First Month Review - Grade -B

We'll I've been trying to write everyday for four weeks now, I've missed a few days and made them up other days, which is cheating but since I'm the one making up the rules, I'll allow it.

I would like to progress to a longer story, although I am enjoying the 75 word format.  Thank you Colin.  I'm not quite sure how to extend them.  I was thinking of using the 75 word stories as a place to start  and also begin to write outlines (and include those as stories), so for example, I began to write a few 75 word stories that were linked and So the next step could be writing an outline of for a longer story could connect them then go from there.

So next month I will work on including outlines, or an outline for the linked dog park stories.

I gave myself a -B because I did write a lot, way more than I ever thought I could, the writing was pretty crappy.  I had fun though and although these stories are still not what I'd like to be producing it's a step in the write direction.  There is room for improvement but I had a lot of success with this ridiculous concept.

Cottage Party

She opened the porch door slowly.  It was so bright outside her eyes took a few moments to adjust as she walked to the dock.  As she looked at the lake a boat came towards her.  Someone shouted and threw her a line.   She caught it and tied it absent mindedly.  When everyone was on the dock she said with a smile “welcome, let me show you the cabin.”  And now the party could begin.

Snowed In

I’m inside cozy and warm, while going over my preparations, list by list.  It’s not just the coming weather that will be hard, it’s all that goes along with bad weather, isolation and deprivation.  The dotard up the path is even gone, I’m not as cozy anymore, I’m alone.  I have the urge to go out and fell another tree.  That time has past I’ll have to make due with what I have already prepared.

The Stone Path

A stone path stretched before me through the woods like a fairy tale.  I followed it anyway.  I kept my eyes moving, turning my head to any noise.  As I walked I saw a lot of forest and trees, but no gnomes or sprites.  Then, as if I had never started, I was back out of the woods.  As I took one last look behind me I’m sure I saw something duck behind a tree.

Rideau Canal

I love skating on the canal.  It is the best thing there is to do in Ottawa, by far.  My favourite time to go is a busy Saturday afternoon.  When it is cold and sunny.  I love to watch adults learning to skate.  How they came to by on the canal I don't know, maybe they are visiting, or here for work or are new to Canada or maybe they just never learned when they were younger.  Whatever the reason, when I see them all bundled up, wobbling around with the biggest smiles on their faces, I couldn't be happier for them.  Skating is the best.
The actual ice on the canal is generally awful.  I've been skating on it when the ice is great lots of times, but mostly the ice conditions are pretty bad.  It needs to be really cold, -20C or colder at night and no warmer than -10C during the day.  They need to flood the ice each night and brush it off everyday.  It's pretty labour intensive but can contribute to a magical experience.  Like late at night, when no one is around and it's really cold and quite.  I love skating on the canal.

Teething

I prepare a carefully selected menu.  It is flavourful, textured and balanced.  The high chair is set up, the baby is strapped in.  The meals for the rest of the family are almost ready, we're getting good at this I don't dare to think.  I begin to fed the baby.  Two spoonfuls in and the screaming starts.  OK, you want the spoon.  Here have a pea you can put in your own mouth.  Another?  More screaming.  Alright, what about airplane noises?  Great and a second time, more screaming.  Got it, carrots from my plate, excellent and another?  No Way!  What if I put your food on my plate.  Two bites later more screaming.  Alright I'll make up some infant gruel, four bites of that then screaming time.  I have about half my dinner left but am no longer hungry, I take the tired swollen screaming baby out of the high chair and straight into a warm bath.  Ah, no more screaming, just happy splashing and laughing.  Little bits of carrot are flying out with each laugh.  Next time we want a family dinner we can have it with the baby in the bath.

Bye Grandma

 There are too many memories to list, a lifetimes worth.  I go through them a lot though, thinking about what she would do helps me stay connected and feeling less like I’m the only one.  I’m resolved to be more practical, use less and reuse more.  The sun is always shining somewhere, so I’ll put in a garden this summer.  I should have some jello salad, cheese biscuits and 7up.  Bye Grandma, I love you.

75 word version: The Stevens Family

Before baths and homework but after dinner, the Stevens all walk to the park as a family.  Pedro walks nicely beside Erin, the eldest, most days.  Once at the park the two older kids can be found in one of the several trees, Melissa climbing up first.  While the youngest, Kate, tried to play with the dogs and was often found with a group of them around her waiting for a ball to be thrown.

75 word addition: The Dog Park

 There had been so much snow that the 6 foot fence between the dog park and the baseball diamond had been reduced to less than 2 feet.  None of the dogs at the park had noticed yet, and maybe they wouldn’t.  All it would take was one dog to jump and the rest would be over.  There was 20-25cm forecast for overnight and it was only February, it was going to be a long winter.

75 word version: Sara and Tom

Biking through downtown traffic on a friday afternoon was not often enjoyable.  That didn’t matter to Sara, she was heading home to her puppy.  Willie was 5 months old and was headed on her first camping trip tonight.  Tom was also rushing home, having just picked up the last of the camping groceries.  Once everyone was home the car was loaded and off they all went to the dog park before a long car ride.

75 word version: Deborah and Jane

With the third dog loaded into the back of the car they were ready to go.  Jane ran through a mental checklist of important items, water and pick up bags. Deborah pulled out of their driveway and checked the time on the dash and calculated that they would be a little early for their dog park rendezvous.  In the back of the car the dogs were quiet as they settled in to the familiar drive.

75 word version: Manny

As the cab drove off Manny pulled out his keys and the new toy he had for Bella.  Her happy barking began before his key was in the lock.  Manny read the note from the dog sitter, "Bella was great, hope you had a good trip."  Bending down he gave Bella a hug and then showed her the new toy. She played with the toy as Manny got ready to take Bella to the park.

75 word version: Lynn

Lynn was surprised by how many neighbours she met on walks with her pup.  She was very happy to stop for a few moments and chat about the adorable and quickly expanding, ball of fur at her feet.  Normally shy, Lynn was enjoying having something to talk about with the people she came across.  She hadn’t payed attention to parks before, but was happy to have a fenced in park walking distance from her place.

75 word version: The Dog Park

Chain link fencing enclosing dirt and a few trees, not much to Carl’s dog park, it was where he loved to be.   There were no benches, no shelter, no running water, nothing but dogs playing and owners chatting.  The people who went to the park took care of it themselves.  They chipped ice in the winter and filled in holes in the summer.  All the while keeping tabs on each other, while the dogs played.

explination

I'm working on a series of connected short stories.  They are taking more time to write than I can get published in a day.  What I'll do is a 75 word story to summarize the story sections.

Yes Officer

I was laughing because the tension was excruciating, I looked over and saw the tag sticking out, I couldn’t hold the laughter in.  I saw Anna reaching her hand towards the officer almost in slow motion.  I’m sure she wasn’t thinking.  Frankly the tag was distracting us all and Anna did everyone a favour by folding it under, then we could focus on being berated.  I still can’t believe he let us go after that.

Drugs in Sports

I don't care.  No, I don't care.  Do what ever you want.  If you think that you are not cheating because other people are also cheating you are wrong.  If what you are doing is against the rules then you are cheating.  If what you are doing is using performance enhancing drugs to keep your body at a higher level or to recover faster or do something that your body wouldn't naturally do then you are cheating.  Even if the top 1000 other athletes in your sport are also doing exactly the same thing, you are all fucking cheaters.

Cheating is a choice, you are free to make that choice or not.

I used to want to know why, I wanted to hear the sordid details about loving the sport and being shut out and being heart broken after working your whole young life to get to the top level.  Now I say I don't care.  Cheat or don't, I don't care.  And no I don't believe you.  You might be 20 and never had seen anyone use drugs, I still don't believe you until you make me believe you.  You can thank Lance Armstrong for that.  That is his legacy for me.  He was so horrible to those around him and to the people who were just trying to do their jobs that I will never again be able to believe the denial.

When I congratulate you with a weak smile and a "great job" then check the Watts/Kg and then maybe I'll say "wow."  No more will I say "that's unbelievable"  because if you are clean you had better not be doing anything that is unbelievable.

I don't blame you, I blame myself.  I suspended disbelief.  I wanted the unreal to be true.  I believed in heroes and fraudulent romanticism.  I thought I was watching something else, I was watching fiction and I loved it.

Now, I can't go back to not knowing.  I will watch, I will follow but I can't hear any more.  For now just sit on it.  Just wait until it's been a few more months and Lance is out of the news again and there are no television moguls involved and we can try again for an under appreciated sport.

You athletes talk about being caught between and rock and a hard place, the choice is a hard one but I didn't have a choice to watch a sport with or without doping.  We can only participate in the sport as it is until we all clean it up.

So for my part, I will assume you are on drugs until it is proven unequivocally that you are not.  You will wither work hard to show me you are not on drugs or you won't do anything to show that you are not on drugs and then I will know you are on them.  That's the best I can do.  Again blame Lance Armstrong if you think it's unfair.  If you want me to think you are clean you have extra work to do, that's the way it will be for me.  That or if you feel like you could get along without me, that's also fine, continue on the current path, Festina, Puerto, Lance etc.  I don't need you, but you do need me.

Winter Walk

The trees and fog mean that I move slowly through the woods.  That's fine by me.  It's beautiful on this walk.  I'm catching glimpses of sun through the canopy of leaves above me.  I haven't seen a single bird, not even a flash of feathers.  I can hear various kinds of birds all around, thrashes, grosbeaks, warblers and waxwings among others I’m sure.  I can't tell which is which, I can only identify them by sight, which is of no use yet as I haven't seen a single one.  I checked out tapes from the library, "how to identify song birds by their song."  They sit, unheard, on the coffee table at home.  

The trees are clearing as I continue, I must be coming to the end of the loop.  Back to the parking lot, my car then home.  I can relive some of the experience by listening to the bird call tapes at home.  Otherwise I will just have to wait until next weekend, when I can again get out into the trees and birds.  I’m planning the next trip, where I’ll head to, as I emerge into the gravel parking lot.  I walk to my car, one of a handful and unlock the door.  I look up at the sky just in time to see a crow fly over head, it is headed back to the city, I follow.

Caveat

I'm glad that I've been writing everyday.  But I'm feeling torn between writing a story or anything for that matter and having it be decent and getting sleep.  I feel like if I only have 15 minutes one day to write I might not get a long detailed story written.  Another day I may have an hour (even our baby sleeps sometimes.)  In an effort to help generate story ideas and perhaps create a story that may be strong enough to work on for a few hours I'm going to have to come up with something.  10:45 pm is not a very creative time for me, so I'm going to switch to the mornings, We'll see how that works and as far as I'm concerned, I just have to write something, even if like yesterday it was written in my head and them mostly forgotten, at least it was something.

Short poem

Tub scrubs
Back rubs
Backyard bugs

Blue jeans
Movie scenes
fermented soy beans

Teddy bear
fresh air
brand new underwear

Go To Sleep

Go to sleep, stay asleep. Sleep Sleep Sleep
Counting sheep, many sheep. Sheep Sheep Sheep

Soft bed, cosy bed. Bed Bed Bed.
One or two Pillows for my, Head Head Head

Warm blankets up to my Nose Nose Nose.
Warm blankets down past my toes toes toes

Stories and poems for my Ears Ears Ears
Some dim lights to allay Fears Fears Fears


Close your eyes, shut your lids, close your eyes
Say goodnight, say goodnight, say goodnight

Go to sleep, stay asleep. Sleep Sleep Sleep
Counting sheep, many sheep. Sheep Sheep Sheep

And Then

A young girl wanted to play My Little Ponies.  And then her Aunt picked up one of the ponies and moved it back and forth as she was talking.  And then her brother came over with a ball.  And then the dog came over and then we all went outside.  And then we went for a walk in the woods.  And then the dog ran off ahead and began to bark.  And then we came upon an abandoned shack.  And then I noticed something moving inside the shack.  And then the dog came running out of the shack door.  And then the kids looked inside the open door and saw someone sitting at a small table.  And then "well please would you shut the door after you come inside."  The young woman said.  And then we went inside and the young woman wanted to know how we had found her hiding place.  And then the brother mentioned that we had been following the dog.  And then the young girl asked the obvious question "why are you hiding?" And then the young woman said "I ran away when our town had been over run by warriors."  And then the young girl, stepping closer said "what year it it?"  And then the young woman said something like 2078, but how could that be right?


What did we learn?

Stories are hard and I'm tired

Red dinosaurs and green dinosaurs

 There are a lot of books strewn about.  Most of them are gaping open, their pages spilling over each other.  The words I am writing are filling up notebook after notebook, more and more goes into them.  I'm submerged in words, Latin and Greek roll off my tongue as natural as can be but I haven't spoken to a friend in months.  I'm living out the cliche of the scholar.  I wouldn't notice, I wouldn't miss, I wouldn't enjoy, are the openings to my thoughts about my family and those who would be my friends if it weren't for my books and writing.  They describe me as single minded, focused, determined and obsessed.

I can't stop.  I feel like I will forget, like I won't know how to begin again the next day.  Every night I worry about waking up without being able to research and write about my dinosaurs.  My dinosaurs, did you catch that.  As if they belong to me.  It's getting worse and I'm not sure I can fix it on my own.  The more time I spend with the books, the more research I do the more accolades I get from peers.  Affirmative articles in my beloved journals.  My friends can say the exact same things but I don't hear it.  I need to read it from other Doctors.  Actually, it's been awhile since there was such an article.  More than a year I'd say.  I'm working on my best theories yet, I say to myself.  I'm working much harder than ever.  If there were a Nobel prize given in paleontology I'd be getting it.  See I'm working on determining dinosaur colour from the fossil record.  It came to me many years ago.  I had been working tirelessly for many days.  Staring at fossil after fossil sorting them by species.  Then all of the sudden I realized that I had begun to sort the fossils from the same species by colour.  Now I know what you are going to say, colour is not preserved in the fossil record.  I thought so too until I began to see it.  Now I can glance at what remains of reptiles from 65 million years ago and tell you about the unseen rainbow.

The problem is that although it is my best work to date, it is unrecognized.  No one will acknowledge that I am a pioneer in a new field of paleontology what I have been calling paleopigmentology.  So I am alone and isolated, but I'm with my books so I'm not abandoned.

The Perfect Room

It wasn't hard to hear that things upstairs weren't going well.  The thumping and slamming were only part of the the reason.  The idea had been to set up a music room in the attic.  Full surround speakers, vibration canceling feet for the turntable and other stereo equipment.  We had already spent quite a bit of money on this project but had not finished setting things up yet.  The furniture had been moved in place, two reclining chairs and an old but comfortable couch.  Rugs for the floor and foam for the walls and celling (It's the attic so the walls are the celling for much of the room.)

The problem as always was running the wires.  So armed with extra wire and a soldering gun Eric went into the attic.  It was from him that most of the sounds were emanating.  It was not the first time any of us had been through a project like this with Eric so we all knew to stay out of his way until we were called or there was an injury.  We sat at the kitchen table drinking tea and nervously chatting about how great it would be to listen to records in the "perfect room."  No one thought they would really be able to be comfortable in that room because of the hassle that it was giving Eric right now and had been for the last few weekends.  He was a prisoner of the room.  He needed it to be setup the "proper" way and only he knew what way that was.

This was the final day, or so we had been told.  It would be finished tonight.  Eric had picked out the perfect record, it was a surprise.  The wine that would be drunk while listening to the perfect record was waiting in on the counter still in the bag from the store.  We were trying not to become anxious and were trying to remain upbeat.  These were always tense gatherings.

Eric emerged from the attic and walked over to the counter.  He poured himself a glass of water and drank about half.  He then reached for the wine bottle and corkscrew form the counter.  He opened the bottle of wine, looked at us sitting at the table and said "It's perfect. Let's go upstairs."  I brought up the glasses and followed.  We sat down and held tightly onto our glasses as the crackle of the record began.  Only after we had heard the first few notes did we relax into our seats as the first perfect notes reached our ears.  We all sighed, closed our eyes and thought only about the music.  The perfect room, was doing it's job at long last.

Butterfly

The link between butterflies and barbies is tenuous.  I received roller skating barbie when I was about seven or eight for my birthday, perhaps from a friend.  She was my only barbie.  She came with a tank top for me to wear.  The tank top had red trim and a rainbow in the center.  I have dim recollections of playing with the barbie but I remember the tank top.  It gave me hives the last time I wore it.

I had found a caterpillar and wanted to keep it as a pet.  I put it in a plastic bucket with a bunch of leaves to eat and a twig to play on.  So it wouldn't "run away" I covered the top of the bucket with the rainbow fronted tank top, this was not my first pet.  Then promptly forgot about the caterpillar and the bucket and the tank top.  I couldn't even guess at how long the caterpillar lived in that bucket but I was really and confused when I  found the bucket still covered with the shirt but no caterpillar inside.  I found my dad, and began crying about the lost caterpillar showing him the bucket.  He was the one who showed me that attached to the tank top was a chrysalis.  He then told me the unbelievable story about metamorphosis.  After the butterfly emerged my mom washed the tank top.  The next time I wore it I was so proud.  So proud and very itchy.  I took it off, my back was covered in hives.  This is when I learned about how great both rainbows and metamorphosis are.

Playing in the snow

She ran as fast as she could, straight out the back door.  Circle right then back around left.  You could tell how happy she was by the way she tunneled through the deep snow.  She would lift her head up, look around and then plunge it back down.  She left trails of collapsed tunnels behind her all through the yard.   I don't think she found what she was looking for in the snow that day but she was smiling as wide as a dog can when she later curled up for a nap.

Sleepy

I can hold my eyes open for about half a second before the lids become too heavy and they slowly close.   The darkness lengthens.  It's not for my benefit that I'm not sleeping yet.  As I look around at the room and take a quick inventory I hold of the inevitable for a few moments longer.  Something pops into my head I'm wide awake, just like that.  From only a memory I'm not tired any more.  Well it feels like that, truthfully I'm even more tired when the memory fades because of the effort it took to push it away.  I yawn one more time and think I'll never fall asleep.........

Pines

My eyes are closed.  I'm still squinting.  I'm trying to create and image in my mind.  I want to remember the entire experience, sounds, colours, feel and smell, especially the smell.  I can block out the soft music playing where I am.  I can replace it with the songs of a few birds.  I can slowly bring an image into my mind, generic forrest, with green tops and reddish brown bottoms. The green isn't solid it's made up of thousands, maybe millions of individual leaves of various shades of green or brown or grey or combination of the three.  Each leaf is too small for me to see from my vantage point in the image I am creating around me, but if I try I can see with a clarity that I don't have in real life.  I can see the variation is also in the bark of the pine tree trunks and the forrest floor which.  The part I really want to get to though is remembering the smell of the hot pine needles that I can now see all around me.  I can feel them cushioning each step and sway.  I can hear the needles as they rub together under my weight, well almost.  With my eyes still closed I look up and the darkness slowly reveals the dappled canopy above me.  I'm standing close to a big trunk and above my head the tree's branches radiate and spiral upwards.  The sky is light blue, where it can be seen through the dark needles.  I think I saw a bird flit away as I look up.  I can now hear the wind pushing the branches together, it makes me inhale.  I feel the heat around me and there it is, it fills my nose and lungs, the warm pine aroma.  It means it's too hot to spend time in the sun.  Too hot to do much except stay still and be surrounded by trees and leaves.

It's not too hot out side my imagination, outside it's snowing and below zero by a fair amount, it's -16C.  This cold is also beautiful but it's not like the smell of a stand of pines on a hot day.

SAD: How do you get to Burning Man

How do you get to Burning Man

If you were to ask me the question "how do you get to Burning Man?" I could answer in a lot of ways, give travel directions, describe how I went each time or with a joke; such as "you tell me hippie." This is the story of one of the ways.

Too early in the morning won't have any meaning  tomorrow but right now it means startling to an alarm and beginning the day with a pounding heart after nowhere close to enough sleep.  I live a long way from my destination and across an international border.  I have all my lists checked off and everything is packed.  Tickets? Passport? Tickets? Passport?  It's a constant refrain running through my head, I pat the inside of my jacket as I repeat theses words sometimes out loud. Tickets? Passport?  I am going alone to a temporary city.  A place I went too last year for the first time.  Welcome "home" they will say when I arrive, as if I'm not leaving my own home to adventure into the desert.  Home is where the heart is and my heart is going to be in Black Rock City.  

Tickets? Passport? I call a cab, lug my bags to the porch and sit.  It's false dawn, so like 4:30am my flight leaves at 7am and security could take a long time, I'm going to Burning Man.  

Tickets? Passport? The good thing about living so far away is that people don't really know what Burning Man is around here.  So when the customs officer asks me where I'm going I don't really have to lie, "camping at an arts festival in Nevada" is very much the truth, but I practice anyway.  Now I'm looking at my phone 4:37am, "where is that cab?" Tickets? Passport?  My foot taps, I don't even notice.  I see the cab coming down the street, I exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding as I stand.  The cab stops and I load my gear, Tickets? Passport?

Getting my bags checked in is not the ordeal it could have been. Two carry ons and two checked bags means a little extra money but as much as possible comes with me. Tickets? Passport?  Next is security, piece of cake, I'm not bring liquid in my carry on after all, just camping gear and power tools.  Everyone travels with those on airplanes apparently.  At my airport I can clear customs before we get on the plane or into the US for that matter, it's kind of nice, local customs officers. The line is short, one person then me.  I'm not nervous, I'm not trying to hid anything. Tickets? Passport?  "Oh I'm going to Nevada, for a week long camping trip."  "At an arts festival." "I'll be staying at the Golden Nugget the first night."  "Thank you."  Easy

The rest is airports, find coffee/water/food/gate wait, Tickets? Passport?  Board the plane, try and sleep then find coffee/water/food/gate wait, Tickets? Passport?  I only have two flights on the way to Reno, it's three on the way home.  I'm practically there, well to Reno at least, it's a start.  Now it's about 1pm Reno time and we're 45 minutes from landing, I have been playing spot the Burner, someone with  hair that is green, pink or blue and I'm reasonably sure they are headed to the same place my non dyed hair is going.  It's not even a fun game on the way home.  The dust can't be removed well enough to be able sneak by. Tickets?

We touch down, Tickets?  My friends are going to be waiting for me, at the baggage carousel.   Coming out of the bathroom my phone rings, we're all here.  I can't feel the heat of the desert summer yet but I do see the slot machines and hear them chiming.  We've reloaded the two vans and are headed to get the last of the provisions and booze.  It's a mad house at the grocery store,  20 cashes open and 15  carts in each line. Everyone is excited and happy and almost no one is wearing a t-shirt and shorts.  I see some families shopping, I wish it didn't have to be so hard on them with all these extra people in here but at least we're all happy and friendly right now. Our bill is about $400, it's a lot but there are 6 of us and it's our booze and water as well.  One last stop at Denny's to load up on food and use the warm running water. 

It's 11pm now and we're getting excited, tired and excited! Tickets?  If you don't know the way all you have to do is follow the obvious busses, RV's, art cars etc.  We do know the way and will be following those vehicles into the night.  Along the I 80 take the exit for highway 447 and drive along it until you are stopped by traffic then follow the traffic.  It's dark we can't see much out the windows but are looking anyway at the desert, sage, mountains, nothing.  We are going slowly along the very dark road, there are so many other people driving on this two lane highway there is nothing to do except creep along.  I look out to the East and can see the beginning of dawn, I watch the sky and dream about riding my fat tire bike as fast as I can with the sun burning my face.  As each moment passes we can see more of the desert revealed through the windows, no one is asleep, we are quiet though, watching the dry vegetation, scanning the mountains, then there it is off and small but we can see it, "The Man" all lit up neon blue, arms down and his sides. Soon we pull off the highway into the desert we're now six long lines and we each find our tickets and are preparing to enter the gate.  We get stopped, show our tickets and get out and stretch as our van is searched for stowaways.  We are beside the other van they will be searched soon. we are elated, exhausted, exuberant and euphoric.  Less than a mile and we are stopped again we are welcomed with big smiles and hugs we are "home."

New Year New Project

I'm going to write a story a day in 2013.  Unlike Stewart McLean's Vinyl Cafe Story Exchange it doesn't have to be true but probably will be short.  I may invent a new story or recount one but at the very least I'm going to do it everyday.  I'll do my best to avoid spelling mistakes.

Story One

How my friends and I broke up my favourite band.  A fictional account of why Mclusky broke up.


I like millions of other people played guitar in a band.  This band was in a very active phase at the time.   We practiced once or twice a week together and I played guitar all the time.  Walking around my house, on the phone or watching TV.  If I was at home I was playing guitar.  We played shows around the city where we live, one a month or so.  In fact we were so active we recorded and released a record, on vinyl no less.  All this adds up to us being as proficient as we were ever going to be.  We had so much fun, each practice and show were a great time, we loved it.  We were best of friends, and one of things we had in common besides being in the same band was liking some of the same music.  One of these bands we all loved was Mclusky.  My heart still races even just thinking of their music.  The energy, the irreverence, the power, it takes me back to those heady days of being in a band with my friends and being so good at what we did.

A couple of months after we released our record I went on my annual two week vacation to the desert.  When I arrived back home their was a message on the answering machine, "Mclusky's coming to Ottawa in a few days and I suggested the Banditas open for them."  The voice was one of my friends who had been asked by the shows promoter who should open for this band from Wales.  My jaw dropped, it couldn't be true.  Holly Shit, WE were going to open for Mclusky, I was in a daze.

The show was on a Monday night.  Now, I really should emphasize, we were not a serious band, we took the band seriously but were not under any delusions about becoming famous, we were just three friends who had fun.  We used about 50% more wattage than was necessary because it was funny, we yelled, and played power chords and were nothing more than any other small time punk band.  But that night with that sound guy, the one who got the joke, we sounded incredible.  We hit every note, we had the audience "dancing."   The stage floor was reverberating with the drum brain we had hooked up to a trigger on the floor tom, for the only time.  Not one missed change or word.  It was exquisite.  Who could possibly top that?  I have never felt better after a show, it was perfect, like winning the big game.

But we were too damn good, a few months later Mclusky broke up.  If only we hadn't been so great that night it might not have started the downward spiral that lead to Mclusky's demise.

Believe what you will but I will always look back with fond recollections at the night my band broke up Mclusky.  Who did your band break up?