It’s The Fall, Here Are Songs To Get Drunk To

Posted on September 26, 2008

A few days ago we hit fall. It was still sunny in Vancouver at that point, and even felt a bit like we were hanging on to the edge of summer. I then jumped on a plane to Calgary, and went from 18º and sunny to a barely hovering above 0º temperature. God dammit, I could see my breath. Not smoking, but breathing. Canada sure fucking knows how to get cold, especially all places not Vancouver. Thank God, Allah, Buddah, The United States Government, or perhaps even my bank account — whoever be responsible, thank you for making me want to get far far away from this place and down to warm beaches for the winter term. Give four days and I will have a cigar in my mouth, a bottle of rum in my hand, and a southern fedora tipped over my face watching the surf die out while the evening gets progressively blurry. All whilst waxing pseudo-intellectual with the aforementioned dearest of friends, Svin Livingston. I have done a reasonable sum of global traveling with Svin, and there’s no better travel companion. One time we were jumping into the southern Pacific during a specifically adverse riptide, and when suggested to him from a passerby that we not carry on any further, he threw his bottle at said civilian and exclaimed, “Water wings be damned! Do your worst — for I shall do mine!” And that was that. Ten minutes later a rescue boat was out to get us with blankets wondering how we had not seen the posted signage. Three weeks later we were off to the desert.

And now, for sake of cold weather, here are some songs that sound like autumn and alcohol.

Seeds of Night, The Cave Singers
Blackie, Dustin Bentall
There’s A Reason, AA Bondy
Everything I Build, The Stills
Wop-A-Din-Din, Mark Kozelek (Live at Lisbon)
Trouble, Ray LaMontagne
It’s Alright, Bang Gang
North Dakota, The Wooden Sky (CBC Sessions Recording)
Strangulation, My Morning Jacket

I think I will make a post before departure with some beach songs in the case that you also have said your peace with winter, and follow a strict regiment of the twelve-month summer. Perhaps some Bobby Darin, Sam Cooke, and even that grumpy irishman Van Morrison?

With Love & Rum,
Edward H.

Words The Homeless of Vancouver Have Said To / Around Me, Also: Words To Live By

Posted on September 26, 2008

“Everything we do is lost” — walk-by advice to me from a man in a blue shirt.

“…but I called him. And the doctor said if I made it past ten I’d live.” — the same man in the blue shirt, as I walked away

“Oh. There’s that statue from Calgary… but I can’t go back to Alberta.” — In Chinatown, but which statue I can’t be sure. I didn’t see any.

“I don’t do that or I’ll get killed, three fucking idiots.” — Crackhead on purchasing in Carnegie Hall Alley (also just “The Alley”)

“Make him fucking walk!” — to the bus driver regarding another homeless man boarding the Number 8

“Careful, man! There’s a beverage here!” — A friend of mine. Likely to become homeless in the future, saving time by placing it in here now

“Well, it’s mostly grey everywhere with no chance at redemption.” — An elderly homeless gent when asked how he likes Vancouver

Words My Grandparents Have Said, Also: Words To Live By

Posted on September 24, 2008

“For any alcoholic, one is too many but a hundred isn’t nearly enough.” — my Grandmother just before pouring drink number one at five-bells.

“If it’s one thing I’ll be able to get to till the day I die, it’s that bottle.” — my Grandfather who at age 88 is having a hard time getting up from his chair, after I had offered to go pour him one.

“And to think. She used to be the prettiest lady in town.” — my Grandfather, while nodding his head in my Grandmother’s direction.

Here’s a fitting song about grandparents.

Basket, by Dan Mangan

Vacate The Continent

Posted on September 23, 2008

I don’t know if you’ve heard of this little place called Ecuador — but it happens to boarder the world capital of my favorite overseas dessert, The Columbian Blizzard. Which despite its fitting name, has nothing to do with Dairy Queen. I hope to travel this nation, speculate over their beautiful women and indulge in sampling their exports via the import of my flared and ready nostrils. I have no idea what to expect on my visit to South America, as I know nothing about the political state or language barrier I’m headed for. All I’ve heard is that there are expected to be riots, demonstrations, and even an action packed political referendum during the same time as my arrival. Don’t fear for my well being, as I will also be traveling with my dear friend, Svin Livingston, who knows equally as little about the general climate of our trip. Who also — in case of emergency — will serve as a suitable human shield from any Molotov Cocktails as he is much taller than myself.

You can likely expect even less action from this page during my hiatus — but perhaps with the right light and a half-beating internet connection, I may post of travels done and things seen; Although I wouldn’t count on it. This writer has also recently become a single alcoholic again, so upon return you will be treated with the same type of degrading and degenerate language as once before, friends. To close this off for now, here’s a fitting song from an album that otherwise doesn’t really touch me in the places I like.

Gone Gone Gone, by The Notwist

Almost gone, gone gone,
Edward H.

AA Bondy, American Hearts

Posted on September 16, 2008

The first day of fall is coming up pretty quick, which means I’m getting out of this place in as much time. There’s this good little guitar album you should get for some colder weather listening. It’s by AA Bondy, former front man for Verbena, which I think at one point was toted as the next Nirvana. Whatever that means. This album isn’t so much Seattle grunge pop as it is Middle America folk style whatever roots guitar harmonica raspy voice whiskey throat cigarette smoke music.
Black Rain, Black Rain by AA Bondy

Edward H.

With Love & Rum. Alcoholics: Anonymously.