Pye in the Face

I’m feeling terse today. Succinct. Extremely bullety. It’s a good morning for a brain dump. A blog blathering. Should I just give ‘er? I’ll give ‘er…

- The GPS system, called TeleNav, that I have on my new BlackBerry 8800 is astoundingly accurate and full-featured. I did not expect it nor realize that the phone came with it - but I use it all the time and it kicks touchas. $10 a month.
- My baby mamma still is not pregnant with wee Shepherd. This puts my puppy acquisition date back until at least March. I don’t want to - but I may look elsewhere for a pooch. I was so looking forward to having the wee ‘un with me while I’m alone during the winter.
- I found a treadmill of all things in the garage and I wheelbarrowed it over to the main house and plugged ‘er in. It works, and I’ve set up a spare TV and DVD player in front of it so I’ll have a nice winter hamster wheel.
- My client roster is growing by leaps and bounds - 5 new contracts last month alone - and I have been interviewing local people to help me. I found a great writer and a sharp marketing whiz via the Canadian version of CraigsList and we’re having a meeting in Kingston Thursday.
- I updated Cornett’s wedding gallery with about 40 more pictures so be sure to check it out. If only to see the adorable wee flower girl, Olivia.
- I have ordered several books on Canadian History to read over the snowy months, as I moved to Massachusetts when I was 12 and never learned any at the high school level. The fact that I moved to Concord didn’t help matter much - we kinda had our hands full in the old history department.
- My keyboard popped it’s V and B keys the other day for no apparent reason whatsoever. I’m starting to think Poltergeist - tis the season. Luckily there are no pubescent girls in the house or we’d really see the crockery flying off the walls. As I am an enormous fan of the CTRL+V paste shortcut, this is driving me batty. They won’t re-attach and I am gonna have to shell out for a new keyboard. Frig.

I love the Boss. If you know me, you know that. I have been stone cold cat crazy for the last 33 years. But that was by default - my father despises dogs and we were never allowed to have one. After a lot of careful consideration, I have decided to get my own dog. For the first time. It’s a big step. I am a little nervous, but I have made the call and it’s happening. Here are some of my reasons for this canine 180.

- All my friends who own dogs have told me that in order to train, raise and mold a dog with a good personality, you must be able to spend a lot of time with it. I work from home. Perfect.

- Many friends have been concerned because Boston Terriers are known for having health issues - particularly flatulence, heart ailments and breathing. I have discovered that purebred Terriers are usually devoid of the congenital defects, and the flatulence depends completely on diet and can be easily remedied.

- My mother won’t stop reminding me that I have to walk the dog at least 3 times a day, like I’m retarded or something. I will welcome the new structure in my life - especially, again, because I work from home.

Those are the big points I have been mulling. I am very excited at the prospect of having a pet that doesn’t sleep all day. I will be able to take it everywhere with me in the car. It will do tricks. It will protect my house. It will go for runs with me. I am thrilled.

I’d like to mention once more that I have given this a tremendous amount of thought and am definitely not entering into dog ownership lightly. To further hammer this point home, I’m happy to point out that I have found a professional breeder whom I trust and have forwarded all the emails we have exchanged (I ask a lot of questions) to two friends of mine who are very well versed on the subject of dogs (thank you Amy and Rachelle).

I’ve also seen photos of the parents - click here to meet the lovely Pixie Rose and Oscar - and am going to the breeder’s next week to meet the humans involved and the mom and dad to be. My puppy will be born in late December and I’ll be picking up little Shepherd Pye in February. Although he’ll be no feline, I will continue the Pye pet naming convention.

And in case you’re wondering, Boss is very alive, very well and I love him very much. He’s got a good 5 years left in him and I plan to treat him like a little prince until he draws his last breath. It’s just that… circumstances have led me to live in the woods - and it’s doggie time.

Wow. Boss is gonna be so pissed come February.

My friend Sean called me over the weekend and left a message to the tune of “Have you been eaten by feckin’ bears?” I realized at that point that it was probably time to update anyone who cares. If not, jog on - no one has a potato gun to your head. This blog will return to it’s regularly scheduled dead hooker jokes by the end of the summer.

Operation Bunkhouse is just a few days away from completion, and my place is wide open for visitors anytime in August/September. If you’re a friend of mine, or a well-medicated stalker, you are officially invited to pick a weekend if that’s at all enticing. Come sleep in the silence, relax in the gazebo, soak up some sun, boat your brains out and eat a lot of corn. There is also a vicious rumor that the Pye family likes a drink or two after 5pm.

Life is good, with obvious exceptions. Here are some bullets as it’s been a while since I spoke to any of you at length and there’s a lot to mention…

- We sold Grandma’s house in July and walked out of it for the final time last Monday. There were no tears shed. I now live full time in Portland, Ontario.
- My reasons behind moving here were spun different ways for different people, but the end goal was to live here with my ailing Father and take some of the pressure off of my Mom. For example, she is on a much-needed vacation in Vancouver this week, as I watch the fort/Gordo. He’s a handful, and my social circle consists of loons and squirrels - but he’s my Dad. And that’s that.
- Gord is manageable if you distract him with things he likes to do/eat/watch/drink. “Give me my f**king car keys now!” “Oh look Dad, Fawlty Towers is on!” “It is?”
- As a result, I am picking up golf very quickly. I now understand people’s addiction to it. Gord is still an excellent player, and we’ll be doing a lot of it. My first lesson is in 9 hours.
- 2 sets of clubs fit very nicely in the back of the Charger. Golf is quite a workout and I currently feel like I’ve been dragged behind a truckful of Nazis for several miles.
- On a related note, I am completely unashamed at how happy I am that Karen Allen is going to be in Indy 4.
- While hardly Grifflet substitutes, my little cousins Jakob, Seth, Thomas, Christopher, Alexandra, Darius, Ben and Carter are enjoying having me around more than once a year. Thomas (19) went to a party with me in Toronto and had a great time with my friends. Darius (6) enjoys when I show up with bootleg Spiderman 3 DVDs.
- Janet was up last weekend and we got a TON done on the Bunkhouse and a ton drankended on the Pontoon boat (see galleries).
- I have connected from so many childhood friends via Facebook it is unreal. I recently had dinner at the home of a girl who was my best friend Freshman year of high school and when I walked in the door it was like no time had passed. Quite an amazing summer in terms of friendship rekindling. Best website ever.
- I have a great group of friends back in Toronto (2.5 hours away), mostly from University, who have made me feel very welcome back in the Great White North. When I start to get jumpy for human contact, I have plenty of places to stay back in civilization.
- I now have a boat license.
- According to Janet, who is a hard sell on this topic, my driving skills have returned. She may have been swayed when I deked a hugenormous deer going 80MPH in her new 5-speed Audi.
- TechTarget went public a month ago and I am very glad I bought all the shares I was entitled to when I left to become an international search marketing guru in 2003. Why am I telling all of you? Cause it’s a jetski, baby, and you may get to ride it one day.
- Speaking of watercraft, we have a 50HP pontoon boat with pimpin’ leather couches on it and an iPod-compatible stereo. I remarked to Janet, whilst cruising slowly through Lost Lake with a Rockstar in my lap and the Pixies blaring through the speakers - “This IS heaven on Earth”. Gord kinda likes it when I play Bolero. Bonnie likes it when I forget to bring the iPod.
- I made my first Portland friend Friday night at a bar called the Galley. I can sail there in about 15 minutes and tie up right in front. He’s a local drunk named Dana, and Janet says “keep looking”.
- I run every morning, and combined with the golf I feel amazing and am dropping weight like a Tijuana crack whore. I only drink when we have company and my Peter Pan on cheesecake days are officially over.
- I have decided to live here for the winter in order to save money, continue the health kick and by doing so lower the insurance charges on the house while my folks are in Florida.
- My friend Gooch (see bunkhouse gallery) is going to leave both his snowmobiles here and we’re taking a trip all the way to Montreal on them come winter.
- Gooch and I are building an ice fishing hut.
- I am talking to Boxer and Boston Terrier breeders. I love the Boss, but he sleeps all day and can’t go outside. I need another addition to the Lakehouse herd for my own winter sanity. Otherwise, I’ll be growing a beard, writing a manifesto and sending C4 through the mail to Al Sharpton before the first day of Spring.
- I am turning into an Ottawa-Valley-accented-hilljack-peameal-bacon-eating hick, and I love it.

I will be in Boston the weekend of September 22nd for a wedding. The wedding is in New Hampshire, but I’ll be extending my trip so I have time to visit my Boston peeps. I hope to see some of you then, and Griffin may have to give up her PS2 room for a night or two – which somehow I think she’ll be fine with . The thought of a genuine Harpoon IPA and some North End Pushcart pizza makes me beyond happy.

The house that I sit inside as I write this long overdue post is the one and only geographical constant I’ve had in my life. My Grandmother bought it shortly before I was born in 1973, and I’ve been wandering these halls for 33 years straight. We sold it recently, and are out of here lock, stock and barrel on July 31st. It finally sank in today when I met the new owners and overheard some of their renovation plans - and I suppose I’m sad this evening. Finally.

The last 5 years or so, as my Grandmother’s health and mind have deteriorated, the house has been more of a headache than anything anyone wants to be remotely nostalgic about. I watched the new owner’s children run around in the backyard today, and get excited about the dark ravine I used to know like the back of my hand. I looked out the patio doors at the run down pool that we’ve spent hundreds of dollars keeping functional this summer and can almost see one of my parent’s late night parties that used to take place this time of year - 20 years ago. I’m not going to get out of here at the end of this week without at least a little tug at the heartstrings.

There’s my Grandfather helping me put together my Death Star during Christmas 1977. I can almost picture my beloved Planet of the Apes playhouse down where it stood in the basement. The obligatory driveway hand prints from 1987 are eroded but discernible. Last night I slept in the room I lived in for the summer of 1996 when I was at University and washing windows in the next town over.

The dining room table which used to be the epicenter of the house is now quiet, and will be moved to my new apartment come the fall. 10 minutes ago my father decided he didn’t want the Grandfather clock and that’ll go to me too. Janet’s got dibs on the old kitchen table. Life will go on, obviously, but a more crystal-clear end to an era you’ll never find - and I’ll have a sniffle if I want to.

The mystery surrounding Amelia Earhart’s disappearance has always fascinated me, and about 6 months ago I watched yet another British documentary on the subject. It was so detailed, and the team of investigators so thorough and technologically advanced, that I thought for sure we’d seen the last serious attempt to find out what happened to her over 70 years ago. But the same persistent team is back with a brand new strategy - pig bones.

“Kar Burns, one of two anthropologists on the team, hopes coconut crabs native to the island - some as big as 2½ feet across - will carry the pig bones to wherever human bones might have been taken by crabs. DNA from human bones could help solve the mystery.”

So the hope is that these monstrous crabs, probably living much the same lives their ancestors did in the 1930’s, will crawl sideways across said pig bones - I assumed fitted with some sort of tracking bug - and take them back to their lair. When the lair, den, pile or whatever it is is located by the anthropologists, it may also contain the remains of Amelia and her navigator. Definitely the coolest thing I read today.

On a side note, look at this (or any) photo of our girl. If Hilary Swank isn’t asked to play her in the inevitable biopic, she might as well make another movie about a paraplegic female boxer. It’s easy to get typecast in Hollywood.

Downtown Boston was my home for almost 10 years. I had a car when I first moved there briefly, but got rid of it as parking was an expensive nightmare and I used it an average of once a month. Before that I lived in England where again, I didn’t need a car. Before that it was 1997 and I was bombing down the mean streets of Guelph in a 9-year-old Caravan (that I was happy to have). What I’m saying here is - I have never had a new car, a car I am proud of, or even a car that Jed Clampett would be caught dead in. Black gold… Texas Tea…

This morning I got a call from my Uncle to tell me that I was now the proud owner of the #1 car on my auction wish list. Like a bat out of hell, I set off to get a haircut for my Ontario license picture, get an Ontario license, open a bank account for insurance purposes, get insurance and then pester said Uncle to go and get the car - which it turns out I will get my mitts on Thursday.While happy as a pig in shit, I am choking back a few inexplicable urges that seem to somehow be associated with owning a cool car…

- I want to take pictures of it.
- I want to take pictures of it with me leaning against it, looking pensive. “You know how many people had to die for me to get this car, baby?”
- I want to take off my shirt, both of them, and lean against it looking pensive. Perhaps staring off into space stroking my chin. “Well baby, that’s just the way the cookie crumbles. I’ll send ya a postcard from Hell.”
- I want to drive slowly past high school parking lots at lunch time blaring Linkin Park’s new CD. They have a new CD, right?
- I want to park it in front of a strip mall convenience store on Friday night and smoke butts. Honestly, the shirt will probably be off again.

I’ll get over all of this, but there will be a period of adjustment. Bear with me, and to my Canadian friends - maybe just stay away from the house for a little while. I’ll figure out how to work the self timer and we can get on with our lives.

Alone in a big four bedroom house is how I spend my days, working in Janet’s old room which has been converted into a makeshift office. I’ll be here at least another month, and the silence, after 7 years of living with roommates, is beautiful. All I have to do is look after the pool and keep the place clean should one of the real estate agents want to drop in suddenly with prospective buyers. It seems easy, and it was - until the most horrible smell infiltrated the top floor. We’re talking corpse-worthy, here. First 48, vaporub under the nostrils type smell.

The main realtor, Linda, is in constant contact with my mother who is 4 hours away at the lakehouse. Linda and my mother are convinced I’m going to leave a granola bar wrapper out, thus blowing a sale. So I am doing everything in my power to prove them wrong. So far so good. Needless to say, a gag-worthy, phantom stench is definitely a left turn away from the goal. I checked everywhere - the garbage, the cat litter, under the beds, the toilet tank, all of the cupboards, the attic. I settled on “dead animal” and started combing the vents and any other small place not in my pants that something small could get lodged in and then pass away.

I can obviously only drag this tale out for so long. I discovered the source of the stench while changing Boss’ food and water dish. I thought it was strange that he hadn’t been eating, but would never have assumed that some water from one half of his double dish got over onto the food side and created a nasty chemical reaction that would have make Louis Pasteur retch. It was retched, black and dark green and took only 3 days to manifest.

As soon as the offending goop was flushed - voila. The stank was gone, just like that, and I was able to leave for the weekend, secure in the knowledge that my house-sitting rep was safe. That is until I got home and found the pool had stopped filtering in my absence. You haven’t lived until you’ve stuck your hand in to a skimmer full of dead baby mice up to the wrist. But that is another story. That I may masturbate to later.