Those of you who are close to me know that my neighbourhood in Toronto is famous, or perhaps I should say, notorious for its local colour, flavour and.. uh… street business. That’s my Parkdale. I love it here.
And for whatever reason, we have a high density of what my former and much missed neighbour, Mario, calls housing for the “chronically bewildered.” This is fine with me. These folks can always be counted on to speak their minds. And they don’t have much to do, so they are always here and always watching.
So, today, I went to the corner store for some ice cream and Charlie gets right to the point:
“Who punched you in the face?”
I answer, “I fell. No one punched me”. Of course he does not believe me. “I know you! Someone punched you!”
Of course, I feel like I’m lying. And I’m not.
On the way to my Dad’s house on Tuesday I took a bit of a tumble off of my bike. I’m OK. My bike is OK. I need a new helmet and I have on heck of a shiner. It’s my first. Maybe next week I’ll be proud of it. I expect I will wear the traces for a good long time. I look like hell. Like some sort of white trash street walker. Nice.
Luckily for me, it’s day two that you really hurt, so I went to my dad’s place anyway & I did manage to dig through some old photos of the APL folks from the early 1970’s. I haven’t found too many, but there are some. A young Alex Morrow, Joey Tuttle, Paul Berry & Co.
I’m thinking my dad had no idea he and the crew were making history, or there would be more pictures of the guys and well… fewer of me.
On day two, Canada Day, I slugged around at home and finally read Adin Falkoff’s interview in Masterminds of Programming. It’s worth the read, and now… I can make THE CALL.