Touch You Last

When I graduated from grade eight, there were only eight guys in my class: Brady, Bob, Chris, Jeff, Paul, Tony, Steve, and me. We were all close—which I think came pretty naturally , there being just the eight of us—but what was more remarkable was that six of us remained that way even after school, jobs, and relationships brought us elsewhere. Now we’re mostly spread across Ontario, and it’s pretty rare that we’re all in the same place. My wedding was the last time all six of us were together, and since then it’s been just shy of four years. Until last Saturday when we got together for Tony’s wedding. After four years, I think I’d built up some pretty big expectations for how the night would go—and I wasn’t disappointed. We assembled at the church, smiled, shook hands, each of us silently confirming that we all looked equally old to one another. Tony and his soon-to-be-wife Marie took to the altar, flash pots went off, and to the tune of shredding electric guitar it was wedding time! ...

Joel Plaskett has the physique of a base player—tall and super-lanky. That came as a surprise because I suppose I’ve only seen head shots of him, and even then not too often. But he rocks out all the same. He’s six feet and one hundred and eight pounds of straight up rock. He played the Capital Music Theatre, a storied Ottawa venue that changed locations about a year ago. It was our first time there and probably only our sixth concert since moving to Ottawa. I think I’m more fashion-conscious when heading to a concert than for any other occasion. I’m of a certain age now, honestly just a little too old to fit into the hipster music scene, and I find it hard to strike a balance between trying too hard to look young (hoody, wallet chain, converse all-stars) and just saying fuck it and strapping on a fanny pack. But what’s good about Plaskett is that he’s been around for a while, so there’s actually a few fogies in attendance. Fogies older even than us. Peter Elkas opened up. G...

Well, the weather’s warmer, and all the crazy athletic people around me are somewhat inspiring, and the deadline for my 101 in 1001 is slowly closing in , so I’ve starting jogging again. (I’m not crazy about calling it ‘jogging;’ the word feels retro to me and it brings to mind visions of sweaty, hirsute men in headbands and short-shorts. But then if it had been ‘I’ve started running again,’ it would have sounded like I was fleeing, and then I would have had to include some kind of large explanation in parentheses.) It’s been a minor success so far. I’ve run about 35k since I’ve started—which sounded impressive until I realized I’ve been at it for about 35 days. (Not to say I’ve run 1k on 35 different occasions.) One of my as yet unattained 101 goals is to run a 22 minute 5k. I had no strategy towards how to accomplish this when I wrote it. It was just going to happen. Magically. Ideally I’d just wake up and found it had been done. Didn’t happen though. Instead, I’ve put a backup pl...

So, had a New Year's at home, which seemed vaguely unglamorous, but turned out to be one of my favourite New Year's Eve's. It turned out to be a not-unsurprising yet surprisingly love-filled shindig. I think that one of the ways you know that your permanent relationship is real, and full-time, and absolute, is that you keep being surprised by it. If you can have a discussion about the future—and talk about kids, and child-rearing,… and wallpaper, and lawn maintenance, and aluminium siding replacement… and almost cry—then all is good in Relationship Land . Hmm. What would make it better? Let's just name a bunch of people to throw into the mix. This New Year's would ideally have included (note: this is a shit-trap; I will inevitably leave someone HUGELY important out, but here goes anyways) : my brother, my wider family, Jorge, Isha, Beth, Brady, Bill, Blaine, Colleen, Pat, Chris, Steve, Cathy, Kris, Mark, Tania, Tanya, Rob—FUCK IT! There is no way I'm NOT going ...

I really wish I had discipline when it came to this whole blogging thing. Audience aside, I need some kind of journal because I forget shit pretty much as it happens. I've looked back at my archives once or twice and thought, "Oh yeah. I went to Vancouver that time. How crazy is that?" Some weeks go by without a noteworthy thing happening, but others... well, they aren't life-altering, but you just start cataloguing the things you need to write about, and they keep piling up, and the weight of it just keeps you away longer. Whatever. Enough poor me . Here are a few things that have been going on over the past few weeks. More to come as I remember it: The McLean reunion took place in Formosa three weeks back. It was a vicious affair, with old feuds renewed, cousin battling cousin, and few of us leaving unbloodied. Actually, we just drank a lot, ate a lot, and had a good time. The 2007 Reunion is going back to Georgetown, and Bejing won the bid for 2008. Sar...

When I was twenty-four years old I dreaded my thirtieth birthday, but for different reasons than I do now. I was still in University then, finishing up the last year of a creative writing degree. At the onset, those of us in the program (with some exceptions) started out certain we’d all be little wonder boys and girls by the time we’d finished. We’d form a crew; we’d write and be written about. This of course never happened. Near the end of fourth year we were all certainly better writers, but none of us were superstars. We weren’t even published. But it was okay, I rationalized; I was still young. While my original plan—to have amassed a portfolio of writing so enormous that something would have to get published—failed entirely, my new plan would simply be to publish a novel by the time I was thirty. It was six years away. Actually, I think the full plan was to churn out three books by then, because then one would surely get picked up. If I couldn’t publish a book by the time I was ...

I’ve advertised this blog to all of two people. A readership of strangers seems better than a readership of friends because then I can make fun of my friends and still have them. For those of you who have wandered here by accident, here’s the back story to my title. First, you should know that Touch You Last is not sex thing, however it might sound. I googled myself to see if this site had been indexed yet (it hasn’t) and was instantly sucked into an irresistible black hole of pornography. If you’re looking for South Florida Dominatrix Mistress Poison or Erotic Buffy Fanfic, I can show you the way. On a side note, googling myself might be the most masturbatory thing I’ve ever done. Second most, actually. Touch You Last is a game that my brother and I have played for at least fifteen years. The rules of play are very simple: be the guy who has touched the other guy last. If you were sitting beside me right now, and I were to poke you in the arm, I would be winning the game of Touch You ...