|
I took the opportunity to actually attend the fundraiser * for Guy Earle today, July 19. It is only a week after Orange Day, too. I hooked up with three fans of Kathy Shaidle. They kept asking me if she was going to show up. When I was properly Irish drunk, I left, and Kathy had not shown up. Only one of the fans has a website * . You should hear the guys stories about his day job. Aside from the swarm of comics, comic groupies (one of whom shares an interest of mine in hypnosis), and admiring parents of comics, there was a sprinkling of bloggers. One faction were animated by the insults and assaults upon Roman Catholicism. Not being a Papist, I did not feel I could butt into their conversation. The other faction (hello Dave, Tristan, Sylvia, and the other Dave) were aware of the Guy Earlesituation thanks to their reading of blogs. Outside the club, I was made aware of what a racist shithole this country of Canada really is. There, on the south west corner of Delaware avenue, is a pleasant three story apartment building, with an environmentally friendly alley way backing it. I went there to celebrate my Irish heritage and piss onto a tree. Unfortunately, this drew the ire of an N-person, who was sitting on his third floor balcony. I know he was not a sentry for a crack house or whore house or whatever house, because sentries do not sit in silhouette, and besides, N-people are never criminals. Maybe he was guarding against the scourge of white vigilantes, who must be common on that stretch of Bloor, just west of Ossington. Now, I have seen an N-person urinate in public, on the subway. And, I know of a TTC staff member who has also shared with me his stories of ethnic diversity about the culture of public urination upon underground railways, so common in the tropical islands where N-people who urinate on subways have developed this way of expressing outrage over racism, poverty, and the lingering effects of colonialism in Africa. And I have a growing list of people who are delighted at the sloshing puddles of cultural urine that celebrates recycling and Earth awareness. So, I felt excluded and unaccomodated when I attempted to share in this cultural expression. Perhaps I am unaware of the complete ritual of public urination, Island style. I must do more research so that I can share in this common cultural expression, and heal the wounds of racism, poverty, and segregation. It is too bad that I did not let the angry man who lives, er, hangs out on the third floor, know where I can be reached, although I know how to reach him. I would not want him to think that I am untouchable. I care. I may only be a stranger, whose hobbies are expressed in my basement machine shop, experiments in applied Darwinism through chemistry, and Tesla inspired microwave devices. Whoever you are, angry N-person who called me whitey, I celebrate your existance, and do not think that you are a sentry for a crack house. I must admit, listening to all those comedians has made me laugh, and slowed the steady flow of tears that comes whenever I demand more money for more programs for more people who create jobs for people who demand money. It takes alot to get me to drag my ass out and spend other peoples money, and Guy Earle was worth every penny. I love you, Guy Earle. I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this, at Mitchieville, DustMyBroom, and TheStormyDaysofMarch.
 |
