pen de fame.

Tuesday, September 11th 2001. 

8:45AM. 

I was in bed. The phone rang. It was my sister. Half asleep, almost dropping the landline, I asked her what she wanted. She told me that a plane flew into the World Trade Centre in New York. I didn’t understand. She told me again. Groggy, I giggled at the breaking news on what I thought would be a quiet Tuesday. She told me that all the news channels were carrying it and I should wake Mom up and watch the aftermath of this catastrophe. 

So, I did. 

Still confused with the news I was going to deliver, I rushed to my mothers room, and relayed the words my sister told me moments ago. 

“Yeah, Ma? 

“What, Shane?” She was still n bed. Half asleep. Not wanting to learn about what was happening in real life. Yet. At least, not until coffee.

“Uhhh. A plane? A plane crashed into the World Trade Centre..”

“What are talking about, Shane?”. Ma replied.

“Yeah, Shell called. She said a plane crashed into the World Trade Centre in New York. She told us to watch”

“I’m up”. Mom yelled, unlocking her bedroom door. 

We rushed downstairs, and turned on the television. Before Mom could make it to the kitchen to put on some coffee, the second plane crashed into the World  and the World changed forever.

September 10, 2016.

10:10PM

 Trying to fathom all that has changed since that traumatic morning. That whole week. Year. Mom and I. My family. Friends. My community. The world moved slower. We had no idea what would happen next. When would the next bomb drop. When would the next plane get hijacked. We looked at the world differently.

After arriving back into Toronto from  Florida last week, I stood in a weaving line at Pearson International Airport. A line that almost took up the whole terminal. The line consisted of confused, tired travelers, just wanting their baggage. But we needed to go through the checks before we were allowed to grab our stuff. During the hour of weaving through tired passengers and security guards, and airport staff, I contemplated  if we would have the same procedures now,  if those planes didn’t wake Mom and I up fifteen years ago. Would the organized confusion that occurs daily at airports around the world, be less...Big Brother-like.

An hour earlier, I was in the sky. I was playing hopscotch on fluffy white clouds. I felt at ease. The Big Brother-like feeling I get at the airports, while  infuriating, and at times,  ignominious, keeps me safe. Us safe. The world, safe. Being hijacked is the last thing on my mind. I was more worried about lightening striking us down. I feel like there’s more of a possibility of being hit by lightening while in the air than being hijacked. An idealists theory? Maybe.

When I first heard that Prince passed my first thought was...

Prince taught me how to dance. 

I came from a family where Motown was a constant. Growing up in the 80s, we  spun Abba, and Duran Duran, and Madonna, The Temptations, Sam Cooke, and of course...Prince.

Coming to the video age, I watched Michael and Prince and saw how they moved. How they could captivate an audience. How they held 1,0000 people in the palm of their hand by their slightest hand strike or foot movement. 

As a 6 year old who danced till midnight at his parents high school reunions, Jackson, and Prince were my inspirations.

As I grew up, I started to really listen to Prince. 

Have you truly listened to Prince?  Like reallllly listen. His lyrics;

Tracy died soon after a long fought civil war, Just after I'd wiped away his last tear I guess he's better off than he was before, A whole lot better off than the fools he left here I used to cry for Tracy because he was my only friend Those kind of cars don't pass you every day

The one thing that the world should learn from his untimely passing, is this. Prince was a man of  originality. He  never changed to fit a corporate mold. He fought to keep his own identity. As a world, as people, we must continue that fight. It was his passion of always being original that kept me as a fan and an admirer. 

Prince taught me to dance, but he also taught me to always, ALWAYS be myself.

I thank you, Prince. 

 Sleep.

I often dream of heaven and I know that Tracy's there I know that he has found another friend Maybe he's found the answer to all the April snow Maybe one day I'll see my Tracy again

This is not about the dear man that was very close to me, that I lost this week. Not about the uncle who has always been a huge part of my life.  That tribute, that writing, those stories will come later. We lost him from Cancer Tuesday morning. It has been three days. It feels like a week. I took the week off from work. Just couldn’t do it. Looking back, maybe it would have been a good distraction. But no. I think, No, I know I made the right decision.   

Death doldrums. 

They say the stages of coping with death is in five stages.  Denial and Isolation,then Anger, then Bargaining, then Depression, then Acceptance. I must have skipped the anger, bargaining, and depression steps and skipped straight to Acceptance. 

But it’s been a weird week. Weird few years for deaths. 

As you know, I am a wrestling mark.  I watch a lot of wrestling shoot interviews. Wrestlers are asked if they ever get use to hearing about their comrades passing away. Most say that they’re never ready. However, the blows get softer. Once, every few years, you get one passing that would sting for a long, long time. 

Like this one. 

And since Tuesday, i have been marching down my own steps.

Tuesday:: Disbelief. Shock, Sadness. 

Wednesday: Sadness carried over from Tuesday, that lasted till early-afternoon. Distraction.

Thursday:  Distraction carried over from Wednesday, that lasted most of the day. Acceptance. Still there. 

We’ll see about Tomorrow and on Saturday , for the funeral. 

Maybe it’ll really become real on Saturday. Usually does at a funeral. But for now, I’m going to stand on this acceptance step. 

Everyone’s different. It was the first time I actually took notes of the steps. I thought they’d be more depressing steps for this one, but then again, the blows get softer after a while. And after a few more days, weeks, months, all the hurt, sadness, will be overcome with the awesome memories, that made them so close to you. 

As an avid reader of the Civil Rights Movement,.I remember quirky facts. Like, in 1969 when Coretta Scott King marched with 1,500 demonstrators to a church in Baltimore, in support of striking hospital workers in Charleston. The.same church her husband, Martin Luther King, urged church members to vote. 

While working on a piece tonight, for Geeks and Beats, I learned that the same church that saw 1,500 demonstrators and had Martin rocking the vote, is the same church where 9 people were shot dead last night. 

When I used to play radio as a kid, one of the bits I would have on my show would be the Top 5 List. The Top 10 List was already being done. For every list, I would make fun of Dolly Parton. Because He did. I would talk about this guy named George Bush, even though I didn’t exactly know who the guy was and what he did. I did it because Dave did. 

 Tomorrow is David Letterman’s last show. Tonight will be the last of Dave’s regular shows when he welcomes to the couch Bob Dylan and Bill Murray.

 I remember I watched Johnny Carson’s last show. And Leno’s. I loved Carson. I liked Leno. Dave, I admired. He was the talk show hosts, talk show host. .Many of his bits were before their time. And I think that’s what I liked the most about Dave. He was a trailblazer. Being part of such a small club of Late Night Hosts, he made it seem that he was the only one to man the desk.  He kept the chair warm, While warming our hearts every night at 11.35. 

I’m going to miss that. 

Thanks, Dave. Happy trails. 

.”..There is only one requirement for any of us, and that is to be courageous, because courage, as you might know, defines all other human behaviour.”

I don’t drink wine at all. It makes me tired. It gives me a headache. I don’t like it. Tonight, I’m drinking whie. Mom’s chocolate wine. Second glass. At my computer, writing, listening to my friends new mixtape. I’m not tipsy. I don’t have a headache. Yet. I’m not tired. Yet. Well, Ok, maybe, Just a bit, But I’m always tired. 

It’s just before 11.30. Just finished watching a few hours of Thursday television. The window was open all day, and it felt like heaven laying in my bed with the window open, fan going, sipping on my wine, savouring my junior mints. while flipping through the channels, falling asleep for a bit during the second hour of the two-hour Grey’s Anatomy Season Final. 

Earlier in the day, I watched a movie about a guy who tried to commit suicide. At the last minute, he decided not to, and called his university friends, instead. They all gathered at the guy’s New York abode in the forest and tons of University problems and memories came back up. Growing of age, Indie flick. Was OK. Watched it sober. This was before the wine. The movie was called About Alex. If you like that kinda stuff, check it out. Was well acted.  

11.36. Glass half empty. I’m a positive guy. Glass-half-full-kinda guy, but come on. The glass is almost done. Two more sips. If that. It’s good to be a glass-half-full kinda guy, but it’s better to be realistic. 

First off, It has been a while. I just haven’t had anything to really write about. I’ve been busy writing for these guys and for this station. I guess by the end of the day, I’m all written out. Last night, I had an interesting dream that gave me inspiration to write. 

The dream starts off with me being in a large house. I’m locking a door. i see girls outside. They’re my friends. I go outside to talk to them. They’re walking up a hill. I follow them. As I get closer, I realize that the group of girls are the Kardashians. Khloe? The other one, their Mother and one of the Jenner sisters. As we’re walking up the hill, walking beside Khloe, we talk about the snow storm. It’s icy. We see Kim walking down the hill carefully. One of the sisters run up to help the queen bee. Khloe looks at my face, as I say something, and she noticed that I missed a spot on my chin when shaving. She makes a joke, then remarks that my face is saggy. I retort that her breasts are saggy. She laughs, as she agrees with me.  noticing her deep cleavage. 

Looked it up, here’s what the biggest symbols mean. 

“To see snow in your dream signifies your inhibitions, unexpressed emotions and feelings of frigidity. You need to release and express these emotions and inhibitions. Alternatively, snow means that you are feeling indifferent, alone and neglected”

For the hill,  “To dream that you are climbing a hill signifies your struggles in achieving a goal. You need to focus your energies on the prize. To dream that you are standing on top of a hill suggests that you have succeeded in your endeavours”.

He's the brain. 

I wanted to be a personality as long as I could remember. In radio it was Tom Rivers, Mike Cooper, Jungle Jay and Mark Dailey.. 

Comedy wise, I liked Bill Cosby,  George Burns, Carroll O'connor and Jackie Gleason.

Then I got into wrestling. While I got into strong men like Hulk Hogan and Macho Man and Andre The Giant, I ended up tuning into wrestling every week to watch the managers. 

Especially Bobby The Brain Heenan.

Bobby had it all. He had the charisma of Dailey. He had the personality of Jungle Jay. He had the humour of George Burns. 

But he was a wrestling manager. 

That's what made him cool.

He was basically, all I wanted to be rolled up in one classy, flashy,jacket. 

And I loved it. 

Bobby has been a comedic hero of mine  since i can remember. His timing. His liners. His way with the crowd. So many times, I use his one-liners.

Even in my daily life conversations: 

Person "I'm from _________"

Me: "My condolences"

Person: "I've been married for 20 years"

Me: "You know, if you killed them, you would be out by now?"

All Bobby. 

And I get a laugh, every time. 

While, Macho Man is my favourite wrestler, ever. Bobby is everything I love about being an entertainer. 

At his Hall of Fame induction ceremony, Bobby said, "I love this. And I love you"

 We love, Bobby. Always will.  

Finished work two hours ago. Was going to go to sleep. Had a sudden rush of writer power, so I decided to stay up and jot down a few thoughts. Needed chocolate. to stay up. Too late for coffee.

Work is going well. It's like I'm in a zone for the 7 hours trapped in my basement, taking calls from all over Canada. Callers never knowing it's just little old me. In my basement, making the deals with my PJ's on, curled up in my black leather chair with wheels. It's a fun gig. 

The holidays went well. Didn't have as many `Do Nothing' days as I thought I'd have. Drank. Slept. Ate a lot. Drank again. Slept. Ate more. Drank more and more. News Years day was the worst. At least the few days in between Boxing Day and New Years Eve I had to work, otherwise, I think I would've drank for that whole week. Balance. Balance and Priorities. 

New Years Resolutions, asked a bar chum over the weekend. "To be well." I responded. Don't stress the stuff you can't really control. Don't stress over things you don't really want to quit. Just live life confidently, and with the right goal in mind. Being true to you, and your body. Everything else will fall in to place.

I'm in a huge auditorium. Balloons everywhere. George Michael is playing non-stop. Everyone is talking about the latest huge great movie star, Justin Bateman. Seems like a school dance, everyone is dressed up. In a holiday cheer, tripping over balloons. Tripping out on Wham. 

Last night, this was my subconsciousness. 

Insomnia? Sure. Had to wake up, anyway to write about this dream. 

I'm at school. My old school. I had a meeting with my teacher. The conversation went on as we took a stroll. Trough the top level of our round school, down the stairs, down the halls, down to the gym. to outside back round to the class. At first I was't talking to her much, but one little snarl about her accent, we began to hug. Arms around each other. She put her hand around my waist and grabbed my hand. She smelled nice. Like really, really, nice body lotion from Body Shop. As we got outside of the class, we let go of each other. She went into one class as I went into another, joining the rest of my class. 

Jolly.

Didn’t even notice the connection earlier today when I decided that Jolly was the word of the day. In my best Brit accent this morning, I was Jollying around the house, using it in my conversations with myself. 

Rivers.

Ten years, bud.

i'm sure you're wondering. No, I'm not married, yet.

I'm doing fine.

The days I don't think of you, or bring up your name partnered with a riveting Rivers story, I think how much of you I have carried with me. 

I'm anti-establishment. Like you were. 

I tend to get into Managements ears. A lot. 

My creativity. I got a lot of that from you. 

Your humour. I still use some of your lines. 

I'm not the only one who has a piece of your Shotgun in their pocket. Every time I turn on the radio and hear a newbie, I can hear a bit of Tom on the air. I sit back and wonder which station did they curl up to at night, listening to your tapes, just waiting for that day that they could be The Next Tom Rivers. 

I miss our talks.

Despite the many airchecks I listen to, and the many times I replay those home videos of you at CFTR, it's your friendship I miss the most. Been so many times since November 20, 2004 that I've wanted to pick up the phone and get your view on the latest Shaner Shenanigans. 

Earlier this year, I got a tattoo of headphones hanging from a microphone. There's a piece of that tatt that's just for you. While the tattoo is an homage to the many people I met over the years who introduced me to radio, and music, you have a sweet spot on there. Right by the mic. Just so we can hear you hit the post, like only you could. 

You're not forgotten. Your memory lives on. But we sure do miss you. 

Always with us, in our back pockets telling us to Lead, Follow or get out of the way. 

Rock'n'Roll till we play, again.

Familiarities. 

My love, hate relationship with Hip Hop. Tend to call her a friend who I drifted apart from, but count on when things get tough. Times aren't tough, but this week, I've been spending a lot of time with her. Spending a lot of time with the girl who was underground. Passing her glory days and not talking about her days of new, but that in-between time. When she wrote sweet poetry and could cook up a killer beat. 

Familiarities. 

Now that winter is here, I'm adding a couple more jogs in to the weeks planner. It might be the Canuk in me, but there's nothing more amazing than a winters jog. Went for one the other day. Boots knocking on a fresh bed of snow. Red toque covered with wet white. 

Familiarities. 

The veggie zone. I've been making a more conscience effort to cut out meat and only consume it twice a week. Making a conscience effort to not eat healthier - because I already eat healthy, not to eat more veggies or fruit - because I already inhale 'em, but to cut down on my meat. Again. Hopefully this time, I don't catch back-to-back fast food TV spots right before dinner. That was just a lost cause from the first spotting of Ronald. 

Familiarities. 

More yoga. Nuff said. 

Familiarities. 

Found my camera. Getting back stomping the creative ground to take photographs. One curse of having a smartphone is that it makes you forget the basics. Forget that before the camera on the phone, we had to use an actual camera to take flicks. Stop being so Insta-happy and go back shooting and clicking . 

Go back to your familiar spots.