And Here's To You, Ms. Rigney. Jesus Loves You More Than You Will Know

It was a beautiful Sunday. The sun was shining and the sky was a rich blue speckled with a few white, fluffy clouds that were passing quickly in the breeze. Having enjoyed a few cups of a dark-roast Kenyan coffee and was caught up on the latest events of Coronation Street, I decided to make the most of my day off and venture off Bauer Street for any adventure that could present itself.

I received a text from a great friend of mine inquiring as to what my plans were for the day. Actually, as has been a Sunday tradition for sometime, Kelley and I had been trading texts back and forth regarding our thoughts and commentary on the events taking place on Coronation Street.

I’ve only known Kelley for a few years but have grown extremely fond of our friendship; savouring treats of the confectionary persuasion, enjoying an occasional toke and sharing a fondness for Coronation Street are just a few of the highlights of my relationship with Kelley. Well, those are certainly important to note however the greatest thing I share with Kelley is laughter. Although I was introduced to Kelley a few months previous, my first recollection of laughing hysterically with her at a New Year’s Eve show two years ago. I had arrived just before midnight to catch the end of the show as I was meeting up with one of the performers; Kelley was working as bar staff but she was able to hang out with me while the show was playing. As it was New Year’s Eve most people attending the performance were well on their way to feeling no pain so they became rather comical to watch. There was one man that I remember being subjected to our ridicule’ a dapper gentleman in a classic black tuxedo, salt & pepper hair and bearing a remarkable resemblance to Mr. Frank Sinatra. It was apparent that the much younger woman drinking shots like she was sailor on shore leave and was sitting beside him was his companion for the evening. She, as Kelley and I hypothesized, was not this gentleman’s wife. On the contrary, really. Perhaps she was his secretary (or to be politically correct, his administrative assistant) or his child’s school teacher. Nonetheless, we concluded that as this woman was celebrating the arrival of a new year by getting drunk compliments of his corporate American Express card, Mrs. Sinatra was probably home trying to put hyperactive children to bed while waiting for her husband to get home from his impromptu “urgent business meeting.”

As Kelley giggled, “He’s doin’ it his way, Baby!”

From that evening on, a great friendship was found and many more laughs have been shared.

Laughter is something that I share with all of my relationships; be they friends, family, colleagues, my mailman, the neighborhood prostitute or anyone that I meet.

I love to laugh and I love making people laugh. To me, it is one of the most healthy and enjoyable things to do. A person can’t be in a bad mood or feeling down when they are laughing. Well…maybe they can. I don’t know, really. But if it is a possibility, I’m quite certain that it would be difficult to laugh and stay in a bad mood.

I digress.

With no plans in mind, I suggest to Kelley that we should take the ferry to Dartmouth and indulge ourselves with a great cup of coffee and conversation. As it was Kelley who has been raving about this relatively new coffee house on the “dark side” she was agreeable to the idea.

We decided to meet at the ferry terminal and set off from there. Although the sun seemed strong as it beamed down on to the promenade deck of the boat, the breeze was strong in the harbour and we concluded that it might not have been warm enough for the short pants and sleeveless tops that both of us were sporting. Nonetheless, we focused on the conversation at hand and stayed the course enroute to our destination; our minds and ears focusing more as we both lamented about life rather than venturing inside the vessel.

Following a brisk, albeit short, walk up the street we arrived at Two If By Sea Café, which as become one of my now favorite spots. Their website hits the metaphorical nail with the hammer when it suggests that it embraces indulgence. We were fortunate to find a table as it appeared that many other people decided to enjoy their Sunday afternoon with the same idea. While we were enjoying our coffee and continuing observances of thirty something life, we were joined by a friend of Kelley’s and local celebrity, Ms. Liz Rigny. After they took a moment to catch up and Ms. Rigney returned to her companion at another table, Kelley and I savoured the last drops of coffee, gathered our belongings and headed back to the ferry.

Kelley smiled as she commented that it was great running into Liz and she talked of stories of when they both did dinner theatre together and they ran in the same circle of friends. When I moved to Halifax to go to university in 1994, Liz Rigney was just taking over as a new co-host for Breakfast Television, a light-hearted, Atlantic Canada-based morning variety show that was filmed locally. Perhaps it was because she was new to this show as I was new to Halifax and I made this connection but whatever the reason, I was intrigued by Liz Rigney. It seems funny to say, but it was true. At least it was true enough that whenever a conversation was had where either local celebrities were being discussed or if I heard someone discussing something they saw on Breakfast Television, I would chime in with some commentary of Liz Rigney.

I think it is important to note that I did not send her letters confessing an un-dying love of her or pictures of my anatomy. I did not drive past her house nor did I ever try to find where she lives. I have never snooped through her garbage. In other words, I have not done anything deemed stalker-esque; I just happened to enjoy her when I saw her on Breakfast Television.

I digress.

A few years after I moved to the city, I ended working for call centre where one of the projects was to fulfill requests for people ordering Canadian folk singer John Gracie CD’s. It seemed that Gracie was planning a performance in Halifax and a few of us working at the call centre were tasked with contacting anybody who had recently ordered one of his CD’s and inform them of this upcoming show. My manager at the time must have heard about my being somewhat star-struck by Ms. Rigney because when she handed my list of people to contact, she smiled and said, “I think there is someone on here that you’ll enjoy calling.”

As much as I would like to build a sense of suspense, I’m sure it will come as no surprise whose name was included in my list; for the benefit of those who are only mildly paying attention, it was none other than Ms. Liz Rigney. Naturally I broadcasted throughout the office that I, indeed, had the best list to call (no offense to anybody that may have also been contacted during that initiative) which is why a small group gathered around my cubicle as I prepared to make the call. If memory serves though, I don’t think there was answer on my first attempt however I did not let that dash my opportunity. I continued to disrupt the office for another hour before trying again. This time, I thought success was mine when someone picked up on the end of my call.

“Hello?” a deep, gruff-sounding voice answered.

“May I please speak to Ms, Liz Rigney please, Sir?” my voice actually cracked.

“This is” replied the now-agitated voice. It was at this point in the conversation that I realized the difference between fantasy and reality; I had envisioned an enthusiastic conversation peppered with amusing antic dotes however instead I simply woke her up, insulted her and then told her of an event for which she was probably already aware.

A few years later, I was attending some kind of luncheon at Halifax’s World Trade & Convention Centre with my then-boss. He was I introducing me to the who’s who of the Nova Scotia business community when he pointed out Liz Rigney cajoling with a small group at the other end of the room. Of course I had to regale him with the story of waking her from a sound sleep a few years previous. By this time, Liz was mingling throughout the room and was coming in our direction

“You gotta tell Liz this story” he says as he affectionately nods to her when she walked by. Although I was slightly embarrassed initially, I shared the story with her.

“I am so sorry” she said while laughing. Of course I said that an apology was not necessary; in fact, I thanked her for giving a slightly amusing story to share.

Over the years, I have been introduced to Liz Rigney by a number of different people at various places, and each time she smiles, shakes my hand and comments that I look familiar. I always smile and reply that I had met her a few different times. As a television personality, actress, singer and person, Liz Rigney no doubt meets many people so I’d never expect her to remember me. I haven’t told Liz that story again but I think it entertained Kelley on the ferry back to Halifax.

I love Sundays! 

Originally written May 16, 2010

When He Walks Down The Street, He Smiles At Everyone

King of Bauer; could there be a story as to why I chose to go with King of Bauer?

Of course there’s a story and the reasoning behind my pen name is twofold.

The first reason is rather simplistic; my surname is King and I live on Bauer Street, a small street in central Halifax noted for it’s brightly coloured townhouses, its close proximity to the Halifax Common and its quaint, urban-lifestyle atmosphere. With only this reason in mind, one will think that I spent little time or creative energy to define my literary persona.

But it is the second reason that is more interesting and one worth sharing.

I am a proud Canadian and as such, I hold many things deemed “Canadian” in high regard. It is with this in mind that I humbly dedicated my King of Bauer namesake to something truly Canadian; that is my tribute, if you will, to the King of Kensington.

Although Canada was not known for producing good quality or funny sitcoms, King of Kensington, keeping true to its Canadian roots of being more subtle than its American counterparts, could be compared to many of the Norman Lear-produced sitcoms of the 1970’s for its politically conscious humour. It was a damn good show!

When I moved on to Bauer Street six years ago, my best friend and then-roommate often compared me to the King of Kensington’s anti-hero, the always-good natured Larry King, played by the late, great Al Waxman. I was never sure if the comparison was drawn from Larry’s attempt to help friends and solve problems or if it was because I looked a bit like the sometimes weight-challenged Al Waxman. Nonetheless, I reveled in the comparison.

King of Kensington Theme

I continue to watch the show in reruns, when available and I almost had the opportunity to meet Waxman’s costar, Ms. Fiona Reid, last year but unfortunately I was foiled by the homeless community and thus the opportunity was lost and the meeting wasn’t meant to be.

I think it’s important to note that I’m not saying that I am anti-homeless; quite honestly I am probably but a mere pay cheque away from being homeless myself. I am completely in support of helping any person in need however I don’t think there is anything wrong with expecting a bit of courtesy from the homeless; proper etiquette should always be exercised regardless of social or financial situation. This is all I’m saying.

I digress.

I heard that Ms. Reid was appearing in Doubt at Halifax’s Neptune Theatre so I managed to get tickets for the show. As I took my seat in Fountain Hall that cold night in March of last year, I eagerly awaited for the lights to dim and the curtain to rise. I reflected on my adoration of Ms. Reid with my companion. I excitedly told of when I first remember seeing her; she replaced Ms. Lally Cadeau in the final season of the Canadian sitcom, Hangin’ In which was a television show I also used to watch when I was young.

On a side note, I also very much admire and respect Ms. Cadeau, and had seen her a few years previous in the very same theatre portraying Big Mama in Neptune Theatre’s production of A Cat On A Hot Tin Roof.

I digress.

By the time I had gotten to the part in my yarn of my enjoyment of seeing Ms. Reid play the effervescent Cathy King for the first three seasons on King of Kensington, the show started. I fell silent as the lights dimmed….much to the delight of my companion and fellow theatre goers. The show was amazing and I sat on the edge of my seat, hands clasped when Ms. Reid took to the stage.

When the show ended and I had gathered my program, coat, gloves and my companion following the standing ovation, we took our leave of the theatre. Once outside in the chilly air of a March evening, my companion asked if I wanted to wait around in hopes of a chance meeting with Ms. Reid; I immediately accepted the offer. As we waited, a girl appeared from around a corner asking if we had change to spare for the bus; apparently according to her she had spent her money on liquor and did not have enough left to catch the next bus home. We didn’t have any change and I wasn’t interested in continuing the conversation with her as I was jumpier than a virgin at a prison rodeo awaiting the possible opportunity to meet Ms. Reid.

After the girl left, we remained but were approached by a gentleman in ragged clothes and smelling of a mixture of cheap liquor and cat urine. He turned to me and asked, “Can I ask you a favour, Bud?”

It must be noted that I immediately coil in disgust when anyone refers to me as “Bud.” I am not his “bud” and by him taking the liberty to refer to me as “bud” certainly reduced the possibility that any friendship would occur.

“If the favour you are about to ask has anything to do with you asking me for money, then no, you may not ask me a favour” I sharply replied, still agitated at his referring to me as “Bud.” I realized though, that my tone was harsh and unsympathetic.

He paused, looked me up and down and simply replied, “Never mind.”

But it didn’t end there. He quickly turned to my companion and stated with absolute certainty, “Your pal there, he’s got murder in his eyes!”

So there it is; my chance to meet someone that I have admired for years and I have just angered the homeless.

I suggest to my companion that it looked doubtful for a meeting; it was cold, this homeless guy was hanging around telling everyone who walked by about my murderous eyes (which, in all honesty, I was now beginning to contemplate) and Ms. Reid was no where to be found. Begrudgingly, my companion agrees and we decide to walk up the long hill towards home. We just get across the street when the theatre doors open up and I see her walk out into the cold night and immediately get questioned by that girl looking for change that had disappeared earlier. That’s right, that girl walked boldly up to Ms. Fiona Reid and asked for change for the bus!

I actually don’t know if Ms. Reid indulged her not, but the girl left quickly. Now was my chance so my companion and I were just about to cross back to the side of the street where Ms. Reid was walking when she was approached by another eager fan. After some debate, we decide to wait to see if she would speak with us when she was finished her discussion with this other guy. While we were waiting though, fate intervened again when the aforementioned homeless gentleman returned to continue his rant about my supposed evil eyes. It became clear that if I was to wait to for Ms. Reid to finish her conversation, we would be intercepted by this guy and I just couldn’t bare to have my opportunity squashed by the ramblings of a still-agitated, drunken idiot.

And thus, I would not get to meet Ms. Fiona Reid on that fateful night; I can only hope that a future opportunity will present its self.

So, I guess the lesson I can take from all of this is that I will find my fortune in the faces that surround me and hopefully helping other people will bring me luck!


Originally written May 14, 2010

King of Bauer

I am not a writer.

As a matter of fact, I rarely read.

I thought it best to get that out of the way as I wouldn't want to give you the impression that what you are about to read will be of the highest literary calibre. This is simply the musings of someone who wants to be a writer.

When I was a child and asked what I wanted to be when I grow up, I would reply with great enthusiasm that I wanted to be a writer.

Later, when asked that question upon meeting someone for the first time, "What do you do?" I would respond by saying that I wanted to be a writer.

I've always hated being asked that question.

"What do you do?"

It is assumed that this question is in regards to what a person does for a living; their job. I don't feel that my job defines me. It does not describe my goals, my aspirations or even my values. It's not that my job goes against any of these things; it's just that what I do to earn a paycheck is not the most important thing to me. I guess that holds true for many people however we seem to all ask that question when we meet someone.

Do we really care what someone does for living? I usually don't....well unless a person is a lion tamer or a porn star. These people would probably have amusing stories to tell about their job. I just don't think I'd be interested in hearing about the intricacies of someone's work in statistical data analysis.

I'd much rather know about someone's interests or life goals.

"What do you do?" I'd ask.

"I collect TV Guide."

It may not be an interest I'd share but I'm fairly certain that we now at least have the basis of a decent conversation while we peruse the hors d'oeuvres table at a banquet. I personally don't collect TV Guides however I watch TV and I have read TV Guide on occasion but I think I could hold up my end of a conversation in discussing the topic.

Besides, when the conversation seems to have reached its limit for my interest, I could turn to the first person I know and say, "Oh Bob, I'd like to introduce you to Marguerite. She collects TV Guide." And thus while they shake hands and Bob smiles upon hearing this tantalizing tidbit about Marguerite, I can grab a few bacon-wrapped scallops and get the hell out of there.

I digress. 

Originally written April 16, 2010