Category: It Happened to Me

The photo album of Paul’s earning his black belt (and the ensuing booze-up) is up: Black Belt Baranowski.

Here’s a photo of me and Sam at the drinking party that followed the black belt ceremony (where Paul got his black belt last night) at World Taekwondo in Kensington Market. I’m always up for having my picture taken, but Sam’s not so sure…

Last night’s band rehearsal — the first for me — went quite well, if late into the night (I got home at 2:30 a.m.). Pete’s driving the bus song-writing-wise, and he’s excellent: the songs structures are remind me at times of The Smiths, Radiohead (especially with Pete’s singing) and Game Theory (especially with the me manning the synth).

It’s been a while since I’ve played synths with a band — the last time was probably 1999, with our improv ambient electronica band Lion, with Karl Mohr, Krista “Lederhosen Lucil” Muir and Rachel Smith.

Pete’s providing a Korg Triton, which is probably the best synth I’ve ever been assigned. Even through the guitar amp that I used last night, I can hear great things coming from it. I need to fix up my trusty Rhodes keyboard amp this weekend and bring it back to life. The last time it saw active duty, I was with Kingston’s loudest band, Volume, and George (on bass) and I cranked both our instruments through it. That’s probably what blew its speakers in the first place.

The rehearsal space is a little shack out in Mississauga, a satellite city just west of Accordion City. It is blessedly close to a Starbucks and a Rabba (a chain of 24-hour grocery/deli/convenience stores), an absolute necessity for band rehearsals.

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Goofy band exchange of the evening:

Wil (raising his fist and looking right at me): Asian gang!

Me (returning the gesture): Asian gang, yo!

Wil (to the other three guys in the band): Look out whitey, me and Joey outnumber you.

Me: Uh, Wil…there’s two of us and three of them. Two is less than three.

Pete: I thought you guys were supposed to be good at math.

There was also an interesting discussion where we concluded that you should not get a Brazilian wax from family members, even if they’re in than line of business. Ewwww!

“It a great day at [plumbing company]!” said the cheery voice on the other end of the line.

This gave me hope, as I like it when people approach their work with gusto. Especially when I’m about to enlist their services.

The toilet in my swanky upstairs bathroom has slowed over the past year. It still works, but the force with which it flushes has diminished greatly. A carnitas-and-bean-burrito dinner is a “two-flusher”, possibly three if you asked for whole wheat burritos. You get my drift.

The toilet’s design is a little odd — the flush handle, ball and assorted gewgaws that are located in the tank are there, but configured somewhat oddly. Unlike your typical North American toilet, there are two large holes at the bottom of the bowl: one that feeds water into the bowl, and the regular large one in the middle that takes last night’s dinner away. Although I’d had some experience fixing toilets (having worked at a bar back at Crazy Go Nuts University) this one was just a little too odd. It was time to get a pro.

When the plumber showed up, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two paper shoe slipcovers which he slipped over his workboots so as not to mess up our floors. I was impressed; this is what service is all about.

We went to the bathroom and he popped the cover off the tank. There was an expression of surprise on his face as he read some markings on the tank’s back wall.

“Nineteen twenty-nine,” he remarked.

“Is that the model number?” I asked.

“No, that’s the year of manufacture. See?”

He pointed to the inscription. Manfactured 1929.

The toilet wouldn’t look out of place in any modern bathroom, and it certainly didn’t look as if it were made in the era of claw-foot bathtubs and sinks with separate faucets for hot and cold water. In the Jazz Age, it must’ve been considered The Toilet From The Future.

“So can it be fixed?” I asked.

“Nope. You gotta get a new one. Here’s a list of available toilets…”

“Whoa, hang on. I’m a renter here. I’m going to have to talk to my landlord first. But before it gets to that, isn’t there something that can be done to increase the flow? A tweak, or some kind of retrofit?”

“It’s cost too much. The best thing to do is get a new toilet. It’ll last longest.”

“Well, like I said, that’s a major fix for the house. I’ll need to talk to the landlord.”

“All right.” He handed me a price list for new American Standards. “Give us a call when you’ve gotten the go-ahead.” He then pulled out an invoice. “Visit fee…tax…that’ll be fifty-three dollars, please.”

Our exchange couldn’t have lasted longer than two minutes.

Fifty-three dollars. I think I charged my last freelance client three dollars less, and per hour!

When this computer fad blows over, I’m going into plumbing.

At long last, the photos from the GTABloggers 2003 Christmas party! I’ve collected them all in this photo album.

I’ve already been asked the question: Will there be another GTABloggers party? I think Chinese New Year — this coming year being Year of the Monkey — would be as good a time as any! Watch this blog for the announcement.

There were beverages a-plenty…

Really, I mean beverages a-plenty. I’m working on becoming Accordion City’s party impresario, after all…

We even had Death pay a return visit! (Her first visit was at the last party…)

In attendance:

• Adina and Chris
• Brent
• Brett
• Carla
• David
• Doug
• Eldon
• Emma
• Eva
• Frank
• Gary
• Gigi
• Graig
• Hector
• Helena and Kyra
• Ian
• Jacqui
• James
• Jenever
• Jay
• Jayme
• Jen
• Jeremy
• Joey
• Jon
• Josie
• Kevin
• Liz
• Margot (she with the amazingly cool frizzy red hair) and Ariel
• Meryle
• Natalie
• Paul
• Pracha
• Rannie
• Rory
• Sam
• Steph
• Timothy
• Victor