Your English Is Good
Spent the weekend in the K-town region, again. There are things
I love about Kingston - and other things I find annoying - but I
guess that's anywhere. The above photo is as close of a copy I could
find of the weapon I was firing on saturday with live ammo at the
Napanee Gun Range. It was part of a bachelor party. I have to say
that basically being a hippie, it was weird shooting that handgun
and shooting a 12 gage at skeet (I actually took a few down). The
biggest surprise, however, was that shooting a 12 gage is relatively
easy once you notch it into your shoulder. There is a kick but it's a
decent gun to shoot. The 40-cal handgun, though, made you feel
like the biggest weakling on earth due to its massive kick that would
basically have you pulling your arm out of the heavens after each
shot.
So that was new!
Heading to a cottage for a week with my homie Sarah just to chill
out for a while. It will be good to be off the grid. No internet. No cable.
No cell phones. Just a landline if we need it.
While firing the gun, I had that dang Tokyo Police Club song stuck
in my head. Coincidence? Most likely.
We Are All InsecureIt occurred to me last night (while sitting by the Cobourg pier,
waiting for the Canada Day fireworks with globs of people all
around at every angle) that we all go through life waiting for
some moment - some magical shape-shifting event that will
change, alter or direct us in some way. Most of the time,
though, that event never happens - or at least, not in the way
we would desire.
Everyone was waiting for something - a moment. A blast of
sound and light.
The mosquitoes started to swarm even in the cooler evening
air and began attacking the moment-hungry throngs. Seniors
complained of 'infestations' while young children cried for their
parents. We sat in silence - waiting. We had already run into
our friend Buck earlier that night, further down the pier, near
the festival rides and carousels. He had a few pints and was
talking quicker than usual and was in dire need of some food.
But Buck was long gone by this time - probably passed out
somewhere near the beer tents in his half-chest-open dress shirt
and cologned exterior.
We waited for the fireworks.
BOOM! The sky lit up in a World War II-esque way. Bombs over
Cobourg. Bright streaks of green and red and blue began to fill
the night sky - letting off their sonic hiss and thud once they hit
the skyline and echoing back to us a second or 2 later. One by
one, people began to 'oooh' and 'ahhh' and even scream for the
more immaculate colour bursts. After a while, once a few rounds
had been set off, you could see the smoketrails of dead fireworks
floating in the atomsphere, illuminated only by live blasts for a
matter of seconds, hovering in the wind like dead jellyfish.
It was all too much.
We made our way through the post-pyrotechnic masses -
sauntering and yawning.
Something was off.
'Fireworks exploding in the distance'.
