Tosh's Tails
Half Bottle Theory
Thursday, August 21, 2008
There is noone more dangerous than an optimist. An optimist is a person who is just too lazy to prepare for the worst and possessed of an irrational confidence that everything will always work out fine in the end. They r great fun to be around when everything is hunky dory, but when the shit hits the fan, an optimist can be your greatest liability.
Optimists should never be allowed to fly. Positive thinking in airports can only lead to humiliation and regret. Or worse; an extensive layover in Toronto. I have a close friend who suffers from the disease. Time and again she checks in early in the complete faith that her plane will depart on time, make its connection, and arrive at its destination with all bags intact. Don’t know bout u, but if i passed that fairytale into my high school lit teacher, she’d have me sent to the principals office and asked to pee in a cup.
Unfortunately, an optimist can be right approximately 50% of the time and, being optimists, they consider this to be an acceptable rate of success. Every time one of these poor wretches just happens to be correct, they become more entrenched in their deluded ways. Unable to discern the thin line between reality and fantasy, and often unwilling to listen to reason, many optimists simply end up falling through the cracks.
Many are seen in their final days walking aimlessly in the freezing Newfoundland rain, wearing nothing but their bathing suits waiting for the sun to come out......
There is currently no known cure for optimism.
Tosh
Gander
Sunday, August 03, 2008
For those of you who don't know, Gander is not an outport. It is an Airport. Founded 50 years ago, the city has proven to be a strategic boon to NATO and her Allies. The biggest landing strip in North America during World War 2, Gander celebrated it's birthday last nite in a style that can only be described as high altitude......Jet fuel.
McCann left St. John's with a heavy foot and was afforded a speeding ticket for his impatience. I hitched a ride on the back of a Honda Shadow 750 piloted by a tall blond beagle enthusiast. We took our time.
Arrived on the scene just in time to hear veteran Ron Hynes, the finest songwriter Newfoundland has ever produced. Paul Kinsman on Keys and Boomer Stamp on Kit.....classic. Upstarts Hey Rosetta followed with a colourful set of barely controlled intensity. Hawksley was right. Tim Baker is genius....and a right good ball handler (I meant soccer).
Rex Goudie followed and did indeed live up to his salacious reputation. Still don't know if he can sing or not and I don't care. I just want to hold him.
I started to get a little apprehensive for the lads when I saw McCann crack his second bottle of Veuve Cliquot while sat across a picnic table from hard rock Novaks drummer Elliot spouting shite like only a young man wannabe can. Smoke dangling from thirsty lips and jaded look in malevolent eye. I only hope the poor youngfella isn't scarred for life.
Many new songs flew from uncertain fingers: Hard Case, England, Dream to Live and Gallows Pole. Ambitious. As always, MacDaddyfarlane managed to hold it all together in the end. Sober. Solid......
and so sexy.
The aftershow got rather stumbly around midnite. Future Pulitzer winner Justin Brake will have much fodder for his tell all novel. We can only hope he didn't have a camera.
Sincere thanx to the kind people of Gander for inviting us Townies to their birthday party. Lax leash laws and ample poop picker bags make for a happy town.
Ruff. Ruff.
Tosh
Never trust a fart past forty
Thursday, July 24, 2008
You know u r getting old when u start to leak. You wake up from a scotch induced nap on the heathrow express only to find every air vent in site turned up on bust and pointed directly at your arse and a foul demeaner on the faces of your surrounding peers.
“You been leaking gas again” said McCann with his eyes full of water, “and not the laughing kind either.”
“Sorry man” i offered back sheepishly. And I was too after smelling my own reek.
This has become an all too frequent situation and I am not the sole offender. Buses, trains, subways, and airplanes are all ripe for this kind of pollution. How often have u been sat on a plane next to some poor bastard who enjoyed a nice navrattan curry for lunch and was now at the mercy of his own fumes? You would think, in this technologically advanced age, that we could find a solution to this olfactory dilemma. We can invent the internet but we can’t flavour a fart? what’s up with that?
Why hasn’t some young Steve jobs invented some kind of fruity smelling suppository that would make our wind smell “downy fresh”? He could call it the Ass Mint and make a fortune. Or some kind of nasal prophylactic to prevent unprotected stench? Or even airtite astronaut underwear to keep the vile stuff from escaping.
We all have sphincter issues from time to time and they seem to get worse as we grow older. In lieu of a solution, there is really only one thing to do............. blame the person sitting next to you.
I stink. Therefore I am.
Tosh
Air Cannibus
Thursday, July 17, 2008
“Hey there little red riding hood.You sure r lookin good.You're everything a big bad wolf could want.”
Beautiful poetry from “Sam the Sham”. I wonder what he meant? Sitting here in steerage just dying for a G n T and trying desperately to make nice with the elusive stewardess (and i do realize i am supposed to say “flight attendant”) because as the amazing Mr. Waits once profoundly pronounced, “you just can’t get served without her”. 2 hours in the air and I am about to lose it. My kingdom for a pint.
Last nite the lads rocked the house at The Amphitheatre inToronto. It was a very loose and boozy affair with much imbibing both onstage and off. I parked my arse at the bar early and dropped a five dollar tip right away to ensure consistent flow of the vitamin G. Nine pints later and security is carrying me out to the bus. Now that's what I call good service.
Marijuana should be legalized if only to make air travel bearable. Air Canada? How bout Air Cannibus. Now that would encourage people to “fly” more. Nothing like a big fatty before a flight to wash your pains and worries away. Anxiety is the real enemy. Especially since 911. I have a vague memory of air travel being tolerable. Now we suffer an endless series of indignities before we hit the sky. If I am forced to remove any more clothing in security, I will be formally charged with indecency. What do they think I am trying to hide down there. I’m neutered for freaksake....
How bout “Air Naked”? That would be cool.......wait now......I’ll probably end up sitting next to Doyle.....
Tosh
Je me Souviens
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Sitting on the bus trying desperately not to get right on the pints. This is a big weekend for the lads and I don't want to let them down. Attempted a nap but Kieth Robert's resounding yelp as the Young Dubs hammered the stage turned the exercise into an act of complete futility. A very thirsty band indeed.
I remember a nite in Vail colorado. One of many enjoyable stupors on the financially ill fated (and unforgiveably named) "Uprooted" tour. I was just a pup but McCann managed to sneak me into the aftershow party the aforesaid Mr. Roberts had miraculously managed to conjure up at the local paddywanker pint dispensery. (I heard there may have been some monetary malfeasance but that's another Tail) I remember being very hungry. I remember being fed. I remember a senorita who stopped my heart. Dead.
We are all guilty of something at sometime in our lives and heaven help the man who actually gets what he deserves. For every sad song there is a punchline. A grain of salt should flavour every tear. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, then mercy is its medicine.....and I for one am feeling very happy to hear the Young Dubs again.
Tosh
In Denial
Friday, July 04, 2008
Lower your expectations and you will lead a happy life.
This is my new mantra. After years of brutal disappointment, i finally get it. Don’t get your hopes up and u will never be let down. If u expect steak every day, whatever u have for supper is just gonna suck. If your sites are set on jessica simpson, even a blowjob from kirsten dunst will be a bummer. It’s all relative. And it’s all in your head.
Being a beagle, you might think it wouldn’t take much to make me happy. A walk in the woods off leash, a well thrown tennis ball, a good bellyrub, a dead rabbit. All these things bring me joy, but they don’t define who i really am and certainly not the hound i dream of becoming.
I see myself as a canine conquerer. A swollen pooch potentate with a harem of french poodles to sooth me....... El Presidente. Admittedly, a far cry from my current reality of eating kibbles and bits and having to poop outside. It is exactly this disparity between our dreams and our realities that dooms us to a life of depression.
We often see ourselves as something better than we actually are and we tell ourselves lies to prolong this illusion:
I have a few pounds on (as opposed to I am a fat lazy bastard).
I like a drink (as opposed to I am a lush)
I am an actress (as opposed to I am a waitress)
and the list goes on.....
Well, I for one am sick of lying to myself just to make me feel good. I am but a beagle. A lowly housepet. I eat poo. Bring me mediocrity or the next best thing! I am going all the way to the middle and there I will be unremarkably content!
Besides, if i really need a lift, there is always the rum.....
Tosh
Of Glory and Great Men
Thursday, June 26, 2008
My
friends and fellow canines. I realize that one of my previous diatribes
may have been perceived as “anti hockey”, but nothing could be further
from the truth. Thanx to the amazing Mr. Bob Gainey (#23), my soul is
filled once again with respect for the Holy Puck.
I
had the good fortune and excellent pleasure to befriend Bob at a GBS
gig in The Troubador in LA some years ago. I was out in the porch
selling merch (glenn had to work his real job) when this softspoken
giant approached and asked to meet the band. I admit, I didn’t
recognize him at first but it was LA and u never know whose gonna show
up so i asked for some kind of credentials. He offered up a
bonecrushing right hand and very softly said “I’m Bob Gainey” and when
i counted the stanley cup rings i almost peed right there on the floor
(a very big no no when u r a beagle merch peddlar in a club). I was
starstruck.
I
bought him out front to the bus where the lads were watching the hockey
game (can't remember who now exactly but it did go into triple
overtime). Bob was actually between games in his own playoff series.
His Dallas Stars were embroiled in a fight to the death of their own
with San Jose and he really wanted to see the east coast game. Happy to
oblige, the lads took to the stage leaving Gainey on the bus. He never
heard a note but he was still sitting there when the lads came back
after the show.....and the game was still on! So we all had a beer and
watched the rest of the game in our tourbus.....with Bob
Gainey......how fraken cool r we!
Flash
forward 5 years. Feb 23 2008 in montreal where the Habs are set to
retire the number (23) of said Mr. Gainey. The lads have been enlisted
to sing the anthems. All hands nervous but they manage to pull it off
with some aplomb. And then something quite amazing happens.....
Captain
Gainey takes the ice in full battle armour and makes a victory
lap. Stick held high in victory, the beloved gladiator is showered in
the love of his people. Fucken Roman. Now I have been to a lot of
shows.....maybe too many.....and I'll admit to being more than just a
little jaded, but that heroic action really moved me.
My little black beagle heart became a bark less bitter that day.
.......thank Bob.......
Tosh
Speaking with the angels
Sunday, June 22, 2008
I can feel it now for the first time....the presence of the alcohol as it slowly invades my capillaries and blasts away my shame. Brain in denial. Body surrenders. Bollocksed. I sit back on my P.J O’Brien barstool and let the wee whiskey angels fly off with my canine soul.
And then it begins.
Doyle takes the stage like a lion takes a gazelle. Stalking. Unblinking eyes firmly focused on his prey. McCann is in unusually happy form no doubt having already spoken to several angels of his own. Lost cause. Bob looks concerned.
There is much media and many record company officials. Amazing really considering the lads are 15 years in. A little long in the teeth for pop stardom perhaps but tonite the news is all GBS. I must grudgingly admit to being just a little starstruck. Like many in the audience, I begin to feel that something important is about to happen. Macfarlane lays down the beat. Foster’s head begins to bobble and then the question is asked, “I wonder if you love me?” and the tiny room erupts.
The rest of the evening is a blur. Sparks of memory linger but i would be lying if I said I could make any sense of it. Apparently I wept.
No need to wonder Doyle.
The angels are with us.
Tosh
Secret Service
Saturday, June 14, 2008
OK
So here's the deal.
I know everything about what's about to happen on planet GBS......but i can't say squat. I surrendered my freedom of speech in exchange for a berth on the rather hastily arranged promo tour bus that will be bustling us around Canada's biggest cities over the next 2 weeks (that was a hint re #4). I have been charged with the duty of documenting the carnage on video but i have to confess that I totally suck behind a lens especially when there is liquor involved and there most certainly will be (another hint). To this end I am now calling on all potential attendees to please bring their cameras and shoot the shit out of this all too rare situation. It may never happen again.
To help sweeten the pot, I have been afforded 2 extra passes to each "secret show". I assume demand will be high so, in order to be fair, the prizes will be awarded to whomever writes me the coolest Haiku in each perspective city. Just post them into the comments section below and I will be able to judge. I will borrow McCann's Crackberry to announce the winners on day of show via his new Twitter addiction (its becoming a problem).
Either that, or just rub my belly.....a beagle can always be bribed.
Good Luck
Tosh
People Are Dirty
Thursday, June 05, 2008
And I don’t mean in that slutty “girls gone wild on spring break” kind of way. People are just prone to leave debris wherever they go. From the middle of the Mojave desert to the center of the arctic circle. Wherever man can drive, fly, or crawl; man will leave a mess.
McCann likes to take us into the woods for a couple of hours every day while the wee one sleeps. He whines about it and calls it his chore, but we know it is far more about preserving his own sanity than ours. After a long morning of baby wrangling, he is more than ready to head into the wild and enjoy the solitude it provides.
Nothing like being smack dab in the middle of nowhere to clear your cluttered mind. All alone in nature. Birds singing, trees creaking, water rambling, wind blowing the dust off your weary soul. Pee wherever u like. Beagle paradise.Then all of a sudden u look down to find a broken beer bottle. Shards of glass shattered over the grass just waiting to pierce the tender pads of an unsuspecting pup. Sadly, this happens far more often than u might think. On at least 2 occasions I have found myself in the doggy emergency clinic undergoing stitches because some fraking idiot decided to walk 3 miles into the forest, drink a budlight, and then smash the bottle on the ground because he was too lazy to carry it back out. I mean, what kind of person does that? What kind of no mind, careless, misanthrope would go so far out of his way to ruin what little bit of the natural world we have left?
I don’t know, but If I ever catch one of these arseholes in the act, I’m gonna chew his nuts off......
then drag them over a broken beer bottle.
Tosh
He Shoots! He Scores!
Monday, June 02, 2008
He drinks 6 beer and then 15 more!......He comes home to find his suitcase packed at the front door.....
I love hockey. I love everything about it. The sound of a solid slapshot, the crack of a back on the boards, the smell of of a glove rubbed hard in the face and, of course, the imminent threat of physical violence. Chase this down with a few "Be Coupla Carefuls"* and you have a perfectly squandered friday afternoon.
If only it were that simple.
The hardest thing about playing recreational hockey is not going out for wings and drinks directly thereafter. Try as I might (and believe me i have) I am completely incapable of leaving the rink and proceeding directly home. I am all too predictably pulled like a wayward comet caught in the gravitational pull of the Duke of Duckworth or the Black Dog or some other reputable rum serving establishment. Next thing I know I am on my ass, passed out in the back seat of a Gullivers* reeking of hockey bag and beagle fart.....hopeless.
The fact that I am powerless to fight my post game urges has lead me to this conclusion: Hockey; Canada’s national sport, is a Gateway Drug.
It is my belief that hockey has led to the breakup of thousands of families over the years. The addiction is real and, if not treated early, the chances of rehabilitation are extremely slim. Awareness and education are the key......and kindness will have to be the cure.
I am Tosh. And I am a Hockaholic.
Tosh
*bottles of Blue Star
*killer cab
Let's get Retarded
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Now, before u start, I realize that “retarded” may not be perfectly PC but there really isn’t a better word to describe the actions of young children today. Bent on self destruction and blessed with an unhealthy lack of fear, rugrats all over the world seem to be hopelessly drawn to a spectacular death. Not unlike christian martyrs of yore, they seem to relish their own dooms and go to great lengths to seek it out. The Rack, the Stake, the cleansing Pyre and even the occasional beheading are ends the modern 2 year old seems eager to bring upon himself.
My question is why? Born a halfbreed beagle in an unwanting home, I was forced to fight for every breath. There were 6 of us and (as bad as this sounds) I was lucky enough to be adopted by McCann. Initially we had our rough spots and i was forced to quickly learn where (and where not) to pee. Times were tough but I never once gave in to despair. I always fought to survive. To prolong my small and miserable existence. I wanted to live.
2 years later and what does McCann do but go and procreate (a dubious decision at best). And what does the little bastard do as soon as he is able to move?.... Everything in his power to try and dispose of himself..... Nice stairs....think I’ll take them on my head. Nice car.....think i’ll lie down under it. Nice knife.... think i’ll commit Seppuku right here on the kitchen fraking floor!
Makes it friggin impossible to relax at home anymore. Always waiting for the 911. Always on guard....on the edge.
And now there's a new one!
Bring on the relative sanity of the bus.
Tosh
Body Hair
Friday, May 23, 2008
Why is it such an issue? Why is McCann so pissed everytime I hop off his couch even though we usually get on well while I’m there (it really depends on what we r watchin 30Rock or Battlestar Galactica)? So I leave a few hairs around. Big deal. It’s not exactly a porn studio now is it? (u never heard it from me). Why r humans so completely obsessed by hair?
From what i can gather, women seem determined to remove it entirely from their bodies. Except for their heads of course. They like to put more up there. Just where does the “hair” in “hair extension” come from anyway? Men seem more concerned with extending other body parts of course. Just google “porn” and before u know it, u will be inundated with offers and advertisements for an infinite variety of “services” both hairless and otherwise (at least that’s what bob told me). The Bikini, the Brazilian, the Hitler, the Bald as can be...... I mean what’s next? .......Arse Flossing?
Praps it’s some kind of youth fixation/fear of dying thing....hair being mentally alligned with aging, the grim reaper, sexual obsolesence. The corollary being that hairlessness is young, nubile, approaching sexual potential and something we all once were.....(virgins). But that would mean we r all perves right?
I just don’t get it. But what do I know? I’m a frakin beagle. I wear a rug.
Tosh
Tea (Canine reflections on a cruise pt.2)
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
“For Christ sake’s have a cuppa tea” Ray Davies
Another nite out wasted. Another promise to myself broken.......... and another........and another.....
Now I’m not one to make excuses (but i am) ,but this oversized canoe is no place for a beagle (with issues). What the frak do they put in those fruity drinks? Kerosene? One minute i was having a sensible conversation with Robicheau and the next thing i know, i wake up in bed with my pants around my ankles and a gecko tatoo on my ass.....and i don’t even wear pants....
That's it. I’m not leaving my room for the rest of this voyage. I dont care if Ginger and Maryanne show up at my door in thongs......I’m not playing anymore. From now on, I’m going right on the Tea.
I don’t know why i don’t drink more tea. Orange pekoe, darjeeling, earl grey, lapsang souchon......its all good for you. Or at least better than an ice bucket full of jamaican rum and a pack of smokes. Tea is not a drink. It’s a lifestyle. From now on I’m gonna preach the healing power of tea. You’ll see me up on deck tonite with a cup and saucer and a short bread biscuit holding court with the ship’s book club. Hell, I might even go to mass on sunday and sing a hymn or two. Did Jesus drink tea?
What’s that doyle? You’re gettin on ‘er tonite? Me? No bye.....i’m right off the booze. I’m a Tea Totaller......what? The rider is here already?
Well perhaps one frosty Red Stripe won’t kill me....
Tosh
Kissing Cuba (canine reflections on a cruise pt. 1)
Thursday, May 15, 2008
“When i was a young pup
I wanted to sail round the world
that’s the life for me
living on the sea”
Never thought i’d see the day.......GBS on tour in the caribbean.......middle of winter........cruise ship.......scantilly clad.......mojito breath.......boiled.
I am referring, of course, to the Carnival Victory, and the BNL “Ships and Dip 3”. A floating music festival offering respite from the cold and replenishment for the soul. I dunno how they talked McCann into this. He usually likes to keep himself to himself and there’s really no way to do that onboard. The Newfoundland weather must have finally worn him down. Or maybe he is beginning to mellow with age (about time). Either way, it’s day 2 and he seems really happy. And that in itself is a new tour record.....
The old doll must have had a run in with a Newf (this term is OK to use when referring to canine citizens only) one nite coz I am all about boats. I keep hovering around the pool waiting for some chick to start drowning just so i can save her. Instinct. It’s what i was born to do. We r all born with it. Some have more than others and some just refuse to heed them, but i believe the reason humans (and dogs by association) are at the top of the food chain, is because we have good instincts. When in doubt, defer to your gut and u will never go to far astray. Granted , they can occasionally get u into some trouble (like before i was “fixed”), but on the whole, instinctive behaviour is a good thing.
Music is an instinctive art. There are no rules or directions. No classes u can take to make u a good songwriter (and if there r , then students beware........those who can’t....). A good song has to “feel right”. It has to strike a nerve. Move you. Connect.
Overheard McCann and Dolye working on a new masterpiece with the Carbon Leaf lads today ( a nicer bunch of american boys u will not find ). Sounded good too. I look forward to hearing the end result. Sat in for a bit trying to wing a few royalty points but i wasn’t much help.
Now, if only someone would fall in.....”excuse me miss, R U drowning over there?”
Tosh
Working Like a Dog
Monday, May 12, 2008
“Do I look like a budgie to you?” I asked the obtuse gate agent as she enquired about my pet status. I wouldn’t mind, but who is the only one here sober enough to check us all in? Who is holding all the passports, work visas and company credit cards? Whose paws are really on the wheel of this bandwagon? What’s the matter lady? Never seen a beagle off leash before? The only “pet” I know anything about is the heavy sexual kind they warn teenagers about. Hey. A litte beagle in your bed might go a long way lady......not much left down below, but check out my tongue. PET: Plowed Entertainer Transporter.
I am Tosh. And I own Mr. McCann there. Yes. The one face down on his MacBook......drooling.
I try to point out that all of this “unpleasantness” could have been avoided had the airline honoured its contract and let us all fly on the flight we paid for...the one that was supposed to leave 4 hours ago. I mean, I can’t really blame the lads for gettin shitcanned. What else r they gonna do in Toronto airport for the day? Go see the new Emily Carr exhibit? Finish Anna Karenina? Origami? No. They r gonna walk angrily up to the elite lounge and drink themselves silly.
“Unfit for travel” u say? I tend to agree missus. How u guys still have your wings is beyond me. OK then lads, all back to the lounge then......jeebus grant me strength....
and so it goes.
Tosh
Tosh (tells no) Tails #1
Monday, May 05, 2008
Woke up this morning with the unbelieveable urge to lick my balls.
I know it drives McCann crazy, but I was absolutely compelled to do it.
If he had caught me, it would have meant immediate eviction from the bed for sure, leaving room for that scheming Marley to suck up to the boss (as if he were never himself compelled). Luckily, the gnarly old bastard was in a scotch induced coma and probably wouldn’t have woken up had I pooped right on his swollen head.
Funny thing, compulsions. You know they r bad for you but u just can’t resist. The lure of the cat’s food, the delicate bones of the chicken, the rotating tire, the backside aroma of the french poodle.....all bad. All equally irresistable.
Last summer, Mccann left a full pot of pea soup on the counter and went out to play dinkies with the boy. It didn’t take me and Marley very long to get that upended and lick the floor clean. Burned my tongue and caught a mean case of the trots. McCann didn’t talk to me for days but you know what? I would do it again tomorrow...........with Bells on.
Why r some lessons seemingly unlearnable? I mean, I manage to pee outside now (that wasn’t easy). I will offer a paw, sit, and rollover for a friggin buscuit. But frak me if I can’t keep my tongue out of a boiling pot of pea soup! Hopeless.
McCann’s no better. He still scarfs back a whiskey and a smoke whenever he thinks he can get away with it (which is never). He still can’t drive past Leo’s without getting face and eyes into a FCDG & FO (fish, chips, dressing, gravy, and fried onoins) even though his dad almost dropped dead after enjoying such a deadly feast. Talk about a lack of self control. The man has a friggin deathwish.
But what do I know. I’m just a beagle.
All I wanna do is lick my balls.
Tosh
Disclaimer
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
For those not in the know, Tosh is Sean's closest friend and confidante. They have been inseparable since the day Sean first spotted him in the animal shelter and brought him home. Part Beagle, part Bassett hound, and part anyone's guess. Tosh has always struggled with issues of abandonment and insecurity. He also suffers from acute hip displasia and arthritis. Today, Tosh earns his keep working for the band both on and off the road. His primary assignment is to keep McCann from harming himself (or anyone else). Famous for his pronounced distinctive bark, he has never been known to bite. Yet. Tosh is three years old.
