Friday, March 11, 2005 Weird World

A few weeks ago Hunter Thompson shot himself, there ends the story of the last prince of the freaknation. At the same time, a few thousand kilometers away I was being ejected from an after hours booze can. Remember, not all 24 hour internet cafes are filled with insomniacs playing videogames, Sometimes its worth looking around to see what is open at 4 in the morning and asking yourself why its profitable for them to be open at that time. One of the people I was with was from Daytona or some frats-nest spoiled shithole. Presenting himself as the type that's all money and no personality, topped off with an easybake tan that said "melanoma" to everyone but him. I was told specifically not to say anything derogatory because certain individuals were afraid of getting a bad reputation. The same people actually practice "Tough Guy" looks in the mirror. In ZombieNation, cool is not gauged by what you do, but what it looks like you do.

Arts and crafts for social cohesion:

1. You will need 1 felt tipped marker, 1 piece of cardboard, and some PVA glue.

2. Take out cardboard and marker, and write: "The Opinions Expressed by the following are those of the participants and not necessarily those of the associates"

3. Carry around your neck until reasonably far away enough from the tragically cool.

Going into a late night Chinese restaurant for some cold tea and barbecued Squid with these people who were very unimpressed with my method of life. I had repeatedly insulted The Daytona Ken Doll and therefore alienated my friends from the chance to gain his good graces. I've been going to this restaurant for years but I'm still not allowed to order from the Chinese Customers menu and yet its no problem at all to be served beer out of a tea pot to complete strangers 3 hours after the license is over. So for the next hour we sat silently to speak as the microcosm of American foreign Policy was spewed at us in metaphor. I brought up a book I was reading about a street group in Toronto called Tent City. It existed for a few years down by the waterfront and was a cluster of tents and shacks that the homeless called home. I brought up the fact that the author who lived there incognito studying those people like Jane Goodall wrote quite a bit about other writers who had the same idea. The author looked down on them. See he was living there, they were just reporting. The fine line of credibility shot back in my face as 2 people from the table battled each other for the right to say "I knew people who lived there" as if the people in the book had suddenly become celebrities to know and boast about. My own credibility is now shooting back at me right now. Am I boasting while writing this? Or telling a story?

Life as a movie, I can definitely see Hunters choices.

Years ago I used to run around downtown, Just seeing what the city had to offer. It was summer, so you could spend the entire night doing whatever and not have to worry about the season. Spend enough time downtown talking to people and you get to know all sorts of characters. Cab Drivers, Street Kids, City Workers. One of the people downtown I got to know was Donald. Donald was the hotdog vendor guy. Donald was also stateless. He was from Zimbabwe and while on a trip to South Africa the Mugabe government revoked his citizenship. He somehow made it to Toronto and was fighting to get some sort of legal status in Canada. Donald also smoked PCP laced joints that he bought pre-rolled from a security guard across the street at the eatons Center. He'd periodically shutdown his hotdog stand and hotbox the canopy. Walking down the street at 1am and walking by a tent emitting clouds of smoke with the sounds of coughing, Donald was working. He told me a few things about Zim. He explained that gangs of thugs called Veterans Brigades by the government would put bleach and sulfur into oil drums and huff the fumes. They'd then go and terrorize farms. The farmers then escape and the government sells the land to Libya. Momar Quedafi is the largest land owner in Zim outside of the government.
Mugabe has a sense of humour though. He came up with a plan to generate income through tourism. He created a tourist package where over weight Americans would pay to vacation in Zimbabwe and loose weight by working stoop labour on the farms. Nothing like slave labour to trim those extra pounds. I'm sure it might have caught on if it weren't for the fact that periodically western businessmen put together a few million dollars and fund mercenary units to attempt to over through Zim and its neighbours. Want to play detective for an afternoon? Search: Simon Mann, Margaret Thatcher, Equatorial Guinea.

Down at either end of the beach in Toronto, there are areas cut off to the public by fencing. Ashbridges Bay has a plant that treats chemical waste, and at the other end of the beach is a series of sewer outlets spaced about 80 meters apart. In between is some of the most sought after real estate in Toronto. Jazz Festivals, Volleyball tournaments, children playing in the water. The bookends to this beach are supposed to be off limits to the public, but the adventurous type knows that when there is no space left in the public zone, you can get a whole beach to yourself through the fence. I was down there one day drinking with friends minding our own business. Out on the pier some guy was shadow boxing with a beer bottle in his hand. He was swatting and kicking the air while screaming at his perceived enemies. Then he turned and saw us, it was too late. This maniac was heading our way with the intent that real people were probably a better audience. He introduced himself as Gonzo. Gonzo was from the eastcoast. Gonzo was supposedly going to the Molson Centre to see Pink Floyd perform. Gonzo didn't have tickets, because Pink Floyd was not even in the Country at the time, which makes it difficult to understand how they could put on a concert. Ah, Now I get it.
Gonzo told some interesting stories as well. He talked about partying by the ocean. Some chick turned over a bucket sat down and proceeded to give head to every guy at the party. Gonzo said that the next day he forced her into the ocean with a paddle to clean her off. Gonzo also told a story about how he stabbed his girlfriend and the guy she was cheating with. Gonzo scared the shit out of me. When the booze ran out I was too messed up to deal with this criminal nut so we left, and Gonzo followed us. We managed to get rid of him by getting on a streetcar and then quickly getting off at the next stop. He was screaming through the back window of the streetcar at us as we laughed.