... Papa's pride in the progeny ...

... this June carries with it a preoccupation with football ... for a growing number of us the quadrennial World Cup has the power to obliterate other concerns and commemorations ... for me, mid-June dates also prompt thoughts on fatherhood ... Father's Day falling, as it does, on or around my dad's birthday of June 19th ...

... the late Doctor, seen here c.1972 if memory serves me, surveying the kingdom of San Francisco, had journeyed there from Jamaica to be inducted as a Fellow of the American College of Surgeons (F.A.C.S.) ... four more letters to add to the M.D., F.R.C.S. ... all of which featured on letterhead, and in bronze on his office-door at Spanish Town Hospital ...












... he lived long enough to experience grandfatherhood through me and narrowly missed the birth of my twin nephews, but ... the old man survives in memory and photographs as we fast-forward through next generations, where it is left to his progeny, my brother and I, to buck trends of errant fatherhood in raising our own children ...















... we've all heard the platitude "they grow up so fast," - more a measure of our unceasing wonderment at creation of life and lives, than any exponential increase in physicality and size ... still, it's probably true that today's wired world thrusts wider variety of adult behaviour on ever younger people ...

... anyhow ... grow up they do and adults they become ... as parents it's hard not to feel pride and joy when children emerge through developmental stages or achieve something they've put effort into ... this year, Father's Day found me counting extra blessings for I was now a positively proud Papa to a bonafide University Grad. ... I conspired to attend the ceremony, happily capturing images from my seat in the wings of the crowded Toronto auditorium ...















... watching kid number one ... it seemed only a short while ago she was reading Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein ... now she was holding a Bachelor's degree in Journalism ... the latest achievement in a life that has consistently lived up to promise ... my pride in her must have bolstered her own pride in herself , strengthening self-esteem - a crucial requirement for dealing with future challenges, over which I'm certain she'll prevail ...














... kid number one-too ... calling him number two is not an option (wink) ... only sixteen months her junior, is also a source of Papa-pride ... with a different flava ... he's taken to rapping alongside a seventies-style rock band in Vancouver ... handling covers and original rhymes with a flair to make this musically keen Dad proud and slightly jealous ... y'see, every actor is a wannabe musician, in the same way so many singers seem to want movie careers ...














... his rude-boy rap, wisely minimising cliche and nodding consciously toward graffiti-ganja culture is spiced mildly with a ragga-reggae vibe in homage to his Van-sterdam/Jamaican roots ... old-school lyrical flow melds creatively with cool-classic rock runs provided by his band of talented homies, and it all comes together nicely in concert ... seen 'em gig twice now and swell with pride looking at the pics I took ... that he still persists at the day-job doubles my respect ... hey, it's a Dad's prerogative ...














... they're grown now yet they'll always be my kids ... the ones who ultimately taught me the truth behind some of my father's more curmudgeonly pronouncements, particularly the common admonishment "wait 'til you have kids of your own"... loosely interpreted, and giving the benefit of doubt, he could have simply meant "fatherhood is one helluva ride" ...

... the eight year old step-daughter I'm helping to raise now asked for a second helping of broccoli tonight ... I felt that familiar approving pride ... here we go again, aren't kids supposed to gag on the greens? ...

... I guess it's all relative ... pun intended ...

... sound Africa's trumpet ...

... the plastic replica souvenir cost eight Canadian dollars and I had no change in pocket so my friend Stevie picked it up for me until I could pay him back ... come to think of it, I'm not sure if I ever did ... so, I may have acquired my vuvuzela for free at Vancouver's home match against St.Louis back in April ... I've been blowing the plastic horn lustily from then on and particularly since the start of the World Cup in South Africa ...

... every four years I'm one of those who tries to watch all the matches, a fantastic way to see the world without the expense of travel ... there are no Caribbean teams among the thirty-two finalists this year, but we get six African outfits and the curious representation from North Korea - in the same tourney as South Korea, at a time of heightened geo-political tensions no less, threatening the mouthwatering possibility of a battle-by-ball, if the teams actually meet during the competition ...

... as always, there are the world's beautiful women in full regalia on show, and points-of-interest at each match-up, other than the game itself, are multiple and stimulating ...

... I can (and do) wax lyrical about African soil hosting sport's greatest extravaganza for the first time ... there are the South African Reconciliation and Mandela factors, patriotisms and post-colonial retributions, the wall-of-noise vuvuzela soundtrack in the stadia, the Jabulani-Ball aerodynamics too, but in the end it's the on-field exploits that are the real story ...

... watching the Argentinians strut their embarrassment of riches has been fulfilling so far and I for one appreciate the delicious spectacle of Messi-dona and supporting cast ... despite the absence of playmaker Riquelme, the Argentine bench could be the backbone of another complete team ... with Diego Maradona's son-in-law Sergio Aguero the prince-in-waiting ...

... it's too early at this stage (less than halfway through the roundrobin stage) to make definitive pronouncements, but certain storylines are clearly taking shape, like the familiar one of English great expectations ... ahh, those heirs to that '66 curse, you know, when Bobby Moore and his merry men won on home turf, forever causing England to rate itself among the world's best despite all indicators ... I write this after watching a 0-0 draw with Algeria, the least impressive display by the Brits in a long line of disappointing major competitions ...

... English hand-wringing has amped up several degrees ... only two matches into this tournament finds the blogosphere alive with the kind of acerbic witticisms no one does better than the British ... "at the risk of hyperbole, this is possibly the worst result since 1066," quoth one ...

... the pundits are blunt, spiking commentary with adjectives like "tossers," "wankers," and "shite"... so much so that one is inclined to believe any lay-expert could make team improvements without difficulty given the patchy results of the high-profile managerial appointments that are now the norm ...

... there's probably a restructuring formula that could work in the long run but I'd like to suggest English football take a leaf from the Scrabble playbook ... sometimes it's better to cut your losses ... return your cards to the jumble and draw a new hand ... hey, if it's good enough for the Brazilians ... ...

... while African sides cling to hopes of advancing further than ever before and usual suspects try to adapt to a leveling out of standards which can result in closer contests and more frequent upsets ... the public should try to stay in touch with the evolving nuances of the world game and the fine "art" of gamesmanship ... each successive Mondiale pulls the drawstrings of global community tighter, and somehow we emerge better for it ...

... the winds sweeping across Africa this summer, out over the oceans in every direction, carry the challenging sound of the vuvuzela ... like it or not we will all surely know it ... and knowledge is power...

... after the football finale, when all is said and done, there will be one World Champion, and whole world of winners ...

... and, likely, one or two whiners.

... Melrose on the fly ...

... I'm not certain how to assess the extent to which I was seduced by the typical tapestry of Los Angeles media subtlety ... the billboards were everywhere and I developed an unexpected urge to see Iron Man 2 ... on opening weekend no less ... the character of the City of Angels hasn't changed much since I lived there for a brief stint some years ago ... and while Melrose Avenue has seen significant transitions, it remains as good a place as any to get a taste of the place if time is limited ...














... three or four years flew by since I last had the luxury of an afternoon to kill in L.A. ... the ubiquitous Christian Audigier namecheck and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art banners hyping Renoir's 20th Century work served to remind me that splash is expected with any type of product here ... and ... that this is no one-horse town ...

... there are more cars in L.A. these days fo' sho ... and more people passing through from elsewhere ... I somehow knew I'd run into a familiar face ... that it happened in a vintage emporium called Wasteland means what exactly? ...














... though I've heard L.A. called a land of waste, it's not that it is an actual "wasteland" ... indeed ... here there's a penchant for re-selling used clothing and it spills out from the stores into impromptu street-marts set up in parking lots and sidestreets ...













... in this urban fame capital I saw no celebs but trod where one of the biggest of 'em all walked ... MJ loved the appropriately named quaint little landmark at 7325 Melrose ... Off The Wall Antiques and Weird Stuff ... which for all it's worth resembles a glorified ye-olde-pawn-shoppe ... or ... judging by that day's sidewalk display, perhaps that should be prawn? ...














... with so much style for sale there's no shortage of takers for a quick hit of the spotlight ... the glam lure conspires to attract everyone ... not just on screen but in print ... glossy free street mags could be found in every-other shop along my route that warm afternoon ... seems ev'rybody be lookin' for copy, bylines or portfolio ... one curbside fashion shoot invited my gaze and didn't care how long I gawked ...













... some peeps make their noise with a flashy ride and a look-at-me attitude ... no fewer than five LAPD cruisers were drawn to the driver of this white rolling statement ... just another live act in the land of showbiz ... requisite paparazzi kneeled in the middle of traffic for long-lens shots but I couldn't identify the perp ... I do know that it wasn't Rodney King or O. J. Simpson ... nor did it appear to be David Hasselhoff or a Lohan ...














... in the time it took me to walk to my easternmost turnaround point and head back westward, the billboards I had noticed earlier were screaming the release of Hollywood's next blockbuster, Sex And The City 2, electronically flipping between present hype and ever-present next big thing ...

... as if life was imitating art, I espied a scene seemingly inspired by Carrie Bradshaw herself ... fit legs, fine threads 'n' all, conjuring images of 8th Avenue in Manhattan, or Fifth ... a passing Lexus flossin' a Florida license plate underlined the American cosmopolitanism of the Golden State ...














... this guy was late for class ... perhaps very late I mused ...














... still, here's betting he knew Melrose Avenue more than I ... may've even watched the 1,200,000 sq. ft. Pacific Design Center go up in the seventies ... he prob'ly saw it get added onto in the eighties, and knew what building was there before that ...














... the structure sometimes referred to as The Blue Whale occupies a long city block ... my tired legs could attest ... fittingly the nostalgic stroll ended near there, the diversity of facilities within mirroring the diversity of sights and experiences of a few hours out 'n' about on Melrose ... I could do it again and come up with an entirely different report ...

... ah well, nex' trip ...

... maple magic ... and music ...

... even though I periodically take a break from caffeine by giving up coffee for months at a time I count myself among those addicted to the brown brew ... medium-strong with a little honey for sweetener is how I take it ... no milk, mochas or macchiato to alter the experience for me ... then the unthinkable happened ... I tried a Canadian grind called Muskoka Maple which hails from Huntsville, Ontario ... there's something about maple sweetness that warms those of us who have spent significant time in this cold country on the edge of the habitable world ...

... the maple leaf imprimateur was everywhere when I got off the plane in Vancouver ... a cultural identifier amplified by the Winter Olympics roadshow which just blew through town ... my American-Airlines itinerary routed me through Miami and Dallas so it felt pleasantly drama-free to meet a receptive Canadian welcome and a freestanding, bar-code reading dalek machine that accepted my declarations at face-value ... admitting me readily to the country of my citizenship ...














... the Swiss-effect passport and experiences like that civil re-entry are big deals to people from other countries and those who have travelled to other countries ... call me naive but I believe that's most of us ... then ... give a thought to the folks who have yet to travel beyond their own borders ... their relationships with home soil are naturally ... colloidal ... where prejudice, pride and protectiveness may feature but ... make no mistake ... the national identity of contemporary Canada is maple-sweetened and strikingly nuanced with complex diversity at the same time ...

... I was here in Hollywood North on business ... usually more than enough reason to do my thing without pausing to smell the cherry blossoms or to regard the grander signs sent to ease the preoccupied mind ... but as fate would have it ... I was about to be treated to some maple magic without actively seeking it out ...













... "so you're an actor ... what restaurant do you work at?..." goes the joke which came to mind when I was approached backstage by Mark Burgess (Dr. Jeremy Franklin on Stargate Universe) ... we worked together in a restaurant a lifetime ago ... it had been many moons since we last saw each other and ... coincidentally ... our former co-worker Jowi Taylor was also in town ...

... Uganda-born Jowi (a Luo name meaning "buffalo") shared mix-tapes with me back in the day before we went in different directions ... I persist as an actor and he has become an alchemist of sorts ... a manufacturer of sacred relics ... a Canadian consciousness-raiser-on-a-mission ... an honorary Buffalo Soldier fighting the good fight with his media-art ... he's most famous perhaps for a guitar made up of sixty-plus pieces of Canadiana which has come to symbolize the national DNA to the extent that it tirelessly tours the country to be experienced, posed with and played by many ... the Canadian Mint even honored the effort with a commemorative coin shaped like a guitar pick ...









... nuff respec' Jowi ... only the passion of a person inspired by the sometimes ill-defined chromosomal weave of Canada could have conceptualised such disparate components into a whole greater than the sum of its parts ... the six string nation guitar ...

... a canoe paddle belonging to Pierre Trudeau ... the only piece ever taken from the three hundred year old Golden Spruce of Haida Gwaii ... Great Bear Lake rock, whale bone, antlers, iconic hockey keepsakes ... pieces of a prairie grain-elevator and the Newfoundland lighthouse that recieved the Titanic distress signal ... black cowboy John Ware, Metis rebel Louis Riel and author Lucy Maud Montgomery are represented, as are Acadian, Doukhobor, Africville artifacts, Montreal club memorabilia and plenty more ... comprising this tangible living history ... I felt compelled to imbue this comprehensive statement with my energy ... and get something intangible in return ...













... Gordon Lightfoot, Colin James, Steven Fearing ... the list of talented players making music on this labour-of-love is long ... I like to think each one finds extra inspiration in the instrument and leaves a bit of soul in the hallowed hollow of Voyageur ... as the six-string-nation guitar is now known ...

... maybe the next strummer will vibe the noodling two-string Jamaica Farewell/Linstead Market melody I plucked out of it ...













... as if the reassuring emotional comfort in making Jamaican sounds on this Canadian guitar, with renewed friendships, over a pint at a popular spot on a spring day in Vancouver wasn't enough ... I could also rest assured in the knowledge that friends in Ontario had sent me a large bag of Muskoka Maple coffee ... effectively bridging the width of this expansive country ... magic! ...

... big up y'self Canada!

... "just read it"... she said ...

... "I'm not sure how this one passed you by" ... ... I think those were the words used when she lent me the book ... adding a touch of sheepish culpability to my receipt of her kindness ... "but," she ventured to add with a sage tone in her voice, "it doesn't really matter much when you read it ... just read it" ...

... of course I devoured it right away and have been keener to life's de facto ironies ever since ...

... Brazilian writer Paulo Coelho's 1988 mystic novella The Alchemist will do that to you if you've ever dreamed or dreamed of dreaming ...

... either you have or you want to ... and many of us can find some liberation in our dreams ...

... additionally, embedded in this tale-of-journey is profound reflection on the road travelled ... the factors that can affect decision making, direction of conscious energies toward what the heart desires and the satisfaction of soul ...

... if we accept that matter can neither be created nor destroyed then we flirt with the concept of alchemy, or change, in nature ... when we further expand to see alchemy at play in changes of circumstance ... even geographical scenery ... we realise alchemy in reality is not about medieval potions and the turning-of-lead-into-gold conjuring of hooded magii, but simply about ...

... understanding ...

..." just read it," she said, which I repeat and endorse ... and, I suggest you'll want to do so before the long-anticipated release of the movie version by Laurence Fishburne ... now expected next year ...

... age quod agis ...

... well, check it out ... time marches on and some things are secrets no more ... other things have evolved from suspicion to belief and even though health-care reform has come to America, first-time occurrences are fewer and farther between ... it's just the way of the world ... yet, game-changing moments still happen, like the election of Barack Obama into the U.S. old boy's club for instance, or this summer's World Cup on African soil for the first time which will stamp its mark on the game of football ...

... so too the Usain Bolt athletic breakthroughs of the last few years ... about which we will marvel for a long time ... Bolt has put Jamaica's love for track-and-field into the brightest spotlight yet ... Trelawny yellow yam, dumplings and country-cooking notwithstanding, most of us know that school-age competition in Jamaica is the most crucial element in the formula for success ... and not doping ... a regrettable component of the sport but less so in Jamaica where professional running retains the ingrained youthful passion of high-school euphoria ...

... in each of the last one hundred years a high-school track and field summit has convened in Kingston ... it's known simply as "Champs", where hype and bluster can rival a hot stage-show or political rally ... the inaugural event was held in 1910 and Wolmer's Boys' School became the first victors ...

... last week Saturday saw the conclusion of Champs 100, the grand centennial! ... a round number for a more-coveted-than-usual slot in the history books ... with heroics aplenty, Wolmer's snapped a fifty-four year winless streak to establish current bragging rights ...

... "age quod agis" reads the inevitable latin school motto emblazoned on the official crest ... it translates to motivate students as "whatever you do, do it well" ...

... props to Bretski for the cris' commemorative artwork ...

... proudly represented by the colours maroon and gold, Wolmer's is a venerable institution ... the oldest high-school in the Caribbean, in fact ... it has served up a roll call of stellar past-students from former Governor General Sir Florizel Glasspole and former Prime Minister Edward Seaga to sporting greats (Jeff Dujon, Ricardo "Bibi" Gardner) and entertainment stars (Belafonte, Sean Paul) ...

... for this history-rich school the latest triumph ranks alongside the 1971 triple-winning footballers who swept all before them ... immortalising themselves in time ... and in the imaginations of all such as I who bore witness ...














... Wolmer's cannot claim Bolt as an alumnus ... but Julian Forte and Dwayne Extol made names for themselves last week in the cauldron of competition ... the Jamaican sprint factory is in full production, the secret is out, Jamaicans run faaas' ...















... wins such as these are inspirational to young minds and mi glad bag bus' to the pulse of Wolmerian pride, home an' abroad ... like me, most readers here weren't born when Wolmer's last won Champs in 1956 ... and during the years I attended, '69-'75 if you must know, the victories didn't come in bunches ...














... both my parents went to Wolmer's, my mother having been schooled on the female side of the actual fence ... my father, the late Dr. John L. Williams, served in the early seventies as President of the Wolmer's Old Boy's Association ... as a student he was said to have been a wily footballer halted only by knee injury and he led a strong Wolmer's Cricket side as skipper ... my thoughts went to him as I know he would have felt his chest fill up and his head swell like the rest of us ...












... it is fairly safe to say the good doctor would not have phrased it quite this way but I can't resist ... ... Wolmaz mi seh!!

... seashells and the sick cyber-stalker ...

... seems sometimes ... only a hit of pure, unabashed nature can counteract malady and illness ... if any of you in blogland have been with me from the beginning of Ackeelover Chronicles or have poked through the archives, you'll have seen evidence of a seashell aesthetic ... every so often I'll throw some at you ...

... I do this in part to share beauty with readers, and in part to help inure us all to some of the ugliness out there ... to throw wonder at some insanity ... and there's plenty evidence of that too, everywhere you look ... even where you're not looking ...













... pretty much the first thing to notice here are the holes in each of these shells from my favourite beach-of-the-moment ... wonderful creations, previously home to many a happy clam ... but now they have holes in them, protective cuppings with bored breaches ... apertures which can freely admit grit, and irritants ...














... any breach of this "homeshell security" threatens the wellbeing of a self-respecting bivalve ... and I, ostensibly a higher life form, know exactly how that feels, for I too have an irritant that has breached my homeshell ...

... said irritant, in the form of a very disturbed individual wielding a computer like a weapon, is easily identifiable when you come across the madness online ... evidently, such people are as commonly occuring in nature as these shell holes ... when I mentioned the offending cyber-stalker recently to a friend, the response was an unimpressed, "welcome to the club mi bredda" ...












... these blanched sea-urchin shells have holes in them that are meant to be there ... when alive they are protected by long, sharp and painful spikes to keep away attackers ... the internet has no such protection or assurance ... so, until such time as a suitable cyber-pesticide is developed, or an exterminator is found, I am treating the breach with the beauty of the beach ... and whatever additional tools I can get my hands on ...

... mano a mano ...

... when my friend Georges moved away a few months ago I was the beneficiary of a bunch of stuff he left behind ... mostly useful ... but, though I appreciated them ... this is the computer age and I had no idea what I was going to do with the 1970/71 vintage LIFE magazines he gave me ... until just now ...














.... the eureka moment came in the form of query ... my daughter, knowing me to have abiding reverence for Muhammed Ali the man, the athlete and the icon, asked me for thoughts on the third epic Ali-Frazier fight having just watched a documentary on it ... in which the overshadowed Frazier perspective of this massive event is finally presented ...

... remembered as it was billed in 1975, "The Thrilla In Manila" retains sociologically significant sporting import thirty-five years on ... pitting as it did the poster-boy of black pride against another proud-to-be-black champ of the boxing ring ... mano a mano ... on an all-too-eager internationally syndicated stage ...















... over fourteen rounds they put on a full throttle thrilla and, to put it simply, beat the brains out of each other for considerable compensation ... but it was more than a prize-fighter match-up ... for each man there was nobility in their cause and backstory to their behaviours ... huge hype at the time but more clarified today with the added perspective of time ...

... the fight itself is what it was ... a grueling encore of encores adjudged to have tipped in Ali's favour before being stopped by Smokin' Joe's corner ... but it should come as no surprise that both men emerged with their share of the critical spoils ... and rightly so ... some of the weapons-of-mass-rhetoric prior to battle had racial overtones which served to amplify the tensions leading up to the event and surely added intensity to the performances on the day ... that Ali was naturally the more loquacious casts him as the main offender ... he gave everything in the ring and said everything outside of it, even if it was offensive ...

... this was war, all guns a-blazin'! ...















... Central Casting couldn't have done a better job ... the controversially brash brown-skinned Adonis who was effortlessly charismatic in the spotlight versus the rock solid black-powerhouse who did his talking with his fists ...














... seasoned performers both, neither were young phenoms nor past-it has-beens ... Ali in particular carried political weight in his insistence on being his own man in an age where that was an incongruity for one of his background ... by refusing to go to war he fought the law and the law didn't win ... he transcended his sport and while doing so developed his shtick ... a contradictory amalgam of supreme confidence and behaviour black men often manifest in order to project themselves to the widest audience ... ... y'ever notice how that inevitably seems to involve or feature comic mugging on some level? ...

... it is sometimes said that nothing in life is truly black or white, there are only shades of grey ... I'll add to that ... history isn't merely a timeline but also a prism ... while there is something troubling in the image of two proud, talented black men beating each other down, punching their way to a better life, you can't blame either fighter for their approach ...














... the depiction of Muhammed Ali, flaws and all, in the 2009 HBO documentary is not incorrect ... nor is it disrespectful ... it only serves to texturize the picture of this larger than life figure who captured human imaginations worldwide ... for some balance the film ought to be watched alongside the 1996 documentary ... "When We Were Kings" ... about the 1974 Ali-Foreman "Rumble In The Jungle" ... in Zaire, central Africa ... killer soundtrack on this one too ....

... Joe Frazier was as tenacious a pugilist as there's ever been ... and Muhammed Ali wasn't the only boxer with poise and style ... but, in its historical context, with all that resulted from his empowered achievements, from the Olympics and Sonny Liston through Joe Frazier and living with Parkinson's, the magnitude of this man's legacy is documented ... and safe for all time ....