Home
Edgar Rice Burroughs
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Books
- Hits: 1367
I found him after the "Hardy Boys", terrible books but as a 7 or 8 year old I loved them. 52 books in the series (at that time), I devoured them all, I remember saving up $5.00 from my paper route to buy the next one at the local hobby store, $5.00, then, was a lot of money.
And after the "Hardy Boys" I cast around looking for the next big thing, reading all manner of books, some bad - I don't remember, some good - "The Four Story Mistake".
And then there was Edgar Rice Burroughs, Tarzan, who didn't much interest me, I knew all about him (I thought), had seen a bad movie about him at the Capitol Theatre when I was younger...and I was put off by the lurid covers, clearly trash books, pulp fiction of the worst sort, but there were the ones about Aliens - the Moon Maiden, John Carter on Mars, and these piqued my interest...I was running out of alternatives...
And so I picked them up and read them and loved them, maybe I was 12, probably younger, read through all the John Carter on Mars, then the Moon Maiden and the rest of them, all of them I thought, he was prolific, even read the Tarzan ones, Tarzan in Pellucidar, Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar, everything. I loved it. It was complete and utter shit.
...well, not entirely. He was a better author than those working under the Pseudonym of "Franklin W. Dixon", he wasn't patronizing you, wasn't dumbing it down, it was pretty dumb across the board...but pretty well written, pot-boilers, things happened and quickly, he wasn't talking down to you, wasn't an adult writing for kids, this was an adult writing for other adults...
At 20 I tried them again, after reading Nabokov, Miller, others, they didn't cut it, were painful, poorly written, shit...
When I next found them again, about 15 years ago, I picked up the entire series for the boy, as well as "The Hardy Boys", he wasn't into them at all, didn't give them a chance, "I can see why you'd like them, dad..." he'd tell me...ouch!
...and so, at the thrift shop, I find "John Carter of Mars" and "The People That Time Forgot", I pick them up. Revisit my childhood. And my tastes flip again. He's good - comparatively, not to Nabokov or Miller or any of the countless other literary heavyweights, but he paints a good picture, gives a good description, advances the plot, and like any antique author his vocabulary is infinitely richer than any number of the literary 'heavyweights' of today.
...and his language, the symbolism, read it not for the absurd adventure, but for the map of the unconscious, he wasn't trying but he laid it bare, these books, Pellucidar, the People that Time Forgot, they're road maps to the soul, understand these and you can build carefully upon his foundation. Yeah, it was pulp-shit-dross, but it was honest, there was no pretension, and all the symbols of the unconscious and the labyrinthine underworld are laid bare...Freud would have loved him.
"_Kazor_!" cried the girl, and at the same moment the Alus came jabbering toward us. They made strange growling, barking noises, as with much baring of fangs they advanced upon us. They were armed only with nature's weapons--powerful muscles and giant fangs; yet I knew that these were quite sufficient to overcome us had we nothing better to offer in defense, and so I drew my pistol and fired at the leader. He dropped like a stone, and the others turned and fled. Once again the girl smiled her slow smile and stepping closer, caressed the barrel of my automatic. As she did so, her fingers came in contact with mine, and a sudden thrill ran through me, which I attributed to the fact that it had been so long since I had seen a woman of any sort or kind.
The Nephew on POF
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dating
- Hits: 1354
The nephew, protesting, always, he never goes out. Not enough. This life at the restaurant, 12 hours a day (in his instance, perhaps more like 8 or 9), it's killing him. He's exhausted. Maybe we can go out...?
We go out a fair bit. Maybe every weekend. Wherever he wants, for Pizza, to the Gay Bar, Bespoke, wherever, but he's a short lived memory and it's already Wednesday and as far as he's concerned we never go out. He's on POF, TINDER, spends his time sat at the front desk swiping through possible dates, ones that he finds amusing he calls me over for, gets my opinion, "Big Farm Girl" and "Hefty Little Heifer", reads their profile, knows them, probably from hanging about Cochrane, swipes on...
He had a short lived romance of sorts, "Cross-Dresser", didn't know what that meant, they'd chatted, few days, when finally he asked for "her" number she explained..."You do know I'm a cross-dresser, don't you?", and he did, it was on her profile, only he didn't know what it meant and so she explained...
Humour and a bit of personal tragedy, he really liked her, felt they had a connection, they were getting along, and you couldn't really tell from the Photoshopped and blurred image of her, could you?...And he shows us - the restaurant, the customers, the staff, the texts, her photos, who would have known? She would have been a catch, for sure, if it weren't for those pesky balls...
Friday night, there's a Vodka tasting at J****'s, his old room-mate. I'm invited. "Sure" I say and go home to change. Sober me says stay home, and after a while drunk me confirms my decision. J****'s is a dark place, there are a lot of vices I don't care to indulge or afford. But I'm getting the calls, one, two an hour, until 4:00 AM, something's up for sure and I can't wait to hear the tale...
THE VODKA TASTING
...which involved a couple of other clearly gay Russians and J**** and the Nephew and J****'s current girlfriend, who just happens to be the Nephew's ex-girlfriend, and another ex-girlfriend of the nephew, H****, and as the night devolved they all ended up in the sauna upstairs...the girls, a lesbian performance while J**** and his friend pulled themselves outside of the glass, blurry images, too much blow to participate, really, the other young homosexual contented himself with flogging the Nephew while he tried to stick a dick in, a pretty messed up evening but not entirely unpredictable, "You should have come, bro..." he tells me, I'm pretty sure I shouldn't have, am glad for the good night's sleep...
***
He finds a date, shows us her picture, single mom, 20 years old, 3 kids, lives in Forest Lawn, she's pretty, they're due to meet up that evening after work...and as the time approaches he begins to get cold feet, sure, she's pretty, but he should have verified that her photos were current, wants to make sure he's not disappointed, he's got a vague suspicion...we prey upon his fears, laughing at him, "Three kids bro?" I'm mocking him..."That's not a date, that's an orgy...", not a big deal, it's a first date after all, but they're going for dinner, he's got to leave to pick her up...
I'm getting calls again that evening, come on down, join him, all the way until 4:00 AM, I find them on the phone in the morning, I'll get the story when he gets in to work...
"I was trying to reverse, get away, when I saw her, I mean, she was huge, buddy, only my tires were spinning in the snow and the next thing I knew she was at the window, just let herself into the truck..."
From here the night goes predictably, he takes her for dinner, then drinks, too polite to let her down he just gets himself so hammered, spends the night at her place, wasn't sure if they did it or not, she wouldn't let him sleep on her couch but instead hauled him into the bedroom...the next morning he's woken by the children barging in, her mother, cigarette hanging from her mouth, babysitting, popping her head in the bedroom as he sits naked on the bed, just checking that she got home safe...
***
This doesn't dissuade him, the rest of the week he finds time for 2 more dates, both pretty much the same, young single mothers living in Forest Lawn or the North East, one with three children, but her parents have a court order to keep her away from 2 of them, the third, a three year old toddler, watching through the bars of the crib as she pulls him onto the bed...
***
He's a champ, really, and singlehandedly extends the reputation of men as sluts, not that his dates are doing any favours for their gender either, but he always gets drunk, always takes them home, spends the night, a real trooper, taking one for the team...
***
Saturday Night, Gay bar, his pick, he's having a joint outside, it makes him funny, we go back inside when he's done, into the basement, there's a fully bearded man, maybe 65 years old, in a blue dress with a younger 30 something brunette. I don't notice the brunette, her companion, he's garnering all the looks, the Nephew, he sees, falls to the floor, can't get up, he's laughing so hard, I'm trying to help him pull himself together, he's pretty gone for sure, it is funny but maybe not polite to laugh so hard...eventually he gets it together, hauls himself to the bar, begins to talk to them, gets their story...
...they want to buy some crystal meth, apparently they're former addicts, went to rehab together. I know. And we separate, I leave him with his newfound friends, the night is getting late and I should be getting some sleep, the phone, it's still ringing at 4:00 AM, but I know I'll get the story in the morning...
Emerald Property Management
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Rants
- Hits: 1958
December 5th, back in Calgary, time to pick up my Damage Deposit from Emerald Property Management. I left no forwarding address, had none, told Marty (the onsite landlord) that I'd pick it up from their head office next time I was in Calgary.
Monday, December 5, this is the next time in Calgary, after a cold night in the Jeep (frozen, -26, didn't unpack the back properly and every time you touched something you got colder and colder, up at 6:30, down to Beano for the long morning coffee and attempt to warm up, waiting for Emerald to open), 9:30, finally, and I go to pick up my cheque.
The landlord - Marty - and I agreed - when I left, it wasn't perfect - perfect for me, not for them, didn't steam clean the carpets, the drapes, didn't clean the inserts on the stove, he estimated the deductions, maybe $75.00 for miscellaneous cleaning, tops, $100 for drapes and carpets, max, cheque would be ready in 2 weeks, 10 business days.
So I'm expecting the cheque to be ready. Oh yeah. Cheque will be ready, it's December 5th, after all...I've been gone over a month. And with that cheque I'll pay child support, do some Xmas shopping, maybe have a meal, and with luck enough gas to get back to the Koot's. (I hadn't picked up the restaurant gig yet.).
I'm at the office at 9:30 - 2nd one there, there's an irate middle aged couple ahead of me, various grievances, an indifferent receptionist, I wait my turn.
They're pretty irate and she's as sympathetic as she can be while putting it all down to "understandable mistakes...paperwork...misunderstanding...you know, we have a lot of tenants...". She's not taking their side, and they're not too sympathetic, but even just eavesdropping you get the clear idea that they've fucked up, repeatedly, big time. And they're gonna do it again. It's a busy little office, people forever coming and going, mostly staff, I don't understand this property management thing but is sure involves a lot of support personal nowhere near the properties to be let...
Finally, my turn. The couple before me, their own experience, it's made me a bit suspicious. I get my cheque, in a white Emerald Envelope. Leaving, on the way out the door, I open it, check the amount, just to be sure before I get to the bank...
WHAT THE FUCK!
I swallow my irateness, all the venom that's rising up, the sarcasm, the bile and vitriol, address the secretary: "Excuse me, this appears to be incorrect, is there anyone I can speak to about this...?"
There's no "appears to be incorrect", it patently is, and my moving out of province has made me an easy target for predacious landlords...
She searches for the number, asks where I live, I give her the old address, my old contact, Marty, apparently he's not the main contact...
She's busy. While she's searching and making calls on my behalf she answers no less than a dozen other calls, all of which seem to be escalating complaints of the sort the couple ahead of me had, mislaid postdated cheques, premature eviction notices, lack of essential services...no one in their right mind wants her job...
Finally she finds it, the number of my contact, I make the call, leave a message.
He calls me back an hour later. "Sorry for the misunderstanding..."...the cheque was only for $100.00 because the other $625.00 was mailed out to my last known address. Really? Really? I mean, why would you mail my damage deposit to the one address you knew I had moved out of? And why would you only mail a portion of it - $625.00 - and keep the other $100.00 at the head office? And - not to be too difficult - why are the cleaning suites/cleaning carpets, drapes fees so out of line with what I was quoted by Marty, the actual, onsite landlord who presumably would be doing all of the above?
He hasn't got any answers...he'll get back to me.
A couple of hours later he does. I've got nothing better to do than drive around Calgary and wait - at the moment it's appearing as if I'll be staying, the gas money to return home, I squandered that on the kids dinner the night before, this cheque, it was gonna pay my way home. Maybe. Not likely.
The reason is...well, there's no reason. They estimated the costs. Took a wild guess. They haven't got the bill yet for the cleaning of the carpets and drapes or the estimate of the time it cost to clean the place from Marty. I'm annoyed, seriously annoyed, I know I'm being fucked...they'll just mail me the remainder, do I have a forwarding address?
NO I DO NOT! And I emphatically underscore the fact that I'm not returning to pick up another cheque, that it's been over 30 days since I vacated the premise and therefore they should have all bills for all related expenses, this is bollocks (politely), but I want my damage deposit back, NOW!, ...
He argues, can't do it, needs to check the charges, I tell him to call the companies, they've done the work, they'll know the billing, I'm returning to BC tomorrow and I want my cheque, and finally, after far, far too much wrangling I get my damage deposit back. Some $961 odd dollars. Fair. But, really, why should one have to argue that long, that hard, for what's rightfully theirs? The reason, simple, if you don't question it they will fuck you, don't question the charges, the incompetence, and the money is theirs, SYSTEMATIC AND PREMEDITATED INCOMPETENCE!
Marty, the old landlord calls me in January to tell me that my damage deposit is ready, he has the cheque, I'm not Emerald, I should be, I just tell him that I've already gotten it...
Couch surfing
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1847
A few nights, at the end of the tour, couch surfing. It's got it's advantages, you're not paying rent, it's warmer (when it's -26 outside) than sleeping in the jeep, but it's got it's drawbacks as well.
The first of which is that most people's couches are positioned directly in front of their TV, and you have to wait until their day is done before you can go to bed. And most people seem to watch TV until midnight...or so. And so your night grows long with the idiocy of others that you'd never think to subscribe to but are victimized by nonetheless.
The TV here, it's always on. Choose whatever you want to watch, just don't shut it off...there's nothing on, it's the local networks, there's no cable here. Bad bible themed channels and Canadian dramas like "Murdoch Mysteries" and "Michael: Every Day" and "City TV" that make you nostalgic for the golden years of Canadian TV-Shows like "The Littlest Hobo" and "The Beachcombers".
But she's got Netflix, and the nephew warned me that I wouldn't believe the shit they watch and sure enough, I'm here, on the couch, I'm watching everything that they watch. And yeah, truly it's unbelievable. It's like they don't understand how the rating system works: "How to make an American Quilt" - the first movie I've seen that I can honestly say was worse than the Titanic. "Under a Tuscan Sun", not bad, but we've kinda killed that, haven't we?. And when I'm given the controls, choose a film, I have to stay within the prescribed limits of romance or comedy, preferably both, thrillers, suspense, action, intelligence, drama, they're all out, and so i end up selecting the "Ridiculous Six", with Adam Sandler, damn that Adam Sandler, it's exactly what I should have expected. Only they're pleased at my good taste...
Now I get recommendations - things like "5 to 7", which is so low budget that you can see bystanders in the background ducking and getting out of the frame, they're not actors, didn't intend on being in this , if they knew what a load of shit this was they'd move a lot quicker, let me tell you, and I'm expected to rave favorably about it, things like "so romantic" and "so true" and "why can't we be more like Americans imagine French people to be like" and all I can think is that this is bloody nonsense and somebody should be held accountable for setting the bar sooo low...
Page 518 of 1021