This is a snapshot of my life as it stands today.
In one sentence intervals.
I hope that’s all right.
The winter has burned off – finally; let the anything-but-lazy days of summer begin.
Corporate drones, gathered for a golf tournament/bender have filled the hotel’s nooks and crannies… and bars, of course.
The raw, undiluted power of cheap cologne has burned my nasal passages beyond recognition.
On any other day, my mind would be racing with possibilities; posts would flow like Canadian maple syrup.
But this is no ordinary day.
And I’m not me any longer.
In my place, a shell, a clone, a doppelganger, is wearing my uniform and living my lives, both as The Hook and Robert.
He means well, but his creative engine isn’t fully charged, his delivery is slow and he lacks the words to full assuage his wife’s fears.
But he’s still swinging, and in a world such as ours, where you have to battle for every inch, that says a lot.
He assisted a guest today, a techno-mage of the highest order, who traveled with the tools of his trade; fifty plastic shells capable of transferring one’s consciousness across the world wide web in an instant.
“I want to give you something… for the effort.” he declared as he reached into the pocket of his faded jeans.
A condom fell upon the dirty concrete of the valet deck with all the weight of a moon.
My doppelganger’s response was given quickly and without hesitation.
“I don’t know what you had in mind, sir,” he retorted, “But I prefer cash. In fact, I insist upon it.”
Maybe this guy’s not so far removed from the real deal after all.
I think I’ll let him take the reins for a while longer.
I have other tasks that require my attention.
My daughter and I have a date to see the first and greatest hero of them all grace the silver screen once more.
The advance reviews haven’t been kind, but I can’t wait to see Man of Steel – especially with my child.
When I was a mere boy, still soaked behind the ears, my grandmother plopped me on a bus and took me to the Pen Centre Cinemas in St. Catharines to see Superman The Movie.
A visitor from another world herself, I can only imagine what she made of Clark Kent’s odyssey from farm boy to big city reporter to hero.
But she sat there nonetheless, watching as her grandson remained transfixed from the first frame to the last.
It has always been and will remain one of my most treasured childhood memories.
And tonight the circle will continue.
Be well, friends.
The silver screen, my duaghter and the Last Son of Krypton beckon.