Howdy neighbour

Karma. Dr. Prick explains it away as works or destiny. 1948 was not a banner year for the new age movement. A quick peek in the family dictionary has karma between kaput , used up or gone bad, and katzenjammer ,hangover , two words I'm oddly enough quiet familiar with. "One's destiny as determined by conduct". Holy crap, I'm not quiet sure what to make of that. The conduct part is disconcerting, almost intimidating. It never dawned on me that there could be a downside to this friendly harbinger of occidental truth. And why are my eyes fixed on kaput and not on kapok, kayak or karate? Karma perhaps?

Our fair city has experienced some dramatic changes over the last decade. Olympic fever, rampant homelessness, berserk politicians and shameless developers have set the pace and the future is uncertain. During the last 5 years real estate prices have gone through the roof and a lot of people on the west side of Vancouver have joined the ranks of the nouveau riche. The older residents of this former predominant Greek enclave have taken the whole thing in stride but a large percentage of the upward mobile crowd have no such reservations and have a pressing need to be recognized for their astute investment strategy and dumb luck.............. Welcome to the home of dog walkers, personal trainers, yoga classes, Filipino nannies and $6.00 frappochinos where gangs of soccer moms terrorize our gentle tree lined streets in their overpriced European hybrids, driving around erratically like blind hustlers, giddily jabbering away on their purple blackberries while little Billy and his sister are desperately trying to cross the road to get to school on time. No wonder Billy and his older brother Max roam the streets and alley's after dark, spray painting everything in sight, marking their territory with elaborate etchings like the one on Samantha's moms Audi Q7. Strangers weep when they stop and stare at the carnage, wondering what the hell is going on . But not me. I understand these things. Instead of waiting patiently for a prime parking spot in full view of Starbucks, she now prefers to park behind the friendly local tattoo parlor across the road. A pity really because I'm sure I'm not the only one to admire Max's keen eye for detail and little Billy' psychedelic color schemes

Vancouver did not escape the economic downturn brought on by Wall streets financial meltdown however the property market has done remarkably well and homes are still selling at a premium. The construction boom that had Vancouver in it's greedy claws has gone bust but the renovation racket, a business of particular interest to me, is showing no signs of biting the bullet . It has allowed me the little comforts and small luxuries a man needs to get himself into trouble. Meetings are my forte but do not always go my way when I'm confronted with outlandish expectations, cheap ersatz beer and cheaper clients.

This mornings little gathering was a shining example of the yahoos that sometimes get their filthy gritty hands on my phone number. It didn't take long to figure out that they were after a free consultation and that their dream project was on a fast track to nowhere. A classic case of someone who wants to drive a porche but is only willing to pay for a second hand Volkswagen. (What is it with these people? What motivates them to renounce propriety with such recklessness, why are they allowed to prosper and propagate and who is their leader?)We used to be neighbours and got along agreeably. However from the moment they received an obscene amount of cash for their hovel and moved into a shack with a "better" address our cordial relationship has been on a slippery slope. They finally had "come home" and it was time to abandon ship, out with the old and in with the new and make a fresh start with the other members of the "community" they were so eager to join. The wave of the future so to speak, a bunch of hacks and sodomites that have little to offer and nothing to contribute, so cheap and useless that they don't even comprehend their own freakishly frightening downward spiral into Ken and Barbie's world. They had brought along the latest edition of New Homes, a monthly magazine solely concerned with luxury residences, the newest must have gadgets and Martha Stewart's latest drivel. Bad taste and dumb money, brutal but very lucrative when approached the right way.

Paul's irrational fear of his wife was always a fine source of contemplation that used to perk me up whenever I was on the wrong side of Jan's very, very sharp stick. Schadenfreude in it's purest form and the reason why I had a soft spot for the pathetic sod and agreed to meet with him and his wife.
Nick, who lives across the alley, drags Paul to the bar now and then. He has a deeper understanding of the dynamic of Paul's brutal  domestic reality, cooped up at home with a vicious hag and no relief in sight. I see them sometimes at the local watering hole but usually don't bother. Paul can be a real downer and I prefer my regular spot, a strategic location, halfway between the entrance and emergency exit with an excellent view of all the action, right at the bar amidst all the junkies, misfits and degenerates that consider themselves my friends. However when the two of them rolled in the other day I strolled over and shamed Paul into buying the next round since I was low on funds. I joined them for a few minutes, long enough to bend the conversation sideways and give them something to chew on. When I got up, Paul seemed flustered and agitated while Nick kept himself extremely busy with his blackberry, tying his shoelaces while trying to get on top of a hideous coughing fit. Worried it was something contagious I quickly refilled my glass from the almost empty pitcher on the table and returned to the bar. About 5 minutes later I noticed Paul staggering of towards the door while my British friend was working his way through the crowd towards the bar. He ordered another pitcher of beer, filled my glass, then filled his own, looked up and said: " Why do you always have to refer to his wife as the onion"? Since Nick and I share a passion for Balvenie and he is in the enviable position of collecting a very generous monthly check I took the liberty of ordering each of us a double, no ice, his tab, before answering. "Well Nick, uhm, yes, sorry old chap, think nothing of it, it's my upbringing I'm afraid, nice girl, strong teeth, kids seem a bit off though especially that little shit Samantha, don't you think? My dogs go berserk whenever they get a whiff of her and my boy tells me she has hygienic issues. Yes, the mom, right. Wouldn't you cry if you had to wake up next to that every morning?". He looked at me stunned, probably admiring the simple logic behind an odious fact. Kyle, the bartender, interpreted his dumbfounded expression as a sure sign that another round of beverages was in order and I wasn't going to argue.

But I digress, where were we?
About 10 minutes into our little get together I couldn't stand it any longer and told Paul that his time was up and unless he was willing to hand over a certified blank check, put a leash on the motor mouth sitting next to him, things were just not going to work out. Before they had recuperated from this sudden brutal turn of events I managed to finish the crap they had the audacity to serve, pulled out a fattie and used my trusted Zippo to enjoy its soothing qualities before bidding them adieu. It's doubtful that they will be bothering me again anytime soon.