C
CelticWarlord
Guest
Andrew Stuart McLean , (1948 – 2017) was a Canadian radio broadcaster, humorist, monologist, and author, best known as the host of the CBC Radio program The Vinyl Cafe .He was known for fiction and non-fiction work which celebrated the decency and dignity of ordinary people through stories which often highlighted the ability of their subjects, whether real or fictional, to persevere with grace and humour through embarrassing or challenging situations. McLean died of cancer in 2017.
"It has been argued that the fall of the Berlin Wall had nothing whatsoever to do with the collapse of communism: it was just a weekend project that got out of control—thousands of German guys satisfying their undeniable urge to fix things up.”
“For the briefest instant, his brain was the only thing that reacted. Mistake, thought his brain. Then the mouthful of water, mixed with what remained of the almond toffee crunch, fire hosed out of his mouth, arced across the table and hit Mary Turlington just above her bosom.”
“He considered the hard times in his life. All the things he had been afraid of. All those years wasted, he told himself, because I was terrified of being different. That’s why all us fifty-four-year-olds end up looking so much alike. All of us are terrified of being different.”
“A husband looking for the perfect present is like a Knight of the Round Table on a quest for the Holy Grail. He can saddle up his trusty steed and head off gamely into the Christmas chaos - with courage as his trusty companion. But as soon as leaves the comforts of his castle, he will find that his old pal, doubt, has saddled up the mule of confusion and is clip-clopping along at his side. and before he even gets to the malls, that old traitor, conviction, will have turned and fled. Deep in his anxious heart, our knight will begin to wonder if the thing he is looking for really exists. Oh, he has heard rumours. There was a man once, who said he heard of a fellow, who told a story about a guy, who found the perfect Christmas present. But no doubt that is just a legend. One of those stories people tell to promote hope among the recklessly faithful."
"If you ever tracked him down, you’d probably find out the man who found the perfect present was just another poor sod alone in his bedroom on Christmas Eve, with a roll of wrapping paper, some Scotch tape, and a waffle iron.”
“She realized that the stains on the pot—like the scratches on her records, the dent on the kitchen floor where she dropped a skate, and the lines on her face—they all added up to the same thing: her life. They said, in their own way, the only thing that any of us can say, the only thing that is worth saying: I passed this way. I was here. ”
“Mother or father, brother or sister, wife or husband, or a dog or cat. It doesn’t really matter. After a while, each death feels like all the deaths, and you stand there like everyone else has stood there before you, while the big wind of sadness blows around and through you.”
Code:
- - - - - - -“For the briefest instant, his brain was the only thing that reacted. Mistake, thought his brain. Then the mouthful of water, mixed with what remained of the almond toffee crunch, fire hosed out of his mouth, arced across the table and hit Mary Turlington just above her bosom.”
“He considered the hard times in his life. All the things he had been afraid of. All those years wasted, he told himself, because I was terrified of being different. That’s why all us fifty-four-year-olds end up looking so much alike. All of us are terrified of being different.”
“A husband looking for the perfect present is like a Knight of the Round Table on a quest for the Holy Grail. He can saddle up his trusty steed and head off gamely into the Christmas chaos - with courage as his trusty companion. But as soon as leaves the comforts of his castle, he will find that his old pal, doubt, has saddled up the mule of confusion and is clip-clopping along at his side. and before he even gets to the malls, that old traitor, conviction, will have turned and fled. Deep in his anxious heart, our knight will begin to wonder if the thing he is looking for really exists. Oh, he has heard rumours. There was a man once, who said he heard of a fellow, who told a story about a guy, who found the perfect Christmas present. But no doubt that is just a legend. One of those stories people tell to promote hope among the recklessly faithful."
"If you ever tracked him down, you’d probably find out the man who found the perfect present was just another poor sod alone in his bedroom on Christmas Eve, with a roll of wrapping paper, some Scotch tape, and a waffle iron.”
“She realized that the stains on the pot—like the scratches on her records, the dent on the kitchen floor where she dropped a skate, and the lines on her face—they all added up to the same thing: her life. They said, in their own way, the only thing that any of us can say, the only thing that is worth saying: I passed this way. I was here. ”
“Mother or father, brother or sister, wife or husband, or a dog or cat. It doesn’t really matter. After a while, each death feels like all the deaths, and you stand there like everyone else has stood there before you, while the big wind of sadness blows around and through you.”