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.

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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” [↑]

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. [↑]

(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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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 [↑]

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.

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. [↑]

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.

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.

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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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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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I didn’t mean to talk about this so soon, but after contemplating this subject for a while I feel as if I’ve done enough thinking to properly speak about it. I do feel like my mind is clear on this issue, that I’ve given myself enough time to understand things well from as many aspects as possible. This is something that I hadn’t really thought about in more than half a year, but more recent events have sort of spurred my mind on the subject again.

Hah. It’s almost humourous, how immature I seem back then to myself now, that it hasn’t even been an entire year and yet my mindset has changed completely in a totally different direction. I used to be so scared that I was indelibly affected by a past experience, that I could never change what I felt and thought. And yet I feel as if I see things much more clearly now. I feel less burdened, less biased, less negative.

This doesn’t even have anything to do with hope or with chance, things which I dwelt on so much before. I’ve been able to see past these matters, and freedom from such things is great. Odd, that an experience that may have damaged or discouraged me has been able to resolve all my worries.

And now, what has changed?

I’ve done what I thought I would never do again.