Last Call for Citta and The Registry

In the past few days, two iconic bars have closed their doors for good. Last night, local's favourite Citta said goodbye to their loyal customers with a send off that, of course, involved nudity.  This is Whistler, after all. Wouldn't be right without a wang hangin' out. I, unfortunately, was working, and by the time I had finished, there was not a drop of alcohol to be had in the place. $3.75 drinks will do that to a place.

Last week, the bar where I made a lot of memories in my formative drinking years did the same. Portsmouth's Registry (known as the Reg, nerd) has been closed to create student accommodation for the university nearby. This makes me sadder than I thought it would. As a student bar, The Reg was perfect: roomy, cheap, right next door to many of the school facilities, and welcoming. As I think about it now, I spent countless nights there growing up, met more than one girl willing to go home with me, and was an ideal place for the eventual yet inevitable catch up with the old college crew whenever I made the trek across the ocean to say hi.

Bars and restaurants close every damn day, but these two have made me realise the passage of time - both from when I was in my late teens, and the years I have spent here in the mountains. Citta was one of those places that had the killer patio and the staff that were longterm, so they knew how it is in Whistler, but not jaded by the lifestyle.  Working across the street, I used to love running over when we were quiet and saying hi, confident that there would be at least one handshake from both sides of the bar.  Yesterday afternoon, I had my last beer at Citta, and the mood was a weird one. It was too early in the day for things to get really rowdy, so the realisation was setting in for some. It honestly felt like a wake, with the hugs, and "thanks for coming in"s, which I felt weren't just meant for that day, but for the custom over the years.

BUT.

A mere name does not a bar make. Time will tell, when they re-open as The Beacon next month, if this cameraderie will have remained in the building.  Some people in town are against it, firmly invested in our memories.  But those memories will keep people coming back to that same patio no matter what happens with the Powers That Be. I'm sure more than one person will be back in their role, offering friendly faces to former regulars and new ones. And yes, I will head over and introduce myself, hoping to still have friendly neighbours.  

Thank you to both The Registry and Citta for not kicking me out when I probably should have been. Thanks for being there for meetups, heartbreaks, and long nights. Thanks for stories that I'll re-tell over cold beer on other patios, spilled beer on the tables that the tears from laughing will splash into.

Just... thanks, I guess.

Day Off

Wow.

Just wow... I can't believe how long I've left this to fester at some dead end corner of the Internet. I feel I have some explaining to do.

You see, shortly after my last post, my very happy 30 year old man post, I was picked up by Mountain Life Magazine to write the lion's share of their online content (and a little of their print). Which is awesome, cutting a check for something I love to do. Awesome isn't even accurate enough - I'm super proud of my work with them, and I'm honoured to have my name associated with theirs. (I'm even training an intern tomorrow!)  Add that into the usual winter calamities (skiing and hangovers) and this just kind of fell by the wayside.
I've definitely said it before, but I will strive to put this into my weekly writing schedule.  It is difficult with the ever-changing schedule (not that I'm jealous of you 9-5ers) but I'll find a way.

(I'd link to the site, but it appears we are undergoing an overhaul - connecting the Coast Mountain site with the Ontario one... So at least I'll have a broader audience! When the redirect is complete I'll let you know.)

But on to the task at hand. This is doing what I love because I love doing it, not because it pays my bills. Bear with me: it's been a while.

************

Days off may seem like a redundant term in Whistler, what with the year round mountain shredding. But after long weekends, especially Victoria Day Weekend, are mentally jarring.  For example, I worked both Saturday and Sunday night, and the crowds that come up here are very cocktail friendly. Shaky shaky with the mixing glasses, all night long.  A combined total of 550 tickets, non-stop from the printer, meant I could hardly talk to the people sitting at the bar.

A nice little anecdote: I ID'd some kids that sat down... then was struck by a thunderbolt of truth that the legal drinking age I'm looking for is today's date, 1995. I wish I could capitalise numbers. 1995. They were nice, they tipped, I'm just getting older.

So, back to the restaurant shell shock: as in so many professions, two days off isn't enough. This morning, all the remnants of a grueling session of work can be found. My feet ache, and my legs have pains - is that through work, or toxins from the 3 beers I drank after work?  My hair is bed headed, and I refuse to shave, but when I wash my face with water, the unmistakeable aroma of ground espresso hits me... It's in my pores. I'm almost certain that after 13 years of working with coffee, it's now a part of my genetic make up. I had a girl recently say that she liked my "smell"... Cherries, apparently. That's a nice thing to know, your own smell (unless it's something like parmesan), but I am surprised she didn't say "dark roast'.

So, it appears that all the hangings-on of "the biz" take a day to wear off and wash off while you get your chores done like laundry and groceries - throw that recovery time into your "admin days" as I call them. That leaves one day to really enjoy, unless you can find someone to hang out with while you do laundry, someone that likes your smell.

And let's not pretend I'm not going to have a beer or two tonight; it's Saturday night (sorta)! Though I've been attempting to go without liquor for May (a feat in and of itself a Herculean task in this town and in this job), there's literally always something to do. It's 3 people's birthday today alone, and I have a Drinking with Ironman article I want to get done (oh yeah, check out my buddy Shane, he's running an Ironman at the end of July from a standing start in September. Also he couldn't swim when he started. So there's that.)

To all of you that work in an office environment, I'll try to make a comparable week: The partners are in the office, you have no chair, and there's a wild predatory animal that feeds on those that are stationary, so you'd best get running. Then when you get home, you can't get the smell of photocopier out of your nostrils.

The difference is, after all is said and done, I still love running from the tiger.

I'm Thirty now. Life is grand.

So my first post as a 30 year old. I gotta say, it's as if I've suddenly become a positive motherfucker.

Maybe I'm still in Holiday Mode... I took a full week off in celebration, which included three nights in a penthouse suite at the Westin, courtesy of my brother. Much poolside lounging was had. Maybe it's the clarity of "being a grownup", whatever that means. All I know is that an entire week of work flew by, and all of the little frustrations that go along with working in a restaurant just washed off me like the waves.  Here I am back on my weekend, slightly hungover from last night, and I still feel relaxed, upbeat... and yes. Happy.

I don't know what caused this change in perspective, but I do know one thing: For a long time, I always assumed that the bartender had to have a slight chip on his shoulder. I guess it comes from the media's portrayal, that the bartender is someone you have a transaction with but keep them at arm's length. There's even a physical boundary between client and dealer - the bar. And yes, he (or she) can have a bit of a bite, but more sass than surly.

I feel like, over the years, I've gradually slid toward the wrong end of this scale. Maybe this landmark year - in more than one way, as I also started 'tending 10 years ago next month - is the reason for my mental shift. That, and one of my new favourite lines: Stupid people are put on the Earth so that the rest of us can laugh at them.

The faults that I have are varied and many, so hopefully this is the first step that will help me fix the rest of them.

I truly hope that you, Reader, are having a great day, and that this unorthodox post will make it that little bit better. It's why I do this after all. I can't talk to many of you on a daily basis, so making you smile or laugh through these quick check-ins from time to time, (albeit one-way) helps me feel like I'm connected to you.

So - once again - Stay Thirsty, friends.

10957 days down...

Here it is. My last day of my 20s (and yes, I did the math for the days in the title). What to do, what to do? I think I'll talk to you for a second or two!

It's beautiful and sunny, but the world keeps spinning. I wanted to show you a great speech by President Obama in regards to the Trayvon Martin / George Zimmerman abortion decision. Here it is.

A little closer to home, I am excited by my new personal project, Life Through The Eyes Of A Manchild: Why I Shouldn't be Allowed to Grow Up Yet.

This comes with a disclaimer: You will read things that you may not want to read about me. So parents, family, and Cooper and Jackson, read at your own peril.

I'm going to be posting once a month for now, until I get more topic ideas. To save you from clicking on the "About" (which I know you won't), here it is...

So here’s the deal… I am 29 for one more month, and I’d really rather not get a big kid job. This website aims to argue my case.

We hear about the Peter Pans all over the Internet, and many read it and think “Hahaha, that is so true! Fuck those silly twentysomethings and their shirking of responsibilities!”

But here’s the thing: no one claims it. It’s an affliction, much like terrible driving, that nobody wants to own up to. Well, here I am, world, wearing sweatpants at noon and drinking coffee for breakfast, to tell you that I, too, am stunted in my development.

It crept up on me slowly, and as I try and take stock of things I realise I might be in pretty shabby shape. This site is a way of highlighting my various boy-isms. Some are pretty serious, but I hope that they’re at least entertaining for you.

 

I'm also accepting submissions for things that you've noticed us do, whether you're a guy and it's something you notice yourself committing, or you're a lady who notices what a man in her life does with reckless abandon, send it to manchildthefirst@gmail.com and I'll try and create some hilarity with it.

So I think that's it for now, hope you're enjoying your weekend and I'll save you a seat at the bar here in Club 3-Zip. They're checking my ID right now so I should be in the VIP lounge by tomorrow.

The Apex of Humanity

Folks, it's a hell of a time to be writing. It's a rainy day here in Whistler, but what I want to talk about is bigger than my town, my country. It's a global issue.

Maybe it's something in the water, but it feels to me as though society is on a tipping point. Let's examine what I mean here.

Bradley Manning is an Army soldier, whose court-martial began this month. He's been charged with 22 offences due to his involvement in sending information to Wikileaks in 2010. In this time he has been held in a small cell with dehumanising conditions.  While the United States Government is trying to brand him a traitor, the rest of the world is showing support at iam.bradleymanning.org, and over at elitedaily.com you can read some really powerful words from comedian Russell Brand.

Meanwhile, if you haven't heard of Edward Snowden, just google him. That's him there, the skinny guy with the whited out windows behind him. Watch that video. He's the one that brought about the NSA tracking on all of our devices. Just in case one of us had plans on being an asshole with a homemade dirty bomb.

This second example isn't really news: it was revealed back in 2006 that the US Government was keeping tabs on everyone's browsing history. But what with the trial mentioned above, and the civil unrest/teargas conferences in both Brazil and Turkey, it seems people are now ready to listen. A report recently came out that only 10% of Americans trust the decisions made by Congress, and 23% trust the news on TV (a statistic that, incidentally, has risen), it just feels like the pieces are in the right places. The internet has made global awareness more tangible than ever before, and puts the math out there for all to see: there are more of the little guys than the Big guys have on their team.

I called this post The Apex of Humanity, because I feel like we, as a species, are at a junction. We can continue down our path, or we can shift gears, and turn off of the main road. Personally, I've always been up for an adventure, as long as I have someone to go with.

By The Way: Dirty Wars by director Jeremy Scahill looks as riveting as any summer blockbuster this year. It's a Sundance award-winning documentary showing the lines that have been crossed with the Conflicts in Afghanistan. It's playing now, but I honestly don't think i could see it in theatres. When it's up on the big screen, the mind automatically dissociates the story from reality, something that cannot be afforded. Keep an eye out for it.

Found:

I never look at my desktop, I just save everything there. So of COURSE I forgot all about this sample write up I did for a project that never came to fruition. It's actually one of my favourite pieces: I hadn't written anything in months by this point, and it felt too organic to just wilt away on my laptop.

Hope you like it.

Aa

*              *              *

*****UNTITLED*****

They call it Whistler University for a reason: your first winter in Whistler is just like being a freshman at college: all night partying, all day shredding, and general happiness and fun times, with the odd couple of hours of work thrown in for good measure.

Yet, while many equate the life of a Whistler Ski Bum to a deleted scene from Animal House, certain things – the backstage things – still need doing. Rent needs paying. Laundry needs doing. And sleep must be had, no matter how raging the bar star/shredhead. These things, amongst so many others, can make it difficult for the average WSB (patent pending) to find quality time with himself, let alone with the other people he actually wants to see over a couple of beers.  Things get in the way, week by week, until one day when you’re walking through the village and you see an old friend. Both of you will think the same thing: I thought that guy left town.

You can’t let your friends be just Facebook friends. The only “poking” you want to do is with people IRL… It’s way more fun, and the payoff is more than just saying hello. (Although, you will meet a girl here and there. Wrap it up, is my advice.)  

They say that life is only best when shared, and that rings pretty true in Whistler. When you stumble across an epic pow stash, it’s like you and your buddies’ super-mega-awesome secret, and you high-five and hug at the bottom. When you’re aprèsing, those are the best laughs, reminiscing on the day’s events while the evidence of the fruit of your labour slowly turns into a puddle around the coatrack.  

And sorry to make things all deep and meaningful, but things can still happen.  Good friends leave, to see the world or to start their big kid job. Injuries can be so severe that the victim is housebound, resigned to his Xbox and physio exercises. Hell, sometimes, people die, and we’re all left wondering what could have been. 

Just because we’re living the dream, doesn’t mean there aren’t monsters under the bed.

You need these people, those 4 or 5 “best buds” to help you through the downs, so you can have more ups together. Think of them as your safety net, when your footing falters. They’re the closest thing to family you’re going to get most of the year. 

Last night, I went out with some of my closest friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen in three months. We had sushi, and afterward (and also during) had a couple of drinks.  But at one point there was this moment where everybody, all of the friends, had their arm around another one. Bros for life or what?, I thought.  We’ve been through some real good times together, and it’s nostalgia like that, the kind that’s still tethered to the present, that I love about Whistler. I’m “nu-local”, and I want to keep that spirit alive for as long as I live here.

Sweet dreams, readers.

The latent hatred in the world

I really must try and get some words written, though lately it feels like all I'm writing are "puff", or darker than I care to advertise. There's a real lack of motivation, almost as though, if I'm not working on The Book (something that has me stuck), I shouldn't be writing at all. Which is exactly the opposite.  You don't run a marathon without training and working out, stretching your muscles... This is no different (except I sit for far longer than the average marathon runner.

Ok, so consider this my "set" on the Path to a Literary Finish Line. What I would like to address today is the prevalence of "Bad Words".

Look, I'll be the first to admit that I love a good "Fuck" here and there, and I'll save my C-bombs for when the time is right and the person is justified in the label. But for the most part, I'm pretty careful with my speech, in part because of this "reputation" I've been salvaging for the last 18 months or so, and also in part because I won the social lottery: I'm male, white, and straight, with a pretty decent upbringing. Is this why I'm so sensitive to friends casually throwing hate words around like "nigger", "fag" and "dyke"? Perhaps.

Maybe it's the remnants of White Guilt or something like that, but to hear a girl referred to in passing as a "dyke" is more offensive than "fag", even though they're objectively, the same thing. And I know there's an argument for the idea that using a word regularly takes the sting out of the tail. To those people, I say: walk into the Apollo, as a white guy, and start throwing N-bombs. Yeah, that sting's still there, and it doesn't look to be going anywhere.

I guess my point is that people say stupid shit for stupid reasons (myself included), and it doesn't seem to be getting any better.

Go give somebody $5, and make their day.  The world is full of frowns, so make someone smile.