Tosh's Tails
Pretty Vacant
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
"Blow it up" (johnny rotten)
For better or worse, I spent the greater half of the grueling last leg revisiting the music of my adolescent musical heros the Sex Pistols. Ever confrontational, always controversial, the Pistols were something you literally either fervently loved or despised. I remember losing several girlfriends just by singing "god save the queen" in the backseat of dad's pontiac ventura. I guess I can thank Sid Vicious for my extra year of virginity and more than one blackened eye. As with all fads, my fascination with Punk quickly waned as my rebellious teenage soul was hijacked by the uber popular and far more parentally acceptable Police and a subsequent dirth of 80's pop bands (some of which were quite good.....but we'll save that for another flight). Far and wide though my growing musical tastes righteously wandered, nothing ever hit me with the same potent punch as Punk.
Seeing the Sex Pistols reunited live in Brixton academy (on dvd) was more than just a warm and fuzzy walk down memory lane. The lads are definitely more than a little swollen and look more like sex puddings now, but the songs still have very sharp teeth. One of the bonus features sees Johnny Rotten touring london in a double decker bus bemoaning the blatant uglification of his once beloved hometown. Having recently visited "old blighty" I have to agree.The profligation of big corporations and their insipid cement/glass architectural tastes are ruining london's great historic neighbourhoods and skyline. And it's not only london. I just circled the continent in a bus and the ugliness abounds.
34 years ago the Pistols exploded out of soho spewing bile and subversion. Like his biblical namesake, John the Baptist, Rotten found himself in the desert angry and alone shouting warnings of oncoming evil and impending doom. We thought he was mad too and he lost his head for his trouble. Another dead messenger.
The interesting thing about Johnny Rotten isn't the outrageous clothes or the rhetoric. The interesting thing about Johnny Rotten is that he was right. Big Brother rules our world and it was our own complacency that let him rise to the top. While Rotten must feel somewhat vilified, the ever growing ball of apathy that is our world continues to torment him. What happened to us? Did Sting lull us all into a coma with his radio friendly tantric pap? Wake Up people! Wake up and find your angry teenager within and listen to what he has to say......and then do something about it.
Mosh on
Tosh
Kingston Rocks
Monday, November 17, 2008
"Isn't it amazing what you can accomplish
when you don't let the nation get in your way
no ambition whisperin' over your shoulder
isn't it amazing you can do anything"
The Tragically Hip (Fireworks)
It all begins again today. Right here in the unnofficial capital of our often underrated country; Kingston Ontario. Hard now to recall how the band's love affair with this fair town began. Most likely in a bar at Queens university. Revolutionary conversation over many drinks followed by dangerous performances and very restless sleeps. I fear I have already forgotten far more than I will ever remember. No worries. Alan and Bob will live to write the book. I only hope they are brave enough to include all the juicy bits.
It's a very good thing I never went to school in Kingston for if I did I would surely be there still. The "professional student" unwilling to leave and forced eventually into that most dubious of all the "literate" trades; pedagoguery. Never did have much respect for prof's but Queen's is the best excuse for the excuse I've ever seen. Intellectual innebriant. Opium. Fortunately they have a strict zero canine policy when it comes to faculty. Beagles are especially banned as our whiskers were deemed too coarse for the delicate arses of the deans that so desperately need to licked.
But I digress.
It was in Kingston that my mind was opened to a career in music. In other parts of the country, people tended to talk a lot about music, but Kingston was a place where you actually did it. Bands like the Headstones and the Hip came roaring out of this small college town with things to prove and rocked our small subrban worlds. They frightened the living shit out of T.O. shoegazer wannabes and we all watched and learned.......and wanted more. Were we not too from a small college town with a harbour? Did we not also adore the dark lord of Rock? We may have walked into Kingston wearing Doc Martens and plaid but we walked out in feather boa's and leather pants.
well maybe not the pants.....
Rock On
Tosh
One Nation Under Dog
Friday, October 31, 2008
Went to a Barack Obama rally yesterday in Raliegh NC. Or at least I tried to. There must have been 50,000 potential voters lined up for a look. This would never happen in Canada where the largest crowds are reserved exclusively for hockey games and craft fairs. American politicians are freakin Rock Stars. Always on TV. Desperate for approval. Wanting to change the world, but completely shut off from reality by a wall of security. Laundry obsessed.
Is this why they are always calling out to god for guidance? And which god are they summoning anyway? Jesus? Allah?.....the Bhudda.....Elurie (look her up)? The unnamed deity is claimed by both Democrats and Republicans so it must be nonpartisan. Or at least undecided. And how can we be sure that the supreme being is not a furry long eared canine quadruped? Am I not also cast in the image of my maker? Will my soul not fly up to that big boneyard in the sky?
My point is there are many unanswerable questions when it comes down to belief. Always was. Always will be. Religion and politics have shared a long and sordid past. The Inquisition, the Crusades, the witch burnings in Salem, and the Holocaust just to name a few. Remember, Jesus himself was put to death by the state. One would hope that by now we would have learned to leave god out of our elections but there he/she/it is namedropped all over CNN every day. Like god is gonna restore our health care system and our ailing stock portfolios. Like god is gonna decrease our taxes and create new jobs. Like god is gonna bailout our banks and rebuild confidence in american foreign policy......
Who do these political candidates think they are?.................god?
But listen to me go on. I’m just a friggin beagle stray and here I am running off at the snout about politics. I can’t even poo in a toilet let alone vote. But if I could, I would. And I would vote for any candidate who didn’t use the g-word.
dog bless
Tosh
Revelation
Thursday, October 23, 2008
“the hardest part of life......”
My entire life has been a spectator sport. While I have been physically present for the storyboard of events, I have never been a full participant. Always behind the camera, picking angles and manipulating the light. Never in the frame. So concerned about getting it just right that the real point is lost. So worried I might screw up or get hurt that I have emotionally detached myself from what I can’t control...... Life...... I feel like I have missed everything.
My last month has been extraordinary. I feel like a bear rising from its wintersleep, hungry and happy to be alive. A fish in a frozen lake who finally feels the warmth of spring. A desert flower reborn in life giving rain. For the first time in many years, I feel like I am really here. And that is as frightening as it is exhilarating.
I don’t know where this is going. Not even sure why I’m writing this down. Perhaps it's because I don’t ever want to forget it. Maybe I just opened myself up for a world of pain. Maybe I won’t even survive this day. At least now I might actually show up for my own demise. That’s only gonna happen once. Be a shame to miss it.
Maybe I should start listening to the songs.
Tosh
Animal Cruelty
Sunday, October 12, 2008
dear friends and fellow dog lovers,
As u well know, I recently embraced a serious lifestyle change. It was not a decision I took lightly. My very life depended on it. I knew there would be big challenges ahead, but felt that all could be overcome with the help and support of my friends. How wrong I was....how wrong.
Instead of being supportive and helpful, my supposed mates have taken to taunts and outright mockery. Noone on the bus, it seems, is happy with the new Tosh. Just yesterday Bob came up to me out of the blue and told me I was boring. Alan started wearing whiskey aftershave and routinely places flasks of rum under my pillow. When I asked him to stop he told me to “grow a set” and “not be such a pansy”. Foster keeps telling me that one beer won’t hurt me and MacFarlane has even started drinking vodka coolers just to “pick up the slack”. There is enough booze on our bus to paralyze a herd of elephants. The crew r no better. Beer bongs for breakfast with tequila chasers.....right in front of me. It’s relentless.
McCann is the worst offender. Yesterday he actually brought me into a liquor store to watch him partake in a free vintage wine tasting. The temptation was almost too much to beer. That night I dreamt I was swimming in a sea of Sonoma Chardonnay. The cool refreshing liquid tickling thru my dry fur and flavouring my heated brain. I swear i woke up buzzed.
Now I’m not here to beg for mercy. I deserve to be punished for my former misdeeds but i am really trying hard here to turn things around and a little bit of support would go a long way. And for god’s sake! Will u please stop soaking my kibble in Baileys!
Like Fergie sang “where is the love?”
Tosh
Beautiful World
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
still this emptiness persists, perhaps this is as good as it gets
when you’ve given up the drink and those nasty cigarettes
now i leave the party early at least with no regrets
i watch the sun come up and i watch it as it sets
yes this is as good as it gets
Colin Hay
Well here i am 47 days dry save for some sweat and a few drops of tear..... apparently no worse for wear. I lost some weight at first but then my taste buds grew back and now i want chocolate.....all day long. One vice for another i spose..... but I’d rather work off a piece of cake than a tequila hangover any day.
I do often find myself alone on the bus which is sometimes difficult. We beagles are pack animals and are quite lost without our peeps. But they never stray farther than the nearest pub and always come back much happier than they left. I usually spend these solitary sessions writing or indulging my latest bad habit.....purchasing iTunes.
I have spent the past 3 years carefully burning only the favourite tracks from my own CD collection. While the process was painstaking, the result is a personal playlist that has grown to some 7000 paw picked tracks. Now I am free to raid the itunes store in good conscience.....and i love it (I have a 10$ a day habit). How can they make music this good and sell it for so cheap?
Oh Yeah.......they can’t.
So my nites r not wild anymore but my days are all the better. I always wake up early and drink enuf coffee to give a cat a coronary. Then I exercise and go to work. And if that’s as good as it gets.....then that’s pretty friggin good.
Tosh
Bailout Blackmail
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
In every life we have some trouble, when u worry u make it double
McFerrin
S’ok.....So why don’t we just GIVE some of the richest shysters on the planet 700 billion to pay off their bad debts and then trust the very same shysters to clean up the mess they made in the first place. Now, I might be just a beagle but i can certainly tell shite from Chivas when i smell it.....and this reeks.
Some of u might be thinking, “what does he care, he’s just a friggin dog, he’s not worth anything anyway”. True. I am a beast of meager means and my stock in trade is measured more in bones than basis points, but have i not eyes that weep? a heart that bleeds? a tongue that’s.......8 inches long and never stops.....
My point is, we r all human beings (OK, I’m not but i like to pretend) and it is patently wrong for a bunch of wall street wankers to run reckless with our savings and then expect......no......demand, extort, and intimidate us into saving their asses. The arrogance. The unmitigated gaul. The complete lack of respect.
Now I’ve never had much time for religion (jesus is allergic to dander apparently) but there is something very sweetly old testament about the “correction” that’s about to happen...if we have the courage to let it. “We have nothing to fear but fear itself”, and we certainly shouldn’t be held to ransom by an elitist bunch of conniving millionaire Henny Penny’s with an attitude.
Remember what happened to poor Turkey Lurkey.....
Tosh
Old Dogs
Thursday, September 18, 2008
For the lub of jeebus all u young pups.....please watch your backs. There is nothing worse in this world than back pain. Just ask Doyle. He’ll tell you. Doyle spent the better half of last winter flaked out on the floor wacked on muscle relaxants and cheap red wine just trying to cope with the incredible pain. I felt bad for the poor bastard even after I heard about the cause of the injury (a very spirited save by Doyle to ward off defeat by the “dark team” in labatt lunchtime hockey at st. bon’s). Avoidable for sure.....but what a save!
Whatever it takes i spose. Doyle hates to lose and has been known to go to great lengths to ensure that he doesn’t. He once chewed his right arm off rather than surrender the puck to the marauding stick of an errant left winger (McCann should have had him at the blueline). It did eventually grow back, but was it really worth all the blood?
No.
Sometimes a little perspective can go a long way. We don’t have to win every single game we play. Wouldn’t it be boring if we did? And shouldn’t we expect to lose a few as we get older? Make room for the young pups to show what they r made of and win some fights of their own. There’s nothing pretty or nice about growing old, but it’s a reality we all have to face eventually and I, for one, would rather face it with a strong back. After all, you never know when u might get lucky......
Even old dogs get laid sometimes.
Tosh
Blame Jesus
Thursday, September 11, 2008
“jesus he comes up to me and jesus he sits down
he says “take this fuken cross off my back, I'm goin downtown"
Dan Bern "One Thing Real"
I was almost 2 (a fully formed teen in human years) before i realized that my name wasn’t Jesus Christ. Every unintentional carpet butt rub, occasional involuntary leg hump, and purely accidental pee on the floor were all met with the same indignation from McCann; The immediately outraged refrain of “Jesus Christ!”
When the veracity of my real nomenclature was eventually realized (maggott, baglicker, and arsepick all removed thru process of elimination), I began to wonder who this Jesus fellow really was and why his name was so viciously maligned. Turns out he was the fraking son of god! So why the big hate on? Wherefore the huge wrath? what did this devine man do to deserve such a bad rep?
One would think that association with the supreme being might be considered a plus for your popularity points. Not so for poor Jesus. He gets blamed for every stubbed toe, traffic ticket, and misguided hammer swing on the planet. It’s not bad enough he had to die for our sins? Now we have to constantly castigate him for our petty mistakes as well?
Jesus fuken christ!
Give the man a break.
Tosh
Intervention
Friday, September 05, 2008
I drink too much.
It all started back in high school where many cans of Blue Star were routinely shotgunned* into one's gullet previous to the parish hall dance. As if acne, raging hormones and chronic insecurity weren't enuf......a healthy dose of alcohol was not unlike throwing gas on an open adolescent flame and more often than not ended up in vomit and regret. The hasty word, the punch poorly thrown, the wrong girl, the complete bullshit.....all symptoms of a far greater pain. Self induced. Sad.
For whatever reason, I have managed to remain openly adolescent my entire life and gasoline and fire have been my constant companions. Always there at my side just waiting to be reintroduced. Dependable. I wish I could say the same for myself.
The two things I love in this world are my family and my band. Unfortunately, they are the ones who pay the highest price for my weakness. Innocent civilian casualties of my own unjustified war . Unacceptable.
I have been granted one final reprieve; one last chance to live up to my real potential and the expectations of those who really matter. And I intend to make the most of it.
Habemus Sufficium (et mea maxima culpa)
Tosh
* puncture the can with a pen and cover hole with mouth. raise can above head and open. oral enema.
Half Bottle Theory
Thursday, August 21, 2008
There is noone more dangerous than an optimist. An optimist is a person who is just too lazy to prepare for the worst and possessed of an irrational confidence that everything will always work out fine in the end. They r great fun to be around when everything is hunky dory, but when the shit hits the fan, an optimist can be your greatest liability.
Optimists should never be allowed to fly. Positive thinking in airports can only lead to humiliation and regret. Or worse; an extensive layover in Toronto. I have a close friend who suffers from the disease. Time and again she checks in early in the complete faith that her plane will depart on time, make its connection, and arrive at its destination with all bags intact. Don’t know bout u, but if i passed that fairytale into my high school lit teacher, she’d have me sent to the principals office and asked to pee in a cup.
Unfortunately, an optimist can be right approximately 50% of the time and, being optimists, they consider this to be an acceptable rate of success. Every time one of these poor wretches just happens to be correct, they become more entrenched in their deluded ways. Unable to discern the thin line between reality and fantasy, and often unwilling to listen to reason, many optimists simply end up falling through the cracks.
Many are seen in their final days walking aimlessly in the freezing Newfoundland rain, wearing nothing but their bathing suits waiting for the sun to come out......
There is currently no known cure for optimism.
Tosh
Gander
Sunday, August 03, 2008
For those of you who don't know, Gander is not an outport. It is an Airport. Founded 50 years ago, the city has proven to be a strategic boon to NATO and her Allies. The biggest landing strip in North America during World War 2, Gander celebrated it's birthday last nite in a style that can only be described as high altitude......Jet fuel.
McCann left St. John's with a heavy foot and was afforded a speeding ticket for his impatience. I hitched a ride on the back of a Honda Shadow 750 piloted by a tall blond beagle enthusiast. We took our time.
Arrived on the scene just in time to hear veteran Ron Hynes, the finest songwriter Newfoundland has ever produced. Paul Kinsman on Keys and Boomer Stamp on Kit.....classic. Upstarts Hey Rosetta followed with a colourful set of barely controlled intensity. Hawksley was right. Tim Baker is genius....and a right good ball handler (I meant soccer).
Rex Goudie followed and did indeed live up to his salacious reputation. Still don't know if he can sing or not and I don't care. I just want to hold him.
I started to get a little apprehensive for the lads when I saw McCann crack his second bottle of Veuve Cliquot while sat across a picnic table from hard rock Novaks drummer Elliot spouting shite like only a young man wannabe can. Smoke dangling from thirsty lips and jaded look in malevolent eye. I only hope the poor youngfella isn't scarred for life.
Many new songs flew from uncertain fingers: Hard Case, England, Dream to Live and Gallows Pole. Ambitious. As always, MacDaddyfarlane managed to hold it all together in the end. Sober. Solid......
and so sexy.
The aftershow got rather stumbly around midnite. Future Pulitzer winner Justin Brake will have much fodder for his tell all novel. We can only hope he didn't have a camera.
Sincere thanx to the kind people of Gander for inviting us Townies to their birthday party. Lax leash laws and ample poop picker bags make for a happy town.
Ruff. Ruff.
Tosh
Never trust a fart past forty
Thursday, July 24, 2008
You know u r getting old when u start to leak. You wake up from a scotch induced nap on the heathrow express only to find every air vent in site turned up on bust and pointed directly at your arse and a foul demeaner on the faces of your surrounding peers.
“You been leaking gas again” said McCann with his eyes full of water, “and not the laughing kind either.”
“Sorry man” i offered back sheepishly. And I was too after smelling my own reek.
This has become an all too frequent situation and I am not the sole offender. Buses, trains, subways, and airplanes are all ripe for this kind of pollution. How often have u been sat on a plane next to some poor bastard who enjoyed a nice navrattan curry for lunch and was now at the mercy of his own fumes? You would think, in this technologically advanced age, that we could find a solution to this olfactory dilemma. We can invent the internet but we can’t flavour a fart? what’s up with that?
Why hasn’t some young Steve jobs invented some kind of fruity smelling suppository that would make our wind smell “downy fresh”? He could call it the Ass Mint and make a fortune. Or some kind of nasal prophylactic to prevent unprotected stench? Or even airtite astronaut underwear to keep the vile stuff from escaping.
We all have sphincter issues from time to time and they seem to get worse as we grow older. In lieu of a solution, there is really only one thing to do............. blame the person sitting next to you.
I stink. Therefore I am.
Tosh
Air Cannibus
Thursday, July 17, 2008
“Hey there little red riding hood.You sure r lookin good.You're everything a big bad wolf could want.”
Beautiful poetry from “Sam the Sham”. I wonder what he meant? Sitting here in steerage just dying for a G n T and trying desperately to make nice with the elusive stewardess (and i do realize i am supposed to say “flight attendant”) because as the amazing Mr. Waits once profoundly pronounced, “you just can’t get served without her”. 2 hours in the air and I am about to lose it. My kingdom for a pint.
Last nite the lads rocked the house at The Amphitheatre inToronto. It was a very loose and boozy affair with much imbibing both onstage and off. I parked my arse at the bar early and dropped a five dollar tip right away to ensure consistent flow of the vitamin G. Nine pints later and security is carrying me out to the bus. Now that's what I call good service.
Marijuana should be legalized if only to make air travel bearable. Air Canada? How bout Air Cannibus. Now that would encourage people to “fly” more. Nothing like a big fatty before a flight to wash your pains and worries away. Anxiety is the real enemy. Especially since 911. I have a vague memory of air travel being tolerable. Now we suffer an endless series of indignities before we hit the sky. If I am forced to remove any more clothing in security, I will be formally charged with indecency. What do they think I am trying to hide down there. I’m neutered for freaksake....
How bout “Air Naked”? That would be cool.......wait now......I’ll probably end up sitting next to Doyle.....
Tosh
Je me Souviens
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Sitting on the bus trying desperately not to get right on the pints. This is a big weekend for the lads and I don't want to let them down. Attempted a nap but Kieth Robert's resounding yelp as the Young Dubs hammered the stage turned the exercise into an act of complete futility. A very thirsty band indeed.
I remember a nite in Vail colorado. One of many enjoyable stupors on the financially ill fated (and unforgiveably named) "Uprooted" tour. I was just a pup but McCann managed to sneak me into the aftershow party the aforesaid Mr. Roberts had miraculously managed to conjure up at the local paddywanker pint dispensery. (I heard there may have been some monetary malfeasance but that's another Tail) I remember being very hungry. I remember being fed. I remember a senorita who stopped my heart. Dead.
We are all guilty of something at sometime in our lives and heaven help the man who actually gets what he deserves. For every sad song there is a punchline. A grain of salt should flavour every tear. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, then mercy is its medicine.....and I for one am feeling very happy to hear the Young Dubs again.
Tosh
In Denial
Friday, July 04, 2008
Lower your expectations and you will lead a happy life.
This is my new mantra. After years of brutal disappointment, i finally get it. Don’t get your hopes up and u will never be let down. If u expect steak every day, whatever u have for supper is just gonna suck. If your sites are set on jessica simpson, even a blowjob from kirsten dunst will be a bummer. It’s all relative. And it’s all in your head.
Being a beagle, you might think it wouldn’t take much to make me happy. A walk in the woods off leash, a well thrown tennis ball, a good bellyrub, a dead rabbit. All these things bring me joy, but they don’t define who i really am and certainly not the hound i dream of becoming.
I see myself as a canine conquerer. A swollen pooch potentate with a harem of french poodles to sooth me....... El Presidente. Admittedly, a far cry from my current reality of eating kibbles and bits and having to poop outside. It is exactly this disparity between our dreams and our realities that dooms us to a life of depression.
We often see ourselves as something better than we actually are and we tell ourselves lies to prolong this illusion:
I have a few pounds on (as opposed to I am a fat lazy bastard).
I like a drink (as opposed to I am a lush)
I am an actress (as opposed to I am a waitress)
and the list goes on.....
Well, I for one am sick of lying to myself just to make me feel good. I am but a beagle. A lowly housepet. I eat poo. Bring me mediocrity or the next best thing! I am going all the way to the middle and there I will be unremarkably content!
Besides, if i really need a lift, there is always the rum.....
Tosh
Of Glory and Great Men
Thursday, June 26, 2008
My
friends and fellow canines. I realize that one of my previous diatribes
may have been perceived as “anti hockey”, but nothing could be further
from the truth. Thanx to the amazing Mr. Bob Gainey (#23), my soul is
filled once again with respect for the Holy Puck.
I
had the good fortune and excellent pleasure to befriend Bob at a GBS
gig in The Troubador in LA some years ago. I was out in the porch
selling merch (glenn had to work his real job) when this softspoken
giant approached and asked to meet the band. I admit, I didn’t
recognize him at first but it was LA and u never know whose gonna show
up so i asked for some kind of credentials. He offered up a
bonecrushing right hand and very softly said “I’m Bob Gainey” and when
i counted the stanley cup rings i almost peed right there on the floor
(a very big no no when u r a beagle merch peddlar in a club). I was
starstruck.
I
bought him out front to the bus where the lads were watching the hockey
game (can't remember who now exactly but it did go into triple
overtime). Bob was actually between games in his own playoff series.
His Dallas Stars were embroiled in a fight to the death of their own
with San Jose and he really wanted to see the east coast game. Happy to
oblige, the lads took to the stage leaving Gainey on the bus. He never
heard a note but he was still sitting there when the lads came back
after the show.....and the game was still on! So we all had a beer and
watched the rest of the game in our tourbus.....with Bob
Gainey......how fraken cool r we!
Flash
forward 5 years. Feb 23 2008 in montreal where the Habs are set to
retire the number (23) of said Mr. Gainey. The lads have been enlisted
to sing the anthems. All hands nervous but they manage to pull it off
with some aplomb. And then something quite amazing happens.....
Captain
Gainey takes the ice in full battle armour and makes a victory
lap. Stick held high in victory, the beloved gladia