My good friend Genni is opening a British style pub in Oakville, Ontario. Named the Bouncing Bomb after the famous Dam busters raid the pub has a definite RAF theme with copious memorabilia and even a vintage air raid siren (no that is not a reference to me).
The pub is conveniently attached to the Trafalgar Brewery, a very successful producer of craft beers. The beer is supposed to be excellent but I wouldn’t know as I never acquired a taste for it, preferring Diet Pepsi.
I had lent a hand here and there painting and cleaning to get the pub up and running. I cannot overstate the huge task Genni took on single-handed to remodel the old bar.
Sunday she catered the brewery’s annual dinner, I was drafted to serve along with three other brave souls but spent most of the time as a plungeur, shades ofOrwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London (talk about rising to one’s level of competence). I don’t think I sat down till midnight. The dinner was a great success and the food and service received numerous compliments.
The push to get everything ready for the banquet really sped up the renovation schedule and the pub will unofficially open tomorrow with an official grand opening at the end of the month.
I will be making a return appearance tomorrow but this time I will behind the bar, really why hide the pub’s greatest asset in the kitchen LOL! My freelance writing and editing dance card has begun to fill up this month but some additional income is most welcome.
Can't think of anyone better than George Formby to supply the musical selection for this post:
If you might recall dear constant reader, I have had some problems with one of my neighbors. I have worked hard to give him a wide berth and to avoid enraging him with my mere presence.
Last weekend he unleashed a string of disgusting sexual terms and mimed sexual acts while my youngest daughter and I were playing outside. He repeatedly mimed pulling down his pants and invited me to give him a blowjob. I was called a faggot and a freak in front of my child.
The next morning he accosted me in my driveway, me two inches from my face he berated me spewing the worst homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic (he is an equal opportunity bigot) spittle flecked rant one should ever have the misfortune to witness.
He bragged of having a police record for beating up “faggots” back in the day, I assume he is in his sixties. He also claims to have videos and photos of me doing “things. I believe this is called stalking.
Most amusingly he seems to have a fascination with the number of times I check the oil in my cars, a more solitary and quiet activity I cant imagine.It is terrifying how quickly a situation with the potential for violence can escalate. I was scared to go out to my car to even go to the grocery store for fear of another incident. I do not fear him physically but nor did I wish to be seen as the “bad guy” for defending myself against an “old” man.
Yesterday morning I phoned the police, fearing that property damage and violence would be next on his agenda.
Despite some mix up with schedules a police officer did take a statement from me in the evening then cautioned my neighbor.I will see if the visit from the police will have cooled his ardor but I am not confident. The officer discussed me laying charges and mentioned hate crime legislation. However, some sort of physical attack seems to be necessary before they would charge him with such an offense. I was not pleased with the officer mentioning I should remember he comes from a different generation. I didn’t realize that age was an excuse for violent bigotry.
On the whole I try to avoid politics in this blog but I envy the more robust civil liberties of my neighbors to the south and their 2nd. amendment. Even such self-defense products as mace and pepper spray are sadly illegal here.In Canada it is safe to say that the accused has more rights than the victim.
I have been advised to call 911 if he sets foot on my property again.
Not just an Elvis song. I am still recovering from the worst flu ever! Seriously folks I have never been so sick.
A week in bed has left me near stir crazy, insomnia, claustrophobia (my biggest fear). I wake up in the middle of the night feeling buried alive and on the edge of panic and insanity.
These feelings have come to follow me into daylight hours. I imagine this is what it is like to come close to experiencing a nervous breakdown.
I think the sickness left me too much time in my own head and all my worries and concerns have overwhelmed me producing feelings of being trapped. It has got to point where I fear going to sleep and stay up as late as possible to guarantee I will be unconscious as soon as my head hits the pillow. Even then I have to calm myself by breathing deeply and slowly while thinking happy thoughts.
Perhaps it is the bitter cold and bleak winter landscape is adding to my desperation.
I hope as I get better and do my best to address each issue, primary a lack of a “real” job I will be able to enjoy sleep again.
I have been feeling poorly for a week, which I had put down to burning the candle at both ends and worry about my CAMH meeting. Yesterday I was laid low by the full force of whatever flu bug is rampaging across the continent. I spent most of the day in bed experiencing weired dreams (yes cars were involved....I was lost in Miami driving a white and blue 1977 Lincoln Town Coupe frantically looking for the airport) and a pounding skull that felt as if I had been beaten repeatedly with an aluminum baseball bat. Today I am off to the office but am unsure if I will do any good. I conducted an interview this morning with the expert on Ford modular engines for a car magazine. For my British readers he worked on engine packages for Marcos, Jensen and the late lamented V8 powered MG SV and ZT.
Not me nor my car
Here are two mixes that if I hadn't shared them earlier with Cass I would have thought I imagined them in a fever dream:
Friday was my fourth and second official visit to CAMH (Centre for Addiction and Mental Health) at the same time.
To explain, I originally went to CAMH in late 2009 after which I diagnosed with GID, I did not go back until 2011 when I changed jobs and was free to set a date for going full time.
I followed the familiar path along the QEW (Queen Elizabeth Way) highway up Spadina Avenue to the CAMH building again in October 2012 to show them I had met all their major requirements for surgery….living full time for over year, name change and working as myself.
So yesterday was my second official visit leading to surgery. I had to be interviewed by two psychiatrists and be able to explain the surgery in detail, the risks and my plans for recovery. I made sure I prepared as well as I would for any interview.
The weather was cold and snow forecast for later in the day so I decided to take the commuter train instead of driving. Dressed in conservative business attire I nonchalantly boarded the train to Toronto, back in 2009 I would not have had the confidence to sit cheek by jowl with my fellow commuters.
Union Station
I felt a pang of longing for my old routine of journeying to Yonge and Bloor everyday on the train to work in banking….well more for the pay cheque than the commute.
At Union Station (my favourite old building in Toronto) I decided to walk up through the financial canyons to my appointment. Near city hall I turned left along Queen Street, which still claims to be the hip centre of Toronto, I passed Kops (a record store) where I spent my lunch money on vintage rockabilly 45s and over priced European imports. The Horseshoe Tavern where I had seen the Sun Rhythm Session and The Razorbacks.
Now I felt free to look in the windows of the designer boutiques I passed. In the bad old days those clothes were a symbol of a world I could only dream of inhabiting. I feared any furtive glance would lay my secret self bare.
The two meeting went very well and I was told unofficially I am on my way. I still have to wait two months for the board to meet to find out officially.
Assuming I receive my funding approval the date for SRS will be another three to six months (possibly longer) in the future. So 2013 looks to be my year! the surgery will be in Montreal with Dr. Brassard.
The sense of relief even at this point was immense, a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Later that Day I visited Bobbi and Alex in the city where we enjoyed some delicious Thai food and discussed our shared experience as great fluffy flakes of snow turned the city from dirty Soviet grey to glowing white.
I would have stayed later but I had been up at five am and was beginning to seriously crash and burn. Bobbi drove me to the subway and I rode it back to Union. Avoiding the temptation of everything from McDonalds to Cinnabon in the station I caught the 9:45 back to Burlington.
The Lincoln dusted in snow faithfully started on the first crank. Home, dinner and bed in that order.
In honour of Cass and and her narrow escape from a van full of ninjas here is her future boyfriend:
Like waking up to find a virtual burning cross on ones front lawn. Not to over do the hyperbole (too late) or to make light of the racism suffered by African Americans. But that is the image that popped into my mind when I came across the submission given to Parliament by Dr. Joseph Berger in regards to Bill 279 described as a trans human rights bill and a bathroom bill by different camps.
Whatever you think of the merits of the Bill 279 lets be clear this NOT a case of transgender vs. transsexual politics, he doesn’t care where we are on the spectrum. He explicitly denies our existence, in his opinion we are nothing but unhappy psychotics.
When he says transgendered he means transsexual, those seeking surgery.
I will let his own words condemn him:
"From a scientific perspective, let me clarify what transgendered actually means...
Sometimes some of these people have claimed that they are 'a woman trapped in a man's body' or alternatively 'a man trapped in a woman's body'. Scientifically, there is no such a thing. Therefore anyone who actually truly believes that notion, is by definition deluded, psychotic."
As a psychiatrist he bases most of his reasoning on “science”. Really how is he any more qualified than I am to speak on surgical and neuroscience issues.
"what we are talking about scientifically, is just unhappiness, and that unhappiness is being accompanied by a wish – that leads some people into taking hormones that predominate in the other sex, and even having cosmetic surgery designed to make them ‘appear’ as if they are a person of the opposite sex."
I realizes that some people have difficulty in dealing with us but hopefully that group is becoming extinct.
He was invited to speak by REAL Women of Canada, now I am a conservative and no doubt share some of their small government views. However, a REAL conservative believes in personal freedom and responsibility, they don’t seek to stigmatize and suppress others.
After reading the doctor's submission I was shaking with rage. I can only imagine the horror that could well have befallen me if I had come out at a younger age and come into the care of such evil men.
It is a slippery slope from calling people whom you disagree with sick, delusional psychotics to locking them up and applying electroshock. And that did happen in the past to women and men like us.
Talking with friends about this they both suggested perhaps the good doctor is perhaps over compensating….if that is the case he has my sympathy.
April realizes how little $20 bucks of gas is....the shock literally blows her mind....notice all the hearts and flowers falling out.....not a puppy dog tail in sight.
Sure I looked wicked cool cruising around town in my seventies luxo yachts. I can drive in plush isolated splendour or burn rubber like any muscle car.
Unfortunately I have lately realized there is a draw back to five thousand pound Detroit dinosaurs powered by big block V8's…..
Despite my not working a regular corporate gig (freelancing etc) I still need to drive everyday. I pick up my girls from two separate schools and to after school sports meaning stop and go trip across town., which plays havoc with my fuel economy.
The Ford 460 cubic inch V8 is perhaps the least fuel efficient engine ever, returning 16 mpg highway and sub 9 mpg around town. My 455 powered Buick Electra and V12 Jaguar are marginally better.
To be fair these cars are relatively efficient on the freeway with the cruise control on.
My pocket book has been taking a pounding at $1.20 plus cents per litre, which works out to approx 16 l or 4.42 US gallons from a twenty. At 8.7 mpg that will allow me to squeak by almost two days of driving though the low fuel light on the Mark IV glows like Rudoplh's red nose. ….perversely it refuses to burn out.
My calculations showed that with the distance travelled daily I should have more than enough fuel until I realized that in winter fuel economy drops anywhere from 12 to 28%!!!
Why, well fuel vaporization for one, oil companies switch to winter gasoline that provides better cold vaporization characteristics but results in less available energy for combustion, lower engine temps means a richer mixture, lubricants are thicker, tire pressures lower both creating more resistance and requiring more energy. Even the air conspires against you, a vehicle’s aerodynamic drag is proportional to air density, and the density increases as temperature drops. For every 10 degree F drop in temperature, aerodynamic drag increases by 2%
As I like to say OPEC never fails to send me a Christmas card.
Buy a econo box I hear you say dear constant reader, well all my cars are paid for and after years of driveway tinkering they are relatively bullet proof. Come the inevitable zombie apocalypse I know I would choose my Mark IV to start every time.
zombie ready
Sure I would love to tool around in a cute MGB or Spitfire but they don't allow any room for children, are not suitable for the rigorous of Canadian winters and as our roads are still populated by huge SUVs and 18 wheelers not very safe.
I do own a very fuel efficient 1985 Cadillac Seville (my most modern car ever), 30 MPG highway, but as she is a rust free southern belle, I don't like to expose her to road salt.
looks full of gas, someone should invent something that tells you how much gas is in the tank
Update:
I had written this blog last week when we had a warm spell and I enjoyed a Sunday tuning the Lincoln and getting the Jaguar and Seville out for a run round the block. As the weather looked good for the rest of the week and rain had washed all the road salt away. I decided to drive the 1985 Cadillac Seville with its fuel efficient 4.1 litre V8.
I had a meeting with my editor Monday morning, in the rush to get ready I forgot I had used the Seville the day before to take my oldest daughter to swimming practice. As I pull into late morning rush hour traffic on the QEW I feel a hesitation, transmissions problems? no I realize with mounting horror.....I forgot to put gas in the car. I roll helplessly to the side of the road. I quickly call the auto club and the magazine in that order.
In a prior life I would have scaled the fence and hot footed back home to get a gas can, instead I wanted to cry. Also no way I was walking all the way home in high heeled winter boots.....I would ruin the heels.
Luckily my good friend Genni choose that very moment to text me and was quickly on her way with the precious gasoline (say it like they do in the Road Warrior movie).
This less said about running out of gas later that same day very close to home the better.
