August 9, 2010

second show

I was sup­posed to hang out with Jesse last week­end. We were going to jam and talk and throw around ideas, and I was really look­ing for­ward to it because we always seem to be doing some­thing when we’re together instead of just chillin.

See, it’s right here on his sched­ule, between Floors and Dinner.

Jesse's schedule

Unfortunately, I devel­oped my annual case of strep throat that day and had to stay away from everyone.

Then, on Friday as I was going back through our e-mail cor­re­spon­dence, I real­ized that Jesse invit­ing me to play ukulele meant play­ing a house party on Saturday. We met up about two hours before we were on and had a very quick rehearsal to work out some parts with­out Nic being able to back us up, as well as extra bits and pieces of songs I fig­ured out over the week. Being so rushed was prob­a­bly a good thing; it kept my mind off the nervousness.

Turns out it was an out­door gig play­ing to a group of hip­sters at a bar­be­cue, and we were open­ing. It didn’t go ter­ri­bly well. At one point in the mid­dle of Write Protected I screwed up the strum­ming so badly that we had to stop the song and restart, but we quickly picked up on a count of four and went on with­out another hitch. Jesse remarked that it was good prac­tice for next time, because prob­lems come up that you never think of when you’re in a new environment.

This time it was a tun­ing peg that some­how got knocked in the mid­dle of the set. I only dis­cov­ered this once the song had started — and I was the only one play­ing so I couldn’t stop. It must have been off by an entire semi-tone cause it totally messed up my senses and I had a hard time telling if I was even play­ing the right chords. It was also night by the time our set ended, and I had a hard time see­ing the frets, which only added to the confusion.

Note to self: strum once to before each song to make sure the instru­ment is in tune.

I did, how­ever, learn from the last show to bring a side-table to use as a step­ping stool. Usually, I sit when prac­tic­ing, but at the 160 Workshops show I had to stand; not being used to the pos­ture meant I was con­stantly adjust­ing the uke in the arm between verses and com­ing in late in the bar as a result. I brought a lit­tle Ikea side-table this time, and it worked really well.

Even with all the glitches, as rushed and under-rehearsed as we were, it was a fan­tas­tic time and a great experience.

The next set was in the base­ment, with a girl and guy look­ing like they were kids dressed up and pre­tend­ing to be Ziggy Stardust, singing to generic elec­tron­ica. And peo­ple were lov­ing it in their slow-nodding, hip­ster kind of way, although the weed and booze may have helped (Audra would later remark to me that it was hard to tell how into it peo­ple were cause of how cool every­one was try­ing to act).

I also missed see­ing a very drunk Tina cor­ner Jesse. I could totally see this being her scene.

Pizza with girls

Check out Audra sport­ing her styl­ish Hurley cap.

Jesse was being inter­viewed later that night and also wanted to stay to see Matt play, so the girls and I headed to grab a bite to eat. Audra bought us all pizza and drinks at a nearby pizze­ria, which had the BEST CRUST I’ve ever tasted.

Before the end of the night, in a good mood and feel­ing safe, I admit­ted to Em my crush on her boyfriend. She took it well.

February 12, 2010

On Being Tested For Syphilis

  • Doctor, with swab in hand: If you’re going to faint, faint back­wards, not on me. I had a 250 pound foot­ball player almost kill me once.
  • Me, hold­ing down my pants: FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
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October 28, 2009

Dinner With The Timmites

Thumbnail: Philly melt
Thumbnail: Quesadilla
Thumbnail: Ham tortellini
Thumbnail: Veggie burger
Thumbnail: Zoom H2

Tim was in town for a pre­sen­ta­tion this week­end, so a few of us went to din­ner at a restau­rant close to where he used to live. It turns out this place used to be called Drumlin’s Pub, which I knew from sec­ond year of uni­ver­sity, ohhh…seven years ago? I dis­tinctly remem­ber being in there once, doing shots at the bar1 while sit­ting next to an older guy who was over $30k in debt to OSAP, telling me to go after the big­ger girls cause they do way more “stuff”. On our drink­ing tours of the city back then, we would always try to find a place that served good, cheap wings, and Strongbow. If I remem­ber cor­rectly, Drumlin’s had hearty honey gar­lic, but no cider.

Now that it’s under new man­age­ment, it has a really generic name — like Sandy Hill Bar And Grill — though it makes up for this fact with much bet­ter pub fare. Such social oppor­tu­ni­ties are great for test­ing out the 360° sur­round capa­bil­i­ties of the Zoom H2 sound recorder I recently pur­chased as an invest­ment towards bet­ter sound pro­duc­tion in my videos.

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (ver­sion 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the lat­est ver­sion here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

In his defence, Tim was sur­prised to dis­cover that Jess has a new boyfriend, and was being (jok­ingly) self-deprecating about his sex life. Next at the table was Reagan2, who was asked about hers. Jess picked up the mic and pointed it at me, per­haps to shift the atten­tion away from Reagan and shield her from embar­rass­ment. Of course, it all plays out much nicer when you have a record­ing of it.

  1. Back then I drank with Iain, so it would have been tequila. []
  2. Note to self: pro­nounced “Ray-gun” []
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October 20, 2009

Horizontal Eyebrow Piercing

Horizontal eyebrow piercing 1

I should start by say­ing that I’ve wanted a pierc­ing since late high school, either an eye­brow pierc­ing or a tongue stud1.

For some rea­son though, I never seri­ously con­sid­ered it. To me, it was like hav­ing chil­dren; one of those things you know you’d want some day, but don’t take it seri­ously. Then last week, I was sit­ting at my desk and ran­domly thought, “Why not?”. So I slept on it, and woke up the next day still want­ing one. That’s when I decided to do it.

My biggest con­cern was that it wouldn’t match me. Some peo­ple with pierc­ings look like they’re try­ing to over­com­pen­sate by being part of a “scene”, or by being younger (i.e. the midlife cri­sis, which my dad seems to be liv­ing out with three pierc­ings last year), or it just doesn’t fit their face. The last thing I wanted to do was get some­thing that screamed atten­tion for the sake of it. Most peo­ple have told me that I’m a far cry from mid-life cri­sis age, but I’ve feel­ing much older lately.

So I fig­ured that I’d rather get it at this age, than when I’m in my fifties like my dad, when it looks ridicu­lous. But as Tiana reminded me, it’s much less per­ma­nent than a tat­too. If I don’t like it, I can just take the pierc­ing out with min­i­mal scar­ring (as long as there are no other complications).

So I decided to get a hor­i­zon­tal, because I find that ver­ti­cals are not really my style (and alto­gether too com­mon for my tastes). The side seemed some­what arbi­trary to me, and I didn’t decide which side until I did my hair one morn­ing and noticed that the part on my hair was on the right, and so it seemed like there was a more open space there for the pierc­ing to fit.

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  1. My work in the den­tal indus­try, how­ever, has made me shy away from get­ting any­thing in the mouth, so that elim­i­nated the only other option for me. []
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July 30, 2009

A Letter To The Officer Who Made Me Drive Into A Ditch

(If you haven’t seen the pic­ture.)

Maybe we have a few things in com­mon. We were both dri­ving back to the office at the end of the day (me to drop off the cases I had picked up, you to do more paper­work). Both five years at our jobs. Both with­out prior acci­dents. But I’m actu­ally in mar­ket­ing, not deliv­ery, and if it wasn’t for the fact that our so many of our dri­vers had called in sick, I wouldn’t have been on the road at this par­tic­u­lar time on this par­tic­u­lar day.

It was actu­ally a few fac­tors that led to my dri­ving into the dirt shoul­der, and even­tu­ally, set­tling in a ditch fac­ing the wrong way in the grassy median. You drove from the onramp directly into the pass­ing lane — where I was — with­out check­ing your blind spot. Or sig­nal­ing. I didn’t real­ize you were com­ing into my lane and about to hit me until it was too late. I didn’t have time to brake, so I had to drive half onto the shoul­der. As I steered back onto the cement road, it caused a dif­fer­ence in trac­tion between my left and right tires. It made me veer left, and I tried to cor­rect it by steer­ing right. Then the same thing hap­pened in the oppo­site direction.

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June 1, 2009

Strip Club Experiences

It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a strip club. The co-workers of my first job, along with the pres­i­dent of the com­pany, were the ones took me to my first. They made it a point to “ini­ti­ate” me when they found out I had never been. I still look back on that mem­ory fondly, because I was so young and green, and they wanted to get me over my inexperience.

But it was never some­thing I did with any fre­quency. You always look at those guys, seat­ing by them­selves at the head of the table with a beer in hand, think­ing, “Is this bet­ter than what you have at home?”

After all, strip clubs are never really about the girls. It’s about being out with your friends, when your par­ents think you’re at a movie1. They’re like con­certs. You could sit at home and lis­ten to a CD with stu­dio qual­ity sound, but there’s some­thing dif­fer­ent about the atmos­phere of a live experience.

It’s easy to grow past the appeal of strip­pers though. There’s no per­son­al­ity there. Even Playboy mod­els have likes and dis­likes. The fur­thest a strip club goes is by say­ing, “Here’s Porsche, and she used to be an air­plane attendant”.

Don’t get me wrong; I love the female fig­ure. But there’s no appeal in a stripper.

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  1. Some of them had ring­tones set for their home num­bers, and just the ring would set off a round of teenage spite []
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March 14, 2009

This City Lets Me Live

Boundary Street Balcony — Sunset

I think it was some point between hail­ing a taxi to meet my Uncle Joe, and the com­fort­ing famil­iar­ity of find­ing myself in one of the same malls I was in five years ago, that it really sunk in.

I’m in HONG-FUCKING-KONG.

The con­stant din of traf­fic and peo­ple reminds me of the way New York never sleeps. It pul­sates and breathes, as if it was a body. I won­der how there can be so much life in such a tiny city1. None of my words, pic­tures, or videos could ever do it jus­tice, because it’s the expe­ri­ence that makes it real. The things that can’t be said. Like the way peo­ple treat the elderly. The every day sig­nif­i­cance of food and eat­ing well. The mil­lion sub­tleties of the Chinese culture.

The temp­ta­tion to move here is com­ing on me again, with every street, every sign, every per­son I pass, every day gone by. Maybe the tim­ing is right, where I find myself not only root­less in Ottawa, but with a sense of for­lorn­ness attached to the city as well. I’m begin­ning to won­der; what can I leave behind? What do I want to leave behind?

  1. Half the area of Ottawa, with over seven times the pop­u­la­tion. []
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January 5, 2008

Residence

Ah, res­i­dence. The first year of uni­ver­sity, the first year away from my par­ents, and my first year in Ottawa. Also, the year I was intro­duced to Fear Factory, Dream Theater, and Refused.

I found these old pic­tures while orga­niz­ing my pic­tures folder. Boy, do they take me back.

Headbanging

Take a look at this photo, for exam­ple, where I strapped a pair of khakis to my head, and started head bang­ing to Deftones — Shove It (My Own Summer). Why did I strap a pair of khakis to my head? Cause I didn’t have long hair. Why did Pita and I decide to do this one day? I have no idea.

Dying my hair red

Washing my hair after the dye job

Alicia drying my hair

Or how about these ones, where the girls agreed to give me red chunks, back when I was obvi­ously in my Tool phase. Nadine mis-read the instruc­tions, mixed the wrong chem­i­cals, and it came out all sparse.

Highlights include:

  • Failing Calculus 2 with Dave and Jarod. When we wrote the sup­ple­men­tal exam, it was five peo­ple total in the pro­gram who failed, three of whom were us. I guess I had the wrong study bud­dies. In the end, I was the only one who passed.
  • Most of the guys on the floor get­ting sued for sex­ual harassment.
  • Jarod and Jono’s rave room, lit with a black­light and disco ball, which was some­what famous around campus.
  • Constant con­flict between neigh­bors, me and Pita included, over the vol­ume of music.
  • Going to the gym with Dave, and hav­ing him spot me while I benched the bar. As in, the bar with­out weights. Afterwards, I would spot him while he benched 240. I don’t think I could have helped much.

Pita took these pho­tos, got them printed, and scanned them. Dated ’99. Sure they aren’t great. They’re dark. They’re grainy, taken with a cheap film cam­era. But they’re still unfor­get­table mem­o­ries, and it gives them a cer­tain dated style. Makes me wish I had a taken some pic­tures myself.

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August 16, 2007

The Tao Tattoo Experience

Part of The Tao Tattoo Series

  1. The Meaning
  2. The Experience
  3. The Background
  4. Tattwo

I decided to get my Tao tat­too about a month before I actu­ally had it done. Choosing an artist wasn’t hard. Tiana, who’s awe­some bro­ken argyle tat­too reminds me of insou­ciant kites against a sky, had hers done by Jay at New Moon. After see­ing some more of his work, which fea­tures finely detailed lines sim­i­lar to what I had in mind, I decided to go with him as well.

The appoint­ment was short. A quick check to make sure the posi­tion­ing close to the wrist joint was accept­able, and to leave a deposit.

The recep­tion­ist asked me, “What does the kanji mean?”.

Kanji?”. I ques­tioned her assump­tion, and she quickly cor­rected her­self. “Sorry, is it Chinese or Japanese or Korean…?”. I explained the char­ac­ter, and how it’s writ­ten the same way in Chinese and Japanese, the cal­lig­ra­phy being in a Chinese style.

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July 9, 2005

HK Fullscreen, Revisited, Again

Here I am, try­ing to get another entry down, but there’s a movie play­ing on OMNI.2, one of Canada’s pre­mier multi-cultural chan­nels. Although the pro­gram­ming of OMNI.2 is aimed for 22 dif­fer­ent eth­no­cul­tural groups in 20 dif­fer­ent lan­guages, Saturday nights are always in Cantonese. Almost just as invari­able are the roman­tic come­dies of Hong Kong cin­ema that they broad­cast around this time.

It makes sense of course; stud­ies have shown that by 2017, vis­i­ble minori­ties will top 50% in Toronto and Vancouver, with Chinese peo­ple mak­ing up over 500,000 of that per­cent­age. Add to this the grow­ing fas­ci­na­tion of younger peo­ple with the Asian cul­ture, and recent flicks from Hong Kong are the per­fect way to build a strong mar­ket presence.

Unfortunately, the movies are mostly trite: a col­lec­tion of pre­dictable, sac­cha­rine love sto­ries with lit­tle artis­tic intent, and the one on now is no dif­fer­ent. I have to admit though, as sim­ple as these movies are, they still affect me. When I see the char­ac­ter­is­tic neon build­ing signs, homely food stalls filled with wok hey, and claus­tro­pho­bi­cally busy streets of Hong Kong again, I’m filled with a cer­tain inex­plic­a­ble romanticism.

And I can’t seem to get over it. All I want to do is go to Hong Kong again and share the expe­ri­ence with some­one. An expe­ri­ence that’s heart-racingly poignant, like the ado­les­cent mem­ory of a first date, when you’re build­ing up the courage to hold someone’s hand. Perhaps, like Humbert Humbert in Nabokov’s Lolita, the mem­ory of my child­hood has frozen some­thing in me. A mem­ory that’s beautiful.

Simply, purely, beautiful.

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March 10, 2005

Meet Me In Montauk

I admit that some movies, some scenes, some songs, some moments, still rub me the wrong way. In gen­eral this is a good thing: the harder it is to let go of some­thing, the bet­ter the expe­ri­ence it was. I’m also given hope in under­stand­ing that these things will pass, as all things pass, and every­thing will be put in its right place. Fortunately, this is easy to accept because of the fact that I’ve already gone through a full cycle with oth­ers. Perhaps I’ve also become accus­tomed to some resid­ual emo­tions, kept alive by the mem­o­ries of the ori­gins of lessons learned.

But all of this still doesn’t detract from the fact that some things still rub me the wrong way, as if my skin was peeled and every con­jured sen­sa­tion was a salt water burn. I can feel that sound in my ears, feel the pris­matic danc­ing of light in my eyes, feel her say, “pris­matic”, explain­ing the colour of her hair.

It’s not even the per­son with which I share these expe­ri­ences that makes it impor­tant, it’s the expe­ri­ences them­selves, because they mean some­thing. A change in my life. A change that may have not have hap­pened otherwise.

And I real­ize that it’s not that I can’t let these mem­o­ries go, it’s that I choose not to.

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July 28, 2004

Church And State

I wanted to thank you for chang­ing my life.

Then I real­ized that you didn’t do any­thing. You were com­pletely self­ish, com­pletely incon­sid­er­ate. I picked myself up and made the best of what you left me as. Loving you was the impor­tant part, not any­thing that you had ever done.

I real­ized that it wasn’t you who changed my life. It was the expe­ri­ence. It was the con­scious effort to turn my life around.

It was me.

June 13, 2004

Hemlock

The two longest rela­tion­ships I’ve ever been in, both bor­der­ing on the two-year mark, were mean­ing­less. I learned a great deal from them, mak­ing them great expe­ri­ences, but in all truth, that can be said about any of the rela­tion­ships I’ve had.

My short­est rela­tion­ship, which never even got into the three month range (and also hap­pened to be with the only girl to break up with me), was the most meaningful.

And toxic.

I shouldn’t have been in that rela­tion­ship, and I knew it. It was unhealthy, it was destruc­tive, it was painful. Yet I kept going. I kept apol­o­giz­ing instead of accus­ing, I kept storm­ing with­out releas­ing. Was I weak? Perhaps. Was I in love? More likely.

But I was scared most of all.

Scared of giv­ing up a chance for hap­pi­ness, scared of for­ever won­der­ing, “what if?”. With lack of choice comes free­dom from regret. It took more strength to push on, know­ing that it wouldn’t last, than it would have taken to end it myself.

It wasn’t weak­ness. It was deter­mi­na­tion. It was an attempt at per­se­ver­ance. It was an attempt at stoic res­ig­na­tion. I knew she was going to end it.

Because I never would.

June 7, 2004

Album Review: No Motiv, Daylight Breaking

I really have to say some­thing about No Motiv. When I first heard them, it was in prepa­ra­tion of a con­cert I was going to when they were open­ing for Strung Out about four years ago. I didn’t really like their first two albums aside from a few songs. They had a dis­tinct sound, but their lyrics, like advice from a com­fort­ing friend, didn’t quite match. This band was like those kids I never really knew in high school, who weren’t pop­u­lar but had their own clique nonethe­less, and spent their free time mak­ing up songs and prac­tic­ing their instru­ments. The guys I’d sort of root for, not because their music blew me away, but because there was no one to appre­ci­ate them.

Their lat­est album, how­ever, takes things in a dif­fer­ent direc­tion, hinted at in the album title “Daylight Breaking”. It’s darker, it’s mood­ier, and it’s more devel­oped. Jeremy has clearly become more con­fi­dent with his singing, and this goes hand-in-hand with the new range of sound that they’ve devel­oped, from quiet and bar­ren to heavy and angry. In pre­vi­ous albums, he sounded con­stricted, but now screams emo­tion­ally with con­trolled unre­straint. The lyrics demon­strate a new matu­rity, and present a log­i­cal pro­gres­sion from their pre­vi­ous work. This is the album that they were meant to write, an album that makes them musi­cians and not just band members.

Now, as I lis­ten to their older mate­r­ial, every­thing clicks, and I real­ize that I just wasn’t ready for this music four years ago. I don’t have any music that’s quite like this; a jour­ney through a coming-of-age that’s filled with ener­getic hope­ful­ness, along with the ups and downs asso­ci­ated with per­sonal growth, a sort of inspir­ing sad­ness. The lyrics bring me back to being a teenager again, when I thought peo­ple on TV were nor­mal, and believed that I should have been going through the same dainty prob­lems. It makes me think of what I wanted to expe­ri­ence a long time ago, but never had the chance.

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December 10, 2003

Reversal: Part 1 (The Inexplicable Catalyst)

19. Have you ever been in love? Unfortunately.

LBJ

Well, here we are again.

I used to think that love was only pain. That was when the only expe­ri­ences I had with love were bad, when every­thing I ever felt was unre­quited. The fact that I felt this way was rep­re­sen­ta­tive of the fact that I hadn’t got­ten over those feel­ings at the time. How child­ish, inex­pe­ri­enced, con­fused, imma­ture I was. This feel­ing shaped much of my per­son­al­ity in the last few years, although I’ve recently been able to come out of such an emo­tional blockade.

Having a rela­tion­ship where most feel­ings, how­ever con­fused, how­ever tor­ren­tial, how­ever tem­po­rary, were shared, has allowed me to come to terms with the past. Such an inci­dent has ben­e­fited me greatly, has let me know that I’m not so numb any­more, that it’s pos­si­ble for such a rela­tion­ship to exist even if I may never expe­ri­ence it again. Perhaps I was so scared that I would never fall in love again that any such expe­ri­ence would have shocked me into get­ting over what had hap­pened in the past.

Now I embrace the feel­ing of love, embrace the fact that the sim­ple act of lis­ten­ing to a song can fill me such poignancy, com­pletely regard­less of whether it’s good or bad. Not only do I enjoy being able to care for some­one, I enjoy miss­ing them as well, as dif­fi­cult as it can be. I like the fact that some­thing can turn me ter­ri­bly, illog­i­cally weak. Every emo­tion involved, whether it’s plea­sur­able or painful, fills me with the urge to write, to cre­ate, to express. This is what I look for. This is what I need.

Now only good can come of love.