Feltham Rambles

I woke up this morning and drove 20 minutes into the office from my hotel, and couldn’t help but gaze in absolute marvel at the majestic snow-covered mountains surrounding Salt Lake City. It sure beat the normal view of burned out houses, rusty buildings and overall sense of despair I receive while driving through the city of excuses (Detroit) each morning. Like most new things, I suppose, the novelty of this area would wear off after sometime. But, I do believe we are products of our environment; our mood and overall sense of well-being can be affected by minor things such as our surroundings.

There is something truly special about mountains; their very presence makes me come alive. The ocean has the same effect on me, albeit greater. I remember my first return visit home after spending three months in landlocked Indiana. The plane landed in the winter fog of St. John’s and the second I stepped outside, my eyes clemed with tears as I took in that first breath of fresh ocean air. Like a drug addict getting his morning fix, or a rusty bolt getting some WD-40, the salt-water in my veins began to flow. I was left with a sense of well-being that I hadn’t felt since I left the bay months before.

As long as I am away, I don’t see this changing; the images and scent of the mountains and ocean have been etched into my brain. I can only long for a time when this imagery becomes a daily reality, rather than a distant memory or short trip like this week.

I’m not sure who or how this was started, but in a drunken haze on Saturday (well, technically Sunday morning), I agreed to a moustache contest. How this will be judged in beyond me, but, we have two weeks to see who can grow the funkiest soup strainer and then go to a boogie nights somewhere in Detroit.

Easier said than done, I hate hair on my upper lip. The worst part is that it grows about 101 times faster than the rest of my facial hair. So, in a couple of days I am going to look like Freddy Mercury, except gayer (is that even a word).

I’d love to be able to share the entire experience of our road trip to Columbus this past weekend; however, the majority of you people wouldn’t be able to stomach the truth. I suppose we are lucky to be alive, or at least not writing this from behind closed bars in Ohio. But, I will just focus on the first quarter of the night… I will save the whole story for a future major motion picture.

The five of us left Windsor for Columbus on Friday afternoon, and the mood and company couldn’t have been better. The party started as soon as we checked into our roach motel on the wrong side of the tracks. A minute after we are dropped off at the show, Brian notices Alan Doyle walking in through the backstage door, of course we scream out to him. As always, Alan was humble and chatted with us for a few moments, giving us several photo ops, before entering the show. We walk into the theatre on cloud nine, like a group of children who just met Santa Claus for the first time.

Our seats were located six rows back from the stage in this very intimate little theatre. As always, the band sounded incredible, but, the crowd and atmosphere was pathetic. It felt like half the people got lost on their way to Church or a Klan rally (perhaps both) and somehow stumbled in here. Part way through the first set, Alan told the crowd that he met some friends from Glovertown before the show. Could the night be any better? The girls were enjoying themselves to the max, and contentiously danced in the hallways and rushed the stage on occasion, big mistake. To the credit of the theatre, they were asked numerous times to stop and return to their seats. I guess they asked one too many times, because after coming back from a beer run, security were at our seats and were escorting them (with help from the local police) out of the theatre.

Who gets kicked out of a concert, let alone a Great Big Sea concert? Upon asking the Nazis why the ladies were kicked out and if there was anything we could do, we were told that the city of Columbus doesn’t put up with this type behavior and that we could all be thrown in jail for public intoxication.

I won’t even begin to repeat what I said to the manager, bouncer and police officer; l suppose I sounded like a political prisoner who had at one point of his life been a sailor. The outcome of this whole debacle is that I will never return to Columbus. And, that everyday my belief that the “Land of the Free” is a slogan rather than an actuality in America is confirmed.

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind

This morning, for the first time in a very long while, it appeared as though no one shit in the cornflakes of the US border guards. I entered Yankee territory in about two minutes, and the rest of my commute was rather nice (well, as nice as any commute could be possibly be; in a perfect world I can walk to work). Any case, for a change, I figured I would try to focus on things that I actually enjoy about the daily commute:

Nose Pickers. Nothing makes me smile more than speeding by someone at 130Km/h and seeing them mining for snots. It’s generally business men, with long boney fingers; but I can understand their actions. Picking your nose is one of the greatest self gratifications out there. It ranks somewhere behind the other obvious front-runners; jerking-off, shitting, and sneezing.

Dirty Girls. I was coming back from an outright foul day at the office, and was driving behind this particular car for awhile, with just a driver (or so I thought). A few moments later, up pops this afro, I instantly speed by, barmp the horn and wave the shocker out the window. The driver was appreciative (like you would), the misses? Not so much. Instant smiles for me though.

Car Dancers. Music is my drug. Even if you have no rhythm, can’t sing or can’t dance to save your life, I respect anyone that at least tries. Most mornings, I sing the drive to work and come into the office humming tunes to myself. But, the greatest thing is when I see other people in their car singing up a storm and shaking their ass in the seat. Some of these chicks get into it so much it looks like are doing the hustle, I love it. I could even enjoy Satan’s own dance (the Macarena) as a passerby.

Broken Buses. What’s worse than having a shitty job and being broke? Having a shitty job, being broke and having to take the bus to work – a Detroit transit bus at that. I have counted a good 15 buses broken down on the freeway in Detroit over the past three years. I used to feel bad for these people, now it just makes me laugh (an evil laugh coming from deep down inside my cold, black heart). I figure as bad as things are going, it could be worse. For example, I could be one of those idiots, already late for work, and the goddamn bus breaks down on the highway on my way to a shitty job. Ha, ha, ha, suckers…

Mega-Millions Sign. I pass this monster every morning and without failing, it prompts a good five minute day dreaming session. $300 million dollars, just writing that is enough to make me mess myself. Oh shit, I think I just did… bear with me… Okay, now that I am back from the washroom, yes, winning the lottery would be great. I don’t think anyone on this earth deserves it more than me. I would ensure that all the people in my life who have touched me in one way or another would be set. It’s a celebration bitches!

Downtown Skyline. Detroit has one of the most unappreciated skylines in North America. And, each year Kwame and Co. continues to tear more of this history down, creating an infinite number of gravel parking lots. I love to gaze at the skyline and watch as it becomes larger, mostly because it means I am almost home – well to Windsor anyway. Home will always be Newfoundland, because, wherever I may ramble, and wherever I may roam, wherever I may be, I’ll be happy to see, the foggy shores of home.

A lot of people go to strip clubs. But I bet not many have had an experience quite like the one I had at Delilah's Den in South Amboy, NJ. One of the dancers there, Kelli Kaboobski, fell in love with me.

From the moment we first made eye contact, I knew that she was crushing on me. She came over and ever so gently put her arm around me. "Would you like a dance?" she whispered, her lips almost touching my ear. She had come to me, out of all the people that were there. She literally had her pick of anyone in the whole place, and she came to me. I was caught a little off guard by her intoxicating smell of sweat and cotton candy. What was she chewing? Is that Bubbalicious? It was. I composed myself, and we went to the back room.

As soon as I sat down, she couldn't keep her hands off of me. She sat right down on my lap, and began to caress my chest. She ran her fingers through my hair, she pressed my face into her breasts, she even did this thing that was kind of like a reverse handstand so that her ass was in my face. Feeling my nose between her cheeks was a rush that we both delighted in.

I already knew she was into me but it become even more glaringly obvious when she asked me if I wanted to "go another song". She asked me my name, and then asked me if I wanted to "get dirty tonight." She gazed lovingly into my eyes while she grinded my crotch. She complimented me on how "big" I was, which was funny, because I had never had a girl tell me that before. I guess love can blind you like that.

For the next twenty-five minutes, she just kept telling me how hot she thought I was, and how she wished she could just do me, right then and there. And wouldn't you know, as each song ended, she kept asking me if I wanted to stay for more. I could almost sense the nervousness in her voice – how would she handle it if I told her no?

Eventually she said she had to go back on stage. She looked devastated that she had to leave me. When she told me I owed her $180, I was a little shocked. "But wasn't I worth it, honey?" she asked. I couldn't argue with that logic. I gave her $200, just to let her know that I could take care of my lady.

She went back on stage, and to most people, it would look like she was "flirting" with all these other guys. But I know she was just pretending. I mean, that's her job. Either way, I did punch one of those guys in the face.

The bouncer thought I should leave, so I didn't get to say goodbye. But I'll probably go back next week. I know she'll be waiting for me.

First of all, I want you to understand that it’s not you, it’s me. I know we had some good times, well, actually, the best times, and I will always cherish those memories. For so long, you displayed passion with your consistent ice, snow and the scattered blizzard - but even the volatile times couldn’t remove my internal love for your solstice.

Snowmobiling, skiing, snowboarding, skating, hiking, snowshoeing, trekking, and ice-climbing; winter, you were my bitch. But, that has all changed. It hurts me to say that you are no longer the solstice I that I fell for. In my itinerant ways, I have wound up in the mainland and we have drifted. You haven’t been consistent as you once were since this move. Those activities I grew up with on the Island cannot be accomplished here, and it’s your fault. One day you give me snow, the next rain, and then sleet. I have tried to deal with your indecisiveness, but I can’t put up with it anymore. You have become gloomy, grey and a real impediment on my daily commute.

It’s time to face the facts winter, since we moved away together you have become a bloody mess. I am sorry, but I am leaving you. If you want to find me, I will be banging your sister Spring.

We received another dropping of snow this morning from that slut Mother Nature (or was it from that cocksucker Jack Frost – technically it’s still winter and last I heard he was running that department).

It’s hard to believe that only one week ago it was 20c, but, I guess the warm weather will be back soon enough. Then, no doubt, yours truly will be bitching about the sweltering heat. Anyway, due to wintery mix, I passed eight accidents on my commute this morning; at least one was fatal, very discouraging for a Monday to say the least. However, it does make you wonder about why we're all so caught up in our daily lives; without warning, your very existence could end.

Then what? You slaved your life to an employer, stashed money away in the bank for a rainy day that might not ever come and put off things for tomorrow that you could have accomplished today. I am not trying to be morbid, rather the exact opposite. We as a people need to appreciate more of what we already have and focus less on what we think we need. I would like to say that I am already of this mindset, but sometimes it’s not easy. It takes a reminder from time to time to realize that there is more to life than the rat race, an even if you do win that race, you’re still a bloody rat!

I don't own a cell phone or a pager. I just hang around everyone I know, all the time. If someone wants to get a hold of me, they just say 'Mitch,' and I say 'what?' and turn my head slightly. - Mitch Hedberg

It's almost 3am and I can't sleep; I suppose sitting at this blasted computer is attributing to my restlessness, but, it’s better than sitting in bed watching mold grow on the ceiling.

An honest days work is required tomorrow, and it goes without saying that I will put in an effort greater than most; however, I can’t help but long for something more fulfilling. People will tell you that it’s only a job and you have to do what you have to do. Sounds alright I guess, until you factor in that you spend the majority of your life at the workplace. I don’t have a whole lot to complain about, although, I could be much happier doing what ever the hell it is I do. Well, enough about work, I have hours to worry about that retched beast...

It seems that every time I have somewhat of a plan as to where I want to be and what I truly desire to become, a monkey wrench is thrown into the mix. I only wish I had the balls to take more of a risk in my life. Sometimes I feel as though I grew up too fast and was driven to succeed at an early age. Is there a term for a person who constantly believes that the grass could be greener on the other side? Perhaps, it's called, "he doesn't know how good he has it." Oh well, if it weren’t for the constant turmoil, life would be pretty god damned boring, eh b’y.

Been moved so many times, hard to know my up from down and this has been speeding by all the while… blinking, beeping and churning; can’t help that colorless poster in my front view sight; tried to stop gazing, but so far it doesn’t seem to help; if I could only tell you what it all amounts to, than I would surely be wiser than what I really seem to be; that’s what I keep saying, over and over, but, don’t know if what I see is really happening; I wait only for you to come to me; doesn’t seem to make, mentality, but not physically, so something stays awake; for only if that moment it appears, I could throw it all away?

I was reading an article a while back regarding Booker T. Washington, a man who was born into slavery in 1856. But, against all odds, went on to found the Tuskegee Institute and radically improved race relations across America. Any case, he had an abundance of captivating quotes worthy of me remembering:

A woman's husband had been slipping in and out of a coma for several months, yet she had stayed by his bedside every single day.

One day, he motioned for her to come nearer. As she sat by him, he whispered, eyes full of tears, "You know what? You have been with me all through the bad times".

When I got fired, you were there to support me.
When my business failed, you were there.
When I got shot, you were by my side.
When we lost the house, you stayed right here.
When my health started failing, you were still by my side.

You know what? "What dear?" she gently asked, smiling as her heart began to fill with warmth. "I think you're bad luck, get the fuck away from me!!!"

Donald Rumsfeld briefed the President this morning. He told Bush that three Brazilian soldiers were killed in Iraq.

To everyone's amazement, all of the colour ran from Bush's face, then he collapsed onto his desk, head in hands, visibly shaken, almost whimpering.

Finally, he composed himself and asked Rumsfeld, "Just exactly how many is a brazillion?"

Your CD has been gently taken from our CD Baby shelves with sterilized contamination-free gloves and placed onto a satin pillow.

A team of 50 employees inspected your CD and polished it to make sure it was in the best possible condition before mailing.

Our packing specialist from Japan lit a candle and a hush fell over the crowd as he put your CD into the finest gold-lined box that money can buy.

We all had a wonderful celebration afterwards and the whole party marched down the street to the post office where the entire town of Portland waved "Bon Voyage!" to your package, on its way to you, in our private CD Baby jet on this day, Wednesday, February 28th.

I hope you had a wonderful time shopping at CD Baby. We sure did. Your picture is on our wall as "Customer of the Year." We're all exhausted but can't wait for you to come back to CDBABY.COM!!!

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Sigh...

A guy who's name might be John Feltham is on a golf course and is starting to go thru his pre-shot routine when he hears this loud voice, "WILL THE GENTLEMAN ON THE WOMAN'S TEE PLEASE MOVE TO THE MEN'S TEE."

He looks around and everyone's staring at him. He steps back from the ball and restarts his routine. Again the voice says, "WILL THE GENTLEMAN ON THE WOMAN'S TEE PLEASE STEP BACK TO THE MEN'S TEE."

He looks around again, steps away from his ball, and restarts his routine. He's interrupted by the voice one more time, "WILL THE GENTLEMAN ON THE WOMAN'S TEE PLEASE STEP BACK TO THE MEN'S TEE."

He step's back from the ball and yells back, "WILL THE GENTLEMAN WITH THE MICROPHONE SHUT THE HELL UP SO I CAN TAKE MY SECOND SHOT!"

We live in a high-rise in smoggy downtown Windsor, and have a balcony outside our living room. When it’s not too hot or cold outside, we leave the door open so Jack (our cat) can venture outside (well... sort of outside).

A while back we were sitting around and the cat was running in and out of the apartment to the balcony, when Carrie says, “Imagine, that’s Jack’s wilderness out there”. To which our friend Chris replied, “Your cat!?! There are kids in Toronto that have that space as their wilderness”.

Whew... That was awesome, my first beer all week! Oh wait a minute... first I had in two days, anyway, it still tastes great!

Indiana man charged with fraud after he tried to cash $50,000 check from God
Published: Friday, March 2, 2007 12:55 PM ET
Canadian Press

http://www.cbc.ca/cp/Oddities/070302/K030204AU.html

HOBART, Ind. (AP) - Kevin Russell found out it's not easy trying to cash a check from God. The 21-year-old man was arrested Monday after he tried to cash a check for $50,000 at the Chase Bank in Hobart that was signed "King Savior, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Servant," Hobart police Detective Jeff White said.

Russell was charged with one count attempted check fraud and one count intimidation, both felonies, and one count resisting law enforcement, a misdemeanor. He could face prison time.

Police were called to the bank after Russell tried to cash the check, which was written on an invalid Bank One check with no imprint, White said. Russell had several other checks with him that were signed the same way but made out in different dollar amounts, including one for $100,000.

Russell struggled with police as they tried to detain him, White said, and then threatened police as they transported him to the Hobart Police Department.

"I've heard about God giving out eternal life, but this is the first time I've heard of him giving out cash," White said.

No court date has been set for Russell. He was being held Wednesday at the Lake County Jail on a $1,000 bond.