Family values

One of the last times I was talking with Doris, she mentioned that she had been talking with my Great Aunt Bertha. (That woman has to be 200 years old by now) It would seem that she has been looking into the Scottish portion of the family.

I was a little surprised by this. I know a fair amount about the French side of the family. On my father's side we are Pelletier's and Rivard's. On my mother's side there are the Mallette's. I am aware, though not knowledgeable about the Abenaki ancestry. My great grandmother on my father's side was full blooded Abenaki and according to Doris there is plenty more native blood on both sides of the family.

There is however, also the Brown clan.

In the past, we have never discussed the Brown's. In large part this is due to my grandfather, Carroll Brown.

When Florence Mallette met him in 1919, he was a strapping, handsome redhead, fresh home from the war. One thing led to another and over the objections of her parents she married a Nova Scotia Scot, who was also a protestant. Believe me, this was a big deal back then.

As is turns out, this was not the wisest move Grandma ever made. While Carroll may have been handsome and strapping and redheaded, he was also a hopeless alcoholic and a spendthrift. By the end of 1926, when my mother was still an infant, Grandma heaped further disgrace on the family by wisely divorcing Carroll.

Flash forward to the present day and for some reason things are being glossed over. Forgive and forget seems to be the watchword and the older generation seems to be embracing their Scots ancestry. According to Bertha, aside from the Brown's there is also a branch of the family called Stewart. She of course claims these are the royal Stewart's. Other than the fact that Bonnie Prince Charlie was another hopeless and useless drunk, I have no reason to believe that this portion of the family was ever anything more than a group of drunken sheep thieves, who managed to get themselves deported to Canada by supporting Charles Stewart's claim, rather than actual descendants of the Stewart dynasty.

But I decided to be a sport and check out Scottishness. A kilt seemed like the place to start. I now have verified that the cheap bastard gene is definitely French.

I googled men's kilts, went to a website in Scotland that sells kilts and not wanting to be pretentious by choosing the Royal Stewart tartan, I went for the Brown family tartan. In order to go about authentically un-bifurcated, I would have to be willing to part with, in the neighborhood of, 400 dollars. And that's just for the kilt.

It seems that you cannot just put on a kilt. You also need a sporran, a sporran chain, a kilt belt and a kilt pin. After that there are the kilt hose and flashes. This is just for the casual look. I shudder to think what a formal outfit would cost.

Pained to the very core of my cheap bastard French soul I did take a look at what I would call the "Ready made from the waist down Scotsman kit". This it would seem is the economy answer to heritage reclamation. The basic outfit includes everything one would require in order to turn yourself out in some sort of Rob Roy fantasy.

There are a few restrictions. Instead of the rather snazzy clan tartan, you are confined to a not unpleasant blue plaid. There is also included in the package, a Jacobite shirt, which it appears there is no escape from, sporran, sporran chain, belt (who knew there were special kilt belts) buckle, brogues, fake Sgian Dubh, kilt pin, kilt hose, flashes and last but not least, a kilt hanger.

All of this totals up to 417.00 US. I have no idea what the shipping charges would be. There is the option to eliminate a few of the accessories. For instance, I could do with a little less authenticity and remove the Sgian Dubh, the brogues and the kilt hanger. This got me down to 330.00 and change not including S&H. As I said however there is no escape from the Jacobite shirt, which I can say with no reservation I would not be caught dead in, whether it be public or private and could do quite nicely without paying for.

All this feels a bit excessive for a man who is willing so scour every discount outlet in the Boston area if necessary looking for bluejeans, since I consider paying any more than 20 bucks for a pair of jeans is highway robbery. So, for someone that has never celebrated Burn's day, eaten haggis or done a highland fling $330, not to even think about over $400 seems more than excessive. In my defense I can say that, no stranger to making a fool of myself in public, I am not worried about looking ridiculous by wearing a kilt. Actually, aside from being a bit on the bowlegged side I have pretty nice gams. In some ways there is an appeal there, since I would think that kilts would be quite comfortable. I actually can think of a certain other blogger, who I am told by credible sources turns quite a handsome figure in a kilt. For me the thing is that I doubt I would make a credible looking Scotsman.

I don't have the complexion for it for starters. As far as I can tell, all of the Brown's and Stewart's are susceptible to sunburn, whereas I tend to go from a sick looking olive in the winter months to a distinct brown after being exposed to a refrigerator light for a few minutes. I am not worried about meeting the height requirement. Grandpa Brown, while built like an ox, was not a tall man. In all honesty, I look more like Jacques Bonhomme than I do a Jacobite so I am not sure anyone would be fooled into thinking I looked like I harkened from the British Isles.

Besides it is also much less expensive to embrace my Quebec heritage. I already have a hat with earflaps, and a plate of poutine with a couple LaBatt's is substantially less expensive than a kilt. It will also not induce nightmares of my Quebecer ancestors rising from their graves to admonish me for pissing away that much money on a piece of clothing that I don't think any of them would be entirely pleased with.

But, in the spirit of embracing all of my ancestors I am willing to compromise and by mathematically reducing my Scottish blood from on quarter to a fifth and get my Scotch on in the form of single malt. Preferably, Glenlivet or Laphroaig.

Once more round the dance floor

Once again we celebrate the anniversary of the day that marks the first of the many times I have disappointed Doris. This particular instance was when, in 1955, I refused to be born on Valentine's Day. (Even then I was operating on gay time.)

Yes kids, in spite of a misspent youth that was largely characterized by drug, alcohol and tobacco abuse as well as having lots of man sex that made the Baby Jeebus cry, I have against all reason made it through 54 years.

I should warn you that I am planning on hanging around for at least a while yet, like some small, pestilential and persistent weed.

Happy VD

In an attempt to get into the spirit of this malignant holiday, I thought I would share with you a romantic little tune, sung by the late Blossom Dearie.

Be My Baby

I was listening to BBC radio this morning and heard that Estelle Bennett, sister of Veronica "Ronnie" Spector who with Nedra Talley was one third of the Ronettes has passed away.

It has been over 40 years since this song hit the airwaves, when I was just a wee Ganome, dreaming of the day that I too would be able to wear my hair in a beehive and get some white go-go boots.

A lot has changed, but I still love this song which is always featured when I am playing the soundtrack of my childhood inside my head.

Blossom Dearie

You may or may not have heard, Blossom Dearie passed away Saturday. I remember first hearing about her as teenager, reading "The New Yorker" in the library at my high school in rural Vermont. Blossom Dearie gave me a vision of a city that was far more exciting and sophisticated than the cow town I was living in. Eventually, I landed in Boston which, while more exciting and sophisticated than Bomoseen Vermont, none the less fell short of Manhattan. Almost 40 years have passed since I first heard Blossom Dearie but her voice still brings back a small part of a 15 year old sitting in a high school library dreaming of an exciting life in the city.

I think the song I will always remember best is her rendition of "Satin Doll". I couldn't find that particular song on Youtube, so instead this is Ms. Dearie singing an Irving Berlin tune.



We'll miss you Blossom.

Another birthday

As you may have read, Doris turned 83 Saturday. As these things go, while I may feel like the old lady is getting, well... old, it doesn't really effect my perception of my own mortality too much.

However, 34 years ago today, Daddy's precious little angle came into the world. I cannot believe my teenage daughter is in fact 34 years old and has a kid of her own that is now in high school.

Any associated number with my own age really doesn't bother me one way or the other. But this having an adult child crap can really make the years weigh you down a bit. At any rate, happy birthday kid!

Happy 83rd

I feel compelled to inform her many fans, that Doris is celebrating her 83rd birthday today. I called like a dutiful son and she talked at me, at great length. However, it's her birthday and I let her go on as long as she wanted to. As we say up in Vermont, that woman could talk the hind leg off a mule!

A Lucky Break

Considering that I was not looking forward to my day at all, it has turned out much better than expected.

I had to go off an see the orthopedist this morning and thought I was going to waste half of my day at the hospital. Instead I was whisked in and out of x-ray and the doctor was actually with me "shortly". The upshot of all this is that I in fact merely chipped a bone and did not have a stable fracture, whatever the hell that is and, AND this is the most important part, I get to throw out the much hated and I have to admit after 2 and a half weeks, rather gamey wrist splint I have been wearing.

I have also been given the green light to lift weights and use the rowing machine to my little hearts content.

You have no idea of how much better this makes me feel already. I don't think I had any idea of how much going to the gym was a part of my routine and how much shape it gave to me day.

Now, to get back on my schedule!

Super Ganome

I figured I might as well jump on the bandwagon and come up with my superhero avatar. Uhhh.... They did not have a short guy with a middle aged roll available. But he's bald! So I at least get honesty points for that one.

Obviously, one of the things that happens when I transform into Super Ganome is that I get a bottle of "Just For Men" out and touch up the old facial hair.

The good news

I was walking past the burned out shells of the string of restaurants that I had mentioned earlier. I was walking, disheartened by El Pelon and noticed a sign saying that they are planning on reopening!

My little heart is singing, though I managed to refrain from doing a happy dance on the icy sidewalk, since one broken wrist is enough.

Hopefully, RG and I will be once again eating burritos the size of an adult head.

Stop yer whinin"

I haven't been blogging much recently, in part because I broke a bone in my wrist and typing is even more challenging than usual. At the best of times I am a pretty piss poor typist, however my cast keeps trying to send things to the printer, or asking my browser to display in HTML, among other things.

Also, I haven't felt like I've had much to say other than to gripe about how much I a.) hate being in a cast and b.) that this situation is totally screwing up my workout routine.

Not exactly compelling and I am tired of hearing myself whine about the situation, so I am fairly certain no one else wants to hear about it.

So, to move things on to a positive note, I have been thinking about what has been working out lately. It's been a good time for gadgets. After putting in good service, my faithful Nokia 3220 really needed to be put out to pasture. It has been a great phone, but the contacts on the keys, specifically the * key, which allows you to unlock the keypad was going.



After trying out a cheap replacement, that was not going to do it, I bit the bullet and got this baby.



It seems to be as good a phone as my old one, which is all I really wanted. But to make my consumer experience more enjoyable, it has an MP3 player built into it and it actually sounds good. Who knew? I don't expect it will replace my iPod, but it will be a nice distraction on days that I go out unpodded and get stuck waiting somewhere and need something to distract me. It definitely isn't coming into the gym with me. Unlike some of my fellow gym goers, I view the gym as a refuge from phones and email.

Another new item that HAS made it into the gym with me is my new razor.



I had seen this thing advertised on the internet, but just figured that is was up there with the thigh master as far as actually being useful. However, I saw one of the guys at the gym using one and he raved about how sharp the thing is and how good of a job it does. And it actually does. Work that is. The only thing I have had to get used to is that you don't press down, not even to remove the barbed wire that grows out of my face in lieu of a beard. It's a pretty cool gizmo and I will be happily grooming myself with this item for the foreseeable future.

Last but not least, I was turned on to the following video by Joe. Unusually, for me I commented on Youtube. The next day my inner teenage girl screamed at the top of her lungs when I saw in my email that Matt Alber had replied to my comment on Youtube.



So, these are a few good/fun/silly things that have been going on. I am sure that the next 5 or 6 weeks will fly by and then I will be back in the free weight room and start kicking asses.

Another example of why the Ganome is a dumbass

Life is full of important lessons. I have been taught a very important lesson recently.

If you are walking down an icy sidewalk and your legs go out from under you, let go of the Little Miss Healthypants lunch that you are carrying. Because if you stupidly try to hang onto it, instead of just landing on your well padded ass, you slam your hand down on the sidewalk and break one of the small bones in your wrist that they can't reset.

This takes you out of the running in the weight room for 6 weeks and puts a real crimp in your workout routine.

It's looking like there is a lot of time in the near future on the much hated aerobic equipment at the gym for a certain dumbass Ganome that we all know and laugh at. I am probably going to be the size of a house by the time this is all over. RG however thinks I'll only go up to the size of a trailer, but he is always optimistic.

Big Fire

When I headed out the door at my usual ungodly hour to go to the gym, I smelled smoke. Initially, I was worried that there was a fire in my building because the smell was very strong in my foyer.

Walking out the door, I looked down Peterborough St. and saw firetrucks further down the block. I walked towards the excitement and saw that there were firetrucks lined up down the block. A quick look at the activity told me that I should turn around. The last thing the firemen needed was some gawker getting underfoot.

I headed off to the gym and when I got home I checked the Boston Globe site. This is the story. The whole row of little restaurants down the street have been destroyed.

It's upsetting. Not just because, selfishly, these are places I like to go to and give my money to, but because they were all Mom and Pops.

These were little privately owned restaurants, which unlike chains actually added to the character of my little part of Boston. They were by and large cheap places to get some good food. They were also a sort of common ground. Walking into any one of these establishments allowed you to see an interesting cross section of our increasingly yuppified neighborhood. While there were young professionals aplenty, you also could still see students, section 8 housing residents, the elderly and low wage earners, like me. All of them had sidewalk seating, so it afforded some great people watching opportunities. I especially liked the lack of pretense. No matter how much you are earning, it is impossible to pretend you are doing anything other than eating a burrito off a little cardboard container plate, when you are engaged in this activity.

I hope that the various store owners have good insurance. I really hope that they are all able to rebuild. It would be nice to think that the city will do something to ease the way for these small businesses to reopen. I doubt that will happen.

Hizzonner hasn't attached the Boston name to any project that didn't have the term luxury attached to it in years. I have a hard time believing, especially in the current economic climate that the city is in any way going to assist a group of small business owners, regardless of the ineffable contribution that they make to keeping some sense of neighborhood going in our area.

So, it is rather a sad day in the Fenway. I will be interested in seeing how the neighborhood reacts and if out of some sense of neighborly goodwill or a desire to keep some identity as a distinct neighborhood if the community does something to restore what has been an institution on Peterborough Street.

The real curse of the holidays

Everyone talks about why they hate the holidays. It's too commercial. It's too frantic. Expectations are too high.

I hate the holidays because they are too fattening. I received a rude awakening when I got on the scales recently and tipped in at 170. Somehow, between Thanksgiving and Xmas, I had managed to acquire a few unwelcome pounds. It's always the same thing, every year. No matter how much you promise yourself that you will exercise moderation, there is always someone shoving a plate of cookies under your nose saying something like, "Oh have one, it's the holidays." Or I have to listen to RG tell me that holiday calories don't count. This coming from the only person I know that can eat like a pig and lose weight.

So, once again this morning, I headed out the door to the gym. It was an act of will.

As I was enjoying my slumbers last night, Mother Nature decided to rain down ice. I swear I got more exercise trying to remain upright going to and coming from the gym. However, needs must when the devil drives as they say, so I am trying to get back into the habit of eating sensibly and exercising portion control, while bumping up my routine to defeat the evil forces of delicious fattening food.

I suppose I should take a glass half full attitude towards this. Look at it as motivational and try and think about how this will get me to bump my workout up and get closer to my goals.

In fact however, I am just looking forward to being able to button my pants without holding my breath again.

Happy 2009

Happy New Year's! It is currently 6 degrees with a wind chill of -11 outside.

I have no idea of what we have in store for us for the new year, but I would like to wish the best to everyone and hope that come what may, we all enjoy a better year.

I myself will be heading out to the gym soon and then spend the day freezing as I go and pay calls on friends.

Once again, my very best wishes for everyone.

Happy New Storm!

We are getting a little snow here in Boston. Again.



Here's the view of Boston, from the middle of the Mass. Ave. bridge around noon o'clock.



This is the view of Cambridge from the same vantage point.

It looks like we are in for it again, though at least this time it is all suppose to be fluffy and the temperature is suppose to drop like a rock, so it will stay this way for a while instead of turning into ankle deep slush and ice water.

At least here, 2008 is going out with a bang.

Boxing Day

I had a very nice time yesterday afternoon at Chez Wahz. Old friends, good food and champagne. Funny cards were exchanged as well as funny stories.

This morning, against all expectations I actually got up early and went to the gym. I am beginning to think my pal Monkey is right and I am possessed. However, it got the blood circulating and by the time I had showered, I had come to my senses and I am having a rather leisurely day around the house. I will toss some laundry in the machine and later I will probably head out to pick up a few groceries.

I am trying to make the most of the fact that I have all this free time this weekend. If anyone sees me hurrying to do anything, please give me a clip in the ear and a talking to. I don't have plans and I really need to keep it that way.

C'est si bon

Another sad loss this year. Miss Eartha Kitt has passed away. I will remember her for a lot of songs that she put her own special spin on, but when I think of Eartha, this is the song I think of.

I one day, long ago got to sit near Eartha at the A House bar in P'town one afternoon. I didn't chat her up, it was enough of a thrill to be sitting 2 stools down from her.

She was a true icon.

Happy Xmas to all.....

Alice and I just want to wish everyone a Happy Xmas, Solstice, Chanukah, Kwnaza or whatever you do to celebrate this time of year.



Here's hoping the fat man brings you whatever is on your list.

Sweet dreams

I mentioned in a recent post that I was getting a CPAP. I was suppose to pick it up last week, but the snow storm put the kibosh on that. So, I went and picked it up today.

It turned out to be an appropriate day to do it too. For starters, I got a lousy nights sleep last night so I am, to use Yellowdog Granny's words, feeling like hammered shit. When I did drag out of bed, there was a report on NPR on a new study on the importance of good sleep to your health. In particular, heart health and weight management.

So, here it is Xmas Eve and Santa brought me a CPAP. Hopefully, it will be easier to sleep with at home than it was at the sleep center. I have already made up my mind that I will just sleep with the damned thing no matter what. Dr. Fred is actually very good about common sense and doesn't rush off to the most expensive or most complex answer when I have a problem. So more often than not, we manage to find a cheap easy solution to any complaints I've had since I've started seeing him. After going over the results from my sleep study, he was pretty adamant about my sleeping with the thing, so I trust his judgment on this.

On the upside. I am feeling confident that this gadget will help ensure my continuing bachelorhood, unless someone has fantasies about sleeping with someone who sounds like Darth Vadar at night.

So. That's what Santa brought me this year. Hopefully, a good nights sleep.