There was a maple syrup festival in Perth. A bit of serendipity too, because I had just run out of my last cache of real maple syrup, stored in a bottle of Crown Royal my mom gave me.
Perth is a great for a getting to visit a small town without having to drive too far. We missed the pancake breakfast in the morning, but made up for it by having maple sausages.
I bought me a bottle of amber maple syrup. Apparently, it’s thicker and richer than the regular maple syrup.
Found this old video of back when I lived on Island Park in a 16th floor apartment, with Trolley and another person who shall remain unnamed.
Trolley looks so young! It’s not his face, just his hair that does it. And remember when I couldn’t stop listening to that AFI album? Seems like so long ago. I guess you’d only remember if you’ve been reading since 2004/2005, when we did stuff like this.
I wonder if I’m still too young to feel nostalgic. It seems like the only people who reminisce are those who are much older than me, but I already get nostalgic about my university days, when things were relaxed, I could sleep in, or skip class, and I didn’t have a mortgage to worry about.
Last minute Halloween party means last minute costume.
I’m walking down the consolidated aisles of Walmart at 7:30 on Saturday night. The costume packages are all 50% off, and the models on the labels are all pre-teen. I don’t think I’ll fit in the tights of this Batman costume, and this vampire cape only goes down to my waist.
I’m suddenly struck with a fit of nostalgia. Remember that time when I was at that party with Becky, who was wearing a witches mask, trying to engage her in a conversation after we met at the Honest Lawyer1? Remember when we went as Supertroopers to the party at the girls house? Remember when I got drunk off that bottle of Earnest and Julio Gallo?
I hurriedly grab a black cowl and bloody knife, and walk to the checkout line. With my full-length leather trench coat, I’m hoping it’s enough to gain acceptance to the party, but not too much to stand out.
So the plan is to get there early. That way I don’t have everyone looking at me when I walk in the door. Bail when it gets too loud, or the people too drunk. But everyone invited through Facebook was told eight while I was told nine, and I’m almost last one there.
Not only the day that Trolley got hitched, but a chance to see Adam and Tomasini and Eric and Nick and Alison; the people I only get to hang out with when camping or partying at the farm. I missed Adam and his ever ebullient attitude most of all, something that never fails to buoy the spirits. Even though we didn’t get a chance to talk much through all the preparation, it was enough to hear his voice and laughter.
It was back to Stanley’s Maple Farm1 for the outdoor wedding. The rain continued up to half an hour before the ceremony then stopped completely, as if god himself had a hand in ordainment.
You just need to look at the smile on Trolley’s face to understand how happy he is.
The reception was open bar, with prime rib and a dessert buffet at the end. I had been waiting over a year to have the prime rib dinner, as I was going through an undiagnosed case of IBS at Aaron’s wedding and was left eating bread. Even Pat, my gourmand friend, said that it was cooked to perfection, and found out that the venue has a deal with the farm up the road to get the best cuts of meat.
We surprised the newly wedded couple with the shoe game, where they answer a series of questions without knowing how the other one will answer. They surprised us with how many they answered in sync. A good sign for the newly wed.
Nick humourously noted that there weren’t many single girls around, but being able to hang out with Aaron in the MC booth made me feel much less awkward and abandoned than the last wedding I went to.
At one point, Trolley came up to me and asked me _____ __ _________ ____ _____. It was his wedding, but he was concerned about me. I couldn’t believe it even entered his mind with everything going on around him, and it was certainly the part I’ll remember most about that night.
Since he’s never been bowling before, we decided to go for Trolley’s 30th.
Rock ‘N Bowl is an interesting phenemonen. Aaron thinks it’s for the 14-year-olds to get all hooched up and feel like they’re going clubbing. Didn’t stop us — Trolley included — from getting carded at our table when pitchers.
Five-pin is harder than I remember. Maybe because I was trying to spin everything, so it would either hit the left pins, or completely gutter on the right when I tried to adjust. For our two teams, it was a pretty close match through the night.
For the photographs, I tried to play around with light settings. 2nd-curtain-sync wouldn’t work for me, and I didn’t realize that there’s a setting for it on the 580EX flash which overrides camera settings. As a result, the pictures are mostly flash-less to capture the mood of the wildly swinging light.
The next day, I discovered that I somehow pulled my left glute and right groin muscles. A gentle reminder on Trolley’s birthday that we’re all getting older.
For years, I listened to music based on my mood. Playlists were well suited for this. I had one full of sad songs for my sad days, days that would last months at a time. I had one with only quick-paced, aggressive guitar riffs and lung-spitting screams, for the pockets of rage I’d encounter every now and then. One that was mostly electronic inspiration — songs that would move me when I needed to move. One for the particularly difficult days, consisting of stoic melodies that could fill me with grit determination. There was even one for the bittersweet moments, perfect for a post-show buzz. Every song served a particular purpose.
This motley grouping of single tracks may have been the result of the way I discovered new music. Tenaciously, with ears always open, I would record as much as I could that caught my fancy, jotting down any discernible lyrics I could use as a basis for a search, and never stopping until I could find the song. Hysteria, by Muse, is just one example, which I happened to discover while watching an awards show. For a long time, it remained a song I’ve enjoyed on my for it’s subtle build-up, and energetic, nearly chaotic, synth-inspired bass lines.
Things changed when I lived with Trolley. He exposed me to bands of different genres, and being a musical collector, this exposure took the form of complete albums. One of them happened to be Absolution.
Now that I have the entire album, Hysteria is known to me as track 7, coming after the pensive Interlude, but before the gentle, ethereal, Blackout. In this context, preceded and succeeded by two equally significant tracks, the song doesn’t sound the same.
Eventually, none of my playlists were appropriate for what I was feeling. At first, I thought that this was the result of increasingly subtle or complex emotions, but I’ve come to realize that it’s simply because I’ve matured, and as a result, my emotions have evened out. With the wisdom and serenity associated with growing older, came the loss of emotional highs and lows that would inspire me.
Now it’s become difficult to listen to a song in a playlist. Every album has an order. Every track has its place. Listening to a song out of its musical context may be hard, but listening to music without the rush of inspiration is harder.
And this has become my musical context.
Trolley’s moving out, and taking most of the living room with him. I’ve been pre-occupied with matching two-piece sectionals, clever hidden storage coffee tables, other things that are completely unnecessary in the hunter-gatherer sense of life. Pat’s taking me furniture shopping this Monday, from morning to night. I’ll be in debt soon, going into my line of credit off my house for the first time, but it’ll be oh so worth it.
Father’s day came and went. I waited until the 3rd Sunday of June to see if my dad would call me first, but he never did, not since the divorce. Not ever actually. It was always my mom who called, and passed the phone to him. We’d make small talk for roughly 30–60 seconds, and he’d pass the phone back to mom. The last time I spoke to him was when I went back home in April. At least my mom called to make sure I was okay after she broke the news. Even she told me to call him, but I don’t feel like it. If anything, he owes me.
Table tennis at the club ended, as the venue is shutting down until the fall. The only physical activity left for me is the occasional match with Pat at his new place. I bought a new penhold blade, a Mazunov OFF+, and two Sriver 2.1mm rubbers, marking the first time that I started using speed glue with a custom paddle. I’ve only had the chance to try them out a few times, but I can tell that the setup has been perfect for my offensive style. I was apprehensive of getting rubbers that were too thick (2.4mm) and fast, for fear that my footwork wouldn’t be able to keep up, but I’ll definitely consider it once these ones wear out.
I met one of my life’s goals when I was Slashdotted for my HomeStar Planetarium review. The visits for the first 12 hours nearly jumped to 15,000, but the server handled the load, albeit a little slowly. Something I can cross off my list.
Another thing to cross off is quitting the weed. Not for John this time, but for myself. I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with marijuana. It’s not the same addiction as other drugs. Dr. Andrew Weil, who’s not a pot critic by any means, describes the problem perfectly in his 2004 book, From Chocolate to Morphine.
Marijuana dependence can be sneaky in its development. It doesn’t appear overnight like cigarette addiction…but rather builds up over a long time. The main danger of smoking marijuana is simply that it will get away from you, becoming more and more of a repetitive habit and less and less of a useful way of changing consciousness.
When I tried to quit before, I’d always tell myself “this is the last day”, but I’d say the same thing every day for months at a time. I’d always need an excuse to stop, but none of the excuses I could come up with would ever work. This time it’s official. I’ve learned all that I can from it, and lost all desire to get burned again. Darren tells me that he’s done too, and when he visits soon it’ll mark the first time that we’ve hung out sober in three years. I’m curious if we’ll have anything in common now.
There’s been an upturn of business. Through Pat, I got a small website contract for my personal company, and I recently joined a stock photography site to make some extra money off my pictures. I take my camera with me everywhere, and I don’t have to do anything for the royalties if other people purchase them anyway. All that’s left to do now is getting some model release forms signed from people of various parties that I’ve taken. I also bought a book about real estate investments in Canada, in hopes that I’ll soon be able to make my money work for me, instead of vice versa.
Aaron’s Canada Day barbecue is on Saturday. Darren’s coming the next weekend. I’m also supposed to see Shirley at some point, since I haven’t seen her in half a year. I gave her a call two weeks ago, in hopes that I could take her family out for some dim sum, but she hasn’t returned. I’m a little hurt. We barely get to see each other anyway, but it’s hard to blame a mother of three for being too busy.
Not that I have much time myself lately.
A couple of shots (no pun intended) from Trolley’s birthday celebration, also marking my first forray into the digital SLR camera world. I had no idea how much was involved in photography until I started going fully manual (quite a change from my simple point-and-shoot Elph), but just trying to achieve what’s “technically” correct has made me appreciate both what the professionals go through and what the artists try to express.
I spent the weekend at Trolley’s place and had a great time. We just hung out, played Gamecube, and watched some movies. I’m not sure if I overstayed my welcome, but I’m sure that any good host is able to blur that fine line. It’s good to have another friend that I can connect with. Wheaties and Ian went skiing at Tremblant, and although I was invited, I felt like I wasn’t prepared to spend over $100 on a lift ticket with rentals.
Trolley also introduced me to Crank Yankers, a hilarious show on Comedy Central. The concept of the show is that people make crank calls, and both the roles of caller and reciever are played out using puppets. The crank calls are usually very original though, sometimes involving a third party (such as a mother picking up the phone while her son is calling about a penis enlarger). Everything is very well done, and the actors are able to improvise their lines with perfect precision depending on what an unwitting participant says. My favourite
series of crank calls are by Spoonie Love, the resident playa (played by SNL’s Tracey Morgan). Sometimes he’ll call a newspaper to place a classified ad, and his message will involve busting a double horizontal on someone’s ass.
Thom lent me his Pantera DVD, 3 Vulgar Videos from Hell. The music hasn’t been that great, but the behind-the-scenes and concert footage is good. It’s also mesmerizing to see the confidence that Phil Anselmo exudes at the concerts, the way Danko Jones or Kid Rock seem to in their music videos.
I was awakened by Dolly scratching at my sheets this morning. As soon as I lifted them up, she went underneath and tried to sleep on my stomach. Unfortunately, my thin frame didn’t provide much of a foundation, and she slid to one side, but eventually fell asleep there anyway. It’s the first time she has been comfortable enough to sleep under the sheets, instead of beside my head as usual.
I stumbled across the site of an intelligent girl who writes about things in relationships not commonly discussed, and who happens to inhabit the same city as I do. I enjoy the polish and depth that her editorials have, but I think it’s her openness that I can appreciate most. It’s always fascinating to find out a female opinion on some of the more taboo sex related subjects, instead of the opinion which other guys believe they know.
The entire Columbia Space Shuttle incident has made me feel like we’re still very primitive in our exploration methods, and that we should simply leave well enough alone until we’re ready. It’s like we’re trying to break the sound barrier again, and people are sacrificing their lives in the pursuit of knowledge. I suppose that if they’re willing to make that sacrifice, then their decision must be respected. Otto Lilienthal would be proud.
