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I cannot help but wonder… What has become of the outlaw? Daddy was a bank robber, but he never hurt nobody. He just liked to live that way; AND, he liked to steal your money.

J walking across this life of mine, I find myself back in this quite insignificant of places For those of you [in Brooklyn] who did not pay close attention in 9th grade geography, This place is the vast chunk of land just north of Watertown New York. Home to a simple bunch of folk, who much like yourselves are addicted to Survivor, American Idol and polyunsaturated fats. However, unlike yourselves, we continue to look to the Queen as the head of both our political and spiritual well being… Oh, and… we have your fucking oil. All the oil you will ever need! [look it up]

Do NOT roll your eyes back into the hole in your head… this is NOT about that most boring of subjects spoken in what you call America, Canada… this is about You, US. This is about the end of the greatest experiment in human history… this is about the end of that great entrepreneurial exodus from the open sewer that was, IS, and shall ever more be known as what Donald Rumsfeld calls, the OLD Europe. This is about US, US recently apologetic Indian killers…

What has become of US?

Was it really all just simply mythology? Did US really ever exist? I mean, I’ve been taught of the great struggles for greatness… The war of Independence, the war of the States, the fight for human rights, women’s rights… Gay rights, oh for Gods sake let us NOT forget GAY rights? Oh and the rights of some oxyconten pumpin’ right wing wingnuts right to spew, for advertising dollar, right to raisie sometime humorous opinions, but mostly just simple garble over the so called public airwaves. While, so meanwhile the so called smart amongst us smugly, use our rights in a just air of superiority to say, “Well, that’s just dumb”. As is our right.

Did we ever hold a monopoly on progress? After trading in our slaves for corporate run farms and the subsequent subsidies to counteract the deficits run-up while raising corn and cotton with PAID labor… did we manage to improve the human condition? Some might say what we managed to do was to invent a means to sell ourselves, a PR machine… television, the devise, oh so appropriately devised to shout our achievements before we achieved them. Witness Nadia Comaneci’s perfect 10. Witness the Ayatollahs blindfolding the end of Jimmy’s failed Presidency.

Eisenhower, a Republican warned… beware the industrial military complex; Nixon, a Republican, ended Kennedy and Johnson’s poorly executed defense against global communism; Lincoln, the FIRST republican president freed the slaves, but more importantly re-stitched together a restless union of over zealous states into a union that would one day defeat the Soviet Union… Speaking of THAT, recall another republican, Ronald Reagan performing a stand up Comedy routine that exposed the Marxist farce and landed us where we are today… Right back where we were 500, 600 years ago. Trying to fight back that third incarnation of mono-theseilogy. Damn Jews! Why couldn’t you just let the gods of Egypt well enough alone.

I have spent the last six weeks without television; So tell me, what’s going on. I saw a fella asking people for change so that he could get something to drink on my street; AND my pal told me about a protest he attended to save a grove of weeping willows along the last stretch of public beach here in the west end of the city of Toronto; but, what’s going on? What’s the latest score in Iraq? Have the murderous Imperial hordes, US imperialistic Christian thugs moved ahead of the Islamo-Faciast yet??? Who holds the body count; which one of us too armed two-legged omnivorous bipedal kings of the food chain life forms are winning the game of killing each other in the name of fake words written by dead poets within the last 2000 years. Oh right, neither… the virus, bacteria, smoking, and car accidents as always, hold the winning cards. All hail Cancer in all it various omnipresent and victorious forms!

The invention of problems seems unstoppable. Our mortgages are too high as the black kid from up the street squeezes the trigger and sets off alarm bells all over the City of Toronto, which has for so many years so smugly enjoyed the blessings as Michael Moores poster boy for a gun free society. Hybrid cars get nowhere near the gas mileage they say they do. Peak Oil looms as we nonchalantly begin to, more frequently BUY our water in bottles rather than just filling a glass from the tap.

This is not a hue and cry. I beg you to do nothing. The Atlantic elevator that shifts the warm tropical waters from the equator towards the cooling influence of the northern icecap has already started to fail. There are those among us who honestly believe that considering that we caused all these problems that we actually have the were-with-all to do something about it. To those folks, I say bully, g’don ya mate, and oh by the way, d’ya know who won last nights match?

NOT A Sam Kinison Scream… No surrender; but more a humorous notion that despite all these glorious FUCK UPS… some form of US will survive. I do truly believe this. I used to believe it would be some nuke soaked three eyed, sterile mutation of our current form; now I believe it may be some oil deprived refugee… struggling to find that last sip of potable water; water for which we all fought and died for in the next last of the that last wars, with Canada no less… that last of the last sips… somewhere just north of Winnipeg, the city where I was born… A city in a province of Canada that holds more fresh water than any other so called country on this Earth. I would tell you the actual location of this water… but then… sorry, my son would have to kill you.

Sometime this week I will be leaving this wretched city… For the next few weeks; or until the “plan” is finally hatched I have decided to park myself in Brockville. The genesis of the idea for this move was my freaky rooming-house land-lady kicking me out after deciding I gave her a bad vibe. If anyone has any thoughts on this bad vibe of mine, please fill me in.

Bad vibe, from criminey-sakes! What the hell is that? I mean if she had told me she didn’t like seeing me wandering drowsily to and from the toilet in the middle of the night dressed only in my dirty old gich; OR if she had told me that the rotting half a roast of lamb left over from a wonderful Easter dinner with my folks she found in the vegetable crisper in the fridge had bothered her; OR if she had been offended by some offhanded political comments I may have made while she was ranting on in her oh so smug left-leaning never-ending commentary about her oh so interesting life in this oh so dreary town… I might have determined to try to rectify the situation; plead my case and tried to stay on. As it played out, she told me of my vibe problems; I responded simply “OK” and went about my normal business. I have decided that her “6 weeks of knowing me” critique of my vibe was about as meaningful an opinion on my “vibe” as say the opinions expressed by the cab driver who drove me home from one of any number of bars I frequented last month. I remain confident that my vibe is just fine but, perhaps over prudently, I will keep my mind open to the concept that perhaps my vibe could use a bit of fine-tuning.

Although I have played out a number of scenarios, I will not seek revenge for this attack on my vibe; I will not call the City of Toronto’s Tenants Association to inquire on the validity of “vibe related” evictions; I will not seek out the services of the City of Toronto’s building department to report an un-permitted renovation to her bathroom; nor will I flip her a finger and make some reference to the fact that she’s just an old dried out bitch-hag who has sunken too deeply into this self-delusional idea that this house of hers is some kind of “international creative person’s oasis in the sea of an uncaring corporate driven city of un-feeling doom”… I will settle on the best revenge being my continuing to live vibrantly.

So, I move out of the Baden Street room and into the small town of Brockville Ontario. The small town of Brockville has become my family’s un-official hometown. I was not raised there, but my Aunt Sue the official Matriarch of my family raised her seven children there, we visited often. Also after an almost 36 year tradition of Thanksgiving dinners in the great old house by the river… Being in Brockville always feels like a homecoming. The fact that it’s on the St. Lawrence River… I will not get into that here.

My last visit to the small town of Brockville was two weekends ago. Upon that visit I was reminded that my cousin Doug who sails with his brother, my cousin John had secured his own boat for the racing season and would no longer be sailing with my cousin John. An opening; at the time it was wishful thinking that I could fill it. After all traveling from Toronto to Brockville every Tuesday and Thursday and most weekends would not only be time consuming, but also cost me $188 return each time I did it. My bad vibe to the rescue! It would seem after this eviction, I could not come up with one single reason to continue to live in the City of Toronto. Yo, bitch Land Lady, thanks for the invitation to spend a few weeks sailing with my cousin John.

I’m pretty pumped about this move to a small town. I grew up in a small town, and it’s been a while since I spent more than a weekend in a small town. Perhaps it will help in our future plans to live in an even smaller town. We’ll see what comes of it.

Right now; I’m gathering up my gear here. I’ll see if this experience generates anything remotely interesting enough to post here. At the very least, I will post our race results each Tuesday and Thursday and the occasional weekend we do the regattas.