stranger in a strange land

Christmas Eve...I'm on my own and it suits me fine. No sadness, no self-pity, no tree, no gifts - but also no forced jolly jaunty happiness and dinners with relatives one can't stand. A little boring, though, I'll grant you that.

It's about minus 10 outside, a lot of crusty snow on the lawns, sheathed in a layer of ice. Lots of slush and dirty snow on the roads. Not the ideal weather for walking but I didn't want to skip my daily constitutional altogether, so I set out into the frosty streets. I was glad to be in Toronto, where there are still plenty of places open on Christmas Eve; lots of Jewish families flocking to the conservative Shul on Eglinton - it is after all, Friday night. And other families, Jewish, Chinese, Korean - people for whom it's just another frigid Friday - dining in Chinese restaurants and pizza parlours.

After walking for about an hour, snug in my touque and long johns, I returned to my delightfully overheated apartment and surfed the net for the rest of the night.

Christmas Day: it began innocuously enough - I made myself a large cup of java and a couple of toasts, read emails, practiced my guitar, all good. Then, around 11 AM, I made the fatal mistake of turning on CBC Newsworld (a.k.a. Communist Bullshit Corporation) They were running a two hour show called "Canadian, so? ", a nauseatingly self-congratulatory piece about the superiority of Canadians. The show featured a lot of interviews with immigrants as well as many (mostly young-ish) native-born Canadians, all expounding on our multi-culti virtues, on our ability to accept "other cultures", our fabled peace-keeping, our politness, our Charter of Rights ("the best document of its kind in the world"), our kindness and our superb ability to be friends with everybody. Like I said, it was a good thing I'd only had a couple of toasts for breakfast because had it been anything larger I probably would have brought it up in disgust.

I have issues with all of the above: multi-culturalism which suppresses and chokes the native culture and allows submission to interest groups and "group advocates" on the back of individual rights and liberty is bullshit. I am all for a melting-pot and I am grateful and happy that I can have excellent and cheap sushi and kimchi and pirogi but not at the price of forgetting the core values this country was built on and sacrificed thousands of lives for. I also have issues with the kindness myth (anyone driving in Toronto during rush hour will see very little kindness and politness). As for peace-keeping...well, perhaps back in the 60's, sure, Canadians were known as peace-keepers. But with the state of the military right now, we couldn't keep the peace in a chicken shack. Keeping the peace means you have to have (lots of!) well equipped soldiers with modern weapons and the know-how and ability to use them. If you send them to war zones in decrepit helicopters and leaky submarines, it's doubtful they will be able to do much good.

But fine, be that as it may, I was willing to turn the other cheek, keep my Christmas spirit on auto-pilot at cruising altitude and let it all fly. Until....until the show started featuring a gallery of speaker after speaker after speaker who all spoke about their proudest moment in Canadian recent history. And you know what it was? The time our prime minister at the time Jean "The KING" Chretien stood up in the house of commons and declared Canada would not support its allies and would not go to Iraq!!

The moment I consider the nadir of Canadian politics, the breach of moral fibre, the craven abandoning of traditional allies, the caving in to an odious dictator, the sleaziest moment of appeasement - this is the moment all these speakers (and I later "googled" it and found also about 70% of Canadians) consider THEIR PROUDEST MOMENT....

Words fail me. I leafed through Camus' novel "The Exile and the Kingdom" and reread the lines about exile meaning -

"to live detached from the past with a memory that serves no purpose and devoid of hope for the future.....An exile lives like a prisoner, only his mind is the prison".

I sometimes feel locked up in a prison of memories which serve no purpose and when I hear the blather described above I am devoid of hope for the future. When you see something with a strong moral clarity and yet that clarity is opposed by the absolute majority of your fellow citizens - it's dispair. Becuase they, of course, are also convinced of their own moral high ground. They want no war. They want no part in any war. All wars are bad. There are no enemies with whom we cannot negotiate and the axis of evil and the war on terror is ALWAYS, ALWAYS "the axis of evil" and "the war on terror". The quotation marks - to borrow a thought from Ann Coulter - have become the strongest weapon in the arsenal of multi-culti, peace loving, kind, helpful, polite Canadians. Because there is no evil, there is no war. These are just concepts made up by the terrorist Bush in order to steal Iraqi oil.

The world is upside down, my friends and the moment of triumph for most of my compatriots is the moment of abasement for me. A stranger in a strange land, indeed....

the sweet spot

It doesn't happen often. In fact, it's a rare occurance. Now and then you feel as if the train is running on a smooth track: no stops, no hitches, no buffeting, an easy ride. Things are clicking along. Like I say, it happens very seldom but when it does one can catch a fleeting glimpse of happiness and sigh: ah, so this is what it's all about.

I get this feeling maybe three, maybe four times a week, for no more than a few minutes at a time. The rest of the time is filled with....not unhappiness.....but a plethora of petty annoyances, stupid people to deal with, watching the news on TV, observing the gamut of human absurdity. And then comes that moment, the magic moment!

Last time I felt it was a couple of days ago during and after seeing the movie "RAY" with Jamie Foxx. Ray Charles was the American Mozart. At once sublime and rough, tender and profound, crass and touching, sweet, soaring, searing. "I Can't Stop Loving You" - my God, shivers down my spine and that feeling of oneness with creation, right there, if only I could hold it. "What'd I Say" - God's and the Devil's music all rolled into one. "Hit the Road, Jack" - irreverent Ray with the hip-swaying, wolf-braying, funk-oozing fluzies, the Raelettes answering Ray's mating calls. This is LIFE, brother!

Jamie Foxx is absolutely amazing in the role of Ray, doing his own piano playing and portraying the womanizing musical uber-genius with a swaggering virtuosity. Oscar time.

But there are other occasions when I get that fleeting feeling, the skipping-the-light-fantastic tickle in the belly, the marmelade of happiness on the tongue. When my band is cooking, really cooking, brushes tickling the skin, small, quiet sprinkles of piano, a burnished, muted trumpet and my guitar cementing the sound with flowing cadenzas.

And those moments do not have to be musical, though for me they almost invariably are...it can be the sight of a frolicking dog in the park or glistening frozen branches after a snow storm and a thaw and a flash-freeze.

If only those moments were not so rare...but then again, no! Their rarity makes them precious and their preciousness deepens their humanity. Yes, Sir, that's what the moments are, they are the human sweet spots.

sushi and violins

With the snow coming down heavily, I decided to take the subway downtown. Driving (as already mentioned) is foolhardy and nervewracking in the snow. I strolled down Queen Street in the gently hovering flakes and it was very pretty. No roasted chestnuts - but still very Christmas-y. Not having to worry about parking and battling road raging half-wits lifted my mood considerably. I popped into Chapters/Indigo/Starbucks/Books-R-Us, mingled with the bespectacled student crowd (many to be found in the Politics isle, clutching titles such as Robert Reich's "Reason", Al Franken's "Liars...Whatever, Bla, Bla Bla" and anything by Michael ("Call Me God") Moore. Dude, we're SOOOO progressive, dude.

The only thing of interest to me was an expensive and gorgeous book about literary England which I am determined to purchase at some later date (generous reader: my birthday is in early March and I will supply the exact title on demand) and a couple of jazz magazines which I was going to buy but then saw the line-ups at the cash and gave up. Dude, those progressive, capitalism-despising dudes sure like to spend money.

Out on the street again, now snowing a bit more heavily but still very pleasant, the temp hovering around negative one and no wind to speak of. I walked back up to Queen Street and as I was passing HO-SU, my favourite sushi joint, I was pulled inside by invisible arms and before I knew it I was ordering a lunch special even though it was well after 3PM. Six perfect California rolls and four pieces of sushi: whitefish, tuna, salmon and shrimp. A bottomless cup of green tea and a lovely bowl of miso soup, plus three Korean appetizers and salad. All for the princely sum of $9 (that would be about 200 Czech crowns, 500 Icelandic crowns, 4 Pounds Sterling and 976 Mongolian Tughriks) That's CHEAP, baby!

When I first went to the Czech Rep after the fall of communism and mentioned my liking of sushi, I was met with incredulous stares and expressions of disgust ("fuj", in Czech) Now, of course, sushi is au courant and every self-respecting hipster talks about it. I'm told by a reliable source (though I did not see this myself) that a decent sushi lunch in Prague will set you back a hefty $40 Cdn (about 800 Czech crowns) That's per person! I did see the prices in London a couple of years ago on my last trip there but can't remember them because I fainted when I saw the menu. Long live Canada, eh! The True North Strong & Free!

On my way back to the subway, I passed the Rex Jazz bar and contemplated another injustice. A person I know, an instrumentalist who shall remain aimless, has landed a steady gig there. Accompanied by a trio who shall also rename mainless. They can hack their way through some standards; he (the instrumentalist in question) has decent technique but his sense of time is sorely lacking (13 bar blues is his speciality). He trills and glisses and howls with his instrument, running up and down scales at a good clip but without direction. And yet he seems to get real primo gigs. Not yet The Blue Note - but most of Toronto's top clubs. Musician colleagues all know him and shrug when asked to comment on his abilities.

A few steps down the street and I enter the subway to the strains of the most incredible sounding accordion playing. There he is: a Ukrainian fellow, a recent immigrant, I'm assuming, sitting on a rickety chair in the stinky draft of a slushy and icy subway entrance, playing his instrument with the fleeting fingers of an angel, with the most stunning technique and bravado, performing Christmas carols and Bach's cantatas with equal ease, riffing awsome jazz harmonies on both, obviously in possession of a talent and gift and depth of musical essence the afore mentioned Rex-hired musician cannot even dream of. The Ukrainian sits on his ripped canvas chair, shooting a shy smile to passers by who throw a quarter in his accordion case.

Don't get me wrong: I have no problem with any musician playing wherever he pleases. A subway gig around Christmas time is almost certainly more lucrative than a Rex gig any time. But a Rex gig will bring you to the minds and lips of the Toronto jazzeratti and no subway gig ever will...

But life is unfair: that's why Toronto is a great city with scheisse weather and Prague is a great city with exhorbitant sushi. I love sushi and I love jazz and I would love to see that accordionist play Carnegie Hall and the other dude play anonymous retirement parties. But then of course, I would also like to fly to the moon on gossamer wings....

"...take me to the Rex, baby..."

calamity

This morning I woke up with a planned cold. Yeah, it was planned as an excuse to circumvent a dentist visit. My planned cold sounded convincing as I called in to reschedule my appointment. Postponing a dentist visit is probably a common occurence. But my reasons are a little weird: it was not a fear of the drill that kept me at home, it was the fear of snow!

Back in the old country (a.k.a. as Bohemia, a.k.a. [the] Czech Republic) a major snowfall is alwyas called "snehova kalamita", i.e. "snow calamity". While the English word "calamity" sounds a little overblown when applied to snow - of any quantity - I happen to think it's appropriate.

The last few days have been extremely cold but there has been no snow on the ground. Now, they're expecting between 15 - 30 cm's, an amount that makes life hell. First of all, driving becomes next to impossible (ergo the canceled dentist). You slip and slide and skid and dance on the road surface until the salt truck have at it. Then the sliding improves at the cost of filth and dirt and salt and grime and pebbles accumulating on your windshield every five seconds. You squirt your windshield fluid furiously, basically to no avail except for a few seconds' relief.
Secondly, walking becomes difficult. I am addicted to my walks and not being able to comfortably walk through the park pisses me off. You trudge and kick your way around in the sticky white stuff, you huff and puff and sweat under too many layers of clothes, topped off with a water-proof coat - it all sucks. Instead of my usual 4 km, I can walk about 1 km. Even after they clean the sidewalks - sometimes that takes days - it's still not pleasant as by this time there has usually been a solid freeze-up and the walk becomes a treacherous dance of potential broken limbs. Thirdly, I get a panicky feeling that should I get sick or get a heart attack, an ambulance wouldn't be able to reach me on time because of the clogged up roads.


away with you, filthy snow
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Snow is supposed to make the christmas season bright and cheerful and jolly but it just puts me in a foul mood. I hate it. I don't like anything about it. A calamity, indeed!!

P.S.
OK, I'll admit it looks pretty from my 18th floor condo window

farewells and chaos

My lovely wife Sigrun left today on her annual pilgrimage to the country of her birth, Iceland. 'Tis the season, as already mentioned......to make merry, to lavish gifts upon your nearest and dearest and to travel. Sigrun was booked on our lovely "national" airline (FEH!! ), to fly to Reykjavik via Boston. (why there is no direct connection between Iceland and Canada, two nations twinned by frost and anal retentivness, I do not understand)

We left home in plenty of time, two suitcases the size of elephants on the back seat of our private limo, a.k.a. Toyota Echo. Upon arriving at Schmearson Airport (a.k.a. Pearson) we learned the most dreaded news: Sigrun's flight to Boston had been canceled. "Ours is not to reason why", of course. No one would give us a logical explanation. No one knew why we had not been notified. No one cared. 'Tis the season....for love, peace and undderstanding. Just kidding! There were actually a couple of very helpful Air Canada employees who rebooked my wife on (HORRORS!!! ) a competing airline, whose name I will not mention but whose initials are AA.

Out of the terminal and back into the garage, dragging the elephants behind us. I forgot to mention that the temperature in Toronto today was around minus 20 Celsius, which is about minus three thousand Fahrenheit. We drove to another terminal, lined up yet again and Sigrun was able to get a seat on a flight to Boston. However, even this second choice airline was delayed by a couple of hours and so many precarious moments and anxious phone calls followed (I drove home, you see, in the insanely naive hope that her plane would leave on time).

As of this writing, I have not heard from my wife in two hours which I take to be a good sign - it is now about 10:15 P.M. and she is either flying over Newfoundland or ensconsed at Logan Airport Hilton (a good hotel, btw, as I can attest from my own previous canceled Air Canada flights).
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in non-airport mode
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When did air travel become this unpleasant? I recall a trip as a young lad of 18 (that would have been in 1835) when air travel was all about pretty hostesses, smoking Winston cigarettes in wide seats, eating relatively poison-free food and imbibing free beer. Oh, Osama, what have you wrought???

P.S.

Just got a call from the Logan Airport Hilton. She had not made the connection. WTF is going on...I'm going to lobby the Icelandic government for a direct flight between our two frozen nations. Better access to my daughters and better access for my in-law's to their Xmas gifts

holy mackrel!! - continued

Here are a few pics from today's Arctic Distillery shindig. Our trumpet player, Don Tiffany, brings a camera to all of his gigs. The "Distillery Rovers" include him on tp, Jamie MacPherson on banjo and myself on gtr/vocal. The name is just a lark...but if we continue to perform as a trio we'll have to come up with a name. Flood me with ideas!! Each successful applicant receives a broken rusty string from Jamie's banjo (and don't forget he is a C-a-n-a-d-i-a-n N-a-t-i-o-n-a-l B-a-n-j-o C-H-A-M-P-I-O-N)

The first two pics are of me performing with the other trumpet player of the day, the uno e solamente Kevin Clark and his band



GG vocals with the Kevin Clark band


GG & The Kevin Clark band


Rovers in from the cold


The Distillery Rovers


The Distillery Rovers

holy mackrel!!

My Lord - IT IS COLD...brrrrrrr.....ok, let me sketch it out for you folks out there in warmer climes. The forecast for tonight is - 23 Celisius with a wind chill factor of - 33. And once again, we were hired to add to the general merrymaking and go a-caroling down in the good old Distillery District. Kevin Clark, trumpet player extraordinaire, who does all the booking down there, played with his band in the well heated Boiler House Restaurant and me and my crew were left out in the elements. But of course with these kinds of temps you can't really play outside. So we hung around the Visitor Center and Balzac's Cafe and a bunch of nice little galleries and played jazzed up versions of tunes such as Silent Night (up-tempo and swung like crazy), Winter Wonderland and White Christmas. Amazing what a good chug-a-chugga beat can do to the Irving Berlin chestnut. I talked Don into taking the mute off his horn and Jamie played the heck out of his banjo. White Christmas never sounded so good.

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shelter from the wind
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At three we packed up and walked out to the bone crunching wind....

"I'm dreaming of a White Sand Beach"