Record Store Tales

#1219: Grab A Stack of Eats 2025

RECORD STORE TALES #1219: Grab A Stack of Eats 2025

Every year at the cottage, I try to expand my cooking game just a little bit.  In the past, this included making our own onion rings, slow cooking some beef ribs, caramelizing onions, working with exotic meats such as duck and lamb, and finding new ways to cook my veggies.  Had money been available this summer, I would have liked to start smoking my own meat.  Perhaps next year.  In 2025, we did try some new things and have some excellent food experiences.

The story starts in December of 2024.  We have a “tire guy”, Jason, who comes to the house and swaps out our tires twice a year.  I knew that Jason was a hunter, and I know he had a freezer full of moose meat.  We talked about it a bit, and discussed seasoning and cooking techniques for the exotic meat.  I asked if he could spare a taste of the moose meat.  Just a taste.  I am well familiar with moose, as a boss at work is also a hunter and brings in his own moose spaghetti from time to time.  It is not very gamey.  It has a beef-like taste and texture, with a venison finish.  It is a lean meat and not bad for you as a beef substitute.

Jason didn’t bring just a taste.  He went above and beyond, to the point that I was actually freaking out over the amount of meat that I had to eat.

I just wanted a taste.  What I got was a pack of moose pepperoni, a huge moose salami, and ten frozen links of big moose sausage.  Ten links.

There has not been a single year in my life where I ate ten links of any sausage at all.  Typically, I would have two or three at Sausagefest in the summer, and that is it.  I don’t do Oktoberfest and I’m not a big pork eater.  Jen won’t touch any kind of exotic game meat at all, so I could not count on her for any help.  The sausage was kept in the freezer until the opening of cottage season 2025.  It would be the first food experiment of the new year.

“Dad, you have to help me finish this sausage.  At least one link,” I told my father.

“Oh you eat them son, just enjoy.  You don’t have to share with me,” he answered as some form of polite excuse.

“You don’t understand what I’m saying dad.  I CAN’T eat ten links by myself.”

Cut to the end:  He didn’t eat any of them, and I did finish all ten.

Most of them were cooked on the barbecue, well done, and served with a toasted bun and a variety of toppings from mayonnaise to mustard to guacamole.  One was done in a frying pan, but the fumes actually triggered a seizure in Jen, so I avoided that method from then on.  Still, even with different toppings and condiments, ten sausages is a lot so I had to get creative.

One night in September, arriving at the cottage on a Thursday night, I needed to eat some dinner but had few options in front of me except…moose sausage.  I imagined cutting up the sausage into small chunks and using them in some way, and then realized:  I had everything I needed to make a moose spaghetti.  So I got cooking!

I began by cutting the sausage into meatball-sized chunks.  Then I sautéed it in olive oil, diced up some green peppers, red onions, garlic and mushrooms, and added them to the mixture.  I like a nice chunky sauce, so those diced veggies would blend in perfectly.  I let them cook until they reached the desired done-ness, and then added some craft spaghetti sauce that my dad had in stock from an unknown store.  I like a bit of heat, so I gave it several shots of Tobasco sauce, gave it a stir and let it simmer.  I made enough spaghetti to serve two, and dumped my sauce with moose sausage on top.  It was a masterpiece.  I finished it all – eventually.

That experiment was a total success.  Maybe Jason will get me some more sausage this winter, and I can try again next year.  Not ten links though.  Five will do me fine.

Our other successful experiment involved my first try at cooking a steak of Canadian wagyu.  I have cooked Japanese A5 wagyu at home before, but that is a very expensive and hard to find meat.  We no longer shop at our local Kitchener butcher (Robert’s Boxed Meats) after they sold us not one but two rotten steaks.  No third chance for Robert’s, and no more access to Japanese A5 wagyu.  The bright side of this is that after Robert’s almost ruined our cottage weekend with a steak that we had to throw in the garbage, my dad suggested we try the local Kincardine butcher, the Beefway.  This began a love affair and with a great store, and relationship with the staff who know us by name and recognize us when we come in.  When we first visited, I asked if they had heard of such a thing as A5 wagyu.  They had, of course, but didn’t carry the animal in stock.  Cut forward to 2025, and they now have Canadian wagyu in stock.  Not as marbled as the Japanese A5 variety, it might actually be a more enjoyable meat to enjoy as a steak.  There is a farm on the highway to the cottage that grows the animals, which is likely where the Beefway got theirs.

The Japanese A5 wagyu is so rich, that you really can’t eat more than a little in one sitting.  It is considered more a steak that you cut into cubes and share.  The Canadian variety was better suited to the steak eating experience.  I ended up doing two this year, both ribeyes.  The Beefway had a variety of cuts in stock, but I like a ribeye.  It was not cheap, but as a treat, certainly the best steak I’ve ever made at home.  More enjoyable than the A5 due to the better meat to fat ratio.  It was still incredibly tender, even when I accidentally cooked the first one to a medium well.  The second one, I underestimated and cooked it to a rare.  The thing is, both were really good.  With a good steak, I always keep the seasoning simple with salt and pepper, and maybe garlic powder.  A crappy steak needs everything I can throw at it to make it tasty, but the wagyu doesn’t need much.  No steak sauce.  You want to taste that meat.  You’re paying for it, so you better be able to taste it.  Salt might be enough on its own.

That is 2025 and its food experiments in a nutshell.  Nothing crazy, and all with local meat.  Which leaves us to end on a funny story.

The first time I purchased wagyu from the Beefway, I was so excited about my find, that I wanted to tell the world.  I made a post on the local Kincardine Facebook group.  There were several “likes” and loads of positive comments, except from one person who just didn’t…get it.

Darlene Johnson saw the price on my ribeye and had an absolute fit.  Her first of many comments is below.

 

She didn’t understand that the steak was a local cow, bred similar to the Japanese variety, no matter how it was explained to her.  She continued to berate me for buying it, and the store itself for “selling out” to Japan.  She said she preferred a nice lean steak.  I bet she cooks it well done, too.  I had to block her.  She was just mean.

Darlene A. Johnston will not dissuade me from buying the meat I like, and I will continue to patronize the Beefway as long as they are open.  Wagyu or otherwise, I have never had a tastier steak (or bacon, or pork chop, or chicken breast), than what I can get at my new favourite local butchers.

2025 was another successful year for food.  Bring on 2026!

 

OCT 6 2025 UPDATE:  She’s baaaack!

#1218: When Did You Get Your First CD Player?

RECORD STORE TALES #1218:  When Did You Get Your First CD Player?

 

When I seriously got into music in 1984, cassette was the dominant format in my demographic.  I was 12.  Older kids and adults still bought a lot of records, but when we gathered in the streets, our music was played on portable tape decks:  “ghetto blasters”.  Whether tethered by electrical cords or running free with weak C and D cell batteries, cassette dominated.  Then, one morning, CBC radio was doing a special on a new format:  the compact disc.  Host Clyde Gilmour had the longest running show on Canadian radio, and was known for playing classical and jazz music.  Gilmour’s Albums was the first time I ever heard a CD, but over the radio, it could not be properly appreciated.

In 1987 my cousin and his family came to visit.  They brought with them a CD player and the soundtrack to Good Morning Vietnam.  My biggest takeaway after seeing the format in person myself was there were no side breaks on CDs.  It was a one-sided format.  I had never considered such a thing before.  I didn’t have the imagination to picture a live album without side breaks.  Such a thing had never existed.

It didn’t take me long to discover the temptation of compact disc:  the “bonus track”.  Van Halen’s OU812 was the first CD I spotted with a bonus track called “A Apolitical Blues”.  The Columbia House music catalogue, which we signed up for in 1989, always listed when a format had a bonus track.  Very few records did, but many cassettes and many more CDs did as well.  It was a way of taking advantage of a longer running time without breaks, and to tempt people to make the switch.

For that reason, I officially adapted CD as my newest musical format on Christmas Day, 1989.  My first CDs were Alice Cooper’s Trash, Motley Crue’s Dr. Feelgood, Whitesnake’s Snakebite, and Winger’s debut – with bonus track.  Bob and John Schipper came over to visit during the holidays.  I demonstrated the sound of a CD by putting in Dr. Feelgood, cuing up Time For Change, and letting them listen to the silence at the of the fade.  I cranked it to max.  “No hiss!” I explained.  They didn’t appreciate it the way I did.  Cuing up songs by demand was also a treat.  I remember using it to isolate the track “Ride Cowboy Ride” by Bon Jovi and recording it on its own for cassette.

My first was the Panasonic seen below, atop my parents’ old 8-track deck.  The first of countless many.

I asked some friends for their stories about their switch to CD.  They answered the call, some with pictures.

bicyclelegs:

1990 I think, but I don’t remember the make or model.  By 1990 it was getting harder to find new releases on vinyl in Australia, so my hand was forced to a certain extent. But it was also a financial thing: before 1990 I simply couldn’t afford a CD player.

Dan Chartrand:

Same here for the bonus tracks! Mind you, some cassettes had bonus tracks…and even vinyl had bonus tracks…wish the internet was around to investigate more… My first CD was Dio’s Lock Up the Wolves due to the bonus track that wasn’t on the cassette or vinyl.

Melissa Nee:

I am thinking 87. It was super early.  I started getting CDs from Columbia House before buying in stores. They were pricey.  I think Bon Jovi was $16.

Chris Preston:

1988 for me.  quite honestly it was mostly because a bunch of my friends had CDs and they raved about how great they were. Peer pressure! I had also stopped buying vinyl by that point and I was growing tired of the poor quality of cassettes. It was time to embrace the future with CDs!

Erik Woods:

It was this. Got it some time in the early 90s.

Henry Wright:

I got my first CD player in June 1992. It was a college graduation present from my parents, I think. I had only cassette for many years but already had about 5-10 CDs before I got the player as I had started buying them around 1990-91, I think. Some of them were things I couldn’t find on cassette (typically from the UK), others were just favourite releases I wanted to upgrade. Before I got the player I would make a tape copy for myself on a friend’s. I don’t know if I thought cassettes were an endangered species but I always disliked how often they wore out or were chewed up by the machines and so I was pretty excited about the new format. I never heard of a bonus track until later although I do recall that new CDs often had the same “extra” tracks that cassettes did unlike the LP or 8-track versions.

Matt Phillips:

Summer of 1993; got my first guitar the same month. And it was the Panasonic with the flip top and the jog dial and the ability to skip to the next song on cassettes. This model:

Larry Russwurm:

1988. Most people in residence in Toronto had them already. Someone in residence had one as early as 1986.

Frank Schenker:

The first CD I ever purchased was Surveillance by Triumph. I also bought the cassette tape at the same time in November 1987 and I didn’t even own a CD player. I the spring of 1988, I purchased a Sanyo boom box with a CD player and cassette tape deck.

Rex Smetzer:

1988.  I just have always loved music & was in college at the time, & got it for Christmas.

Todd Evans:

December, 1984. Technics SL-P1.  In early 1984 a local department store had a Magnavox FD1000 on display that you could demo. They had one CD – Rush Moving Pictures. I must have played with that thing for an hour! My parents bought me one for Christmas that year. I remember that a friend bought me two of my first CDs as a Christmas gift – Asia’s first album and Thompson Twins Side Kicks. My parents bought me one to go with the player, but I can’t remember what it was.

It is warming to see some folks embrace the bonus track as I have.  The CD certainly changed our lives when we made the change.  When and why did you make the switch to CD?  Leave your story in the comments below.

#1217: When the Fall Starts to Fall

RECORD STORE TALES #1217: When the Fall Starts to Fall

 

The Equinox has passed us (Sept. 22).   All that remains is the clock change (Nov. 2).  The Seasonal Affective Disorder remains at bay for the moment.  Green still rules the outdoors, for now holding the bleak grey back.  Soon, however, this shall change.  What challenges will the fall bring?

I think, for the time being at least, I am done doing the live Contrarians on Wednesday nights.  It was a key part of my mental health strategy last winter, but like many things it became monotonous.  If the Contrarians do return on Wednesday nights this fall and winter, I am not sure if I will participate.  It was a healthy form of expression, but I confess that I prefer doing my own thing.  It enabled me to meet and work with new friends, which was valuable.  It is possible that I may replace it with something of my own in the same time slot, if it is not being used by the Contrarians.  We shall see.

My biggest challenge at the moment is what I call the “Monday Crash”.  I seem to struggle with waking up on a Monday morning these days.  Sometimes I just can’t see to get out of bed, and I end up working from home.  The option to work from home does help, but working from the office is infinitely more efficient.  My Mondays seem to be an uneasy truce between depression and dedication.  This happened through the summer too, but I worry about how fall will effect the battle.  Will it sway one side or another?

Back in 2022, my strategy for coping with fall and winter involved sending pictures and videos of Canadian weather to my new friend in California, MarriedandHeels.  While it did help for a while, it was not a good long-term strategy.  The novelty of taking winter pictures for a far-away friend, for her reactions, was a good idea but it could not last the whole season.  I needed strategy that focused on me, and not someone else.  I am pleased to say that MarriedandHeels and I are friends again, on normal social media, and have been for longer than we were originally the first time.  Unfortunately, she is dealing with her own things today and I can’t base any strategies on her in 2025.  I find myself trying to support her, which is not a bad thing.

For the winter of 2025, I am going to try and do some things that we never got around to last year.  These ideas included a winter trip to the cottage.  That is still in the cards, if the weather happens to line up with a free weekend.  Record shopping in the winter is also a must.

Things seem to be going OK.  I just got a new PC (though the CD drive is not quite working yet), and 50 Years of Iron Maiden is keeping me busy.  It has been an enriching experience.  Before we’re done, we’ll have three more guests who have never been on Grab A Stack of Rock before.  These things are healthy and keep me from becoming a recluse.

Here we go, lads.  Let’s have a triumphant winter like last year.  Repeat performance.  Let’s go!

#1216: A Chuckle with Blaze Bayley

RECORD STORE TALES #1216: A Chuckle with Blaze Bayley

“I know it’s not ideal, but how about 7:30 AM on Monday morning?” asked Blaze Bayley’s manager Mark Appleton.  It was Saturday and we had less than two days’ notice, but I had planned ahead for this possibility.  I brought my laptop home from work on the Friday, just in case I somehow had to balance the Blaze interview with work.  I am fortunate that I have the option to work from home occasionally.  7:30 AM would be perfect.  I start work at 8:30 AM, so that gave me plenty of time to do the interview with Blaze (30 to 45 minutes is what we were promised), and log into work with time to make a coffee.

I woke up early on the Monday morning and logged into my work laptop.  I answered a couple emails and did some work, and then hit the shower preparing for Blaze.

I was nervous, but felt that I had a good plan.  I didn’t have to miss any work, or even be late, to do the Blaze interview.  I had already gotten work started.  It would be no problem to finish up with Blaze and then right to work, even if I’d be running an adrenaline high.

The Blaze interview went smashingly well.  At the 45 minute point, Harrison asked him how he was doing for time?  He had lots of time, so we kept going.  The clock ticked closer and closer to 8:30, but I was still OK.  Blaze was inspired and inspiring.  We had to keep going as long as he was willing.

Blaze finished answering a question from Harrison at 8:35.  Harrison asked how he was doing for time again, and Blaze responded “a couple more.” Harrison threw it back to me.  As we went well overtime, I asked Blaze my final question which was about hooking up with the Absolva band, and the Appleton brothers.

“In music,” he said, “people don’t talk about being on time.  Be on time!  And actually show up.  Be on time!”  As he praised the punctuality of the Appletons, I was already ten minutes late for work myself.  Anxiety building!

We wrapped up at 8:45, and I logged back into work, only 15 minutes late.  In order to hear Blaze’s words about being on time for work, I was making myself late for work.  I think that’s just really funny.

Thanks for the advice Blaze!  I’m always really early, except for this one time, I swear!

Interview with Blaze Bayley

#1215: Burning the Notebooks

RECORD STORE TALES #1215: Burning the Notebooks

A sequel to #768: Scanning the Notebooks

 

You can’t keep everything forever.  This is an unfortunate truth that is one we must all face.  Eventually, you gotta throw things out.

Or, if you have a flair for the dramatic as I do, you gotta burn ’em.

I’m sure at one point in my life, I thought that these science notebooks would come in handy.  Indeed, I can’t remember how electron shells work anymore, which I used to find easy, so maybe there was some value in those books.  The real reason I hung onto them for so long was because I made so many doodles and sketches that I thought might be funny to keep.  I took a quick look and scanned some of the memorable ones (some can be seen here) but there were so, so many.  Were they all keepers?  I didn’t want to tackle that task and so I stuffed the notebooks in a corner for five years.

These books are over 35 years old now, took up too much space for something that will never be read again, and a decision had to be made.

I remember a lot of kids in highschool saying, “Ooh I’m gonna burn my notebooks as soon as school is out!”  I don’t know if they did that, but I decided to honour them by burning mine.  I kept some pages.  As I went through them, I pulled out pages with doodles and sketches and funny notes.  Those might be shown in another video later on, but for now, let’s see what some 35 year old highschool notebooks had in them that was worth saving from the fires.

As you can see, heavy metal music was always the main thing in my life.  There are guitars, there are band logos, lyrics, and a few passing grades too.

I guess the truth is, I always felt like school was something I had to do, in order to go home and listen to music at the end of the day.  I did fine, I passed, but my mom always felt I could have focused more.  I think these notebooks show she was right.  The grades were good, not great, and my attention was clearly elsewhere at times.

With notes dating back to 1988 and ’89, perhaps some earlier, it wasn’t easy to let these go.  I’ll never be able to use them to teach myself about electron shells.  The best I could do was keep some pages and use the rest to have a cool fire.

As Jon Bon Jovi said, “it’s hard letting you go.”  I hope the video is worth it.

My Eulogy for Grandma – Audio Version

The audio version of my Grandma’s eulogy differed slightly from what I wrote on the page.  I am glad to have this record of how it happened, live.

For most of my life, I’ve only had one grandparent.  Grandma Ladano was gone before I was born.  Grandpa Ladano died in 1981.  We lost Grandpa Winter in 1984.  Since that time I only had one Grandma, and she was very special to all of us.  Not just because she was the only one, as you will hear today.

My mom tells me that Grandma babysat me a lot as a kid.  I don’t remember this very much, but I do remember that she was my favourite babysitter.  I can remember that I would look forward to those nights that Grandma would take care of me.  I also remember visiting her house a lot.  She had board games there that we didn’t have, like Mousetrap and Clue.  The idea was that they wanted us to have special games that we could only play at Grandma’s house, but we didn’t need special games to enjoy those visits.  She let us watch the Flintstones and run around the yard.  She and Grandpa took me to the Welland Canal to see the big ships going through the locks.  It seemed like being there was never boring, even to a kid.  It was always fun to visit Grandma’s house.  My dad and I would pick carrots from her garden, much to her scolding.  My sister and I never took her scolding very seriously.  We heard she could be strict, but she never was with us.

Most of my memories are from adulthood.  I suppose adulthood started with the end of highschool and moving on to University.  I attended Wilfrid Laurier, which was just a short drive from her place.  On Thursdays during my first year, I had a full slate of classes.  I had history and psychology in the afternoons, with a short break before evening Anthropology, which was a favourite of mine.  It was too long a trip to drive all the way home for dinner and back again for class, so instead I had dinner at Grandma’s house.  She would make my favourite:  pork chops in mushroom soup.  That was a special meal that only she made.  It was like a treat.  She’d offer me something for dessert and then I’d be running back to school again.  For her, our visits were always too short.

In 1997, we took a special trip with Grandma and Aunt Marie, out west to see Aunt Lynda and Cousin Geoff in Calgary.  This was a special trip for me.  Work didn’t want me to take a week off in the fall, but I insisted.  I really wanted to go.  That trip was everything I wanted it to be.  Grandma was a little slower moving, and I used to make sure everybody stopped and waited for her to catch up at the airport.  If I saw her lagging behind, I would stop and shout, “Wait for the grandma!”  That was an excellent trip.  We made daily trips out shopping and just relaxing reading books.  We went to the mountains.  Some of my happiest memories are visiting the mountains out west, but that trip was special because Grandma and I really took care of each other that time.

I think one of the best ways we spent time together was driving to the cottage.  I would pick her up at her place, load the car with her planters and bags, and we’d make the two hour trip together.  I’d pick the music; something she’d like.  O Brother Where Art Thou was a favourite of hers.  She liked “You Are My Sunshine”.  Whatever we picked, we’d talk the whole way there.  She would point out all the flowers along the way, which I couldn’t stop to look at because I was driving!  I always found that funny, because Grandma didn’t drive and didn’t realize I had my eyes on the road.  Those were some special trips, just the two of us.

Grandma always supported Dr. Kathryn’s music, even as it got more experimental.  “Kathryn, will you ever play some of the songs that I like?” she would ask.  Kathryn wasn’t into playing anything that wasn’t original and eclectic, but Grandma kept going to her shows anyway.  Few people really understand that kind of music, but Grandma went with the loyalty that only a grandparent has.

At the age of 96, Grandma endured a global pandemic.  The isolation really bothered her, but we did porch visits every other weekend with her.  When Uncle Don died, it really affected her.  Suddenly she was living alone.  She won two battles with Covid, which is unbelievable.  It really felt like Grandma was bulletproof, given all the hardship she endured.  First Uncle Don, then his cat.  This is enough loss for most people to just pack it in.

She was touch as nails.  Covid couldn’t take her down.  Several close calls happened, and she bounced back every time.

In 2024, she had what I will call her final wish.  Grandma loved food.  A good meal of meat and potatoes was all she wanted.  She always told us how much she craved a good old fashioned home cooked feast.  She got it that on Christmas Day 2024.  It was a struggle to move her from her home to ours, up the stairs to the dining room.  There was one moment frozen in time when I thought we’d have to back out and take her home, so difficult were the stairs.  But she made it, and had her one last family dinner with us.  It was a very special moment.  She declined for seven months after.  That trip fulfilled her final wish, but I believe it also took the last of her strength from her.  Also, I think she had a hard realization that she couldn’t come and go anymore.  That there was no way she could do that again.  That she’d never see the cottage again, or have another big family dinner.  But I don’t think she regretted it.  It was a very special night.  She still made it to 101 years old.

All of us went to see her for her birthday that day.  She enjoyed her lunch and coffee, and had a nice rest afterwards.  She was thinking of her sister, Aunt Marie.  Towards the end, it was difficult to see her decline, but her birthday was the last time I saw her.  Even though she had so many close calls, it was still a shock to me when she finally went on July 30 2025.  I’m glad she made it to 101.  I really wanted that to happen because it is such a huge milestone.  They make birthday cards for 100, but not 101.  She defied all the odds.

She was always special, in life and in death.  Always full of surprises, right to the very end.  She had the spirit of a fighter and a well of feistiness that most of us will never find.

I miss our phone calls, and I miss seeking her advice.  I used to say that Grandma was the only one in the family who understood me.  Now that’s gone.  My confidant is gone.  The one person who always knew what I was going through.  The memory remains, and I will always be grateful for my special grandmother that lived to 101 years old.  Goodbye Grandma.  They always say this when someone is gone, but there truly will never be another one like Dolly Winter.

 

 

#1214: The Great Outdoors

RECORD STORE TALES #1214: The Great Outdoors

Minor revelations continue to hit me in my 53rd year around the sun.  As I toil away over a hot keyboard, hammering words into the ether while Dennis DeYoung asks me “What you doin’ tonight?”, I realize something.

One reason I love summer so much is that I love working outdoors.  I always have.

Of course, I use the word “working” in the creative sense.  I don’t mean hard labor outdoors! Come on.

In my current actual job, I would work outdoors if I have the chance.  The one time I did work remotely from the cottage, it was too cold and wet to work outdoors.  Given the chance though, I will.

And given the chance, I write outdoors.  I film outdoors.  I animate outdoors.  This all began when I was a kid.

We had the best front stoop.  Oh, really it was nothing special.  It was just a concrete front stoop surrounded by driveway and grass.  But on that front stoop came the best childhood times.

Board games.  Creating drawings.  Inventing stories.  Playing music.  Eventually, hearing Maiden Japan by Iron Maiden for the first time.  Making videos.  Playing guitar.  So much went down on that front stoop.  Only meters away, on the front lawn, often unfolded great battles with GI Joe vs. Cobra.  Just more stories being invented.  It could have turned into a photostory if we had the digital technology then that we have now.

The backyard featured many more creative inventions.  More drawings, more games being invented and more stories being written.  Sometimes, even homework was completed back there.

During winter, I would go into hibernation and try to have the same adventures in the cramped indoors.  It was never the same.

I just had a memory.  In the summer of 1984, the hot new GI Joe figure to own was Zartan, the master of disguise.  Not only did he come with a slew of accessories and a small vehicle, he also changed colour in the sunlight,  Normally a light Caucasian skin tone, Zartan would turn a deep blue when exposed to sun.  Summer represented a short warm window when you could play with your GI Joe characters, and get full use of your Zartan figure.  This could not be duplicated indoors.  You had to use your Zartans in the summer!  Our front yard featured as Zartan’s home swamps for several consecutive summers.  (Especially a few years later when his brother and sister, Zandar and Zarana, were introduced into the toyline with similar colour changing features.)

Bob Schipper showed me how to make little garages for our Hotwheels cars.  We’d use twigs to build these little structures, and cover them with grass.  This eventually led to hut and trench building for our GI Joe figures.  Any base or headquarters set that Hasbro sold were not as useful to us as a handful of twigs and grass.  (Twigs with a “Y” shaped section were especially useful for building huts.)  We could dig trenches and have our figures man them with their weapons.  Any character with a bipod or tripod, such as Rock and Roll or Roadblock, worked even better in the trenches.

The only real drawback to playing outdoors was losing the small action figure accessories.  Another memory strikes.  Even younger, playing Star Wars in the front yard, probably 1978.  I lost my Sand Person’s gaffi stick somewhere in the dirt near this big birch tree in the center of our yard.  It was gone.  I imagined it would be shredded by my dad’s lawnmower and had to move on.  I utilized a wooden matchstick for the Sandman’s gaffi stick thenceforth.  Winter came.  A thick sheet of snow and ice concealed  the dirt underwhich the gaffi stick had disappeared.  Spring came, and in a funny twist, my mom found Sandman’s gaffi stick in the front flowergarden dirt.  I was ecstatic!  But this only lasted a short time, as I promptly lost it again, this time permanently.

Another summer, I made a fleet of vehicles using virtually every single brick in my Lego collection.  It started with this one cool tank and grew from there.  It is miraculous that no Lego bricks were permanently lost or shredded on the front lawn, as that is where their battles unfurled.

Sure, we played catch, threw a football, kicked a soccerball and thumped on a volleyball too.  Those aren’t the things I’m drawn to remember.  Throwing a baseball seemed more like the same thing every time.  Meanwhile, my creative adventures, either with pen & paper or action figures, were always memorable.

I wasn’t just “playing”.  Stories were being told.  Established characters were used, true to their fictional biographies and specialties.  Tangents were played out that originated in existing media. Original ideas and settings were placed into the mix and a story was enacted, often with a free direction but with certain plot setpieces pre-planned.  Perhaps I would want to incorporate a new toy or character, and so I would gear the story to their introduction or feature role.  There was so much more going on than just playing with toys.

I sit here now, as the Styx album concludes, and typing some final thoughts into my laptop.  I do this as a cool late summer breeze provides a perfect comfort, and the greens and blues that surround me feel soft and calm.  I’m just geared this way.  Put me outdoors and let me create.

It’s what I do.

 

 

 

#1213: Ghosts Of Summers Past

RECORD STORE TALES 1213: Ghosts Of Summers Past

I would have met Searle over 45 years ago now.  Our cottage was built on this land in 1980, and we have a photo of Searle straining to look at a load of wood siding and windows, being delivered here, dated July 1980.  Indeed, it was his curiosity that brought him here.  A project as big as building a cottage draws onlookers, and he was only a couple properties over.

We were the same age and both of us from Kitchener.  In fact, his other step-brother Paul taught science at a highschool in my neighborhood.  Paul Marrow would become my favourite science teacher in grade 10.  He even appears in a music video I made in the 11th grade.

Since Searle and I were the same age, it stood to reason that we had in common the only thing that mattered in 1980:  Star Wars.  He and I were playmates during that eternal, infernal stretch of time during which Han Solo was frozen in carbonite at the end of the Empire Strikes Back.  Any games that we played with our figures had to work around that time frame if we wanted to incorporate Solo into the story.  As it happened, Kenner’s Empire Solo figure, in the snowsuit with the working gun holster was one of my favourite figures of the entire line.  Still is!  Of course we wanted to use Solo in our games.

“It’s weird how Han Solo got frozen, but it was hot,” I mused to Searle one afternoon while playing Star Wars in his cottage’s yard.

“Yeah,” he responded.  “There was smoke but he got frozen.”

“I should freeze my Han Solo in ice,” I suddenly thought.  “I’ll put him in a glass and freeze him.”

From that point on in my young life, my mom was never surprised to find a glass with water and an action figure in her freezer.  Part of being a mom to a Star Wars kid.

The last time I saw Searle was in the early 1990s.  He was big, and bald, and very tough looking.  He stopped by the cottage to say hello.  By then, I remember he was into the music of Phil Collins.  And that was it.  Never saw him again.

Until August 31, 2025.  Forty-five years after the fact, a big bald man and a smaller companion walked right past me down the road.  He was unmistakable, but he didn’t look or stop.  He probably assumed there was no way the same guy still lived here.  He walked up the way to his parents’ cottage, and stopped to linger a while.  Then he moved on down the road and away again, like a ghost.

The ghosts of summers past still live on, and with them the memories.  I should try to freeze my new $2 Darth Vader figure in the ice.

 

#1212: Origins of a Nickname: BOBOE

RECORD STORE TALES #1212: Origins of a Nickname: BOBOE

The hits keep on rolling in.  Another friend from my highschool has passed.  Anand Etwaru was only 53.

I haven’t seen Anand since graduation day in summer of 1991.  I wanted to keep in touch, but life took us to different schools and we never met again.  However, I suppose I was never too far away from Anand, because I discovered in his obituary that he was still using the nickname that I gave him, or a shortened version thereof:  “Bo” for “Boboe”.

Recapping the tale from Record Store Tales #820: The Last Note of Freedom:  it’s just the ASCII characters for “Anand” with each letter bumped up by one, an accidental discovery I made.  It happened in Grade 11 computers class.  We were learning BASIC programming.  Playing with the ASCII system of characters, the teacher prompted us to play around and see what happens.  Each letter had a corresponding number.  A was 65, B was 66, and so on and so forth.  I created a line of code to add “1” to each letter.  So, A:  65+1=66, which is B.

I typed ANAND into the computer.  It added 1 to each character, and spat out BOBOE.

I shrieked in laughter, told  my friends, and the name stuck.  “BOBOE” was even a final exam question.  Anand was Boboe.  For life.

Rest in peace, old friend.

 

 

#1211: Public Speaking

RECORD STORE TALES #1211: Public Speaking

The year:  1980.

I stood there in the gymnasium, in front of the whole school, holding my two cue cards in my hands.  I had the whole speech memorized.  This would be the second full performance.  I was already chosen as the best speech from my class, so now I had to say it in front of the school:   “My Trip to Alberta”, written by Mike Ladano with a little help from his mom.  It was the story of our summer 1979 trip to the mountains.  The exciting climax to the story was the moment that I fell into the Athabasca glacier.  It was August and I was excited to make a snowball.  ‘Twas the adults who gave me this idea.  “You’ll be able to make a snowball in the summer!”  So I ran towards the snow, and fell into a cold icy stream of water.  I was soaked and it kind of ruined the day for me, but on the other hand, it made for a great speech.  I did a great performance of it, certainly better than most of the other kids.

I came in second, because the teachers thought I probably received too much help from my parents.  I didn’t.  My mom provided the neat and tidy printing on the tiny cue cards, but the words were mine.  It made me bitter and I didn’t put that kind of effort into writing a speech in later years.

Public speaking topic in Grade 5:  Pac-Man

Public speaking topic in Grade 8:  Kiss

Public speaking topic in Grade 9:  Iron Maiden

The Kiss one…oh the Kiss one.  It was good.  I started it by shouting, “You wanted the best, you got the best!  The hottest band in the land, KISS!”  I know I was pissing off the Catholic school teachers every time I mentioned the album Hotter Then Hell.  I can’t say this wasn’t intentional.  I no longer wanted to participate in the big speech-off in the gymnasium.  No matter how great my Kiss speech was, there was no way I’d ever be chosen, so it was the perfect topic.

I have a love/hate relationship with public speaking.  I’ve always been good at it, but the creation of the speech and the anxiety leading up to it lead me to procrastination.  I had to do several more big ones through school.  In my grade 13 year, I had three class-long presentations to do, all within the space of a week.  I had another speech to do in my first year of Sociology at university.  I don’t remember a lot of specifics except that they went over well.  I try to be expressive and speak naturally.

There’s a line that kids always said back in school.  “When am I going to need to use this in my real life?”  Remember in Superbad, when Jonah Hill was talking about making tiramisu in Home Economics class? “When am I going to make tiramisu? Am I going to be a chef? No!”  I haven’t needed public speaking in my professional life, but in my personal life, the experience sure did come in handy.

I’ve spoken at two weddings, and now three funerals.  These things are necessary.

The year:  2025.

I did a eulogy at my grandmother’s funeral recently.  I spent a few weeks working on the speech and polishing it, but not rehearsing it.  I didn’t want that emotional experience, of reciting the speech.  I wanted the first real reading to be live at the funeral.  I was nervous as hell.  I had this idea in my head that I would know everyone in the room.  That was not the case.  My mom has a large family, and so many people came that I kind of recognized but could not remember well.  I became more and more nervous.  I had two panic attacks that day.

The priest, Father Phil, took us aside and told us the order in which the funeral would proceed.  I was last, but I knew my cue.  Fortunately, Father Phil was great (this is not always the case at a funeral).  During the service, he told us of a Bible passage that said “God’s house has many rooms,” and there is a special room prepared for everyone.  He asked what room my grandmother would choose to go to?  There was a long pregnant pause and so I said “the gardens!”  Father Phil said “Great; she would love the flowers in the gardens”.  Suddenly something clicked in my head.  I unrolled my speech, which by now had become a tight scroll.  I found two spots in the speech where I could tie into Father Phil’s gardens.

My moment came.  I started rough.  Starting is always the hardest part (unless you start with “You wanted the best grandma, you got the best grandma!” but I chose not to Kiss-ify my speech).  It took three or four sentences to find my voice and my rhythm, and I was off to the races.  I was brisk and expressive.  I started making gestures with my hands to emphasise words.  I was loose and improvised here and there.  Then came the two moments I was preparing for.

“It was always fun to visit Grandma’s house.  My dad and I would pick carrots from her garden – remember what I said earlier about the gardens?  She had the best carrots, and we took them all, much to her scolding!  [Improvised portion in italics.]

Then the second instance.  Speaking about driving her to the lake, and placing my hands in the steering wheel position, I said, “she would point out all the flowers along the way – remember what I said earlier about the gardens? – which I couldn’t stop to look at because I was driving!”

People laughed in all the right spots.

I sat down, and my dad clapped once, and shook my hand.  My mom and my aunt said “Great speech”.

The funeral ended.  My knees were limp and my hands were numb.  I sat, exhausted, and drank some lemonade (with gingerale, a delightful mixture), and just tried to unpack and unwind from what had just happened.

I was approached by friends.

“Great speech!” they said.

I was approached by distant relatives.

“Great speech!” they said.

I was approached by old friends of my parents.

“Great speech!” they said.  Even Father Phil said it.

I started to think to myself, I think I just gave the best speech of my life.  A moment that can never be re-captured.  It was live, it happened, it existed for a fleeting moment and now it is just a memory.

“I wish I had recorded myself,” I lamented.

“No, it was great, we will always remember it,” said everyone else.

But if I had recorded it…would it have been the same?  Would I have been distracted by the recording device?  Would I have been able to perform it exactly the same, if I knew it was going down on tape?  Would the added pressure have hurt the performance?  These are quantum questions we can never answer.  Sometimes the mere observation of an act can change the act, in physics and in life.  (Maybe there’s no difference between physics and life.)

One of the warmest moments came when an older gentleman walked up to me, rubbed my shoulders, and told me that the speech made him feel like he got to know my grandmother.  I was so overwhelmed with faces and names, that I have no idea who he was anymore.

One guest even told me he watched me on YouTube.  That was pretty cool.  He liked the speech, too.

The most important comment came from my mom, who said that my grandmother would have loved the stories I chose to tell in my speech.  Of course, that is the most important thing.  I have told a lot of stories about my grandmother over the last eight months.  Some of them were hilarious, but she wouldn’t have liked them.  For example, the time she gave me some money and told me to “go and buy one of your CD records.”  That’s funny, but she wouldn’t have wanted any stories that made fun of her, so I left all of that out.  If I had kept them in, the speech would have been more like a stand-up comedy routine!  And that would be fine for another time.

I think this speech was the best public speaking I’ve done to date, and I think it’s my proudest moment in my life.  And it all started in 1980, in a glacier in British Columbia.  If I hadn’t fallen in, maybe I would never have been able to do a speech like that for my grandma.  The universe is a multitude of possibilities.  Maybe I was meant to fall in, just as Gollum was meant to find the One Ring?  In this reality in which we all co-exist, I’m just trying to make it through day by day.  However it came to be, I did something that somebody had to do, and my grandmother is now smiling down on me.  I can hear her voice.  She would say, “That was lovely, Michael.  Just lovely.”

That’s more than enough.  However it came to be, the culmination of all these experiences coalesced into a moment that was there, and gone.  I’m just glad I was the conduit.  And it was a heck of a lot better than the 1983 Pac-Man speech!

To read the written version of the speech, click here.