May I Present to You A Brand New Latch Out Loud Blog Series presented by the latches of Latch Out Loud Blog.

“On the Issue Of…”

This is a little series which will be a series of pithy remarks on a variety of topics. You’ll get the idea…

On the issue of: Late Night Hook-Up Etiquette.

You get a call late in the evening and end result is you showing up so extremely intoxicated that you look like you’ve been drinking liquid morphine all night. You find yourself, at 4am in the morning, trying to walk and talk like a normal functioning human being and it’s not even remotely working. She asks “What the hell took so long to get here you idiot” and you slur “Alex Kovalev’s aunt Beatrice made me a delicious French onion soup” or some sort of gibberish and in some bizarre turn of events, she laughs.  It’s a miracle anyone (let alone a rocket) would open the door for you in this state, but alas this is the nature of the game and you rush to get to the victim’s bedroom to commence what you think will be the worst performance of shibbity-bibbity or/and hoppity-boppity of your meaningless existence.

You try your damn damned damnedest to get her clothes off, thinking this should be fairly easy, because why the hell else would you be let in at 4am in the morning? I’m not here to talk about your co-workers lady. I have one thing on the mind and it certainly isn’t democracy in Libya or the impending crisis of hurricane Irene. I’m here to get to the bone yard, like a sex-deprived mongoose in mating season.

Next thing you know, you wake up in a familiar state of confusion, disorientated, wondering how the hell you biked 20 minutes to get to the other side of town. And who is this person next to me? Why am I still wearing my jeans.

Moral of the Story: Have sex with me please.

On the issue of: Really Drunk Friends.

We’ve all been here, one of your pals gets so drunk on liquid morphine that he can’t stand up or tell the difference between a hot rocket and an officer of the law. He’ll probably start mouthing off old ladies, hell – any lady that is in the direct vicinity because his drunken, maniacal mind can’t process social decency.

Sometimes this phenomena deters from your ability to pursue the woman your night revolves around because, let’s face it, if you don’t come to the aid of your brother-in-arms, he’s definitely going to get arrested, savagely beat up, or hit by a car on the long bike ride home on your expensively priced road bike. So, needless to say, he’s insulted everyone (including yourself) and you try the hail-mary attempt to get one last gin and tonic at the bar. Obviously, the bartender takes one look at this disheveled mess as he falters in his effort to sit in a bar-stool. There is zero chance this guy will get another drink at any establishment, save the Dom, but you can’t take him there, he’ll be eaten alive by the local patrons.  

The only thing left to do is to let your friend run crazy on Elgin Street and laugh ferociously as he comments on anything/anyone/everyone who walks down the street. At this point in the night it is highly encouraged that you get a couple of dawgs-into-ya and call it an evening.

Moral of the Story: Everyone likes a good breakfast. 

Fat Cats Fever

The Ottawa Fat Cats are headed to the Intercounty Baseball League Finals. With last night’s 8-5 win over the Barrie Baycats, the Fatties completed a four game sweep of the hapless Baycats and now await their next victim in the championship series.

Fat Cats second baseman and Birthday Lad Chris Latimer paced the attack for the home side, collecting a couple hits and two huge RBIs which came off a clutch, based-loaded, two out hit early in the game. Following Latimer’s knock, both dugouts emptied over an alleged spitting incident. Despite a lot of tremendously tough talking from the Baycats, cooler heads prevailed and Ottawa cruised to victory.

In-game entertainment was top notch as always, with Grape delighting the 3,400 fans in attendance. The tax-man took a tennis ball directly off the neck and can-of-pop won the Concession Stand Race. And in perhaps the highlight of the afternoon, the team’s GM attempted to snag a foul ball hit into the stands but instead spiked it off the head of an unsuspecting elderly gentleman seated in front of him. LOLs were had by all.

With a 26-9 record, The Baycats were the league’s top team over the course of the regular season but had no answer for the hard-hitting Cats. This post was extremely difficult to write considering both teams are called the Cats. I’d like to propose that Barrie change their name to the Barry's Bay Baseballs or the Fat Cats become the Latches. Either way.

Stay tuned for more information on the IBL Championship Series as it becomes available.

Fat Cats Fever. Catch it!

Notes From The Road

Last I checked in I was scheduled to depart for the west coast by way of the thumb. Well, the plan was to use a sign, but you get the point. Anyways, a lot has happened since now and then. I’ve taken in a concert. I’ve participated in loud, unruly acoustic guitar jams at all hours of the night. I’ve slept at a lovely cottage in a remote area of Ontario, where I drank more beer than I would have ever expected. I’ve sunk my teeth into a generous helping of LOLs. I’ve lit off fireworks, and struggled to scrub the smell of campfire from my body. I’ve had no trouble finding rides. I’ve even run into some old friends. It’s been truly awesome.

Sounds like an unbelievable weekend of hitchhiking, doesn’t it? Well, it is indeed unbelievable, as I haven’t made any forward progress in three days. I’m in Ottawa. And I’m sorry blogosphere, as I know that I’ve let you down. There will be no wild tales from the road. There will be no photo essays. There will be no highly descriptive narratives of my heroic escape from the lad-napping attempt of a backwoods gap-toothed human trafficker in the British Columbia interior. Yes, my friends, the gig is up, and I’m left feeling a little gloomy. I had a great weekend, but it’s over, and I’m firmly planted at square one.

I now sit at the computer in my apartment, hastily attempting to plan my escape. I don’t have time to hitchhike to the coast and still visit all the people I intended to see. So I’ll have to fly. I made the (faulty) assumption that standby flying existed in such wondrous lands as the real world. I assumed that I’d have an easy time acquiring a last minute ticket to Vancouver at a fraction of the cost that every other customer pays. Alas, such fantasy lands exist only on television, and in the minds of pie-eyed travelers who are more content to live in the moment than to carry out months-old plans concocted to satisfy the appetite of a man dazed by his own wanderlust. Of course standby flying doesn’t exist. Why in this god-forsaken world would any self-respecting business reward its most reckless and self-indulgent customers for being lazy and complacent, and for showing flagrant disrespect toward the highly ritualized customs of air travel? Barring a minor miracle, I’ll be charging an arm and a leg to my MasterCard sometime late tonight or early tomorrow, accepting defeat, and boarding a flight to Vancouver. This is depressing…

Board Meeting- In Photos

Tickled to Death

Ok, hi,

Where are my manners? To think, I didn't even introduce myself! Holy fucking Christ. How un-latchly of me.

Skeet is the handle.

Few can handle Skeet.

I'm gonna bring the el oh el

You in the Market? Sell oh sell

Boss man Max keeps it hot on the road

Packin' more knives than one you ever know'd

Ok, I got that off on your chest. My chest, rather. Off my chest.

Black out blogs - featuring The Latchies

See you in a couple hours,

Lots of love,

Freddy.

P.S. Photo blog to come...

A Hitchhiker's Guide To The Country

Tomorrow promises to be mostly another ordinary day. Outside of the fact that Friday is many people’s favourite day of the week, there’s really not much to get excited about. I plan to wake up, go through my normal morning routine, and walk to the bus. Many people will be taking the bus to work tomorrow. I will take the bus to Kanata. When I get to Kanata I’m going to get off the bus. I plan to stand by the side of the road. I will hold up a small cardboard sign with the word “Vancouver” scrawled on it. Yes, tomorrow I hitchhike to Vancouver.

Pretty well everyone that I’ve shared this plan with has expressed some sort of disappointment in me. Most think I’m weird; a few are envious of my spirit of adventure; just about everyone thinks I’m going to get abducted. Let them think what they want.

Sure, I could fly there. I’m flying home, so why not make it a round trip? It would probably end up costing the same amount. I’m certain it would be a more comfortable way to travel. I’d probably encounter less conspiracy theorist crack pot types dying to spill the beans to an innocent hitchhiker on why Apple and Google are responsible for everything from the famine in East Africa to the fly in my soup at lunch (“It’s all connected man!”). It would certainly give me more time at my destination. What it wouldn’t provide is ridiculous situations and, by extension, things to write about. (The fat lad with the nose whistle sitting next to you on the plane doesn’t count – try to get out of the house more).

You see, dear reader, I like to write. That is – in part – why Latch Out Loud exists. And I find that the best time to write is when you travel. And the best fodder for travel writing is the ridiculous and the inane. Sometimes the smallest, most inconsequential things make for a funny or memorable read. Often the things that don’t make for a great image on your digital camera do play out nicely on the pages of a pocket-sized notebook.

And so I shall hitchhike to the west coast of our sprawling, expansive country. And I’ll write as I go. I’ll write about the people who pick me up. I’ll write about the strange places I sleep. I’ll write about getting stranded in Wawa for two days. I’ll write about the vastness of the Great Lakes, the never-ending plains of the Prairies, and the daunting peaks of the western mountains. Given access to the Internet, I might even post some of my thoughts here; just maybe.

In the meantime, I’m going to leave you with an excerpt of a travel diary that I wrote this past spring on a trip through the USA and Europe. I scrawled nearly 400 (small) pages of largely incomprehensible, occasionally twisted, often funny, and always bizarre thoughts over the course of six weeks. I called it the Ron Diary. This particular passage was inspired by an experience that I had on an overnight Greyhound bus from Washington to Nashville. I hope you enjoy it.

May 4th, 2011

10:10pm

The Loud Talker

The loud talker is brash and inconsiderate, unreserved and unapologetic. The loud talker speaks at volumes and in tones reserved for the great orators of our time, though the loud talker speaks nothing of importance, merely of trifle. The loud talker knows not of her intrusion, for she lacks the clairvoyance to understand even the most basic plight of those around her. The loud talker is ignorant and unrepentant, lowly and contemptible.

The loud talker is your father or sister, classmate or colleague, enemy or best friend. The loud talker is in line at the grocery store or waiting at the bus stop. She roams the hallways of hospitals and university campuses. She is seated in restaurants and rides the elevators of skyscrapers. The loud talker walks among us.

The loud talker is seated across from you on the southbound Greyhound bus. The loud talker can -- absolutely and without haste -- go fuck herself.

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