Crazy Newt

Weekly Haiku #71 - X mass

2011-11-23T06:34:00.000-08:00

one twelfth of a year

spent awaiting just one day

keep greasing the wheels

Anatomy of a Night On the Town:

2011-11-21T01:52:00.000-08:00

Following are some of the texts I sent my brother, trying to convince him to leave his computer (he had just bought Skyrim) and come out drinking with me. Except for a few minor interruptions, I'll let them speak for themselves. I'm in blue. Bro is italics.

10:01 PM: Sugar. Come. there is a band. Booze is cheap. Women are cute and plentiful. Also... booze is plentiful and the women are cheap.
10:05 PM: You know what's better than pixels and imaginary adventure? 3$ shots and floozies. Also, parakeets, but that doesn't really apply here.
10:09 PM: K dragons down in free for sugar now.
10:16 PM: Woot! Get your ass down ehere!
10:16 PM: Working on it
10:16 PM: Score.
10:17 PM: Its 20 cover. If you camt get in well bounce and head somewhere
10:17 PM: spotting for NAME. Cant afford 40 in cover.
10:18 PM: Shit. Um. Meet up with us later then?
10:18 PM: ??
10:19 PM: I can do a night out but not a total of 40 cover.
10:20 PM: If youre spotting for NAME.. hm. Were catching a band. Meet us downtown at 1130 or so? You can skip the band and we can drink like pros.
10:21 PM: any ideas where we might just hit somewhere else to start
10:23 PM: Hm. Dunno. Im half blasted already. Hit bbjs?

(BBJs is code for "Big Bad John's", Victoria's oldest and sleaziest bar. The walls are covered in old photos and there's a house rule that if you hang your bra from the ceiling, you get a free drink. It is, in a word, AWESOME. It's a tradition of ours that we start all of our drinking at Big Bad John's).

10:24 PM: Can meet there at 11:30 then
10:25 PM: Gotcha. Will do.
11:14 PM: Muight be late. NAME and i are gonna drink 80 in shots.
11:28 PM: ...That sounds like a GREAT idea
11:28 PM: Agreed.
11:31 PM: Winning?
11:32 PM: Meh.
11:41 PM: K. Were doing this. Ohhhhh yeah.
11:42 PM: lmao
11:45 PM: fuckinjg awesome
11:45 PM: You gonna make it?,
11:46 PM: Oh yeah. they were just pormn stars

(Disclaimer: While I make off that I drank half of the 80$ in shots, this is not entirely true. A buddy bought 80$ in shots, but shared it with about six or seven people. I had quite a few of those drinks - as the original plan was to drink $40 each - but I didn't drink half of the shots.

I did, however, have about $30 in shots before this point, so I did ultimately drink more than $50 in shots before leaving Sugar. And that's not counting the triple rye and gingers I'd been drinking liberally for the past hour and a bit. I figure, by this point in the narrative, I'd already had at least $50 in cheap shots, three triple rye and gingers, and a single rye and ginger. And the night was still young).

11:49 PM: K. leaving sugar. Where you at?
11:49 PM: BBJ
11:50 PM: Gotcha. Wanna meet there or Garricks head?
11:52 PM: Here has table
11:52 PM: K. There in 10.
11:52 PM: 15... hot dog stand

(there was indeed an outdoor hot dog stand. But I wasn't drunk enough to pay five bucks for a hot dog. Apparently, I have standards, even when drunk).

11:53 PM: lol
11:55 PM: theres a line to get in dude2
11:56 PM: Yes there is dude1?
11:57 PM: Don't make if typies. Did you have 40 in shots? No? I didnt think so. All things considered, i am a drunk texting GOD.
11:57 PM: Well maybe a demigod. You are, after all, a dude.
11:57 PM: Think of the tradition dude1 think of the tradition!
12:00 AM: For Rome!
12:00 AM: For Rome!

(So my brother and I have another drinking tradition - we always order a drink known as a "Gladiator", and then clink glasses while making ridiculous postures and shouting "For Rome!". This tradition started on a rather unfortunate night, but for some reason, it's stuck.)

12:01 AM: Are we doing those? Or is it every man fior hisself?
12:01 AM: Sure thing!
12:03 AM: Groovy.
12:03 AM: How far back in line
12:03 AM: 3rd
12:04 AM: Cool beans

(while texting here, I was also talking to two women well into their forties, trying to get into the bar. Eventually, I got in, had a few drinks with my brother and his friend, and we wound up wandering around Victoria.

In about an hour and a half, we hit both the Garrick's Head Pub, where we were kicked out because it was "last call" - at 1 am on a saturday night! - and then in some nameless bar that I insisted was the best bar in Victoria.

There was also an incident at a Burger King where I dared my brother to make his entire meal order in the form of haiku, which earned me the title of "Coolest guy ever" from some other drunk dude waiting in line.

Then the night ended, but not before I shot out one brilliant little text as I stumbled home).

1:46 AM: I have it all figured out. We form a band. Somehow, this gets me chicks. Then, world domination. Also, juno award.

The night of Rich Aucoin

2011-11-20T10:38:00.000-08:00

I was going to write a review about The Arkells' live show, held at Sugar last saturday night. But, unfortunately, that plan fell through. And the blame rests solely on the shoulders of Rich Aucoin.

But allow me to take a step back.

It all started a few months ago, when the Schlesbian said something along the lines of "Hey, who wants to go see the Arkells in a few months?"

About three seconds after saying "Sure, I'd love to spend twenty bucks on a ticket to go see the Arkells!" I said "Hey, who are the Arkells?"

I was played a clip of one of their songs, listened to it for a few seconds, and figured, meh, why not? This was, more or less, my only knowledge of the band heading into their show. But I've gone into live shows with even less foreknowledge of the band, so this was really nothing new.

I got to Sugar early enough that I was able to strike up a friendship with the bartender - enough that he decided he was going to give me double rye and gingers (that were really triples) for the price of a single. As I am not a very charismatic individual, I believe this once again proves my theory that simply talking to your bartender (and a generous tip) will pay dividends down the road.

I met up with some friends, and we had a few drinks and discussed the events of the day. We noted that we were "the old guys" in the crowd - the average age seemed to be around 20, which is odd when it's not an all-ages show. But, whatever... it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Then, Rich Aucoin, the opener, came on stage. And let me just say - gah. He had a projector that played little homemade videos that accompanied his songs. He made sure to let the audience know the lyrics to each song, so they would join in on the singing. He played simplified dance music that was adorned with indie-punk style repetitive vocals. He held an arclight in one hand so that the crowd could always see him. And he just projected the utmost neediness I've never seen in an opener. Ever.

Even when he did cool stuff - like taking a parachute out and letting the crowd play with it while he sang a song - it failed to catch me, because he was using far too many props to accompany piss poor music. Timing your banter in between songs so it syncs up with your multimedia presentation so you can have a "conversation" with Antoine Dodson (dude, that was so last year!) is probably the lamest thing in the world - it just shows that you have absolutely no musical improvisation skills!

Also, skinny white guys should never wear muscle shirts. I am guilty of this, too, but I don't wear them in front of large crowds.

The best part? At the end of the show, he put up his phone number, so people could text him with feedback on his show and ask for free copies of his music (even though he was tryign to sell his music in the merch section). This so reeked of neediness that Squee and I sent him some very disparaging texts that I feel sort of bad about, after the fact.

Of course, by the end of the show, I was pretty drunk - I needed something to get me through the worst opener ever, and the bartender was doing his best to speed things along. Not to mention the point in the night where eighty dollars of shots were downed by a handful of people in only thirty seconds (true story).

I watched the first three songs by the Arkells, and don't remember them at all. I do remember stumbling out of the club and going on a random adventure with my brother that was just a little shy of epic. So I guess I can thank Mr. Aucoin for that, at least.

First Aid Stuff

2011-11-19T10:28:00.000-08:00

I had a first aid call last weekend. It was a pretty hectic one, too - an unconscious patient, maintaining of C-Spine, paramedics, oxygen, and everything else. I spent a good twenty minutes cramped in a cashier booth, doing my best to comfort an unconscious woman while she went through multiple seizures.

That's not the interesting part. Or rather, while it was interesting for me, I can't really go into details anyway, and it's not a particularly funny story worth sharing here.

What is interesting, and maybe just a bit funny, was me, immediately afterwards.

Because, while everyone else was worried that my patient (is that the right word?) might not make it through the night, I was riding an adrenaline high, and felt like I could take on the world.

I didn't do a great job hiding the grin. So I hid in the deli cooler, stacking hams until I came down from the high.

Sometimes, I think there's something really wrong with me.

For what it's worth, the woman is okay, and will return to work within a few days.

And now, another episode of...

2011-11-17T21:35:00.000-08:00

True story:

I was walking to work this morning, blearily rubbing the remnants of sleep out of my eyes. I had been awake until the wee hours, engaged in a marathon run through the entire Walking Dead series.

I was headed down gorge road as a light rain fell. The streets were quiet, with only a single car pulled over, flashing lights. An ill wind blew through the streets. Looking to my right, I saw a shape shamble out from behind a building, moving jerkily. The skin was pallid, and the clothing was all a uniform gray, tattered and torn.

Walker! my mind screamed, as it shambled towards me.

I reached for my shotgun, and levelled it at the walker's face, waiting for it to draw closer so I wouldn't waste the ammunition. And that was when I realized my "walker" was actually just an old woman - complete with a miniature poodle-rat, lime green jumper, and those little ropes that keep your glasses attached to your face that are standard issue for anyone over the age of sixty three.

I breathed a sigh of relief, though I was a bit shaken at how close I had come to blowing little ol' Gams' face off.

I mean, Public education people! Knowing how to distinguish between walkers and senior citizens might just save your own life... it could save the life of your grandparents.

In the interest of public safety, it's time for another episode of...

Scenario One: Individually-Wrapped Candies

Situation: You are at an ABC Country restaurant, sitting in a diner that hasn't seen a vaccuum since the 1950s, back when they were called "Double Turbine Vacu-Flush-amatic machines". In the booth next to you, a creature with curly blue hair, numerous vericose veins, and long talons studiously works at trying to open a caramel candy wrapped in a gold foil. It takes long, sharp breaths, assisted by a gas mask strapped to its face. In front of the creature is a plate of mashed potatoes that have long since gone cold.

Zombie, or Bitty?

Answer: Dude, that's someone's grandmother! And open her damned candy, before she passes out. She's diabetic, you know.

Scenario Two: The Blue Nudist

Situation: While sitting at a beach with your delightfully trampy girlfriend, you can't help but discuss the possibility of sex. "Come on, baby, no one will notice us out here...." you say, slipping an arm around her while she snuggles into your varsity jacket. Of course, at this moment, a strange creature emerges from the surf, with pallid skin that hangs down in folds. It has shaggy, disgusting hair that is matted with sand, seaweed, and trapped sea creatures. Whatever clothing it may once have had has long since dissolved away from the sea foam.

Zombie, or Bitty?

Answer: This is what happens to hippies who grow old - they wander naked around beaches unashamed of their bodies, even though they really should be. And it's only going to get worse, because soon, the hippies won't just be going naked due to misguided notions of sexual freedom, but because they've forgotten to take their Alzheimer's meds. Don't worry if you guessed "Zombie", though - no one's going to mind if you put a bullet in an aging hippy's skull.

Scenario Three: Scrubs

Situation: You are in a hospital, having just awakened from a coma caused by a gunshot/car crash/paralytic plant venom/global warming. No one seems to be around, and it is strangely quiet. After exploring a few rooms, you pull a call light for urgent response. A moment later, a figure dressed in scrubs shuffles towards you, a towel folded underneath one arm. Blue hair emerges from a tatterred bandana. "Brains?" the figure asks politely, still shuffling towards you.

Zombie, or Bitty?

Answer: This one's a toughy. While the figure is polite, and asks for brains in a reasonable voice, the fact that it is asking for brains at all suggests zombie. However, the real clue here is the response to the call light - everyone knows that real hospital staff never instantly respond to call lights. Yup, that's a zombie: have fun shooting!

Your Score:

How'd you do? If you did poorly, don't feel too bad - think of this as a learning experience! Just be on your guard in future scenarios. And remember the golden rule: when in doubt, assume zombie! Failing to shoot a zombie will result in a violent death, and the loss of vital brains, whereas killing a senior citizen will only be noticed at the next civic holiday.

Weekly Haiku #70 - The Banana Slug

2011-11-16T08:44:00.000-08:00

the banana slug

-named for its shape and colour-

...not fun to step on

Evil Crevaka...

2011-11-15T22:03:00.000-08:00

Way, way back in 2008, I had a friend who insisted I watch Fox's discontinued series, Firefly. I refused. "Dave, the show is awesome. You'll totally love it!"

"No thanks. I don't like Star Wars or Star Trek. Space TV shows suck. Not my thing," I said, absolutely confident that I had the show pegged.

Of course, I unknowingly rented Serenity, the movie based off Firefly, and loved it. Loved it so much, in fact, that I watched the special features and learned of the Firefly connection. Then I watched Firefly, and fell in love with the show.

Then, a year later, in 2009, I mentioned this to another friend of mine, and she told me in response that I should watch Dr. Horrible's Singalong Blog. Once again, I shook my head.

"No thanks. I'm not a big fan of musicals, and I think the Neil Patrick Harris love is kind of overrated."

And, once again, I ate my words.

2010 rolled around, and another friend was amazed I hadn't seen the IT Crowd, and that I had to watch it - after all, it was pretty much the UK version of The Big Bang Theory, a show I absolutely love.

"No thanks. I'm not big on British Comedy for the most part, and shows about Nerds aren't really my thing."

My words were eaten again.

Flash forward to most of 2011, when that friend from 2008 told me I had to watch AMC's The Walking Dead - that it was a show right up my alley. And, still having not learned my lesson, I shrugged and said,

"No thanks. I've never liked Zombie movies."

Then I watched an episode (it was on in the background) and fell in love. I watched the entire series in one day. And have become thoroughly addicted to the show.

I've also realized I need to listen to my friends when they offer recommendations. This is a big revelation for me... but it also means that now I've got a LOT of TV to catch up on. The entire Buffy the Vampire Slayer series, for example. Dollhouse. Various incarnations of Dr. Who. And perhaps most frighteningly, Lost.

I have a feeling I'll have a lot of work cut out for me in 2012.

A Challenge:

2011-11-11T04:40:00.000-08:00

Today is remembrance day. The day that we honour the veterans of the last century of warfare. The day we remember sacrifices made in the name of freedom and safety, and say "thanks".

Here's a challenge to everyone out there. Today, find five veterans, and simply tell them "Thank you". Buy them coffee if you can, shake their hands, whatever works. It doesn't have to be world war two vets in full battle regalia at the parades, either. If you see a guy in fatigues at a grocery store, say something.

Hell, let's extend it, so it's not just a military thing. Say "thanks" to people that deserve it, but rarely hear it. People that make sacrifices that are often unsung. Say "thanks" to a cop, paramedic, firefighter, nurse, soldier, whatever.

That's your challenge for the day. If you're up to it.

Weekly Haiku #69 - Ponder this

2011-11-09T08:29:00.000-08:00

there's only eight notes

to fill a thousand albums

million words... few thoughts.

Me being an asshole, the science of ghosts, and a firefly quote:

2011-11-08T08:37:00.000-08:00

I'm an asshole. I'm also an atheist, and a skeptic.

These three things, when combined, are a very, very bad combination.

Case in point. I'm listening to a woman describe how she is studying to become an investigator for the paranormal. Her goal is to help people exorcize and remove the ghosts that plague homes. Because, apparently, ghosts are more common on the coast (who knew?).

I sighed, and after listening to her go on and on about the "science" of ghosts, offered a solution.

"I know a surefire way to get rid of any ghosts in your house," I said, taking a sip of coffee.

"Oh? How?"

"Weatherproof your fucking house."

She did not find this amusing. But I laughed. To quote a bearded fellow from a certain episode of Firefly: "I cannot abide stupid people."

I'm young

2011-11-07T01:55:00.000-08:00

I shaved the beard.

This was probably a mistake.

Even when I had the beard, people thought I was a lot younger than I really am. They would guess I was twenty three, or twenty four, when in reality, I'm much closer to thirty (I'm twenty-eight).

Then I shaved the beard, a few days before halloween.

In the last week, I've suffered through the following:

During a first aid course, a guy told me about his recent nineteenth birthday. He concluded a rather stereotypical story with an interested "Are you nineteen yet? What are you going to do for your birthday?". Sigh.

I was called in to work a shift at a different store location than my "home" store. At the end of the shift, a girl I had been talking to throughout the night (who told me she was eighteen) asked me if she could buy me coffee, and then batted morse code with her eyelashes at me. I told her I'd prefer to stay unarrested, thankyouverymuch.

An older lady told me yesterday that I was "too young to know how long a foot is". I don't really know what she meant by that. Because unless something's changed, a foot has been twelve inches for several centuries, has it not?

A Moody Post

2011-11-06T20:32:00.000-08:00

Things have been rather rough the last year, but I'm not so self-centred that I fail to see when shit happens to other people.

In October, a co-worker of mine had probably the worst month of his life. He was diagnosed with Diabetes, he was mugged, and saw (along with everyone else) his hours get cut back. And yet I watched as he'd shrug, and keep on moving forward.

Something I can identify with, absolutely.

But I find myself thinking - is anyone enjoying this goddamn year? Does anyone else find themselves looking forward to 2012, end of the world or not?

The Housecoat:

2011-11-06T02:42:00.000-08:00

I moved into this bachelor pad about three months ago. Since it apparently takes me more than three months to unpack all my stuff, there are still boxes in my apartment. The funny thing is, I'm moving again, so it seems like some of my stuff is already packed.

This would be a good thing. Except, I'm an idiot.

I've unpacked much of what was already packed, simply so I can have the vicarious thrill of packing it again. This is what a dog must feel like when he eats his own barf.

(Yeah, I just compared unpacking stuff and then instantly repacking it to a dog eating his own vomit. If any of you are wondering why I'm single after reading a sentence like that... please post your phone number and a recent photograph in the comments section, because I would like to meet you.)

Anyways, while unpacking all my old shit, I discovered an old friend. And like the good friend that he is, he was protecting my old nintendo from damage. Yes, wrapped around my ancient NES was that rarest of rares - the comfy, worn-in housecoat.

For those that don't know, the housecoat is sort of like an accessory for lazy shut-ins. It is a vital piece of wardrobe for bachelors and the socially inept, a costume necessity in much the same way that superheroes require capes, chefs require absurd hats, the french require striped shirts, and mullet people require wrestling t-shirts.

Wearing a housecoat, shut-ins such as myself are well suited for picking up the mail wearing nothing else but shorts and wool socks. They are fit for cleaning up minor spills while cooking without having to get a cloth. And, if they're at all like me, they never have to worry about finding their capo or a spare pick while they play guitar, because not only is the housecoat super comfy - it also has pockets, yo.

Alas, the coat had a darkside, too - as anyone who has seen The Big Lebowski knows, frequent wearing of the housecoat inevitably leads to someone pissing all over your rug, both metaphorically and literally speaking. And so I put it away, for bigger and better things.

Not that it lasted. Because here I am again, wearing that old wardrobe necessity, feeling like some sort of flannel superhero. And, like any house-coat hero, I've completely put off packing in favour of sitting in front of the computer.

Ugh.

2011-11-04T08:12:00.000-07:00

I'm moving out of Victoria, at least for the time being. My last day here will be November 31st, looks like.

The reason? Basically, I'm only able to tread water at this point. I work far too many hours, and spend far too much on insulin and rent, to make any sort of headway. Every month, I make around negative one hundred dollars, in the grand scheme of things. If Charles Dickens were around these days, he'd write a book about me.

It'd be one of those books that only people who really loved Charles Dickens would know about, the hipster literati, if you will, but still. There'd be a book about me.

Anyways, If I want to make any sort of headway, something has to change, and that means getting my butt out of here. Staying in a crappy situation simply because you enjoy your surroundings and don't want change is bone-ass stupid. Sometimes, you have to take the unpleasant route in the short term for success in the longterm. Or, as my mother put it last week, "You're not getting any younger".

Thanks, mom. You know how to cheer a fella up.

So, the goal has shifted from "make next month's rent on time" to "finish up your goddamn degree and start making some money". And how best to do that? Move down to the nice rainy hills of Sooke while I work towards getting thaat degree. Actually, it'll be three degrees, by the time I'm done. In any case, it's probably the smartest move I've made in at least two and a half years. If not more.

But damn, I'm going to miss Victoria. I was walking down in James Bay the other day, as the sun was dipping past the hills, and wistfully sighed every time I walked past one building or another. A book store I've yet to visit. A cafe I've yet to sample. A restaurant I've missed out on the pleasure of dining at. An alleyway I've yet to pee in.

And so on, and so forth. There's a lot to Victoria, you see.

I've lived in Victoria for more than five years, and I haven't been sparse on trying new things. I've eaten at dozens (if not a hundred) different restaurants, had coffee or tea at just as many cafes, and gone book hunting all over town. I've been to more bars than I can count, and still have just as many more to visit still.

Compare this to Sooke, where, were I to go to a new restaurant every week, I would be making laps in less than two months. There are two bars. There is almost nothing in the way of live music. In fact, the only real "music" there is in Victoria is the guy who blares Metallica out of the stereo of his pickup truck while he drunkenly swerves to the bassline. Or the Eminem coming out of the stereo of the car Mr. Metallica is trying to arrest.

To add insult to injury, the place basically shuts down past 10 pm, which doesn't bode well for a career insomniac. I know from experience that the only thing you'll meet on a 3 am walk is an angry bear. You can't get a good cup of coffee at 3 am unless you make it yourself.

I grew up in Sooke, and was absolutely thrilled to leave the place. Not that it isn't beautiful - it's a gorgeous little town. But even though I grew up there, it was never really home. But now, I'm going back.

And yet, I'm looking forward to it. Because I'll finally be able to get back into school, and work towards the day when I can actually afford to live in Victoria. And visit all those cafes that remain unvisited, and dine at all those restaurants that remain undined. Someone else can deal with the alleyways.

Weekly Haiku #68 - Last Month

2011-11-02T08:09:00.000-07:00

my last month in vic

dying leaves and faded dreams

surf erodes bedrock

November Playlist:

2011-11-01T21:16:00.000-07:00

God. Would you believe I haven't done a playlist in months? What the hell is wrong with me? Anyways, here's my playlist for November. It's a bit dark these days, with a heavy dose of blues and what I'd call "Musicality".

Dan Mangan, "Jeopardy"

Geinoh Yamashirogumi, "Mutation"

Imaginary Cities, "Ride this Out"

Black Mountain, "The Way to Gone"

The Cave Singers, "Haystacks"

Radiohead, "Give Up The Ghost"

The Mountain Goats, "Michael Myers Resplendent"

Hey Rosetta!, "Bandages"

Laurena, "Permafrost"

Arcade Fire, "The Suburbs"

Dan Mangan: "Oh Fortune" (2011, Arts and Crafts Records)

2011-11-01T20:49:00.000-07:00

I've been a bit lax in my music reviews lately. Not because I haven't been listening, but mostly because I've been, well, lazy. But I digress.

Dan Mangan's latest offering has a wonderful little notice in the fine print, which reads "If you acquire it for free, and you enjoy it, please to a live show and bring a friend. If you paid for it, you should still come a show - but know that you are exceptionally wonderful".

How nice. While it has little to do with the album itself, it's something I like to see.

This is new territory for Mangan - it's no longer music built around an acoustic guitar. Gone are the country/folk phrasings of Postcards and Daydreaming, or the horns and radio-friendly indie accessibility of Nice, Nice, Very Nice. This is an album with a heavy dose of strings, organs, and atmospheric omnichord bits. Mangan also takes a stab at the electric guitar this time around, most particularly on "Post War Blues", an album that is about as distinctly "un-Mangan" as I can imagine.

It's also not very good. But it's the only song that I really dislike on the album, so maybe that's something. The other big stab at electric guitar works, "Rows of Houses", is actually really good - probably my favourite track on the album, in fact.

The album opens up with an honest to god waltz with "About as helpful as you can be without being any help at all", and then progresses into a moody piece called "how darwinian". The long-standing Mangan fan is probably going to be a bit confused by the first few tracks - it's not until the fourth track, "if I am dead" that we begin to hear that folksy Mangan-type song we all know and love. And we don't hear something that has any sort of cheer until we get to the fifth track, "Daffodil", which has an old-timey feel I definitely like.

Actually, the album really warms up after "Daffodil", with many great folksy songs that return to Mangan's roots while still being experimental enough that he's not just treading old ground. The title track, "Oh Fortune", is a great example of this, with a train-chugging riff that has an old-time rock and roll sound combined with that west coast indie feel we all love.

In all, it's a moodier version of Mangan. He's always had sad lyrics - this time around, the sounds tend to match those lyrics. Really, it's less rock and roll, and more blues. Less whistling, more wailing. And so on, and so forth. Try listening to the album-ending "Jeopardy" and trying to remain cheerful ("Where did I go?/what is this sorrow? where did I go? what am I doing?")

Bottom line? This isn't nearly as happy as his earlier work, but it's still a work that is absolutely creative and worth listening to. Rather than having you tapping your feet to infectious pop ballads, you'll be sipping coffee and thinking about lost loves and those who have left us. It's an album worth checking out, whether you buy it or find it for free. And in either case, do what the fine print says, and check him out live.

And bring a friend.

Insomnia

2011-11-01T19:52:00.000-07:00

The last week, I've had incredibly bad insomnia. There have been days where I've had to be at work for 7 am, and found myself staring at the clock at 5 am, having not slept at all, wondering what the hell I was going to do.

When I do sleep, it's in bursts, and filled with weird, incomplete dreams. A few days ago, I dreamt I was lying in my bed, trying to sleep. And when I woke up, I wasn't sure what part was the dream, because I was so damned confused I couldn't make heads or tails of reality itself.

Such is the life of a chronic insomniac, I suppose. Your dreams consist of being awake, and while you're awake, you dream of nothing but a good night's sleep. There's a song title somewhere in that.

Flash forward to last night. I was groggy, and ready to lie down. I had tuesday off, and was planning on spending it being productive as well as starting to clean up the apartment (ha!). I went to bed for a "quick nap" at around 9 pm, and set my alarm for 1 am, for some reason, so that I could get a little bit of "pre-cleaning" done.

I woke up at 1 am, as planned. And then decided that this was stupid, because it was the first time I'd had more than two hours of uninterrupted sleep, and I needed the sleep more than the "pre-cleaning". This was probably the smartest, most coherent thing I've done all week. Which is sad in its own way. So I went back to bed.

And slept for the rest of the night. It was heavenly. If that is at all what being dead is like, I don't know what everyone's complaining about. I could go for some more of it.

It all ended at 7 am, however. Because my cell phone alarm went off. I hit it, and went back to sleep.

It went off again at 8 am. So I hit the button, and threw it across the room. Only for it to go off again at 9 am, waking me up yet again. Finally, I rolled out of bed, turned off that alarm, and realized that somewhere during the night, I had actually set half a dozen independant alarms, each set to go off at a different hour.

I have no recollection of doing this. We're talking some serious Fight Club, Tyler Durden stuff here. And if you haven't seen Fight Club, ignore that reference, it means nothing. And please, go see Fight Club, you fool!

That isn't even the most impressive insomniac thing I've done this month, however. A few weeks ago, I had to be at work for a 3 am shift, and had only had an hour of sleep before waking up at around 2 to walk to work. Somewhere on the gorge, I actually fell asleep while walking.

And woke up a block down the street, wondering where the hell I was, and why was I fullly dressed and walking? And why was I covered in hobo blood?

Okay, I made that last bit up. But the rest of it is absolutely true.

I have to be up at 5 am tomorrow to get to work on time. And I am wide awake right now. I have a feeling tomorrow will be an interesting day.

I am bad people

2011-10-30T01:28:00.000-07:00

I love making fun of people. Especially when they're in on the joke. Unfortunately, sometimes uninvolved witnesses don't understand it's all fake, and think I'm just being an asshole. I mean, I am an asshole, but I hate it when I blow my cover.

Observe.

DAVE: Hey! I'm working with Jean today!
JEAN: Hey Dave. It's gonna be a fun night,. We're going to rock this place.
DAVE: Jean, did you know that you're my second favourite person named 'Jean' to work in this deli?
JEAN: (Rolls eyes)
RANDOM CO-WORKER: "Second Favourite"? Dave, she's the only person named Jean that works here.
DAVE: I know. But she's just not 'number one' material, wouldn't you agree?
JEAN: I hate you, Dave.

See? It's funny. Two of the three of us had fun, pretending to hate each other. But the third person didn't get the joke... and went to the managers about my "attitude".

Another exchange between "jean" and I:

JEAN: Hey Dave. You know how Hitler died, right?
DAVE: Well, actually, he died of a cyan-
JEAN: Quit being a smartass for a second. Hitler died of a heart attack.
DAVE: No, he died of Cyan-
JEAN: Shut up. He died of a heart attack. You know, when he saw his gas bill?
DAVE: (Pause, and then) BWAAAA HAAA HAA HAAA!
JEAN: Thought you'd like that. We're bad people.
DAVE: Yeah. We are bad people. Don't know why I'm laughing... I just found out last month that my grandfather died in a concentration camp, after all.
JEAN: Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I said that! I'm so so so sorry!
DAVE: Yeah.... he fell out of a guard tower.
JEAN: (Pause, and then) BWAAAAA HAAA HAA HAAA!
RANDOM CO-WORKER: You're both bad people.

Moral of the story? I only hang out with the fun people at work. And then get in shit.

Talk to me, Goose!

2011-10-28T01:18:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been in "training" mode. My goal is to walk the West Coast Trail next summer. For most people, this is a fairly ordinary goal, but because my Wilford Brimley style Diabeetus gets in the way, I've found I need to do a bit of preparation.

This preparation is taking the form of walking the Galloping Goose in a day, while carrying weight, and constantly testing my blood sugar to see how I can best handle myself on the real trail. It's been a lot of fun - get on the Goose in Victoria at around ten am, and then walk all the way down to Sooke.

Last week I did something like 35 km in around six hours, which is pretty damn good, in my professional opinion. That's like six kilometres an hour, which is... well, okay, it's not incredibly fast, but still.

Anyways, on the Goose, you see some interesting things. Beyond the wonderful views, you just see some weird and crazy stuff. For example:

In a crosswalk in Metchosin, someone spray-painted a giant penis on the road. And I mean giant. And then drawn in the names of various people throughout the thing. I'm going to look at this as interpretive art, or perhaps some sort of political statement.

On a bridge near Matheson lake, there's a bronzed paw print of a beloved dog, overlooking a dried creek bed.

Also near Matheson lake, there's an empty field, with soccer nets on either side. It's in the middle of thick forest, with no trail to reach it that I can see, and no houses nearby. I think it's where the aliens go to practice for FIFA.

Near Sooke, I found a pile of rocks near a bench, and saw the edges of a note sticking out from a tree. I thought it was some sort of geocaching spot. Nope. Opening the note, it read "Sitting here makes my pussy wet." it was signed "E.A.". That's right - apparently, people use the Goose as an exchange point for dirty letters. What a world we live in.

There's a bridge in Langford that is lined with letters to a girl whose body was found dumped in the area last year. It always makes me feel kind of happy and sad all at once - but I wrote about this before.

At the 26 km mark, someone scrawled in "halfway th" on the marker. This makes me laugh... because the trail is 55 km long. Someone didn't do the math well, and realized it halfway through their scrawling.

Moral of the story? Walk the goose when you have a day off. You'll see weird stuff, and have at least one odd adventure.

Weekly Haiku #67 - are you experienced?

2011-10-26T05:12:00.000-07:00

our seattle boy's

guitar cries as a newborn

a prophet of sound

True Story:

2011-10-20T05:00:00.000-07:00

DAVE: Um, hey there, boss.
BOSS: Hey Dave. What's up?
DAVE: I need to book a few nights off next month.
BOSS: Sure. What days?
DAVE: First is November 10th. I need everything past 5 pm off.
BOSS: Okay. Why?
DAVE: It's a Dan Mangan concert. He's kind of this folksy guy with a cool horns section and some great drummers.
BOSS: Alright. Concert. Gotcha. Next?
DAVE: Uh, November 11th? Night?
BOSS: Oh, okay. Why?
DAVE: Yukon Blonde.
BOSS: What?
DAVE: Yukon Blonde. They're a Canadian indie rock band.
BOSS: Never heard of them.
DAVE: They're from Kelowna. Think laid-back rock music, sort of like, say 54-40 if they had just come out now. Or maybe a less frenetic R.E.M.
BOSS: Uh... sure. November 11th... off. Gotcha. And the third?
DAVE: November 12th?
BOSS: No way.
DAVE: What?
BOSS: No way you're going to three concerts in a row.
DAVE: Um.
BOSS: Who is it this time?
DAVE: The Arkells.
BOSS: Oh, I've heard of them!
DAVE: Really? I haven't.
BOSS: They're on the radio.
DAVE: I don't listen to the radio. Not really.
BOSS: But you're going to their show.
DAVE: Yeah. Why?
BOSS: Dammit, Dave. I try to defend you when people call you a hipster behind your back, but you don't make it easy.

Weekly Haiku #66 - Phantom Cyclist

2011-10-19T04:57:00.000-07:00

one man. two seat bike.

alone... pedalling for two

empty spokes revolve

Ew. Just.... ew.

2011-10-18T04:52:00.000-07:00

I'm walking down the street, near Mayfair mall, listening to the new Dan Mangan album, when I look down and see a picture, obviously cut out of a polaroid.

It's small, but it's a woman's face. Curious, I bend over and look a little closer. This is when I realize it's a picture of a woman's face, engaged in oral sex. The entire bottom half of her face is obscured, and I won't go into too many details on that account. She didn't seem entirely thrilled to be doing what she was doing. Ugh.

Okay, so a few things icked me out about this. One, is that someone actually cut this picture out of a polaroid. I can't understand why, because this would be the focal point of the photo (right?) and if you wanted to destroy the photo, you'd destroy the whole thing, and if you wanted to keep the photo, again, same thing. This isn't like a breakup photo, where you cut out an ex's face.

Or is it?

Second, someone was carrying this photo around with them. For what purpose, I have no clue, but it's not one I want to think of.

Naturally, I took the photo, tore it up into a couple of pieces (hard to do with a polaroid, but I managed using a key) and chucked into a garbage can. Unfortunately, the whole affair put an icky taste in my mouth, if you'll pardon the expression, all things considered.

Sometimes, Victoria surprises even me.

How to Annoy Dave:

2011-10-15T04:41:00.000-07:00

I work with some very "interesting" people. This is a conversation I had a few days with a co-worker, pretty much verbatim. He was talking about crappy movies, and the conversation went from there:

DAVE: Um, I don't really watch too many movies these days. I mostly read.
CO-WORKER: I'm reading a good series right now.
DAVE (Not really interested): Oh?
CO-WORKER: I'm reading the Earth's Children series. It's good.
DAVE: I've never heard of them.
CO-WORKER: The first book is called "Clan of the Cave Bear". It's -
DAVE: Oh, right. I've heard of that. It's by that girl-
CO-WORKER: Her name is Jean Auel. The first book is Clan of the Cave Bear. It was written in 1980. The second book is called The Valley of Horses. It was written in 1982. The third book is called The Mammoth Hunters. It was written in 1985. The fourth is called The Plains of Passage. It was written in 1990. The fifth book is called The Shelters of Stone. It was written in 2002. The sixth book is called The Land of Painted Caves. It was written in 2011.
DAVE: Um. Wow. That sounds like, uh, quite the production run.
CO-WORKER: Yes.
DAVE: Um.
CO-WORKER: The story starts with a young cro-magnon woman, named Ayla, who is split with her tribe. She doesn't eat for a week, and nearly dies of exposure, but she is able to stay hydrated during this time. She comes along a tribe of neanderthals, who adopt her. They don't seem to use language, but (this continues for a few minutes that felt like hours, where he goes into Neanderthal custom and whatnot before I interrupt)
DAVE: Oh, wow. So, it's someone's story about what neanderthals were like.
CO-WORKER: Yes.
DAVE: It's funny, though. A lot of those theories no longer work - there are different theories on neanderthals than there were years ago.
CO-WORKER: Oh, it's just fiction. Everyone knows cavemen didn't exist.
DAVE: Wait, what?
CO-WORKER: I don't believe in Evolution.
DAVE: Ah. I see.

He then proceeded to try and sell me herbal vitamins that he pimps on the side, in an Amway-esque pyramid scheme, and told me he had stuff that would help fix up my diabetes. I told him I only bought herbal vitamins from people who believed we descended from apes. Stony silence ruled my workplace.

And no, I don't feel bad mocking someone with obvious mental issues. Not one iota.

Who Knew?

2011-10-14T16:39:00.001-07:00

Hey! You know what's rough? Working 70 hour work weeks.

You know else is rough? Trying to work 70 hour work weeks, and trying to find interesting things to write about while doing so.

So... yeah. It's been a while, eh? Nothing of interest has really been happening on my end, save for some surgery recovery (yeowch) and getting my diabetes working for me instead of against me. Beyond that... yeah. Life's been good, if a little hectic.

Anyways. Posts are resuming, but don't expect a daily post for the next while, at least. I'm just not nearly interesting enough for anything like that.

Who knew?

Either that, or she thought I was an asshole:

2011-08-28T09:12:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I like to give very general answers to questions that expect a specific answer. If someone asks me what I feel like having for dinner, I'll them I feel like having some food. If I'm asked what I'm listening to, I'll say I'm listening to music.

And so forth. It's pretty obvious I like to be a smartass. It's less obvious as to why I still have friends.

Usually, people will roll their eyes at such a response, ask the question again, and I'll give a normal answer. Sometimes, though, I get an answer that makes me quite depressed.

I was on a break at my restaurant job, when a rather doe-eyed teenage co-worker sat down next to me. She saw I had my nose buried in a book (Shadowmarch, by Tad Williams, for those that are curious), and piped up.

"What're you reading?"

"A book."

She paused for a moment, vacant-faced. "Oh."

As if my answer was perfectly normal, and she had never seen a book before. Which I suppose may be true. Kids these days.

I would have proposed

2011-08-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

We have an old boombox in our deli at work. We're only allowed to play it when there are no customers in the store, so it gets turned on from 5 am until 7 am, every morning.

Most days, it gets turned to the radio, where it plays the exact same top 40 music that is heard on the overhead speakers. There have been days where, I swear, both the in-store music and the radio were playing the same damn Christina Aguilera song at the same time. It was as if the radio and the digital satellite shared some sort of weird hive mind, set towards the goal of driving Dave slowly insane through ridiculously stupid pop music.

Luckily, the first person who opens is usually the one who gets to pick the music. And last week, I had the good luck of being the opener. While most people would scowl at a 4 am shift (and for me, this means getting up at 2 am!), I jump at it. Not only because I get off work from an eight hour shift at 12:30, but also because I get to be the keeper of the ipod.

No Aguilera on my watch.

Day one was a combination of the Beatles and The Fleet Foxes. Day two was The Flaming Lips and Dan Mangan. Day three was The Cold War Kids and The Cave Singers. Except for the Beatles, it was three days of indie paradise.

And then day four came around, and it was back to the radio, and Miss Aguilera trying to show everyone how many notes she can hit in three seconds. Some people call that talent. I call it indecisiveness.

But I digress.

Best part, though, was when one of the bakery girls came over to me, while I was making sandwiches, and whispered "I wish they'd stop playing this radio shit and put that other music on. The ipod music was so much better."

I would've proposed, then and there, but she was forty.

Are You Calling Me Crazy!?

2011-08-26T08:34:00.000-07:00

We were at work, shooting the shit while putting together pizzas, assembly-line style. My boss, a guy in his thirties who should probably watch what he says a bit more but thankfully doesn't, was talking about women.

In a deli. Staffed primarily by women.

So, the two of us are chatting about girls. Every time an attractive customer walks by, which is fairly frequently, he'd point to her and say "hey, she looks good. Ask her out. Give her our usual thrifty's customer service!" or some other dirty comment to that effect. Which was, really, pretty hilarious.

And then we started talking about weird dates we've both been on. After swapping a few, we conclude, rather loudly, that "all women are crazy". We said it jokingly, with that sort of fond affection that is usually reserved for a well-loved poodle that can't stop pooping on the rug.

One of my co-workers, doing the dishes, turns to us, holding a long knife in one hand.

"Are.... you.... calling... me.... crazy!?" she said, her eyes wild and this weird sneer on her face.

Funniest thing I've seen all week.

Happy Birthday!

2011-08-25T08:54:00.000-07:00

So, it's my friend Kate's birthday today. She is one year older, and beginning to enter those hazy years we like to describe as "the mid twenties". Or, as I like to look upon it, the time where, no matter where you are, you will be charged and tried as an adult for any misdemeanours you commit.

Or the time where "you should really know better".

Anyways. Enjoy the anniversary of your birth, Kate. Not that long ago (geologically speaking), you were, well, let's not think too deeply on what was going on. Because childbirth is icky. But yeah, that was what you were up to.

And I'm rambling.

This, ladies and gents, is what happens when you neglect your blog-writing duties for a while.

Weekly Haiku #62 - Streetside Lizards

2011-08-24T08:50:00.000-07:00

...and they were pets, once

but now the garbage is home

"to serve in heaven"?

69 Years Ago...

2011-08-19T09:43:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my birthday. I turn 28. For those that can't do math, I was born on August 20th, 1983. It's not really a very noteworthy day - The Police released "every breath you take" on an unsuspecting world, but beyond that, it was more or less an okay day.

Forty-one years before, though, it was hell in one little part of the world, for a small collection of Canadians who were ready to do their part for the War Effort going on. This was an event that would forever be known afterward as "The Dieppe Raid", or occasionally "The Dieppe Folly".

The raid was a dry rehearsal for later Allied amphibious assaults - the lessons learned would go on to influence the planning for the invasion of Normandy (D-Day) that would happen some two years later. But when this attack began, the planners were woefully unprepared for the devastation to come. The Canadians who were putting their asses on the line had no idea that their deaths were going to mean anything.

And they died. They died in droves.

Of the six thousand Canadians who were involved in the attacks, only 40% (a little over 2,400) made it back to England in one piece - the rest were killed, captured, or seriously wounded. In less than five hours, 3,600 Canadians had been taken from us, in one way or another. To be put another way, twelve men a minute were killed, wounded, or captured. For five hours.

The entire ten year mission in Afghanistan lost fewer people than those at Dieppe lost in twenty minutes.

I mention this because my grandfather was one of the people there. And he was one of the lucky few that made it back. There's this photo of his company taken a few days before the raid - all three hundred faces smiling at the camera. And then there's a photo of those still fit for active duty when they got back - eighteen beaten, haggard faces staring emptily at the camera.

And yet the raid is little remembered by anyone beyond war historians. Even in Canada, a country that celebrates Vimy Ridge and our landings on Juno Beach, the loss at Dieppe is one we rarely acknowledge. But every year, the day before I celebrate one more year of life in a land of freedom and boundless opportunity, I do my best to remember. And to reflect on the fact that many Canadian dead once lined the beaches of a far-off continent in a battle that is too often forgotten.

And every year, I promise to myself to do my part to help others - especially Canadians, as this battle was our legacy - to remember.

Hence, this post.

Weekly Haiku #65 - August 19th, 1942

2011-08-17T09:35:00.000-07:00

feed the hungry guns

birds sweep down from leaden skies

and feast on lost boys

True Story:

2011-08-06T11:51:00.000-07:00

I've decided that "hipster" shouldn't just apply to music. And it shouldn't just apply to douchebags in their mid twenties. Case in point, at my deli. I'm dealing with a customer who has to be in her sixties.

"I love Edamame."

"Yes, I know, it's really good. How much would you like?"

"I've been eating Edamame for years."

"That's great. So, a medium....?"

"When I first started eating Edamame, you couldn't get it in the grocery store. Nobody had ever heard of it. That's when I first had it. I was probably one of the first people in this city who ate Edamame...."

"...or a large....?"

"You couldn't get it a grocery store. You'd ask for Edamame, and they'd just look at you. But now it's popular, and everyone's eating it."

"Well, it is good."

"Yes, yes it is."

"So, how much Edamame can I get for you?"

"Oh, I don't eat Edamame anymore."

*walks away*

AWOL

2011-08-05T23:48:00.000-07:00

I've been AWOL for a little while. This was entirely due to being overworked, and worried far too much about my upcoming surgery. Well, the surgery is over with and done, and work has slowed down for a little bit over the next few weeks (but not so slow that I won't make money, thank the godless universe!).

Anyways. I hope to get back to my regular blogging self, but it still might be a few more days while I deal with painkillers, dressings, and all the other post surgery crapola that is about as fun, as, well, pre-surgery.

The Canadian music reviews will be finished in one massive post. I'm kind of upset I didn't accomplish my original plan... but real life trumps blog, I guess.

A Few Things:

2011-07-23T00:21:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know I need to catch up on my Canadian music thing. I spent two days in Vancouver this week, and it's kind of helped contribute to putting me behind on updates. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday's music reviews will be up by tomorrow. I hope. (Expect reviews on The Russian Futurists, Bend Sinister, and "To Be Announced"!)

Regarding wednesday's haiku. Okay, so my sister is almost six months pregnant, which is very exciting news. Unfortunately, she had a bit of a scare in which she went into false labour last week. You guys can imagine how scary that would be. Anyways, the haiku was about that. Luckily, everything seems to be going well now, and my fingers are crossed things stay that way. I really want to meet little Olivia Geiger, after all. Anyways, this is one time I agree with you all - that haiku is very "ugly". Here's hope I have no more to write along those lines.

I have been extraordinarily stressed out lately. There are quite a few reasons why: I've started two new jobs in the last month; money is as tight as ever; I have a rather big surgery coming up in less than two weeks (!); the aforementioned problems regarding my niece to be; starting new medications; and a few other things that aren't quite as major. The long and short of it is, I've kind of been a bit snappy to people around me. If I've been a bit pissy, my apologies. I really don't mean to be a dick. At least, not this time.

Weekly Haiku #60: my niece

2011-07-20T12:58:00.000-07:00

low in the belly

breakout like krauts on the rhine

hold fast! or stillborn

20. Mother Mother, "Eureka" (2011)

2011-07-20T00:45:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Quadra Island, British Columbia
Notable Songs: 'The Stand', 'Problems', 'Getaway'

Didn't I just review this, like, a month ago?

Yes. Yes I did. But that doesn't mean it shouldn't be included in this list, so here goes again.

Last time I talked about this album, I was unsure exactly what I felt about it. Now, a few months down the road, I can tell you with certainty that the album accomplished what it set out to do - it created a unique sound that is electric, quirky, and exciting. And while it's not always my cup of tea, there are definitely many tracks that worm their way into my head.

Of course, if the past few weeks have taught me anything, it is that my three picks for 'notable tracks' are completely off. I expect all sorts of comments telling me how I should have included the dance-able 'Baby Don't Dance' or the new wave-influenced 'Original Spin' or the rocky 'Simply Simple' as notable tracks.

And fair enough, I say. Because all of those songs (and others on the album I haven't mentioned ) are great. Way I see it, if people are telling me I picked the wrong "notable tracks", it means the artist has done a very good job at creating - because so many tracks on it are good. And Eureka (which means "I Found it" in latin, a very apt title for this breakout piece) is damn good.

19. Timber Timbre, "Creep On Creepin' On" (2011)

2011-07-19T00:33:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Toronto, Ontario and Montreal, Quebec
Notable Songs: 'Black Water', 'Woman'. 'Too Old to Die Young'.

If you listen to CBC Radio 3 at all, you already know Timber Timbre already - they're sort of the darlings of 2011, it seems. And it makes sense why - moody, bluesy, folksy, and delightfully urban, the band has a sound that is delightfully unique and familiar all at once.

Timber Timbre have really put together an album that's absolutely blissful to put on in the background. It's music that is absolutely 'cool' to listen to, and I'm sure there are all sorts of college students out there who are busily playing this to impress the other poli-sci students as they partake of recreational drugs and time-wasting.

For me, listening to the groovy and wistful 'Black Water' brings me back to the days of lying on my bed with BB King playing in the background, happily being miserable listening to what my mother calls "Music to hang yourself to".

'Woman', meanwhile, is bluesy in the exact same way that Deep Purple was 'bluesy', and I mean that as a compliment. Timber Timbre does a cover of "Smoke On the Water" here that is actually, you know, good.

Creep on Creepin' On has those urban, almost R&B tracks interspersed with atmospheric stringed pieces such as 'Obelisk' and 'Swamp Magic'. Couple those with folksy tracks such as 'Too Old to Die Young', and you'd think you were listening to something hailing from decades ago, and not just a few months ago.

18. Arcade Fire "The Suburbs" (2010)

2011-07-18T00:20:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Montreal, Quebec
Notable Tracks: 'Empty Room', 'Wasted Hours', 'Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)'.

I kind of feel guilty, listing an album that is very well known and has won international music awards. After all, when talking about great canadian records, doesn't that go hand in hand with obscurity?

If that doesn't make me a hipster...

...But good is good, and The Suburbs definitely deserves recognition, even if it's already been recognized in places just a tiny bit larger than my wee li'l blog.

The Suburbs, a tightly-recorded concept album centred around suburban living, brings up and revisits several musical themes, particularly the guitar tracks that open and close the album - 'the suburbs' and 'the suburbs (continued)'. While much it has that indie rock vibe that is all the rage these days, it does stray into some uncharted territories - my favourite track on the album, 'Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)', is a strange lovechild between indie rock and ABBA. And 'Month of May' is almost punk like in its intensity, only without the jackboots and atrocious fashion sense.

But if you're a fan of the danceable beats and original guitar licks that have justly made The Arcade Fire famous, you'll still find them herein. This is very much a record that makes you feel good, and one that you will find yourself getting lost within.

When I first started listening to the album, I did so with trepidation. How much of it was due to hype and the music media, and how much of it was actually good? Turns out, most of it was good - I had to admit this to myself after listening to it three times straight. I had been finding more and more excuses to put on my ipod and 'walk for a few more songs'.

17. Black Mountain "Wilderness Heart" (2010)

2011-07-17T22:37:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Vancouver, British Columbia
Notable Songs: "The Hair Song", "The Way to Gone", "The Space of Your Mind".

On my itunes list, Black Mountain is nestled right between the Black Keys, and Black Sabbath. Which, strangely enough, could probably be used as a shorthand to describe the group - they're not quite as heavy and riffy as Black Sabbath, and not quite as bluesy and pared down as the Black Keys. And this is, of course, a very good thing.

Black Mountain are this decade's version of Stoner Rock, with a liberal dose of indie, a touch of keyboard-driven new wave, and even a bit of acoustic hippiness thrown in for good measure. If you're not familiar with "Stoner Rock", think of 1970s hard rock without the guitar solos, focused around the rhythm section, and lacking the aggression of heavy metal. Or, as I describe it, pure musical bliss. I was a stoner rock fanatic for years. And Black Mountain has singlehandedly reminded me of just why I loved it so much for so long.

It's the perfect storm of detuned guitar awesomeness.

That being said, this album isn't "pure" or "classic" stoner rock, if there's really such a thing. In addition to the "typical" stoner sound, it has acoustic guitar lines, female vocals, and atmospheric keyboards that manage to NOT be "prog rock". This is a very good thing for me, because it's almost as if Stoner Rock was saying "look, Dave, we have that stoner sound you love... but we've added those indie things you love, too!".

In short, Black Mountain seems to be perfectly suited for me. And because of this, I've spent the last two days in my living room, in absolute musical bliss. Easily the best album I've heard in 2011. Even if you don't like hard music, you need to check out this album. Listen to a few tracks, and I guarantee there's something in here that will appeal to you.

Like I said before. A Perfect Storm.

Scene from a job:

2011-07-16T10:32:00.000-07:00

DAVE: (talking to a supervisor about a different co-worker) Go easy on her. You're only nineteen once, and I'm sure you were just as bad.
EAVESDROPPING COWORKER: That's not true.
DAVE: Hunh?
COWORKER: You're not only nineteen once.
DAVE: Um. Yeah you are. You're nineteen for exactly one year.
COWORKER: Not true. You can be as old as you want to be.
DAVE: Uh...
COWORKER: For example, I never stopped being twelve.
DAVE: You never stopped being.... twelve?
COWORKER: I've been a twelve year old boy for more than fifteen years.

(Long pause)

DAVE: Stay away from my kids.

Yeah, this pretty much happened, word for word. My supervisor roared with laughter, and we proceeded to good-naturedly tease my co-worker.

Family Emergency

2011-07-16T10:07:00.000-07:00

Spent last night pacing and being all worried and whatnot. While I was in more or less a good mood, my mind wasn't exactly clear to catch up on blogging. There were a few reasons why:

My sister is in the hospital for some complications regarding her pregnancy (I'm sending all sorts of good vibes her way, and you guys should too!)

I've got a surgery in two weeks, and I'm getting a bad case of the pregame jitters.

Problems involving my enrolment in Pharmacare that, thankfully, have now been resolved.

Anyways. It made battling out a 500 word review on some album or another a bit difficult. But, as I did last week, I'll come back and write one late. Probably sometime tonight, so I can still technically hit my deadline.

In other music news, I just discovered Black Mountain today. I'm amazed it's taken this long. Maybe I'm the only person in the world who still loves Stoner Rock, but holy fuck, these guys are amazing. Next payday, I'm buying their entire discography at Ditch Records.

You are now updated.

16. Hey Rosetta! "Seeds" (2011)

2011-07-16T00:35:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Newfoundland
Notable Songs: 'Welcome', 'Seventeen', 'Bandages'

Hailing from Canada's windier, colder coast, Hey Rosetta! has already forged a reputation based on sweeping string arrangements accompanied with indie rock guitars and aggressive acoustic stylings. This time around, they've taken it even one step further.

Seeds is a collection of songs all connected with that trademark "Hey Rosetta! sound", with songs rising in crescendo and pitch before dying down softly for a few seconds, giving us just enough time to prepare for the next one. No song on the album ends in the same way it began, and if there is anything as simple as a verse/chorus/verse chorus track to be found, it's hidden very well.

The lyric matter is based around the idea of seasons and growth, which I suppose makes this a work of fantasy for the Newfies, who are used to seventeen months of winter every year (they double up from september to january).

The album is best taken as a whole, and not as a collection of singles. Because of this, it's hard for me to pick out notable songs. I chose these three because they work incredibly well connected as they are, and because they do an amazing job finishing the album. 'Yer Spring' would be another likely choice.

Lines of communication

2011-07-15T10:18:00.000-07:00

This is kind of a brain fart, a half-formed thought that's been kicking in my head for a few days. Bear with me, here.

Yesterday, I spoke a bit about history. And I'm going to carry on in that vein, with a quick little observation that was half pointed out during a class a few years back, by my very wise (and wry!) professor, Clarence Bolt.

It goes like this - empires have a tendency to form. Empires are composed of many different peoples, of many different cultural habits. For an empire to remain an empire, and not dissolve into many disparate pieces, the core of the empire has to control the periphery.

It can do this with force, or with commerce, or with many other means. But whether you want to control your fringes through force of arms, mercantile/economic controls, or through cultural assimilation, you need to have one thing first - communication. You need to be able to keep the lines of communication open in your empire. If your people speak different languages, your roads and sea-lanes are dangerous to pass, and the cultural differences between your disparate peoples are too great, your empire is in danger.

A recent theory that has emerged is that Rome made it as an empire because it ranged from East to West. See, cultural factors rely upon environmental factors - all desert cultures share common traits, for example. Since the roman empire was all on the same rough longitudinal lines, and therfore in the same climate band, the cultures that fell under Roman control shared many similar traits - you could live on the eastern border of the empire or the western border, and still be eating the same crops.

Compare that to the new world, where the Incan empire was arranged on a north/south axis that, so the theory goes, made the government doomed from the start. The people ate different food due to climate differences. And a jungle people overseeing a desert people meant neither culture was sensitive to the others' needs.

Okay. Following me so far?

We can presume that holding open lines of communication, cultural and economic as well as military, are the means to successful empire-building. The thing is, today, it is possible for there to be no "core" of the "Empire". And the lines of communication have changed from roads and seaways to telecommunications and the internet. In short, the globalisation of the world has enabled the possibility of a one-world empire.

While I don't think we'll see anything like that in any of our lifetimes, I imagine it'll happen in the next few centuries - a one world government. And it's the type of thought that brings me great happiness.

15. Tegan & Sara, "Sainthood" (2009)

2011-07-15T00:04:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Calgary, Alberta.
Notable Songs: 'Don't Rush', 'Red Belt', 'Someday'

What? You don't know Tegan and Sara? Seriously? These guys, while still lumped in with the "indie" crowd, are very much mainstream. It's been said that Tegan and Sara are must-have albums if you want to be taken seriously as a lesbian, these days.

This is a poor joke, but it's one I've heard far too many times. I wonder how many people don't listen to these great western Canadian musicians, simply because of their "gay connection"? Some people definitely think of Tegan and Sara Quin as the indie punk/rock version of Lady Gaga, which is a crying shame, because the music deserves a good chunk of praise that often gets swallowed up in favour of conversations on sexual orientation.

And I've fallen to the same trap, discussing their sexuality for two whole paragraphs before I even mention the music. This annoys me, because the music is great. Upbeat, uptempo, and just generally "up", it's music that comes from a lot of different places. It has an unabashedly simple lyrical structure that is undeniably folk, yet the electric guitars are punk and the electronics and drums are dance or "new wave".

This is an album that always gets me tapping my foot. It never drops into ballads, and instead follows the punk rock ethos of an increasing, frenetic tempo. While this album, due to my own personal tastes in music, will never make it to my top ten list of albums, the drive and energy of it all has made this a recent preference when it is time to clean the house or do dishes. It's dance music for grumpy gingers who hate dance music, that's for sure.

As for the lyrics, some are personal, some are quirky, and some are the usual post-relationship stuff. Mention of poker faces are kept to a blessed minimum, and they never whine about the manner in which they were born.

Wanna hear something cool? Even though they're identical twins, you can hear the difference in their voices. Listen to it on the tracks; it's a pleasant surprise.

Isn't this enough (Tim Minchin)?

2011-07-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

why do we still name what's beyond our stars
giving glory to what isn't ours?
we'll blame ourselves for the greed and hate
yet praise a being we all helped create?

why do we reach through space
hoping to touch our creator's face?
blind to our world, blind to our lives
yet said to see all reasons why?
why ignore the ground beneath our feet
ignore life, in favour of belief?
blind to our world when we see with faith
I ask you now for everyone' sake
isn't this enough?
isn't all this enough?

we went to space in ten year's time
freed ourselves and freed our lines
cured disease and healed our minds
mapped our genes and stretched our lives
yet still we cling to dead beliefs
misplaced facts long obsolete
like a two in a line of ones and zeroes
truth left behind in tales of heroes
look to the skies yet fail to see
no good ever came from a bended knee

why do we still reach out through pace
hoping to touch our creator's face
he's blind to our world and blind to our lives
we are our own reason why
why ignore the ground beneath our feet
ignore all this beauty and favour belief?
we're blind to our world when we see with faith
believe in ourselves and not in a fake
isn't this enough?
shouldn't this be enough?

Diabetes and Travel

2011-07-14T21:17:00.000-07:00

Looks like I'm going on an overnight trip to Vancouver next week. Should be a fun little trip, with yours truly along mostly as "moral support". Two words seldom applied to me, either together or singularly. I'm relishing the change, though. Makes me feel all grown up and stuff.

While talking to my friend about the trip, I started asking a lot of questions about when we were leaving. Where are we eating? What time do we get there? Etc.

And of course, it began to annoy her, to the point where she finally said "Can't we just wing it!?"

My wounded defence centred around my diabetes, which worked. I said that I wanted to know roughly when meals were so I could plan insulin accordingly.

Afterwards, though, I realized that this is complete bullshit, and has been bullshit for years. I don't need to plan my insulin accordingly. Not anymore. In fact, when I travel, I do exactly what she wanted to do - I "wing it". I do my 28 units of Lantus insulin at 10 pm, every night, and I do my humalogue insulin in response to meals. Beyond that, nothing is set in stone.

This has been the case for about four years now, ever since my endocrinologist saved my life and changed my insulin types. While I have to carry food for low blood sugars, that's always the case, not just for travelling. So why the worries?

Easy. I used to be on different insulins - namely, "R" and "N", which while they sound cool (like the "Mr T." of insulins, or something), are kind of, well, shitty. "R" insulin supposedly had the "R" stand for "Rapid". Except, you had to do it half an hour before eating, and it stayed in your bloodstream for hours after eating. And the "N" was supposedly "Long lasting", but it only lasted twelve hours. And was unreliable.

True story. When I first met my endocrinologist, he was stunned I was still on "R" and "N" insulins. He said something like "Dave, your blood tester was made in 2005, and is state of the art. Your insulin was developed in the 1980s. You are a 1980s diabetic. Do you really want an insulin that's been around since before MC Hammer?"

Or something to that effect. It's been a while.

Anyways, these two insulins were a pain in the ass. They meant that you had to plan out most of your day before you got out of bed. I'm going to have a bowl of cereal for breakfast. At noon, I'll eat a sandwich at that nice deli. Three pm I'll have six graham crackers, and spaghetti for dinner at 6. I'll have cereal sometime around 10 pm, and be in bed by midnight.

Seriously. That was my life. For a good ten years or so, I'd have these charts that I'd have to follow. The "freedom" in the chart was that, yeah, while I had to eat a "fruit" at 3 pm, I got to choose the fruit. Any act of spontaneity in my life had a twelve hour delay. I'd wake up and say, "aw, hell with it. I'm going to eat steak tonight!"

You can imagine how travel would mess that up. If a ferry or plane was late, you might not be able to grab a meal in the right time window, and everything would get topsy turvy. You'd find yourself in the 7/11 at 3:05 in a panic, saying "well, mountain dew is kind of a fruit...." and hoping for the best.

If you were like me, your friends would make it even worse. Because unlike me, they had the luxury of spontaneity. Which I'm pretty sure they exercised just to piss me off.

"Hey, Dave, I know we planned to eat on the ferry... but let's just wait and eat at this nice steakhouse instead. It's only another two hours' wait!"

And then you have to decide whether you eat on the ferry and then watch your friends eat at this awesome restaurant while you have salad... or you skip your ferry meal and feel sick as your insulins mess you up internally. It's kind of the diabetics' version of Sophie's choice, only with better cinematography.

But nowadays? Not the case. So I guess my travel anxiety is kind of a relic. Ironically, though, it only shows up when I'm travelling with other people, because part of me is afraid they're going to throw my meticulously planned meal schedules off. Which is funny, because these days, my meticulously planned meal schedules are basically "Sometime before noon and midnight, eat something."

Which is a schedule I can keep. Most of the time.

And now, for something completely different

2011-07-14T10:05:00.000-07:00

I don't really mention it too often, but I have a history degree.

A lot of people assume that history classes in the college and university level focus entirely on events - you spend the entire class associating names with dates, going on and on in an endless litany. And, well, this is not really case. While you do get a fair amount of dates and names, the main focus on the class is on comparing and contrasting events, and trying to interpret what was going on.

And often, in that interpretation, looking at ourselves. Really, how we interpret the past says a lot about who we are as a people now.

For example, the Romans. The Romans, as an empire, died out sometime in the third or fourth century C.E. (Common Era), though they'd been having problems before that. Now, we've had a lot of knowledge about the Romans, in the form of written records preserved at the time. There is relatively little in the amount of new knowledge that's filtered in over the years - archaeology gives us all sorts of pieces that fill in the "little picture", but the "big picture" has more or less been known since the late middle ages.

And yet, every few decades, the theory on why the empire ended has changed. It went from divine punishment (the Romans killed Christ, after all), to being one about the perils of autocratic government. By the time of the french revolution, the theory was that it collapsed under the weight of an overly centralized government. More modern theories spoke about the problems of extending the franchise of roman citizenship to too many people, that the empire could no longer sustain itself except through a military-industrial complex (sound familiar?).

In the 1980s, a lot of theories were written about the welfare state that Rome had become, since over a million romans were "on the dole". And it might come as a surprise to learn that the theories have changed since then - a lot of historians now say that part of the roman collapse was due to ecological strain that the romans were putting on their environment.

I'm not really interested in talking about the romans, here, though they are absolutely fascinating to read about. Instead, it is the fact that the past hasn't changed. The past cannot change. But our interpretation of the past can change. And history teaches us that we can use whatever lens we'd like to look back on past human lessons learned, and walk away a bit wiser as a result. Because here's the thing - all those theories? Most probably have a grain of truth in them, that we can use to better our own lives.

It bothers me that history degrees lead to nothing but McJobs. Way I see it, they should be mandatory for anyone involved in the public works. But then, maybe that's just because I'm sick of my McJob.

14. We Are the City, "In a Quiet World" (2009)

2011-07-14T00:47:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Kelowna, British Columbia
Notable Songs: 'Feel is a word', 'my old friend', 'Peso loving squid'

Confession time. I liked this band when I saw them live, and liked their album up until the song 'Astronomers', wherein the vocalist begins to question man's landing on the moon. This, for those who don't know, is one of my big pet peeves, and I wanted to hate the band then and there.

Luckily, I put my biases aside and listened to it a few more times. The beautiful piano lines, expansive drum rhythms, and incredibly tight guitar lines tie in together in a perfect example of "less is more". There is no bass guitar in this album, but you would never notice it until it was pointed out to you.

This is a rock album with just the right amount of experimentation, with occasional pink floyd and alt rock homages in the guitar lines. I know I'm not the only person to hear a Bryan Adams' tone in "Time, Wasted". (Hey, wasn't he from BC, too?) The reflective vocals have just the right note of melancholy, and the drums never try to get too fancy. It is an album that is at once heavy and soft, often with nothing more than a second's pause between gentle guitar lines and thunder coming down.

Ironic, I suppose, for an album titled "In a Quiet World". But then, in a quiet world, I'd feel like making a little bit of noise, too.

Weekly Haiku #59 - giant

2011-07-13T09:14:00.000-07:00

stroll empty hallways

outstretched fingers brush both walls

a giant, alone

13. Library Voices, "Denim on Denim" (2010)

2011-07-13T00:03:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Regina, Sasketchewan

Notable Tracks: 'Drinking Games', 'Haunt this House', 'Party like it's 2012'

The band describes themselves as 'Pop as Fuck'. They claim inspiration from The Talking Heads, The Violent Femmes, and Fleetwood Mac.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

I'd also add in a bit of The Strokes for inspiration - especially on the track 'Party like it's 2012', with stroke-like guitar lines and lines like "Party Like it's 2012, let's hear it for the Rapture!".

This is a band that comes with wry observations, catchy guitar and keyboard lines, and vocal cleverness galore. It is clean-cut in sound, and despite having something like seven members, nothing ever sounds extraneous. The band seems to know that less is more, and I can't wait to hear what the next full-length album (due out next month!) sounds like.

And, to make everything even better, they're coming for Rifflandia this year! You can bet I'll be up front and centre, singing along to 'Drinking Games', one of my favourite tracks of the last year.

12. The New Pornographers, "Moves" (2011)

2011-07-12T20:53:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Vancouver, British Columbia
Notable Songs: 'Moves', 'Crash Years', 'Your Hands (Together)'

I feel guilty with this review.

You see, those three "notable songs" up at the top there just happen to be the very first three songs of the album. Because of this, I'm almost afraid my reader(s) will accuse me of not really reviewing the album, and just picking the first three tracks as "notable".

It's not true. It's just that this is an album that starts off with such a huge bang that you have to give credit where credit is due. "Moves" is built around electric guitars and strings that sound like a modern version of 'Eleanor Rigby'. 'Crash Years', sung by the always amazing Neko Case, is your usual amazing New Pornographers' track, while 'Your Hands (together)' is, as the title suggests, the type of thing you will find yourself clapping along to.

Of course, as with any New Pornographers' album (they're all good), there are a lot more than three "notable tracks". 'A Bite out of my bed' is a weird combo of acoustic guitars and new-age synths (and strings) that really catches the ear, and the album-closing 'We End Up Together' is very much your anthemic rock ballad.

So, yeah, there are a lot of notable tracks. The whole album, with its sweeping string arrangements, simple yet effective guitar lines, and hand-clapping rhythms coupled with New Pornographer-style duets make this one of those albums that has a sound entirely its own.

The fact that the Pornographers have been doing that since 2001 should give you an idea of just how amazing (and underrated) they really are.

Phone Anxiety

2011-07-11T06:33:00.000-07:00

How I Think The Conversation Will Go:

BC HYDRO: Hi. This is BC Hydro. How can I help you today?
DAVE: Uh. Yeah... I moved, and forgot to tell you guys. And now I don't have hot water.
BC HYDRO: Oh, yes. Look here. Also, you haven't yet paid last month's bill!
DAVE: ...right. Uh, I've just started a new job, things have been a bit tight, can I pay it on the 15th?
BC HYDRO: No! Pay it now, or we'll cut all your power. Your hot water is just the beginning!
DAVE: But, but....
BC HYDRO: Don't pay it soon, and we'll break your fucking knees, man.

How the Conversation Inevitably Actually Goes:

BC HYDRO: Hi, this is BC Hydro. How can I help you today?
DAVE: Um, yeah... I moved, and forgot to tell you guys. And now I don't have hot water.
BC HYDRO: But you still have power, right?
DAVE: Yeah.
BC HYDRO: Oh, then it's a hot water tank problem.
DAVE: Geez. I feel dumb.
BC HYDRO: Don't! We get this alot, it's a common question.
(Address is updated, etc)
DAVE: Uh, I actually still haven't paid my balance from last month.
BC HYDRO: We understand! These things happen. So long as you pay it by August, things'll be good.
DAVE: Oh, uh...
BC HYDRO: Is there anything else we can do to help you today?
DAVE: No.
BC HYDRO: Have a pleasant day!

11. Hey Ocean! "It's easier to be somebody else" (2008)

2011-07-11T00:12:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Vancouver, British Columbia
Notable Songs: 'A Song About California', 'Alleyways', 'Moving On'

Hey Ocean! are a young trio from Vancouver, British Columbia. Fronted by the always adorable Ashleigh Ball and carried by two different guys named David (represent!), the band has an upbeat, pop sound that is well grounded in jazz. Basslines, guitar chords, and drumbeats all borrow generously from jazz traditions, resulting in a pop album that sounds considerably different than all of the other unique pop albums out there.

A big part of this is due to Ashleigh Ball's voice, the predominant voice on the record. Husky and yet seemingly paradoxically filled with joy, it is at once similar and completely different than, say, Amy Winehouse. This is a party album, filled with happiness even when it's sad. It is about love, the joy of life, and adoration of the world around us.

And of course, it seems to hit a chord among, well, everyone. For christmas, I put a few songs by the band on a CD I made for my mom. She put those songs on repeat, and begged me for a copy of this album. Strangely, my sister, who also had a few Hey Ocean! songs on her ipod, asked for more as well. As for me, this has been an album that's played in the background for the better part of nine months.

On Sports:

2011-07-10T12:09:00.000-07:00

I once heard it said that Sports were invented so that fathers could speak to their sons.

It's definitely true, at times.

I'll call my mother and we'll chat for twenty minutes, talking about movies, baking, trips, or whatever. And then she'll pass the phone to my dad, and within about three milliseconds, he's talking about some trade the Maple Leafs are about to close, and I'm complaining about how Dany Heatley just got traded.

To all those people who complain about sports, who say they're a waste of time, or violent, or whatever else, all I can say is that you're missing the point. Or that you know nothing about being male in the 21st century.

Sports allow two men to let their guard down, and share in something beyond themselves. They allow two self-conscious men, taught by society to be isolated and tough, to say without saying that they respect one another. And that, I think, is why I think so many people obsess over minute trivia - so at the end of the day, they have more to talk about in those brief moments when they let their guard down.

This is what I love most about sports. Everything else is just gravy.

10. Christian Hansen and the Autistics, "Power Leopard" (2009)

2011-07-10T00:03:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Edmonton, Alberta
Notable Songs: 'Cocaine Trade', 'Someone I Can Love', 'High School is Over'

This is one of those albums that you listen to, think you have an easy definition, and then realize it doesn't quite fit. I mean, this is obviously cheerful dance music, right?

Then you listen to the lyrics, and realize they're surprisingly dark considering the energetic nature of the beats. "Father Ray" is about church molestation; "Calypso Hippo" is about the overseas sex trade, and even the super upbeat "Cocaine Trade" is about the pointlessness of the mid nineties dance movement that this band is a nostalgic throwback to.

So what is Christian Hansen and the Autistics? For me, it's a band that frequently brings new readers to my blog. Everyone loves these cheerful throwbacks to the simpler times of nineties dance mixes and Rick Astley, after all.

If I had to settle on a definition, that's what I'd go with - Rick Astley with a better voice, better lyrics, and a bass line worth listening to. In other words, everything that Rick Astley is not, Christian Hansen is.

Aren't definitions tricky?

Lyrics

2011-07-09T02:16:00.000-07:00

Cleaning my apartment, and found another old journal. It was filled with song lyrics, guitar chords, old D&D crap, and sketches.

I found this nice little lyrical snippet that I thought was kind of okay, considering it's in draft form. I figure I wrote it about eight, nine years ago. Maybe a bit more.

i still feel you in my fingers
i still smell you in my clothes
i'll still hear your voice in whispers
still see you in photos
i'm so sorry for leaving you
before what will be will be
i lay awake and hope you don't forget
all your memories of me
because i'm coming home
i'm coming home

9. The Rural Alberta Advantage, "Departing" (2011)

2011-07-09T00:35:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Toronto, Ontario (I know, it's weird. You'd think they were from, like, Alberta or something)
Notable Songs: 'Two Lovers', 'Muscle Relaxants', 'Coldest Days'

I can hear it now. "But Dave," all my non-existent daily readers loudly proclaim, "You already reviewed this album, like, two months ago!"

Yeah, so? It's a good album. And it deserves to be on this list. So shut up.

Since April, this album has been in fairly frequent rotation on my ipod. There is something about the album's energetic and simplified drum/keyboard/guitar rock offerings ("Stamp", "Muscle Relaxants", "Tornado '87") coupled with mid-tempo ballads ("Two Lovers", "Coldest Days", "North Star") that really pulls the entire piece into one cohesive whole.

In less hipster-esque speak, it's a damned good album, not just a collection of radio-worthy singles. Though you can no longer refer to this band's singles as being purely a hipster offering - they have had more market penetration these days than almost any band in Canada. You see, there was this little sports event called the "Stanley Cup Playoffs". And the R.A.A's single, "Stamp", was the background song for a beer commercial that featured very heavily in the TV timeouts. In other words, if you watchd the playoffs in Canada, you've already heard these guys.

Of course, hipster that I am, because the song was featured in a beer commercial, it is no longer "notable" in my book. Whoopsie doodle.

8. Imaginary Cities, "Temporary Resident" (2011)

2011-07-08T00:02:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Winnipeg, Manitoba
Notable Songs: 'Say You', 'Ride this Out', 'Marry the Sea'

Okay. So pretty much at least once a week, I have to defend myself against people that accuse me of being a hipster. This is, of course, one of the many dangers inherent in writing a music blog. This post, unfortunately, is not going to help my arguments against being a hipster. Not one iota.

See, I'm currently reviewing an album that hasn't even been released yet. And, in case you don't know, that's kind of hipsteresque. Along with plaid shirts and ugly jeans.

In my defence, most of the album has already been released by the band on their CBC Radio 3 website. For what it's worth.

As for the album itself? Imagine deep, soulful R&B vocals, a la Nina Simone, paired with keyboards that masterfully straddle the border of "electronic" and "indie". Other instruments - drums, pianoes, even a guitar here and there - make guest appearances, but the main show is the interaction between classic vocals and new keyboards.

'Ride This Out', my favourite song so far, adds layer upon layer as it progresses, quickly accelerating into a frenetic climax that almost sounds out of place, considering the bluesy nature of the vocals. 'Marry the Sea' is this bizarre combination of 1950s pop rock and 1990s feminist alternative groups like the Cardigans. 'Purple Heart' is this moody, atmospheric piece that lives up to the song title as it explores the nature of being wounded. And 'Don't Cry' is the type of song Billie Holiday would sing were she alive today and fronting an indie band - I can't help but notice this song's similarities to Miss Holiday's 'Don't Explain', though maybe I am the only one in the world to do so.

In other words, this is an album that always seems to have one foot in the past and the other in the future. While I am unsure of the final product, or the exact track layout, of the samplings provided us, I can safely assume that the released product is going to be a true gift, and one that everyone should be very excited for. And, the true hipster I most assuredly am not, you can bet I'll be telling people I was listening to the band before their first album was released.

And you guys can, too.

New Religion:

2011-07-07T11:59:00.000-07:00

I was at work the other day, with a co-worker I genuinely enjoy working with. He's from the Phillipines, and rather devoutly religious. At one point, he turned and asked me, point blank, my religion.

He meant nothing rude about it, so I answered him directly. Though it was rather difficult explaining to him exactly what an "atheist" was. When he finally did get what I was saying, he seemed almost a bit shocked, as if I had confessed to him that I was some sort of demon, intent on destroying his children and doing all of those other things that demons, atheists, abortionists, and telecommunicators are apt to do.

We worked in silence, each more mindful than ever of the gap between us. I am firm believer that religion's primary function is to further subdivide the collective "us" into divided "thems". But I digress.

The stereo played in that sweltering kitchen, until it came time for the Beatles to start singing. "All You Need is Love", John Lennon sang, and I looked over at my co-worker, who was singing along. So was I. We caught each others' eyes, and smiled.

Completely seriously, I l pointed at the stereo.

"You know what? That's my religion. And it's a damned fine one, if you ask me."

He smiled, nodded in agreement, and got back to work. The kitchen was peaceful once more as John Lennon preached.

7. Said The Whale, "Islands Disappear" (2009)

2011-07-07T00:02:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Vancouver, British Columbia
Notable Tracks: 'Goodnight Moon', 'Camilo (The Magician)', 'Black Day in December'

Fun fact: I have a playlist on my ipod called "Cheer Up Music". It's basically exactly what it sounds like - a list of tunes that I can put on that guarantee a good mood.

Almost half of the songs are by Said The Whale, a group from Vancouver that seem to specialize in making poppy songs that, to me, are a much better-crafted and lesser-known version of The New Pornographers. Songs often have a perfect combo of acoustic and electric guitars, coupled with perfect keys and drumbeats.

Islands Disappear, the group's second full length album, consists of more than a few laid-back songs that pick up in pace, until by the end you're smiling and tapping your feet along. I dare anyone to listen to 'Gentleman' and not be carried away by the happy chords. And 'Goodnight Moon', played on a ukulele that progresses into what can only be described as a "musical dance number", is the spiritual successor to everyone's favourite StW song, 'The Light is You".

Another fun fact: I have sung 'Goodnight Moon' unknowingly while in a grocery store. And people have looked at me and laughed. And I did not care.

Because I was happy.

Weekly Haiku #58 - June

2011-07-06T01:22:00.000-07:00

twisting in the wind

fall and hope I land intact

not as shattered glass

6. Hollerado, "Record in a Bag" (2010)

2011-07-06T00:26:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Manotick, Ontario
Notable Songs: 'Americanarama', 'Juliette', 'What's Everybody Running For (part II)'

I'm not going to talk about how this album comes in a ziplock bag. And I'm not going to talk about how that ziplock bag is filled with stickers, guitar picks, confetti, instant tattoos, and download codes for additional songs. I won't even mention the chinese fortune included.

Because I really should just talk about the music. That's kind of what music reviews should be about, right? Right?

Clever marketing aside, Record in a Bag is rather brilliantly put together. It's upbeat rock and roll, plain and simple. Bluesy rock guitar lines, pounding bass lines that really form the skeleton of every song, and infectious radio-friendly lyrics. This is a feel good rock album, without any of the layers of pretension that we so often find in the indie scene. These are just simple, honest songs that don't pretend to be anything else.

Also, just as a heads up - if you get a chance to see these guys live, do it. Drop everything and do it. Even if you don't like rock music. Even if you don't like electric guitars and shaggy drummers. Why? Because these guys have so much energy and joy in them, it is impossible to walk away feeling anything but musical bliss.

Another dating story:

2011-07-05T00:08:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I mentioned the crazy horse lady. This reminded me of another story that happened at the same museum, a few years earlier.

It was another first date, with a different girl. The exhibit was about ancient Egypt, and this girl and I were really hitting it off, looking over various artefacts and attentively absorbing every minute detail.

Seriously, at one point, I was decoding hieroglyphics. Which was a skill I had at one point. People nearby were asking me questions about them. And I knew the answers. And the girl I was with? She thought this was cool.

I know, right?

It was a very good date. One of the best dates I have ever been on, before or since.

The crowning moment, though, was near the end of the exhibit. There was this giant stone block with drilled holes running through the bottom half. These tubes were for wooden staves, so that people (slaves) could carry the stone block. I knew this, but maybe the average person, seeing the block without those wooden poles, might understandably not realize this.

An old woman, who had seen me speak about the hieroglyphics and must have assumed I worked for the museum, asked me what these holes were for. And I told her.

"Those? Oh. They're actually ancient Glory Holes."

"What?"

"Yeah. In fact, I think they're the first known appearance of a glory hole. You can see how primitive they were, originally."

My date laughed. Which was pretty awesome. The old woman, however, had no idea what the hell a 'glory hole' was, and there was no way in hell I was telling her. I have this private fantasy, though, that she got home and either googled it, or (better yet, in my cruel imagination) asked her grandson.

Good times.

5. Dan Mangan, "Nice, Nice, Very Nice" (2009)

2011-07-05T00:06:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Vancouver, British Columbia
Notable Tracks: 'Road Regrets', 'Robots', 'Basket'

When I first heard Dan Mangan, I didn't think much of him. But for the better part of a year and a half since then, I've found myself continuously coming back to this album. Again and again. And then, just when I thought I was sick of it, I'd find myself listening to it once more.

Dan Mangan's sophomore album has poignant, soulful, and beautiful lyrics that are always introspective and insightful; occasionally humorous and occasionally cynical; and never settling for cliched observations or rhyming schemes.

This whole work is an original, through and through. Nothing is ever done in a typical fashion, putting new spins on old themes. For example, the drums in 'Road Regrets' begin complex and steadily decrease in complexity until the outro, which is a simple beat reminiscent of Queen or AC/DC. Or listen to the hand claps on 'Sold', or the style of the call-and-answering lyrics in 'The Indie Queens are Waiting'. Or the complete lack of a chorus or steady rhyming scheme in 'Robots'. Or...

And that's the whole album. Nothing is easily labelled. Acoustic guitar stylings in the folk vein, with ramblings into rock and roll, country, bluegrass, and that catch-all commonly known as "indie" - there is no one genre that this album can be shoehorned into. This is one of a kind, and I fully understand what my friend Kate means when she says she's afraid of Mangan's next release - it's hard to imagine anyone being able to top this album. But after at least forty complete listenings, I have faith in Mr. Mangan.

This is, plainly, a "must have" album. Anyone who hasn't sat through beautiful pieces like the layered 'Fair Verona' or the cleverly self-deprecating 'Et Les Mots Croises' is missing out on something beautiful.

'Nuff said.

"Kind of a Dealbreaker"

2011-07-04T00:40:00.000-07:00

Every time I mention dating, my blog gets a bunch of "ugly" hits. It would seem, in fact, that most of my readers don't much like me talking about dating, or women, or anything of that sort. But I like to tell funny stories, and I've found many of my funniest involve the fairer sex.

But until today, I hadn't shared one of the funniest.

It happened a little over a year ago. I had been talking to a girl online, and she seemed rather interesting and intelligent through our chats. She did work in a university lab, looking after and raising the test animals. She was, and is, the only girl I have ever gone on a date with who worked with monkeys as part of her day job, and for this reason alone, there will always be a special place in my heart for her.

We along well online, joking and trading stories. She seemed interested in the fact that I had a history degree, and assured me that she "loved" history. She even suggested we go to the new exhibit at the museum, which I thought was awesome. This was a mistake, however, because around three miliseconds after my money left my pocket and the tickets were in hand, I realized she had lied about loving museums as a way to impress me.

The girl could not locate egypt on a map, had no idea where mesopotamia was, and "knew" that Rome "went extinct, like, a couple of centuries ago." I nearly had an aneurysm on the spot. And it didn't get much better. You know a date is going bad when the highlight is talking to a sixty year old woman about Nordic chess pieces while your date plays with the makeup in the "kiddy korner".

Anyways, the date and I eventually found ourselves in the natural history wing of the museum, and things were looking much better. She mostly just looked at the stuffed moose and woolly mammoths. We were chatting pleasantly, and I had begun to put the awfulness of the main exhibit out of my mind, when we walked by a large stuffed horse. She began to go on, at length, about how much she loved horses.

And I mean at length. Did you know that people apparently think horse shoes are interesting? Or how to feed horses? Or cleaning up after them? I get that these are important things... but they are not interesting in any way. Let this be a rule: you should never discuss the bowel movement of horses on a first date.

Save it for the second date, ladies!

Anyways, I listened, made comments to show I was interested, and did all the usual polite first date stuff. When she asked me how I felt about horses, though, I started making jokes. Because this is what I do.

"Horses? I'm pretty sure horses eat people."

"Horses do not eat people, Dave."

"Really? Ever see a homeless person on a farm?"

This conversation was my crowning achievement. I could live another sixty years, and nothing will ever beat that conversation I had with a girl whose name I have since forgotten. I want my tombstone to mention it.

She didn't laugh. In fact, she looked like she was offended, which perplexed me. Were she, you know, normal, she'd be on the floor laughing her ass off. Because, in case you don't know, I'm hilarious. Despite this, I kept on talking. Because, hey, I was on a roll!

"Think about it. I'm sure horses are carnivorous. I mean, you've been on a farm, right?"

"Yeah..."

"You ever notice how, sometimes, chickens just.... disappear?"

"Yeah...."

"Horse got 'em."

I looked at her, and she began to clue in that I was joking. But still, she did not laugh. At all. Instead, we walked in silence for about a minute, before she asked:

"Dave? Do you really dislike horses?"

I decided to be honest. "No. I'm just nervous around them."

"Well. A guy not liking horses is kind of a dealbreaker for me."

Long pause.

"Fair enough."

And that was that.

4. Chromeo, "Business Casual" (2010)

2011-07-04T00:09:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Montreal, Quebec

Notable Songs: 'Hot Mess', 'Night by Night', 'Don't Turn the Lights On'

The first time you listen to this album, you're going to have a hard time believing it came from 2010. In fact, the second time you listen to it, you'll have a hard time believing it came from 2010. The third time, too.

I still can't believe it.

This is an album rooted in the 1980s, coupled with the dance movement of the early 1990s. If you're familiar with early dance music from the time of MC-Hammer, or reverbed-up hair metal guitar solos, you know this album already. And if you know the lyrics to the "Ghostbusters" song by heart, I can assure you you'll love this album.

I am saying this is as a compliment. These are guys (a jew and a palestinian, the first time those people have ever worked together in the history of the universe, I'm sure) who are paying a homage to a lost art, and they maybe even cover a bit of new ground with it.

And people are loving it - this is a duo that is definitely up and coming, making new fans everyday. I'm sure many of these fans are similar to myself- people that listen and hearken back to a simpler time, singing along in the backseat while your mom drove you to swim practice.

Or maybe it's just me.

"That Guy"

2011-07-03T00:22:00.000-07:00

I'll admit it. I can be a bit of a know-it-all sometimes. But only sometimes.

(That sound you're hearing is all my friends laughing at once. My friends are jerks. Also, liars).

Usually, I'm good at suppressing the urge to "correct" someone, and just let it lie. But sometimes, my mouth works faster than my brain. For example, two weeks ago.

I was on a first date, and it was going well. We were walking down the inner harbour chatting, looking at the various pieces of art. Some guy had done these drawings of various musicians, and my eyebrows raised. There was a great piece of Paul McCartney, and another one of Jimmy Page and Robert Plant.

While they were good likenesses, they were filled with background images of stars, and numbers. The Led Zeppelin piece, for example, had the number "1948" just written in the background. And unfortunately, crazy artist started talking (at length) explaining the "meaning" of his art to us. And there is nothing worse than an artist who has to explain what his "work" actually "means".

Come on. It's a ten dollar painting of a rock star. And you're selling T-shirts of it. I don't really need to know why you put a diamond in the background.

But anyways. Turns out "1948" was the year Robert Plant was born. I happen to know Robert Plant's birthday, because it's the same day as mine, so I had to correct him. "Robert Plant was born in 1950".

Turns out you can turn an already crazy artist even crazier by telling him that he got some info wrong in his piece. Also, it turns out that yeah, Robert Plant was born in 1948, and I'm just full of shit.

Also, it turns out that even when I'm on a first date, I'm still capable of being "that guy".

3. Jenn Grant, "Honeymoon Punch" (2011)

2011-07-03T00:03:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Halifax, Nova Scotia

Notable Songs: 'All Year', 'Getcha Good', 'Walk Away'

This is a hard one to explain. I'd like to say it's pop music as sung by the girl next door... but that'd be a gross oversimplification, and an unfair one, at that. It's an album that has beautiful high notes sung over keyboards and drums that at time sound less like a pop album and more like a late-nineties industrial album.

Seriously, many of the keyboard-focused lines remind me of the days when I used to sit at home and listen to old homemade goth recordings... except Jenn Grant isn't singing downer songs about running mascara and bullies at school. She's instead singing remarkably upbeat songs. "Walk Away", for example, sounds almost like it was a pop song sung to instrumentals from a Skinny Puppy album.

Other songs sound a bit more "pop-like". "Getcha Good" is old school country in a lot of ways that reminded me instantly of Robert Plant and Alison Krauss' cover of "Gone, Gone, Gone". And there are other songs that are carried by acoustic guitars or horn sections, in a more "traditional" Canadian indie vibe.

Moral of the story? This is an album that jumps genres readily, with everything kept together solely by Jenn Grant's crystal clear voice. Despite the variability of the tracks, and the genre switching, it has a unified voice that is remarkable. And dancingly upbeat. This is one of those albums you'll listen to a dozen times - and walk away smiling each time.

North Africa in the 1940s...

2011-07-02T11:15:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about the Second World War lately, and more specifically, my family's involvement in it. I've been tracking down things like my grandfather's unit designations, where he fought, where he was wounded, etc.

Because of this, I've also been thinking about other war stories regarding my family. My grandmother had four brothers (I believe), and none of them made it back alive. All but one died in combat. This is the story of that one.

His name was John*, and he was eighteen years old. He had enlisted as soon as he was able, having had to watch his older brothers go off to war. John went through basic training, and was assigned to a rifle company. He found himself on a transport ship, and wound up in North Africa.

This made him happy, as one of his brothers was serving in North Africa. This brother, by the way, was the guy who would introduce my grandmother to my grandfather, but that's another story for another time. Right now, we'll deal with John.

John found himself at the depot, his company loading onto trucks. Jack was the last person on the truck, which let him stare out at the desert landscape as they moved towards the front. No doubt John was nervous - would he get hit? Would he be killed?

They heard the artillery shells in the distance, low thuds that sounded like rolling thunder. The truck bounced along the hastily constructed road, and everyone bounced in their seats with bone-jarring regularity. Potholes were par for the course, and those who tried to power nap met with little success.

John was talking to a friend when the truck hit the mother of all potholes. John flew up, and hit his head on the ceiling with such force that his neck snapped. He was dead before he hit his seat.

I mention this because whenever we think of deaths in war, we always think of someone getting shot. Or bombed. Or somehow doing something that could conceivably result in a death. We don't remember that there are still fluke deaths in war. There are still accidents, falls, heart attacks, and even death by potholes.

My great uncle lies in a war cemetary. He never made it to the front, he never had a chance to fight for his country, and he never once fired a round in anger. But if you ask me, he deserves to be there. Because he still paid the ultimate price.

(*not really his real name)

2. Forest City Lovers, "Carriage" (2010)

2011-07-02T00:35:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Toronto, Ontario
Notable Songs: 'Tell Me Cancer', 'Pocketful of Rocks', 'Constellation'

Soft, folk-pop with a sharp lyrical edge, The Forest City Lovers are fronted by the lovely Kat Burns, whose latest album, Carriage, has lyrics that range from scathing attacks on hypocrites; the unsure nature of relationships; and love songs about being a tree.

There is an ethereal, ghostly quality to Burns' voice that echoes in the reverb soundscape crafted by the band behind her. This all combines to create the effect of a musical haunting - there is something spiritual and supernatural about the gentle acoustic chords and bare-bones electric approach.

This is very much a modern take on the old Canadian folk greats. Kat Burns is a modern-day Joni Mitchell, with an indie fashion sense and a throatier voice. While she can sing with acidic tinged beauty ("go tell your mother that you passed the test/befriended the good ones and fucked all the rest"), she still has her sense of humour, as in the final song, the poppy acoustic waltz 'If I Were a Tree' ("If I were a tree I'd give you wood/make you a dendrophiliac/I'd have a laugh because I could/oh my knots and twists are not for that").

As with all the great albums, there's a lot here. I've listened to it at least a dozen times, and I'm still blown away by the beauty to be found within.

1. Born Ruffians, "Say It" (2010)

2011-07-01T00:05:00.000-07:00

Hometown: Toronto, Ontario
Songs of Note: “Oh Man”, “Retard Canard”, “The Ballad of Moose Bruce”.

Born Ruffians are a four piece combo of indie rockers that play with an unholy fusion of nerd rock, the clarity of 1960s surf rock, and the off-colour verbal nature of Modest Mouse. Their sophomore album reminds me of a stripped-down version of Cold War Kids’ Robbers & Cowards, with warmer guitars and approachable vocals that lack the typical indie-rocker pretension.

Say It is a strange hybrid. It is very much a "modern" indie record, with trendy off-key vocal lines and 1980s’ inspired bass lines and keyboard riffs. Yet, it is also a throwback to even earlier times, with warm – almost jazzy – guitar lines and rock and roll drum beats. This is an album that channels surf music, pre-Beatles rock, and surf in nature, and pop. This all ties together to create a sound that is both part of this decade’s “sound” while also being “timeless”.

After all, the album references the Ink Spots in “Retard Canard”, singing a line from the 1940s that is most well known these days as the refrain from Fallout 3. I’m pretty sure when Luke Lalonde was singing about not wanting to “Set the world on fire”, he was channelling a least a little bit of Three Dog (Awoooooo!)

I have no doubt that if Quentin Tarantino’s kid grows up to make movies, we’ll be hearing music like this playing in the background. Probably while Bruce Willis’ kid kills a gimp with a samurai sword or something.

This month's theme is "Canadian Music"

2011-07-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

My general focus of this blog has long been music. It's been a bit more personal over the last few months, and that was all well and good. But it's time to get back to what's really important... music.

So, for the next month, expect at least one post a day. Each post will be about a Canadian album released in the past few years. Some of the albums are favourites of mine, while others have been recommended by friends. All are by Canadian artists. Some you may have heard of, some may be completely new to you. Each post will be fairly small - less than 250 words, mostly.

These daily albums won't be the entire blog, but they will make up the majority of July's posts. Hopefully, you guys will enjoy the change of pace. And, as usual, if you like the feature, lemme know - and share links with any friends you think'll be interested.

Looking forward to sharing music with you all.

I'm a bad person

2011-06-30T00:26:00.000-07:00

Legally, my last name is "Steeves", because my mother was not married when I was born (gasp!). So, for all legal purposes, I go by "David Steeves". However, outside of legalities, I use my step father's last name, Percival.

This is quite often a pain in the ass, because I have some older documents under that name, and others under my legal name. However, sometimes it works in my favour.

A few months ago, I worked with my mother at H&R Block. She was, in fact, my supervisor.

On a whim, while dropping off resumes, I put down "Sally Percival" as a reference. After all, anyone who hired me would see my name as "David Steeves", and would have no idea that the person who was giving me such a glowing recommendation was, in fact, my mother.

I feel almost guilty. Almost.

weekly haiku #57 - my neighbours

2011-06-29T00:16:00.000-07:00

crank up the music

hope your neighbours don't hear you

drown out your own doubts

Some Texts:

2011-06-28T00:07:00.000-07:00

I actually feel like sharing these texts I got from a friend, during my sister's wedding. It'll give you an idea of who she is. Because, well, she's a terrible, TERRIBLE person. I need to figure out a nickname for her on this blog, ha. For now, she'll just be "D"

Me: Oh God Help me, I'm in SOOKE.
D: Yes but at least your sister gets to have an amazing wedding night!
D: S E X
Me: Quiet you. Youre a bad person.
D: Hey, I'm not sleeping with her!
Me: You're a terrible person. I'm telling my sister you said that. I'll read these out at her reception.
D: I think she knows she's sexually active. But I could be wrong.

I got these texts, by the way, while talking to my aunt and uncle. I kept laughing, and they wanted to see what I was reading. Luckily, I kept my phone out of reach. Fun times.

Scenes from a wedding:

2011-06-28T00:03:00.000-07:00

It was my sister's wedding on saturday, and there were a lot of great moments. I mean, there was the wedding itself, of course. But there were so many others that I want to record for posterity's sake. Some of them are funny, some are just cute, and some are "oh, Dave".

My dad, popping open the bottle of Pusser Rum he bought almost two decades ago, saved explicitly for "the day my daughter gets married". Us menfolk drank and shared stories. It was a really cool occasion... and no, I'm not going to share the stories here.

Me, wearing a suit, and carrying around my half-sister's two year old. He's one of those kids who just naturally frown. So I'd frown right back at him. Which was cute as hell. We both wore suits. His looked better.

Taking "Jackson", my five year old nephew from my half brother, to the dessert bar at the pre-reception. He grabbed some chocolate thing, and we sat on the coffee table and talked. At one point, he said "is there red dye in this?" I told him I didn't know. "I'm allergic to red dye". Cue yours truly, rushing around, trying to find his dad. Turns out "nah, he's not allergic to red dye. He just likes saying he is to see people freak out." I have never wanted to hurt a five year old more.... while at the same time laughing my ass off.

Getting texted by a friend a bajillion times during the vows. It was her hope that I hadn't turned off my cell phone, and was now super embarrassed. But I had turned off the phone, so egg was on HER face. Or something. They were really funny texts, though.

There were three tables at the reception... the bride's family, the groom's family, and "other". The bride's family table was about half the size of the groom's family... and we wound up buying more alcohol tickets than the other two tables combined. We were proud of this fact. Because we're awesome.

Giving a speech during the reception (similar to my post a few days back). My hands shook for some reason, and both the bride and the groom went deep red in embarrassment. However, people kept coming up to me and saying how nice my speech was, so I guess it went alright. We'll see.

Someone stole my sister's cane. At her wedding. Savages! I'm going to assume it was done accidentally, and not out of malice.

Awkward end cap of the night: yours truly on the two hour commute back to Victoria from Sooke. I was still just a little drunk (buzzed, more like), and on the front seats of the double decker. Trying to impress the sorta cute girl in the aisle across. Not for any real reason... just because I figured I was wearing a suit and wanted to impress someone. This is how my mind works. I have no idea what I'd have done if she actually wanted to start up a (gasp) conversation! Probably turn on my ipod and hide.

The Dream Band:

2011-06-27T00:48:00.000-07:00

Since I've been about twenty, I've daydreamed on and off about my dream band. Depending on what sort of musical mood I'm in at the time, the band changes. Sometimes, I'm the frontman (and have coincidentally learned how to sing). Other times, I'm a rhythm guitarist. Or a lead guitarist. Or a drummer.

Occasionally, I'm even the friggin' bassist. Though when that happens, it's in a Paul McCartney "holy crap I'm awesome" sort of way, and not in a Chas Chandler "I'm only cool because I discovered Jimi Hendrix" sort of way.

This band has been an alternative rock band. It's been pure acoustic music. It's been bluesy rock, ambient electronic, and folksy metal. For about three weeks, this dream band did nothing but make bluegrass covers of old metal songs such as Pantera's "Cemetary Gates" and Motorhead's "Ace of Spades".

Lately, the dream has been about a three piece unit, with yours truly playing acoustic guitar. The vocalist, a woman with a voice not unlike Molly Guldemond (of Mother Mother), also plays keyboards to fill out the basslines. And our drummer has a stripped down kit. But really, the daydream isn't really that specific. I just imagine a small, three piece band with a very tight sound built around acoustic guitar lines.

What's unusual about this particular daydream, however, is that rather than having this daydream band playing songs that are very similar to the music I'm currently infatuated with, it's actually playing music I've been playing.

It's strange, but lately, when I play my guitar, I can hear someone else singing the lyrics. And hear that phantasmal drummer playing his own rhythm. I'm writing songs, and finding myself wanting to play them in front of others. I know it sounds egotistical and stupid, but I want to "share my music".

I've been saying it since September of last year, when I watched The Zolas play awfully and still get the girls, but I really need to get into a band.

Blackouts

2011-06-26T00:49:00.000-07:00

Recently, I've been thinking about my youth. And more specifically, my youthful drinking stories. Unfortunately, I have a few. Some of them are very, very long. But don't worry, this one is short.

Put simply, there was a weekend where we went on a bit of a bender.

The first night, I drank so much that I could only remember the first half of the night. Try as I might, I couldn't remember any details about the last half of the night.

The second night, I drank so much that I could only remember the second half of the night. For some reason, the first half of the night was completely blank to me.

I thought this for years, until I was around twenty three and discussing it with a friend who'd been there that weekend. It turns out, we only drank one night, and that the events I remembered all happened on the same day. In other words, I remembered the night in its entirety. Also, I'd only had one drink, and spent much of the night entirely sober.

True story. Wonder what it says about me, though.

June 25th, 2011

2011-06-25T00:01:00.000-07:00

I was seven years old when my sister was born, meaning I was old enough to consciously reflect on the fact that a new human being had entered my life. I was almost ten when she first started talking and walking, and twelve when she was old enough to form coherent sentences.

I've always been something of a protective older brother. But that didn't stop me from teasing the hell out of her. Because in my family, that's what we do.

I remember when she was around four or five, and the whole family was in a rush to get to a dinner party or something. My mom told my sister to get dressed, and my sister threw a fit. She didn't want to wear her "purple pants". My mom was shouting at her (and laughing at the same time) to put on the damned pants, while my sister was bright red in the face, throwing the world's biggest temper tantrum.

Over purple pants. She didn't wear them that day, because in the end, my sister knows what she wants, and always has.

She got engaged last fall, and while it was weird to see my little sister engaged, everyone knew it was to a great guy. In fact, on a late october night, my brother and I took him out on the town to "welcome him to the family".

Naturally, we tortured him.

"Guys, I'll drink anything, except ouzo. I hate ouzo," he said to us. Prompting my brother and I to exchange conspiratorial glances. Within minutes, my future brother in law was gagging from a shot of Ouzo and running to the bathroom, while my brother and I fell out of our chairs, laughing.

After that, as far as we were concerned, he was part of the family.

Today, it's official. My sister and her fiance are getting married. As you read this, I am in Sooke, British Columbia, watching the two tie the knot. Part of me, I'm sure, will be thinking of purple pants, and Ouzo. But a bigger part of me will be thinking of the future, and all the good things I'm sure lie ahead.

Congrats, you two. Here's to the bright future that lies ahead.

Inspired by real events:

2011-06-24T00:07:00.000-07:00

"Who's your hero?"

"Hm?"

"Your hero. Who is your hero?"

"Uh. Spider Man, I guess."

"Come on, be serious."

"I thought I was...."

"Who is your hero?"

"Uh.... Malcolm Reynolds?"

"Who's he?"

"He's the captain of Serenity, from Firefly."

"Stop it! Be serious, please. I want to know who your hero is."

"I am being serious. What's wrong with Mal?"

"Well, he's not real."

"Oh! Okay. Um, I guess my hero would be Nick Hornby."

"Who's he?"

"He wrote High Fidelity and About a Boy."

"Fine. If you're not going to be serious, let's just drop it."

"Drop What!?"

I don't really mind

2011-06-23T00:17:00.000-07:00

I have a tendency to say awkward crap. Often, I mean to say one thing, and wind up saying something else entirely. This is stuff that most people do, but I have a knack for taking those moments and turning them into delightfully embarrassing social gaffes that inevitably become the stuff of legend.

So, true story.

Earlier this month, my french nextdoor neighbours got into a fight that may or may not have turned violent. I didn't call the police, because I didn't have any evidence, but I did write an email to my landlord the next morning asking him what I should do if this occurs again.

He wound up calling me, and told me to call the police if it happens again, et cetera et cetera. We then proceeded to kind of gossip about my french neighbours.

First, I said "look, I don't mind that they're loud, or that they fight. That's just natural stuff, and it's not a big deal. I can deal with the noise. But when it gets violent..."

and the landlord understood. But then he'd talk about the loud screaming in french, to which I'd once again pipe up "and I really don't mind that."

And then he'd mention her slamming her hands against the wall. Again, I said "it can be annoying, yeah, but it's okay, I don't mind that..."

And then he said "And they fuck really loud, too. I've walked by and heard them just going at it, and she'll be screaming out her lungs. I guess you know, because your bedroom is right next to theirs."

And I nodded, and (of course) repeated my mantra, "Well, I don't really mind that...."

Not. What. I. Meant.

But it was too late. I have never heard someone laugh so hard on the phone in my life. My face went so red you could see it from space.

More Journal Recollections:

2011-06-22T17:18:00.000-07:00

There's something really nice about finding an old journal - you get to remember things you had completely forgotten. Some of them are not nice memories, but a lot of them are just pleasant things you should keep with you, but somehow never seem to.

For example, I wrote an entry about my old dog, Bear. She had six puppies, three male, and three female (though all the females died). We kept one of the puppies, and gave away the other two. This I remembered. I did NOT remember a year later, when we threw a "doggie reunion" and had all three puppies reunited for their birthday. And I have absolutely no recollection of being the guy that cooked the steak dinners while everyone talked about the second world war, but apparently, it happened.

I remember being in school play's, but I had completely forgotten saying "macbeth macbeth macbeth!" just before the curtains went up as a joke... and then laughing at everyone who got all superstitious. Of course, in that play's run, four different people got hurt (sprained ankles, cuts, etc), and everyone treating me like some sort of pariah.

My favourite entry so far, though, is easter day, when my dad bought all the men of the house squirt guns. I had completely forgotten this, but the second I read the two-line entry in the journal, it all came back to me. Dad bought my brother (who was probably eleven or twelve at the time) a huge machine-gun style super soaker. He bought himself a decent mid-sized gun. And he bought me one of those tiny little plastic things that have an effective range of about two feet. I remember getting absolutely drenched while my brother and father chased me around the yard, my dogs barking and chasing us.

Good times. I mean, I'm shaking my head in shock at some of the things I'd say, but all in all? Good times.

January 8th, 2001:

2011-06-22T16:23:00.001-07:00

(while moving stuff, I found my old journal I kept through most of high school. I opened it to a random page, and this is what I found. Names have been deleted, but beyond that, this is a verbatim repeat of what I wrote. I was, for those who are curious, seventeen years old. And yes, I realize I'm kind of a dick here. I'm actually kind of embarrassed, but it's enlightening to look into the mind of a seventeen year old, eh? Also, I changed the names to protect the innocent, blah blah blah)

January 8th

It's been a long couple of days, but here I trying to keep you informed:

Saturday (today being monday), I was woken up by a Kathy at my door. Me, in only my boxers, sheepishly opened the door and let her in. "Sorry I'm early" she said "But the bitch was nagging at me, so I left as soon as possible"

Throwing on some pants and the gray sweater I got for Christmas, I told her that I was already up, and just lying in bed. And it was the truth. So the two of us talked, until Ryan showed up to lend me some money. All the while Kathy was on my lap, as we had a pseudo-relationship going on (or so I thought). Anyways, Ryan, with nothing better to do on his saturday, asks if he can tag along. Dwight eventually showed up, so we drove (in Kathy's death-trap truck) to Victoria, taking Kathy's "shortcut" that added 15 minutes to the trip (you don't need to go through Esquimalt to get to Victoria!) The four of us saw, much to my dismay, Dude Where's My Car? though it actually turned out to be kind of funny. When we got back to my place, we talked and talked, all the while me being attached to Kathy.

And then it happened.

I got up to to go to the bathroom, and when I got back, Kathy was with Ryan, doing all the things that she had been doing with me only a minute - A FUCKING MINUTE - ago! How dirty is that? And that went on for eight hours, I shit you not - until 2:30 am, and then only because Ryan's mom called in tears, because she didn't know where Ryan was. The dumbfuck hadn't called home.

What strikes me as strange is that this girl can be so dirty, and not even realize. Are all foreigners whores, or just the ones I seem to meet?

(note: yeah, I said that. I take it back now. In my defence, I was young and angry. But still. Harsh).

Anyways, on to other news...

I couldn't get any sleep last night, and was tossing and turning for hours (four or fice). At one point I tried sleeping on the floor - didn't work- and tried to put myself to sleep by reading The Prince, but damn, I found it interesting. And for once, the morals didn't bother me. I finally got to sleep around 3:45 or so, only to get up at 6:30. Surprisingly, I functioned 150% today, better than usual - maybe I'm a superhuman who only needs 2 hours sleep, eh?

Today being the first day back at school, I mistakenly thought it would be lax. No such luck. An English practice exam - oh joy. On the plus side, I understood my math, and was actually working faster than Carole - I think she has the hots for me, though how I am, I don't know.

(note: I have to cut this part out of the narrative, as it relates to someone in a way that I can't really protect their identity. It's nothing super secret, or anything, but it's just not my place to talk about it)

And, finally, I may be taking a course to become a guitar/studio tech, though I have very little info so far, and won't go into the details.

I feel like I've changed in the past three weeks, like I'm alive for the first time. Or is it just I feel as if I AM different, and now just couldn't care less? Whatever it is, I'm genuinely happy. I even started writing short stories again (as you can see by my intro today, everything is being told as a tale). I'm breaking musical barriers and I'm thinking in a way I've never thought. I'm actually decent at chess now, where before I was hopeless.

(note: I LOL'd reading this. It's kind of melodramatic, eh? But then... high school).

I have one goal right now. When we were driving home from Kathy's on New Year's Eve, I saw a shooting star and made a wish. My goal is to make my wish come true. While it's very self-centred, whatcha gonna do? My wish - to have a girlfriend that lasts more than a month.

Oh. Mom started doing all her work at home, so tomorrow, I have to walk to school. Crap.

Jeez, three and a half pages. An all time record so far, wouldn't you say? Of course, it's 1:00 now, so I really better be going to bed. After all, I only have 5 and a half hours before I have to get up again. So, g'night.

January 14th

Lately I've been an internet junky. >>old screen name<< has been posting messages on message boards (mostly Dungeons and Dragons sites) and bogging up chat.

However, I've really been big on this fantasy-art page that is just amazing. There are so many great artists in our world!

And now, I must sleep. (1:00 again. I'm slowly becoming nocturnal)

23rd

one week later...

I've been writing quite a bit, lately, from "Bridget and the Toad" - a happy romance story I dedicated to Lisa for her birthday, to "Hands", a Sixth Sense style ghost story.

A lot has been going on, lately, but I"m almost afraid to write in a journal. It's really too bad.

I've got a practice tomorrow, and a Fame rehearsal (rehearsals began last week) in a day or two. I don't have a whole lotta lines, but no one does - that's the beauaty (sic) of it.

Ugh. The radio's playing "Swallowed" by Bush. Yuk.

Hasta Lavista

(And it goes on, and on. It's kind of fun looking back on old stuff, and names and events I only half remember. I kind of want to post some other, older entries, now that I'm flipping through it. Because not all of them are as pathetic as this one, ha).

Weekly Haiku #56 - texts

2011-06-22T00:13:00.000-07:00

scattered cellphone logs

schizophrenic tales, half told

truth in the diodes

The Crown Royale Incident

2011-06-21T00:24:00.000-07:00

(I don't remember if I've told this story on the blog before. If I have, I apologize. In any case, it's very much a story that will get tagged as "ugly", by me as well as everyone else. It's sort of funny, but mostly just gross and a little sad.)

First, let me start this story with a preface: this is not a good story. It's about a time when I was younger, and I did a lot of stupid things. I don't condone my behaviour in it, and I realize there's some fucked up shit involved. With hindsight, I do think part of the story if funny enough to warrant a blog post. But some of you may not, and that's okay, too.

This is a story of a camping trip that went horribly, horribly wrong. It is also a story about Newt doing something insanely stupid, and surviving only because God likes to protect idiots and drunks, and occasionally both.

It's also kind of incredibly long. So go make some popcorn and a sammich, and sit down for a tale fit for the ages.

It all began in the distant days of 2002. The United States had just begun its love affair with paranoia. The U.K. had just begun its love affair with the United States. And Canada had just begun its love affair with wildfires, which were busy turning vast tracts of forest into swaths of fiery destruction. The Americans, naturally, assumed this was a terrorist plot.

I was nineteen years old, at that tender young age where I was just old enough to buy alcohol, and yet still young enough to think that being able to legally buy alcohol made me anything closely resembling an "adult". I was sure that my opinions mattered, that I had a firm grasp on the way the world worked, and that I was a role model to those "kids" still in high school.

My buddy, Squee, had started dating his girlfriend 3P about six months earlier. I had thrown a large party for New Year's Even, and Squee and 3P wound up on a bed somewhere in my house and decided they shared a common interest - namely, Squee's penis. I remember, a few weeks into 2002, saying something to the effect of "it'll only last a few months". It's 2011, and it turns out that Squee and 3P share all sorts of interest, so in hindsight, I was full of shit.

It happens. Quite a lot with me, actually.

3P and I didn't exactly get along right away. I would like to say this was due to personality defects on her end, but this was unfortunately not the case. You see, I was something of a jerk back then.

I took pleasure in attacking people's weak points, showcasing what I figured at the time was my substantial wit. Mostly, I just bullied people. And 3P had South African ancestry, so I would often poke at that. I told her that Nelson Mandela hated her. I told her that she was no doubt going to start making everyone with skin even slightly darker than hers into slaves. I may have even referred to her as "Yoko" once or twice, because I thought it was funny.

But everyone assured her that this was just the way I was, that I didn't mean anything by it (I really didn't, I was just abrasive), and that once you got to know me, I was actually pretty nice. This was, for the most part, true, and I think 3P saw that. After awhile, we began to genuinely like each other, and by the time of the "Crown Royale Incident" were on pretty good terms.

We were on such good terms that 3P had begun to do what she did with all her single male friends. She tried to hook them up with her single female friends.

I was perpetually single in those days. I would meet a girl, pine over her for a while, and then date her polar opposite for a few weeks. This would alienate the first girl (who usually liked me back just as much as I liked her), and then I would realize I had no interest in the second girl, and dump her like a bag of rocks. I groped and made out with too many of the wrong women, because somewhere in my head I was convinced I didn't deserve a good one.

3P would try and set me up with girls, but her philosophy was just as bad - "She looks good, date her", as if appearance really matters much. To my eternal credit, I didn't believe that then, and I still don't. But after a few misses with 3P, I backed off and asked her to leave me alone, that I could find my own women thankyouverymuch.

And she did. For the most part.

Flash forward to the summer of 2002, when Squee and I planned what was going to be "the best camping trip ever". We bought a campground in the Sooke Potholes, because we had yet to learn that paying money for a campsite on a campground in a place like British Columbia is, well, retarded. But, we pitched our tents, surveyed our chosen 20' by 20' site with pride, and looked dotingly upon our "provisions".

I had brought a two-six of Crown Royale, a four pack of Smirnoff Ice, and a bunch of Vodka. This was my alcohol for two nights of camping. And others had brought even more. In those days, I could drink a two-six of crown in one night, and not even get that drunk. One time, my buddy Blowcock and I each drank a two-six of whiskey over an hour and half, and neither us got buzzed in the slightest.

People started arriving at our site, pitching second hand tents and having small talk, when 3P came up to me. "My friend Jen* is coming, but doesn't have a tent. Can she use yours?" she asked coyly.

I shrugged, thinking nothing of it. I had only met Jen once, but no matter. "Sure, why not?"

3P was up to her old games. For some reason, she felt Jen and I would be a good match, that we'd hit it off, and everything would go from there. I sometimes think 3P was looking for another couple to hang out. Maybe she wanted someone to play bridge with? I don't know.

3P smiled. And then said "Jen is nice. And if you play your cards right, you might get laid tonight."

Remember what I said about being just old enough to think you're an adult when you're clearly not? This was an extension of that. We figured since we were old enough to talk about sex, we were old enough to be promiscuous. The funny thing is, while I was excited about the idea of getting laid just because I had spare room in my tent, I didn't think there was anything odd about it. It felt perfectly natural, and I just took it as a given. Earlier that year, I had slept with a girl simply because we liked the same band. So it seemed perfectly normal.

That would never happen these days. This is probably a good thing, but sometimes I yearn for the simpler times. As a male is wont to do.

I was cooking some grilled cheese sandwiches when she arrived, "refining my technique" by throwing the burned out bread slices into the bush absently, hoping I would eventually brown the bread before blackening it and not realizing that my coleman stove had a volume setting lower than "max".

Jen sat down next to me, introduced herself, and set up her blankets in my tent. We talked for a bit, and in a very strange manner, we both knew that, after we got our drink on, the two of us were going to bump uglies. There was no real attraction or instant spark; part of it I think was because neither of us wanted to offend 3P. Which is an awful thing to say about, well, everybody involved. But there it is.

As the sun began to sink lower, we all started drinking. I had a few shots of vodka, but hadn't cracked open my two-six of Crown. Jen and I seperated from the group, and began to talk about random stuff. And wouldn't you know it? I actually found her interesting.

We wound up stumbling into someone else's camping lot, and found a bunch of guys that were our age, also drinking. We grabbed an empty log, sat beside them, and chatted. I was struck by just how cool these guys were. And how cool Jen seemed to be. And how cool I was, at least at the moment.

They noticed my unopened bottle of Crown Royale.

"You drink that shit? Do you have a mixer?"

"Nah. I drink it straight." Which I did. And still do.

"You drink rye straight!? That's hardcore!" One of them said. I felt like a goddamn hero.

But one guy didn't believe me. So I took a long pull of the bottle, to prove him wrong. The boys around me applauded, thoroughly impressed. Jen also seemed impressed, and maybe even turned on a little bit. After all, this guy she'd be sleeping with in a few hours was cool enough to talk to random strangers, and tough enough to slam hard alcohol as if it were water.

Had I been a little bit older, I would have stopped there. But I was young. And dumb. And convinced I was invulnerable. Despite being a five eight, 150 pound diabetic ginger kid who listened to angry music to cover up his own insecurities.

I took my newly opened two-six, and slammed it back. Animal House style. I literally chugged the hard alcohol, and it had absolutely no burn whatsoever. I watched as the bottle emptied itself, and felt like a man as the puny little boys around me cheered in disbelief.

I watched as the last few drops emptied out of the bottle, and remember thinking "Maybe I just made a mistake..."

That was my last clear memory. Everything kind of got hazy after that. It's like in those old movies, where a panel will pop up and say "Scene Missing". There were a lot of scenes missing. I mostly just remember little vignettes.

I remember collapsing over a pile of logs and throwing up into a bush. I remember Jen having to go get my friends, and Squee and a few other people picking me up and dragging me back to my tent as vomit dripped down my chin. I remember drunkenly telling Squee to "punch me in the face" because I didn't want to pass out. And I remember being tossed into my tent and putting my head outside, with puke coming out of my mouth and nose. I was unable to move. I'm lucky I didn't aspirate or anything.

Jen, by the way, shouldn't be let entirely off the hook. Because that very night, she said to 3P "do I still have to sleep in that tent?" despite the fact that I was so thoroughly disgusting that no one should have been within the same time zone as me. And she also (apparently) said the next morning "Maybe I'll sleep with him tonight, if he's less drunk."

Or something to that effect. It's been ten years, I don't remember all the details. But really, she should have been running for the hills. I was an absolute wreck. What did it say about her that she hadn't entirely written me off? It bums me when I stop to think about it.

I'd had bad drinking moments before, which I guess are a part of being a young male idiot in this great country of ours. But none of them were as bad as that night. I have never vomited through my nose before or after that night. And I've never been so drunk that I needed my friends to carry me.

The next morning, I awoke alone in my tent. I was still drunk, but not in a pleasant sense. Every motion made my body ill, and I felt as if my body were sinking into the ground. Literally, I felt as if the world were swallowing me up. I remember spreading my body out, as if I were doing the dead man's float, trying to stay above the cracked and hard earth. I was like a cat burglar trying not to trigger a trap. "Steady.... steady...."

Eventually, I staggered outside, and everyone laughed. There were chunks in my hair. My hoodie was torn and backwards. I was covered in mud and brambles. My eyes were red, my jaw slack, and the world kept trying to spin in a clockwise fashion. Jen took one look at me, yelped, and drove off.

"You fucked that one up, man," Squee said, while I dug out some cereal and focused on swallowing food. I grunted in response, and then stumbled back to my tent.

I would like to say this was the moment I went from being a boy to being a man. I'd like to say I matured a bit, right then and there, and that I vowed something to effect of "I'll never be that stupid again." But life isn't like that.

Because that very night, despite still being sick from the night before, I drank again. Like I said, god protects idiots and drunks. And sometimes both.

* Not her real name

Best Canadian Albums?

2011-06-20T00:04:00.000-07:00

Just a random question for you music fans out there. What are some of the best Canadian albums that have been released in the past few years? I'm talking about 2008 onwards, here.

Just let me know of any good Canadian music out there, whether it be indie, mainstream, rock, pop, rap, whatever.

I'm just kind of curious, and any suggestions will be given a listen to, at the very least. And may wind up getting featured in some upcoming blog posts next month. So if you've got an album you wanna share with some friends, please let me know.

Happy Apple Birthday

2011-06-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today, my friends, is a very important day. It is, you see, the birthday of my good friend, Happy Apple. She turns... well, she gets even older today.

I haven't really talked to her in the past few weeks, and it might be a little bit longer before we get to have time to really hang out again in the near future. It does bum me that I can't embarrass her by singing 'Happy Apple Birthday' at the top of my lungs for her today, in person, but, you know, job. So I'll have to belt it out some other time.

So, Apple, as the Beatles once said, "today it's your birthday". Here's to a bajillion more, and I hope you get everything you wished for. Including that fire-breathing robot intent on killing all humans. Also, socks.

To everyone that's not named Happy Apple, go over and check out her blog. Laugh your asses off, and get to know one of the coolest people on the entire interwebz.

Foolishness:

2011-06-18T00:05:00.000-07:00

Oh, God, do I love ginger girls.

I mean, I love most pretty girls of all races and hair colours. I'm not really that picky - I've dated plenty of brunettes and blondes in my lifetime. Hair colour is a very minor thing, and I am fully aware of this. When I think of "Dream girls", hair colour is very low on that priority list.

Be that as it may, I do find myself distracted by ginger girls. Oh god, do I get distracted. I really cease to be myself, and instead turn into an even more awkward lad. It's terrible, it really is.

Thursday, for example. I was walking down Government street, threading my way through the throngs of tourists and avoiding the outstretched hands of street people. I was crossing the street near the Empress hotel when out of the corner of my eye I saw a twenty-something ginger girl talking to her grandmother or something. They were sitting at a table outside a coffee shop, within a few feet of a beautiful kilted blonde fiddler.

Most guys passing by were enamoured by the fiddler. I had my music on, so I don't know how good her playing was, but I have a sneaky suspicion people weren't so interested in her playing. Blonde hair, low-cut shirt, great boobs, short skirt, beautiful legs. I don't blame any of them But I barely gave her a second glance. Because I had my eyes on one of the most beautiful people I've seen in months.

Light red hair, the kind that has wisps of blonde in it but isn't quite "strawberry blonde". A face covered in freckles. Glasses. Small frame, no-nonsense capri jeans, and a plaid blouse. Earbuds around her neck.

Animals have a "flight or fight" reaction in stressful situations. It's how they instinctively respond in times of panic. For human males, in what could be termed "cross-gender social interactions", they have what could be called a "Game or Lame" reaction.

In short, do they swallow their nervousness, man up, and bring their "game"? Or do they shrivel up like a little girl and wind up being "Lame"?

I wish, wish, wish I went with "Game". Although, I suppose if I had, I wouldn't have any blog material. But that would be a problem I wouldn't mind having.

Unfortunately, I went with "lame". And I went with "Lame" with the exuberance and passion of a hipster trying to find a new band ("I listened to that band before their lead singer was even born, man. Their In Utero album is fucking intense").

I just stood there, in the middle of the street, with my jaw agape. I looked her up, and then down. And then up again. I even looked sideways, once or twice. Passers-by had to detour around me, with more than a few looking at me to make sure I wasn't on drugs, or having some sort of epileptic episode.

While ginger girl was oblivious to all of this ogling, her grandmother (unfortunately) was not. She thought it was funny as hell, and kept smiling at me. It was, however, an encouraging smile, and this broke my trance. After all, if the girl's grandmother liked me, maybe I had a shot? I had to think of an approach. Maybe I should grab a flower, and tell her it was for the most beautiful girl on the island? Or ask to buy her coffee? Or-

I got pushed out of the way by some burly dude with a Canucks jersey. I stumbled off the curb like some guy getting pushed around on the beach in those old Charles Atlas comics. As I stumbled, my ipod flew out of my hand and skittered across the cobblestones, and as I dove to grab it, my cell phone, keys, and change spilled out of the pockets of my hoodie.

As people walked by, I scrambled to pick up all my stuff, awkwardly looking over at ginger girl. Who had, by this point, noticed me. And was giving me an "aw, you poor thing" smile of sympathy.

I knew at this point it was probably not going to work out. No "How I met your mother" story begins with "well, she felt so sorry for me, looking like a fool on the curb, that she gave me her number".

I awkwardly scooped everything up, giving her an embarrassed glance and a nervous shrug. I caught the eye of the grandmother, who was laughing quietly under her breath. As my music had stopped playing (I had dropped the ipod), I now realized the fiddling had ended - the fiddler had stopped playing and was watching me. This, somehow, made it all worse.

I blushed beat red, and decided "flight" was the best option. I power-walked away like a friggin' Gazelle, man.

I Need To Shut My Mouth:

2011-06-17T00:26:00.000-07:00

I did something stupid the other day.

I was on the phone with my mother, doing my usual good-sonly duties by nodding my head and saying "uh huh?" and "yeah" like I was P-Diddy or something. As she went on (and on), updating me on the minutiae of her life (I kid, I kid! I love my mom!), I looked out at Swan Lake and kind of glazed over. A duck swam by, his quacks echoing over the water, as if to say "fuck you, urban legend!"

Then my mother started talking about serious stuff, about how someone in my extended family had a so-called "cancer scare". Suddenly, I wasn't idly thinking about herons and the idle lives they live. I was instead in "how the hell did it take my mom twenty minutes to get to this point in the conversation!?" mode. Which happens fairly often. Rambling seems to be a family trait.

Anyways, this particular person, who shall remain nameless, has a history of trying to drum up drama to scam family members out of money. She's done it before, and it seems she may be doing it again... though my mom does hate this person, so maybe I don't know the full story. Fair enough. But I do know, while listening to my mom describe what was going on, and how this person said the doctors absolutely told her she had cancer, I spoke without thinking.

"That's not how doctors go about it, mom. Trust me, I know. I've been through it."

For those at home keeping score, this is always a dumb thing to say to your mom. If you've had a cancer scare yourself, but wound up being alright, you probably shouldn't tell your mother about it. Ever. Trust me on this.

I spent the next few minutes filling her in, telling her that no, I don't have cancer, but yes, I was afraid for awhile I did. She was anxious, her pitch slowly rising over the cell phone until I could dogs in the distance howling. I had to explain to her that, for about a month, I had to wait to see a specialist to confirm that the cancer-like symptoms I had were, in fact, benign.

And had to gently explain to her that she is an awful person to go to during medical scares. Because she freaks out, gets super stressed, and makes things more stressful for everyone else. I had to explain this to her as gently as possible, but it didn't go well. As I sat on the pier, talking to her on my cell, a duck swam up to me and quacked loudly, as if to say, "You're a moron, Dave."

I'm inclined to agree.

Anyways, yeah, it turns out I'm fine, and that the minor symptoms that are problematic are, in fact, being fixed in early August as part of an outpatient procedure. But that's not really the point of this little rant of mine.

The point is, I need to learn to shut my mouth sometimes. I far too often think without speaking, and it commonly winds up biting me in the ass. Future linguists will refer to self-inflicted verbal manglings as "The Dave Effect".

I have called girlfriends fat without thinking (though really, what guy hasn't?). I have said awful things to friends because I didn't process what went from my brain to my mouth. I have alienated dates ("people that like horses are retards"). I have flubbed job interviews ("That job was just a paycheque to me - I broke the rules whenever I could"). And I have said things my parents are better off not knowing ("Yeah, I went through a cancer scare two months ago" or "so, mom, I heard my next door neighbours having a threesome last night").

For what it's worth, I'm also fairly sure this trait of mine is what helps generate a lot of funny blog content. So I guess there's that.

Ten Things You (probably) Didn't Know About Me

2011-06-16T00:51:00.000-07:00

Because I love lists.

I came to music late. I never really listened to music growing up, except for whatever my mother had playing during car rides. I never started listening to music until a trip to New Brunswick to visit my grandparents, when I was in the eighth grade. Due to the extreme boring nature of the place, and feeling kind of down for a couple of reasons, I wound up spending a good two weeks in my room there, watching Much Music. I came back, bought a couple of CDs (Our Lady Peace's Clumsy and the Offspring's Smash, for those at home keeping score), and went from there.

I love post-apocalyptic fiction. Basically, any movie, TV show, or book set in a post-apocalyptic wasteland is one that will instantly grab my attention. I find the melodramatic storylines set amidst the ruins of man's hubris to be perfectly suited to my growing sense of cynicism. Also, they're like sci-fi westerns. And those are always cool.

I become a different person in stressful situations. Normally, I'm always cutting jokes and following the group, but when something bad happens, I take charge and become very much no-nonsense. A few years ago, my mom had a heart attack, and I basically stepped in and did all the things I needed to do. I kind of enjoy being that person, but I wouldn't want to always be him. Maybe just be him from 9 to 5 or something.

I love to bake, but I suck at it. Also, as a diabetic, I really shouldn't eat what I make. My cupcakes always look terrible, my cookies are almost always partially burned, and the few times I've made bread have all ended in disaster.

I cannot say the word "Enchilada". Seriously. I can spell it, but every time I try to pronounce it, I stutter like you wouldn't believe.

I was in sign language immersion. In my old school in Toronto, all kids had to be enrolled in an "immersion" class. My parents didn't really care, so I was put into Sign Language Immersion. These days, I only know a few words, but every now and then I consider enrolling in a class to learn the language. It'd be a good skill to have.

My grandfather was a war hero. He was one of the few canadians to fight (and survive) both Dieppe and Juno Beach. He fought in Italy and North Africa. While he died well before I was born, I know quite a bit about him through my father, and use him as a yardstick for strength of character. I always want to write about him, but rarely do on this blog. Even though some of the stories are pretty funny.

I have two brothers named Michael. And a brother in law named Michael, too. See, my mother left my biological father (cut contact entirely) when I was young, and I guess they both liked the name Michael, because they each later had a son with that name. And my (half) sister on my biological dad's side wound up marrying a guy named Michael. It's kind of confusing, ha. Interestingly, my (technically "step", but whatever) father's middle name is "David".

I once broke my best friend's arm. Well, technically I sprained it. I lost my temper, and I pushed him out of a window when we were around twelve. I felt incredibly bad about it, and vowed to control my temper then and there. I am pretty calm and cool - I very rarely let my temper get loose.

I am fascinated by the civil rights movements of the past century. I got a history degree largely because I was so interested in the black civil rights movement. Since then, I've developed a love for the Gay Rights Movement (it's fascinating, read about it), and the Women's Rights movement. I've always wanted to write a book about a black lesbian woman in the 1960s trying to figure out which rights were more important to her.

An Education

2011-06-15T09:37:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, computers were kind of the "next big thing". They had awful 16 bit graphics (if you were lucky), and were not exactly the most powerful tools in the world. However, educators knew that they were the way of the future, and saw fit to drum their usage into tiny little sponge brains. This was, of course, a very good idea. No one would argue that.

A not so good idea? Educational games. They rarely worked.

For example, the Oregon Trail.

For those that don't remember it, the point of The Oregon Trail was to get your wagon of settlers to Oregon (or to get them out of Oregon, because it was flooded with Pavement-listening Hipsters? I was never sure). You stocked up on supplies, and then went out into the wilderness.

I don't think any kid every actually beat the game. It was hard, and there was a lot of reading to be done that was boring as balls. Instead, we'd just stock up on bullets and go hunting.

Hunting was this great little mini-game where you were supposed to kill the occasional buffalo to get spare meat for your journey. However, the game was definitely more fun than the rest of it (at least, it was more fun from a kid's point of view), so this was where the majority of the game was spent. Killing the buffalo with an intensity that is usually only found in warfare.

For most everyone I knew, killing stuff became the game. We'd just go up in the brush, with a South Park-style mentality.

"He's coming right for us!"

"Ha ha, I shot him in the eye."

None of us ever learned that maybe trying to get to Oregon in the olden days was hard. Or that a lot of people died on the journey. Not a single kid ever realized we were supposed to be learning history. I don't think any of us even knew that there was a place called Oregon. We thought it was made up, like Barsoom, Narnia, or the Neverland Ranch. What we learned was that it was fun to kill buffalo, but rabbits were even more fun, because they were harder to hit.

We also learned how to criticize.

"Rabbits should be worth more meat, because they're smaller and harder to hit. It's not as realistic that Buffalo are easier to kill."

"Bankers shouldn't start with more money, because that means Bankers get more bullets. There should be a Marine occupation, and he gets to start with more bullets. And a combat knife."

"This game needs a machine gun. It'd be more fun with a machine gun. Oregon Trail 2 should have a Machine Gun."

I'm pretty sure those game developers have a lot to answer for.

Weekly Haiku #55 - the trail

2011-06-15T00:49:00.000-07:00

walk the summer trail

no end, just battle with time

stride against yourself

Day As Night #20: Happy

2011-06-14T00:01:00.000-07:00

(as usual, click to expand)

The Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues (2011)

2011-06-13T00:40:00.000-07:00

There will always be a special place in my heart for the Fleet Foxes. Or, more particularly, their 2008 self-titled debut album. But that special place has maybe less to do with the album itself, and more to do with the memories tied into it.

I'm sure everyone has albums like that - pieces of music that are tied to particular moments in time. I know whenever I hear B.B. King's "Hummingbird" I recall perfect memories involving lying naked in bed with a beautiful brunette; and whenever I hear David Bowie's "Space Oddity" I usually recall wandering the streets of Victoria at one in the morning, lost in thoughts of abandonment and wondering why my beautiful brunette decided to walk away.

The Fleet Foxes' debut album was a collection of music that was tied entirely to a very good moment in my life, and one I am incredibly grateful for experiencing. But I've never been sure if I actually would like the album were it not for those experiences.

The story, in brief, is as follows.

I went on a first date with a girl who will remain nameless in this blog. She knows who she is, and that's enough. Because really, this post isn't about her.

When we first met, I gave her a mixed CD and a bouquet of flowers. She gave me a mixed CD as well, and we laughed at the unplanned gestures syncing up. "We're so alike!" and all that jazz.

Later, we listened to her CD and sat on my couch, and that was when I first heard the Foxes' "White Winter Hymnal". I remember we were talking, and I went quiet midsentence as the song played. She told me the band name, described them as "medieval hippies" (which is as good a description as any, and it's actually pretty apt) and we sat in silence and let the music wash over us.

I don't know how many times we listened to her CD as we talked long into the night, but I do know our first kiss was during that song.

Anyways. I bought the album a few weeks later, and since then, I've associated it with the sixth months we were together. It was a long distance relationship, and much of the album just seems, for me, inextricably tied into the good side of all that. I listened to it while waiting for a delayed flight in Vancouver. It was playing during a bus ride across the province - I remember listening to "Oliver James" and being excited to see her. And it played countless times in the background as we talked over the phone well into the night.

This isn't a wistful post about the past, or anything. The relationship ended on good terms, and I'm glad it ended the way it did. The reason I bring it up is, I'm well aware that my strong feelings for the first Fleet Foxes album aren't just related to the music.

I can objectively say it's a great album, but I have to admit a good chunk of my love for it is entirely subjective and could just as easily been to some other album (Mother Mother's O My Heart, for example, or The New Pornographers' Mass Romantic. Both were albums I was listening to fairly heavily at that time, but for some reason don't really connect to that time in the same way I do with the Fleet Foxes).

So part of me cannot look at the Fleet Foxes objectively, and I've always wondered how I would feel about the follow-up without those happy times to connect to it.

Anyways.

The Fleet Foxes released their much anticipated follow-up album (titled Helplessness Blues) last month, and I've been busy absorbing it. There's nothing going on in my life right now that is nearly as exciting as what is going on during the last time I listened to the Foxes, and I admit I was a little hesitant that this might somehow break the spell.

I shouldn't have worried. The album is amazing, and after five or six repeated listens, I'm pretty confident in saying it's easily the equal to their first release.

It's perhaps a bit more dense, with a wider range of instruments this time around. Many of them are traditional and perhaps unusual for modern music fans - several songs reminded me of the old Conan the Barbarian soundtrack in fact, simply because the same instruments and time signatures were used.

But the Foxes use the instruments in their own unique way. Often, the electric guitars (which are definitely more in the mix this time around) would be used as time-keeping rhythm instruments, with acoustics coming in later in the song - sort of a "reverse stairway to heaven" treatment that I found myself getting very excited about.

The opening "Montezuma" has choral and pleasant qualities and a rhythmic repeated chorus, with the song slowly adding layers of acoustic and stringed instruments without ever becoming tense or violent. "Bedouin Dress", my favourite track, is almost Beatles-esque and reminds me for some reason of "Here Comes the Sun". "Helplessness Blues" has a strong celtic influence in the layered guitars before switching in the second half into melodic vocal instrospection. "Lorelai" has a great drum beat and a classical guitar arpeggio that is at once familiar and new.

I loved the band as much for the old memories as for the sound. This time around, it's just about the recording, and there's something amazing about that. Because now, I get a chance to discover the band on their own merits. And I have to say, I'm looking forward to it.

Blast From the Past:

2011-06-12T02:57:00.000-07:00

As a pseudo-hipster, I find myself quite interested in vinyl. I like the sound of it, and I like the tactile feel of actually putting on a record, as opposed to just loading up a playlist on my computer. But I believe I've mentioned this before.

I think what I love the most, though, is the collecting part of the equation - particularly browsing through old thrift stores that smell like mothballs and people of wal-mart, searching for fifty-cent albums worth listening to. While I love picking up albums I love (such as Steely Dan or Three Dog Night), I also love picking up albums that I would never normally buy. But pick up anyway, because "hey, fifty cents".

Because of this, I now own albums by ABBA, KC and the Sunshine Band, even goddamn Billy Joel. Either this incredibly tacky and awful collection of bad music makes me less of a music nerd... or more of one. I'm not entirely sure which.

I am sure, on the other hand, that my tastes have done a complete one eighty since my younger days, when I was an angry little metalhead. I have a strong feeling that if teenage Dave saw his future self in possession of Meat Loaf's Bat Out of Hell, he would have exploded. There's about a thirty eight percent chance* that the explosion would kill us all.

Anyways, I was listening to some of the spur of the moment purchases, and really giving some of the terrible ones the Mystery Science Theatre treatment. "Who in the hell finds Cheech and Chong funny!? Oh, yeah, right... Stoners."

Then I threw on Joni Mitchell's Clouds, and found myself transfixed by calm acoustic lines and a folksy melodic voice. It was an album I'd never heard before, and within minutes, I was hypnotized by the whole thing.

I snapped out of it when my living room filled with the smell of brimstone. Next thing I knew, there was an angry ginger Devil sitting on my couch. His arms were crossed, and he was pissed. It took me a minute to realize that I was actually staring at myself - from the past!

Judging by the torn System of a Down hoodie and the sony discman in his (my?) cargo shorts side pocket, it was Dave, circa 2000. He wore a necklace made of copper wire that I knew he had made in the back of his electronics class. His glasses were falling apart, and he had a perpetual sneer on his face.

"What the fuck is this shit!?" He said, angrily waving his arms in the air. As he did so, he spilled some diet coke absently. "I can't believe I'm going to grow up and start liking hippie music!"

I stared back at him, perplexed.

"And look at you! You're wearing plaid! And jeans - jeans, man! Like a fucking sellout! And a hockey hat? Since when did you become like everyone else and start liking hockey!? And the Sharks, at that! They're, like, a brand new team! I can't believe I grow up to be such a tool!"

He was furious. I was flat footed for a few seconds. And then I burst out laughing. "Whatever, dude. You listen to Slipknot. Therefore, you have no say in this."

And, just like that, my living room was empty once more. Joni Mitchell sang on, and all was well with the world.

* (only two people in the world get this reference. I hope the one that isn't me thinks the reference is as funny as I do)

Lyrical Snippet that I believe is fucking awesome (And I hope you agree)

2011-06-11T21:09:00.000-07:00

there's a moment at the end of every song
waiting for the next one to start
in the silence the lingers between the sounds
i hear the beating of my own heart
and for just a second there, i'll remember
that for the moment i am still here
but then the next song begins and that moment ends
and i drift back down into the ether
there's a moment at the end of every song
when i remember i'm still a human being
and so i wait for the starting of the next track
i'll evade if i can that responsibility
it's easier to listen all alone
to let other people sing about what's going wrong
because it's too damn hard when you and try and live
in the silence that lingers between the songs.

National Music Archive

2011-06-11T20:58:00.001-07:00

Here's a neat site. It's a national archive of old records that have since entered the public domain.

I kind of wish Canada would do something similar.

Crazy Newt

Weekly Haiku #71 - X mass

Anatomy of a Night On the Town:

The night of Rich Aucoin

First Aid Stuff

And now, another episode of...

Weekly Haiku #70 - The Banana Slug

Evil Crevaka...

A Challenge:

Weekly Haiku #69 - Ponder this

Me being an asshole, the science of ghosts, and a firefly quote:

I'm young

A Moody Post

The Housecoat:

Ugh.

Weekly Haiku #68 - Last Month

November Playlist:

Dan Mangan: "Oh Fortune" (2011, Arts and Crafts Records)

Insomnia

More Bad People Stories:

I am bad people

Talk to me, Goose!

Weekly Haiku #67 - are you experienced?

True Story:

Weekly Haiku #66 - Phantom Cyclist

Ew. Just.... ew.

How to Annoy Dave:

Who Knew?

Either that, or she thought I was an asshole:

I would have proposed

Are You Calling Me Crazy!?

Happy Birthday!

Weekly Haiku #62 - Streetside Lizards

69 Years Ago...

Weekly Haiku #65 - August 19th, 1942

True Story:

AWOL

A Few Things:

Weekly Haiku #60: my niece

20. Mother Mother, "Eureka" (2011)

19. Timber Timbre, "Creep On Creepin' On" (2011)

18. Arcade Fire "The Suburbs" (2010)

17. Black Mountain "Wilderness Heart" (2010)

Scene from a job:

Family Emergency

16. Hey Rosetta! "Seeds" (2011)

Lines of communication

15. Tegan & Sara, "Sainthood" (2009)

Isn't this enough (Tim Minchin)?

Diabetes and Travel

And now, for something completely different

14. We Are the City, "In a Quiet World" (2009)

Weekly Haiku #59 - giant

13. Library Voices, "Denim on Denim" (2010)

12. The New Pornographers, "Moves" (2011)

Phone Anxiety

11. Hey Ocean! "It's easier to be somebody else" (2008)

On Sports:

10. Christian Hansen and the Autistics, "Power Leopard" (2009)

Lyrics

9. The Rural Alberta Advantage, "Departing" (2011)

8. Imaginary Cities, "Temporary Resident" (2011)

New Religion:

7. Said The Whale, "Islands Disappear" (2009)

Weekly Haiku #58 - June

6. Hollerado, "Record in a Bag" (2010)

Another dating story:

5. Dan Mangan, "Nice, Nice, Very Nice" (2009)

"Kind of a Dealbreaker"

4. Chromeo, "Business Casual" (2010)

"That Guy"

3. Jenn Grant, "Honeymoon Punch" (2011)

North Africa in the 1940s...

2. Forest City Lovers, "Carriage" (2010)

1. Born Ruffians, "Say It" (2010)

This month's theme is "Canadian Music"

I'm a bad person

weekly haiku #57 - my neighbours

Some Texts:

Scenes from a wedding: