San Diego

A couple years ago Caroline Hasse and I were walking past Trinity Bellwoods park at around 11pm. We were probably talking about boys, or complaining about the shitty tips we made that day at the Lakeview Lunch Diner. Whatever the case may have been, we were interrupted by a gleeful Shepard/border collie mix who had obviously just taken himself to the park. He acted like he knew us. He ran right up to us, flipped on his back and waited for a tummy rub, which he got. I think that it was love at first sight for all of us.

San Diego (a name we chose for the dog) got up, took about 5 paces away from us and ran. For some reason, when the dog got up, I felt absolutely no concern. I didn’t feel the urge to go for his collar or even to follow. I was positive that he was going to turn around and head back into the park. I was wrong. San Diego headed toward the street and ran wholeheartedly into the oncoming traffic. I saw the trace of a yellow taxi cab, heard a simultaneous thump and yelp, then Caroline’s high pitched scream.

San Diego pounced to his feet and ran away. Caroline and I sprinted across, asked the cabbie the direction the dog took, I ditched the bike I was walking at Cocktail Molotov (a bar), and then I ran. I ran hard down alley way after alley way after alley way. My entire world was the heart beat in my ears, the blood on my tongue, and that dog.
I don’t know how I caught up to him but I did. I didn’t yell for him. I actually yelled at Caroline to shut up because she was on some street close by yelling something like “puppy, puppy” at the top of her lungs and I was sure it’d only drive our poor San Diego away.

While I was running I looked over my left shoulder, and saw him running parallel to me. If I ran down the street to cross his path, I would lose him, so I just kept running along side him catching his image in every connecting street, and then, I didn’t see him anymore and everything was silent. Toronto was gone. There was only my echoing footsteps and my breath in the air. I knew that he wasn’t running anymore. I found him in the backyard of a house. I assumed it was his. The gate was open. I closed it. He sat there dazed. To touch him seemed like an unwise thing to do. He had been touched enough that night.

I walked around the house to the front door and rang the bell. A huge 20 something Portuguese guy answered it.
“Do you have a dog?”
“Huh.”
“A dog, do you have one?”
“What?”
He was either a very stupid guy, or a very stoned guy, or both and at that point I was convinced he was both, and I was mean. Openly stupid people annoy the hell out of me. If they can’t hid it like the rest of us, it does make them more honest, I just wish it’d make them less mobile as well...which he was, he was slow..and in his home – so I shouldn’t have been so candid. Wouldn’t it be great if there was a city wide curfew for all those suffering from immense dim wit.? Or if we could as least use them to weigh things down? Wouldn’t that be funny! From loud speaker number 2017 “Will Mr. John Moron please report to the closest dummy check in? There is a big freight boat coming in, they lost their anchor. Bring your compressed air tank. It is the silver thing in the corner with the “this is your’s John” sign on it.”

Again, “There is a dog in your backyard. Does he happen to be yours?”
“oh…---….the d-o-g……, that’s Manny’s. He’s out right now.”
“Can I have Manny’s number? His dog just got hit by a car and might be suffering from internal bleeding (that means that bad stuff might be happening to the dog, you stupid mother fucker)”.

I was actually that hostile. Of course, the words contained in the brackets were also contained in my head, but the tone wasn’t. I couldn’t help it. I am generally very mean to very stupid people. I know that that is wrong, because I myself am not particularly intelligent. And maybe that whole “it takes one to know one” deal is my own little slice of hell, because I certainly do bump into a good amount of people that I personally identify as being extremely and insufferably stupid.

“Oh…..- - - - - - * * * * * * * I d—o—n’—t know if I can do that. He’s out for a walk. He should be back soon.”

Isn’t that ironic?

I waited. I saw Caroline walking down the street. We discussed the situation, and planned to steal the dog. But then Manny showed up. Manny and two Manny look-a-likes. I will refer to them as – the stupid pack-.

I won’t get into the conversation we had because it was just as painful as the stupid stoner guy dialogue. I told him the facts. He felt proud of his dog for being so tough. I regretted the absence of sharp objects. I regretted that he lived in my neighbourhood because if I stole the dog he would inevitably find out. I contemplated moving. But did not. I went home and cried about San Diego. Neither Caroline nor myself ever walked past that house again. However I often see it in my mind and I wonder if he’s alive. And I wish I held that damn collar.

It’d be great if I was simply a morose person who enjoyed making up depressing stories about lowly waitresses and misplaced house pets. But I am not. I am an urban cliché who works hard to make money, and then spends most of it on attempting to create some music that will hopefully mean something someday, even if it’s not a day I’ll ever see.

I had a long 13 hour day at work today. A long walk followed. Sometimes I dream about how cool it’d be to herald a victory while pushing the pavement home. Today I did not.
The emotion stirred from the yelp of that dog has burnt his image and short introduction into my brain forever.
Forever is now. Now is forever.
I think of him often.

The Woolen Heart

A black bench in front of traffic. Hands on cement, feet on grass, questions.

"Grandma I don't understand why things happen the way they do. Mom always seems angry, dad always seems sad. The kids at school bother Eddie and me. I just don't get it. Most of the t.v. shows are about problems. Father Malcolm says that God is love, but I've read that he'll only love me if I do things his way. If something is right, shouldn't it be easy to do? I just don't get this whole life thing grandma, I really don't."

"Every moment has a foundation child. People forget that. Your mom is sad. Your dad is angry. They are acting like each other to try to understand. The kids at school are lonely and they see that you are full of light - weakness is provocative (by that I mean appealing); that's because people are afraid of what they think they can never harness...Those kids just want comfort and you'll never give it to them because you don't have to. Of course they don't like you, some day they will love you though. Most t.v. shows give people what they crave, and that love, is fear - fear is easy. Father Malcolm knows his God, just like someday you'll know yours. Don't read about God, just feel God. Nothing should ever be easy or hard, things are as you see them. The right thing, is the right thing, because you know it is. You just know."

"And this whole life thing Grandma, what is it?"

"Life is an outfit you knit and pearl. Sometimes you patch it up and sometimes you roll it back into the ball you need it to be. Life is always what you create, because that is what you are, a creator."

"So this is all my fault!"

"No, this is what you need to happen."

-an excerpt from a ci ci anomaly.

claro clarie.

Finding a Needle in a Hay Stack

When I was five I decided that I wanted to be a singer, at the age of eleven I changed my mind and gave some serious thought to archeology. Highschool came and went with its many life lessons and lesions. Wilfrid Laurier University offered me a scholarship in Archeology but I felt that Waterloo was too close to my home town (Cambridge), so I went to London instead, for Anthropology. That, I will always feel, was a mistake. London bored me silly so on a whim I dropped out of University, moved to Toronto, started bartending and attended acting classes. There is nothing like being an Urban Cliche.

I studied vocal music for thirteen years. My ego was pumped up during that entire time from just about everyone I can recall (barring my family). After singing in a variety of bands and situations I began to question my talent, or if I even had any. Those questions fueled a desire to learn as much about music and the world as I could. Those questions house happy memories,heart breaking discoveries, and a skeleton I painted florescent colors years ago.

Although I am a great fan of the Theatre, it was a lustful affair for me so like all cheap lovers, I bowed out early. I continued studying many subjects in both university and college. Photography, astronomy, geology, computer sciences, health care, and modern dance - to name a few. I have participated in music through out it all. I am a self taught guitarist - to my listeners detriment. For some reason or another, I have never had the patience to stick with lessons. As a kid I played the violin, flute and xylophone. I hated the flute, but loved the other two.

I have worked so many jobs that listing them is both self indulgent and boring. Two descriptions I usually set aside for people I dislike. After all of this life activity I have learned one thing: there is nothing in life worth being bitter over, bitterness will always and only keep you from the best, the good, and the deserving.

I would dive into a field of Hay to find the needle that could stitch my silly dreams together - with any luck I'd get there long before the cows.

Caro moves to Vancouver

Somehow due to my powers of Persuasion my friend Caroline decided to give Vancouver a try. As soon as she got off the race dog we viewed an apartment then sealed the deal with the landlord the next day.
Impressive.

Caroline has been in town for about 14 days, she's already got two jobs, went on an out of province road trip and gotten into one major collision.

We are currently working on a project called "The Caro and Claro Show". The first episode just went through it's last cuts and soon I'm sure our friends will be black mailing us with it...or black balling us for it...or something along those lines.

I can't wait to see what will happen next!

April 19th 2008

Today I am addicted to the word "meat-head". I recently met a person that I thought was a "meat-head", and I just haven't stopped laughing at the classification.