The frogs drew straws to decide who had to carry the infamous “Squeaky the Incontinent” across the puddle.
Losing Your Local.
I am in absolute shock right now. You heard it here first, folks – Tiernans is closing forever. Take a moment to digest that, if you’re someone who cares, and then try this on for size – today is their very last. I had a message on my phone from one of the waitresses and just listened to it as I was walking to work this morning. I don’t have to tell anyone who knows me how much I have enjoyed this pub over the last 6 years. I have had hundreds of fun-filled nights there, and the building and staff have held a special place in my liver. I am gutted. I’ve lost my clubhouse.
I started working the door on weekends there in about 2000, and did so on and off for the next 4 years. 4 rowdy, cabbage-filled St. Patrick’s Days in a row. I built the website, hung my own Christmas stocking every year and had many, many, nay – many parties for my friends on the premesis. It is a truly sad day.
The San Francisco location will remain open for business, and life will go on. Perhaps this is a sign from the ghost of Brendan Behan that it is time to slow it all down. I was planning on staying in and behaving myself this weekend, but obviously that strategy has just been sadly and violently pre-empted. Obviously, they’re not going to take all the food and booze with them to California, so it could get interesting. If you’re a fan of the place and have nothing planned for this evening – join me at the wake on Franklin and Broad.
Best Neighbor Ever.
There is a man named Bill who lives 3 houses down from my parents on the Rideau Canal. The level of neighborliness he displayed this past Saturday was absolutely remarkable. Which means worthy of remark. Which means I am now going to remark upon it.
Our dock is collapsible, and every fall it is dismantled section by section and brought into shore. Sometime over the course of the winter, one of the sections disappeared off our property. There are several theories. My father is convinced that two snowmobilers threw ropes over it and pulled away in the middle of the night. The neighbors, however, noticed no footprints on our property or near the water at any time. My mother, Janet and I are more prone to believe the section was washed away by accident, as the canal never actually froze last winter – but my father is sticking to his guns. So I am taking this opportunity to put out an APB for, as I hope the media will begin calling them, the “Amphibious skidoo sectional dock section thieves”. Sometimes people don’t want a whole dock. There’s obviously a terrific niche on the black market for this sort of thing.
My father fashioned a ramp to take the place of the missing section prior to our arrival and was able to secure one section of the dock successfully. The wind was ferocious on Saturday, and the water very choppy as a result. Our boat wasn’t in the water yet, and we decided we’d need one to properly construct the dock. So my father said simply “I’m going for a boat” and disappeared into the woods. About 10 minutes later, the sound of an outboard drew our attention to Dad and Bill coming around the bend towards us in a little fishing craft.
We hadn’t seen Bill yet this trip, and after pleasantries were exchanged he jumped out of the boat with no shoes on – straight on to a pile of razor-sharp zebra mussels. The grimace on his face made me want to cry, even though I’d already stepped on a bunch of them. As the boat bobbed around like a rubber ducky in a hot tub, we realized we’d need to secure it before we continued. We docked the boat and Bill walked, nay limped, all the way back to his house to get an anchor. Then he proceeded to guide our team of 5 in the proper way to piece it all together while my father drifted in the boat which we eventually anchored to a nearby rock.
My Dad is a bit ill at the moment, and we weren’t the handiest crew to ever visit the Portland shore, so Bill’s unexpected help was beyond a Godsend. After over an hour of standing tiptoe in the lake, diving for lost wrenches, whacking our naked torsos against galvanized metal we finally got the bastard in place. When we offered Bill a drink for his troubles, he scurried home quickly, claiming he was horribly hung over and had almost lost his cottage the night before in a poker game – adding to the deed’s legendary status. Well done, Bill. We appreciate it.
Canada Day Weekend 2006.
Mike, Jo, Mark, Janet and I got back from our most recent trip to the Great White North last evening, and although I spent the vast majority of the time doing chores around my parents place – it was still a welcome rest. I could do without the zebra mussel cuts from putting in the dock and boatlift, and I have more mosquito bites than a Calcutta streaker. This, however, is the cost of getting wild in the Ontario woods. Or at least sitting around in a nice house with the AC cranked. The most ‘roughing it’ I think we did was probably having the DVD remote malfunction.
Other gallery moments worthy of note – Gordo chair-dancing to Stompin’ Tom Conners, The technicolor Canadian Maple Leaf photo ops, rockin’ at Remy’s in Westport, campfire chicanery and an arsenal of missles that would make Kim Jong Il himself jealous. Enjoy!
It’s All Good Baby, Baby!
These are the best types of phone calls. I’m pleased to announce that there’s another little Pritchard in the world! Kim, Lucy and PJ welcomed 8 lb 15 oz “No Name” into the world at 10:30 am today. We send our congratulations and the sincere hope that they will eventually think of a better name for her. “Ah, dude – she’s beautiful“. Send me a picture soon!