Night of the living winos.

Posted: November 9, 2011 in Uncategorized

Purplish grey clouds float past the brilliant full moon as a gust of cool fall air whisks down the harbour from the north and sends shivers down my spine. “Nothing good is bound to happen tonight.” I mutter to my scantly dressed date as we march down the wooden boardwalk of the Halifax waterfront towards Pier 21. Tonight is like no other night of the year, it is a night where all bets are off, anything goes, better than Christmas, New Years and my birthday combined. Tonight my friends is Wine Fest!

To the amateur wino at first glance this may seem like a classy event but little do they know about the carnage that is bound for us later in the night. We stand in line ignoring each other as we sift through the pages of our iphones, texting, updating status’, anything except for enjoying each others company.  Drinking events don’t generally end well. ‘At least they aren’t serving shots at this Hootenanny’ I say to myself. Finally we have made it through the line, our tickets ripped, coats checked and we are shoved through the great glass doors and given a little book and a small pencil to document our wine tasting experience.

Me I am an expert at surviving the “Wine Fest”, my first time was back in 2005 in St. John’s, Newfoundland. We did the whole nine yards, wake up, pre-drink wine, get dressed up in dresses and suits and stumble down for the ride of our lives. Not even jumping out of a god damned airplane could have prepared us for this adventure. I remember getting the small book of wines and seriously recording my favorites during the first hour of our encounter, the next morning I flipped through the book mostly to find smiley faces, “Fucking awesome” and “Tastes like ass” written amongst the crumpled wine stained pages. Now I never use the book, I throw that fucker straight into the trash as I make my way for my glass.

The room is vast as we enter and make our way to a large table draped in a royal blue table cloth stacked with little wine glasses in the form of a pyramid. Many people are present this evening sporting sexy black dresses, stilettos, suits, blazers and ties. We make our way to the table labelled ‘Argentina’ to go down on some lovely Malbecs. The table is staffed by less than a half a dozen semi-smart winos offering insight into how and why these vintages are so wonderful. The thing that always amuses me most is not the vintners but the slowly emerging animals slurping back glasses of wine. People watching is one of my most favorite sports and wine fest is by far the best spectator situation for me to observe. A good majority of well dressed people try their very fucking hardest to act like they actually know what they are talking about and have intellectual conversations with each other. “This is a good MearlLOT” one woman boldly says to her man friend as I crack up and end up spitting most of my mouthful back into my glass.

For me yeah wine is good fucking shit, it has got me through lots of hard times. An ex girlfriend during a fight once asked me who I valued more, her or wine. My response as a secret evil test to her was that wine had always been there for me. Of course she walked out on me but I had just proved a point. No I am no expert but like most I have my tastes and my loves, sometimes they never meet.

Things are starting to get weird now, this once sophisticated event is beginning to resemble a zombie apocalypse. People once in charge of their own motor functions are now stumbling around the venue as if they are hungry for more wine or is it blood they are after now. The line ups at the catering tables start to grow monstrous as once classy people devour salmon, meats and cheeses as exotic gravies spill onto their freshly pressed shirts and evening gowns. “Things are starting to fall apart” I say to this fella Jaques that I just met in line. “Indeed they are my friend.” he responds as he turns to a suspicious character with what looks like a secret service ear piece protruding from his shirt. “Protecting the President are ya?” he asks the gentleman, “Undercover, making sure no-one drinks and drives”, “Right on man” Jaques answers as we eagerly await to devour some fresh meat. “I’ll try some of that shit!” I blurt out to a wine fest worker carting around a drum of dumped out wine and spit as I have my red flag moment and realize that this is serious now.

The situation now is full fledged calm chaos, the clock is ticking, it is essential to try as much wine as possible before the clock strikes ten and we as whisked away onto the cold streets to hunt more of that beautiful red liquid.

I wake up in the morning in an empty bed, no fucking clue what happened between wine fest and now. My head feels like I may have fell head first off of a truck on the way home. I find my date sleeping on her couch out in the living room and asked what had happened last night. She replies “All I wanted to to do was have a classy evening and have sex”, “Is that right?” I say straightening up my tie on my de-shelved mess of a suit and body. “Well honey it was Wine Fest, not Valentines Day!”


You’ve got FAIL!

Posted: September 24, 2011 in Uncategorized

Do you remember the days when wearing your boyfriends baseball hat on the playground showed that you cared? When did it become so complicated? Was it email, cell phones and facebook that killed us honey? As long gone as those medieval days of minimal communication are I can still remember receiving wildly creative love letters folded in the most intricate ways and tying up our parents’ phone lines till the hours of dawn twilight. How do you show someone you care about them anymore without “phone raping” them? As far as I remember the only way to really like someone is to spend quality face time with them, now endless text messages and emails have left me feeling shallow and alone on this lonely island of an IP address I call my laptop. How does a civilization of people so hellbent to communicate and be social with each other fuck themselves into digital isolation, too scared to actually have a real conversation or experience with someone? When did telling your lover “I Love You” become not enough?

The Blues

Posted: September 15, 2011 in Uncategorized

So you think you got the blues? Welcome to the fucking club pal. The blues, that deep set pain that penetrates the body all the way to the bones and the soul just as the guitar picked notes of the sound track does. I remember when I first got a taste of the blues. The year was 1994, there was a red 1979 Volvo 240 flying down an old tobacco country road. It was the dog days of summer, the tobacco was lush in the fields and the sumacs were sporting their red and maroon blooms as they lurked out over the ditches and towards the road as the Volvo was ripping down the pavement spewing the dry summer dusty sand into the air behind it. My aunt Darleen was driving and I was a young little punk absorbing all the music that was played my way in the passenger seat. I still don’t know to this day weather it was the crackle of Howin’ Wolfs voice or the clean flowing guitar licks backed with a heavy beat that got me hooked, all I know is that it has been a blue relationship ever since. I think it was BB King who once said “If you prepare yourself for love, you better prepare yourself for the blues”. Not a saying has every been more true because at the end of the day when all your friends leave, your love hits the road you got no more money and all your left with is a record player and a bottle of wine, the tunes of good old John Lee Hooker will be pouring off that vinyl, past the broken pieces of your heart and into your soul letting you know he feels the same way you do.


Posted: September 4, 2011 in Uncategorized

Clouds surge and swell transforming into purplish grey
monstrosities. The wind direction changes and the flag snaps and flutters
violently in the opposite direction. The air now is humid and cool as the
leaves dance a pre-storm jig. An amber haze saturates the sky as the first few
drops tease the thirsty plants of late summer. The flowers sense imminent doom
and decide to close up their delicate petals of purple, yellow and white. I
stand in the doorway with a glass of chardonnay and I breathe in the changing
air and note the decibel level increase and the leaves shake more ferociously
now. Finally the heavens burst and the wrath of water dives towards the dry
earth. The first drops impact and explode on the dry deck and quickly the whole
scene looks like a scene from Jurassic Park. It resembles a monsoon and I think
it is only a matter of time until a velociraptor crashes through the foliage
and makes for me in a desperate attempt to shred my limbs off of my body for a
late afternoon snack. The gutters now are overloaded as the water spills over
the sides and leaks out of the weak areas. The sky ignites electric purple as
the hard assertive boom of thunder booms and shakes the house. More lightning
strikes all around as the landscape begins to sound like there is an inbound
Nazi panzer battalion sweeping through the suburbs. My puppy paces nervously
before settling by the safety of his masters feet looking up with uneasy eyes.
I pick the furry little bastard up comfort him and then he seems to relax a
bit. The lights flicker once and then go out after a few moments. I strike a
match and light a pillar candle as I sit there and enjoy this magnificent angry
symphony of the gods.


Posted: August 28, 2011 in Uncategorized

Nothing but the rain, It’s starting to drive me insane

It boasts the doom as the skies celebrate the gloom

It makes me not want to get out of bed and call into work “sick in the head”

I hate how it makes me cry then I blame it on the drops, I lie

I watch the yard from the back door as the skies open up like a whore

It does grow the grapes that wonderfully ferment-ate

It waters the plants and makes Gene Kelly dance

Saturates the dirt and washes away the hurt

It’s day like this that make me feel like Kurt

Welcome to Sackvegas

Posted: August 6, 2011 in Uncategorized

Left turn, right turn, Stop, Right turn. The jetta purrs like a kitten in second gear as she prowls towards Beaver Bank Road on the Sackville Strip. It is a hot summer evening and the sky in my rearview mirror is painted vibrant pink summer dusk. An old reliable album “Dookie” by Green Day is rockin’ in the stereo. As I cruise through the intersection I skip a couple tracks to “Welcome to Paradise”, my favorite tune. The energy pours out of the speakers and out the windows of the jet black volkswagen. The lights on the strip are already shining bright and the sidewalks are full of packs of barely dressed skanky girls and wanna be gangsters with the latest cool cap cocked at a 45 degree angle. At the next set of stop lights a tricked out Honda civic squeals his tires past me looking for a worthy opponent. I play it cool cruising steady revving her high in second gear to feel my beast prowl down the beaming lights of the bustling strip. The bridge in the song comes to an end as the electric guitars climax and make the hairs on my arms stand up just as it always does. The destination is Terries Place, a sub standard dance club that reminds me of a newfoundland community center if it were placed in the middle of downtown hell. The first time I had the pleasure of attending a function at this fine establishment I got jumped and knocked out in the restroom by a coked up UFC fanatic, but fuck it I’m not scared only adds to the nostalgia of the place. You can never be too comfortable or else it isn’t any fun. The edge is the only place to live, the rest are taking up too much space. I take a right turn into the parking lot where my car will reside the night and a fleet of RCMP cruisers will haul away a half a dozen drunk fuckers armed with knives and attitudes far more sinister than my own. Some call it slums, some call it nice, right?

Just another poem

Posted: August 5, 2011 in Uncategorized

Vicious Banks

Heartless skanks

Over taxed beer

Phony atmosphere

Getting in debt

Still lost yet

Soul on the decline

Attitude not inline

Drowning in air

Not giving a care

Growing down

An even bigger frown

Another bottle of wine

One less friend of mine

Another painting

One more hating

Another night at home

Just another poem