Oui Oui

Everybody's cash-strapped these days including myself. But lets pretend for a minute you've got a little scratch to play with. You're hankerin' for a major change in scenery since this last summer's highlight was renting a beer filled pontoon (party barge) and drifting aimlessly amid the random carp. But I hear ya, there's alot to be said for such an afternoon. But let's take it up a notch. Yeah, it'll require plane tickets, yeah and a hotel...and yeah, passports but its the closest you'll get to Paris without crossing the pond.

If you do the research, you can cover a lot of, if not most of Montreal in a fat weekend. I don't know that French is the desired language (I'm guessing yes) but it is the most prevalent. The city is no stranger to the dollar bill and these days the rate is pretty well balanced. I've been there on a few occasions for business as it is a major North American manufacturing hub for apparel and thought enough of the town to take my gal there for part our honeymoon. Walking through the narrow, cobblestone streets of Old Montreal, hoofing it to the top of Mount Royal for a city scape view, exploring Chinatown, venturing up and down Ste-Catharine Street-the city's main drag for shopping. Had a stupendous meal at Gibbys, a favorite Montreal steakhouse. And if we're really, really pretending, and want an even more expensive steak, head for Moishes, $75 bucks a pop, but in all fairness, that was a company dinner.

When heading for the finish line, you've got to see the Basilica Notre-Dame de Montreal. Its freakin stunning. Its Neo-Gothic architecture dates back to 1672. Throw in the Olympic Stadium and you're good to go.





Photo of Olympic Stadium from anna.aero.com
Photo of Basilica Notre-Dame de Montreal from goworldtravel.com

Ello,Ello

Translator's Byrdsy mix of British Invasion with a dab of hostility are still one of my perennial favorites from San Francisco's 415 Records. What with: Everywhere That I'm Not, Unalone,
LA-LA and the title track to their 2nd release, No Time Like Now.
Wire Train's: Chamber of Hellos and I'll Do You, off, In A Chamber. Romeo Void's: Never Say Never and A Girl In Trouble ( Is A Temporary Thing) and finally Red Rockers' China.
Named for what is now one of San Francisco's more iconic area codes in addition to being the police code for "Disturbing The Peace," 415 was founded by writer/promoter Howie Klein with supporting roles from Bill Graham Presents and in-house producer, David Kahne. Not long after its inception, Columbia Records swooped in to provide a national distribution deal.
Said Klein, " Before that Columbia deal, we made records that cost $5,000 and sold 50,000 copies. After the Columbia deal, we made records that cost, $50,000 and sold 5,000 copies."

A collective of information from TT and Wikipedia

415 Records logo from Wikipedia

Old Banana Gap

A year ago last Spring, I saw glimpses of what I'd call survival mode from my local Gap store. But before that and since then...enh, I don't know, not really.
I mean I get that Gap wants to, and needs to, direct themselves away from being a go-to for every day basics, but I don't see, yet anyway, that they've moved much beyond the rank and file tee shirt.
This past weekend I popped into the neighborhood (30 miles away, its a big neighborhood) Old Navy and I realize I'm not their target customer, but I was outta there quicker than it took me to scratch my bee-hind and maybe should have waited till I was out of the store to do that.
Banana Republic I-do-not-get. It's like their designers said; "Lets go see what J.Crew is doing" but on their way, they tripped on something, bumped their heads and ended up at Nautica instead.
I yearn for 80s era Banana Republic, when they were the unofficial, suburban travel and safari outfitters. Now they knew khaki from chino. How I long for my Gurkha pants and multi-pocket, chambray shirt. (FYI, Gurkha is a unit within the British Indian Army from the 1800s, comprised of Napalese soldiers who sported the high waisted, double buckle style). I didn't think I could rock the Gurkha short with any significant amount of justice as they really only look up to spec with their counterpart beige knee socks.
I always try and make a stop into the 3 stores every couple of months in hopes of seeing that glimmer of hope...at least for the Gap, cuz I think that somewhere deep inside, they still got it in 'em... somewhere. But this sure ain't my Uncle Max's Banana Republic.

Crazy

Has anybody else ever thought that, if you had the chance to meet and s-t-s with Willie Nelson, as remote as that is, but that it's plausible, you could end up being pretty good friends?
I mean, he just reeks of guy's guy, mischief and herb. And the stories he could tell. That would curtail any friendship right there because I would just be awestruck, I mean Johnny, Waylon, Kris or Merle. Where would he start and when would it end?
As an artist though, Willie took years and years for me to warm up to. In the late 70s, If I paid attention to anything at all "Southern," it was more along the lines of the Atlanta Rhythm Section or Allmans. I was too sensitive and bummed over the Eagles errant crappyness or if Fleetwood Mac's inter-band shagging would not do them in.
I had lumped Willie Nelson in with that whole Jimmy Buffet like-party as art-don't give a rats fanny bout nuthin but margheritta's and weed-type of harmonica laced pirate/outlaw buffoonery.
I had no time for that barefoot feelgood crap.
But during the 80s and 90s, Willie was still playing those quirkey little scattershot leads on nylon strings that still sound a little dusty, a little lonely and with a hint of Tex-Mex.
At some point I finally latched on and I couldn't be happier he never left those sensibilities behind.

Photo from tumblr.com

Toothpick? Nah!

I know some folks could give a rip less. But I also know I might raise a few eyebrows.
But I'm a totally geeked J.Crew devotee, or maybe just a total geek. They've clearly made classic their mission statement and by God, they're nailin it. Jenna's put preppy back on the map with a healthy dose of sexy on top.
Incredibly unsuspecting color and fabric combinations of wool, silk, cashmere and denim. Flannel shirts with bow ties, mohair and chambray from some of the finest British and Italian mills.
With RedWing, Timex, Barbour, Belstaff and Sperry collaborations, you'd think the design staff were made up of ex Ralph Lauren alumni with a few random heritage hipsters thrown in for taste.
BUT... I do have one problem. It's the ongoing display of malnourished women models. My God, someone hand these gals an Angus burger or two...DAILY.
I just don't see a jutting pelvis bone or an angular clavicle as chic. Or the appeal of a kneecap so devoid of flesh, it could slice its way through a pair of jeans. Stop focusing solely on sizes
2, 4 and 6 and start struttin some 8s, 10s and 12s. Some of us, my spouse maybe, equate healthy as BIG GIRL, whatta load a crap. Healthy is someone who doesn't starve themselves. Healthy is what it sounds like...H-E-A-L-T-H-Y.


photo from jcrew.com

Horseshoes & Hand Grenades

I love that bottom end rumble, that shakin the rafters kinda thingl. I wish I was doin it for a living or maybe its just as well for I'd probably only be putting rice and beans on the table.
I call it hunt-n-peck. That's my style if you call it a style. I figure as long as I land on the root when I'm supposed to, I'm half way there. Everything else is superfluous. (I'm trying to sell myself here a little bit so bare with me).
Being a drummer, I can indeed shake it a little on stage. So there's that. It may not always be pretty, but everybody needs someone to point at. Plus I play with my fingers, not a pick, so you get a warm, soft throttle. Not that folks who play with a plectrum are any less valid, its just differnt. Touche to the doghouse slappers.

Photo from partycovemarina.com

"Soapy"

After being greeted with "Hey ya little cretin", there was again a warm delight within the status quo. A quick 15 minutes of yadda-yadda-yadda with my brothers and I was off. Held prisoner in the car with the folks for 4 hours was more than enough time served with good behavior. After all, I hadn't soiled my shorts or thrown up. Not that that should be cause for solitary confinement. But I remember a time somewhere in Ontario I think when the folks and I were trapped in gridlock midway across a bridge during 5 o'clock rush hour with of course absolutely no where to go and I was in pain and could not hold it any longer and crapped my pants. There we were, stranded mid-bridge, creeping forward inch by inch on a hot, sunny afternoon with a sweet, pungent oder wafting throughout. So if there was ever a time my Dad didn't have much use for me, that would've been it.

My island get-away car was a Schwinn Typhoon exactly like the one I had back home so I was pretty well versed in how she'd handle. Headed Northeast around the island for the 7 mile trek always started out strong but I would always come across something new or old to marvel at.
More importantly, I always took any opportunity to retain the swagger of someone who looked non-plussed by a gargantuan rock formation by the side of the road just begging to be climbed. Yeah, I've seen it before cuz, you know, my brothers work here!

Having a few neighborhood families transplanted onto Mackinac Island for the weekend of my brother's wedding was pretty cool...and pretty surreal. I was king of the world, or at the very least, an unpaid, destination savy tour guide.
Sam, the father of my brother's bride to be, worked some sort of security detail at one time for G. Mennen "Soapy" Williams, our state's 41st governor. So he was able to cop a spot at Soapy's Mackinac Island summer home for the rehearseal dinner. Quite a coup I think, especially for my brother AND pretty swanky, a little too swanky maybe. Whats the point of a beautiful, grand home if you can't dink around in it a little. Probably sharp-shooters up in the hills.
Aside from that stiff collared affair and possibly the wedding itself, good times were had. Sneakin puffs off Salems and Viceroys and the neighborhood kid's group ride around the island initiating me to the finer points of Boone's Farm.