Coming home early evening from the great northeast after the last little bit of the day’s snow flew, we found ourselves behind a plow team making its way south toward the 401. When the opportunity arose, we decided to give the 407 a whirl despite similar ETAs. Cash be damned! You only live once, as old people think the kids today say, neither of us could remember ever having driven the toll road before. Continue reading
Category Archives: On The Road
We need to talk about trucks.
Big-assed, military-grade, extra cabin space where I can store my massive balls, huge payload, Sam Elliott-voiced navigation system trucks with a capital T Trucks. Road-hogging, grille in your face, monster SUV and pick-ups that have come to aggressively dominate our streets and roads. 150s. 250s. 1500s. 2500s. RAMs. Titans. Raptors. Highlanders. Tahoes. Traverses. Range Rovers. Explorers. Escalades. Avalanches and Wranglers.
Motherfucking I need to tow a boat I don’t have capital T Trucks.
They’re killing us. Continue reading
Close Encounter of the James Caan Kind
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before—
And if you’re a regular reader here, you probably have. Back in the spring of 2016, I wrote a post about crossing paths with James Caan when I lived in Los Angeles back, back, back in the 90s. On Thursday, James Caan died. Friday, I should write about that time I crossed paths with James Caan in the 90s, I thought. Also Friday, the Rogers outage. So I couldn’t check the site to see if I’d already written about it previously. But I mean, why would I, I thought. Nothing to do with municipal politics. So, I plunged ahead, writing a post about that time I crossed paths with James Caan while out in L.A. in the early-90s. On Saturday, with the internet restored, well, you can fill in the blanks.
But let’s not look at this as simply a case of me repeating myself or just going on and on about my one and only brush with celebrity. It’s more an examination of the nature of storytelling, the constant evolution of narrative. How does a story from twenty-five earlier change when told again six years on? Historical revision. Yeah, this is what it’s about, historical revision, and not the fact that I’m unwilling to toss aside a few hours of work
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