approach each other. There was no attempt made to engage each other in conversation, to discuss the daily events or to commiserate on the upcoming winter. I found that rather odd, here are two people who clearly share some things in common. Two people who certainly could understand each other much better than anyone else on the bus could, and yet they seemed to avoid each other. Almost as if a mutual disgust was all they really shared, or a shame in how low they had sunk.

As I continued to watch, and the two bag people continued to avoid eye contact with each other the bus slowly rocked it's way down the street. The bus made it to Dundas Square the bag lady rang the bell, the bus stopped and she approached the door but she was having trouble getting off the bus, the bag man noticed and stood up, leaving his own bags unattended in order to attempt to help his fellow homeless get off the bus. This was a far cry from the distain they seemed to feel a few moments ago. When he was right beside her he offered his help, she yelled at him "Not to fucking touch her" and went off into the night. The bag man hung his head and sat back down with his bags, sheepishly trying to avoid the prying eyes of the passengers of the 320.