George Carlin

It's been a week or 2 now since George Carlin died, and I find myself still thinking about him. He was always one of my favorite comedians, not from the Hippy Dippy Weatherman days, I didn't like that character, but I'll never forget the first time I head his: "7 Words You Can't Say On TV." tape. (Yeah...tape, as in 8-track, this was indeed "back in the day.)

It stunned me and shocked me and I don't think I have ever laughed so hard in my life. (Well, maybe once, in a hotel in Arusha in Africa, but that's a whole other story). George Carlin then became the comedian that I always tried to listen to. His rants were sometimes (oftentimes) very raunchy and shocking, but he also made observations about human nature that were very cutting edge. He told us his beliefs, opinions, musings and profound thoughts. Sort of a pre-Sienfeld, or perhaps I should say that Jerry was a post-Carlin. He said a lot of things that people secretly agree with, but are far too afraid to voice out loud.

This is one of my favorite of his little monologues.

SUN OF GOD

I've been worshipping the sun for a number of reasons. First of all, unlike some other gods I could mention, I can see the sun. It's there for me every day. And the things it brings me are quite apparent all the time: heat, light, food, a lovely day. There's no mystery, no one asks for money, I don't have to dress up, there's no boring pagentry. And interestingly enough, I have found that the prayers I offer to the sun and the prayers I formerly offered to "God" are all answered at about the same 50% rate.

Now seriously...how true is that? Right! Pretty damn true!

His funniest monologue is the one on "stuff" and how we have too much of it and what we do with it. It's quite long, but if you go to You Tube you can find a clip of it. I'm sure you can just Google it and read the entire thing, but to see it is the best! His inflections and gestures are what make it so funny. As a matter of fact, I am off to watch it one more time.

Insanity!

This is the Stratophere, I'm not sure how high it is, but it is HIGH! For those of you who are a little insane and thrill-loving, you can take a ride that will almost fling you out over the city. At the top of the tower there are 2 rides that almost toss you over the edge. One is like a big claw, you sit in a "chair" and it whirls you out over the edge, feet dangling and eyes popping! The other is a roller coaster that comes to an abrupt halt, tipping you DOWN towards the earth...you don't see any track in front of you, it must be heart-stopping. It then sloooowly backs up and I assume the folks get off, legs like noodles. If you look at the picture of the tower (if you click on it, it enlarges a little) you just just see the roller coaster track on the left side, sticking up into the air. The ride "seems" to end there, and then it slowly tilts down towards the ground...

Las Vegas really is an unusual place. It's over the top and tacky, sparkly and ostentatious, overwhelming and breathtaking. I can't help but both love it and loathe it. I've never seen anything quite like it.

I live in a small town.

Ok kiddies, here's the story. I was at work and had run over to the store across the parking lot,(work related...I was buying limes) but I digress. I was coming back when I spotted 2 of Shane's buddies coming towards me, and they were saying: "oh, you're gonna be SO pissed...someone hit your vehicle." Of course, I'm answering: "Oh you guys, you're kidding me." Joke, joke, you know how it is when you think someone is pulling your leg. Although I couldn't figure out why they would. Cerri holds out 2 pieces of paper with names and phone numbers on them and said: "Seriously, these 2 people witnessed it." So, they walk me over to my truck, and I see bits and pieces of her all over the place. I will admit I swore. Out loud. The woman who saw it happen, followed the truck and took down his plate # however, so I went inside and phoned the RCMP, who I must say, after taking all my info and then having his computer "boot him out" and losing it all and then re-taking it again, was very helpful and nice and funny. He said someone would get back to me. He was in Kelowna, 8 hours away, so he couldn't help me with tow-truck info at all. Finally, an RCMP from here phones me with Bad News. The plate number isn't correct. There is no such number. I swore again. However, this is where the story gets funny and the Small Town comes into play.
I phoned the woman who had followed the fellow, just to thank her, and tell her what's up, and she apologized and said: "Well, it's a unique vehicle and I'd recognize it anywhere, so if I ever see it, I'll phone the cops, they gave me the file #." And she told me what the truck looked like and I said: "I know that truck. I pass it every day and I always comment to my husband about it." I thanked her again, and hung up; turned to my co-worker and described the truck and she said: "I know that truck. The driver was just in here!" At that moment, Steven shows up (I had phoned him already, so he knew) I told him: "Good news, bad news. The plate isn't registered, but we know who it is." I told him, and he went up there right away. He looked at the truck, saw fresh scuff marks all over the tire, and the plate # that the woman had given us was 3405 and the plate on the truck was 3504. Bingo! (by the way, those aren't the real numbers.) So I phoned the RCMP again and told them, and I sent Steven home to get the camera and to go and take pix of the tire before the fellow cleaned it up, or left town. He returned to the vehicle's house, and it was gone! Needless to say, he's really annoyed at this point, because if we can't track the guy down, I have to pay my $300.00 deductible, plus I won't get a rental vehicle. So, as he is coming down to tell me this...he sees the truck! He pulls the fellow over and explains to him what happened, and tells him that it's a hit and run. The fellow says it wasn't him, and that he wasn't even at the store. So Steve throws his hands up and says: "Play it your way. There were 2 witnesses, and the store has you on surveillance camera, proving that you were there at the same time the witnesses say you were there, plus the cops are looking for you." So the fellow got scared and followed Steven back to the store. As we are chatting and he is swearing that he didn't know he hit me, the RCMP phones me back and says: "Just wanted to let you know that we have a lead on where the truck might be." I said: "Yes, it was me who phoned that in, and actually, you might want to come down here since my husband went and got him and they're all here now!" So, she came down and took everyone's statement and ticketed the fellow for leaving the scene ($396.00) and told him to be happy that Steven had found him and brought him down because if the RCMP had done it, he would have been ticketed with hit & run, which is much, much more expensive. So, ICBC will pay for a rental for me until such time as mine is fixed (which will be about 2 and half months) I get a vehicle the same standard as my own since I was insured for to and from work. I don;t have to pay any dectuctible at all (sometimes you have to pay it and then be reimbursed) and until I get a rental (umm..small town also has it's drawbacks, there aren't any right now, probably not for 2 days) but she told me to take a taxi wherever I needed to go and just bring the receipts down for her to reimburse me...right away, not through the mail or anything. Obviously I don't need to utilize that, Steven will just drive me to and from work for the next day or 2. But we couldn't do that for 2 and half months, I work a few night shifts a week and he can't be coming to get me at 11:15 at night all the time.

The damage is almost $5,000. The radiator, front grill, steel impact bar, lights, bumper, fender plus a myraid of other odds and ends all need to be fixed. What amazed the repair fellows was the fact that the impact bar was rippled. They said that takes a massive amount of force to do, which is why I think he must have known he hit me. I can see ripping a plastic grill with a huge truck and maybe not realizing it. Oh well, all's well that ends well. That's why we buy insurance.

Good Day/Bad day!

This morning Steven and I went for a particularly nice walk...found a lush and simply beautiful path, saw some wildlife and enjoyed the perfect weather. We really do live in a spectacular area. It was just so green and fresh and wonderful. Five miles went by in a flash!
Then, I went to work and some jerk ran into the side of my vehicle and proceeded to drive away. Luckily, more than one person saw it happen, and to make a long story short (for now...details to come) the fellow was tracked down and returned to the "scene of the crime." I call it "Small Town Syndrome." It's a somewhat funny story (considering he did almost $5,000 damage) and I'll tell it tomorrow.

This, to me, is very Las Vegas. You can buy your gown and tux, go next door and get your license, then go in the next building and get married. Then, the honeymoon motel is right behind!

What a world

One is Las vegas and one is Paris. The resemblance is amazing!

So. This Sunday is Father's Day, and this will be my first Father's Day without a Father. It seems very strange, and somewhat upsetting to me. I miss my Dad a lot.

My Dad had a huge, bellowing laugh and it often sounded like he was choking. I remember hearing those guffaws when he watched Bugs Bunny cartoons, of all things. I was about 6 and we lived in Comox and he'd watch the Saturday morning cartoons with me and whenever his laugh would burst out, my mom would come running, thinking he was in some sort of death throes. He would laugh like that whenever he found something funny, and that taught me that humour is appropriate at any time...laughter is never wrong. Being Happy is what it's all about.

He used to take me to work with him if he was working on a Saturday, he ran the Construction Engineering building and while he was working, he'd give me boards and hammers and nails, pliers and vice-grips. My mother would have never let me play with tools, she was pretty overprotective of me, but my Dad let me learn while hammering the odd thumbnail, and he bought me toy trucks as well. That taught me that I didn't need to do what the other little girls did if I didn't want to. I could do whatever I wanted, and I could be whatever I wanted. I could do no wrong in my Father's eyes.

I remember the sound...a hollow "tock, tock, tock" of the BBQ fluid as he squeezed it out of the tin can on to the charcoal briquettes...in the days, children, before gas and propane BBQ's. And I remember the "whooomph" as he threw in the lit match and the smell of the sulphur. I also remember the smell of burned eyebrows and the sound of his cursing. And that taught me to not use so much lighter fluid.

I remember when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, and I really had no interest in it, but he made me sit and watch with him, trying to make me understand how exciting it was, and what it could mean for the future of mankind. I sat on the floor beside his brown rocking chair, and I remember how silent he was when Neil Armstrong put that first foot on the surface of the moon, and how he breathed a sigh of amazement, but I remember the texture of that rocker and the feeling of his hand on my shoulder more than anything else, and that taught me how important time spent together is.

I remember living in Northern Quebec, and the family across the street from us was black, the first (and only) black family on that airforce base. I was about 8 years old and Dad invited them over for dinner when no one else would. This, of course, taught me tolerance and the value of friendship. My Father never cared what people thought of him, he always said that as long as you tried to do the right thing, and did what felt right , then you would be OK.

As I grew older, he was always patient with me, even during some of my not-so-wonderful teen years! I'm sure I drove him completely crazy at times, and I'm sure there were times that he had to bite his tongue, but he never made me feel anything less than loved. That taught me how to love my own kids, and how to (hopefully) make them know how much they are loved. I know that I will never be loved so unconditionally again.

I think that my Dad taught me some valuable lessons, and I guess that if I taught my kids any of that: compassion, tolerance, patience, caring, then my Dad's legacy will continue.

Happy Father's Day Dad. I sure miss you.

The End

After I got back to my little room, I packed up and got ready to leave in the morning. I felt very sad at leaving, it was such a wonderful holiday, but I had one last thing to do "on my list." I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower at night, both lit up and then also with the sparkly lights going.

I waited until twilight and then walked over, as I rounded the corner and saw the lights looking so golden against the mauve sky I was quite taken aback. I hadn't really expected such beauty.

At the top of the hour, for about 10 minutes, the whole contraption explodes with a series of twinkling, glittering, star-like lights. It was amazing, and it felt like a nice ending to my time in Paris.

The Tunnel

After I left the Opera House, I wandered through some of the fancy streets where the expensive stores were and as I walked I realized I wasn't far from the tunnel where Princess Diana died. As I have always been a huge Diana fan, I couldn't not see it. (I know that statement is a double negative, but I think I want it to be.) This is also the bridge where the second gypsy tried to scam me!

People still crowd around the bridge and write little poems on the cement. It was sort of sad. I'd driven through the tunnel once before, in 2000, but didn't have a chance to stop and see the mementos. The 13th pillar down was the one that the car hit. I wonder why people (including me) are so morbid, and want to see these sorts of places? It's been 10 years sincer she died and still there are fresh flowers left on a daily basis. We really are an odd species, I think homo sapiens are the only species that realizes mortality, except perhaps elephants? I think I have read that elephants understand death. Strange.

OPera House

Since I was in the area, I decided to check out the Paris Opera House. Wow! Talk about ostentatious, it was like a mini Versailles, just so over the top, but breath takingly beautiful too.

I got a crick in my neck from gawking at the ceilings...tourist syndrome.

The original Phantom costume. It was sort of fun to see the place where it all occured. You could go into some of the luxury boxes as well, and peer down towards the stage and see the giant chandelier hanging there, ready to drop.

Place Madeleine

After being scammed by the gypsy woman, I wandered over to this church, which looked like a Greek temple from the outside. I saw a sign pointing around the corner, saying: "Restaurant" and I found a tiny little door that seemed to lead into the bowels of the church...what a cool place for a restaurant. A woman stopped me at the door and asked if I was a tourist, I nodded and she then explained the it was a restaurant for the indigent and homeless. Oops.

The inside was beautiful, very calm and peaceful.

Gypsy Scam

Today I decided to head over to the Petit Palaise, where there is a free museum. I was heading across this bridge and a woman was walking towards me; a regular looking sort of woman, about my age, although dressed rather poorly. Just as she was passing me I heard a "tingle" and she said, in broken English: "Oh, madame, is yours?" and she was holding what I first thought was a button. I looked at my coat, and my buttons were intact so I shook my head and started to continue on. She held it up and said something like: "A ring? Your ring?" I looked at my hands (how silly, as if my ring could fall off without my knowing it) and then looked at her, and saw that it appeared to be a mans wedding ring and I made a comment about "some poor fellow has lost his ring in Paris, how sad." and she said: "Is gold?" and we looked inside the band where it appeared to say 14 carat. I said that "maybe it is gold" and continued on. She stopped me and said: "Here. A souviner of your time in Paris." I shook my head "no" and she thrust it towards me and said: "Is good luck maybe?" and pushed it into my hand. I shrugged and put it in my pocket, and we went our separate ways. As she was about 5 or 6 steps away from me, she turned and said: " You have a Euro for me? To eat?" (Ok. Can you see where this is going?) I heaved a sigh at my foolishness and handed her a few coins, probably 3 or 4 dollars. She actually looked put out that it was so little, but off she went. I wondered if I had really been scammed, or if she really did find this tacky ring and think it was mine and just decided to ask me for money while the timing seemed good. I sort of hoped that it wasn't a scam...I like to think I am a little smarter than that. But, let's jump to later this same day when I am on the other side of town on another bridge and a woman passes me by and I hear a tingle and a voice that says: "Madame...is yours?" and I look up to see woman holding a gold band. I laughed, put my hand in my pocket, pulled out the other ring and said: "Not mine, I already have one." I was scammed by a gypsy. Oh well, it's a good story to tell.

This is the outside of the Petit Palaise, which has a wonderful museum inside. You can see that there were no crowds.