Different Century, same Jackasses

When I was a kid growing up in Carlyle, the pinnacle of entertainment was the occasional Demolition Derby held just south of town in a large circular arena surrounded by a dirt embankment for the spectators. (I wonder if the future archeologists will think we were performing tragic plays in a primitive but cultured society?). The best Derby I can remember was back in about '82 when Daryle Basken (a friend and gentleman peer) was driving really, really drunk in a car he had prepared for the day. I know what you're thinking, but hey, what's he going to do? Crash? He got disqualified immediately for chasing the flag official out of the ring but when you have spent all week welding the doors shut on a car, you don't give up so easily. Besides, there were cars to smash up even if you couldn't hold the trophy at the end! The coffee shops and high schools were buzzing in every town for weeks after. I often wonder where that crazy bastard ended up - probably head of English Literature at Cambridge or something.

Daryle Basken in another time

As a responsible adult, I can hardly condone this type of behavior, tsk, tsk, but I do enjoy a good bashing now and again. That itch got good and scratched this weekend at the Esrum Medieval Days. Oh sure, there were no '65 Pontiacs red-lining towards a man running for his life, but they did have a mounted knight smashing his lance into a guy with a wooden shield in pure "jackass" style. He charged at this guy at full trot on his horse and drove him into the ground. These guys are what they call enthusiasts.

Ok, put your hand up if you like watching a good fight at a dance or somewhere else that young men gather in the presence of alcohol. Back in my day, the best fights were held for entertainment and often had that good natured banter between combatants that you might find in a comic book. One time when Wayne Valentine was fighting a much bigger guy who didn't really want to fight, the big guy took him down easily a couple of times and then stopped fighting. Wayne picked himself up, dusted off his clothing dramatically and then before squaring off with his dukes up said "You let me up. For that, I won't kill you". Then he attacked and lost again. Wayne would have been a Templar Knight in the Middle Ages.

These guys don't sharpen their swords or axes, but they aren't doing a choreographed stage fight. I saw one guy get clonked on the helmet with an axe and it left a good dent. They are really doing battle and it ends when they are exhausted from carrying around 50 kg of armor and sweating inside a tin can hat.

Of course there is lighter entertainment like falcons, music and magic shows. I watched one magician that actually used magic instead of "sleight of hand". Seriously, he lifted the cup and there was an apple in it - no ball. Magic.

He was Swedish and funny. Imagine that.

Woman and eagle fused into one strange but dangerous creature. I bet she could find your reading glasses!

If I could go back in time, I would make sure the bagpipe only got played at funerals.

Now you might think that knights were honorable men fighting for king and church, but I think they were mostly drunken young guys in search of adventure and scullery maids. The boys from Manor would occasionally buy an old car for $100, don their armor (skidoo helmets) and drive on the country roads looking for a steep ditch to roll it. Now don't tell me these same guys wouldn't have signed right up for a 1200's crusade to Jeruselem. I just don't think the United Church of Canada was into those things.

Living the Dream in Paris

My life's ambition and ultimate goal was to have a look through Geordi La Forge's sci-fi visor, but now I've changed it to "Living in Paris for One Month Without Kids."  I shall henceforth devote all my energies to this dream.

Sorry Geordi, your visor no longer interests me.

What a great city! They clean the streets and sidewalks every night and the waiters are all friendly and bilingual; exactly the opposite of what you have been led to believe from watching the Simpsons. You can poke a chocolate covered finger at any place on the Paris map and you will find an interesting neighborhood with street cafe's and some gritty history. And speaking of chocolate, don't forget about caramel, crepes, sorbet, nougats and creme brûlée. History? Head chopping, Nazi invaders, massacred Protestants, starving citizens eating zoo animals, Napolean's miracle comeback after a minor hiccup in Russia and of course Carla Bruni's whisper-speak pop songs.

You don't just go to Tim Hortons for a donut when you need a treat. You must travel a kilometer of winding streets to find the exact shop with the exact specialty that the wise and all-knowing internet has directed you to.

Our first taste of macarons from  Michel Cluizel.

Selecting just one chocolate at Jacques Genin. Poor kid.

Except for an afternoon at the Pompidou modern art gallery, we did not spend a lot of time inside museums or churches. We walked a lot of neighborhoods to the great annoyance of the kids: Montmartre, Marais, Montparnasse, and that is just the "M's". The traffic and parking is very civilized like Copenhagen but without the thousands of bicycles. When in Rome, I spent a lot of time mad or annoyed at the city but Paris gets an A+. Everything is beautiful and artistic. You don't just have a door, you have a beautiful door with a unique welcome mat made of Canadian beaver and a special vase of beautiful flowers which match the color of the artistic wrought iron stair railings designed by the Art Nouveau master Guimard.

The highlight of the week was probably the 59th floor of the Montparnasse Tower which is a 1970's skyscraper supporting a fantastic view of the Eiffel Tower with the setting sun in the background.

Great view except for that stupid steel thing. Bloody Engineers!

A few more sights of Paris:

If the Metro took longer than one minute to show up, we would yell at the locals and kick over garbage cans.

Check out the rooftop garden. Have a cocktail and look at the tourists on the Arch d'Triumphe looking at you.

If you can afford an apartment in Paris, you don't need your own stinking kitchen. Eat here!

Ballcaps, shorts and running shoes. These bumpkins are not from Paris. I bet they ask for ketchup!

 "Monochrome" by Yves Klein hanging in the Pompidou

“My paintings are but the ashes of my art” - (Yves gets A+ for bullshit)

So a month in Paris without kids? You truly need a lot of time to see all the neighborhoods, art and treasures of Paris. My own little treasures have their own plans and demands which surprisingly conflicted with mine while we explored the city. So if we drop a kid off at your place for supper and don't come back for a month, you can rest assured that it's just all part of a much bigger plan. 

This either means don't bring your kids to Paris or you are not allowed to date smaller Asian women.