Halo NightI wouldn't consider myself to be a gamer. I mean, I spend most of
my daylight hours living it up in RL (gamer term for 'real life' - I
didn't deny being a nerd) but sometimes, I let loose with a little
stick analog combo in my hands.
Tonight, I played Halo 3 with a few friends at my buddy Eric's
place on a gi-normous tv. The picture was beautiful and bright and
I'm quite happy that the only tv's I own are 19 inches (at most) and
tubers. It was good to get my slash on tonight. I felt like a bit of
a nerd bachelor (as Sarah is away for a few days) but what the
heck - gotta live it up while you can.
In other news, my friend Liz is mostly moved to Kingston. I had
a chance to meet up with her briefly today and chat about all things
future and all things past in her world. It was a good meeting.
On our way out of the coffee shop, she let out a loud f-bomb and
made a little girl (standing with her mother on a corner) start to
cry.
You'll be missed, sister.
Buy Me Some Peanuts And Cracker JacksIn another age, I was a softball player. I was actually even
part of a church league that had a famous 'bench-clearing'
brawl. No joke. Those days were special. Newly budding
dandelions filled the outfields. The crack of a bat meant
you needed to pay attention to your surroundings. Most
of all, though, I remember cheering on friends, teammates
and cracking the most borderline (and beyond border)
jokes possible on the bench. The social aspect of softball
is massive and something that is near and dear to my
heart.
A mere week ago, I signed myself, Sarah and a few
family and friends up for a spring/summer softball league.
It's going to be epic, no matter what happens. Tonight is
our first practice.
I'll let you know who the early golden glove nominees
are. Here's the roster:
Me (el capitano)
Sarah (solid swing)
Adam (my bro/jittery speed)
Steve Gray (big blue)
Joel Stewart (The Gospel Enforcer)
Caleb Cowal (small and sultry)
Jon Blooms (possible triple crowner)
O-Dog (all around showboat)
L-Dog (Jakartan Jaguar)
Neil Strobe-Light (worked with me at the call centre in St C.)
Courtney (Sarah's old Cobourg friend)
Connor (Sarah's friend's boyfriend)
Eric Starra (Master Chief)
Matt Starra (monkey man)
Chrissy (new girl)
SwervedriverYou want to talk about bands that inspired the wall of sound in
modern rock? Look no further than Swervedriver. I was turned
on to these guys at Zap Records in Kingston in the late 90's.
The dude running the store seemed a little bored and so did
I. He ventured a guess - 'Looking for something different?'
I turned towards him with my bleache-blonde hair and value
village red canada hoodie and said 'Yeah. In fact, I am'. He
came out from behind the counter and pulled the 99th Dream
record off the wall, removing the plastic sneeze-guard
from the outside of the sleeve. 'Check this out' he nodded
as he popped the vinyl 33 on to a player hidden in the back
room. At first, I didn't like it. My normalcy pushed it away
as I thought 'Naw. This is too weird. What will people think?'
but as the guitars continued to build bridges of sonic beauty
in every song, I couldn't turn my ears away. I talked for a
while with that record store worker (mostly about
Pavement) and then I never saw him again. I think he was
covering a shift for the main store owner who used to be
there every shift.
In 99, SD apparently disbanded. '99th Dream' was all that
I ever knew by them...but that record forever left an
impression upon my musical inclination and taste.
Apparently, they also re-issued their 3 major albums (which
never gained a mainstream audience) in 2008 after they
played at Coachella. Weird!
If you're into different stages of orchestral guitar builds,
weird time signatures, blasting distortion and listenable
vocals, you will dig this band's catalogue.
Hopefully, I just made Swervedriver a little extra cash.
City SwelterOh man - talk about films that should have been left in the can.
Though I've never seen it, I can only imagine. What director in
his or her right mind would have teamed up Clint Eastwood
with Burt Reynolds?
Today was a record high for Ottawa this time of year. 30
degrees celsius and blazing. I walked outside for a bite at lunch
and was slammed with a wall of mid-July heat. It felt odd but
I'm trying to enjoy it. Now, I am inside in my cool basement
apartment, unwinding.
Sarah took the day to relax. She has been on the go for years
so it's good that she is taking some time to chill.
I am epiphany-less.
Distance Has No Way Of Making Love UnderstandableWilco are actually unbelievably gifted songwriters and creators.
It took me a while to get that but I get it now. I always found a
certain level of pretension within their music (mostly within the
people I knew who loved and embodied their work) but now, I
find peace there. Jeff Tweedy's minimalist yet grandeur form
is something that resounds deeply within me. For eons, I put
up with people who told me 'Buy Yankee Hotel Foxtrot! This
album will change your life!' and I spit back curses of 'Stop
preaching Wilco to me'...but now, I am converted.
A few years back, my friend Laura came to visit me and my wife
and left a copy of 'Sky Blue Sky' in our car. I ripped the disc to
my computer and let it stew for a while. I didn't know what to
think at first. I wanted to understand what everyone else was
talking about...but I still found their music to be very basic
and uninspired.
Then, that same year, I was up late while Sarah was asleep
and SNL came on. I watched a lot of TV while we lived in St.
Catharines (mostly because of the free cable we had living at
the private school). Wilco was the musical guest. With
intrigue, I waited for their performance. They played 'Hate It
Here'. I had heard that song many times (thanks to my friend
Laura's leaving of the album in our car)...but I had never
really 'heard' the song. That night, with the volume on low
while my wife slept, I saw Wilco. The laidback bluesy feel
mixed with the bouncy, big band/rock riffs woke me up
to the sleeping genius of Jeff Tweedy and his crew.
I listened to that song many times on many runs around my
St Catharines neighbourhood on many occasions after that.
I always remembered their night. The sound was new in
my ears - although familiar at the same time.
I was converted.
Whoopsy!I was a ball player. I was good. When I played for the Oakland A's,
everyone wanted to be close to me. Everyone wanted my autograph.
I even became more famous than Rickey Henderson. He was pissed.
Screw him, though. He was a dope fiend. We were friends, yeah, but
his ego was a massive. I was the calm, collected one. What about
McGuire, you ask? McGuire was a public nice guy and a private
jerk. At least Henderson wasn't two-faced - he was a jackass all
the time.
Anyways, I used to hit. I could field, too. I broke records. I was on
my way to the hall.
And then something happened.
I changed teams. I got injured. I made stupid speeches in the face
of the people I should have never trusted - the media. They ate
me up. Someone hit a ball deep in the outfield and I tripped as
the ball hit my head and bounced over the fence for a homerun.
I made the news more that night than I ever did as a triple crown
winner. Do something right - you'll hear a little. Do something
wrong - you'll hear a lot. That's my motto.
Anyways, the whole thing was crazy. Everything I said seemed to
get amplified. I should have just shut up and played. But I got
injured more. And then I pleaded for more money.
I pitched a game, once. It was bad. I wanted to prove that I could
play any position but I walked almost every batter.
I've done things, though. I've done things.
Shows And Bros
Sarah is done school. Tonight was a celebration of sorts to
that end. I am going to Montreal tomorrow to practice some
Graven tunes and get them razor sharp for the road.
I am sometimes boring in what I write on the weekends.
I would like to recommend a few blogs to you that will
'rescue you from boredom' (to quote my homie Charles):
http://humanparadox.blogspot.com
http://cityscrivener.blogspot.com
http://underthelizumbrella.blogspot.com
My tie is falling down on my shirt, pulling me into tiredness.
I think ties should face up. Why is everything always dependent
on gravity?
Sleep time.
You Can Dance If You Want ToAgreeability is a science. Many have studied it and many have
fallen short in the realm of miscalculation. The weather and
everything else upcoming have made me agreeable today.
I feel at peace. My wife is hanging out with me. We had
some chicken fingers and salad for dinner. After cooking
pretty extravagant curries and freshly prepared meals,
frozen food is a welcome change as it takes a mere 15 minutes
to be fully ready to be devoured.
I really like beer. Sometimes, it makes me want to dance -
but not the kind of clubby, ass-clown dancing that makes
people regretful the morning after because they have
strange booty sweat all over their pants. I'm talkin' about
dancing in the streets - broadway-style. Classy-like. Beer
makes me talk with people and sit down and relax. It
cools my insides. It sucks away my money. It brings me
to heart of issues.
I think Jesus would have been a dancer. High leg kicks
and all.
Self-InvolvedIt's easy to become like Phillip Seymour Hoffman's character in Synecdoche
New York and to be totally self-absorbed. The world often becomes a
bubble outside of my own narcissistic sphere. I ask the questions
'Where am I going?' and 'Am I doing what matters?' when all the while,
the people close to me get lost in the shuffle of my own pursuits.
The irony within that ideology, though, is that my pursuits are mostly
(or at least I would like to think) for the greater good of community and
the others around me.
I need to read other people's blogs and books.
It's So Cold In This HouseIt's frigid in here. I want to close the back door but I'm too
lazy.
Shows are being booked for the summer. That's right. Graven
is sharpening the shed tools. Get ready.
Weird WeekendI remember the first time I saw UHF. It floored me with its weird,
raw, offbeat, zany and madcap humour. Weird Al is an unappreciated
comic wizard in that film.
Right now, I'm just gettin' by...and I mean that in every sense.
I'm not flourishing. I'm existing within a schedule.
And that's alright. One more week of school for Sarah and then
it's party time.
Brendan Is Usually Right
Right now, this guy is eating nibs on my futon. I can smell them.
I can actually smell them. Sarah is also eating them right beside
my face (which is also why I may be able to smell nib-ness so
strongly).
Brendan's new and exciting. He's a novelty. His beard looks
pretty much the same. He usually makes quarterly visits. This
is his second this year.
He likes long walks on the beach and fruity cocktails.
Apparently, this is half true. I think it's fully true. The three
of us went out for a few beverages after my work.
I need to be more cavalier with my blog posts. I need to be
conscious of my stream of consciousness. Apricot. Flower
pillow. Apricot beer. McAuslans's. These are all things being
said.
Boys haul away. Haul away.
Anger Is BlogYou said it, Hawksley (actually, what you said, dearest Hawk-man
was 'Anger Is Beauty'. I cleverly adapted it to fit in with my theme
of blogging because I'm a blogmeister phenom wizard. Yeah.)
I'm tired of this f**kin' blog. I'm low on inspiration and high on
annoyance and fatigue. I've seen this damn 'edit html' and 'compose'
publishing tool window for 107 days straight, now, and it's pulling
me down. I'm in my dress pants and undershirt because I just got
home from working at the bar and I was really excited to sleep
when all of a sudden I remembered 'Oh SH*T! I still HAVE to
blog!'. It's becoming a chore and a burden.
I don't know if I want to achieve 365 days straight. I was also
thinking that if I do go through with this, I need to contact guiness
to find out if there is, in fact, a record for blogging. If there is,
I suppose the criteria would hinge upon 'what constitutes an
actual blog post'.
IT ACTUALLY ANGERS ME TO THINK ABOUT BLOGGING.
That's not good. I used to enjoy it. I would let loose on the keys
and let my soul go ape-shiznit. Tonight, I am a ticking timebomb
or fury and this blog is speeding up the counter. The funny thing
is, life is pretty good right now - I don't have many frustrations.
I got over my sickness. I love this weather. I've been back into
running. I've been drinking beer again with friends. I've been
lining up music gigs and softball teams for the summer.
It's just this damn blog.
But listen here, blog - you will not get the best of me. I will
rise above. And I will beat you. And if I live to make it, I will
hit blog number 365 on December 31st, 2009.
Just you wait.
Blogged Out
(An Adaptation of Buck 65's 'Tired Out')
I'm blogged out
Pave the way
Too low on gas to save the day
Slaves and outlaws
Kings and pharaohs
No Tomorrow
Slings and arrows
I'm blogged out...
I'm blogged out
Make the bed
Scream loud enough to wake the dead
Light a match
Break the bread
All I can do is shake my head
I'm blogged out.
Weather Head LiftIt's a real treat to walk to work with only a t shirt and a hoody
and to be comfortable in that get up. Today was a beauty. So
beautiful, in fact, that I almost forgot to blog. I had a drink
with an old friend after teaching him some guitar and then
hopefully enrolled myself and some friends in a summer
softball league.
I think you should be able to explain your faith to people
without even opening your mouth. In scripture, there is a
passage about Philip and the Ethiopian in Acts where words
are only used to explain Jesus and his way when absolutely
necessary. Philip (being the Christian) only speaks to the
Ethiopian after he be-friends the man and walks alongside
his carriage. The Ethiopian, then, asks him a question about
Scripture and it goes on from there. It's an example that
shows the importance of not barging in - of coming
alongside, being there for the ride and if your friend asks
a question - great. If not - great. Live and let live.
So many Christians subscribe to a language that is obsolete.
They speak about 'Falling down in the Spirit' or 'being washed
in the blood' but they don't really know what those terms mean
in their souls. They mostly use them to convince themselves
that what they believe is true. I know I did. The gospel becomes
an equation that any Christian can solve. The Christian, then,
wants to help everyone else solve the equation (even when
most of the people they show the equation to couldn't care less).
There is no equation. There are no tracts. There are no
dead languages. There is only your actions. Sorry.
In the movie 'The Darjeeling Limited', a very powerful scene
takes place when the three American brothers embark into
a tiny Indian village. There is almost no speaking in those
scenes due to the obvious language barrier - but something
is being communicated. Something is being shared.
Something is happening.
Feeling Pretty Basic Today
Country Roads, Rock n' Roll & JoelSarah and I took a trip to Perth today - just to get out of town
and clear our heads of the city wits. 'Twas good indeed. We
actually even met up (unexpectedly) with our good friend
Aaron who popped out of a local watering hole as we walked
by and embraced us with a warm hug,
I know I've been pretty silent about it thus far but I'm still
wrapping my head around/dipping my proverbial toes into
the depths of Joel Plaskett's new triple disc. I should have
something solid to say about it soon.
There's something about a drive to the country that is
mystical and endearing to me. The absent fields make me
think of things to come. The wheat and hay lies in bundles,
ready to be used. I am not a farmer but I've always had a link
to farms through my family. The Stevenson Farm was a place
my family used to spend a good chunk of time when I was
a young buck. It's on the way to Constance Bay - I think
the house is still there but I looked for it last summer and
couldn't find it.
There is a complacency that I despise about the bunker
mentality of *some* country-folk but beyond that, it's
always there. When the city is chaotic and filled with lights
and spinning disaster, the country is waiting.
It's always the same.
Silly Rabbit! Easter Is For Jesus
This was the actual name of an article I found on google re:
the conflict between The Easter Bunny and Jesus. Weird.
It's kinda funny, though, to even think that there is an
actual conflict between the two.
Why are Christians so often such weird, paranoid, deluded
donkeys? I know - they're human. I'm human. We're all
human. I've heard that and used that argument many times
before. And it's not even like my argument is with ALL
Christians. I think it's more with the right-wing, slick-hair,
ultra-conservo, ultra-evanjo sect. It's so weird to think
that when the bible (which is to say the main source and
root teaching of the Christian faith) counteracts what
Christians say and do, the common reaction is reject the
Christian faith as opposed to investigating the source and
seeing how the people got it wrong.
We are a knee-jerk society and we live for impulse. We
point fingers. We need a culprit to judge - and we need
one quick.
This Easter was a very moderate one. I had a half-day
dinner with some extended fam, cousins, aunts and
unks. Sarah and I went for a walk and grabbed some
frosty Creemore together as the sun went down. The
weather is warming.
Someone died a long time ago and then beat death...
or so I hear.
Haunted By The OceanSometimes I wonder how I'll go.
Where and when. What I'll be wearing.
Will I be old or will I be young?
Will I be judged?
Will I have some satisfaction in going?
I have had some experiences involving the ocean.
Catharsis. Meditation. Therapy.
Some of my greatest moments in this life have happened
near the Atlantic.
I've never been a fan of the Pacific (even though everyone
raves about it including Dennis Wilson).
I prefer the cold contrast.
I like the feeling of being ice cold and having my body
get comfortable over time in the water.
The salt on my lips.
Undertow sucking up sandstorms all around my feet.
Pulling me in deeper.
Florida.
Halifax.
P.E.I.
These places have all been special.
The people from those places are better.
I remember being in P.E.I in a rough state.
You were there when I needed You.
I remember boogie boarding in Florida.
You calmed me.
I remember Halifax and Peggy's Cove.
I gained a fear of your vastness and strength.
Sometimes I wonder how I'll go.
In a water casket, I hope, with all loved ones staring.
Off a rocky cliff, I'll hopefully be flung.
Without a grudge.
I'll be under before the tide starts rolling.
Oh Baby!It seems that all of my friends are having babies. This is a stage
of life that all of us must go through at some point and for me,
that stage is definitely ever-present. Currently, I know 6 couples
who are all expecting children between the months of June to
December. That's some pretty serious baby-making. 5 other
sets of couples have already had babies between last October
to this past March. I'm not joking.
I did, however, already go through a pretty serious baby-boom
stage a few years back with my older sets of friends. It's hard
to know how to support my friends in this time. I know that
I'll have kids eventually (God-willing) but it's hard for me
to even remember the names of the new family members
after a while because it all seems to happen in succession
without much spacing.
I want to want to have children. Right now, Sarah and I are
discussing this a lot and we haven't come to a solid conclusion.
I think there are too many people who thrust themselves
into parenthood without enough calculation or meditation.
We also feel that too many people are having children 'just
to get it done' and move on to the next stage of life. For me,
I think that childbirth is a serious-ass miracle and I want to
be able to fully invest into that human being that emerges
from my wife's womb. My friends who have done it right,
though (which is to say all of them), have had the most open
attitudes about the experience of birthing and rearing new
human beings and have understood the sacrifice of really
loving another sack of bones and flesh without condition -
learning as they go.
For all of my friends who have had or who are about to have
kids, I salute you. Let me know how I can back you up.
Trifecta Shout Outs
Everyone is here.
Dan, Caleb, Eric, Chrissy, Holly, Landon,
Me, Sarah, Emma, Brad, Dave, Jo Pops, Emma N, Owen,
Harley, Dave, Emily and some other people I don't know.
It's a laidback shitfest. It's been a while since all of us were rockin'
the bong at chapel point. Just kidding. Never did that. It's good to
get together with old friends, though. Especially on a birthday.
Birthdays are usually lame. This one will be remembered.
Aligning With Mediocrity 
I think we all feel the ever-present cringe of mediocrity. From time
to time, it's important to ask 'Am I doing the best I could be? Am
I using my talents in a way that inspires myself and others around
me? Am I thriving?' I don't believe anyone is ever fully thriving
all the time - 24/7. That would be paradoxical. The subterranean
yearn that we sense from within is what drives us - if you were
fully 'arrived' or 'thriving', what would push you forward?
No one wants to be mediocre...and yet, we make friends with
mediocrity on a daily basis. I bathe in it when I play video games
instead of being creative or writing. I bask in its glow when I
let coffee meetings with friends fall to the wayside so I can
'take time to rest'. It's a silent killer but there is no drug or
medication that can kick it.
A safe assumption, then, might be to say that everyone needs
to be mediocre...for a time. Saturdays? Sure - put on those
sweat pants and watch Will Ferrell movies for 6 hours.
We can't be hyper-creative beings all the time. Mediocrity can
bring rest and refreshment and a knowing that moving
beyond it is necessary to grow. To dwell within it and get stuck
within its grasp, though, can be a subtle and nearly invisible
process. I've seen it happen to many (including myself at
times) and it can be hard and very offensive to pin-point.
How do you tell a friend that he or she has become mediocre?
The Bass Lines In My HeadI'd like to be a full time bassist for a band, someday, as a side
project. The electric bass fascinates me in many ways. The first
one I ever played was a tiny white one that my friend Jeff got
for me so we could play Tom Petty and AC/DC covers in a
band together. Our band was called 'Natural Bridge'. I had no
clue how to play bass (and mostly left it to Jason who was our
main bass player) but when I did, I remember feeling
enraptured by the simplicity and the power of the instrument.
Over time, I realized how a slight change (i.e. using a pick,
using a fingertip or palm-muting) could make such a massive
degree of inflection in the overall sound. Later on in my
twenties, I became a decent bass player because I think I
started to understand how to manipulate it. Still - I'm
nowhere near the degree of the ultra-talented bassists in
this world (i.e. Juan Nelson above, Les Claypool, Chris
Murphy, my brother Adam, Landon, etc.).
The bass is a key element to any band, though. It provides
glue. It provides framework. It is not glamourous but it must
be done in order to fill out the sound. Good bass players
are loyal and hard-working and understand the ethics of
music.
I have a bass-line in my mind (as I often do) that is going
to make the beginnings of a decent song someday (I hope).
Some of the songs I love most are ones that feature a
solid, full-tone, driving bass-line that is well recorded.
And for all of you purists out there, please don't rip into
me re: some moral spew about 'how the upright bass beats
the electric' because frankly, you know in your hearts
that you're wrong. The fruit of this instrument comes from
an electrical charge once it is plugged into a quarter
inch cable and a floor-welded amp (preferrably a
Peavey). Good vibrations.
Good bass-lines to you all.
Blah Blah Blog
I was almost asleep...and then I remembered "Oh SHIZ! I
forgot to blog today!'. So I ran out in a flurry to the computer.
When I arrived at the keys, I realized I had nothing to say
(well - nothing substantial, anyways). This 365 days of
blog is a real pisser sometimes. I remember being really
inspired when I blogged but now, it's a duty. A discipline.
I used to write tirades of passionate, terse prose. Now, I
squeeze out daily headliners.
Still - you gotta love April. I can hear the cold rain lashing
outside of my window, trickling off the windowpane and
forming tiny brooks on the pavement. Mud is everywhere.
Tulip shoots are pushing up through a deep thaw. The
earth cracks.
I think I love the seasons so much because they remind
me (much like Jake Taylor of Major League) that we are
allotted one more trip around the sun.
Some day, I will write with the thunder of Thor's hammer
again. For now, though, I will manage.
Every New Band Wants To Sound Like The Flaming LipsI wish it wasn't true but it is. Two bands have shaped the sound
of the modern era of pop-indie music and they are The Flaming
Lips and Wilco. Bands strive hard to emulate (which is to say
'imitate') the sounds of these bands and make it their own.
The problem is that the unsung path-blazers will always have
less of a fanbase because their music can't be synced up with
playlists that allow the listener to not have to change genres
during his or her morning jog.
I just watched the up and comers 'Phoenix' play live on SNL.
Very good - but very Flaming Lips. And I mean VERY Flaming
Lips (right down to the high-range, thin, slightly-effeminate,
jittery vocalist).
What's the deal here? I'm not even a massive Flaming Lips or
Wilco fan but I appreciate the realms they bring to different
songs. I'm sure they don't like turning on the radio to hear
another emulator. Music has become more about the style
and the delivery as opposed to the finished product. I don't
want to diss Phoenix, though - they actually seem like a
normal bunch of guys with a palpable sound. We'll see.
Anyways, enough of that rant. I'm about to hit the sac for some
serious z-time. I plan to drop a snooze on this world and
lumber off to slumberland in my big pillow-truck. Cut me
down some nap-wood.
Snoodge.
Don't Hate: Participate
Today has been off-kilter so far. I was supposed to meet
an old friend for coffee but our wires got crossed. That is
the downfall of text communication. Anyways, we
re-scheduled and since I was up early with nothing to do
today (until I have to go to work at 4), I decided to
pound the pavement for a good old-fashioned run. It
felt good even though I only ran about half of my usual
distance. It was beneficial just to get back into that
mindset.
I wonder why the movie 'Be Cool' was such a flop. As
you can see in the picture above, two of the main actors
are Vince Vaughn and The Rock. It was supposed to be
a bit of a sequel to 'Get Shorty' (which was a stand-alone
great film based on Elmore Leonard's novel) but it
just didn't have the same grit. The whole thing felt too
airy and forced. Basically, that movie (Be Cool) has
marked a poignant downfall in the realm of film for
John Travolta. At one time during his years of re-
surgence, anything he touched was gold. Now, he
can't even get people to see his films when he is an
animated dog. Anyways - this was a tangent.
Had a great communal dinner last night with Sarah and
our housemate/bassist Landon.
The weekend is here. I have to change modes and go
to work. No time for losers. We are the champions.
Yay.
Kicking Open Doors In Your Subconscious
Sometimes, when the sun shines at a certain angle and the
mist rises up with the morning wind, there is a knowing
that all things will right themselves. Try, try, try. That
can be a tiring theme of this life - Always putting effort
into what we're not even sure we ultimately want or need
to put effort into...but we do it. Day in and day out.
Punch the clock. Spin the wheel. Run the race. Find the
food pellet. Survive.
Trying is good. I can't remember how many times I've
tried something and failed. When I was in St. Catharines,
I knew I had to get out of the call centre I was working
at for the sake of my soul. I applied to countless writing
jobs. I worked a day as a freelancer for CTV. I met
personally with the head editor of the St. Catharines
Standard. I applied, applied and applied for more jobs
because this is where I was convinced I would end up
working. I applied to jobs all over the 401 corridor. I
sent in portfolios. I updated resumes. I called back call-
backs.
In the end, nothing really happened, there.
But I know now it was not supposed to - I am meant
to write that which irks me - that which drives me on
and inspires me so, in turn, I can inspire others. For
a while I considered going back to school for
Journalism, but that fell through, too. But I tried.
Sometimes, though, I've noticed that when I stop trying
so much, things tend to happen. Is there a mystical
force behind these post-try happenings? You bet your
ass there is (at least, I believe that to be true). I do
believe, though, that trying is a crucial part of the
process. Without trying, I would have lived a life of
expectancy and entitlement. But sometimes, when the
trying needs to stop, there is a sense of just existing
and letting the chips fall.
Today, as I walked to work, I felt like I could just
exist. I could be on the sidewalk, listening to Joel's
new album (disc 2) and admiring the sun and the
thawing animal feces everywhere. I could let my
jacket be unzipped.
Thanks.
Good Things Come In Threes
It's April, motherfucker.
Now if THAT wasn't a random/pointless act of potty mouth,
I don't know WHAT was. It felt right to write it, though, and
it seems in congruence with things happening in my life these
days...so it's staying there. The AK 47 of swear words. The
crowd pleaser. Eddie Murphy's Machete.
I'm knee deep into JP's new full length (well - more than full
length, actually) release 'Three'. Upon hearing about this
triple disc, I didn't know what to think. Three full cd's of new
material? 27 songs? An act similar to this magnitude hasn't
been pulled off in my books since the Pumpkins released 28
new tracks on Melon Collie and the Infinite Sadness.
So far so good. I'm only one cd in but Joel never fails to
satisfy my musical cravings. I'll probably write a full review
soon. Review writing. There's something I need to do.
But instead, I'll end poetically (picture Joel singing).
It was a balmy walk to work today, the birds were singin'Neighbours were on their patios, coffee cups dingin'Didn't know exactly what this day was bringin'It didn't even bug me that my shirt was static clingin'Welcome April, I open my arms to youRavens crow and tractors fire up on their farms to doThe work that's been hiding like a haystack splinterUnder the shell of winterOh March, oh dear boy - I'm so glad you're goneDidn't mind Jan or Feb but you sure dragged onUp, down, around and way beyondThe weather was my emotional stereo song
Welcome April, I open my arms to you Ravens crow and tractors fire up on their farms to do The work that's been hiding like a haystack splinter Under the shell of winter
Brother March says Sister April is a girl for fools
Cause in this government town, everyone follows the
rules
She might cry too much but her tears are jewels
Cause her showers bring flowers and lakes and
swimming pools
