Filler

What's next? I'll tell you what's next, the weekend, that's what's next. And none to soon let me tell you what.
With my first full week at The Robert Simpson Brewing Co., mercifully finished and under my belt, I've never desperatly pined for the gentle relaxing call of the weekend like this before. It's not that the work at the RSB is any harder or more demanding on my ever aging bones than that of Magnotta, it's just that it's oh so much harder to wake up at 5 in the morning then I remember. When that stupid alarm wails in my quietly sleeping ear at that ungodly hour, I feel like snapping it's cord out of the f'n wall, wrapping it up into a neat little package and punting it out the window. But usually I just swear to myself, roll out of bed, stumble around in the dark, then stub my toe as I narrowly miss castrating myself on our dangerously sharp bedposts and then cry all the way to the bathroom. It's almost enough to make me think about moving out of the city to a more Northern location just a tad bit closer to Barrie. But then I drive down Dufferin and onto Lakeshore Blvd., and I see city's coast line as it bends westward towards Mississauga along the shores of Lake Ontario and quickly remember why I love this city so much.
Sure Toronto looks great during the day, back when I used to hold down a 9 to 5, tucked away in grey cubicle in some filing cabnet off Bloor street I used to look out my window and imagine the city as a mountain range. I could see all the way to foothills of suburbia in the distant east and all the way down to the industrial area by the lake, which became the base of the range. The CN tower was like the summit that reached up and almost fingered the gray clouds looming just inches above. I could look down towards the street and see thousands of people rushing through the streams of traffic in the valleys below. All trying to make it to their destination upon boats of rubber and steel. The streets were like great chasms, boring their way through the tones and tones of girders and glass, where just a few hours ago I almost got washed away in the raging waters myself. I could see steam rising up from the cracks and fissures in the mountains across the range. Releasing the near volcanic pressures of the day that had been built up by the infinite stresses of the diligent workers inside the great man made monoliths. Yes, it is quite the city.
But it's at night when this city really shines. I still love driving into the city from the west at night. Approaching the shimiring tower lights, elevated high above ground level on the Gardiner. The city, way off in the distance appears tiny and insignifigant, but as you approach it, the towers quickly start to grow taller and taller almost touching the sky and then your in it, swallowed up by the streets and buildings. I don't know why, I've made that drive a thousand times, but I still feel the same way as I did the first time I remember doing it.
Recently I've starting running down to the lake, right along the shore, either at night or right at dusk and just watching the city as I approach it. I don't know maybe I'm just scared of being alone in the dark, but it gives me comfort to know that there are thousands of people living behind those lights off in the distance.
So although I have to struggle to get up at 5am and drive an hour to work, I don't see myself leaving this city any time soon. My life is here. My wife is here. My friends are here. My house is here. My home is here.
Anyhoo, during my first full week at RSB, I managed to brew my fist batch of Confederation Ale. I totally meant to take a picture of it too and post it on this here web blog. But lo, I forgot. It used to be that I never took pictures. In my infinate youthful wisdom I used to live by the mantra, "I don't need to take pictures. If it's important enough to me I'll remember it". Oh what a wonderful sentiment. This of course is not the case. I have all of three pictures of my University days and I've all but forgotten them. Mind you I did do a fair bit of drinking then so it's quite possible most of the damage is self inflicted. Infact my three main hobbies during those four years were drinking, eating nachos and getting fat. Never the less, if you put all of my floor mates from first year in a line up, (which for many years I regarded as one of the best and most fun years of my life), I don't think I could name any of them. So now I take pictures. Lots of them. Of my three old hobbies I still regularly practice one of them, that of course is drinking, which is probably the most harmful on me old noggin. So I promise you, there soon will be a posted picture of my new work place, it's spectacular view and of course my first batch of beer. Lest I forget it and the memory of my first batch dies and floats off to the land of ghost and wind.
So what's next?