Local Dad Mocked by Own Children

Raucous laughter and hoots of derision greeted Sonny Drysdale, middle-aged father of three teenagers when he recently announced at the dinner table that he had joined 'Facebook.'

"Dad, you're too old for Facebook," the middle-child informed her 53-year-old parent. It was the most diplomatic of the various responses, most of which involved much guffawing and chortling from not only Mr. Drysdale's own flesh and blood but also his wife, Mavis.

Drysdale denied joining the popular Internet social network as a pathetic attempt to be 'cool' or 'with it.'

"Initially, I signed up simply as a means of promoting my Nikki Hilton fan-site," explained Drysdale. "My page devoted to Nikki on MySpace just wasn't cutting it for us anymore."

"But since becoming a member of the Facebook community, its become a handy communication tool for work," added Drysdale who works as the night-manager of a local Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise.

"Not only is it a great way of bonding with my young staff - but now, when they call in sick on the weekend or if I'm short-staffed - thanks to Facebook, now I know where to find them.

"Plus, I can read all about their lives away-from-work and look into what kind of people they call 'friends.' And if I happen to read something on their 'wall' which might suggest they're having a bad time, well - believe it or not, but I was once a teenager too you know - and so I can always give them a 'poke' just to let them know I'm there for them and it'll hold them over till I see them at work and can discreetly ask if they need to 'rap' about anything.

"When most of your work-force is comprised of teenagers, believe you me, there's more to being a good manager than just threatening to fire them. And that's what a 'Super-poke' is for."

Drysdale's own children - or "youngsters" as he refers to them - were metaphorically 'hushed' and had their 'traps shut' upon checking out their father's Facebook profile after they had cleared the table and washed the supper dishee.

Only a few hours after having joined Facebook's 'London, ON' network, he had hooked up with former classmates from high-school and the seminary as well as old friends from Mary Brown's Chicken and the London Club and new friends from the KFC convention in New Orleans he attended for two months last year.

In one mere afternoon of Internet 'networking,' he had collected more 'friends' than all three of his kids combined.

First-Time Caller Impressed by Call-Screener

Gladys Smersh, a long-time listener of the 'Jim Rome Sports-Talk Radio Show' was pleasantly surprised yesterday to find the program's call-screener 'Todd' to be such a nice, polite young man.

"I was a bit nervous," admits Gladys - "What with this being the first time I've ever called into the radio."

"But Todd set me at ease right away by asking me my name and where I was from. When I told him I was from London, Canada - he asked me if I thought the Leafs would take it this year and then told me that he had college friends from Portland who had once been to Vancouver. When I replied that it truly was a small world - well, we both had to chuckle over that."

Gladys confessed that she had always wanted to call into the popular 'Jim Rome Sports Talk Radio Show' which is internationally-syndicated in markets throughout the U.S., Canada and Mexico - but was always "just a smidge" intimidated by Jim Rome, the occassionally bombastic,loudmouth jerk who on occassion is rude to people who just aren't smart enough for sports radio.

"But Todd assured me that 'Romey' was only a character that Jim played 'on the air' and that in real life he was kind of shy - and originally from a small town just like me and Todd," said Gladys.

"Todd also agreed with me on my choice of topics for the open-line segment because not enough people had been calling in about the Michael Vick situation."

Gladys, however, didn't get to talk to Rome. After being kept on hold for 45 minutes, when it was finally her turn to talk, Rome introduced her by saying, "I'm told our next caller is 'Crazy Gladys' from Hicksville, Ohio."

Gladys became flustered and immediately forgot about the Michal Vick/dog-fighting controversy and how gentle her own pet pit-bull 'Muffy' was and began rambling about this season's dismal performance by the Hamilton Tiger Cats.

"HEY GLADYS - YOUR TAKE SUCKS!!!" whispered Rome in his most humble of tones before he cut her off and moved on to the next caller - but only after adding, "Thanks a lot, Todd."

Afterwards, Gladys turned her knob to the 'Charles Adler Leafs Lunch Program," but has yet to phone in.

Said Gladys - "If I'm going to listen to a cartoon-character on the radio, it might as well be a Canadian one. ... And from now on, I don't give a shit about how cute or nice his call-screener sounds."

Haaaapppy, Happy Birrrrthhhth-day to Me

"What the world needs now/Is some true words of wisdom/Like 'La-la-la-la-la'"

It's Sonny's birthday today, so of course he kicked off the day with 'Happy Birthday to Me' from Cracker's first self-titled LP from 1992. For anyone unfamiliar with the song, a live video of it can be found on YouTube under 'Cracker Happy Birthday to Me Pittsburgh.' As a good host, I should post that link here for your convenience - but I don't know how.

And so with a start like that, it can only mean one thing - Sonny gets out all his old Cracker CDs from the mid-to-late 1990s and wonders what the hell happened to the only exciting 'rock' band from that era.

Turns out they are still around - and have been since I last saw them in a crappy show at the Embassy about 1997 when they were so disinterested in playing that you just knew that were on the verge of throwing in the towel after a decade or so of waiting to become more than the next Jonathan Richman. Either that or it was drugs.

Contrast that show at the Embassy - where they sulked off, refusing to even play an encore to the crowd of 100 - with their sold-out show at Sunny's or was it Dr. Rockits - anyways that current cowboy bar at the corner of Wharncliffe and Riverside Drive (in the winter time, Sonny can even see their neon sign if he squints whilst looking out his kitchen window,) from when they were at the height of their popularity with 'The Golden Age' CD.

In that show, they proved how truly hep they actually were. Shortly into their set, they blew the amps and knocked the power out in the whole bar for about twenty minutes. At the point the power went out, they were three-quarters of the way thru a song from their latest CD.

When the power came back on, they came back on and picked up right where they left off in that particular song. And finished the remaining 40 seconds of it - even tho it merely consisted of fading out riffs from the melody and repeating the chorus.

Now, THAT'S inspired.

Not being an alterno-rocker, I hadn't actually heard David Lowry's earlier band, Camper Van Beethoven, when they were the darlings of the hipper-than-thou set on college radio. But just the opening chords I heard from 'What the World Needs Now' - in a TV commercial for the 1992 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' movie, made me want to hear more.

So I took 'the girls' to see the movie in hopes of hearing that song. No luck. It wasn't even on the soundtrack - the marketing company just used it for the TV ads. But Luke Perry was in the movie, so I guess that mekes up for it.

Even if Luke was wearing a very dorkish non-90210ish hair-do. Also in the flick was a post-scandal Pee-Wee Herman. Bonus. Stop me if you've heard this before but - "I'd rather have him up there on the movie screen than sitting next to me in the movie-theatre." - Jimmy ("J.J.") Walker gets credit for that joke. Heard him tell it on Letterman one night. Dave just groaned. And silently chuckled over the fact that both he and Jay used to be professional joke-writers for J.J. in their younger days in Hollywood.

But seriously, tell me - other than 'Surrender' by Cheap Trick - has there ever been a more perfect pop/rock song than 'What the World Needs Now' a.k.a. 'Teen Angst'?

You know, what the world really needs right now is another snotty poet/singer who can come up with lyrics like "What the world needs now/Is another folk-singer - like I need a hole in the head/What the world needs now/Is a new Frank Sinatra - so I can get you in bed."

And if ever we needed one - we need him now.

So that's how I spent much of the day - reliving my forties and trying to be surly. Just the same - "I'm feeling thankful for the small things today."

And I have to be. It's a shitty rainy day. I sure ain't doing any outside grilling of steaks this afternoon. And with the exception of BBQing, sorry but I don't cook on my own birthday.

So I bought this huge pork-butt from the 'McLarty Farms and Mustang Ranch.' Mavis has the day off and she has a recipe for 'pulled pork' so we can have some of those 'loose meat' sandwiches that are so popular Down South.

True, I bought that pork-butt with my own birthday money but having Mavis pull my pork will more than make up for it.

And to top the whole day off - tonight at midnight, I go into work for the first time after eight weeks of being on strike.

Even tho that means I'll be going to bed for my pre-work 'nap' at about five p.m., I ain't complaining. It'll be a one-day work-week. And I got paid for the past two days for nuthin' because they weren't ready to open the group home until today. It can't get any better than that, can it?

Well, yes it can. Because it will be good to be back. I haven't done my usual night shift with these guys for over two months. I've even kinda missed them.

And that can only mean one thing - ALL-NIGHT PILLOW FIGHTS!

New Contest!

So, I'm at Call The Office last night. Me and the boy got up at 11:30 to go see London's legendary lunk-heads - '63 Monroe (and I mean that as a compliment - see previous posts on how 'Shemp' was the best Stooge of them all - possibly the best in his own family,) and this middle-aged woman I've never met before comes up to me while the band is playng and presents me with a moral conundrum.

Now - I should point out that - unless specified on the concert ticket, all shows at Call the Office are all-ages shows. Me and Gnut (age 13) get there and I give him a tour of the layout of the inside and patio, show him where the washroom is and let him know that "And I'll be here, right outside the door if you need me."

And them we met some rock stars - Peter DeKoker, the bass-player, MC-extraordinaire and resident Bacharach/David of '63 Monroe - and them Michael McGill, bassist, lead singer of London's legendary Legend Killers. And the tallest guy in town.

I should also point out that Peter is a dead-ringer for that Ned Flanders-like neighbourhood know-it-all who used to be in those Canadian Tire commercials. And Michael could probably be the poster-boy for white bread. He's clean-cut and as wholesome looking as the day is long.

So there you go - I've set the scene - it's the boy's first trip to see a 'real' rock band in a prime venue. I would have taken him to see the White Stripes play behind an abandoned flour mill in Arva a few weeks ago - but nooooo, I was too involved in the 'cowboy' movie I was watching at the time.

Anyway, Gnut and I are standing there near the stage, digging the on-stage musical antics of Steven R. Stunning and company and this middle-aged lady in a print dress comes over and tries to tell me something. Seein' as how we're four feet from the amps, I had to ask her to walk away a few feet so I could hear her.

And she says to me - "I'M NOT COMFORTABLE WITH YOU BRINGING A CHILD TO A BAR."

Not a word about how it's nice of me to encourage an interest in music. Or how it's good for the 'child' to see how the other world lives (particularly those well-behaved non-drinking middle-aged white guys who seem to comprise Monroe's core audience,) nor a word about father/son bonding or how it's good for a lad to see how much moral integrity a married man can have when young chicks with really big breasts are constantly throwing themselves at him.

But NOOOOOO - instead it's "I'm not comfortable with you bringing a child to a bar."

... So here's where you the reader comes in - Just what do you say to an idiot like that?

I've been on a picket-line for the past eight weeks and have no problem hurling verbal abuse at people I don't know and who deserve it - so I WON'T tell you what I said. After all, this is a family-rated General Admission blog - as all you muthafukka's out there already know.

Sooo, what would YOU say in such a circumstance?

The winner for the best comeback gets my life-long respect and high-fives from both hands.

It's Over!

Breaking news - I, Rosie O'Donnell have decided NOT to pick up my contract with ABC-TV to appear on 'The View.'

But before I go on and on and on about ME (feel free to use the 'Letters to the Editor' section of 'ROSIE' magazine to tell me what YOU think about Me.) No problem finding a copy of 'Rosie' on the newstand next to the check-out at the supermarket because I'M always on the cover. Just like Oprah! ... 'O' how I hate her rag! Talk about self-centred prima-donna's.

But in unrelated news, Sonny Drysdale and all the OPSEU membership who work for Community Living London, have ratified a contract and will be back to work within days. They managed to save the Sector, make self-respect a bargaining issue - AND get a good-sized raise for Sonny Drysdale to boot.

But possibly most importantly, they showed The Man, that 'We, the People' are tired of him hassling us kids. Power to the people. Right on!

... In even more bizarre breaking-news tradition - and this is Sonny Drysdale here.

And I'd like to tell each and every one of my OPSEU brothers and sisters - 'YOU ROCK!!!'

But I can't - because I never would be caught dead telling another person (no matter how much I like/respect/whatever to that newfound friend,) that they 'Rock!' or that they 'Rule!'

But I will do this 'Shout Out' to all my brutha's and sista's out there in OPSEU-Land - You kids are all swell. Peachy-keen; keen-a-roo; keen-a-rooni; - and if anyone disgrees with that assessment, well - they can go give it a hair-cut.

Cock of the Walk

Not much new here at Chez Drysdale, other than the fact that Sonny is still on strike after eight weeks and getting more pissed off with every day.

Every day that I get up at the crack of dawn to head off to the picket line, I have one recurring thought on my drive in - "I don't care which one it is - but I want to get into either an accident or a pillow-fight this morning. And then I'm done for the day."

So, of course I haven't had any real news to post here. Because I've had NO news to post here. And contrary to popular misconception, No news is NOT Good news.

True, my life isn't totally eventless. I ran into my middle-aged balding, slightly-portly, socially-awkward and totally unhip friend Dwight Schmidlapt the other day. True to form, Dwight was complaining about his love life - or, rather his lack of one. Turns out that Dwight didn't get laid throughout the entire week of PRIDE last month. According to the openly-heterosexual Schmidlapter, "the town was seething with lesbians - and not even two of them were interested in a three-some. I don't know, maybe it's just me."

Well, as prior posts on this blog will attest, maybe it IS him. But even I had a hard time believing Dwight's other claim - that he went to the McLarty Farms' Annual Pig Roast and Peyote-Button Gazin' Happening - and didn't get laid there! Shit man, that's like the Burning Man Festival - except it's located in the farmland outside Delaware, Ontario and only goes on for 33 hours. People come all the way from Amsterdam.

Sorry, Dwight, but you're obviously doing something wrong when you can't get laid at a Butch McLarty party. Butch is a great host. Always introducing people to like-minded folks. And even if an individual is obviously socially-inept, Butch will point them in the direction of the sheep pasture.

Put it this way, if you can't get laid at this Event - even with the guiding hand of Butch McLarty - well you might as well stuff your dick in an old shoe-box and store it in that corner of the basement with all your old high-school yearbooks, hockey sticks, collection of vintage '60s copies of 'Playboy' and other memories - because like them, you sure don't need it anymore. It's 'Best Before' date has done expired.

But now that I think of it, on a purely bizarre note - something interesting did happen recently. Two days ago. And then again this morning. Why the same thing didn't happen yesterday is beyond me. Curiouser and curiouser.

TRUE STORY ... so I'm out doing my usual dog walk Monday morning and - well, actually, I don't walk HIM - and even though he's a Great Dane, he doesn't walk ME - oh, how I wish I had a thousand bucks for every time I've heard THAT witticism by well-meaning smiling passers-by.

No, the truth is that we walk together. It's not hard. There's no straining on the collar involved - because he doesn't wear a collar. Nor a leash. After all, that would be kind of demeaning, because he walks upright. And converses in verse. And has a kind of a slightly high-pitched voice with just a bit of a lisp. Yeah, that's right - he sounds like London City-councillor David Winninger.

Anyway, me and Paxton (his name is Greek for 'humble and loveable,') are out strolling Monday morning, shooting the shit and looking for a scenic spot for him to move his bowels - and we're in the park at the end of Becher Street, just the other side of the Sleeping Beauty's Castle pedestrian bridge - and we hear a rooster.

Now, for you out-of-staters who may be reading this, I should point out that I live in a city of almost 400,000 - and I live on the 'cusp' of downtown. It's true that we're only a couple of blocks from the Farmers' Market, but the Market is really just a glororized over-priced Food-Court and all the meat and produce is there courtesy of Farmer Jack and Loblaws. They ain't seen a live chicken in that place in decades, let alone a rooster.

And then again we heard him - The Cock - this very morning. At about 6:20. No idea where he lives - but he gives out a good ten to 15 sleep-piercing 'cock-a-doodle-doo's' before shutting up. My guess is that he's someone's pet and being kept on the balcony of one of those high-rises at the forks of the Thames. Or perhaps he belongs to a poor farm-boy passing through in hopes of joining up with The Three Musketeers and needs a bribe to get him in. Or wants to sell him to the regional Dog/Cock-fighting Circuit and get booked into the JLC.

Either that or I'm slowly but surely losing my mind.

But let's keep a happy thought, shall we?

The Long-Awaited '63 MONROE Review!

The above photo is of Markii Burnaway (left) with an unidentified fan hanging out in the backroom of Max's Kansas City.

For those of you who haven't yet picked up the August 'ish of 'ArtSCAPE,' I offer this review of the new CD by The Legendary '63 Monroe, now out on Speed City Records and available at fine record shops everywhere - including Speed City.

... It was either Charlie Manson or Keith Partridge who once noted that playing in a rock band was like being a member of a family.

There's love, mutual respect and lots of arguing and fighting. And on that note, it saddens me to report that Markii Burnaway, the lead-guitarist for long-time glam-punk rockers '63 Monroe is no longer one of the boys in the band. Markii has left to pursue his rock dreams elsewhere. All of which proves that even in the hurly-burly world of rock 'n roll, birds still gotta fly and fish gots to swim.

Burnaway and lead-singer Steven R. Stunning (a.k.a. Scott Bentley) have always had a Nigel Tufnel/David St. Hubbins-like relationship but his departure is going to leave a big hole in Monroe's stage show. Markii was well-known for showing up in make-up and Fredericks of Hollywood drag and playing while sitting on top of Stunning's shoulders.

On a happier note to long-time followers of Monroe, who celebrated their 25th anniversary a couple of years ago, on Last Exit to Rock 'n Roll, their recently-released CD of all-new material, Markii's guitar solos are all over it and he leaves the band with his reputation as a shredder-extraordinaire well intact.

In fact, everyone comes out smelling like a rose on this CD. The songs and production are far superior to anything they have ever done. No stinkin' out the joint on this effort. Bassist Pete DeKoker gets credit for writing some fine unforgettable tunes.

The song line-up is representative of the band's live act and show their favorite influences - the Ramones, the New York Dolls and the Stooges - Larry, Moe and Iggy. They burst out of the gate with the hang-onto-your-hats 'Dear John.' It's the rock 'n roll equivalent of riding bare-back and it sets the tone for everything to come. Giddy-up.

They may be middle-aged and pushing 50, but the songs reflect the same concerns of any 17-year-old punk - getting pissed and getting laid. But now they are coming from a slightly more mature perspective - which is best summed up in a song about how the hassles of home and work are 'Keeping Me Away (from My Drinkin').'

Punk? Glam? Naw, this is just straight-up Hard Rock. The boys rock long and they rock hard, with staying power to go all night long. No slow, tender love ballads; just wham-bam-thank-you mam. And as the song-writing shows, these aging rockers ain't shooting blanks. Feel free to insert you own Viagra joke here.

*** NOTE *** - the new version of '63 Monroe will be playing at Call the Office on Friday, August 17th.