Snow Shoveling

Well, the shit-kicking has begun in earnest and can I just say how utterly sick I am of shoveling snow already?  And winter doesn’t even start for another three freakin’ days; a round of boo’s all around please.  Seriously, as much as I love the area I live, the sheer amount of snow we receive off the lake totally blows (and not in the obvious way).  So, at best, I’m trying to look at these unfortunate – yet necessary – snow removal bouts as an added chance to fit in an extra strength workout and an opportunity to listen to something different from the ‘ol collection, something I might not otherwise drag out for one of my typical runs, spins, or gym sessions.  To that end, I dragged out ‘Hangover Honeymoon’  by Kevin Quain.

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Released in 2000, it was four years in the making, in kitchens, lofts and basements all over Toronto’s notorious Queen Street West area.  Thankfully, Quain often brought his epic lo-fi booze opera of a seedy world of restless corpses, tango-mad ghosts and barroom romances to the Merchant Ale House in St. Catharines while I was still bartending there for impromptu weekend matinees.  Usually, thanks to the crappy winter weather (such as it is today), the place was never very busy so it was like getting my own private performance.  Not so good for Quain, of course…but good for me.

Regardless, in August of 2000, the National Post selected ‘Hangover Honeymoon’  as one of the 133 ‘Essential Canadian CD’s of All Time’.  Quain didn’t stop there, however, and has since written music for film, TV, and the stage, and has performed with scores of artists including The Mahones, Carnival Diablo, and Mary Margaret O’Hara.  Today, his boozy charm was perfect for shoveling the white shit from the driveway for the umpteenth time this week.

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About crazytigerrabbitman

I am a fat guy and always will be in the same way they say that “once an alcoholic; always an alcoholic”. Eventually I got upset about my poor health and ballooning body frame so I decided to change things for the better. Some people sign up for Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, or whatever fad diet program it is that happens to be occupying the majority of air time on the boob tube. Other people prefer to run out and purchase the latest, fold away, piece of shit being hawked by some celebrity has-been. Me? I decided to take up triathlon. I had abused my body over the years with bacon cheeseburgers, pints of beer and double-dipped donuts, and the time had now come to abuse my body with physical exertion, perseverance and hard work instead; penitence in it's purest form. The time had come to kick my ass. I am Terry Nash and I am the “fat and the furious”.
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