What's next? I'll tell you what's next, Winter. That's what's next.
So after many delays and countless false starts, it appears that Old Man Winter is finally here. Stupid old man. Who needs him any ways.
I can still remember when I actually anticipated Winter. Starting sometime in late October, I'd wake up each morning, run to my window and look outside hoping to see the first frosting of that pure white wintery bliss, snow. Back then snow meant many things, GT snow-racing (for those of you not in the know, this is by far the greatest toboggan ever created by man kind), skiing...downhill and cross-country (yes, back then even cross-country skiing was considered fun, now it's just regarded as a truly sadistic form of torture reserved for tourists and boring people), road hockey in our driveway without the possibility of getting a friggin' stone in the eye every time you shot the ball, making snow forts, snow men, snow balls....well you get the picture. Snow was actually useful at one time. It meant fun and excitement. Now it just means cold, scrapping the windows on the car and longer waits in traffic as everyone somehow forgets how to drive just because there is a light frosting of snow on the road. Toronto is the worst for this of course. See, coming from Northern Ontario, I've actually seen what a real snow storm looks like. Down here in the South all we ever get is a few sprinkles of snow and the whole fucking city implodes. In fact, back in the Winter of '99 I think it was, the Mayor actually called in the National Guard to come dig out the city. It was horribly embarrassing. The rest of Canada, who already hold a deep resentment towards the "Big Smoke" and look for any reason to scoff at us, just laughed and pointed fingers. We were the sissies, the wimps, the big city pampered princesses. And I don't blame them, it was over reacting to the nth degree. But I digress.
My point is, snow, which was once a bringer of joy and happiness to my young heart, has now become nothing but a nuisance that I'd rather not deal with.
The only thing that I still look forward to when the snow flies, just like I did when I was a young lad, is listening to the radio or watching CP24 to see what roads have been closed, what buses have been canceled and what other cancellations are happening around the city. Yes, much like Hockey Day in Canada, I'm referring to another great Canadian "holiday", the Snow Day!
The Snow Day may not be uniquely Canadian, but it's something that every Canadian holds dear to their heart. That anticipation you'd have going to bed knowing that there was an impending storm due to hit that night, touted to be the biggest storm to hit town in recent memory you'd hit the pillow with visions of missing school and racing down the hill on your GT snow racer.
Those visions might have changed now that I'm older, instead of tobogganing I think about sleeping in and watching daytime television all day, but the anticipation I have is still there.
Sure I'm a grown man and I can decide whether or not I want to go to work on any given day, but when there is a snow day it's a guilt free, no hassle way of sticking it to the man.
And that's exactly what I did on Monday. It was a friggin' Snow Day man and I took full advantage of that day off. This meant ass on couch, feet up, socks off and lots of mindless TV. It may not have been like the Snow Days of yore and I may not have even gone out and romped around in the white stuff, but it sure was exactly what I went to bed dreaming of the night before.
So what's next?
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Sunday, January 14, 2007
What's next? I'll tell you what's next, Hockey Day in Canada that's what's next.
In a country as large as Canada, it's sometimes hard to find common ground with countrymen who live so far away. Our country spans the North American continent, some 7000 km across. And someone in Victoria, may not have so much in common with someone who lives in Halifax. But one thing that almost all Canadians agree on and embrace is the love of the greatest game on earth, hockey. And on Saturday the CBC put together their annual homage to our great game with their wonderful event, Hockey Day in Canada. Three games, six teams and 12 hours of hockey, hockey, hockey. Only in Canada could this exist.
And what better way to celebrate this "holiday" than with friends.
So what exactly makes a great Hockey Day in Canada? Here are a few of the basic ingredients.
1 -Enough bodies to play a brisk game on Road Hockey
2 -Enough beer to keep those bodies well lubricated
3 -Enough food to keep those same bodies fueled
4 -Enough seating so those tired, drunk, full bellied bodies can plunk themselves down and watch hockey for the rest of the night.
5- Enough poker chips that these same bodies will be able to pretend that they still have the cognisant abilities to bluff and cheat their way to winning a game of poker.
And this is exactly what we did.
Starting at about 2pm we primed our bodies with a few beers and watched the Ottawa Senators take it to the Montreal Canadiens for the first 20 minutes, building a near insurmountable 4-0 lead before we decided to stop watching the carnage and head outside to play our own game.
Road Hockey is not a slow game and it seems to get faster and harder every time I play. In theory it always sounds like fun, but in reality it gets harder and harder as you get older. There is a lot of running and pavement isn't as soft as I remember it. Also, those hockey balls get pretty solid as the mercury drops and one shot in the pills is enough to bring any game to a quick halt. Which is exactly what happened.
So after about two hours of Road Hockey and a few crushed testicles we dragged our tired, bruised bodies back into the house to drink beer, eat meat and watch hockey. And eat, drink and watch we did.
We had a keg for the main course (Robert Simpson of course), plus a few appetizer six packs and dessert twelves, so the beer was pretty much taken care of. And the food? Oh my, the food. Steve "BD" Svicki put together quite the spread. He started everyone off with a super sloppy pulled pork sandwich (so sloppy that when I got home this morning Liz pointed out that I actually had sauce on the top of my head), topped with coleslaw and smokey baked beans on the side. These sandwiches almost convinced me that there was a God and he loves us. Dripping in his own secret BBQ sauce, the pork just exploded in your mouth and mixed with the coleslaw it was near perfection. This probably should have been enough food for anyone. But no, we needed more. And about two hours and half a terrible Leaf / Canuck game later the beef ribs were brought out. And again these ribs were brilliant, a better accompaniment to hockey I cannot dream of.
We tried to watch the whole Leaf game but it became too embarrassing so we switched over to football for awhile. This is when my memory starts to fade a little and the details get a little foggy.
I know we watched a bit of the Calgary / Edmonton game and I know we played poker for a while, but who won the game and the poker match I don't know. All I can remember is falling asleep watching Moonraker and waking up on a couch covered by a large white bear skin rug.
So a successful Hockey Day in Canada it was.
So what's next.
In a country as large as Canada, it's sometimes hard to find common ground with countrymen who live so far away. Our country spans the North American continent, some 7000 km across. And someone in Victoria, may not have so much in common with someone who lives in Halifax. But one thing that almost all Canadians agree on and embrace is the love of the greatest game on earth, hockey. And on Saturday the CBC put together their annual homage to our great game with their wonderful event, Hockey Day in Canada. Three games, six teams and 12 hours of hockey, hockey, hockey. Only in Canada could this exist.
And what better way to celebrate this "holiday" than with friends.
So what exactly makes a great Hockey Day in Canada? Here are a few of the basic ingredients.
1 -Enough bodies to play a brisk game on Road Hockey
2 -Enough beer to keep those bodies well lubricated
3 -Enough food to keep those same bodies fueled
4 -Enough seating so those tired, drunk, full bellied bodies can plunk themselves down and watch hockey for the rest of the night.
5- Enough poker chips that these same bodies will be able to pretend that they still have the cognisant abilities to bluff and cheat their way to winning a game of poker.
And this is exactly what we did.
Starting at about 2pm we primed our bodies with a few beers and watched the Ottawa Senators take it to the Montreal Canadiens for the first 20 minutes, building a near insurmountable 4-0 lead before we decided to stop watching the carnage and head outside to play our own game.
Road Hockey is not a slow game and it seems to get faster and harder every time I play. In theory it always sounds like fun, but in reality it gets harder and harder as you get older. There is a lot of running and pavement isn't as soft as I remember it. Also, those hockey balls get pretty solid as the mercury drops and one shot in the pills is enough to bring any game to a quick halt. Which is exactly what happened.
So after about two hours of Road Hockey and a few crushed testicles we dragged our tired, bruised bodies back into the house to drink beer, eat meat and watch hockey. And eat, drink and watch we did.
We had a keg for the main course (Robert Simpson of course), plus a few appetizer six packs and dessert twelves, so the beer was pretty much taken care of. And the food? Oh my, the food. Steve "BD" Svicki put together quite the spread. He started everyone off with a super sloppy pulled pork sandwich (so sloppy that when I got home this morning Liz pointed out that I actually had sauce on the top of my head), topped with coleslaw and smokey baked beans on the side. These sandwiches almost convinced me that there was a God and he loves us. Dripping in his own secret BBQ sauce, the pork just exploded in your mouth and mixed with the coleslaw it was near perfection. This probably should have been enough food for anyone. But no, we needed more. And about two hours and half a terrible Leaf / Canuck game later the beef ribs were brought out. And again these ribs were brilliant, a better accompaniment to hockey I cannot dream of.
We tried to watch the whole Leaf game but it became too embarrassing so we switched over to football for awhile. This is when my memory starts to fade a little and the details get a little foggy.
I know we watched a bit of the Calgary / Edmonton game and I know we played poker for a while, but who won the game and the poker match I don't know. All I can remember is falling asleep watching Moonraker and waking up on a couch covered by a large white bear skin rug.
So a successful Hockey Day in Canada it was.
So what's next.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
A Year in Beer
What's next? I'll tell you what's next, putting my hand to my chin, looking longingly into space and thinking deeply about what devilishly whimsical pranks the winds of fate have played on me this year and swept me to the place I am now. That's what's next.
And although it was a year ago January 5th when I boarded that big white bird that took me to Berlin and I began my journey into the world of beer, thinking back it was actually the previous summer that changed my life forever.
After returning from a trip through Northern France and Belgium with my wife and some friends, taking in the culture (and by culture I mean wine, food and of course beer), and beautiful scenic vistas over a short three week stint. I came back to my three walled, jail-cell grey cubicle only to find that the walls had become some sort of sadistic torture camber right out of an Indiana Jones adventure. The walls had grown large stone spikes and had some how slowly started to close in on me, threatening to turn me into a 5', 10", 190 pound sieve. My only chance of escape was through a tiny porthole on the information super highway. So I jumped on to my computer and started googling the first words that came into my head, which of course were Beer and Europe. And lo and behold I discovered a bevy of information of beer schools in the old country. To make a long story short, this is how I ended up where I am now.
And now with my first year in beer under my belt I can look back and reflect on how it has effected my life. For good or for ill.
Although most of my memories of Germany and the VLB (the beer school) are fond ones, new friends, new adventures, new careers and many nights of drunken buffoonery (If I ever get tired of drunken buffoonery, shoot me. I'll probably be to old to go on anyways). When I look back now they all have a certain bittersweet taste. I have a deep feeling of melancholy, like listening to a Weakerthan's song, I love the tune but for what ever reason it really makes me contemplative and some what sad. My memories are painted in a pale shade of Hamlet.
I love beer, but in pursuing that love I had to leave behind an even bigger one, my wife. This was going to be the longest we had ever been apart in almost an entire decade. At the time it seemed like an easy task, our relationship was strong it could handle it. But as time progressed it proved much harder than I thought. Now that I've been home for as long as I was away, it's just now getting back to the way it was before I left. Sometimes leaving seems like the hard part, but it's returning that's the real bitch.
Luckily our relationship was strong and she is a wonderful woman so we made it through, but it was truly much harder than I thought.
As for the beer and the brewing, it's been quite a roller coaster ride as well. I went into this blind, no experience, no real brewing knowledge, nothing. And sitting in that class room at the VLB on the first day of school and the first lesson was on Polymer Chain Reactions, DNA, RNA and nucleotides and what not, I thought to myself, "Shit dude, what have you done. You've clearly bitten off a helluva lot more than you can chew, you stupid bastard." I hadn't taken a single science class since grade 13, some ten years previous and now here I was, on the hook for almost 10 grand of my own GD money and staring at a black board full of letters and numbers I could barely recognise. This was going to be a long year.
But after five months of intensive learning, some much needed practical work, and a whole lot of sampling (all done in the name of research I swear it) it all worked it self out in the end. And upon my return to Canada I was able to quickly land my first brewing job.
Magnotta was a great learning experience for me and it afforded me the opportunity to brew many different styles of beer and hone my skills as a brewer. I can say nothing ill about my time there. Mike, Simon, Erica, Mustaq and David were all a pleasure to work with and I appreciate my time working with all of them.
But time marches on. Time waits for no man. Opportunity knocked and I had to answer. And any other inane shit ass saying you want to insert here. Anyhoo, I was offered another opportunity that I couldn't refuse, training to be the brewmaster at the Robert Simpson Brewing Co., in Barrie, ON. And although I still have a long way to go before I become a brewmaster (I'm reminded of this on almost a daily basis as I make mistake after mistake....wait, no let's not call them mistakes, let's call them learning experiences) this was clearly a job I needed to take.
After a year in beer I think I can safely say that brewing beer is not for everyman. The romantic notions of the wise old brewmaster gently turning the sample cock valve on an old oak fermentation vessel and sampling the fresh, golden young beer, then strolling calmly through the brewhouse with his hands in his pockets and air of quite confidence about him are quickly erased when you mistakenly open up a lauter tun door too soon and a metric tonne of hot, wet mash comes rushing out and spews it self all over you and the brew house floor. (Wow that was a wickedly long run on sentence). But saying that, it is a labour of love. Sure it's hard work, but at the end of the day you have accomplished something. You have created something that people are going to enjoy. It is an art. And truly it really makes you proud to think that at the end of the day, you've done something that will hopefully make people happy. There is a nobility in that. And in the end I think that was what I was searching for when I started this journey. Cause we all know, there is no nobility in trying to tell people to go watch The Pacifier.
So what's next?
And although it was a year ago January 5th when I boarded that big white bird that took me to Berlin and I began my journey into the world of beer, thinking back it was actually the previous summer that changed my life forever.
After returning from a trip through Northern France and Belgium with my wife and some friends, taking in the culture (and by culture I mean wine, food and of course beer), and beautiful scenic vistas over a short three week stint. I came back to my three walled, jail-cell grey cubicle only to find that the walls had become some sort of sadistic torture camber right out of an Indiana Jones adventure. The walls had grown large stone spikes and had some how slowly started to close in on me, threatening to turn me into a 5', 10", 190 pound sieve. My only chance of escape was through a tiny porthole on the information super highway. So I jumped on to my computer and started googling the first words that came into my head, which of course were Beer and Europe. And lo and behold I discovered a bevy of information of beer schools in the old country. To make a long story short, this is how I ended up where I am now.
And now with my first year in beer under my belt I can look back and reflect on how it has effected my life. For good or for ill.
Although most of my memories of Germany and the VLB (the beer school) are fond ones, new friends, new adventures, new careers and many nights of drunken buffoonery (If I ever get tired of drunken buffoonery, shoot me. I'll probably be to old to go on anyways). When I look back now they all have a certain bittersweet taste. I have a deep feeling of melancholy, like listening to a Weakerthan's song, I love the tune but for what ever reason it really makes me contemplative and some what sad. My memories are painted in a pale shade of Hamlet.
I love beer, but in pursuing that love I had to leave behind an even bigger one, my wife. This was going to be the longest we had ever been apart in almost an entire decade. At the time it seemed like an easy task, our relationship was strong it could handle it. But as time progressed it proved much harder than I thought. Now that I've been home for as long as I was away, it's just now getting back to the way it was before I left. Sometimes leaving seems like the hard part, but it's returning that's the real bitch.
Luckily our relationship was strong and she is a wonderful woman so we made it through, but it was truly much harder than I thought.
As for the beer and the brewing, it's been quite a roller coaster ride as well. I went into this blind, no experience, no real brewing knowledge, nothing. And sitting in that class room at the VLB on the first day of school and the first lesson was on Polymer Chain Reactions, DNA, RNA and nucleotides and what not, I thought to myself, "Shit dude, what have you done. You've clearly bitten off a helluva lot more than you can chew, you stupid bastard." I hadn't taken a single science class since grade 13, some ten years previous and now here I was, on the hook for almost 10 grand of my own GD money and staring at a black board full of letters and numbers I could barely recognise. This was going to be a long year.
But after five months of intensive learning, some much needed practical work, and a whole lot of sampling (all done in the name of research I swear it) it all worked it self out in the end. And upon my return to Canada I was able to quickly land my first brewing job.
Magnotta was a great learning experience for me and it afforded me the opportunity to brew many different styles of beer and hone my skills as a brewer. I can say nothing ill about my time there. Mike, Simon, Erica, Mustaq and David were all a pleasure to work with and I appreciate my time working with all of them.
But time marches on. Time waits for no man. Opportunity knocked and I had to answer. And any other inane shit ass saying you want to insert here. Anyhoo, I was offered another opportunity that I couldn't refuse, training to be the brewmaster at the Robert Simpson Brewing Co., in Barrie, ON. And although I still have a long way to go before I become a brewmaster (I'm reminded of this on almost a daily basis as I make mistake after mistake....wait, no let's not call them mistakes, let's call them learning experiences) this was clearly a job I needed to take.
After a year in beer I think I can safely say that brewing beer is not for everyman. The romantic notions of the wise old brewmaster gently turning the sample cock valve on an old oak fermentation vessel and sampling the fresh, golden young beer, then strolling calmly through the brewhouse with his hands in his pockets and air of quite confidence about him are quickly erased when you mistakenly open up a lauter tun door too soon and a metric tonne of hot, wet mash comes rushing out and spews it self all over you and the brew house floor. (Wow that was a wickedly long run on sentence). But saying that, it is a labour of love. Sure it's hard work, but at the end of the day you have accomplished something. You have created something that people are going to enjoy. It is an art. And truly it really makes you proud to think that at the end of the day, you've done something that will hopefully make people happy. There is a nobility in that. And in the end I think that was what I was searching for when I started this journey. Cause we all know, there is no nobility in trying to tell people to go watch The Pacifier.
So what's next?
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