Just smirk, and keep on walking.

They sleep in their own feces, and wade through puddles of urine. Neighbours have become enemies, while people are being shot, not over food and water, but DVD players, stereos and cell phones.

It is very difficult for me to understand how a society like ours could revert so quickly to these actions. I suppose I can understand, but I prefer to believe we are generally better than this. How the first instinct of people is to loot while their city — their home — lay submerged, burning, and destroyed escapes me. It baffles me that of all the recent devastation experienced around the world, the United States seems to be the only nation to lose all sense of control. The fact that the people of New Orleans first instinct is to look out for number one, and fuck the rest, completely saddens me. I guess Marge Simpson was wrong when she sang in A Street Car Named Marge, “You can always depend on the kindness of strangers.”

Maybe I’m naive. Maybe I am completely wrong to think community is the best way to survive times of trouble; that coming together will provide the best chance for survival. Humankind discovered a long time ago that living together was the best way to stay alive — that creating a society and community would provide the most efficient use of resources, and provide the greatest defense against forces that attack. ‘Strength in numbers’, as the old adage goes. If putting my faith in these ideals means my certain death, well, better men have died for lesser causes.

How such destruction can be caused by nature is indisputable, but how a country, that knew this hurricane was coming, was not more prepared is deplorable, disgraceful, and heart-wrenching. Perhaps there is truth in its nickname, “The City that care forgot.”

Among these scenes, and tragic sorrows, there still exists a glint of hope. An ember among the coals ready to re-ignite the flames of sensibility and society.

excerpt from The Seattle Times. Trapped in the Superdome: Refuge becomes a hellhole. By Scott Gold.

One man was lying part way on a cot, his legs flopped off the side, a forgotten blood-pressure monitor still attached to his right arm. Some had wrapped plastic bags on their feet to escape the urine and wastewater seeping from piles of trash. Others, fearing the onset of disease, had surgical masks over their mouths. An alarm had been going off for more than 24 hours, and no one knew how to turn it off.

Suddenly, incongruously, the first notes of Bach’s Sonata No. 1 in G Minor, the Adagio, pierced the desperation.

Samuel Thompson, 34, is trying to make it as a professional violinist. He had grabbed his instrument — made in 1996 by a Boston woman — as he fled the youth hostel Sunday where he had been staying in New Orleans for the past two months.

“It’s the most important thing I own,” he said.

He had guarded it carefully and hadn’t taken it out until yesterday afternoon, when he was able to move from the Superdome into the New Orleans Arena, far safer accommodations. He rested the black case on a table next to a man with no legs in a wheelchair and a pile of trash and boxes, and gingerly popped open the two locks. He lifted the violin out of the red velvet encasement and held it to his neck.

Thompson closed his eyes and leaned into each stretch of the bow as he played mournfully. A woman eating crackers and sitting where a vendor typically sells pizza watched him intently. A National Guard soldier applauded quietly when the song ended, and Thompson nodded his head and began another piece, the Andante from Bach’s Sonata in A Minor.

Like most in the shelter, Thompson’s family in Charleston, S.C., has no idea where he is and whether he is alive. Thompson figures he is safe for now and will get in touch when he can. Meanwhile, he will play, and, once in a while, someone at the sports complex will manage a smile.

“These people have nothing,” he said. “I have a violin. And I should play for them. They should have something.”

It was circa 1996, and a mix tape was made of songs off the radio. I think I was trying to tape The Apartment Song by BNL, and let it run long, and in doing so caught a song that has run through my head for years.

“Wouldn’t it be exciting to be writing while we’re fighting”.

The mix tape was long gone, and I searched the internet. I got one hit on google, but the page I was directed to no longer existed. More time passed. It ran through my head again.

“Wouldn’t it be exciting to be writing while we’re fighting”.

I search again, years later it feels like, and this time I find the song. There it was. The entire lyrics, followed by the important song and band info. Big Chair by Reacharound. I went to work in obtaining the song from various places, and managed to find a 96kbps version. I listened to it. It was the song. Still quite catchy, with a brit-rock flair. (seems they are a LA band made of of Brits)

It reminds me of an episode of Seinfeld where at the end he figures out something that was lost to him the whole episode and concludes, “That’s not as funny as I thought it was”.

Funny thing is, I don’t remember what episode that was.

The worst part is how this affects my golf game. I start lifting my head to try and follow the ball, and that pulls my body off the ball, and the ball doesn’t go straight. Two wrongs, once again, do not make a right. If I were to just stay down on the ball, it would go straight more often then not, and I would not have to worry about tracking it — because I’d always be in the fairway.

I played 2 rounds of golf this week (Monday and Tuesday) at Carlisle Golf and Country Club. It’s a great looking course, with some challenge, even though it’s short (only 6673 yards from the tips). On Monday I got paired with these other two young guys who were pretty good. The one fellow had great ball flight. On Tuesday I got off alone, and finished my round in 2h40min. I don’t like the 6h rounds of golf, but I also don’t like the sub 3h rounds. They don’t last long enough. It feels like a rush. Golf is supposed to be a relaxing activity. In both rounds I couldn’t sink a putt to save my life, and ruined two eagle chance with the dreaded 3 putt. Missed a fair share of birdies as well. On the north course, hole 3, I drew a pitching wedge to 4 feet, and proceeded to leave my putt short. It’s immoral to waste such promising approach shots. It was after this missed putt that I knew what I must do. I knew what would improve my golf game — new equipment.

Yes. I needed a new putter. I needed a new golf bag. My putter is probably from the 1960′s or 70′s, and is an Arnie Palmer special. I’ve held onto it for years, always saying, “It takes skill to use this putter, and that’s what I have. Skill.” But to many strokes have been lost due to my pride. If magazines, TV, and celebrity spokesmen have taught me anything, it’s that new equipment is the secret to a good golf game. Off to GolfTown I went, and out came the credit card. Picked up a new putter by Taylor Made, and a new gold bag by Nike (I didn’t really want Nike, but it was the only one that fit well when I tried it on). I needed the golf bag because my current one is about 9 years old, and the individual club slots have all torn away from the sides. I was due.

So, with new equipment in tow I will again face off against the links. Only time will tell how I fare.

We rolled into the Mosaic parking lot just shy of 7:30pm on Tuesday April 19, 2005. The cube van almost didn’t make it, as it seems the coolant levels dropped and the thing blew nothing but hot air into the cabin. The AC didn’t work, so Dan and Ali had both windows wide open, tryint to get some fresh cool air. A diesel truck driving along at 100 km/h with both windows open is not the quietest ride.

So here I am, back home after 19 days on the road. On the whole it was a completely enjoyable experiences. The long days of driving were less boring then most could imagine, and the similiarities between all the cities and towns we visited was obvious. The only downers I can place my finger on are: the less then fair weather we were faced with on the drive out, and the nights we were unable to run the promotion. I have never seen a group of people get along so well, for such a long time. By the end I’m sure we were ready to do another 19 days as soon as we got our laundry washed. The Ontario leg of the tour starts Friday, with a stop in Mississauga. This leg is mostly one night affairs, though we do have a few hotel nights coming our way.

Over the next few days I will be adding photos to the prevous posts, as well as composing a post with highlights from the trip, that may or may not have been included in previous posts.

Waking up Monday morning in Fredericton, to yet another warm sunny day was fantastic. The small weight of work that was on my shoulders had now left (for the time being) and our drive home would begin. Fredericton has an art gallery that has some Dali and Turner in its permanent collection. One of the girls is a big art lover, so we stopped in to the gallery before starting the trek home. It was a small gallery compared to ones I have been in in London and Paris, so we knocked it off in an hour or two. The Dali they had was okay. I guess I’m not a huge Dali fan. I did some some pieces that reminded me of a piece I had seen at the Louvre, so I made a note of the artists name. There was some fantastic water colour and oil paintings, so I grabbed a few photos (we were allowed to photograph, with no flash, items in their permanent collection). After the gallery we grabbed some Starbucks coffee and were on the road to Toronto.

We made great time. It was unreal the time we made. Even with the stop we made to see the worlds largest axe in Nackawick, NB.

Our first goal was to make Levi, QC. but that was to easy. We passed though Levi around 7pm, and decided to make the push to Montreal. We rolled into Montreal around 9pm and looked for a place to stay. We ended up at Canada’s largest Holiday Inn, right downtown.

What a big day: first the worlds largest axe, and now Canada’s largest Holiday Inn. It is almost to much for one main to fathom. By the time we got settled, and the girls got ready, we made dinner at 11pm and found a nice spot called Pino with a late kitchen. It was nice Italian restaurant, though the Pino Gregio was a little corky. All in all it was a great last night. Warm weather, bustling downtown core, and great people.

No stop is complete without some goofing around and tomfoolery of course.

Next stop, Mississauga and the end of the adventure.

We rolled into Fredericton and headed right to the bar where we had to set up for the nights event. Turns out the bar was in the Tannery. This is the same little square that I hit up last summer with my two buddies on our road trip, and it is in this square that we had the (un)fortunate luck to meet a most entertaining local. As this is supposed to be about this trip, and not previous trips, I will not go into detail, those of you who know of this lady we met consider yourselves (un)lucky. The bar wasn’t open yet, so i grabbed a Juice Booster and cruised down to the river, taking some photos along the way. Again, I have discovered that last time though I didn’t give Fredericton a fair shake. It’s a lovely city, with character and life — we just happened to be in the wrong locations. We set up for the event, and had enough time to go for dinner at this lovely (read 100% attractive waitstaff) pub called Jesters Court. My gosh. Had Kurt, Brent and I gone to this pub last summer we all would have left town much happier, but alas we attended a bar much like the bar we were to execute in. They offered fantastic pub fair, a huge plate of nachos, and a satisfactory selection of draft (not that I was able to sample, since I was ‘on the clock’). A definite must hit the next time anyone cruises through Fredericton. The food was dynamite.

The clientele of the bar we ran the promo in was mostly students from UNB, with the typical sprinkle of old, drunk, funny/creepy locals. To those that know of the kawi loving friend from last summers road trip — I had a sinking fear that I may run into her tonight. I don’t think I did, but I can say that I met her mother/sister. And that’s all I have to say. We ran a random draw to decide who would be sent to Toronto for the finals of the Labatt Blue Chip Poker Tour, and this student from UNB was the lucky selection. It was another case of not knowing who was more excited, the winner or his buddies. When we declared him the winner, his buddies broke into a local rendition of, ‘here’s to brother (insert name here)’. It brought a tear to my eye as he drank the rest of his beer rather quickly.

This was the last stop on our Atlantic tour. We returned to our hotel and enjoyed the few remaining beers we had, and toasted a job well done. The following day our drive back to Toronto, Ontario would begin. Of the 7 team members on the crew, 2 would be flying back for various engagements, so only 5 of us would be making the road trip home — and only 3 of us will have driven the entire round trip.

It’s very near the end, and it’s been one heck of a ride. Who knew work could be this fun?

Next stop, somewhere in Quebec.

The end of the road trip is near. We worked Moncton last night (actually 4pm in the afternoon) and it went really well. They had a great space, and the building was super easy to load and unload from. We have one more execution tonight that, again, has been nipped in the butt, this time by the local police department. The Fredericton police department has asked us not to run the poker tourney, but we are still allowed to run the rest of the event. So it’s going to be the Labatt Blue Chip Poker Tour, sans actual card playing. A winner will still be sent to Toronto for the finals, but it will be by a random draw. Fun, eh? C’est la vie.

Some final thoughts on Moncton. The last time I was here I felt it was a boring town, but it seems I just didn’t go to the right locations. There are a lot of nice pubs down side streets. We went to The Pump House (on Orange St.) to watch the Vince Carter return to Toronto game. It’s a nice little brew pub that had a fabulous wheat beer.

The convoy moves on in a few minutes, so I will close with some travel tips I have been collecting along the way:

Travel Tip # 21 – If you can fill up your gas tank, fill up your gas tank.

We got out of dodge today and made the drive to Moncton. It was another clear, sunny day, and i suggested we talk a detour and swing down the Fundy Drive, and actually see some of the country. It’s been a lot of work, drive, work, and all we have seen is 4 lane highway. But I was out voted. I’ve seen it before, but I thought it might be nice for others to actually see what this province has to offer. C’est la vie. We are shacking up at the Chateau Moncton, that sits on the shore of the Petitcodiac River and provides a spectacular view of its famous tidal bore. I got a room with a river view (*note – turns out on later review, this is the same hotel that was the scene of a tragic incident a week or so back. A young boy was found dead as his mother jumped to her death from a 5th floor suite. I’m in 518).

Work tomorrow night in Moncton at Igloo, then Sunday night in Fredericton. The drive home begins on monday, and I should be back in Toronto, Ontario late on Tuesday.

I have been unable to post pictures with these entries, so when i get home I will be adding photos to these posts, so get ready to read back to see some shots.

Cheers.

We never saw the stormy weather that was promised. It was overcast, and some snow had fallen, but not 15-25cm of blowing snow. Halifax to Summerside is only a few hours, and I’m sure that once one reaches the island, no town is less then 1h away. My last time here saw me drive south to charolettown, the capitol and site of Confederation. This trip has me cruising north to Summerside, the 2nd largest city on the island (approx. 14600). It looks to be a lovely summer location spot, yet in the cool sun of April 13, 2005, it was still lovely.

I took some time today and walked a bit of the shore as we packed up the vehicles and waited for people to check out. It feels to have a new artificial sea side feel, laid out for tourists. None the less, its what I think a small sea side town should feel like.

We worked last night at the Heritage Pub, and it went off without a hitch. It was nice to get back to work, as this is the true reason for this road trip. the patrons were really into the event, and there was some crazy poker action. I had a guy go all in on 4th street having flopped a straight, and he was called by a guy with a 2 pair queens and 9s. He was sitting on Q9, and caught a 9 on the river to make a full boat. It was wild.

Days we work seem to be about 12h long. We show up around 1pm, set up for 2-3h, go for dinner, then relax and get ready in the 1h gap. Back to the event for 6:30pm, which runs from 7pm-12:30am. Tare down takes another couple of hours, having us finish around 2am. That makes for a tiresome day. Luckily in PEI i scored a suite, so I was able to crawl into a bathrobe and enjoy an ice cold Keiths that was in my fridge. If I had more time I would have given the Jecuizi tub through its paces.

We had brunch (at 2pm) at this place in Summerside called Berines, and it was ridiculous. Our server, whom I’m sure was ‘the’ Berine, was a midgit with a mullet. Now. I can really say nothing about it, becuase I feel it speaks for itself. I’m not trying to be mean, but its a pretty funny sight to see. Some folks thought that he reminded them of a carnie. Another highlight of Bernies was the ad on the wall for their ‘Bingo for Meat’ night. It seems the prize for winning Bingo at Bernies is a hunk of meat. Wow.

Today we drove to St. John, NB. It smells. Thus far I only have one worthwhile observation — St. John is no St. John’s.