-Ball and Chain, VTM-
The plan was to see Van Morrison in concert. And to do that meant to do it up right. No half measures here...no sir! When I saw the Pogues in concert I wore my black leather pants, carried a hip-flask of gin in my back pocket and got properly snobbled
When I saw Rickie Lee Jones in concert I had a bouquet of flowers delivered to her backstage with a thank you note for all the great music and wonderful memories.
To see Van Morrison in concert means going in style. This means new clothes, new hair-cut, renting out a limousine, the finest hotel, cuban cigars, the best wine, a beautiful date, and a wide-open soul. That's not too much to ask for.
I already had the beautiful date lined up in the name of Honey Tupelo. The only problem was: I had no money.
By vocation, I am a writer, a free-lance journalist. And for the most part that means never having a regular pay-cheque every two weeks like every other boring shmuck that works the nine to five. All winter long I have been struggling to pay the rent, buy groceries and still have enough left over to support my addictions. There was no way I would have enough money to see the concert the way I wanted to see the concert.
I decided to get a job. A regular eight hours a day, five days a week job. I don't have very many marketable skills. I have worked in the service industry but I ruled that choice out right away. Eventually, after a series of mishaps I found a job as a low-level non-tech landscaper. Digging in the dirt. I loved it. It is the childhood dream of every little boy in North America to get a job where you can get down right dirty. Or to find a job where you can blow up things. Well, I knew nobody was going to give me a job blowing up things so I settled for the dirt.
But I quickly ran into another snag. I am living in Victoria, British Columbia. Otherwise known as THE WET COAST. Meaning the work is sporadic and undependable when you are in the landscaping business. I was at the mercy of the gods.
But I had a plan so crazy...it just might hurt.
I decided to take my pay-cheque, my measly little 225 dollar pay-cheque and gamble it away at the Great Canadian Casino. I figgered why the hell not? That kinda scratch won't get me what I want anyways. Why not and try to make it real one more time? To see Van Morrison in concert meant to do it up right, and to do it up write requires the scarfing to pay for it all. It's all or nothing and it's now or never.
