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Sometimes you can make a silk purse out of a pig's ear. Nash's good friends Lou Molinaro and Lynne BeeBee have taken over this old drinking establishment and have turned it into a great performance space. It was always a large but very grungy room and the local bar-flies made for rowdy entertainment. The more wasted patrons made performing a dangerous occupation. Some of my favorite adventures happened at the Corktown. Check out the diary entry from Friday March 3, 2000. We arrive to find a new stage and a cleaner environment. The kitchen even serves real food, thanks to Lynn. Nash and Derek set up and get comfortable while I snooze under the nearest table. Tonight's opening acts are The Battleship Ethel and Hypnotech 3. Nash has worked with these groups before and they both bring a unique perspective to electronic music. Ethel is a jam band, delivering a spontaneous set of weird and wonderful sounds. Hypnotech 3 is two guys who sound like Kraftwerk but also have their own unique presentation. The crowd is very responsive to all the performers tonight. Dear readers, since this is my diary, I want to let you know of my current physical decline. At first, Nash thought I shouldn't bring up my personal condition but Poodle piss to that. This is my diary and I'll tell it like it is. Last summer I developed cataracts in the eyes and it became gradually worse. I was going to go blind, sooner not later. Then in late November, I accidentally chomped into something in the park and I got very sick. Sorry folks, but from a dog's point of view, if it smells bad you pee on it, if it smells good you eat it, and if it really stinks you roll in it. This toxic poisoning caused me to go to the doggie hospital for 4 days under intensive care. I was back to normal in a couple of weeks but my eyes were continuing to deteriorate. Just six weeks ago in a popular park in our end of town, an epidemic of dog poisonings broke out, with one dog dying and many being violently sick. The park is still cordoned off and the police are investigating the poisoned bits of meat. My case, along with other recent poisonings, has been added to the official police file. This toxic poisoning has had a bad effect on me. Although my blindness is unrelated, the toxins in my system have caused me to have two seizures, like an epileptic fit. The seizures have occurred three weeks apart and the second one was Saturday morning after the gig at the Corktown. Toxic poisoning and stress are two main factors that bring on seizures. I didn't like the stress of the unfamiliar territory at the Corktown (Nash figures he could walk that place blindfolded. Well, we dogs don't remember the same things that you humans do. If you asked me what I remember about the last time we visited the Corktown I'd say it was biting that drunk in the ass!) Contrary to popular belief, going blind does not enhance the other senses. That takes a long time to develop. My blindness is disorienting me because I don't really remember where I'm going. Humans have a better recall memory about where things are in a familiar environment, but no one told me a year ago there was going to be a blind-fold test! When I began losing my eyesight, I had to deal with the logistics of the house, and as I went totally blind it became very frustrating. The effects of a seizure can last several days, and I occasionally become very thirsty, hungry, deaf, blind and dangerous to myself. In an instant out of Nash's reach I fell down the stairs, but because I was so stoned, I crumpled into the wall and no damage was done to myself or the plaster. I have become very cautious of where I go and how fast I do it. Nash is taking great care to navigate me down the stairs from now on, but although I look and feel good and enjoy being pampered, I'm not having as much fun as I used to. Nash will help me through all this, but there comes a time when a dog's personal sense of well-being must be respected over human concern. So let's go for a bit of Gonzo Journalism. As Hunter S. would say, 'When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.' There I was, lying perpendicular in the bed next to Nash's head, exhausted from the evening's blind and confusing adventure. The smell of Nash's bandages next to me still bore the pungent odour of cheap perfume, poutine, and stale beer from the Corktown Tavern the night before. As I drift into unconsciousness, a profound sense of smothering overcomes me. I begin to pant, secreting a dense saliva over the carpet under my head. I lose my bowels. I am convulsing but unaware of my condition. Without mind or reason I need something to chew on, and in my dementia, I begin to masticate on the bandages attached to Nash's head. I twitch and turn, I pull and scream, and then Nash suddenly awakes, from his own bad dream of Claude Rains pulling at his gauze. At first he tries to calm me. Then he brings me a wet cloth for my drooling mouth but I growl to say 'Piss Off!' I have no idea of my intent or state of mind. I am 'beyond subconscious'. Nash is trying to function on three hours of post-gig-adrenaline sleep. Eventually I relax, and Nash brings me to my senses. After 30 minutes of calming with food, water and a good relief in the yard, we are ready to go back to bed. We both sleep soundly the rest of the night. First thing Monday we're going to the vets for blood tests to determine just what is causing the seizures. As things develop I'll let you know, but I won't be going to any gigs again soon. Digger |
