Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in schweitzer_man's LiveJournal:

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Sunday, October 19th, 2008
12:28 am	An Executed Ghost Lessons from Pavlik/Hopkins: Never, ever, underestimate Bernard Hopkins. I truly expected Pavlik to win this fight without any doubt but instead Hopkins fought what will probably be rememberred as his best fight since Trinidad and maybe the best of his whole career. When this fight was announced, I groaned. Hopkins fighting again? I had watched his snorefest with Calzaghe and continue to wonder how anyone could argue Hopins won. Pavlik's own promoter Bob Arum said that Hopkins should retire. I was in the agreement with Freddie Roach, Hopkins previous trainer, fearing that the Executioner might possibly be executed by the younger, more powerful puncher they call The Ghost. The only ghost in Atlantic City might have been the ghost of the Old Mongoose, Archie Moore, who was probably grinning as Hopkins landed every punch and came close on two occasions to knocking Pavlik out. I think that Pavlik should have stayed at middleweight where he's better. He couldn't get off the double jab like his trainer kept shouting to throw. I do think Pavlik is still a force in the sport and the man in the middleweight division. This sounds crazy, but I might be looking forward to the next Hopkins fight. (Comment on this)
Sunday, August 17th, 2008
1:33 am	Girlfight  Mary Spencer has taught me a lot about boxing and myself over the past 18 months. I've only seen her talent on full display once but what I saw put me in awe and envy of what she possessed. The female team from East India came to challenge the Canadian Women's boxing team in Windsor. Since Mary fought mostly international this was a rare treat; the last time I had the opportunity to see her in action I had to pass because I was moving to Waterloo that day. India was clobbering the team. Out of all the bouts Canada had won only 2, one of them I felt was a controversial decision. It felt kinda down in the hall. Team India was cheering and pounding the focus mitts together and shouting while all we could do was just hope the girl on our side would survive. Mary finally came out and put on a display that made her opponent look like this was her first time in the ring. Mary was fast, accurate, punching in bunches, from different angles, moving in the ring, completely dominating Kavita from India.  Maybe this was what it was like for people from yesteryear who would turn on TV and watch Muhammad Ali or Ray Leonard, someone with talent so awesome that it makes you want to see more. Mary fought with every Canadian in that hall behind her. "CAN-A-DA CAN-A-DA CAN-A-DA CAN-A-DA CAN-A-DA" was all that could be heard. To us, this was the most important victory of the night. (Comment on this)
Sunday, August 3rd, 2008
12:39 am	Hitman Thomas "Hitman" Hearns won his first world title 28 years ago yesterday. I watched his fight with Pipino Cuevas on Youtube a few minutes ago and still find myself in awe of this man's ability. In the first round you could tell what poor Pipino was doomed to meet when the right hand of Hearns landed. The fist big one rocked Cuevas back to the ropes and got the crowd (I read Muhammad Ali was ringside) on their feet, cheering. Every right hand that landed clean and hard reinforced anyone's belief that this would not be a long fight. Tommy's jab, one of the best in all of boxing, was accurate and he never let the champion out of his sight. Hearns was giving him a boxing lesson. Cuevas was able to survive the first round but had to know it would take a miracle to survive the second round. Divine intervention was not to play a hand that night. The last two right hands that Hearns landed were brilliant; the first one wobbled Cuevas all throughout his body making him look like a slinky. Knowing that he had his man where he wanted him, Hearns landed the final punch of the fight, flattening Cuevas. He was able to beat the count but that was all he would be able to beat that night. Cuevas' trainer entered the ring, knowing how deadly that right hand was and knowing his fighter could take no more of it. Hearns was now the WBA welterweight champion and had started on the path of an all-time-great champion. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 24th, 2008
9:49 pm	Meet Dave...and Walk Away If Eddie Murphy wants to make another Beverly Hills Cop movie, I think before filming begins he should be forced to make two or three movies that are actually good.  (Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 17th, 2008
12:51 am	Cleaning the Pool The water collected on top of the cover of my pool smells like shit, vomit, some dead crack whores and pure urine...mixed with a few maple leafs  (Comment on this)
Monday, May 12th, 2008
11:49 pm	The Evolution of Late Night  Whoever decided to make Jimmy Fallon the replacement for Conan O'Brien needs to be swifty kicked in the head. Granted that might seem a bit extreme, but taking an unfunny SNL castmember who had one mildly successful post SNL movie and one shit storm movie with Queen Latifah and putting him as the new host of Late Night doesn't make me wanna stay up past 12:30AM (Comment on this)
Monday, April 14th, 2008
10:00 am	Updates and Stuff   It’s been a while since I’ve updated and if I’m going to be a writer, then I think I should be doing this more often, even if I only add a few lines or so. Not everything needs to be an epic.   My job is going really well, a bit boring at times but that’s what happens when gas prices reach the price they’re at now. Hardly anybody will show up for twenty minutes and if they do they decide to pay at the pump, leaving me to my own devices again. It’s a lonely little outpost out on Highway 3 but at least I now have employment which means that my position here is safe and I won’t be making another stop in Waterloo.   School is wrapping up for the year and I’m almost in shock at how quickly it passed by and how long ago some of it seems to me. I wonder if next year will bring the same feeling regarding the passage of time. Right now this week is all about handing in final assignments and rewrites. I handed one in a few minutes ago and chances are if I didn’t, I would have gotten expelled.   Plagiarism, of all the things to be accused of, that was pretty damning. I wanted to cry, barf, punch someone (myself) and just run up to the balcony and scream. Maybe I should go back and explain.   Paula Citron and I were in the computer lab, each of us, not knowing it when we came in, working on the same assignment. Talking back and forth between one another we quickly realized we were both aiming for the same goal and we were off, working on it together. In the tradition of Woodward and Bernstein, Citron and Schweitzer were off to work, shooting out ideas, correcting sentences, making them sound better. We just wanted to pass.   Then last week our math teacher pulled us aside and held up our papers side by side, noting their direct similarities. We tried to explain that we had worked together (She never said we couldn’t) but that she had already gone to Veronique (The head of the department) and told her what she had discovered.   Again, I felt like barfing, screaming, punching, just doing anything to vent this frustration. Of course, Paula wasn’t doing herself (or even me) any favors by saying that it was all her fault and that she had copied me. I was getting pissed off at her and at the same time I was almost laughing because that’s my fucked up defense mechanism.   We went up to Veronique, explained ourselves and desperately appealed for her to have mercy. I was desperate. After this, I had nowhere else to go and my father would more than likely crucify me and then tell me that he was going easy on me.   Veronique assured both of us that no one was going to be expelled and that even though our intentions were good and we weren’t sneaking about hoping not to get caught, next time we should know better. After that I could start breathing again. And the following week has passed without incident. Right now I’m just looking forward to working out more, sitting poolside with a beer in my hand and then going to work where I push buttons and take money. (Comment on this)
Monday, February 18th, 2008
8:05 pm	Employment Once again I’ve joined the ranks of the gainfully employed, this time at a gas station (Self-serve, thank God). It used to be called the Big Chief but now it’s just a regular Sunoco gas station but it has a lot more standing room from what I’m told. I’d never been in the original station before but I heard that it wasn’t too different from the Canadian Tire gas station I applied at before I left for Waterloo. It’s a pretty basic job, press this button to turn on the gas, make sure the customer doesn’t leave without paying, make sure nobody blows up. Compared to 7-Eleven, it’s a cakewalk. What’s nice is that I’m allowed to bring my homework with me while I’m there. Not that I never had to be worried about nothing to do at my old job, but here the hours can stretch on and on. If I can survive a summer working midnights next to a bar then I think I can survive working along on Highway 3 (Comment on this)
Thursday, January 31st, 2008
11:10 pm	Playing Carnack Birtney Spears will be dead by the end of the year. She's lasted one month of 2008, 11 more to go.   (Comment on this)
Thursday, December 20th, 2007
9:28 am	Person of the Year It wasn't Al Gore, who I thought was the only plausable candidate given the media attention he gets these days. And with all the celebrities who are willing to let him tea-bag them... I thought if there was going to be anyone else it would be J K Rowling for finishing up the Harry Potter series or Gen. David Petraeus for the improvements in Iraq.  But Putin? What the fuck has this guy done? Other than voicing his disapproval of US policies and what not, this guy does jack shit.  As last year's Person of the Year, I feel that someone more worthy should have been given this honour. Then again...what the fuck did I do last year to win Person of the Year? Oh well, what's done is done, I just don't like this choice at all.  (Comment on this)
Sunday, November 25th, 2007
11:03 pm	Moving Out and On...Someday?  My buddy Aaron is moving to Alberta the begining of the new year. He says-if he likes it up there-that he'll probably be there for at least three years. He'll be living with his cousin and around March or April will come back for the rest of his items. I volunteered to look after one of his trucks but he then informed me that he was taking those up. When I offered to take care of his girlfriend, Katelynn, he told me that she was going to be joining him. By the time the school year ended she would be moving up to start intering for advertising.  Since he told me that I've been pondering what's going to happen to me when I (eventually) graduate. I always thought of staying in Windsor with the rest of the Schweitzer clan yet at the same time I don't want to live in a ghost town. Sadly that is what this area will be in three years. Thousands are losing their jobs and I don't want to get a job writing for a small town newspaper (no offence to Richard Parkinson and others who made a living from it). Lately I've seriously been giving serious thought to going out west when school is done for me. When I was living in Waterloo, Aaron and I briefly discussed the possibility of me, him and Katelynn living together someday when we had the money and the means to support ourselves. Katelynn wanted to move to Toronto. Aaron and I both agreed that she was nuts. While I'm not quite sure if he was serious about us living under one roof (he knows what a slob I am), that idea does not seem so far-fetched as it once did. I suppose it will depend on what happens and what job offers I get (if any) after I graduate. The last thing my folks would want is for me to do the two years of college and then get a job working at 7-Eleven...again.  Last Friday I told them about Aaron's plans and I never saw my dad more interested in what was going on in my friend's life. I think he almost wanted to say, "Why don't you go with him?" He might as well have-that afternoon he was talking to my mother about me moving out somewhere and working at some big hotel. I think I should worry about surviving this semester and the rest of the year before I go off to another alien location. Still, living with Aaron and Katelynn would be much better than another summer of Stephanie and Jon. Plus, I don't think my old landlord will ever let me back in my old place. Oh well, at least I don't have to worry about construction workers coming in to measure stuff while I sleep. (Comment on this)
10:59 pm	Could you please stop talking?  I've always had sort of a (bad) habit of talking out of turn. Not when someone else is making a presentation but just at random intervals. It hasn't gotten me in trouble yet however now it's given some in my class something to look forward to every day. Sometimes they complain if I don't say anything. If they understood they would know that sometimes I just don't feel like talking and that it's not a matter of blurting out whatever comes to mind but finding the right moment and in that moment, picking the right quip.  They seem to think that I'm something like a parrot or a jukebox and that if I push the button, something funny will come out.  I also think that they can't take me seriously anymore. If I were to delve into a serious subject, I think they would either laugh thinking I was making it a joke or laugh because they're used to doing so when they hear my voice. Then if I don't say anything, they'll ask, "Schweitzer, why didn't you say anything during class?" (Comment on this)
Tuesday, September 25th, 2007
1:29 pm	The Spar Mary waved Aaron over with her hand, almost as if she had a secret to tell him. My first thought was that she was going to throw him in with the barefoot guy who came in wearing a shirt that was mimicked after the famous Alberto Korda photo of Che Guevara but instead had Cornelius from Planet of the Apes wearing the beret. “Do you wanna go in the ring and work your offense against Andrew?” she asked him. Aaron smiled and looked at me. Before he could even say anything in response I opened up my mouth. “Of course he wants to,” I said and followed with a bunch of rambling which probably made me look a tad insane. Aaron mentioned that he didn’t have his mouthpiece. “I’m not gonna hit you back,” I reminded him. This was a regular exercise. One person would go in and work defence by blocking punches and moving away while the other would follow and strike when opportunity arose. Aaron had done this before, working both offence and defence with a thin Asian named Alvin. However, during that practice I noticed that both Alvin and Aaron would be aiming for each other’s gloves instead of the face. Aaron wouldn’t repeat that this time. He would aim for my face and I had to take the risk that he would go full force. And if he did, I would have to restrain myself from hitting back, since he wouldn’t be wearing the headgear. While we waited for our time in the ring, Aaron got on the large red 20oz gloves while I had to settle for black bag gloves. While the barefooted guy’s barefooted girlfriend went wild on Jodie in the ring (Where she got all that energy I have no idea), Aaron and I were chatting. It was something we regularly did. We wouldn’t have detailed conversations, just shoot quiet jibes off to one another. "I’m gonna bust you up." "I’m gonna bust your lip"- a line which originated when Aaron misread the lines on a Mr. T shirt that I owned. We would jokingly call each other names of boxers from yesteryear. "Ready to rumble, Sugar Ray?" "Ready to go fall, Smokin’ Joe?" I felt it helped ease any tension that might be in the air. Before a spar I always get small butterflies in my stomach. But the joking around and laughter made me feel at ease. Besides, this was Aaron, he probably wanted to punch me, but he wasn’t out to give me a facial fracture. “That headgear looks too small,” he said. I pulled it off. “Shut up. I have a large head.” In truth, the headgear I had on didn’t feel right. Plus it was still sweaty from whoever used it before me. I quickly searched and found for one that was comfortable and didn’t feel like it came out of a swimming pool. Once that was on, Jodie and the barefoot girl had finished their rounds and I hopped into the ring, bouncing on my feet while Aaron watched me. Mary instructed me move around the ring and for Aaron to cut me off. The bell rang and so it began. While normally I would extend my arm as a common courtesy, I didn’t do it this time. Instead, I was on the balls of my feet, waiting to see what kind of move Aaron would make. He quickly moved in and instantly reminded me that he was a southpaw. His jab got me good in the face and I danced away. Catch me if you can! However that’s what he did. I would dance away and within a few seconds of standing still Aaron would be within range, firing at me. After moving away again he’d have me at the ropes or in the corner and after landing some good shots I’d be able to escape. When he had me in a corner, Mary would shout for me to get out and dance away. I tried to clinch Aaron and throw him against the ropes but as I moved forward he probably had an idea of what I was trying to do and got me good on the chin. I felt one of my legs go and I had to balance myself with the ropes. Had Aaron capitalized on that sudden weakness he would have had me down on the canvas. But he restrained himself and I danced out of the corner. This was different from any other sparring experience I had before. While that one kid I fought 10 months ago was also a southpaw, in that situation I was fighting back and using the long reach of my arm to keep him away. Also during that fight I was pretty flat-footed and not playing the matador to his bull. With Aaron though, the bull kept coming forward. And the bull was landing better and harder shots than that kid ever did. I could feel my nose getting flattened when his glove came into contact with it. I was getting mad. He was landing jabs and power shots while all I could do was keep my hands up like Ali did in Zaire against Foreman. I couldn’t clinch and I couldn’t hit back. That was what made me really mad. At last the bell rang and we could stop for one minute. I got water from Mary while she told me that Aaron was getting mad because of my dancing. “Aaron wants you to stand still so he can land those shots,” she informed me as she gave Aaron water. “He’s getting mad?” I asked. “He keeps hitting me and I have to take it. Trust me, I’m more mad then he is.” Mary laughed, understanding my frustration. As we stood in opposite corners my mind went into working a strategy. Aaron knew me well and wouldn’t fall for any psychological talk I could throw out there. But maybe if I did something in action he would be a bit more cautious. I would charge him, make it look like I forgot I wasn’t supposed to fight back. The moment I heard the bell go I dashed. For a split second I wondered what would happen if Aaron was able to land one good shot on my chin and floor me? “Whoa,” Jodie exclaimed as I dashed towards Aaron. I stopped myself when I knew that I was within range of Aaron’s jab. He seemed unfazed by my actions. So much for psychological warfare. Aaron kept moving forward and blocking my movement. Whenever I was able to get myself away from him it would only be a few seconds before I was right where he wanted me. I couldn’t clinch and I could block. Every time I moved to my left to try and get away he’d be there with more jabs. Where the hell was he getting this energy from anyway? He admitted to me earlier when we were on the bags that he felt like he was going to puke yet here he was landing good hard shots. Even his movement was surprising me. During shadowboxing he seemed stiff yet in the ring he was loose, cutting off the ring and knocking my head back so hard that I could feel the muscles in my neck stretch. I knew that there had to be more to my defence than dancing, especially against southpaws. I put up my hands almost like an X. An awkward strategy but I had to think of something quickly. If I could stop his jabs with my right hand and block power shots with my left, I might be able to get hit less. Aaron fired a jab that landed between my hands and my nose, flattening it again. Later in the round he would land a punch that would twist my neck so that I could see the park outside of the gym. My dancing was still going strong. The only way for him to hit me was for him to catch me. No matter how strong he was going in these two rounds, he would have to slow down. But he didn’t. He kept coming forward landing shots on my face and arms whenever I covered up. Another thing I noticed afterwards was that he didn’t throw any body shots when I was covering up. Had he thrown a hook to the body that might have changed everything dramatically. Just when it seemed it couldn’t end here the final bell rang. I raised my gloved hand for Aaron to tap but instead he hugged me and I did the same. “Good job, Andrew,” he said with laboured breath. I could tell that he was smiling but I could also hear how exhausted he was. “Good job, Aaron,” I congratulated in return. I felt even more drained than he sounded. Aaron climbed out of the ring while I sat on the ground and lay on my back. Mary once again commented on how I was making Aaron mad with my constant movement. “Yeah, but imagine being hit so many times and not being able to hit back. Trust me, I was getting madder than he was.” “You’ll get him next time,” she smiled. After ten seconds on my back, I got up out of the ring and pulled off the gloves and headgear. I got a drink of water and met Aaron on the side of the ring. Both of our shirts were wet with sweat and my forehead was dripping. “You little bitch,” I told him with a smile, “why the hell didn’t you tell me you could hit so hard?” He laughed and told me that he didn’t. Aaron was being modest about his punching power. While Mary had told him he still needed practice regarding his footwork, when it came to punching power Aaron certainly had plenty to go around. I’d never been against the ropes and had my head knocked back the way he did to me. And his punches were a lot quicker than I had expected. He had me constantly moving. Usually when I sparred someone and had to work defence I would do a crappy version of the Ali shuffle to distract them and get a laugh. Aaron had me too worried to do anything that might leave me open. I was really impressed with what he did. While we watched others spar, I moved a finger in my mouth to make sure all my teeth were firmly in place and to see if my gums were bleeding. My nose was a bit sore but he hadn’t gotten it to bleed so I was fine. We put off stretching, sit-ups and push-ups. “I did them before I got here,” lied Aaron. “Yeah, and I did mine on Tuesday, so I’m good.” Mary didn’t seem to mind. We did everything else that was asked of us and she could probably tell how drained we were. In the locker room I had trouble getting my shirt off. Once I did get it off I saw the large patch of sweat at the back. Probably the most I’d ever done in the gym. On the way out, Aaron and I gave Mary our monthly dues. “Can I ask you a question?” I asked her. “Sure,” she said. We were in the office so I took a seat opposite of her. “I’m taking journalism at the college downtown and I was wondering if I could interview you.” My plan was just to do a short interview with Mary regarding an upcoming bout where she would be a referee instead of a combatant. She extended her arms towards me. “I’m going to Ecuador to fight in the Pan Am games,” she informed me. “Yes!” I exclaimed. That would be much better than some story about her refereeing. “Just email me the questions and I’ll get back to you,” she informed me. As we walked out towards the car, my nose started to get stuffed up again. It hadn’t bothered me during the spar but now I could only breathe out of one nostril. On the way home Aaron and I stopped for Gatorade-an electrolyte refill. “See, isn’t this nice?” I asked as we exited the store. “Twenty minutes ago you were punching me in the face and enjoying it, now we can be friends again.” On the way home I kept discussing the spar, explaining how Aaron seemed to be more of a slugger than a puncher. I compared him to Marvellous Marvin Hagler, who dominated the middleweight division in the 80’s. Aaron had no idea who I was talking about. I kept telling him what a good job he did but reminded him that he wouldn’t have been as successful had I been allowed to hit back. The next day I felt even more drained. It was about nine o’clock by the time I dragged myself out of bed. (Comment on this)
Sunday, September 2nd, 2007
3:57 pm	Home Again Right now I'm laying on my bed while looking out the window as I type. I'm back at 251 Brien, back home again. And after six days of being home, I'm missing what I had back in Waterloo. I didn't have to worry about my dad having a heart attack brought on by me not shaving; I didn't have to worry about school; I didn't have to try to remember where I was going because everything I needed was on the same street.  Still, it's good to be back. After four months I can finally get back into boxing with Aaron and hopefully wear off any ring rust that I've picked up. Something tells me that I'm going to run out of gas quicker than I think.  Right now I'm pretty upset with the college website because it's telling me that my username and password aren't accepted even though the school told me that it should be. It'd be nice to see what my schedule will be like for the next couple of months. At orientation I was told that our latest class would be 5PM. That's cool-I'd hate to miss out on boxing and hopefully I might still be able to squeeze in my morning workouts with Aaron. It was nice to have him around for a couple days instead of just reading his words over MSN messenger. Right now he's up north at some cabin drinking himself silly. Being unemployed has it's benefits...if you have parents like his that is. Not to say that mine are terrible but if I asked them if I could go up north to a cabin with a bunch of friends where I'll be drinking every night and doing God knows what during the day...they'd hand me the 'Help Wanted' ads. I still have to get my punching bag back from him but I'm in no hurry.  My weight has been going back up. I suppose the stuffed crust pizza, McDonalds and my mom's cooking has helped with that but I've gone from 130 last Saturday afternoon to 140 present day.  Right now is probably my least favourite time of year. Summer is winding down and as I get older, it seems to get shorter. I now have 4 months of school to go through before winter break but something tells me that'll sneak up on me when I least suspect it. Sometime by November I'll realize that I've already done midterms and that I'm getting ready for second semester. This is probably the most nervous I've been about school without showing it. This is probably the last chance I have to do things right otherwise I'm off to some other part of the country, according to my dad. I'm not sure what'll happen when we get to wherever he has planned going but something tells me that it's somewhere cold. But once winter break arrives, I'll probably be more relaxed now that I'm doing something that I want to do and something that interests me. While I don't have a great desire to be a journalist writing about agriculture here in Essex, I would love to have my own column in the paper or something. Just get me in front of a camera or microphone and let me do the rest.  I'd want to have a job like Larry King, minus the suspenders and the glasses and heart attacks. Just let me interview someone and I'll ask them the questions other people want to ask. Had I been given the opportunity to interview Paris Hilton I probably would have given her a lot more hardball questions than old Larry did. (Comment on this)
Friday, August 17th, 2007
6:32 am	The Sad Truth Walking home this morning from the grocery store, I saw two squirrels humping. I translated this as nature's way of saying that everyone gets more sex than me (Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 15th, 2007
9:45 pm	Revealed This was always a story I found interesting. Every year I would read a snippet about it in the paper and was easily hooked by the mystery behind it. And while the secret has finally been revealed, it's a bit disapointing because the mystery behind it is gone. I always wondered if it could possibly be the ghost of Poe himself, mouring his too short a life or some entity of horror that appeared in this realm once a year to pay tribute. Turns out it was neither For decades, a mysterious figure dressed in black, his features cloaked by a wide-brimmed hat and scarf, crept into a churchyard to lay three roses and a bottle of cognac at the grave of Edgar Allan Poe. Now, a 92-year-old man who led the fight to preserve the historic site says the visitor was his creation. "We did it, myself and my tour guides," said Sam Porpora. "It was a promotional idea. We made it up, never dreaming it would go worldwide." Porpora is an energetic, dapper fellow in a newsboy cap and a checked suit with a bolo tie. He's got a twinkle in his eye and a mischievous smile, and he tells his tale in the rhythms of a natural-born storyteller. No one has ever claimed ownership of the legend. So why is Porpora coming forward now? "I really can't tell you," Porpora answered. "I love Poe. I love talking about Poe. I had a lot to do with making Poe a universal figure. I'm doing it because of my love for the story." Porpora's belief that he resurrected the international fame of Poe, that master of mystery and melancholia, is questioned by some Poe scholars. But they do credit Porpora, a former advertising executive, with rescuing the cemetery at Westminster Presbyterian Church where the writer is buried. "I don't know what to say," said Jeff Jerome, curator of the Poe House in Baltimore, who has nurtured for years the legend of the so-called Poe Toaster. Confronted with Porpora's assertion that the whole thing is a hoax, Jerome reacted like a man who's been punched in the stomach by his beloved grandfather. He's sad. He feels betrayed. But he's reluctant to punch back. "He's like a mentor to me," Jerome said of Porpora. "And I can tell you that if it weren't for him, Westminster Hall may not be there. But to say the toaster is a promotional hoax, well, all I can say is that's just not so." Could it be, to quote Poe, that "all that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream"? Porpora's story begins in the late 1960s. He'd just been made historian of the Westminster Presbyterian Church, built in 1852. There were fewer than 60 congregants and Porpora, in his 60s, was one of the youngest. The overgrown cemetery was a favorite of drunken derelicts. The site needed money and publicity, Porpora recalled. That, he said, is when the idea of the Poe toaster came to him. The story, as Porpora told it to a local reporter then, was that the tribute had been laid at the grave on Poe's Jan. 19 birthday every year since 1949. Three roses — one for Poe, one for his wife, and one for his mother-in-law — and a bottle of cognac, because Poe loved the stuff even though he couldn't afford to drink it unless someone else was buying. The romantic image of the mysterious man in black caught the fancy of Poe fans and a tradition grew. In about 1977, Jerome began inviting a handful of people each year to a vigil for the mysterious stranger. The media began chronicling the arrivals and departures of a "Poe-like figure." In 1990, Life magazine published a picture of the shrouded individual. In 1993, he left a note saying "the torch would be passed." Another note in 1998 announced that the originator of the tradition had died. Later vigil-keepers reported that at least two toasters appeared to have taken up the torch in different years. For Jeffrey A. Savoye, secretary-treasurer of the E.A. Poe Society of Baltimore, the tradition acquired a life of its own. "Even if Sam's story is true, so what? It's a tradition. It's a nice tradition, whether it dates back to 1949 or the '70s," Savoye said. Members of the Poe Society insist they recall members of the old congregation — all now dead — talking about the Poe toaster before Porpora says he made it up. Stories since the 1970s refer to older newspaper accounts about the visitor. Jerome found a 1950 newspaper clipping from The (Baltimore) Evening Sun that mentions "an anonymous citizen who creeps in annually to place an empty bottle (of excellent label)" against the gravestone. Porpora's account isn't consistent. He said he invented the stranger in an interview with a reporter in 1967, but the story to which he refers appeared in 1976. Shortly afterward, the vigils and the yearly chronicles of the stranger's visits began. During the same interview, Porpora said both that he made the story up and that one of his tour guides went through a pantomime of dressing up, sneaking into the cemetery and laying the tribute on the grave. Porpora acknowledges that someone has since "become" the Poe toaster. "For us, it was a one-time thing. If I could have brought Edgar Allen Poe back to life, I would have — that would have been the biggest promotion of all," he said. "But who would have thought people would jump on it the way they did?" Jerome said the vigils will continue. "Next January 19, I'm going to keep the vigil — same as I've always done," he said. "Either he shows or he doesn't show. Either others join me or they don't. My guess is, this will not affect anything." (Comment on this)
Sunday, July 29th, 2007
6:45 pm	It had been a fast paced 36 hours. I was leaving soon for Waterloo where I had two job interviews so that I would have employment when I moved up at the end of the month. It was mid-April and I was defiant in going but knew struggling against my parents wishes would be useless. About ten minutes before I left, I overheard a conversation with my mom and dad over the phone. She was leaving work for the day to see my grandmother (her mother) at the hospital. A week ago my mom had to take her to the hospital after my grandpa called her at work, telling her that things weren’t well with her health. My mother had used the words ‘not good’ over the phone but they didn’t shake me. One thing about Bissonnette’s was that no matter how many times they went into a hospital, they always went out. My grandpa was an excellent example of this. My mom told my dad not to tell me because she didn’t want me to worry while I was being interviewed the next day. But of course, I wasn’t worried. My dad dropped me off at the bus station where he picked up Stephanie. She was concerned about my grandma’s health and decided that she would take time off of work and come down and see her. I was to stay at her apartment with Jon, her boyfriend and he would come back with me to visit his biological mother who lived in Kingsville. I won’t go into too much detail about my Waterloo trip other than the fact that I almost lost my ticket home, spent ten minutes trying to get the door open to Stephanie’s apartment and that Jon didn’t get home from work until late. The next day was a bit better. Jon, being a physical trainer, didn’t have any sugar coated cereal on him so I was forced to down a bowl of something called Weetabix which is probably the poor man’s hay. My first interview was to be at Wildcraft. I told them that I would have no problem being a dishwasher but deep down inside, something was telling me that I wouldn’t last long at that job and that I would most likely end up quitting. After that I stopped at the local Chapters just to read for a little while. Then I went back to the apartment where Jon and I ate pizza and watched Curb Your Enthusiasm. It’s an OK show but Jon couldn’t stop laughing. Next was an interview at A&W. Dull, boring interview and I didn’t even get a call back from them telling me that I didn’t get the job-not that I wanted it in the first place. After that Jon and I packed up so that we could head back to Essex. After waiting for the bus to get to the station, Jon realized that he had forgotten his ticket back home and quickly biked back. After almost missing the bus back, we were homeward bound-for me anyway-on a bus ride that couldn’t have been any longer or tedious. It was too cramped for me to fall asleep so the only thing I did was read beside a woman flipping through a bridal magazine. Finally we arrived home. From here on is where things became crystal clear yet a few details are sketchy. Stephanie ran to Jon and hugged him tightly. I turned back towards them and called, “Get a room”, pretending that I was some stranger who didn’t want to see them giving a PDA. My dad was by his Magnum and looked happy to see me, calling me Dude like he usually saw me. “How are you?” “Dad, can we stop somewhere and get something to eat? I’m starving!” I really was. “Well, wait till we get home and we’ll fix something up.” I rode shotgun while Stephanie and Jon sat in the back. I don’t know if they said anything to each other, in fact I can’t remember if my dad and I spoke but I remember we were right outside the club Jason’s (where my friend Aaron’s dad is the general manager) when my became very serious-he might have put his hand on my knee-and said, “Listen…Grandma passed away.” I felt myself sag into that seat. I turned away from him and looked out at the streets of downtown Windsor, at all the teenagers and yuppies who were partying. A smile formed on my face and I instantly covered my mouth with my hand. I have no idea why the fuck I was doing that at all but I knew that wasn’t the reaction I was having. I was sad beyond belief and yet I was chuckling. Maybe it was a defence mechanism, or something else went off in my mind entirely. And then I remember just being swept over with emotion and finally able to let the tears flow. Stephanie handed me a tissue as she began quietly sniffling. I listened as my dad spoke. She had died this morning and wasn’t in any pain and that all her children excluding my Uncle Ron (who lived in Quebec) were with her and how proud she was of her grandchildren. He didn’t have to say the last part; I always knew that my grandma was proud of us and how she couldn’t get enough of us. He told me that he and Stephanie had gone to see her yesterday afternoon and when he asked her how she was doing she simply answered, “I’m miserable.” “That’s OK,” he told her. “You have every right to be miserable.” I last saw my grandma two days before I left. Me and Annemarie had gone up to the hospital to visit her, bringing a doughnut and coffee for my grandpa-since my grandma wasn’t allowed to eat anything. Of course this didn’t stop my grandma from looking at the doughnut and gently saying, “Dominick, you give me a bite of that,” and of course my grandpa probably would have even if she didn’t ask him to. So she took a bite and another and then had a sip of his coffee just before the doctor came in to give her a liquid lunch. Other than the jell-o, I can understand why she didn’t eat it much. I told her that I would be going up to Waterloo in a few days and that I would have to pay her a visit before I left next week. Just before me and Annemarie left, I kissed her goodbye like I always did and said, “I’ll see you later.” My dad saw how distraught I was and tried cheering me up by telling me what my uncles were up to, but first by telling me how proud my grandma would have been because her boys were getting along so well. They had gone to the funeral home to pick out a casket and my Uncle Don had suggested one casket because, “It looks like the same material like the chairs in the kitchen and Mom always liked those.” That earned a chuckle. When I got home, my mom and Annemarie were asleep, so Stephanie, Jon and I made a pizza. As I ate, the reality of the situation had sunk in. My wonderful grandma had died. Following that night were days of mourning, wakes (which could at times be described as a tragic comedy) and a funeral which was held by five priests. Throughout those days I will remember fondly that my grandpa showed such incredible courage. At least once a day since she’s died, I’ve thought of her and remembered the time we had together. She was the role model for all grandmothers with her kindness, compassion and endless supply of homemade desserts and I hope that I and the rest of her grandchildren can continue to make her proud as we go on with our lives. (Comment on this)
Sunday, July 8th, 2007
6:03 pm	Crazy-Bags Last Tuesday at around 3AM a young Jamaican came into the store.  “You got crazy bags back there?” he asked softly, indicating towards the cigar display. I had assumed he was searching for a particular type.  “No crazy bags?” he pondered in the same volume-we were the only ones in the store.  “You want bags?” I asked. I moved towards the post where they hung, waiting to be used, and picked up two or three of the large ones. “You can take as many as you like,” I insisted.  He smiled and chuckled. “No, no, not bags, crazy bags. You know, rubbers; for sex.”  I laughed along with him and pointed him towards aisle three where a vast assortment of condoms were available to anyone who didn’t want to pull out or risk a shotgun wedding.  While he made his selection I informed him that I’d never heard that term before.  “Don’t get too crazy,” I warned him as he left. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 20th, 2007
9:04 pm	Notes I’ve started to grow familiar with some of the regulars during the midnight shift. Very early in my shift, at least three Israelites will come into the store, usually buying two or more deli sandwiches and drinks along with something from the grill, a sausage more often than not. Cab drivers also come in with empty Slurpee and Big Gulp cups, knowing that they get a refil for only ninety-nine cents. Police officers and paramedics are always surprised to hear that they receive free fountain drinks and coffee for free. Never any firefighters in here though. A guy named Richard, who once came in screaming at me and Janette that we shouldn’t be listening to any “Fucking music” will come in for penny candy and every other time acts civil. Draven left over sixteen CD’s in the store for us to entertain ourselves. Guns N Roses version of Live and Let Die usually gets me moving quickly through a shift. Speaking of Draven, as usual last night he was arguing with Laura again. I told her that they fight like little kids and she just informed me that he was an asshole. My parents are going to be dropping by Friday on their way up to Ottawa. With any luck, they’ll take us grocery shopping if time permits and I’ll be able to show them that I am surviving well on my own. The internet connection here is alright though the random disconnections and switching of networks isn’t fun, particularly when you’re trying to download something. Last night a homeless man came in and while it is store policy that we not allow the homeless into our store, so long as they buy something, I’ll let them in. This one was tall, junkie thin and had a mug that reminded me of Charles Manson. He asked that I call him a cab and I pointed out that there was one already in the parking lot but he said he didn’t want to disturb her since she was on the phone. So I called him one and two minutes later a cab showed up but the second cab didn’t come quite into our parking lot, staying near the store that sells rugs. I heard Charlie Manson shouting at the cab and then on the payphone outside, calling for another cab show up. I wish that there was a scale around here because I really need to know if I’m losing weight, gaining weight or staying at my usual level. Lately I’ve been having unfamiliar pain in my ass whenever I sit and I’m wondering if it’s grown too boney to take the weight. Lately I’ve been neglecting my jogging, thinking that I’ve done enough of it and I’ll be OK if I skip a night or two. The track at night shouldn’t be a problem, not like the police are going to check that area out, if they’re anything like the police in Essex. I also may have to stop doing crunches; I keep getting a pain in the side of my ribs, like I’ve taken a punch there or something. Also, every once in a while, my left hand will ache like I was the one throwing a punch, only against a brick wall. (Comment on this)
Thursday, June 14th, 2007
5:11 am	The Dark Night Working the graveyard shift has thrown my sleeping pattern out of whack. I usually sleep between 7:30AM and 2PM at the latest. It reminds me of Batman comics I would read in my youth, working all night, coming home to sleep during the day while still appearing to be normal. I wake up and try to get outside for a walk uptown and complete my usual exercises so that my body doesn't go soft since I haven't put on any gloves or been to the gym with Aaron in a few months. Fifty pushups, one hundred situps and dips are enough to keep my body as lean as I like it but things would be better if there was room for my punching bag.  Right now I can't get any sleep. I've been up since 2:30 and haven't been able to fall back into dreamland. I want to go running but I feel that it may be too early, even for me. I'm checking my usual websites, trying to see if any news has changed or not but it seems that Paris Hilton is still in jail and nobody knows who really has President Bush's watch.  If I'm able to stay awake for another eighteen hours, my sleep patern will be right back where it used to be, unless I take a nap sometime this afternoon.  I'm not to keen on working alone at 7-Eleven during my shift. I fell way behind because the cleaning guy came in for his bi-weekly cleaning of the floors which took about an hour and a half and while I'm trying to to the rest of the work I can do with socks off, douchebags who need cigarettes at 4:30 in the morning come knocking at the door, pleading with me to let them in while I'm trying to clean a grill that has grease caked on it since when it was turned on yesterday morning. I wonder if the cancer they bring upon themselves will be a shock to them. "I never thought it would happen to ME."  I probably shouldn't be stressing about this too much since my assistant manager, Shelly, told me to go at my own pace and not compare my work ethic to anyone else (though she was implying Draven/Andy) but he was able to ensure that he put enough stress in me as it is while trying to calm me with Genesis and stories he wrote about the Power Rangers.  It's safe to say that I've never met anyone quite like him. I kept hearing tidbits about him, how he was obnoxious, sarcastic, a compulsive liar  and how he didn't like women. The last one rang true when he admitted that he found me attractive and that if it weren't for the fact that we were coworkers, he would try to bed me-even after I admitted that I was straight. While Draven sounded like a video game name (World of Warcraft was my guess), it actually comes from the Brandon Lee character Eric Draven from the 1994 movie, The Crow. He used to work the midnight shift by himself because, from what I gathered, almost everyone else on any other shift couldn't stand him and it seems the feeling is mutual. Draven constantly ragged about the girls and how they don't really do anything and how I shouldn't listen to them. He also freely admitted to me that he was addicted to cocaine, since he dated his dealer, and after that went cold turkey-to which I must throw down a 'bullshit' flag. Hopefully they will allow someone else to work with me on the midnight shift, even if it is just for a little while, however I have strong objections to working Sunday's alone. It seems that the Lord's day is also the drunkard's evening. A group of assholes came in and nearly pushed their buddy over the counter to which I pushed him back while restraining myself from throwing punches.  Right now I'm waiting to see if Aaron will be able to come up here in late August while Jon and Stephanie are in California visiting Jen. Normally I'd like for him to come up here ASAP but I feel that in August, I'll have more money in my pocket for us to spend on booze binges and other activities. That and we won't have to worry about hovering over the people across the hallway. He seems pretty up for it, too. Driving Friday when he gets off of work, arrive in the evening and leave Monday afternoon, a lot to enjoy in that time. While originally reluctant to wait so long, he relented and is looking into getting the time off from work. I'm going to book that time off from work anyway, even if he can make it or not. The sun is finally starting to rise so maybe I'll get myself something to eat and head over to track for my usual four laps. (Comment on this)