Oh Shit Bitch

2011-11-05T13:14:00.001-07:00

Investment Believing

2010-11-02T12:21:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I was treated to a bar brawl at my place of employment. A scrap here and there in a bar is not entirely out of place though most certainly I don't deem it acceptable behaviour for normal adults with a functioning brain. Yet from what I've observed in the past few months, and years if you count my out of character excursions to clubs, is that aggression and posturing in these settings has not only become acceptable but in lots of cases expected.

Popular 'causes for fights or angry inebriated altercations generally include: Frontin', dissin', disrespectin', stepping on someones shoes, having an opinion that differs from another person, claiming that your choice of beer is in some way superior to the choice of another, what race you are, what sexuality you are, where you come from, where you currently live. And the list goes on into dubious territory.

Last night in the middle of the large messy pigfuck of a human knot that occurred a large scared young man started screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Fucking Iranians!"

He repeated this statement many times before a staff member was able to calm him down. I believe that he was speaking this of some of the young men who were involved in the altercation. I'm unaware of their actual racial backgrounds and in the end it's irrelevant. What is relevant is that he was screaming about a race in general, as if that was the 'cause of the altercation all together.

As the initial fight was broken apart the crowd shifted to another part of the room where someone else started getting their head punched in. The pack wanted blood and they were out to get it. I'm not sure what the 'cause of any of these fights were but as far as I was told it wasn't over anything more than someone being bumped or someone being briefly verbally rude.

I managed to circumnavigate the crowd and make it to the bottom of the stairs where I told everyone below that there was no way they were going up until we sorted the whole mess out. At the top of the stairs the group of young guys who had been involved in the first altercation were yelling at the remaining opposition upstairs. Things such as where they were from, and that they'd been disrespected. One of them wasn't wearing a shirt, and it wasn't because it was Halloween. Totally unwilling to back down for fear that they'd be considered lesser men.

I'm not going to be so brash as to come straight out and say that all of this is the Jersey Shores fault. Ok I'll admit that earlier I may have posted something to that effect on someones facebook wall, but I was a little angry. What I really mean to say is that media influences, such as the Jersey shore, on young impressionable people give them the idea that might makes right. As long as, y'now ,some asshole was talking shit, or you didn't like the way someone was generally behaving. It doesn't help that reportedly each cast member makes thirty thousand dollars per episode. This seems to be a pretty widely known fact amongst people that watch the show and from what I've thought about it this just further reinforces that the behaviour exhibited on the show is not only acceptable but something to be aspired to. They make a lot of money for being ignorant assholes, so I can understand the logic people would use in exhibiting that same behaviour. It also seems to give people licence to justify doing nearly anything based on nothing more than the fact that they may disagree with the principles at hand. I've used the example of Jersey Shore here but examples of how impressionable we really are can be found all over the place. I remember when that grandaddy of garbage "entertainment" known as "The simple life" first came on the air. I was shocked and appalled, even as a stupid sixteen year old, by how many people thought that not only was Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie's behaviour acceptable because it was entertaining, but that they thought it was something to be emulated as well. Two relatively useless people who have more money than they know what to do with behave poorly in every single facet of social interaction they have whence removed from their comfort zone. I'm really glad that young women had these kinds of projected role model to emulate. It's cool though you act like a bitch that the world owes everything. Keep it up long enough and maybe you'll get your own fragrance or a line of designer something. There are lots of poor male role models out there too but for the sake of time I'm only going to discuss the UFC. I see nothing inherently wrong with the actual sport of UFC. Guys have been testing each other in the art of physical combat since we learned how to make a fist, and while I don't condone violence I can certainly see the appeal in the "warrior" nature of the sport. But that's pretty much where it stops in terms of reality. See I like the idea of some zen warriors without ego duking it out with their finely honed skills but to watch two cro-magnon lookin' guys climb into a ring to brawl after months of declaring themselves stronger than the other just to hock some material goods that promote hostility, punishment, brutality, and brazen encouragement to the "might makes right" doctrine.

So for all my complaining and observations what's the point right? It's real easy to turn this into an "us and them" argument. It's easy to blame it on the corporations and the big scary "they", that floats around ubiquitously through the conversations of the paranoids and the aggressors. What to do right? Wake up. Pay attention. Skim off that thick layer of bullshit that gets heaped onto everything we see, do and manage to believe in. Make up your own mind about some stuff. What ideas do you have that you believe in? What is your reaction when you disagree with the ideas of someone else? What ideas are you being sold every when you leave the house, turn on the tv or go to any website? Seriously think about it. What did you buy into this week? What beliefs do you invest yourself in and, perhaps more importantly, are they going to pay off in the long run?

The next step

2010-09-18T13:55:00.000-07:00

As some of you might be aware, that is if you follow the writing that I put up here on the internet, I haven't been as prolific as usual with new material. There is a reason for this. I don't want to use the internet as a crutch. I started thinking about it mid-way through the summer . I've been writing for what feels like a long time, six years, and I've documented a half decade of my existence within various forms of bloggery and facebooking and at some moment this I decided that I didn't want to exist on the internet in such a heavy presence any more. I didn't want to feel like a wiener every time I told someone to go check out my blog, or even worse direct them to my facebook feeds. But what next right? If I wasn't going to use the internet how was I supposed to do to get my work out there in the world? The answer was so staggeringly simple that I found it amazing that I hadn't thought of it before. Make it real. Just make a physical copy of it and do.

So over the course of the summer I produced two issues of a 'zine. About three hundred copies per issue released. It cost me about a grand all said and done. It was a this point that I realized that I had found a way to do what I wanted on my own terms. That I could progressed my future as a writer without having to compromise any of my entirely self righteous beliefs about the pursuit of writing as a career. That being said choosing this new way of life required that I change my status of employment. Back to bartending for me. My new world order, as I continually refer to it, is comprised of a self imposed schedule which I've already found to be a challenge. Saying that I'm going to wake up and read and write for six hours every day is one thing, actually doing it is another. But that's my goal right now. My mission is to live, and write. It's as simple as that really.

I've spent the past four years of my life getting really wrapped up in living. I think it's been good. Had I not gotten into a large amount of shit messes, personal and otherwise, I never would have gotten to this place where I am right now. Where I'm able to provide for myself everything I need to preform the task I've assigned myself. I'm writing this here and now to say that if you've been following me heavily, or at all, on the internet? Don't wait up for new posts. I'm not saying that there isn't going to be anything hitting the worldwide web, I still want to widely share, but at the end of the day I think that a medium that requires I put some hard work and ingenuity into it will yield a better over all product.

If you haven't received a copy of my 'zine yet and you've requested one, either via mail or face to face with me I apologize for not getting you one yet. I'm going through a hopefully brief process of getting my shit together with this new world order. If you're still interested send me a facebook message, or e-mail, or just get in touch with me somehow and I'll make sure you get a copy. I appreciate everyone's support and will take the time now to thank anyone and everyone who has ever read my work while it's been online. Without you I never would have made that next crucial jump into a work that exists outside the all too easy .com.

There's always Kraft dinner.

2010-08-07T21:35:00.000-07:00

A chef once told me, "at the end of the day? It's just food". I took a lot from this. Like at the end of the day? You could be eating Kraft Dinner instead of anything else that will taste a million times better. Let me see if I can elaborate on this a bit for you.

I started working in the kitchen of a busy fine dining restaurant about five and a half months ago now. Prior to this? I'd work front of house my entire "career" in the restaurant industry. I'd bussed tables, hosted doors, ran and expedited food, served tables, tended bar, and managed. I've loved many of those jobs for many different reasons. Serious, there was a point where I thought that bar tending might be one of the coolest jobs ever. That all changed the first day I set foot "in" the kitchen. I'll get to that but I need to give you a bit more background information first.

I like to work in restaurants in ways that most of my friends ,and people in general, that don't will probably never understand. It is a high intensity game of chess that requires meticulous understanding of a variety of variables at any given time and the skill to execute the tasks required in the certain allotted time. A well executed "slam" in a restaurant from a front of house, and back of house perspective is probably one of my greatest addictions. If you do not and cannot understand the concept of "moving with hustle" you will not make a good restaurant employee. The intensity that exists in the front of house is all about being in the right place at the right time, knowing what is happening in places you can't see, and knowing when exactly you need to be where. People have only a limited amount of patience and as a front of house person it is your job to do what needs to be done to make them happy, even thrilled, before their patience runs out. If you can go above and beyond the call of duty during your shift? If you can pull out all the stops to make someones experience that much better? Then you are a great front of house employee. If you can do that without maligning, undercutting and while helping out all , and I mean ALL, your co-workers? That makes you an extraordinary front of house employee. When you can achieve your own success without compromising, and even aiding, in the success of others? That makes you someone that genuinely cares about the concept of service as a job. I like to believe that I am one of those people. I like to believe that before I ever worked in the kitchen? I had the kitchen's back. It's not that I chose the cooks side over the servers side. It was to me that we were all one and the same. That there should exist no division between us because fundamentally the best of us were all their for the same reason. To put amazing tasting food into the mouths of people. That's about as simple as it gets for me. No cooks no food. No servers, food doesn't go to the table. It is a symbiotic relationship of two entirely different skills and personalities that are required to exist, if not in harmony, then at least a loose allegiance. This being said I will now turn my attention towards the kitchen.

I thought that working the floor was intense. I thought that running around like a madman while maintaining a smile and appearance of calm was a job not for the faint of heart, the following is not to say the contrary. But you will have no idea until you do it. In the kitchen during a standard day I do the following: Reach into a five hundred degree oven at least a couple hundred times. Use knives sharp enough to take off a finger so easily that you don't notice it until you're bleeding all over the floor. Keep track of up to (right now though I'm sure the number will rise the longer I stay in the kitchen) ten different pans, all with food cooking at different speeds. Contend at times with physical and mental exhaustion, dehydration and extreme heat. Coming into the kitchen I accepted two things, if nothing else. A. That I WOULD cut myself. B. That I WOULD burn myself. These two things are an inevitability and anyone that works in a kitchen and tells you otherwise is full of shit. A standard menu consists of a multitude different components that require a cook to assemble them in a proper method in a set amount of time and to a certain standard. Unless you're serving food that comes directly out of a package, which I think is one of the greatest travesties to be committed to food, it goes like that. For example to even make the basic tomato sauce used at my work? The tomatoes first need to be cooked down, then they're cooled and stored for later use. From here I, the cook, cook garlic, wine, hot sauce and Worcestershire until it has been reduced enough so that the flavours are all at maximum potency then I add the already cooked down tomato sauce and allow it to heat all the way through so that the flavours combine. This takes about a half hour. This just the tomato sauce for one item on the menu. Consider that many other components take much longer, in some cases over twenty four hours, to be fully prepared for use in the final product which we sell. If you didn't do it right, you don't use it. It's as simple as that.

There has been much already said by writers and chefs that are far more learned than I on the culture and society that exits within a restaurant kitchen and I won't go into that too much. What I will say from my observation is that good cooks, and good chefs like to tell you what they know, or at least what they think they know about food and cooking. I'm pretty much still a moron and I mean no judgement in this observation at all. I've just heard a lot of contradictions so far. If you know something, then you know it and that's awesome. It is a way that cooks and chefs display their appreciation for food, by letting people know that they understand the many faucets, uses and sciences behind the food that they prepare. Yet I have seen cooks and chefs face off in a old style western gunfight, slinging their knowledge like a Smith and Wesson loaded with tricks and details that the other guy just might not have. When a cook or chef really shines though? When they're on their A-game and dishing out inspiration and power like it's amuse bouche? That's when they're talking less what they know and more what they love about food. To see two people with such complex understandings of stuff we put in our mouths put aside all their accrued knowledge and skills, and simply talk about why they love certain foods so much? That an expression of something so positive and powerful that it goes beyond all the combined line cook pissing contests that those two people may have had in their life. It can still be a challenge. It can still be something that creates room for growth, education and experimentation. But it is not a challenge to the other person to know more than another. It is a challenge to love food as much if not more than the other.

Food has the power to unite.I've eaten a lot of meals standing up in the past six years. I'm usually too busy to do to much more than wolf down a hastily thrown together linguine casserole, or a bowl of staff shelf slop. That's the food that keeps you going, the food that you don't really have time to enjoy you just need it otherwise you might find yourself dumbly staring at the sous chef while he's asking you if you were the one that fucked up blanching the baby carrots. There's a helluva lot of difference between that food and the stuff that someone takes the time to make some love to. Love apparently is a spice and from what I've been able to notice? It's more important than anything else. When a group of tired sweaty, burnt, sore and often disgruntled cooks sit down together in a narrow hallway on some milk crates, if they're lucky, and get a chance to eat something that someone put some love into? That can taste better than all the foie gras stuffed quail in the world. Food is the best excuse in the world to bring people together.

"What do you want to do tonight?"

"Oh lets go out for dinner with so and so and whatshisnuts"

The simple act of doing something that we have to do anyway when made exemplary and with the correct company?That can make connections that will last a lifetime. Why do you think Christmas dinner is always such a big deal?

So after saying all this about how important and magical and wonderful food is, how can I possibly say that at the end of the day it's just food? Because well...it is. You're gonna eat. I'm gonna eat. Like I said we've got to do it anyway. I've spent a good portion of my life eating crap. Sucking down bowls of canned soup with reckless abandon and letting myself believe that it was doing the trick. It wasn't. It tasted like shit and I knew it. When that chef told me that piece of advice so long ago now? I was near tears sucking down my third cigarette in as many minutes and physically shaking. I didn't even work in the kitchen then. I was pretty caught up in how everything in service didn't go perfectly that night. Some tables got screwed up. Some orders were done wrong. A table had to wait over an hour for their entrees. We didn't have any bread! Always with the goddamn bread! It was in that moment as he told me that piece of advice, that it really all made sense to me. The food we have in our lives, for those that care enough? Treat it with respect. Love it. Care for it. Nurture your relationship with food the same way you would a family member or loved one. If it doesn't turn out perfect? If you can't meet yours or other's expectations? If you fail it? If your sauce splits? If you turned your green beans into mush? If your rice is over salted? Well, you might be knee deep shit if you work in a kitchen at , I know I have been, but you need to know that if you truly love food and you want nothing more than to make it better? It's all ok. We don't all cook for a living. If you do and even if you don't, you want it to be the best every single day, or at least you should. You hate it when you're put in the position to have to choose between quality and having it ready to go RIGHT NOW. Food will always love you as much as you love it. Even though sometimes you just might break it's heart. Whatever horrible things you've done to food?It's ok, it's always willing to give you another shot because, well food knows man. Someone might tell you that whatever it is you just cooked for them isn't up to their standards. But you know you cared, you know you tried, you know you put that love into it. If you did all these things and you still couldn't make that person happy? In fact they're a little bit pissed off that it's not the way they wanted things? I'm sorry whoever you are, but at the end of the day it's just food buddy and you need to know that there's always Kraft Dinner.

Back in the Saddle Again

2010-07-20T17:34:00.000-07:00

I've got to be honest about some stuff with you.

I feel like the past year of my life has been one tremendous tangential loop that I went and got lost in, almost like a detour in a parallel universe. You ever see Back to the Future 2? Where Doc Brown is explaining that they're in a tangent time line where their current "reality" is a result of things in the past being changed? Well if you haven't I just explained it so now we're on the same page. Essentially I feel like last year when I was at high operating levels for what I wanted to be doing, writing, I made a choice that 'caused me to veer off into this parallel universe, chock full of negative stuff that incrementally weighed me down. Meanwhile the rest of the world I knew before continued on without me. As some of you know I got out of that parallel dimension. I quit the job that was the center of the universe. Got another that wasn't. Hurrah! I thought I'd done it, I thought I'd saved the day and that life was gonna be all fine and dandy since I'd removed that major glaring problem from life. Such is simply not the case. It was like I'd escaped some sort of mental car crash without completely obliterating myself and I'd assumed that just 'cause I wasn't dead I was totally ok. I wasn't. Frankly and without any sort of ego, I tend to live my life a little on the edge. The edge of my mind, the edge of my potential, the edge of my skills, the edge of my heart. Sometimes I feel like it's all on the edge of my sanity.

I compulsively attempt to push boundaries and take new challenges and problems head on. In the past year I've realized that I am someone that thrives on conflict. I hunger for it. When my life lacks any discernible challenges, problems or struggles? I go out and I make them. Because that is how I learn and grow. This was made most apparent to me this past Christmas. What is all the more startling about what I'm about to share is that I did not do any of it consciously and it was only in retrospect and through self reflection that I was actually able to realize what I'd done. The status-quo of my family often goes undisturbed until some sort of conflict forces the people and relationships to change in some way. Growing up this is the only way I'd ever learned to come to new solid ground with my family. Having been away from their, our, constant state of being for so long I felt largely unsettled with my relationships concerning my family. So what did I do? I went home and I picked a fight. I had no good reason to pick a fight. I didn't need to in order to discuss my issues but I did it anyway. It didn't dawn on me until weeks later ,once the problems had found resolution, what I'd done. Once this smaller realization came into focus I applied this new found theory to the larger scale of my life. The job that I was working? It was conflict of scope so large that I found it, this time only partially consciously, as one of the most taunting of riddles I would ever have the chance to solve. I look at life problems and conflicts and people so much as riddles and it is part of who I am as a person that drives me to make strong, sometimes sanity shaking, attempts to solve these riddles. Once the problem is solved the knowledge that I've acquired is forever retained. I failed to solve the riddle of that job. I was incapable of success. I have since accepted this because I view it more as an exercise in extreme failure and extreme failure can lead to as much and even, in my experience, more enlightenment than success.Success feels great, but as I see ,it only leaves a harder yearning for the next level of achievement. I now view that failure as a success all unto it's own. I was supposed to fail. There was no "winning" scenario for me there.

What came next was me gathering myself and my thoughts once more and scattering them on the table to take a good look at which parts of me needed some serious work if I was going to get my life back on track.

My employment status came right away as the immediate concern. I went from being a bartender earning roughly $3000 every two weeks to working in a kitchen and making $2000 a month. This, strange though it may , was not such a hard pill to swallow. I've come to learn how much money means in this world we live in while at the same time how very little it matters. When you have more money you spend more money. When you have less money you spend less money. It is all relative. When I had money what did I spend it on? Partying. When you're bar tending you party every night. Even if you're not drinking. You're still partying. It is your job to be the best, most attentive host who can keep the energy of a room up at all costs. For the record I was drinking for the majority of that time. I have no problem admitting that I thoroughly wasted the opportunity of wealth that I was presented with. I also must awknowledge that I was not living healthily for those many months. I was not taking care of myself. I had a lot of money but not much else and I wasn't happy, so well you can pretty much see the lesson in that. Aside from the dollar amount I was being paid the actual physical job I was doing at my new place of employment was completely different. I was so used to being good at my job that entering back into the role of near complete idiot was not so easy. It's taken a long time for me to declare myself "competent" at my current job. The kitchen has brought into my life a good number of very positive things. They are, in no order, : Eat food, drink water, get sleep. As a bartender you don't tend to do a lot of those things based around the commodity that you're presenting to the public. When you're a bartender you eat 'cause you have to, you drink water because it's too early for booze and you've already had a coffee. Sleep becomes something that you'll just get around to whenever the opportunity presents itself or whenever the kegs run out. With the new job it no longer was possible for me to show up to work hungover on an empty stomach with three hours sleep. I had to come to understand that pretty quick, otherwise I was going to go from being an idiot with the potential to learn to just an idiot pretty quick. I think that I've managed to find a balance in my relationship to the life and the ongoing party.

What came next on my docket was coming to terms with the relationships in my life and how those people had affected me, and I them. I've had to realize that sometimes we all just need to know when it's time to say when in regards to certain relationships. Is it wrong to move away from a relationship when that person no longer provides you with an equal to if not greater amount of "support" than you provide them? I don't think so. I think it's an honest thing to allow relationships and connections to come and go from your life in a way that makes sense to you. I don't believe that all these relationships are done forever, but I do believe that at times a certain amount of space is required to give the separate parties time to grown and learn unto their own without constant supervision of one and other. Upon freeing my time up I set out to re-connect with relationships that I had let drift.With this in mind I started to look at how my interactions with new relationships had left me as a person in the past year. My friendships during my time of obsession with the riddle were very solid, if overly saturated. However I was limited by my compulsion to solve that riddle so much so that the only relationships I allowed were those that fit into the convenience of the situation. Some of my past relationships I was able to reclaim with fervour and triumph. These relationships were let go simply because the logistics and priorities I made in my life did not condone the time to connect that would be needed to to maintain the entity of these bonds. I regret letting some of them go in the first place. Other relationships, whence returned to, I found were not stimulating in the slightest. It is a sad thing to see and speak to someone that you knew perhaps a lifetime ago and recognize that the change in their life has not been positive. That rather than evolve as a human being towards reaching a certain degree of self enlightenment and freedom, they've regressed into their own hearts and minds reinforcing all that they've decided they are and always will be, rather than looking forward to all that they could be. Finally I had to confront the situations where I as a person had not acted in a positive manner. Where I had leeched more than I had provided and in doing so had left others, often very new connections, drained of their energies and then abandoned. I had tremendous guilt in this. However, guilt is like money that has no worth only weight. I feel it should be acknowledged, understood and then let go lest you start hating yourself.

With my mind free and my relationships stabilized I started to let go of the achievement in all that I had done and became obsessed with all that I had not done. I set out like bolt of energy determined to make up for lost time. The result of this came after two months of piling more on my plate than I had any ability to fully digest. Accruing a grand slew of ideas and projects was wonderful but facing the commitment of each and every single one of them became a horror story all unto it's own. In concurrence I was: in a band, pursuing visual arts, writing and managing a heavy load of relationships all at the same time as working a brand new job where every day was a solid eight hours of work and education. In the end I had to realize that I was once more compulsively gathering riddles that I could easily lose myself in, and that if I continued to take on the world in every faucet of my considerable interests I was going to run myself dry. I'm not superman. I can't do everything all the time and in that, I've found sometimes more is certainly less. To do it all would have resulted in failure on all fronts. It took acceptance in knowing that all of those riddles would still be there for me to solve somewhere down the line. I have since chose to take that which mattered most to me and make that my focus. I believe that it was required that I go through that overexposure to ideas, people, interests and passions so that I may well come out the other end to once more focus on that which I wanted the most. Which is, and always has been, writing.

In many ways it feels like I've gone full circle. I'm back to that happy place where life is not easy, though it is not harrowing in it's difficulty. I have goals once more that are clear and are my own. I'm not obligated to anything farther than I choose to be and in that I am free. I think I needed to take the time in my life to understand my obsessions and passions and abilities. To control my obsessions. Pursue my passions. Strengthen my abilities. I don't regret what I've gone through, though at times I felt it hard. But we're always going to go through some hardship and some challenge. In my darkest moments there's usually someone there, thought not always right away, who can remind me of what I believe in.

To finish this I'd like to address why I do this. Why I take my cumulative life experience and offer it up to all you people. I've been accused of being egotistical and self congratulatory for doing it. I've been asked if I expect people to care about what's going on in my life and for the most part I don't. What I do here? When I talk about my life, my perceptions of it and how I've read into the fundamental and consistently altering aspects of who I am as a person? It's because I feel compelled to get it out. I can talk a blue streak about all this stuff because I find it fascinating. I understand that sometimes people don't give a shit about my epiphanies, and that's perfectly fine. My one on one time with people should be spent allowing others to share themselves as much as I share myself. This right here is where I get to empty my brain. It's resolution to a degree. I think a lot. What am I supposed to do with all these thoughts? When they're left to rattle around in my brain their combined noise becomes too much to handle and I start to question my sanity. Once they're out, once there written down? They don't have to stay in my head any more. If I want to revisit those thoughts or ideas in depth I can. I don't have to worry about losing them because they're here. Writing it all down lets the past be the past for me. If you're reading this and you've learned something from what I've talked about here that's great I'm happy for you. If you learned something about me and my life, and you're someone that I care about or who cares about me, but maybe we're just not so in touch most of the time? I really hope that one day we can re-secure our connection to each other.

In any event? It sure feels good to be back in the saddle again.

All the Lonely People

2010-06-28T13:17:00.000-07:00

I recently signed up for an online dating service. I'd always looked at such things as a cop out. I had the opinion that I was more than capable enough to meet women through conventional means and that I didn't need the helping hand of the internet. It's come to a point though where I've found my life wrapped up in so many different activities that I simply didn't have time to reach that all important first step of actually introducing myself to someone and from there building a foundation of a relationship, romantic or otherwise. So I ended up browsing profiles and searching for if not Ms. Right, Ms. RightNow.

They way it works is you find someone's profile you give it a healthy look over and then you can either decide to message them on the site. Or not. The profiles range from very detailed write ups about personal needs, expectations and tastes to people that define their interests in the simplest terms, such as "music" or "movies". Those that fell into the latter category tended to interest me very little. The site also offers the handy information age innovation of profile pictures, which allow you to determine whether or not you may be interested in a person physically which is obviously a fairly important part of the whole process of dating someone in the first place.

About the third or fourth day on the site I contacted a girl, lets call her Jane, because her profile listed her position of employment as, "Whisk Enthusiast". I thought it was cute enough, silly enough, and witty enough to provoke some sort of communication. The message I sent included comments concerning the best way to clean a whisk (whisk it!) as well as the Disney specific Robin Hood, which was listed in her profile as one of her other interests. From here a text based line of communication was formed, both of us sharing baroque commentary on life, and each others interests as a way of feeling the situation out. Eventually after a few more rounds of turn based conversation, which focused on cheese, our opinions concerning denim on denim, postal codes, and The Velvet Underground, we decided to meet in person and have a few drinks. The date was set for eleven on a sunday night in the West End of Vancouver.

I was early or she was late. It hardly matters because both of us showed up. I had already been sitting for at least a beer, scribbling in my note book attempting to appear scholarly in case she came in when I wasn't looking. She arrived and we launched into conversation without hesitation both of us smiling and attempting to feign any residual awkwardness by being completely forthright and loud about who we were. There was no bullshit factor of pretension that I could feel which was fairly refreshing. Too often there is the deadly trap of falling into a concrete status quo of personality long before we have a chance to give an accurate display of who we are and what we've got. We got straight to the meat and potatoes of the situation though. She told me of her relative satisfaction with just being. How she had worked at Canada post for years. How she was currently working at a hotel as something akin to a concierge, which wasn't as boring as it sounded. She referred to herself as a lush and the honesty of such a proclamation I found to be quite endearing. Perhaps that's because lush sounds so much better than drunk, or piss-tank. While talking about this she shared her love of sweet beverages muddled with fresh fruit and in particular Sangria. Reciprocal conversation was not an issue, which I was thankful for, as so many early stages of getting to know someone often involve one of the participants being quite stilted in their dialogue. She was, for all recollections, quite enchanting. She was very pretty with large eyes that popped even in the shallow bar light. She laughed loud and often. She had no apprehensions as to sharing just who she was and what she was all about which allowed me to do the same. The loud music of the bar proved to be too much of a detractor to our chin wagging and we decided to leave.

Once outside she asked me if I'd like to make a pit stop at her place for a jug of pre-mixed Sangria, a pair of glasses and a blanket before heading down to the beach. Such a proposition seemed to good to pass up, if anything it could be a good opportunity to drink some more, if not make out. We stopped at a drugstore along the way for club soda. She likes her Sangria with fizz. Inside the drugstore she began to tell me the stories of the people inside. Who they were, how she knew them or didn't know them. Several of them, whom she had not had extensive conversations with, she'd decided to make up back stories for. I carried the club soda and we made our way back to her place. A beaten old apartment building that had added charm for not falling into the clique of housing that accompanies Vancouver's West End. It was old and tattered around the edges like a long lost library book with the lingering odour of cigarettes from the long past days where consuming a pack of Marlboro's inside was not unheard of. She kept her apartment door unlocked, reasoning that there were two other doors that would have to be houdini'd through before someone would even have an opportunity to chose her door from all the others in the hallway of her floor. She also did not like the idea of the cat that slept inside dieing in the event of a fire, even though the concept of the cat being able to open the door was preposterous.

Inside her apartment I was treated to what may be one of the single most interesting experiments in housing decor that I've ever had the opportunity to see. Stacks, multiple, of books littered the apartment. Their style and contents completely undiscerning. VHS tapes littered the apartment with reckless abandon and had about the same amount of cohesion as her taste in literature. Jewelry salvaged from a thousand garage sales of a thousand people's grandmothers hung from the walls. She first apologized for the mess and then informed me that despite the apparent chaos she was able to find most of her belongings with relative ease. Her bedroom contained one slouching futon mattress with a set of beleaguered looking sheets akimbo on the bed, along with a non-flat screen tv, tremendous in size, that loomed forward towards her bed. The VHS player was attached to the TV and several more towers of celluloid tape video cassettes were stacked around it, some without their cardboard sheathes. The bedroom was not explored much farther than the curious gaze that I snuck in there. The kitchen was filled with a menagerie of dirty glassware. I wasn't appalled or anything though she allowed her insecurities to show for a moment asking me to excuse the mess, she had thrown an impromptu party the night before. I commented that that must be why there was a half drank Texas mickey of vodka sitting in the corner. There was, and that was indeed the reason. She pulled a tupperwear juice jug out of the fridge which was redolent with cheap red win and citrus. Perhaps the most interesting thing about her apartment was the vast collection of antlers which hung from various walls around the room. Deer antlers mostly, though there were a few sets from the Elks of north strewn with little thought upon other areas of the room. My memory fails me now as to the exact specific reason for why she had so many of them. I do know that she found them to be quite wonderful and on that satisfaction with her collection alone I was quite enamoured.

Down to the beach. The farther we moved away from the golems of housing that litter the West End the more it became apparent that it was a windier night than either of us expected and trucking down a hill we found one solitary tree on the beach that inexplicably offered us perfect cover from the elements. Once we were sitting and the adult Kool-Aid poured into our coffee mugs the conversation shifted away from our own personal quirks and quarks, of which we'd both had our fill of for the evening. We started to share, or rather she started to share, experiences of dates procured from the Internet past. I was quite interested, this being my first engagement provided by the Internet. She told of how she'd met a guy whom she'd dated for a while via the website in question. How they'd dated for about five months before he went back to his ex girlfriend. She brought up the nightmare date where she was trapped on Wreck Beach with a total jag off. For those of you that have never been to Wreck Beach, there is a monster set of stairs that one must take too and from the water. After going down, one does not want to immediately go back up. Once she was all the way down, their picnic set up, the guy proceeds to light up a joint knowing full well that she does not partake in cannabis. She made it clear to me here that she had no qualms with dope smoking, she merely doesn't participate. Later he attempted to kiss her and she decided against allowing him an unwanted smooch and pulled back. This on it's own would, I suppose, be awkward enough though she made a face as she did so. A "no don't kiss me, like ever" face. From here, half cut already, I took a slurp on my sangria and made some sort of leading question as to whether or not she'd make that same face if I tried to kiss her. She informed me that she wouldn't and that was that. We kissed for a while, talked for a while longer, kissed a little bit more and then I walked her home. I said goodnight to a young beautiful woman with a semi drunk cavalier grin and a laugh.

I would be informed several days later that while she enjoyed her time with me, she didn't want to pursue dating any farther. I was fine with this. While it had been an enjoyable evening and while I did find her quite lovely there had been no immediate spark. There was no jack-knifing flip flops in the pit of my stomach as I struggled to find words with which to impress her. She was beautiful though. One of the many beautiful women out there in the world. Looking for that same thing. That connection. That caring. That spark.

What happens to all these beautiful women I wonder? For that matter, what happens to all these beautiful people? All these beautiful lonely people. Online dating or no. What happens to all you beautiful people? What do you do all day? Where would you rather be? Have you loved and lost? Are you looking for first loves? Are you tired of doing it all alone? Do you just need someone to hear you? Are you bored? Are you tired of all the booze and bad music it takes to meet someone you may end up hating? Maybe you want to be loved. Maybe you just want to be fucked. Maybe you just need something to take the edge off. You are the ones that know what you're looking for yet, for whatever reasons, you're unable to attain it. Where do you come from? Where do you belong? All you lonely people.

Welcome to life.

2010-06-08T03:38:00.000-07:00

Life, will always go on. My mother said it, my grandparents have always said it and it's something that will forever ring true. Life doesn't cease being a struggle, and often times just when you think you've earned a big ol break? That's when life asks you to suck it up just that bit more. Sometimes you're asked to face down a lot of what happened to you in the past. Decisions you made. Decisions you didn't get to make. Whatever happened next, that middle bit that invariably will always follow whatever cataclysmic shit storm that sparks the next course in your life? That's where life gets lived. Its in the margins. The creases. The ink stains. The blood smears. The scars. The tears. The people. The places.The love. The lessons. All those things are always going to be there. You're always going to be involved in something that carries you away and takes most of your attention away from that which you've decided so desperately that you want. And that's if you're lucky enough to have figured out what it is that you actually want in life. We all get degrees. Some of us get to go to school for them. Some of us don't. Some of us choose not to. We all earn some sort of cred eventually. One things for sure, you're never gonna stop learning about life. If you think you've got things figured out? You're dead wrong. Life gives and life takes away, but at the end of it, and believe me I know it's a big fat cliche but it's true, life only ever gives us that which we need in the worst absolute way. You're gonna fail. You're gonna succeed. Take pride in the latter, and lessons from the prior. There is no win or lose in life, because life just keeps going.

You're gonna meet some beautiful people. You never need to justify what makes them beautiful to you, to anyone else. Especially them. The loves that we take, the ones that really shape us and our hearts? That love carries over and it teaches us how to continue loving and caring for those that we bring into our lives, as well as the people that we keep in our lives. You'll never love everyone equally, that's what makes our greatest loves so dear and near to our hearts. Understand when someone is showing you love and how they show it to you. It's probably not the exact same way that you show love, but that doesn't make their love any less valid. Sometimes other people place love on you that for whatever reasons, believe me there are many, you're just not able to accept . Love isn't easy, but it shouldn't be treated as a guilty burden. When love comes your way I hope that you understand what it truly means to take an other's heart in your hands. Please, no juggling.

You're gonna be really pissed off every now and then. That's just how things go. Your anger is gonna be valid some of the time, but just the same? Anger and aggression doesn't really solve a lot of problems. Own your anger. Know why you're angry and sort it out before you let it do the talking, or worse the acting, for you. Sometimes you're just gonna get royally screwed and end up in a big fat wreck. That's where you suck it up and let all the blame fall as it may, get out of that crash, get yourself where you need to be and then you can figure things out. By then? Tempers may have calmed and your anger won't have to clash so hard with that of another person. We're all probably a little bit too repressed.Our anger can be an amazing motivator to make things happen, but don't let the gas in the car sit in the drivers seat. When you're seeing red your rear view mirrors tend to get a little cloudy. Watch your own ass before you get on someone else's.

You're gonna be afraid. Every single day of you're life. Our fears have the ability to dominate and control our minds and our lives. Living ever day of your life not taking chances, or completely avoiding anything that might look like a chance because you're afraid of the outcome, Good or bad, is not productive living. Fear is something to be conquered. Until you overcome those fears and lingering nagging doubts that often come from the minds of others? You'll never really take control of your life. I'm not saying that you're gonna run in there and take on an entire swarm of dragons with one shield, a busted sword, and some bow and arrow. You take your fears on at a time and you've gotta treat the biggest ones with a healthy amount of respect. Arm yourself well for dealing with those big old beasties. There's usually a reason you stayed so far away from that dragon in the first place. Until you understand why? You'll never be able to slay it.

Try to live with compassion. Understanding every single day that every other person in this world is living their life much the same way that you're living yours. They have the same fears, doubt, struggle, traffic, pay cheque, phone bill, partner (Or lack thereof), that you do. Everyone is trying to live their life the best way that they know how. They may not all have the ability to grasp what's going on with them or their surroundings as well as you do. Be thankful for all that you have and understanding for that which they may not. To truly live with compassion is to be without sympathy. Sympathy is useless. Empathy is a weight not often enough shouldered. To truly attempt to understand what someone is coming from, going through and living? Is to live the compassionate life. Exercise with extreme caution, and understand that people's issues as gripping as they are? Are not yours. Do not take someone else's weight without fully being able to commit it to them. No one likes a flake, or even worse an asshole.

I hope that you've got something to be hopeful for. Hope is the incarnate belief in that which you have naught the ability to control. When you're in a tight spot backed up in a narrow alley and you're runnin' out of warmth and light? That's when you want some hope. If you really believe deep down inside you at your core that everything is gonna be all right? Then somehow things will turn out all right. Don't let all your hoping run out though. Sooner or later you can run a debt of that sorta thing.Spend enough time hopin' it'll rain? It probably will. Doesn't mean you can't go get yourself a glass of water if you're thirsty. You've gotta keep your credit good on the wishin and prayin' by lending others a light when they're backed up tight in that alley. Hope is fueled by those who have the ability to bring fruition to hope itself. Make sure you always keep hope alive.

All these things that came before this? They ARE gonna happen in life at one point or another. You're all gonna be afraid. You're all gonna be angry. You will all love if you really choose to. You're going to feel compassion without even knowing it. You'll find yourself hopeful all the time. You can't really control a lot of this. Some of it you can, most of it you can't. But there's one thing that I think we can all agree on, if you really want to? You can control yourself. You are the single greatest mind that you will ever have a chance to control. Your willpower and interminable ability to shape the universe at your will is the most powerful asset you will ever posses. I don't care what skills you've got, how smart you are, what you know, who you know, how you came to know any of it. If you have the perseverance and dedication to whatever your actually care about? You CAN make it happen. You gotta have goals. You've gotta be able to keep your sights on them even when there's a billion different little clouds of bullshit fogging up your vision. You're gonna have to deal with all those little clouds differently. Use the array of skills that you as a person have developed over the course of your life. You're totally capable. Your methods might be different from mine. Your friends might think you crazy. Your teachers and "superiors" might tell you that's not the traditional way, but if you've got the willpower to reach that ultimate goal of yours? Give 'Em Hell. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. All these other things in life that you just can't control? Treat them with the adequate respect and care that they all deserve. But stay the course, keep that willpower charged but maximum, and kid? You'll move mountains.

Dedicated to my Sister Allison Matfin, Graduated into life 2010

Other Stuff that's just good to know:
-Keep a clean kitchen, people appreciate that.
-Take care of your feet, your cool lookin' shoes still need arch support.
-Sex, Drugs, and rock and roll are all thoroughly awesome, but understand when its time to say when...this goes for booze too.
-Sometimes an asshole is just that, and unless you like assholes? They're not worth your time.
-Drink way more water than you think you should.
-Cry when you can, suck it up when you need to.
-A little hard work never killed anyone.
-When you're both drunk? Figure it out in the morning.
-No one ever got pissed off at you for buying the beer.
-Someone has to buy toilette paper
-Be on time.
-You're gonna like some music that some people are probably gonna hate. It's not the end of the world.
-When you're sick? It's awesome if someone brings you something good. Remember to return the favor.
-Eat up, you're gonna need the energy.
-Write important stuff down. You never know when your computer or phone is gonna die.
-Tip, you're not sixteen anymore.
-Floss.
-Live hard.

Masters of the Universe

2010-04-27T12:27:00.000-07:00

Zack was the first person to truly listen to me tell a story. Considering my passions you may well understand how much this means to me. As much as I can remember the first instance of me spinning a yarn came in the back yard of our very first house. I would take the characters that graced saturday morning cartoons and co-opt them to my own story telling purposes. Chip 'N Dale's Rescue Rangers was the template and my brother and I took on the roles. Here started a game that would offer us hours of entertainment and joy until our ages reached a point where the activity of playing make believe was no longer socially acceptable. Over the years what started with basic re-enactments of the celluloid animation we'd just watched evolved into a very carefully structured world of beggining, middle and end, all to be gloriously played out by a group of nine year olds with nerf guns, plastic swords and cardboard throwing stars. There was about nothing that my mother hated more than to see a group of children sitting inside trying to watch crap TV in the middle of a glorious summer day. For that matter my mother was non-discerning, it didn't matter what kind of day it was you were not gonna be in the house for all of it or even any of it if she could help it. My brother, the best friends of our childhood, and I were swiftly exiled to the ten acres of property which served as our universe and with nothing more than a few dime novel ideas we would turn it into an operatic display of heroics complete.

It would start in relatively the same manner every time. Myself being a compulsive reader, and consumer of the cinema would dust off a story that I'd already heard from the back of my brain and assign roles to each of the boys who would stand there looking at me as if they weren't sure if I was a bossy idiot or just crazy. I feel sure that these faces would have remained skeptical had it not been for the ready acceptance of my brother to step through the looking glass into whatever story I'd re-arranged to suit our purposes. Maybe he was just used to it? Maybe he really liked playing make believe? Maybe he knew that in order for it to all work out I needed his help. And so, with Zack on board the others would very shortly follow suit and we would take to the woods marching around fighting imaginary aliens to the brink of the universe and back, periodically stopping and sitting in our "spaceship" to eat some carrot and celery sticks while we travelled to a distant moon at least four solar systems away. There is very little, in my opinion, that can match up with the satisfaction of decapitating an intergalactic centurion in an effort to save the day while your mother gardens only forty or so meters away. This was an activity that we as brother's shared with whomever wanted in. Make believe is not an exclusive club, it's open to anyone that wants in. There was something more, however, that was only shared by my brother and I that has shaped so much of my life.

"Playing Toys", or "Playing Action Figures" was the nirvana of storytelling for me as a kid. I went to other boy's houses and was allowed a glimpse into their toy chests, often filled to the brim with varieties of action figures that I only dreamed of possessing. Within twenty minutes I was usually, if not enraged, disgusted. The simple process of taking two toys and smashing them together did not, at least in my arrogant nine year old opinion, constitute playing. Not only did I witness so many friends of mine completely demolish their toys, but there was nothing to show for it. In my own home my action figure collection had a diversity that was ranged from the age, style, brand, and even character of the toy. I did not want to have two or three Leonardo or Donatello's. What would one do with multiples of the same character? But why does that matter right? They are, after all, just toys. Toys that would be played with and annihilated in time. Well not to me they weren't. Each and every single action figure that I owned while retaining the name branded to them by their corporate producer, each had a separate identity ,character and place in what would become a sprawling sci-fi epic that took place over almost six years of play.

In the summers we would spend countless hours constructing tree forts and grassy outposts for our characters. Most of the time it involved me roping Zack in as if we were cleaning out the storm gutters or something else equally mind numbing but simply mandatory. The bossiness and self affirmation that only a nine year old can possess must have come flooding forward as I sent my brother on missions into the house for string, scissors, popsicle sticks, cardboard, glue, markers, paint and the other accouterments that are needed to assemble a multiple platform tree house for your action figures. In the winter snow made life easier in so many ways as it could be easily shaped as per our needs, though on so many blustery days it became a nuisance as my toys were easily lost in the win drifts, in some case not to be seen again until spring. This was where I injected the "wormhole" and "alternate dimension" concepts into my story telling, attempting to make sense of the sudden disappearance of a character. In the spring and fall as the weather became less permitting to the ease of play with small plastic figures outside we would migrate the story inside. Large toy planes and characters dangling from fishing line became a constant sight in our house as aerial battles became a favorite setting of mine.

Time wore on. Story lines came to a close. It became habitual for me to retire specific toys and their characters as I looked for more compelling plot threads that could only come from the shocking death or banishment of certain personalities in the story. Then came those final saddening days where I knew that not to far in the distance it would no longer be so cool, at the age of fourteen, for me to be playing with action figures. It was around this time that I began to develop as a craftsman of prose. I knew that I had loved that story so terribly much and that I wanted to have it recorded forever. And so began the massive undertaking of collecting a mythology 6 years running and filtering it through my brain so that the essence of the tale could be distilled forever. I would go through weeks on end of plugging out the details of not only the story itself by the vast technologies, philosophies and characters that inhabited it. I still have to this day binders filled to the brim with drawings of my personae, and cross section diagrams of their fortresses and vehicles. Along the way I would stop and let Zack read what I had accumulated so far. I was often looking to see if I was accurate in my re-countenance of the tale as my brother was the only one to witness it. He would often blow through it with all the speed of reading he possessed, which had eclipsed my own, and look at me with a shrug and tell me that it was pretty good. His lack of immediate enthusiasm did not fetter me at all as I knew that in many cases I had dragged him along in the adventure. He didn't feel the same connection to it that I did, but he understood my connection and was always there to help me feel passion and pride in my story telling.

We're hard pressed to find any real facts that trace back to our first real moments of awareness. When did we really start being as a person? I can't say that I truly know. However part of it for me will eternally be when I realized that I was not alone in childhood. My brother is roughly a year and a half younger than me. The conscious thought that is afforded a year and a half year old doesn't really extend much farther than him trying to no longer shit in his pants, so it was almost a shock to me when coming to, just passing out of the haze of infancy, I took notice of immediately having a friend.

Until my brother found his feet there wasn't really anyone else to play with consistently. Growing up in rural British Columbia made play dates with other kids not only a hassle for mothers but challenging for kids. With the clearest perception I can muster dating back to my year as a three year old, I can still vividly remember some little SOB beating the shit out of me in the sandbox. Once my brother could walk it was all I really needed. In some ways I think his inability to speak throughout the first years of our existence together stimulated my addiction to speech and cultivated his ability to keep his mouth shut. Characteristics which have both aided and plagued us respectively for years.

In so many ways Zack has always been the Hobbes to my Calvin. Our relationships has been a series of him listening to me say and do things that are simply ridiculous. He has always been my validation. The person that gave me acceptance as to my own nature and through that allowed me to feel good about whatever I was saying or doing no matter how fool-hardy it may have seemed. I cannot count the number of times that I've told my brother about girls I've been in the pursuit of, with a fever on my breath that comes with allowing yourself to get lost in emotions. Zack has for years had the same relative reaction to my outbursts. He calmly listens to me nods along for a few moments and then accepts that that's just who I am and what I do.

"Zack! I'm totally in fucking love! Like holy shit this chick just blows my world away!", I say...or at least something to that effect.

"Oh?", he replies in the universal tone which means tell me more.

From here on in I spill my guts for twenty minutes or so before the kettle that is my mind finishes boiling over and I finally ask about his life for a change.

The truth is Zack set the bar for what I would look for in a friend early in my life. But that's what a brother does. A brother is and always will be a constant friend. As much as I've always dragged him right into the middle of one fine mess after another? I never would have been able to make it through even half of those messes if he wasn't there. There are few people that you can count on to be there for you when you're defending the universe against the invasion of Alien hordes, but lucky for the universe my brother has always been there for me. He gave me the control I needed at the times in my life where it seemed that every desire and need was beyond my power. He gave me my own universe and together we were the masters of it.

The Gods of War

2010-04-19T13:46:00.000-07:00

I went and saw the movie Kick-Ass last night. I loved it. It was everything I wanted it to be. Fantastical. Funny. Gritty. Offensive. And Violent. I had read the comic books before the first trailer had even hit the Internet and was pleased to see that the film retained nearly all the gore and camp of the original form. However much I enjoyed the film though, I do find it tiresome that for people to see it as satirical it must be stated as such in press pieces across the board. It smacks just a little bit too much of telling people that it's ok to love violence this much. Y'now just in case you couldn't tell that much of the violence in this movie is a commentary on our current society's blood lust? We'll just tell you so you can sit back and watch how awesome it is to see seven mobsters get shot in the face in six seconds. Now Kick-Ass was definitely one of the smarter movies I've seen that contained more bloodshed than a holiday weekend in Darfur. It is, however an exception to the rule.

Violence, in my opinion, is second to fame as the most marketable concept on earth. There is a big reason that UFC 115 in Vancouver sold out in thirty minutes. Because violence is in right now, big time. Violence never goes out, but it does get more popular from time to time. A friend of mine explained it to me fairly succinctly last week. North America has gotten so fat and lazy that we've lost our edge. We're not a world leader in much except being slothful self righteous assholes. We're not productive as a society. We're slowly becoming irrelevant, because as the world continues to wallow in it's destruction we seem fairly content to just sit back eat a couple of quarter pounders and watch the fights. Violence, from an economical standpoint? Is good. Violence gets us motivated, it gets the blood pumping. Don't believe me? Remember when the movie "300" came out? I think you'd be hard pressed to find a group of guys that weren't all riled up by the spectacle of brutality that the movie presents. It is not a hard thing to understand for the most part. Tough guys going to protect what's theirs 'cause they'll be god damned if any foreigner is going to take away their freedoms? This allegory is about as precise as using a hammer for a heart transplant, but it sure as shit served it's purpose. It may sound far fetched but I generally believe that the powers that be are trying to figure out some way to get us off our collective butts before our North American standard of living is overrun by a society that is more fuel efficient in more ways than one.

My mother was right in a lot of ways. We're just becoming more and more desensitized to violence every year. My mother was always worried about me as a kid. I wasn't allowed to watch Ninja Turtles, play violent video games, or play hockey because she was afraid that I would become part of a neanderthal group of society who takes it's cues from aggressive instinct and pack mentality. I've always argued her on this. I did not believe that me watching my beloved Ninja Turtles, or shooting aliens in the face would create a violent person out of me, and I still don't. But that's mostly thanks to the strong morals and concepts instilled in me by my parents. I was brought up to believe that there is no good reason to hit another person unless you are in a situation where physical violence is the only option. I was told that violence in media wasn't real and therefore should not be emulated. Less and less I think it's the kids we have to worry about. Kids inherently have an idea of what's right and wrong and it's up to their parents and role models to nurture this set of morals helping to create a legitimate human being in the future. I mean that is what being a parent is about to a degree right? To hear about the person known as "Ronnie" on TV's "Jersey Shore" engaging in a verbal and then physical confrontation with another guy I'm sickened. Pride apparently means so much that it's worth hurting another person to protect it. These are the people that we put on TV and make demi god's out of? People who's social ineptitude and chest thumping goes so far as to hurt someone else based on something they've said? Disgusting.

When I worked in the bar UFC fight nights became a ritual headache. The place I worked thankfully did not show the fights. That being said we were still exposed to the target audience of the fights after they'd been completed. On one instance I was treated to a trio of social reprobates who, after watching the fights, found it acceptable to be extremely drunk, high on more than a little cocaine, and making unwanted advances on several tables of women. That's the thing about UFC to me, it makes guys who think they're tough, feel like they've suddenly got nuts the size of cantaloupes. Their aggression so ignited by the physical confrontation of a pair of sweaty crotch punchers that they now feel a need to express their own brand of exhibitionist masculinity. I will make my peace right now with those of you that do enjoy UFC but are not complete idiots. I know plenty of you who enjoy watching mixed marital arts who are not about to go out and start public fights. They enjoy the sporting aspect of physical combat and it stays in the ring. I would say that those who's aggression levels raise after the fights are a minority, but sadly in the case of UFC I just don't think it's true.

Now I must face my own hypocrisy. How can I denounce violence so heartily when I myself am fond of sports such as Hockey, and Boxing which are debatable as just as violent if not more so than UFC. I think it came to a point with me where I had to face my own embrace of aggression. Acceptance of aggression is one step towards controlling yourself when your aggressions arise. I think that once someone crosses the line between physical and competitive play into the territory of "intent to injure" then we've got a problem. When the pain means more than the game you're entering some dark territory. Recently there has been a rash of high speed head shots in the national hockey league. I'm in the camp that says this is not acceptable or in any way excusable. Accident Schmaccident, you did the crime you pay the time. Back to the point of all of this, having violence and aggression in popular culture and media. I like it. I like violence in movies and video games. It is an aspect of conflict that we as a society will always find compelling because it plays parallel to our own drive for survival and achievement. Yet more and more I find that we as a people instead of accepting our aggressions and allowing their safe and healthy release? We are now bowing down to an altar of Sadism. And whether your deity is shattering someone else's jaw with his shin, racking up umpteen triple kills in Call of Duty, or calls himself "The Situation", they are all just gods of war and will never stop demanding sacrifices until you stop believing in them.

Help Yourself

2010-04-02T18:23:00.000-07:00

For those of you that don't already know. I quit my job. There are lots of reasons but fundamentally? It came down to the fact that I was no longer doing something that I wanted to do anymore. My goals and passions had gotten lost in a bog of responsibility and politics. For nearly three months my writing has fallen severely by the wayside. My friendships ignored. My redeeming qualities? They felt like they were being shed much like a reptile's skin. I spent so much time wrapped up in the chaos that was my every day life that I forgot all of my oh so preachy teachings about remaining zen and staying positive. I talked more, listened a lot less. I got sick of people who I had so thoroughly enjoyed the company of before. I spent all day every day listening to other people because It was part of my job. When I finally got some time where I was allowed to talk about me? My mouth runneth over. It's all I did. When I get on a roll I can give Tennesee Willams a run for his money. I wasn't writing, and as such found my need to express myself through forms linguistic coming out of my mouth instead of my keyboard. But my need to express myself isn't the point.

I took the job in the first place because it was going to offer me more financial security than I'd ever had before. With that money I wouldn't have to worry about doing any of those things that you just generally have to do to survive. Food, housing, phone. Covered. I thought that with that security I was going to have so much more time to write and be with the people that I really want to be around. But it seems like money and dreams can often be mutually exclusive. After all what's that they say? Dreams will cost some money, but money? That'll cost some dreams. It's not an easy thing to turn your back on, knowing that all the little perks in your life are going to be gone real soon. But is an easy thing to accept once you've decided to do it. Security or freedom? Which do you value more? In the end that's what a lot of life comes down to. Are you willing to sacrifice your freedoms for your securities? I was for a while. I wasn't sure I was ever going to get those freedoms back for a while.

I felt like something was going to happen. I was starting to get paranoid. A year ago I broke my back. A year before that I had to have emergency surgery at roughly the same time. The year before that I'd lost my job and had my house broken into. Maybe trouble comes in threes but I wasn't willing to believe in glass half full superstition. I got really afraid that something was going to happen to me, or if not me then someone else in my life. I didn't really know what to do with myself and my manic obsession with how much I didn't like my life very much. So I didn't really do much of anything. I just let myself get more and more run down. Not taking care of my mind, my body and my future. I think a lot of people must get stuck like this and just stay that way for years. Repetition while needed to sustain my life also drives me insane. I hate doing the exact same thing over and over and over again. A little bit less than a month ago my life was as such. Wake up at two in the afternoon. Drink a coffee. Surf the net. Play PlayStation. Go get some food. Go to work. Finish work. Drink some drinks. Repeat. That was it. There wasn't really anything in there that let me think that tomorrow was going to be that much different from the day before it. Unless I had to do laundry. It got to a point where doing laundry was something I looked forward too! Isn't that some kind of fucked up? All the while most of my fleeting thoughts were occupied with paranoia that I was going to die in a car crash or something. It was around here....that I decided it was time for a change.

I went through a fleeting forty eight hours of feverish insanity where I was convinced that I was going to abandon my life again and just up and move to Montreal. Hit the reset button. Move 'cross country. I'm glad that my mind settled and I decided that that was not the right plan. Adventurous and certainly a possibility in the future, but right now? I want one more rock and roll summer in Vancouver. It feels like last year was only a taste of what the city can really offer when you're going out and making things happen. One thing was certain though, I was going to quit my job. So I did. The first week of my last two dragged on like a cheese grater down your back. The second was about me saying goodbye, which was a very satisfying and appreciative feeling. Not fifteen hours after I'd left Falconetti's for the last time as an employee I was on a ferry to Vancouver island.

What did I do there? I stayed with friends. I ate really good food. Drank really nice beer. Talked. Walked. Thought. Did not do anything in excess. And for the first time in months? I was allowed to exist outside the context of my "world" which had so thoroughly been weighing down every single aspect of me. I came to find in Victoria that I was ready to start over again. That I wanted to learn some knew life skills, new professional skills, and new relationship skills. Which leads me to where I've ended up. A line cook. I think a fair number of people think I'm crazy. But they don't really matter. What I'm doing now provides me with a new sense of wonder and learning that I'm actually passionate about. Hasn't been a day in the past three years where I haven't stepped inside a restaurant and not known how to do my job. Now? I'm the complete idiot and I'm taking advantage of all the knowledge around me. I'm happy. I'm a lot more tired physically. But well it's a lot better than being tired from being overslept and drunk.

Why am I talking about all of this though? Well it's something that I needed to say I guess, that's why I do these things. That being said? I've come to realize that while my life may be full of little and large lessons, I certainly don't need to climb on top of my massive soapbox every time I have a epiphany. As a bartender I learned that it was my job to give myself to people. Most of the time? I was giving so much more of myself than I wanted to. Who I am? The real me? That's for the people that I love and care about. I didn't want to give my best stories with some drunk asshole. I didn't want to be everyones best friend. I didn't want to feel as though being me was a job all in it's own. Now? I share my life with who I want, how I want, when I want. Because you can't give yourself to someone who doesn't want you, and likewise no one should be able to take who you are without your consent.

I got off topic again. I'm going to be making more and more of an effort to talk about my life less over the coming months. That is not to say that I won't, but I'm tired of using other people as my sounding board just so I can reassure myself that am still me. I want to hear about other people's lives. I want to become a part of other people's lives. I want to learn what makes the people in my life tick. I want to be there to support them. The chorus from the song "Help yourself" by Sad Brad Smith held a lot of meaning for me in the past few months.

I know you'll help us when you're feeling better and we realize that it might not be for a long, long time
But we're willing to wait on you
We believe in everything that you can do if you could only lay down your mind
I want you to try to help yourself

Everyone in my life was pretty amazingly supportive for me through this rough patch. I thank every single one of them. For their support but also for letting me go through this roller coaster in my own way.

I'm not sure how many people will read this. It's just a bit of honesty.

Video Killed the Radio Star

2010-03-13T16:00:00.000-08:00

Less than a minute into Lady GaGa's video "Telephone" one thing becomes abundantly clear to me. Teenage boys across North America are rejoicing and a percentage of female girls gain another skewed perception of sexuality. Millions sign up for a Verizon phone. Happy fucking day.

Lets get one thing straight. I don't like music videos for the most part. Video killed the radio star man. When an artist's image and visual conception started to matter more than their actual craft? That's when I think things started to go downhill for the mainstream record industry. Not money-wise of course. That being said there are music videos that I like and I appreciate. The notion of a music video to me is a visual representation of the song that is being preformed. Sadly this usually isn't the case. Rarely do I watch a music video that gives an adequate representation of the song that it is paired with. This is largely because I think that most songs that hit the top forty charts are vapid piss poor excuses for music. These songs use skilled directors, costume designers and cinematographers to lend credence to the music through visual stimulation. Rather than sell your song as a song you market it as an image driven smorgasbord of tits and cultural stereotypes. Simply put great video plus shitty song equals a near fuck ton of money. There are exceptions to this near scientific law. Every now and then an artist produces a quality song that is backed up by a quality video, and thus my slipping faith in matters of the record industry regains a slight toehold.

I watched Lady GaGa's nine minute epic "Telephone" in an effort to discern why people are talking about it and why it needed nine minutes of footage to convey a fairly simple message. She is apparently in the club. Her phone keeps ringing. Presumably it's her boyfriend, or girlfriend. Who cares. She basically says no I'm not picking up my phone so stop calling. I'm gonna dance and get wasted, please fuck off. Ok, yea as pop songs go I can handle that. It's not Bob Dylan but it'll serve it's purpose. But why this song needed a 9 minute extravaganza with several different celebrities, 6 very obvious product placements, and gratuity on every level is beyond me.

The video opens with some fairly well designed credits that attribute the script to GaGa and the director Jonas Ackerlund. I really hoped that I might have been treated to an actual display of artistic interpretation of the song. I'd never heard the song before ,and looking back had I? I may have had lower expectations. Aside from GaGa and Ackerlund I heard that Tarantino was involved somehow. He is. It's just no farther than donating the "Pussy Wagon" truck from "Kill Bill". Oh Tarantino how you just love attention and the most current incarnation of Madonna. The video is shot brilliantly. It's as simple as that, there are things that just look good and this video does. Sexy women in prison? A cat fight between two scantily clad inmates? GaGa fully exposed aside from some nipple tape? Grrrrowr! Mothers should know that their teenage boys will be going through tissue paper at an alarming rate until all this hoopla blows over. The video progresses through GaGa going to prison, being bailed out by Beyonce and then driving to some small ass diner in the middle of nowhere where they proceed to poison Tyrese Gibson (If you say who? May I direct your attention to the stunning masterpiece of Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen. He was the black guy) along with the entire clientele of said diner. They pose in front of the pussy wagon, high five and then drive off into the sunset. I'm not entirely sure what this has to do with not picking up your phone in the club? But I don't quite get Jersey Shore either so maybe I'm just an idiot. The brief moments of dialogue are just re-hashed Tarantino bits that aren't even clever in their homage. Take that recipe for a video, pepper it with camera focused shots on Verizon, Diet Coke, Polaroid, Wonder Bread, and Miracle Whip, throw in a few skanky dance routines and you've got yourself nine minutes of your life that you're just never going to get back.

There are people that are apparently losing their shit over how suggestive end explicit this video is. I think they're getting upset for the wrong reasons. Sure it is explicit, and normally I don't have a problem with that. But, like so many others, this is just being explicit for the sake of being explicit. It's an exhibitionist display of sex, fame, and advertisement that's trying to pass itself off as a legitimate artistic collaboration. Sexuality, legitimate female empowerment, and suggestive dancer numbers are all good. The truley explicit part of it all lies inside the advertising, cultivated personalities, and lack of substance inside a wrapper that claims mental nutrition. I wonder how long it's going to take this song to rocket to the top of the charts? I wonder how much money everyone involved made? I wonder how many people actually think this video is cool? I wonder if I'm starting to get old and cranky for not likin' them kids music? I wonder what cell phone provider GaGa is using that she can't get reception in the club? What I don't have to wonder about? Is whether or not Lady GaGa has a cock....thank god they clear that up in the first two minutes of the video.

Olympic coverage: My Own Little Bit of Chaos

2010-02-25T16:38:00.000-08:00

Welcome back to Vancouver 2010. Most days I take a stroll anywhere I find myself thinking the exact same thing. Kindly get out of my city, stop making a huge mess and for chrissakes don't stand still in the middle of downtown sidewalks. I know people that regard cities as cancers on the earth. I look at them as wonderful feats of social engineering. I sublime machination of people that, while often in need of repair, operates with some sort of structure. Right now my beautiful machine is hemorrhaging oil and causing a little bit too much exhaust. I'm not sure if it's just my own little bit of chaos that has made the past week seem extremely tense or if I've had my own little bit of chaos partly because of that which surrounds me. It could also just be that it felt like the world was gonna end because we lost that hockey game.

I'm happy to see that Roots has a new line of Canadian clothing. It really makes me worry about Nike and Visa. It's also nice to see that those of you with MasterCard's and debit can purchase this clothing without a lot of hassle. Or mile long lineups. I was in the Bay downtown and the sections of the store with Olympic clothing are quarantined off like it's fucking Chernobyl. I think that it's probably been some dark days for customer service in the households section of the bay. If you need help picking out a new washer/dryer? I'm sorry to say you're probably fucked. I wonder if the Bay did a big batch hiring? It's probably not true but I imagine that they had lotteries from all the Bays over Canada where a handful of lucky employees got to come to Vancouver to bend over with the rest of us for two and a half weeks.

I would be remiss in my report if I didn't run some commentary on the events. Did everyone else see how rockin' John Montgomery's bod was? The CTV banner when he won gold? Was the shirtless picture of him raising the Canadian flag the only one the media had in their archive? John Montgomery...Canadian sex symbol. For the record I will now refer to February 24 forever as "Hockey Day". I enjoy it when my chosen sporting team wins. I also enjoy it when my sporting team wins against the Russians. Ovechkin's fury was probably close to matching the elation that could be felt throughout the entire country as the Canadian squad bested the Russians 7-3. I wonder if losing Olympic athletes get post traumatic stress disorder?

There's only a few more days left in this city sized rock show. I'm starting to feel like a Cat that's been tossed into a dryer. For the most part though, we're all just holding on tight to our little bit of chaos that in ten years time is gonna yield some great stories, horror and otherwise.

Olympic Coverage: Are you Down?

2010-02-19T13:11:00.000-08:00

There is perhaps no feeling that I have ever felt in my entire life that can match up that that which comes with Canadian Olympic Hockey. To be in a room with upwards of fifty people and feel the energy spike and fall as the cheers and groans mount. After Canada won their first game against Norway there was a energy in the entire city that words have a difficult time describing. I went to work directly after this game and wasn't able to stop smiling for a good six hours. This joy is mirrored by the anxiety that comes with a tight game. I just finished watching the Canada Vs. Switzerland game and as the Swiss began to mount their comeback I swore I could feel every organ in my body twist 'round and change places with one another. Palms sweaty and breath held, the hockey game became the only thing that mattered to me in the slightest. When Sidney Crosby scored in the shootout to win the game I couldn't believe the release of tension that I felt. It was as if a horrible illness had suddenly been lifted from my body and I was finally allowed to continue living. Historically Canadian hockey is more than just a silly game on ice. It has the ability to inspire, enrapture and entirely change the vibe of a country. I've heard stories about the energy that I've felt during the past two hockey games, but being this close to it exceeds it's reputation by miles.

All that positive energy being said I am starting to go through a phase of Olympic burnout. I partially blame the unseasonably gorgeous weather that we've been experiencing. As I sit right now it's plus fifteen Celsius with the sun shining like mad outside. Usually? In Vancouver in February? You're bundled up tight in six different layers of waterproof or staying inside and hoping that the seasonal depression doesn't get to you. So with all this sunshine and so much to do my brain has been tricked into going out and doing things nearly every day. This has proved to be straining on both my body and pocket book. I don't even want to think about how much money I spent going downtown for a night of Olympic fun. If you thought downtown's price gouging was bad before? Think about $6.99 for a domestic beer inside some place where you've just had to pay twenty bucks cover.

Vancouver did not just import and work and security force for the Olympics. It appears that we also brought in an entire cadre of drunken idiots. Downtown Vancouver being what it is with the club scene, which is essentially just a pissing contest for people with too much disposable income, it is a giant party. Some refer to it as being like Vegas. You can literally wander around with an open beer and no one gives a shit. Those cops down there must not know what to think. Clowns to the left of them jokers to the right, here they are stuck in the middle with one of the worst reputations a law enforcement group can have. Someone pointed out to me the other day that even if they've gotta break some stuff up they've got to be really careful when they do so. Why? The entire world has cell phones ,try finding a cell phone without a camera. The last thing they need is for the world to be calling Vancouver a police state where our cops just go out busting skulls. Although I do wonder how the fuck they're dealing with the amount of over prideful inebriates that just keep wandering up and down the Granville strip? Enough trouble gets started when you step on some bro's puma's let alone when you tell him his country sucks. The clear message I get from downtown Vancouver is, so long as you're not hitting anything you can do whatever you want.

I think that the Olympics themselves are taking a back seat to the partying. I mean sure it is all one big celebration but the more I'm near it, and the more I see it? It just looks like everyone is here for the best house party you could ever go to. Make the biggest mess you want. Just find a place to sleep and BYOB and we'll provide the rest. It's like I said before, this City is gonna feel empty when this is all over. Going downtown and not being able to move through the streets 'cause there are so many goddamn people? Mind blowing. Essentially when one of the major newspapers in the city's front page reads "Party Town", your reputation changes. When it's all over who knows? Maybe Vancouver won't go back to being the stoned west coast town that we all love. Maybe the floodgates are open and soon not being able to walk down Robson street won't be anything surprising?

One more thing. I looked for about an hour to try and find any photo's of what it really looks like in downtown Vancouver right now. Results yielded nothing. The amount of people digital cameras out there you'd think you could find at least a couple of pictures of the drunken horde?

The story thus far.

2010-02-15T17:00:00.000-08:00

If you live in Vancouver you know that it's impossible to not pay attention to the Olympics. Over the first few days of the world games the city has become entranced with nearly every aspect of the competition. My conflicted feelings toward the event has led to me refine my way of thinking about it. I try and look at it now more like an unnecessary war. I support the troops, in this case our athletes, but not the war. How can you not feel some sort of pride for athletes who pretty much just want to represent their country to the best of their ability? My household was entirely entranced with the final for the men's freestyle moguls. Alexandre Bilodeau beating Dale Begg-Smith would have been enough to cheer for even if the the Canadian turned Aussie wasn't a total shit-head. Apparently winning a silver medal was not enough to make Begg-Smith smile on the podium and so his suspected status as an asshole was more or less confirmed.

I think hosting the Olympics must be a lot like inviting every single one of your exes over for dinner. You're on good terms with a lot of them, but there are always a few that you probably just want to avoid all together. Sometimes your own behaviour might slip every now and then and you're left having said or done somethings you wish you hadn't. In Canada's case the violent Olympic protests were a lot like trying to make out with one of your exes in the bathroom after having a little bit to much merlot. It's embarrassing and regrettable, but hopefully most people will regard it as a stupid mistake. I actually couldn't entirely believe it when my enjoyment of short track speed skating was interrupted by breaking news that black masked hooligans had run amok downtown trashing private and public property as a way of "protesting" the games. These displays of conviction against the Olympiad are shameful and fairly aggravating. I hope that the rest of the world doesn't take too much stock in these people's cro-magnon display of disobedience.

I have to make a comment on how the athletes from the USA have an image that looks so intensely cultivated that it seems like they're being marketed as celebrities rather than people in peak physical form. I was watching NBC and twenty minutes before short track speed skating came on a huge splashy graphic came up on screen that said "20 minutes until APOLLO OHNO!". Now I am aware that this young man won dancing with the stars and I congratulate him for it, however I'm pretty sure there are other speed skaters in participation other than Mr. Ohno. Despite Canada losing, it made me very happy to see and American participant that was not Ohno win the gold medal. While the Americans strategy for gaining support seems to be geared around making their competitors look like Rock Stars, the Canadian approach is much more palpable. Blue collar, working class heroes. Even our hockey team, which is entirely comprised of professional athletes, have the appearance of being good 'ol Canadian boys who skate pretty good and know how to take it to the net. But I suppose every nation must have their own marketing strategy. Each tailor made to that which appeals to their people the most.

Downtown Vancouver has gone from zero to sixty in only three short days. It's like I said before, expect a lot to happen in a very short span of time. For example try finding someone in this city that didn't know about the death of the Georgian luger two hours after it happened. Now less than seventy two hours later and we've shelved it as part of history for the games. You can't find the footage of it on Youtube, and I think that's a good idea. If you didn't get to see it don't bother hunting it out, it was neither pleasurable nor necessary to watch. I can only imagine what the world would be like if every aspect of city living was monitored like this even without the games. They might have to bring back the evening paper. I expect there to be a little bit of controversy every twelve hours or so. Let me re-phrase that, I expect the media to produce some controversy ever twelve hours or so. Imagine if there wasn't any? There's a reason we're glued to our tv's. Because this is happening, right now. As I type this the Women's Hockey team is delivering another sound spanking. The tv's on mute. I'm not really watching it, but it is happening right now and as such you can't stop yourself from sucking on that visual teet.

Strech Marks

2010-02-11T14:21:00.000-08:00

I've been going downtown way more than usual lately. It's hard to refute that every day that draws nearer to that torch being lit, this city gets busier. There are a lot of people wearing light blue jackets emblazoned with Olympic logos. Olympic sweaters and mittens must be being produced by the metric fuck ton. And everywhere I look there are police. Security cameras cover the entirety of downtown if you know where to look. I think the amount of "Mr. Tube Steak" hotdog stands have quadrupled city wide. Oh look a helicopter, and another helicopter, what's that way off in the distance? Oh just another helicopter. Tourist. Tourist. Tourist. Tourist. They should have made the slogan for the Olympics "Vancouver...you thought you'd heard sirens before?". People wearing those Olympic passes with authorization. I wish I had authorization, then I could really see some wild shit.

Welcome to the Vancouver 2010 Olympics. Please keep your arms and legs inside at all times and prepare for something unlike you've ever seen.

I've never really hidden my disdain for the world's games. Ever since I discovered that the Olympics is just another cooperation hellbent on making a shitload of money? I've kinda lost my taste for gold.

Being the paranoid that I am I've been thinking for months now, What if some really serious shit goes down? Visibly the security is nuts, but imagine what it's like on levels that we don't even see? Has the cavity search quota at the airport gone up tenfold? Where the fuck did all these extra cops come from? Last I checked the Province didn't have enough money to fully cover the standard budget for law enforcement in a year let alone turning the city into a Police State. As far as I can see there hasn't been any real good reasons for certain people who are aggressively motivated in their politics (Some people call them Terrorists) to fuck up some shit in Canada...well at least until now. I'm not saying I'm seriously afraid of it, I'm just wondering what is happening behind all those closed doors that we don't get to see. Security wise? Hosting the Olympics must be like having Robert Pattison stand ass naked in the middle of Robson Square and politely, since we're Canadian after all, request that no one take any pictures. At the end of it all what happens? Do all those security cameras get taken down? Do they get put back in their nice little boxes so that in another four years someone else can put them up all over their city? I kinda doubt it.

Coca Cola. McDonald's. Molson Canadian. All official products of the 2010 Olympics. I really don't get how something that is supposed to celebrate the excellence of physical prowess is sponsored by products which are champions of mediocrity. But you really didn't need me to tell you that.

Those blue jackets that a lot of people are wearing? Those represent the workforce of the Olympics. From my understanding the IOC calculated that there weren't enough people qualified to do the many jobs needed for the Olympics in Vancouver alone. From here they farmed out all these jobs and imported a work force for two weeks in February. Fuck me it would be cool to know how to put up really big tents right now, bet those boys are makin' some dolla bills y'all.

Most of the time I think that society and the world in general evolves rather slowly. Things take due process and some regular order and then stuff happens. I think that for the two weeks that the rest of the world has us firmly by the stones we're going to undergo some rapid evolution. The kind that leaves stretch marks. It's like the entire city's been growing pubes for the past five years and it's finally stopped to notice that it has them. After the initial shock of our situation, which primarily involves all areas of our general life being bent over and blasted for two weeks, I think we're gonna come out of it wondering just what the fuck happened. I'm not sure if it's something that we're going to have to "recover" from or if we're just going to brush it off and get on with life. What I do know is that a lot of things are going to be different. First and foremost? I think that the city is gonna feel a little empty for a while. According to a Canadian census there are roughly 611,869 people currently living in Vancouver. The projected amount of people that will be in this city during the time of the Olympics is 2, 329,000. Just so your clear the first number I presented was in thousands, the second number is in the millions. Some people say that the city is going to be a little crazy, I say that it's going to be thoroughly butt fucked.

What can you take from this? I don't really know. I'll tell you in a couple years. You want me to talk about it politically? I could do that. You want me to talk about it economically? I could do that too. Socially? Sure I could, but I don't really want to anymore. I've got opinions on the whole god damn thing, but at the end of the day my opinions and ideas don't mean shit. It's here now, there is no stopping it. I'm Just glad that I don't have to take the train during it.

2009-Chapter 3:Everything dies, that's a fact, Maybe everything that dies someday comes back.

2010-01-16T16:01:00.000-08:00

The summer came to a close. I had, in the closing weeks of August, managed to procure employment at Falconetti's as a part time server and bartender. I was still working at my other job at this time and was finding the work less and less gratifying. It had served it's purposes for my return to the city as well as the need for finances during the summer. This is not to say that I felt bitter towards the job and the people who had allowed me to return. I can in fact say that I owe this organization a great deal. Not simply for allowing me back into the fold in my time of need, but for giving me a solid education in something I had come to feel very strongly about. Restaurants.

It came to a point where I needed to make a decision between the two jobs and presented with a very generous offer from Falconetti's I took the job. I felt I would have been stupid not to. Despite this I knew that my engagement at this job would come with some sacrifice. The place that had remained a constant sanctuary for me would become the building where my hours would be spent in provision of myself, rather than simple comfort. Yet knowing that I had learned all I could from my current situation I decided it was time to allow myself to let go of that sanctuary in hopes of becoming more than a bystander in it's magic.

I had found my legs once more as a writer during the trailing days of Rossland, and into the lavish sun of summer. I came to understand that while I may be profoundly sure of my talents they would mean little to me until I accomplished something. So I dug in my heels and began to make myself take the time to write. It was hard at first, to put aside the time, force myself to use it, while pursuing stories and goals of composition that seemed not only interesting but challenging to me. There were times when I felt that I was doing nothing but shovel shit from a waist high position only to finish and, instead of a pile of fecal matter, I would find a heap of splendid words. It became, with practice, less of a chore to sit 'front of my keyboard and hammer out the words. Soon it became my favorite part of day. Usually early morning or late evening where I'd sit with a cold beverage and allow myself the uncomfortable solitude needed to make my craft work. I knew that I had achieved a personal best when I managed to finish at least a piece a week, if not two, for a three month time frame from mid August to early November. Not only had I managed seven short stories, but nine op-eds concerning everything from the connectivity of people to the merits of staying the course. And for those of you that may lecture me on quality over quantity? I believe that all of said pieces were executed to the best of their ability.

The life of summer of course would fade into the past along with those sweltering hot days. I would no longer be able to take my days and nights to do with as I pleased. Work began to, after a large status-quo change, consume more and more of my life. Responsibilities being shouldered out of a desire to prove myself more than an actual interest in the responsibilities themselves. My relationships, while not yet suffering, often took a back seat to my own need to take care of the requirements for my life. I found security in the fact that Allan did not leave my life entirely as he returned to school. We found the time to hang out and debrief the news of the day either over coffee in the morning or during a scarce evening of freedom. To be honest while this time of change was scaring the hell out of me it was also causing my chest to once more swell with pride. I was important, or if not important at least a legitimate human being. When people looked at Axel I thought they were going to be thinking "man, guy's got his shit together". It was in fact the image that I attempted to inflate more and more as the days went by. My image was not that of conceit, it was a suit of armor. It would protect me in the coming days where I would begin run myself into the ground. My armor allowed me to continue to believe in myself and my ideals, while protecting me from the bombardment of the outside world. These were no longer the days of summer where I came and went as I pleased. I now had obligations. And these obligations began to mount.

Despite this world of change I can, through memory, drift into one of the furtive final nights of summer quite well. Cody and Allan and I were together and were allowed several hours of the utmost honesty with each other. I was graced with an oral history of Allan. Allowing me into the avenues of his life which, perhaps, have not been explored verbally as thoroughly as he may have thought. Cody was searching for some deeper meaning in his life. Something to move his life in a new direction, though he was entirely unsure of what that meant just then. I presented many of my thoughts and philosophies from the months previous. Key to which was me knowing that the life I had been living in years past was not sustainable, and that is why I always crashed and burned. In the past my life was either on cloud nine or going through a cataclysmic shit-storm. I found a model of living in Cody and attempted to verbalize it to him.

"You live your life on more of a wave. Sure there are ups and downs, nothing can be perfect for ever, but the difference is that your ups and downs are smooth and gradual. They don't plateau out and then drop like a rock, the move organically and smoothly rather than fast and sharp turns"

This was how I wanted to live. I mustn't be afraid of life reaching a peak 'cause of the inevitable descent from this place. What goes up must come down, however you can control the speed of both an ascent and descent if only you are aware.

In the first weekend of November I was able to sneak away from the city of Vancouver to the Island of the same name. I went with Allan and we met up with Cody along with a large number of our other friends. The weekend involved large portions of mischief, coupled with a few healthy doses of camaraderie. I had taken this weekend and time as a chance to once more embrace all the joys that freedom had to offer before I allowed myself to be placed under the yoke of my employment. It was that constant countdown in my brain that, I believe, didn't allow me to enjoy the weekend to it's fullest, always knowing that at the end of it my devil may care habits would be returned to the shoe box in my mind for another day. That is not to say that I didn't enjoy my time on the island. It gave me moments of reflection that are not without merit. It allowed my friends and I, for a a very short time, to be children. We made our world into a playground, which was not limited by our ever increasing monikers of age. Perhaps the highlight of this trip was when Cody, Allan and I charged into the Pacific Ocean wearing nothing more than a pair of undies each. That water was damn cold and it cut me to the bone, yet I didn't care. I was alive. I had just done something crazy and it is that memory that I looked to in the days that lay ahead. Simple distillation of joy.

Instantly after returning from the island all of my rhetoric about staying positive and the powers of positive energy were put to the test. Things at work had gone awry in my absence and, sleep deprived though I may have been, I spent an exhaustive couple of hours reforming the pieces that had toppled out of place while I was gone. It was from that day on that my job took over my life. There had been times in the past where I had allowed, hell even invited, my job to surround me. In those days I had felt like hot shit. Since those days I had come to understand my limitations and felt that I was about to be in over my head. My responsibilities and involvement climbing higher every week I was quickly put into a place of testing. My abilities, my mind, and my self proclaimed skill to remove my personal feelings to do what was needed. There were days, I cannot lie, where I seriously considered dropping it all. I will spare the full details as it would be unprofessional to disclose much more. The events that took place in this time did not reach any sort of finality for about a month and a half. For a month and a half I woke up nearly every day dreading what would come next. I dug my feet in and got ready to get metaphorically punched in the face all day. I have some strange obsession with my ability to take a shit kicking like no other, and this event was no exception. I passed through the wall of a twister, reached the eye where I was allowed a brief moment of respite and then ventured forward again. I can say this, I remained true to my beliefs both philosophical and professional and came out the other side of the hurricane, battered, bruised and very fucking tired, but I was not broken.

Pouring all of myself into the work I felt required to do there was very little left for myself at the end of the day. While my writing did not wither and die it did fall heavily into the sea, it was assuredly left to rest and float on the surface waiting until I found it. It killed me every day I couldn't bring myself to bang out more than a few sentences, yet I had not the resources of mind to bring more words to life. I became reclusive and cocooned myself in the house rarely seeing anyone save for Allan and my roommates. This personal recession made feeling lonely even worse. I did feel alone. Since I had allowed myself to give up heavy consideration of relationships, romantic or otherwise, my life had began to loose it's solid foundation of people, leaving me with tired days and lonely nights. I have to thank all those that reached out to me in these days. Those that called. Those that e-mailed. Those that commented on something I wrote. The people I live with. The people I work with. The people I work for. All of them in some little way contributed to the inspiration I needed to keep myself moving.

It pained me most days to have to pass on time that could have been spent with Allan and Cody. They were not easy decisions to make. I wanted nothing more than to be spending all the time in the world with my two best friends, making the fun that I knew no one else in the world had a snowflake's chance in hell at producing. Their voices sounded disappointed, as if I was letting them down. It can be said that I complain, or at least let out heavy sighs concerning work, and often. My friends saw my current life as damaging to me I guess. Cody often questioned why I didn't just drop everything. Allan for the most part was either silent or supportive on the topic. It was frustrating. I suppose that I have no reason to expect more than a little support for something which I have fully chosen to take on, however it was difficult to feel these words of question concerning my life from my friends. I know that they care and that is why they ask. Hard as all of it may have been though? It was still what I wanted to be doing. To me there was no greater challenge than that which I had been presented with. It was in these days of great stress and heavy consideration that I came to accept another thing about myself. I have for years shunned my own potential. This may sound entirely vain and overly confident but I feel it's true. Over the years I have been told by many that I have the potential do be so much more than I currently am. I have almost always decided to get out from under this weight of possibility placed unto me by others. It was my general feeling that if I tried my hardest at something I had potential in and failed? I would be considered a failure in the eyes the person who judges me most. Myself. However I had now come to accept my potential and the need to see it come to fruition in whatever form it chose. Failure or fulfilment I was about to see just what my potential meant. I'm still experiencing this, and every single day it scares the shit out of me.

To understand my insane dedication to my job a little better you must know, I love working in restaurants. I'm sure that many who have read this far question my sanity for pouring so much of myself into something that perhaps sounds inconsequential or without intellectual merit. To many it is just a job with which they provide themselves the means to live. To me it has become an art. A cultivation of the very things that I had found myself embracing in my own life. When a person goes out for dinner or drinks with their friends, what are they looking for? They are looking to have a good time. To have fun. No one ever goes out and thinks that they're going to have a shitty time. Everyone wants to have a good time and I see it as my duty to provide that. A restaurant is so much more than food and drink. It is a gathering place for people to experience something together. It is a different story every day. Different challenges. Different people. Different food. Different drinks. Different Hockey game. Different failures. Different successes. Working in a restaurant provides me with an ever evolving structure and world through which to excel. There is always something I could do better. Something I could do faster. More people I can connect with. And in the end? More ways that I can make the world a better place simply by making other people happy.

At a point in the fall as the hurricane of work was beginning to ramp up I had an afternoon with an old friend. Daisy. She was coming into the city and asked if I'd like to get coffee and see each other. I had responded of course and spent the rest of my morning nervously wringing my hands and waiting until the time to meet up. When we did see each other I was reduced to a sack of emotions which could barley be contained. You spend enough time with each other, you get to learn about a person and well, you just don't forget some things. Not just things about that person, but how you were with that person. It was strange to walk down the street in conversation, my hands forcibly shoved in my pockets for fear that they would stretch out to take hers. She was just as pretty, if not more, as she'd ever been and as we completed a circuit of downtown I was continually reduced from the independent and strong person I'd become back into the insecure and needy kid I'd been when I'd left her. An innate instinct of desire kept washing over me, a need to be with this person but ultimately knowing that it would never happen. She was by now in a happy relationship, as much as I may have tried to dilute myself into believing otherwise . The afternoon with her ended off with a hug a half smile and a saddened goodbye, much the same as the last time we'd spoke to each other.

The rest of the weekend I was a mess. I was hardly functioning and anyone could tell that there was something wrong with me. I am thankful that at this time I was surrounded by some of my closest friends who were once more available to offer me support and care. The scars of a broken heart still hurt every now and then, as I'm sure some are aware. In time I would allow these feelings of emotional desolation to subside, and come to know that just because I saw her, it didn't mean it wasn't over. The most powerful connections we have with anyone in our lives? Those matter and the stick around with us for a good long while, that's how you know they were important. No one ever fell in love and forgot about the person the next week, that's just not how it works.

There's a lot of trains of thought about love. Some say that it's a choice you make every day. Others believe that it just happens. Some force their love. Some believe that the greatest loves are those that cannot be fulfilled. Some people just don't believe in it at all. I guess I've always thought that it's out there, and it's something you believe in, and if you believe in it hard enough it happens.. Love can change everything and from my experience usually does. It's not something you can see until it's already there. It's not something that you can really describe until you're knee deep in it. And it's definitely something you don't appreciate to the fullest until you've lost it. But such is the nature of love. It's every emotion at once trapped in a lightning bolt that just keeps coursing through your body. Surely this electricity could hurt us, and I've seen it do so, but what's that rule about electricity? You've got to remain grounded. That person that you end up in love with? They're you're lightning rod. They keep you grounded, they keep that raw power of love from tearing you apart. They may not always be there. They may leave. You may leave. Sometimes things just don't work out, and what have you got then? A lightning bolt tearing a blue streak through you. So now what right? Give that love to anything and everything you've got. That's what I did. Rather than have that raw power ravage my mind and body I decided to embrace it, for at it's worth, and allow it to power my entire being. And it can power so much more, if we only let it.

When I saw Daisy again, it was if all my successes and achievements over the year had been forgotten. She was the glaring epic failure of my life. The greatest lesson I ever learned. I came to know that I could not have had my cake and eaten it too. I could have either had the girl, or saved my life. Such decisions are out of the hands of us. The universe provides us with that which we need, even if sometimes it's a big lump of heartbreak and a broken back.

Out of the hurricane and back into life I found myself on edge of the holidays. I love Christmas time. The festivities and general air of love just feels good. This was the first year I'd ever had the money to buy Christmas gifts in a higher price range and I gleefully took advantage of it. I would be going home for the third time that year, an anomaly for me, and I was looking forward to it. My revelations of the year, which I'd been preaching to anyone who would sit still for longer than five minutes, held stories and lessons I wanted to share with my family. Nearing my date of departure work had reached some sort of calm and I had some how come to terms with my loneliness. I would not have a mental breakdown this Christmas, as I had for so many years past. There is something about the holidays that reveals every gleaming fault of life to me in a way that is uncontested by any other time of the year. But not this year, this year things were going to be different.

And they were, but not in any of the ways that I had expected. It had been my grand plan to facilitate a connection of my family. To take everything I'd learned about life, love and happiness and put it into play as a way of bringing my family together. Despite my family's inherit ability to be distant from each other, there was a strange vibe in the family home this holidays. Judgement perhaps? Alienation? While I could not put my finger on it these were the feelings that I felt while I was at home. Was I the crazy older brother who lives a chaotic life fraught with stupid decisions and a footloose lifestyle? Am I the son who needs such reassurance of his life that he feels the need to talk continuously about it? What did my family really think of me? This was a question that I wanted to know the answer to, yet I would not achieve any sort of conclusion until weeks later.

Typical of me I confronted my family later on about the way I had felt during the holidays. I was loud and arrogant for the most part, as if the events of my year had turned me into some sort of guru of life who's word's should be heeded at all costs. It was presented to me by my sister that despite my need for connection and intense desire to produce cohesion in our family, I really hadn't reached out to any of them over the years. I'd spent so many days looking for relationships and fulfillment of feelings in other people, places and things that to now suddenly out of the blue demand a relationship between us was if not rude then at least laughable. I should have known this. My year had been so much of me bringing myself to fruition and finding the gaps in my life that over the course of time I had come to neglect those which I now proclaimed mattered the most to me. I now take the time to thank my sister for having the insight and the balls to stand up and tell me that I was being a big hypocrite. Who was I to stand on my soapbox and tell everyone that we were a broken family when I was just as much to blame for it as anyone. Sure I may have learned lessons over the year, but my need to share them with my family was not the same thing as connecting with them. For us to actually come together it was going to require a whole lot more than me simply sitting next to a family member and going off on diatribes about my life, and telling them how to live theirs. Connection takes as least two people reaching out, not one person ramming their thoughts and experiences down 'nother's throat. Preaching life ideologies to loved one's is not talking to them. It's talking at them. I came to understand here that my lessons and new life skills were only as valuable as the results I procured with them. I didn't need to tell my family that I had changed, I needed to show them. My family does want to know who I am, but they want to be given the same chance to share themselves with me. 'Cause, as much as I tend to believe it is, it's not always the Axel show.

While at home I was given the one last thing I needed to allow 2009 closure. I sat down and had lunch with Nate. The person who nearly a year ago had sparked the chain reaction from which so many other events and feelings in my life would be derived. I had, since seeing Daisy again, thought through what I would do when we inevitably met again. The anger was gone. The rage that I had held for this person had been extinguished by the lessons of forgiveness and understanding which I had learned and begun to preach throughout the year. I sat down with him in a diner which has always been a constant in my home town. Here with a bowl of soup and a coffee in front of me I sat and listened, giving him the chance to explain himself. His reasonings are unimportant, his apology was really the only thing that I needed to hear. And in the end I had one of my firmest beliefs confirmed again. No one does the wrong thing on purpose. Most people don't do the wrong thing because they truly intend to. For the most part we just do and say things, and there are reprecussions. Sometimes the results of our actions are in no way positive and we're left to deal with the aftermath. My forgiveness of Nate was not so full that I felt we were immediately the best of friends again, but surrounded by the memories that my home town holds, I couldn't really see the point in letting go completely of a relationship which had held me up in so many ways over the years. When I parted ways with him it wasn't as the friends we used to be, but as a new aquaintances who could perhaps one day become very good friends again.

2009 ended for me on a very key moment of reflection. A quick minute where time seemingly stopped and I was left to exist with the world around me continuing on it's path.This moment took place in Falconetti's on New Years Eve, half way through my shift at work. The room packed. The band playing. Friends new and old around me. I took this moment of organized chaos to allow myself to simply be for a minute. Looking back on it all, it's been one helluva year. Last year around now I wrote a much shorter summary of the year, which I finished with the following statement.

"Now I set forth to face the year full of everything that I Do. No regrets. Love is in my heart, and challenge in my step. Do or do not there is no try."

I didn't really know it then, thinking that it just sounded good, but 2009 was certainly the year where I did everything. I cannot describe well enough how this year has changed who I am as a friend, a lover, a brother, a son, and a person. A year where I felt pride and the fall that follows. A year where I learned how to cry again. A year where I found my spirituality. It was the year I was reborn. Redefined. Rejuvinated. It was the year where I found the magic in simply living. But that's the magic right? Life. Living and going every day just another step at a time. The year doesn't matter. 2009? 2010? As long as I keep making progress in this wonderful story called life eventually it might come to a happy ending. But in life? It's not over, until it's over. And until then I'm just going to keep telling the story as best as I can.

2009-Chapter 2: A Constructive Summer

2010-01-04T14:13:00.000-08:00

A short time later, armed with some sort of plan in motion to get my life back on track, I knew that I had to get going. A few weeks after the graduation show I got my old job back, gained a good number of shifts and started putting a play together to move off Dan's couch. Work was hard at first. It is a seriously difficult feeling to know how to do my job but not be able to complete certain tasks based on my decreased level of physical capability. The first few weeks back I'd get off work and have to immediately go to the home that wasn't mine and sit for a few hours solid. 'Ventually my body began to return to the shape required to do my work, though I found more and more my heart just wasn't in it anymore. It came to no surprise me that the job that had not offered me any sustenance before I left the city, still did not meet my requirements for personally fulfilling employment. This being said I would like to believe that I still approached the job with the same hard worth ethic I always had. It gave me money and somewhere to go to fill the idle hours, but I knew that eventually I would no longer be working there.

I had at this point been on Dan's couch for a month solid and knew that, good friend though he was, I was going to need to find a place of my own, perhaps a more permanent one, where I could rest my carcass between shifts. This event was put into play even faster when Dan's roommate's mother came to town and it became required that I leave. It was also at this time that I caught the flu. Possibly the sickest I'd been in years I was left to find friend's sofas to sleep on. A fever is never fun, but it was made even less exciting by the fact that Vancouver was just entering it's first of many heat waves for the summer. It was at this point through a rather complicated series of events that I ended up house sitting a house that one of my friend's was supposed to house sit. Over the next week I battled my illness, watched Star Wars, drank a ton of tea, read three large graphic novels and ate as much as I could. Friends would visit, though my memories of the interactions with them are hazy at best. At the end of it, my mind still clouded, I was surprised to find that I had lined up living with a friend, up at commercial drive. I moved in on June 1st.

Commercial Drive has and probably always will be my favourite place in the entire city. During my first independent visit to Vancouver at the age of sixteen I stayed with a friend,Tehya actually, who lived just off the drive. A cultural feast it was to me. It has the tight knit elements of a community which is comprised of umpteen different ethnicity's. I loved it, yet it was still a part of the roaring beast that is the city and as such removed enough from the small community I grew up in. Exposure to stores, locales, and people along the street in this short visit would leave an indelible print on my mind. It amazes me now that it took me roughly three years to end up living on the Drive. I knew that even if I was going to be living in some hole in the wall dive, this was an opportunity to be a part of the world I had visited with such frequency that I felt a part of it already.

I was to be living with Britni and Scotty. Britni and Scotty are brother and sister and to be honest when I first moved in I didn't know them very well. It is a credit to them that they gave me a chance to live with them. I had known Britni almost as long as I'd lived in the city yet I considered us more acquaintances than full friends. Little did I know that this house would become more than just a place to rest and store my shit, it would become my home. There is such a sense of living people in the place that I now live. I had accepted the room in the house before I ever saw it, and when I entered my soon to be domicile for the very first time I knew that I had hit the jackpot. It's not the largest place, neither is it the cleanest, but it is filled with love. Love for the people that live there, the friends that visit and the history that it's narrow halls and low door frames have seen. That, and it is also home to the greatest cat that the world has ever seen.

Britni. Britni is someone that I owe more than I can possibly ever repay. Not only did she provide me with a place to live, she allowed me into what I can only say has been the most spectacular life a person may be allowed to live. Supportive, smart as all hell,brilliant in her execution of life, and still one of the funnest people I've ever had the privilege to be around. I take space here to pay my greatest respects to her.

The events of summer are a razzle dazzle greatest hits collection of good times. I had made the decision that I wanted my life to be fun and exciting. I wanted to embrace a sense of freedom to make my life as magical as one that I had experienced in the kootenays , rather than allow it to become the formula of city life. This was a turning point of it's own. In the past I had piled more obligations onto myself than was necessary . These obligations often led me to make the more "responsible" decision when presented with situations. Now freed from these self shouldered obligations I was left with hours to fill and thoughts to have which were far removed from my workplace. This often involved always saying yes when proposed with any sort of possibility for fun. This is essentially the gist of my summer, yet there are several key moments and people that I feel helped me truly redefine myself.

Parties. Good food. Good friends. Hilarious conversations. Drinks. Adventures. Birthdays. Tight green spandex. Late night adventures and sometimes misadventures. Drinks. "Can't" not even being an option. The ocean. The heat. Torn jeans. Girls. Hiking. Man Tracker. Haircuts. Early mornings. Late nights. Really Good. Mr. Christie. Walking a dog and drinking a beer at six in the morning. Painting. The awful Transformers 2. The amazing District 9. Leather. Rock and Roll. When the levee breaks.

I became amazed by how much life has to offer if you're really willing to embrace every single circumstance, even those that seem slightly lame, to their absolute fullest. I understood that I could not expect other's to make my life awesome, I was the in charge of the awesome department for me. There was not a single day in the summer that I was not happy to wake up and charge out the door. Sleep became the enemy. I found that if I woke up at eight or nine in the morning that left me a good two hours in which to do whatever I wanted before I had to go to work. I started to read again. I continued to write. No opportunity wasted. God did it feel bad-ass to do every single thing that I wanted to do.

Allan. Allan is a friend of mine, in fact I would say he is one of my best friends of which I only have a few. Allan and I work together at the same summer camp. Our relationship ,tight knit though it was, had always been constrained to camp. Our lives it seemed simply did not mesh. This being said, every six months or so we'd give each other a call to see what was up and maybe grab some beers. Cody had the same relationship with Allan. In the past Allan and I'd always connected really well based off our ability to listen and understand the other person. We are probably two of the most different people on the planet and, I believe, this is what makes us incredible friends. We both bring different things to the table. Allan is the person I know who puts his heart into everything he does more than anyone else on the planet. Whatever Allan does he does it with enough passion and energy to light up eighteen city blocks. Allan likes surfing, fast cars, hot women and discussions about anything from theoretical political situations to the ever popular semantics of sex. He is as of now when I write this one of the most prevalent personalities in my life.

Falconetti's. If there was one place that I was born into the city through it would be the restaurant known as Falconetti's. The first day that I moved to the city it was the first place I went. Before going to my soon to be new home, I met up with some city friends and sat drinking IPA all afternoon and evening. This is the place where I learned to love Hockey. Where I made many of my closest friends. And where no matter what was going on in my life I could return to. It is the single most constant location in the city for me. Britni worked at Falconetti's . She was for all intensive purposes the general manager and that was how our friendship was formed, as a customer and server relationship. Having spent so much time in one place over the years you tend to develop connections with the staff and other hangers on. In time this bar would become more than just a place to hang out, it became a larger part of my life than I would ever imagine it could be.

In late June one evening a chain reaction was triggered which I believe has changed the entire dynamic of my life. Cody was in town visiting and we were out for beers with our friend Chelsea, who also works at camp with us. Mid way through a pitcher we began to think of who we could call to join us on a evening which were sure was going to contain more drinking and a least some dancing. Cody, Allan and I had only once had the opportunity to gather together as a trio and when we did it went off like the fourth of July. That was at camp though, constrained by all of the legitimate regulations and responsibilities that one finds themselves with when conducting a symphony of teenagers. That night we decided to call Allan. From what I can remember he was at some sort of other function but upon receiving our call dropped everything to come hang out. That night, let it be said again, changed everything.

Unbridled we were allowed to adventure our way 'cross east Vancouver in a way that I feel lucky to have experienced. We started at Falconetti's and drank our way into a pretty hyper spot before making our way down to the run down but thoroughly danceable east Van hip spot, the Astoria. Here we were treated to a night of live reggae and dance hall sounds. Allan, who had only gone out dancing downtown before, had his mind thoroughly blown. More amazing to him was the fact that the women at the Astoria were willing to dance, and mingle without a air superiority around him. From here I proposed that we hit another party that was going on closer to my house. We walked a good twenty five, perhaps more, blocks from the Astoria to the party telling stories and interpretations of the evening in a composition of hilarity that I've found can only be produced by my two best friends.

Cody with the soul of Kerouac left the city shortly after this to embark upon adventures of his own. Allan, however, was so affected by that night that he made a startling decision to pack up his life in Burnaby and move to Commercial Drive. During this month long process I spent more time with Allan than any other person. It got to, and still is, at the point where Allan can freely hang out in my home even when I'm not here. His friendship and voice has helped me over the hurdles that life has presented me with since returning to the city.

My relationships with women over the summer were more of a cathartic release and need to connect more than they were an actual pursuit of a partner. Still reeling from Daisy. I convinced myself that what I needed was to just get back out there. I didn't really feel like this was the best course of action but at the time I was hard pressed to think of anything better to do. I should have learned from the events I had just gone through that people's emotions are tricky things and should be treated with, if not care, respect. I wound up in several situations which I looked at like steaming heaps of dung. In the past when presented with turd like situations on the sidewalk of life , I would usually step right in them, even though I'd seen them coming. Piles of shit fell in front of me for nearly a metaphorical block and this time I was determined to avoid all of them. I got through by the skin of my teeth and after breathing a big sigh of relief I found I was actually quite proud of myself. Not only had I learned from my past mistakes I had discovered that I was capable of avoiding them all together. I had found myself going back to the well of women. Past connections never fully allowed, chemistry never explored, and exploration of simple attractions were the ruling factors in my relationships with women. It came to dawn on me that this was not moving forward, and if not regressing then at very least standing still. This realization did not make me happy and I raised my hands and bowed out at that moment, my pursuit of all immediate connections abandoned. I wanted to start fresh. This act of self preservation also satisfied the need to divert more time to shenanigans.

Mattie. Mattie is Britni's boyfriend. He and I became friends one night a couple years back while intoxicated at Falconetti's watching the hockey game. We bonded in the most primal way, by telling damn good stories. We would, and still do, trade epic tales of camaraderie, stupidity, hilarity and more often than not ludicrosity . Since moving in with Britni, Mattie and I found that our friendship was free to expand beyond the walls of the bar. One of the most key memories of summer is on Mattie's birthday. We picked him up from work in a stretch limo cranking Led Zepplin. From here after an indulgent, yet certainly warranted, detour through downtown he directed us first to the Ivanho (one of Vancouver's great dive bars) and then through the china town night market. Mattie may be one of the greatest facilitators of fun I have ever met. No matter what the situation he is always up for making it better. Mattie is a chef and I think he looks at life the same way he looks at food. Always trying to make it better. If there is something that he can do to make a situation more fun? He's usually going to do it.

Tony. I worked with Tony at the job i held in Yale Town. I don't exactly know how we became such good friends but, as with many of my friendships, I think it had something to do with his ability to embrace being silly. Tony works in the kitchen and I work in the front of house. I respect him for his job and he unto me, but beyond that we found that the other fella had thoughts and insight into life which stimulated the other persons brain. Tony and I came to have casual Mondays during the summer. We both had Mondays off and what made it casual was that we never had any plans. Whatever happened would happen and we were fine with that. Most of the time we'd end up in his yard sitting at a picnic table drinking beer, listening to music, telling tales of dinner services past, and laughing maniacally about every thought to enter our brains. I feel privileged to have been able to have this man cook for me. I appreciated our good times together and cherish all the memories fondly.

While my summer was sunshine and roses for the most part there was a fleeting week where my head hung low. My life had become heavy again. Why? I had taken on all these new challenges and adventures in my life. New relationships. Making old one's stronger. Embracing fun as number one. Yet behind all of it I still had not let go of everything that had come before it. My back was a daily aching reminder of what I had been through and while the smiles that I put on were in no way fake, they were indeed simply a band-aid to a broken bone. These feelings shortly began to bubble through to the surface. My anger towards myself for my failings had been acknowledged , but rather than released, boxed in to fuel the willpower I had needed to move forward at the time. It was still in me and I needed to let it out. It didn't really take much. I was at a planning meeting for camp and was doing my best to present my ideas and thoughts regarding the upcoming session. For some reason, I don't know why, my deeper feelings began to come forward. It was one of those moments where all your emotions just click with your thoughts in the right way and the Pandora's box of history comes forward. I started to shut down in the middle of this meeting. I didn't feel supported by these people whom I worked and cared about. I didn't feel like I mattered. I felt like a little kid who couldn't get anything right. I felt like I was trying to hard but failing. Mostly I felt alone. All of these feelings of fear and alienation came from deeper places than just the fallout of my spring, yet they were all invariably linked to it, and for whatever reason I found myself overwhelmed with them in that moment. I had to leave and made my way outside, where I waited until the meeting was over. I understood that I had affectively killed the positive vibe in the room and that made me feel even worse. The next day I bussed over to talk to Chelsea during her lunch break. I wanted to apologize for the situation and my behaviour. I had planned it as a clerical explanation of self and actions. It did not go as such and I soon found myself crying on a park bench, a garbled mess of emotion and thoughts spilling out of my mouth and onto the sidewalk. I thank Chelsea now for being the friend that she is. Never leading but guiding me through this labyrinth of my identity, which I only wanted to escape from. I was left to find that there is no escape, simply embracement . Being given this release I needed I now had the state of mind with which to finish that aching equations through which I have decided to interpret life.

I had to come to terms with my anger. I am not a visibly angry person. Those that know me would not have thought that I had a furnace of rage in my gut, which every now and then laps fire at some unsuspecting passer by. The reasons for this are many. Foremost is the repressed feelings of my youth which were never allowed validation. The angst and conflicted feelings of my teenage years were never allowed acceptance by my parents simply because they told me to bottle it in. If I pretended like it didn't exist then so could they. They didn't have the time or understanding to deal with an overly emotional teenager. I had no safe or acceptable way to channel these feelings of frustration and anger growing up. I used to blame my parents for this. In my mind they were the zoo keepers to my emotions, always trying to keep them under wraps rather than allow them the freedom that they so greatly desired. My feelings were very rarely allowed legitimacy or even acknowledgement and I believe that this is a focal point of my anger. I don't blame my parents anymore. 'Came a time where I began to understand that they were doing the best with a situation that to them was hard to understand. They had other concerns and those took the forefront of their energies. I could perhaps retain the sneer on my face and chip on my shoulder that I'd carried so long, but I decided that it wasn't worth it. Instead I've come to believe that through it all my parents believed in me. At some point, whether or not it really went down in a way of understanding, they decided that I was strong enough to handle the dealings of my life on my own. It was not easy to process the general chaos of adolescence with very little paternal support, but as of now, I am a stronger and more capable person for it.

The entire situation with Daisy had left a bad taste in my mouth. I had expected some sort of feeling of redemption to come after my siege of love in the city. Nate, the person who repeated the words I'd spoken in confidence, was left largely un-punished for his trespass. His name being spoken aloud to me was like throwing gasoline on the furnace inside me. There were many days where I entertained fantasies of delivering a clenched fist to his face. I knew this was wrong, and despite the smile the thought of it put on my face I also knew that when finally presented with him face to face, physical assault would offer me little solace and inevitably more complications and repressed feelings.

My anger has always made me cry. As a child being told to shut up when presenting my outlandish emotions always left me in tears. The inability to communicate with my parents, whether it was due to their lack of understanding, or in some cases caring, made me a ball of knotted heartache and thoughts. It was that feeling of helplessness towards situations which would ultimately always bring me down. Without a place to put my anger it became a useless weight, which could not be released in many ways other than to allow thick tears running down my face. I know now that my anger has often fuelled my creativity. A latent childhood need to be heard and recognized being projected in the only ways I was allowed. I'm loud, opinionated and generally abrasive in conversation because, as I understand it, my need for attention and connection comes from that ten year old inside me who just wants to be loved, heard and encouraged.

Sitting on that bench with Chelsea I knew that something had to change. For once in my life I had been allowed to release the furnace in my gut in a good place. A place where the fire roared and began to slow and fall to coals. The pressure gone, but the heat remained. I wiped the corners of my eyes and was on my way to a deeper place of understanding in myself. With some time, and meditative reflection I would find the unknowns in my equations, progressively moving towards answers.

A long time ago my mother told me that our family has a history of emotional issues. By and large most of the people in the family have a hard time dealing with the complexities of their own feelings, much less sharing them with others. As I understood my mother's words, this was why we typically had so much conflict surrounding us. Those that do not understand themselves and their emotions had little hope of understanding others. This was a turning point in my early life, where I decided that I wanted to be connected to myself, and understand myself and the people around me. If for no other reason than to more effectively connect with those around me. Understand yourself and you can understand the world became a latent credo to my life, one I carry with me even today. As much as this detective work into my mind, as well as that of others, helped me it did lead me to another conclusion.

You can understand the past. You can analyse the past. But you can't change the past. I'd be lying if I said I never regretted the decisions I made in those few months I was gone from the city. There were a good many days where I was simply at a loss for words. Sitting and wondering how I could have been so stupid. How I could have let that love slip away out of a need for self preservation? I have come to believe since then that our regrets are simply the lessons that we're refusing to learn. The events of our pasts can affect us, change us, and carry with us for a long time. But they should not define us. I came to terms with the fact that those events were over and I needed to learn from them and move on. Your past may dictate in many ways what you are now, but it is you and your sight of future that gives you the ability to become the person that you want to be. I finally came around to deciding that I could be exactly the person I always wanted to be. That just because my past was fraught with disaster and shame the same did not have to be said for the future. In the end, much like my summer, I realized it's all about action. It's what you do that matters, not what you've done. Everything eventually becomes the past, and when I look back I want to say that I lived every situation in my life to the best of my ability.

I won't speak volumes about camp this summer, as that can always be an entire story unto it's own. I will say that this summer at camp I had more fun that I've had since I was a participant in the program. I was a child released once more. I was there to ensure that groups of teenagers had the most amazing time of their lives for a week straight, and by doing so I was treated to the same. I am so bold as to even say that in those weeks I was allowed re-entry into my childhood. To that place where the furnace began to roar and bring the heat and pressure I would feel for years. That place of youth where all my insecurities were found in their origin and stopped. I found a way to remember how despite sometimes shitty situations in life, ultimately? I am still here to have fun. I was inspired by the people I work with and their unwavering dedication to a place where nothing is impossible and everyone is treated with the same opportunities to explore their hearts and minds.

Nearing the end of summer I was told by my mother that not one but both sets of my grandparents would be celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Fifty years of marriage seems like a mind boggling feat for even one couple to achieve these days but to see both sides of my family holding together for that long flat out amazes me. The separates dates of celebration showed me how my family is very different and very similar at the very same time.

First was my Dad's side of the family. The gathering would take place at my grandparents house on Vancouver Island. The Matfins. Finally being considered an adult I was allowed into a side of this family which I had never fully experienced. The Matfins are, by and large, a bunch of smart asses. We poke fun at each other all the time, often tugging at those mental hangnails. For a long time I never got it, I just thought it was annoying and hurtful. Coming around years later I now know that this is how they show affection for each other. As a child it just seemed cruel to me, but bearing witness to a family that is overrun with snide remarks it finally hit me. Only those that feel comfortable have the ability to make brazen jokes towards each other without tremendous fear of the repercussions, and that is what the Matfins have in spades. I also saw that while displaced cross the country the Matfins are more connected than you might think. I know now why my father talks to my granddad for at least an hour every Sunday. They are a family tied to each other by connections that are cultivated and shown attention.

It was proven to me then that life, love and happiness will find a way if you're willing to let it. My Uncle had in the past year separated from my Aunt, understanding that it was no longer the relationship that would sustain his life. My Uncle as long as I could remember was always a fun man. A joker on the outside with perhaps a hardened core from years of being the man dedicated to to a life which he would not allow himself to leave. My Uncle is now engaged. To his sweetheart from nearly twenty years ago, if not more. That hardened core strained under the duress of life had finally been allowed it's freedom. His heart no longer clenched in a tight ball, it was now open, giving and sharing to all in it's wake. I am not terribly close with my father's side of the family, but that night I was shown that what you "feel" about connections can be entirely different from reality. After the party had peaked I was left to speak with my uncle, sitting at the kitchen table while the rest had dissipated to bed. He let me know then that he would always be there for me, and that he always had. That since I had been a part of his life he'd always loved me even if he'd had a hard time really being there to display it. It was apparent to me in that moment that my Uncle was living his life with all the passion and power that he could, and Goddamn did it inspire me.

Not a week later I found myself jamming into a car with my brother making my way back to 100 Mile house. The Levicks. My mother's side of the family has always been a key group of people in my life. They've just been there physically since I was born. It was my Aunt (my mother's sister) and Uncle (her husband) who were my mom the day I was born, and I take this as a sign of my immediate and long lasting connection to these people. My grandparents had always been around. For dinners. For taking my siblings and I on the weekends every now and then. My grandmother blustering around the house never too busy to engage in conversation even with the most precocious of eight year olds. My grandfather was usually out and about doing something, having never been a man who allowed himself the ability to be stationary for very often. My mother's brother sweeping in and out of my life with a cavalier grin and good stories that ranged from good 'ol adventures to level headed working tales. My mother's sister the strong willed woman of infinite brilliance who taught me the merits of hard work. She was the first to fully embrace my innate ability for story telling and would for hours listen to me spill my guts about every idea I had pop into my head.

This is the family that I know intimately. The family that has been there for every single stage of my life. The family that I love drinking some beers with. The family that proved to me that despite our inevitable shortcomings, we will always be there for each other. That our successes are not determined by monetary value alone, but by our own pride and satisfaction in a job well done. The definition of the word job may be used loosely here as I have seen my family work hard for goals in every single aspects of their lives. This is the family that taught me to have conviction in my beliefs. There are many things I disagree with my family on and know by now to avoid discussion of these topics, however it is their strong minded ability to stand by what they believe that I have the utmost respect for.

The Levicks have shown me how to endure. I believe that if this side of my family had a coat of arms "Endure" would be emblazoned upon it. Their lives have presented them with great challenges and rarely have I ever seen them back down from them. Relationships. Jobs. Illness. Family. Money. Distance. All of these things and many more have risen like a great wave from the sea to beat down upon them. They have, however, endured and in the end I believe that they have all ended up better stronger people for it. It is these tests of self in the face of overwhelming adversity that yields a life to be proud of. Nothing worth having is every really easy, or at least that's the saying, and the lives of my family allow me to believe this.

For someone who never truly valued family growing up I feel elated that I have now come to an understanding of who these people are and how much they have influenced my life. I cherish my connections to my family more every year and look forward to the day when I am allowed to be with them more and more.

If the events of early 2009 were my resurrection, then I would say that my summer was my time to live this reborn life to the absolute fullest. Integral in this was me rebuilding my house.

Think of your life as a house. What do you do with a house? You fill it with stuff. You fill it with people. You make it into the house that you want to live in. However there usually comes a point, 'less you're tremendously diligent with your space, where you find yourself thinking "how did all this shit and all these people end up in my house?". There was a lot of stuff, and a lot of people that I didn't really want in my house, and a result of which was me burning down my house. In a literal sense this was when I moved to the mountains, I set my house on fire and simply walked away. We tend to be a fairly self centred species, and this became more evident to me when I came back from my journey. So much had happened to me in such a short span of time that it was strange to realize that life kept on moving for other people while I was gone. My house, I was surprised to find, had not entirely burned down. I had built it with some degree of fortitude it seems, and upon my return I found a scaffolding and foundation remaining. The structure of my life was still in place, the stuff that was important still there, and the people that really mattered? They'd never left my house even when I'd set it alight. I came to know then that my house was mine for the rebuilding, that every single aspect of my house could be defined by me. I could fill it with the people, stuff and memories that I wanted. And if I wanted to do it right I had best get crackin'. The result of which was a summer where I connected with everyone I encountered, or at least tried to.

A summer where there were no wasted days. A summer where I only worked as much as was needed to provide myself with as much fun as possible every single day. A summer where friendships became of hardened steel and gained and edge sharp enough to even cut diamonds. A summer where I finally allowed myself recompense for all the damages and pain I had accrued and dealt over the years. A summer where I allowed my resentments to fall away. A constructive summer, where I built the life that I wanted to live in, the connections I wanted to have, and the world that would sustain me.

2009-Chapter 1: How a Resurrection really feels.

2009-12-29T13:05:00.000-08:00

It was January of 2009 and I was approaching my departure from Vancouver. After two and a half years of sturdy work and living in the city and I had fond myself wanting. The city no longer provided me with what I wanted, much less what I needed. My job, my friends, my apartment, my stuff? All simply fell short of fulfilling my needs in life. These things are certainly not to blame for my situation, but their solidarity in each other did not contribute to the solving of it. On January 30th I would be leaving the city for an indeterminable amount of time for the Kootenays, the southernmost mountain range in British Columbia. A town called Rossland to be exact. I would be living with my best friend Cody, his girlfriend Heidi and two other guys our age whom I had never met and heard very little about. My plan was to leave the city and solve the aching equation of my life that left me feeling displeased on all fronts. I would snowboard. I would be with friends. I would write. I would be apart from the life that I had spent so long cultivating, only to have it leave me with disappointment. Something I've come to believe thoroughly resurfaced on the edges of my mind here as I began to contemplate this challenge of my future. "As you get older life does not get any easier, but it certainly can get better".

There was one aspect of my life in Vancouver that did fulfill me. I was in a relationship. For the sake of anonymity lets call her Daisy. I was in love with her and I'd like to believe that she was in love with me. I have never been so in love with someone in my entire life. This love was everything I wanted from a connection with a human being. Unflinching, challenging, caring, and intense. However, love for one and other cannot fully sustain a life when one of the lovers feels like they need more. It can carry it for a good long while but, in my situation it was like jump starting a car that no longer has any gas left in it. I did come to a crucial juncture where I seriously considered cancelling my trip for my love. I knew though, deep in my heart, that I would not be satisfied with my life or my love if I chose to stay and despite the many requests from Daisy that I stay, I decided that I still needed to leave the city. Our last night together in the city was not what I would call a impressive way to leave her company. I got shitty drunk with a bunch of my friends and made my way to my favorite local where I proceeded to get even shittier drunk before returning to my apartment where I could do little more than fall asleep in a room that was no longer mine. The next morning ,head ringing and thoughts clouded, I packaged the remains of my belongings, the rest having been shipped VIA greyhound, and dragged my carcass down to the bus depot. As I stood there waiting to board the bus her eyes began to well and the haze of my own selfish indulgence from the night before left me with little ability to form a decent goodbye. Moments later after a very unsatisfying final moment I boarded the bus, watching her walk away. I think she was crying. It doesn't feel good to make someone cry. Ever.

In the weeks that had preceded this our relationship had come to a grinding halt. Her ability and desire to open up to me became stunted by the fact that I was leaving. My comprehension of her feelings dulled and blinded by my own need to attempt to save my life. We spent many nights simply stuck. Stuck talking about nothing. Stuck arguing about nothing. Stuck doing nothing. In these days I suppose I came to take our time together for granted. The nothing was enough for me because I didn't need to care any farther than I was. It would be over soon. It is now clear to me that when a relationship has little reason to progress it probably won't. In the end we decided that our relationship would be over when I moved away. For simplicity's sake. There was full intention of getting back together in some way upon my return. I wonder if, in those last weeks, she thought my proclamations of love to her sounded hollow and without meaning? They most certainly weren't, but with my indulgent and selfish behaviour she had all reason to believe this. I still wonder if she knew that it was all the truth.

Despite all my emotions and deliberations, on the morning of January 30th I found myself on a thirteen hour bus ride to Rossland penning these words in my personal journal,

"Now on the bus there is a brimming nervousness in me as I pass through what seems to continuously be the exact same small town. I fear that I will be caged to another 100 Mile, though in this case I've insanely sought it out. But as I think of Cody and the fresh life I'm rolling closer to, the fear subsides".

I was correct in ways. I had driven through what seemed like a million small towns on my journey to the Kootenays. Each with monuments the same, mostly fast food obelisks. Others carried sights in characters found in gas stations and roadside pickups. I found inspiration and happiness in watching a father disembark from the bus to be greeted by a wife and infant daughter. It was a fresh life indeed. My first night in the Kootenays rewarded me with the thick chill of the mountains to counter the bottled smog and moisture of the coast. Despite many people's derision at it's sights I find the town of Trail to be enchanting with it's neo industrial atmosphere and lighting. I was met by Cody and Heidi at the bus depot. They were nearly an hour late but this didn't concern me too much. I had faith in my friends. They brought me into the open arms of Rossland a place where the upper class of the mountains live and the lower classes would come to ride it's mountain.

My house here was a three story cube. My room, on the top floor, could be reached by ascending perhaps the steepest staircase of all time. I quickly acclimated myself to my surroundings, leaving my calculated apparel of the city behind in favour of a much more comfortable and less constricting garb of a ski bum. The main floor of our home was delightful to say the least. Cody and Heidi had already constructed a very cozy family place. Muted lighting, art supplies, guitars, drums, an oft forgotten TV with Super Nintendo, a box of tobacco products to go with the hookah. The living room would become draped in mess as if it had a mind of it's own only to be reigned in at least twice a week by either myself, Heidi or Cody. The kitchen was large and filled with lyno and dishes without origin. This is where we'd brew buckets of tea, produce dinner, and occasionally hang out, though the abhorrent lighting left much to be desired. The basement was our workshop. It had a workbench where maintenance on skis and boards could be done. Several shelving units for boots, gloves and an overflowing supply of hats. Entering the basement after a long day of riding was a reward in itself as you knew that you were only a staircase away from resting legs long since beaten by the slopes. This was my home for a time. In retrospect it really wasn't that long of a time but to me it felt s'if I'd lived there for ages. A sanctuary if you will. The temple in which my life was allowed to sit in honest limbo while the world I'd left behind changed and grew unto it's own without me.

Snowboarding took the largest chunk of my budget, as seasons passes do not come cheap, yet the greatest toll on me was being away from Daisy. We would spend great deals of time on Ichat, skype or any other variable of communication . Needless to say we were still a part of each other's general consideration of life whether we had agreed to be or not. We were still very much a part of each other's lives. This was in fact the only thing that I was having a hard time handling while in Rossland. The fact that I was poor and couldn't find a job was of little consequence to me compared to my aching heart. That being said I swallowed the lump in my throat and decided to focus on the good, which was plenty, that my journey was providing me with.

A snow fort with seven foot high walls, a hammock, a table top of packed snow, a form fitted and frozen chair, a tunnel entry, Christmas lights and a cave big enough to fit four full grown boys in it. A re-exposure to the dynamic of a living room. While the tv was there, we chose to focus on other goals or avenues, most of the time, rather than suck on the video teet. The daily adventure and everything that it provided. Climbing mountain tops and riding off into the sunset while the mountain crusted 'neath our feet, us the last riders up. Toboggan party complete with costumes. Photo shoots. Me being able to cook for willing participants every night. Music all around me. Coming to the conclusion that washing one's hair is a luxury that I didn't care fore. Hot water would do just fine. Making a tremendous "WORK WANTED" sign out of cardboard and duct tape. Hanging out in central Rossland all day with the sign, singing along with my roommate Jon's guitar. Interacting with all the delightful town folk. Jon's relaxed and open nature. Greg's bombastic character and drive. Heidi's loving demur ease at connecting. The concrete of Cody's friendship Building relationships with an expiry date.Snow.

It started to become clearer to me that simply looking friendly on a street corner with a large cardboard sign, as fun as it was, was not going to procure employment and my automatic reaction to panic began to surface. Rent came due and I was left with little recourse other than to ask my parents for the money I'd need for rent. I didn't want to do it, and I'm sure they didn't want to do it, but in the end I got it. I think now that they understood, as I would come to, how much this journey would mean to me in the end. Although the fear in my gut concerning my future continued to climb my throat, I swallowed it as much as I could and simply continued to live and snowboard. I have to thank my roommates here for hauling me out some days. As much as I do love snowboarding, my ambition to do so on tired legs often left me a whining mess, and without the guys to get me out there I may have wasted my limited time on the mountain.

These were the days when I began to regain my slipped foothold on writing. I would spend most of the evenings getting at least an hour of work done before returning to the casual nights that I now think the Kootenays famous for. Relaxed and open to the conversation and thoughts presented by my roommates. I came to have the most wonderful ideas which I would quickly pen down for use later. Often times my own mind has become more of a trap to me than anything else. I locate things and fixate on them, the topic of my interest becoming more and more a cage than a broad landscape to be explored. There, this landscape was not caged, it was a free world with no borders to inhibit exploration. All else aside, my lack of money, distance from my loved one, and conflict with my decisions, there was one irrefutable feeling that filled me with joy. Absolute freedom. I had sacrificed all of my security for simple and exacting freedom in every sense of my life.

What comes next, let me warn you, is a series of unfortunate events. The first of which is that I made a mistake. There are mistakes we make as people which affect only us, and of course there are those that send a shock wave through our lives and the people in them. The matters of my mistake are for the most part private. I have no secrets about my acts but for the sake of those involved I'm obliged to divulge only a few sparse details. I talked with people about things that were private, and what I spoke about got out. I trusted the wrong person with not only my private information but that of another. I could blame this person for what happened, but ultimately it was my fault and I have always accepted full blame for the result of my loose lips. It was at this time that I was told by Daisy, very upset at two thirty in the morning, that she never wanted to talk to me again. I won't bother to extrapolate the details of this much further other than to say I became bitter and annoyed with my inability to communicate within reason. It is hard enough to fix a strained relationship when you live near someone and is next to impossible when someone won't answer your phone calls or e-mails. At this point I was more pissed off and upset with the situation than anything.

For two or so weeks I did next to nothing. Sure I snowboarded. I wrote. I went about my life in the manner that I had become accustomed to, yet at the end of the day none of it filled me with much more than an overwhelming sense of self pity. Sure I was heartbroken, but more than that I had slipped back into the cozy mental bean bag chair of "why me?" that I had lived in for so long in my life. Despite taking full ownership of my mistake there was still an anger and disease of hatred that brewed in my stomach for the person who had betrayed me. I would come to allow this anger to fall aside, though it would resurface from time to time whenever I heard someone speak of them. For sake of reference lets call them Nate.

I have never been the kind of person to allow myself to stay entirely stationary for too long. Even in my time of frustration and anger I knew that I was going to have to do something to pull myself back up. It came in a form that is entirely fitting for the circumstances, as well as the ones that would follow. I climbed a mountain. I climbed to the peak of Mt. Roberts in Rossland and rode down the face of it. There has never been a more exhilarating moment of pride in my life and I believe, however crazy this may sound, that this pride was to contribute to my downfall. Standing on top of that mountain I told myself that all I needed was myself, that if I was capable of climbing a mountain? Then fuck 'em all. Fuck love. Fuck the city. Fuck money. Just fuck it. My petulant cries of independence and challenge to the universe had been released, and I wouldn't have to wait long to have them answered. Within the next few days I managed to find a job as a lifty on the local mountain. Hah! Take that life, score another point for Axel. I had been hit hard and sent reeling but was on the upswing now!

What came next I can honestly say is the most single defining moment in all of 2009 for me. My first day on the job at Red Mountain, I broke my back. I suffered a double compression fracture on both my t5 and t6 vertebrae. I would no longer be snowboarding, and was in fact quite lucky to be walking. My troubled life had found solace in the ability to live, but now I was left with nothing more than being banished to my bed and sofa. I spent the next month of my life under the influence of heavy prescription pain killers, watching eight hours of television or movies a day, and lost nearly thirty pounds. My previously firm stance of languished self pity evolved into a state of full on depression and depravity. I had little ability to communicate with anyone and took to surfing the internet for hours at a time with little real direction and even less care. I would restlessly check my former love's facebook page in vain and pitiful hope that somehow there would be evidence showing she had changed her mind about me. She had of course not, and I was tortured with the images of her with another man knowing that I would soon be complete in a part of her past. I did not leave the house for nearly a week and had to be helped into bed by my roomates, whom I will thank now for being such wonderful care givers.

While my downfall may be the single most defining moment of 2009, there is a yin to every yang, and the key moment of my rebirth is just as memorable to me as my destruction. Three weeks after my accident, and while beginning to wean myself of've the oxycotins. I sat in my kitchen drinking a cup of tea and listening to my music on shuffle. Not originally I was surfing the facebook news feeds for the billionth time that day when I noticed something. A friend of mine had posted a link to her photography graduation show and the date of it. April fourteenth if I remember correctly. This is significant because Daisy was in the very same program at school with this friend of mine, who's name is Tehya. It seemed logical that if Tehya was graduating on this day then so to must Daisy. I followed the link to the school website where some of the photo's for the graduation show were on display. After navigating the site and Daisy's pictures I found one of myself. As I found this picture the song "Stay Positive" by The Hold Steady came on. The thundering group vocals and the message of the song hammered into my brain and cleared the fog of synthetic heroin that I'd been subjecting myself to for the past three weeks. I knew then what I needed to do. I knew right then and there was my plan of action was. The romantic in me felt it was the only recourse, the realist in me knew it was crazy. I'm not entirely sure if this is where I was reborn, but I do know that this is where the embers in the pile of ashes that I had become began to glow again.

I made a phone call to my mother and told her that I would be coming home. I packed my bags, put my affairs in order, and said my goodbyes to all the people and places of Rossland which had provided me with so much over the very short time that I was there. Cody and company were sad to see me go, and while I didn't fully explain everything to them I'd like to believe that they understood it was what I needed to do. I thank and respect my Grandfather for coming to retrieve me from the mountains. He certainly didn't have to which is why when he requested I stay awake for the duration of our drive home I did just that. Despite the fact that I could barley keep a conversation going for longer than five minutes, I did it. I had wanted to take this time to ask my grandfather the mile long list of questions I had concerning his life, but my desire the for answers was outweighed by my need to quell the pain in my back and as such my mind was lost to both of us for the drive.

My return to my family home was unlike any other home coming that I've made since I left. Every other retreat north has been coupled with some other goings on. Thanksgiving, Christmas, a Graduation. This time it was just me and the town. As I look at it now I am so thankful for that. Being back in 100 Mile provided me with the opportunity to be resurrected in my place of birth, and to walk through my own footsteps of life. I spent many of my days there retracting these steps. From the back forests and fields of my elementary school, to the wood behind my parents house and then into the halls of my high school. I was allowed re-entry into all of the stages of my life that had defined me so far. I would often just stop and allow the scenes of my life to unfold around me.

Horse Lake Elementary. Playing soccer. At first using the backstop squares as goalie nets before being elevated to full size nets upon our reaching grade six. Truth or Dare in the expansive forest. My first kiss. Feelings of fear and alienation for not being an athlete. My snide childhood disregard for the grading system which would only evolve as time went on. Grade five when I stopped caring about marks. The horrendous incident with my broken arm in grade seven. Learning about my skills as a writer. Missing two months of school and returning without a place to belong, so removed from the context was I. All of the teachers whom I had, who I've never actually forgotten, remembering all the lessons they taught me academic and otherwise.

My Jr. High where, lost in a sea of faces, I attempted to make myself stand out from the crowd. Often times at a very large degradation of my own image. It was here that I decided that I was going to choose my friends and went out in search of the people that I wanted to spend my time with. Tyler, Dylan, Mike, Nick and of course Cody. These were the friendships that I started that would support and influence my life in ways that I'll probably never full understand. Musical theater class and the utmost support I felt from my teacher Mr. Lund, who became another friend who was there to offer advice and a listening ear when I was at a loss. This was the beggining of my insecurities and the formation of my perverted sense of self. I felt defined by outspoken nature and need to be different. The classrooms and lockers now so small it's hard to believe that at a time my life belonged almost soley inside the school's narrow hallways.

My highschool. Where I learned that I could be the person that I wanted to be. Where I felt self loathing in heartbreak. The year where Cody and I fell away from each other and I was forced to find other avenues of friendship before coming around to understanding that the greatest friendships are the ones that can be rebuilt after crumbling under their own weight. The championing sense of determination I felt after writing a novel only to have it destroyed. The overwhelming sense of "never quit" that would become tatooed on my brain after this. My raised eyebrows and mock sense of disregaurd had I had for graduation, only to prove myself wrong when the glee of holding my diploma knocked over my full chalice of self righteousnes. My first real painting and the discovery that I am in more ways than one an artist.

Fascination Street. The local toy store owned by an amazing husband and wife team which was, and still is to this day, my favorite job of all time. Where I was allowed to be the person I loved being. Embracing all that my society told me was uncool. Where I was taught lessons ranging from the fundamentals of retail to comic book history and tools of parenting that I will never forget. Chris and Mikara, perhaps without ever realizing it, provided me with a sanctuary for a heart and mind that were often in conflict. These people were oft the sobering voices that allowed my adolescent stupidity to be proven wrong, yet always without malice.

The list goes on but perhaps the most important out of every place in my upbringing was of course my family home. The house that I had lived in in every stage of it's construction. From playing in the wide open foundation filled with snow, to running through the walls without paint and into my room, which lacked a door. I find it fitting that I, a person who has always been building and rebuilding himself, grew up in a construction zone. Tobogganing. My mother kicking us kids outside to play far away from the TV. Family fights. The heat of the wood stove. Our tremendous kitchen table forever to be cluttered. My room still stained with the angst of my adolesence and rage at being misunderstood. It has become stranger and stranger to me that the place where I spent the great majority of my existence may no longer be a part of my life in the years to come after my parents sell it.

These were the moments where I began to dig myself from the aformentioned ashes I had crumbled into. I told my parents of my plan to return to the city as soon as possible where I would prove my love with one grand gesture. To this my mother shook her head and told me absolutely not. I had just broken my back. I had no money. I would not be able to work. They would not be providing me with any more money. It is fitting that it was here, in the throes of reliving my life, that I broke down and released what may be the most honest assesment of my relation to my family. I began to explain my theories of our family to my mother. How our family, not an openly loving one, had always left me wanting. Searching for love, connection and emotional fufillment as I couldn't find it at home. How despite my comprehension of my upbrining being centered around shame, scorn and contempt, I believed in love. I have come to believe that my family in their own fucked up way really do love each other, and that we have the capacity to love so much more than we ever display. It was my release of this unwaivering belief in love and the tears streaming down my face as I allowed my mother to hold me in this moment of vulnerability, that gave me the next level of strength I would need. I like to believe that it was then as we looked at each other that we both came to terms with who each other really was. How as much as I was her son and she my mother, carrying many of the same traits, we were not the same person. Her strong grounded personality grounded in the understanding of the hardships of life, which she'd always impressed upon me, and my calamatous gyser of emotion and hope came together. She understood that this was something I needed to do. I don't tell my mother I love her enough. I really should. Without her strong decisions to do what she thought was best for me I most certainly wouldn't be the man I am today.

The agreement was made that I would adjourn back to the city with my brother after Easter, as I began to undertake the next step in my pilgrimage. Only a month after my injury I would daily wrap myself in winter clothes, call the dog and take long hikes out into the back forty of my parents property. I often laughed at myself slogging through the knee deep snow, s'if I were in a scene from Rocky IV. And so it was for the next few weeks, I trained to re enter my life. Along the way I spent as much time as I could with friends from the past, as well as new friends I'd made over the years. An afternoon chat with Mikara provided me with a nugget of insight that I carry with me to this day. "It is all about intent". I found myself wondering what my intentions really were for returning to the city, what I expected to gain from all of it. Did I really expect her to fall in love with me all over again? Did I think that it was a relationship that would work even if she did? What was I going to do once I had completed my mission? I didn't have many answers for these questions but I did know that my intention was to at least see what happened.

Easter came and went. My brother Zack and his girlfriend Danika came home. It was as many Matfin family gatherings are; without ceremony and always carrying an certain amount of smart assery. It ended quickly and with a long held hug to my mother I was out the door and in a truck heading back to Vancouver. It was as if time had stopped for the past month. I was now entirely free of the clouds that had formed over my brain as a result of my painkillers and the drive back to Vancouver seemed to display the energy of my being. It's power was spiking after a brief interlude of heavy reflection. I had orchestrated things so that I would be returning to my old apartment downtown for an undetermined length of time. I thank my good friend Dan here for providing me with the place I needed to exist in the city, as well as his patience in me occupying his living quarters. The scene I returned to was much the same as the one I left. Familiar faces gathered 'round a poker table talking shit and drinking beer. It was, I believe, the best way I could have re-entered the city. As if nothing had changed. Nothing but me.

I was two weeks ahead of schedule, and amazed that I had managed to pull all of the pieces of my life back together so quickly. I'd procured some funds due to injury insurance which had finally come through. I spent the two weeks leading up to the big day simply bopping around the city and visiting friends and places that I loved in an attempt to rebuild my stunted ability to connect with people, having been mentally removed from them for so long. I spent a great deal of time with Dan just hanging out and talking about all the things I'd seen, done and thought in the time since I'd left the city. I explained my plan to him, and his response to it was both skeptical and supportive. I was riding high on my return to the city along with all the fire of hope that I could muster and it was at this point that I asked him,

"Haven't you done anything in your life, outside sports, where you gave it everything you had? Like everything. 150%, So much that you thought it just might kill you? Because you knew that whatever the outcome it was better than knowing you didn't try your hardest?"

His response is inconsequential, but it was in this moment that I came to know how the people who truly achieve something feel in their lives. They are dedicated and committed to something that they believe in so much that they are willing to collapse trying rather than simply give up.

The day started to get closer and closer, my nerves starting to get highjacked like a 747. I knew that, coming as far as I had, I was obligated to try and prove myself as best as possible. But how? It seemed counterintuitive to show up and just explode. However much I love the idea of loud public proclamations of love, I knew that making a rediculous scene in which I let it all out was more likely to blow up in my face than anything. So I sat and did what I suppose I do best. I wrote. I wrote a letter. It was a long letter. I spent at least a week on this twenty or so page mammoth before I came to realize that it was simply too contrived. I was using the mechanics of my words and feelings to try and manipulate the situation in my favour. I didn't like this and promptly threw the letter out. Just gone. Instead, as my month and a half of moving towards this one day came to a head, I sat down two hours before leaving for the graduation show and wrote what I hope was one of the most honest pieces of composition I have ever put together. I won't say what was in it. As honest as I'm being here some things are private. Letter in hand I stepped out the door of the home that was no longer mine and was on my way.

Halfway there the pain in my back was completely eclipsed by the shaking of my legs and hands. I stopped for a drink on the way over and attempted to gain my composure before moving the final two hundred meters towards the community center that was hosting the event. I went inside and attempted to slip into the crowd and appear casual. She was there. I saw her before she saw me, yet I didn't approach her. I fumbled around the exhibits for fifteen minutes before standing still and fully examining a photographer's wall. She came around the corner and finally saw me. Simply put she was surprised to see me. There was no overstated gesture of this shock. She did not yell, or whoop, or start crying. She was just surprised, gave me a hug and then moved on with the people who had been accompanying her. I moved 'round to her exhibit and saw no pictures of me. There was however a picture of a young man who was not me. There was caring in this picture, the caring I had come to know from being around photographers. Their incensed ability to capture everything they want in an indellible image.This picture sent me outside where I downed three cigarettes at breakneck speed attempting to maintain my facial and mental composure. Then Ashlee arrived. Ashlee is one of my best friends and one of the mutual friends of Tehya. She rounded the corner just outside the building where I was sitting. I am now more thankful than anyone could ever really know for having one of my best friends appear here. I was allowed to disguise my crumbling heart and composure with chippy dialouge and cheap wine. Daisy became lost in the crowd, every now and then meeting my eyeline but never for very long as I returned to a conversation about nothing with Ashlee. The time wore on and after the presentations were finished I found my friend base dwindling, and I knew that it was probably time to be leaving, yet I had not done what I set out to do.

It is amazing that a month and a half of sheer will, determination and belief in love actually carried me to a three hour event, where only fifteen minutes mattered. Things were closing down and I went to her and asked her if I could talk to her for a few minutes. We wandered down the hall of the community center away from the crowds and I leaned up against a table to give my back a break while we spoke. What did we talk about? Nothing. Really nothing of any consequence. A standard civil conversation where 'bout naught from the past was brought up, save for the fact that I was terribly sorry. The conversation began to dwindle and I reached into my jacket and withdrew the letter from near my jackhammering heart. I handed it to her and she allowed me one more hug before I waved and cracked a half smile on my way out the door. There was for a moment a lightness about my body. A sense of achievement? I don't really know. Perhaps the best way to describe it was that I had been holding my breath for what seemed like years, and in that fifteen minutes I had finally been allowed it's release. I made it five blocks and suddenly felt more tired than I have ever been in my entire life. The weight of my body seemed to pile onto my back and my brain wasn't much more than a stew of confusion.

My predicament was, in my belief, a way of life telling me to smarten the fuck up. To stop being such a self righteous prick. To take ownership, true ownership, over my life and to fully sculpt it into what I wanted it to be. I had moved to the kootenays expecting the single event to change my life, and while it certainly had the change wasn't the point. I had not been committed to me playing an active part in that change. Instead of focusing on my life as it was, finding commitment in making it better, I had given up. I was the only person to blame for the events that had transpired in my life. It is put best by a very good friend of mine who told me the following.

"You make these big epic gestures thinking that once this, or that, happens everything will be solved. It's not the situation or the city, or circumstances. It's who you are and what you bring"

The following week involved me wandering through life. I had no direction. I had no focus. And I really didn't give a shit. I was just as gripped with my need to know what her response to my letter would be as I ever was with just seeing her again. The response? It never came. It was something that in time I would come to accept. There are some things, some feelings, some thoughts that people may not be equipped to deal with, or even just respond to. Whatever she thought, whatever she felt? I had to let my concerns for such fall away. I was tired to say the least. I felt like I'd just ran three marathons both physical and emotional. Yet for all my confusion, exhaustion and lack of inspiration, my quest having now been completed, I knew that I couldn't stop there. Life can kick the shit out of you, and when it does it usually does so with extreme prejudice. Despite this I've found that eventually life gets tired, the punches and kicks it might have been delivering to you? They stop. After this you might be left battered and broken. Emotional or physical, it doesn't really matter. What does, is that no matter what life has dished out at you, you take it. You don't have to take it head on. You don't have to like it. But I've learned you can make the best of it. Pick yourself up, keep moving, and above all else stay positive.

2009: A forward.

2009-12-25T23:01:00.001-08:00

Jan 3, 2009

In the coming weeks I will be releasing the entire summary of my year of 2009. All of my deepest thoughts, feelings and stages of living will be presented in this segmented piece of composition. You may recall that I did something similar for 2008, if you were paying attention. This is a different scenario with a different format from that of last year. This year as my life progressed from stage to stage I made vital attempts to remember and carry my experiences with me. Whether I was going through something easy or hard I made damn sure that I record all of the details of my life in my own brain so that in the future I would not only be able to tell the story of what happened, but learn from that which life has presented me with.

Certain details are omitted for the sake of people involved. As much as this is the story of my life there are people who have been a part of it along the way. Some may not want to have their identities fully disclosed and I can respect that. Names, events and details have been excluded because I have felt that they are not integral to the telling of this story.

I would like to take this opportunity to dedicate this story, and indeed the past year of my life, to everyone that has supported me along the way. Family, friends, and places who have made my life what it is now I thank you from the very bottom of my heart, I would not have been able to do it without you.

In all honesty I am not entirely finished the story of my 2009, as 2009 has not yet fully ended. However it felt prudent to me to be able to release the first segment of the story as the year, and the decade, came to a close. The final piece will be released as I am able to come to terms with everything that has happened.

Throughout there will be pictures of my life, according to the moments as defined by my writing. I have also taken the time to take a picture of myself at least once a month for a whole year so that I could see how I've aged and changed, and perhaps so may you.

This is the story of my rebirth. The story of my ability to connect. And the the lessons I've learned with all the passion I posses. This may sound cliched and even self congratulatory. I have made attempts to tell this story as honestly as I possibly could and while this may leave me as open fodder to criticism I cannot relinquish my stance on the truth of these events for me. In the end this is a story that I felt I was meant to not just tell, but live.

In the coming weeks I invite you into my life, such as it is, and hope that at least you can be entertained by all I've been through and at most perhaps learn a little something along the way.
Dec 25, 2009

Create

2009-11-28T16:37:00.000-08:00

There are usually two questions.

"Should I write"

Absolutely.

"Do I write?"

Subjective as all shit.

I spend a good deal of my days thinking about how I should probably be writing more than I am. This isn't to say that I don't write a lot. There are open notepad documents littering the desktop of my computer all the time. Most of them aren't finished pieces, they need some time to mature before they're brought to full fruition. Others are the magnanimous manuscripts that I've decided to post to either my facebook or blogs, depending on where you read. I spend the time between chipping out sentences re-reading my older work. What am I looking for? Mistakes. Successes. Things to learn from. Simple joy in my creation. Words are something that I toy with all day long. Whether I'm attempting to make a boring conversation more interesting, or just amusing myself with alternating lexicons. I love, seriously, love using phrases, slang terms or even just general words that one may not be disposed to present in average conversation. Speaking with hip hop slang in a standard culture conversation may be one of my more favorite things of all time. The looks on people's faces when I, probably the whitest man you know, drops a "fo-sho" into a more intellectual string of dialogue is priceless.

I find words delicious. I've spent a good amount of time around cooks and chefs, not to mention the delightful food the create. What they produce with their craft provides me with joy and the utmost appreciation for a skill that can transcend into art. This is how I feel about words. A properly produced sentence can leave me in the throes of delight in a way that is uncontested by anything. The only thing that comes close is when I have my phrases repeated to me by someone else. There is a calm delight that comes from knowing that someone has read something that I've produced. It allows me to believe that my passion provides at least 4 people with something to identify with or at least be entertained by.

My day to day life allows me a good deal of time to write. Sure there are things that stand in the way. Work. Time with friends. Eating. Reading. Drinking. Talking. Sleeping. But all these things contribute in ways that you can't really calculate. Without all of these different venues in my life, there would be no way to support the creative engine in the center of my brain. Often times, when I find myself lacking the ability to produce a piece that I feel is worth of worldly presentation, I send e-mails. E-mails to friends mostly. My grandparents should be higher on that list. Just sitting down and taking the time to bang out a thoughtful e-mail to a friend or loved one produces a creative vortex that draws me away from the world at large along with all the concerns that may bring with it.

I've talked to decent number of writers in my time. I've met writers who are enthralled by the mechanics of language. Others choose to delve into the depths of their subtext and overall theme. Many try to make a statement. I came to terms with something this summer about who I am as a writer. I am a writer who believes 100% in story. I don't care what the story is, who is telling it, or how it's told. I've been told stories by people who are not well equipped story tellers. That hardly matters to me. Sure it's great when someone can tell an amazing story, in fact those are the people who become closest friends with me, but more importantly to me is the story itself. The most mundane events that we go through I find to be the best stories. Shopping at the supermarket? You needn't have a lot going on in that puppy other than "We were hungry and wanted food"....I want to know that story. Because at very least? What someone is thinking about in that instance makes me connect with them. I used to self loath my taste in stories which is often crude, simple and utterly without deeper meanings. I stopped thinking of myself as a serious artist at this point. That is not to say that I'm not serious about producing my art, but more that I retrieved the meter stick out of my rectum that was forcing me to take the art itself too seriously. I love a good dick and fart joke story. I like to laugh and I love to have fun. The stories I tell are for the most part, the stories I would want to hear about.

An example of what I'm talking about can be shown in my recent re-embracing of science fiction. Growing up I loved sci-fi probably more than any other genre. As time wore on I started to consider these brands of tales more and more immature or at very least geeky. I wear my love of Star Wars like a badge of honor. Yet when it comes to the written class of this, I shy away from admitting that I love it. As if I may not be taken seriously for my appreciation of a more imaginative medium. I know now that's bullshit. For a long while, this was the time I was ignoring sci-fi, I tried to write deep life changing stories. The great American novel ideas, if you will. I wanted to change the world. Still do. What I think now, is what I thought then, though at that point I ignored the idea. No one plans to make a story that changes the world. It just happens. At one point someone writes something that is a perfect storm for that point in existence. It affects the world around it as much as it was affected by the world. I no longer aspire to write something that will shake the foundation of society. I do not want to cow-tow to the ivory tower of intellectualism, but I also don't want to sell myself short. I simply want to write stories. Stories that people will read. Stories that people can identify with. Stories that entertain. Stories that provoke. Stories that make you laugh. Stories that are good old fashioned fun. Stories, with spaceships in them.

The long and short of is? I just want to create.

Runaway

2009-11-22T15:01:00.000-08:00

It's been a hard couple of weeks. Certainly the most straining that I've had to go through in a good long while. There's been days where I wake up and simply want to crawl under a rock and let everything fall by the wayside. But I can't. It's come to dawn on me that all the positivity and life ethics that I've been preaching for the past six months are now going to be put to the test. It all comes down to one of the more basic instinct decisions that any living being may face. Fight or flight.

I'm in a place right now where my immediate reaction is to just run. Run away. I have daydreams about dropping my life and my possessions, packing a bag and jumping on a bus to god knows where. However, I've ran away from too many problems in my life or at least tricked myself into thinking that they would be solved by distancing myself from them. A good friend of mine once told me "You attempt to change things in your life by making these epic sudden changes". Being told this made me realize that my life is always under my control, though at times it doesn't feel that way. It's all about choice and intention. My choices are dictated by my intentions. At the end of the day, when I'm feeling battered and spent, I ask myself "Is this bringing me closer to my ultimate goals?". Despite the fact that life right now my life is an uphill battle, I know that I'm getting to where I need to be.

I've gone through some shit in my life, we all have. I don't pretend that my shit stank anymore than anyone elses'. Really? It's all relative. One man's crisis is an other's cakewalk. Something that I've always retained through any situation that has been hard is that it can always get better. Sure sometimes things get worse, or they get harder but key to all of this is believing that they CAN get better. We all shy away from challenges now and then. There's nothing wrong with that. Sometimes you've gotta choose the path of least resistance because maybe you aren't equipped to take that of most resistance. But like a ghost buster once said "We've got the tools, we've got the talent". Right now I feel like I've got both those things I just need to put that one other thing behind them. Willpower.

As much as I keep feeling like I want to run away, I know that isn't the answer. I've got to keep thinking that I'm building the life I want to live in tomorrow, today. My fears? Some are legit some aren't. My inspiration? Full and real. My philosophy? Sound. The people in my life? Supportive. My art? Committed. In the end all of the factors that make my life worth living are completely here, the bigger question? Am I here? Do I still believe in myself? Or will the weight of my potential once again be shirked in an attempt to avoid failure? Not this time. No more running.

Things my Mother has been right about.

2009-11-10T22:24:00.000-08:00

Though they're numbered, they're really in no particular order. Some of these things I've always felt, lots of them I've just come around to realizing in the past year or so. What all of them have in common is that my Mom believes them

1. You really should pull your pants up.
2. The weekend IS a good time to get work done.
3. Just because you didn't make the mess doesn't mean you can't clean it up.
4. Laughing at the worst situations is usually your best option.
5. Money doesn't really matter that much.
6. Eventually everyone forgives.
7. Stupid people are people too.
8. Organic meats and vegetables are definitely better than Captain Crunch.
9. Everything comes back into style.
10. There's a right time and place for it.
11. A small glass of milk can ease a monstrous hunger pain.
12. It really isn't so bad where I grew up.
13. Buying stuff cheap isn't uncool, it's smart.
14. Thrift stores are the greatest place to buy clothes.
15. My name.
16. The TV should be used sparingly.
17. Condoms are a good idea.
18. Don't give a shit what anyone thinks.
19. Ignoring an asshole is usually the best idea.
20. At certain times you may feel like you hate your family, but they still love you.
21. Eating too many cherries can be a really bad idea.
22. No one always knows what they're talking about.
23. Elders deserve some respect.
24. Vegetables are good for you.
25. Just because you don't want a hug, it doesn't mean you don't need one.
26. Religions fine, just done be a dick about it.
27. Everyone is equal.
28. Having regular bowels is a must.
29. Bringing an extra jacket is often a good idea.
30. Snow boots fucking rule.
31. Once the toboggan hill is packed down? It will be the greatest time ever.
32. I do appreciate it all, now that I'm older.
33. Those girls do look like tramps.
34. Being rude doesn't get you anywhere.
35. I can make a difference.
36. Just because it's awful doesn't mean you can't like it.
37. Sleepless in Seattle is a great movie.
38. Being pissed off rarely solves anything.
39. Exercise makes you feel good.
40. I regret a lot of it now that I'm older.
41. Nothing ever goes the way you planned it.
42. It's usually better that way.
43. Manners are more important than you'd ever realize.
44. Being well spoken and dressed doesn't make you gay.
45. There's nothing wrong with being gay whatsoever.
46. Eventually, most people grow up.
47. I'm often not the smartest person in the room.
48. You can't understand everything.
49. Being realistic has it's benefits.
50. This too, shall pass.

CONSUME!

2009-10-21T14:53:00.000-07:00

So I went shopping yesterday.

How do you go shopping? What does shopping mean to you? When I go shopping that means that I have something I mean to buy. Rarely do I set out to meander through stores and hunt for something to spend my hard earned cashola on. Most of the time I go to thrift stores. Approximately 90% of my wardrobe is bought at thrift stores. The only items that are not are brand new jeans, sneakers, and anything that I actually need (underwear, socks, work clothes, etc.). When I do shop for these brand new items I am usually looking for decent prices to go along with what I want. The luxury of buying brand new apparel is that most of the time you can find exactly what you want. Thrift shopping takes dedication, pleasure in it's execution and a keen eye. I count it as another notch on our current society's need to have things "right now" that even in this time of economic recession fashion is booming. When I go into a non-thrift store I bee line it to what I want. often Look over the products and make a quick decision regarding my purchase. If it's not there? Bang zoom, I'm on my way.

Yesterday all I wanted was a decent pair of black skinny jeans for work. Levi's preferable but not necessary. I started with two thrift stores. When these didn't pan out I went to two stores on the Granville strip and then to Pacific center mall. Lets get this straight. I hate malls. I hate shopping centers. I hate any conglomerate labyrinthine building that glows with excessive consumerism and unnecessary commerce. If cities are a cancer on this earth, then malls would be precisely located tumours. The last time I went to Metrotown I was overwhelmed. I needed to get out. It wasn't just the claustrophobic feeling that is brought down upon me by malls it was an overall descending faith in the human race. We may get more "civilized" every generation, but we're generally sucking more and more at being real people. Instead we're becoming of fabricated concepts impressed upon us by the media. I get it, I sound like a big fucking cliche of anti cooperate social environmentalism. What I have to say to this is don't be such an ignorant prick. Open your eyes look around you and make the judgement call for yourself. I'm watching looking and making a decision based on the information at hand and my interpretation of it.

This is not a assault on people's style. Style is largely an expression of self and as such I've got no beef with most of it. Your style may not be my style and I get that. However the system that provides you with this style I will judge. Oh and all those new men's pants that have stupidly elaborate embroideries, buttons, and flares...if I wanted pants to look like the Las Vegas I'd buy a bedazzler off ebay.

Everything comes back. Think about how many clothes get made every year, and then consider how many of those clothes get sold and how many don't. There's probably some huge warehouse district that's just filled with clothes from the past ten years that couldn't even be sold off've those 50% sale racks. I imagine, and I'm probably wrong but entertain the idea, that these clothes sit in storage until the marketing machine can find the right time to insert them back into the public consciousness. I mean in vintage stores you find all sorts of clothes from the early nineties that are in perfect condition. How do vintage stores end up with a lot of this stuff? Sure people go out and pillage thrift stores but I bet there are cases of the stuff that just sit around waiting to be bought and sold as the cycle of fashion continues to rotate.

Where does one draw the line? When does the expression of self through still start to drift away from a choice in the necessity of clothing and become a hedonistic embrace of excess? I can think of certain items and clothing lines that, to me are a hallmark of North American need to consume. But honestly I don't really know. Two or three really nice shirts does not a glutton make. How does that line begin to be drawn? Brand new clothing is great. I love a brand new shirt or jeans or shoes, but at the same time I hate it. Why is a pair of jeans so expensive? What is it that makes a relatively simple garment so expensive for us as a consumer to purchase? Sure some products are made to a very high standard, but is that all that we're buying? Of course not. That label on any piece of clothing that you buy is probably the most expensive part. I can't imagine even top of the line quality jeans costing more than twenty dollars a pair when you factor in materials and labour. Products are cheap, image costs a lot.

I don't have a very concise closing statement. I don't quite know how to sum up the experience. It's a day later and I'm still rattled by what I found in the bowels of Pacific Center. I got lost in there. Lost in the winding aisles and staircases, lost in the atmospheric bubble of certain stores, and lost in the projection of the need to buy. What I do know is at the end of the day I didn't get my new pair of jeans but felt like I had paid a heavy toll for having gone shopping.

Missed Connections

2009-10-13T16:12:00.000-07:00

Lana is the person who had my phone number before me.

How do I know this right? I'd think it was weird if anyone knew the name of the person who had their phone number before them. I was first introduced to Lana not twenty four hours after receiving my new phone and number. First thing in the morning, earlier than any reasonable person would call, I got a call from blockbuster. An automated message telling me that Lana had a large amount of overdue films that needed to be returned. The name didn't really register at that moment. I hung up and immediately went back to sleep, none too pleased with Lana at all. Over the next three days I got a lot more calls for people looking for Lana, and I had to inform them that her number was now mine. Every time they asked if Lana was there, s'if I was her boyfriend or roommate who had just picked up the phone. Every time asking for Lana, so I was bound to remember the name whether I wanted to or not. This went on beyond the regular amount of time that would be expected after a person changes their phone number. I got my new phone six months ago and from time to time I still receive phone calls from people looking for Lana. This got me thinking.

What happened to Lana? Where did she go and what is she doing now that so many people do not have her current phone number? In this day and age when a person loses their phone, or simply changes their number when subscribing to a new contract or company, they usually send out a mass e-mail or text informing all of their contacts that there number changed. Maybe Lana just didn't do this? Maybe she just went on her way in life and decided that those who actually wanted to get in touch with her would figure out a way to do so. What if this wasn't the case? There are times after I get one of these calls where I find myself inexplicably worrying about Lana. What if something happened to her? What if she's a missing person? Just disappeared, the contacts inside her phone wondering what's become of her? Maybe she moved and didn't tell anyone? Just packed her bags and hopped on a plane, winging off towards a new life without explanation? I like to imagine that she fell madly in love and eloped with her sweetheart, preferably to somewhere tropical where a new phone number and the interferences of life here in Vancouver are entirely inconsequential. Whatever happened to Lana I know that she exists, or in a worst case scenario, existed. Lana is a person in the regular world, the same as you and me. She probably had a job, relationships, problems, a home. To think about the world in a scope that extends beyond our personal bubble is a challenge of empathy and overwhelming in it's scope. Your bubble, through connections and mutual acquaintances, is probably much larger than you'd imagine.

Every person you see on the street. They have a life. Their life has family, friends, a job, a home. The things that create a foundation for living, a foundation that we all have in common. I like to imagine what a given person's life may look like. What they do in their spare time for fun. What they like to eat, what they don't like to eat. Do they smoke? Do they drink? I wonder if they are a religious person? Have they ever been in love? If so are they still in love? Maybe they got married and had kids? That person has a bike, do they bike everywhere or is it for leisure travel rather than necessity? That man's shoes are worn to the bone, can he not afford a new pair or does he just really like those shoes? Why do people enjoy a certain style? Maybe it has to do with their lifestyle? Maybe not? All of these questions and a million more I wish I could have answered while I stroll down the street. Everyone's story interests me, from the guy who's sweeping sidewalks to that bald rather angry looking fellow who's stuck with his BMW in traffic. We all exist in this city and indeed this crazy world. All linked through a simple definite quality of being human.

I am linked to Lana forever. I think it's safe to say that I'll probably never meet her. Though it's possible that I might see her, I'd just never know it. I'm pressed with questions now that I probably could find the answers to. The next time I get a phone call requesting Lana's presence I wonder If I'll be able to ask if the person on the other end of the phone knows what happened to Lana. I wouldn't say that I truly care, but I am most certainly curious. This connection goes another way as well. Perhaps there are some people out there who never got the memo that I left the city and no longer carried my old number. Maybe these friends of mine found themselves calling this old number to hear the repetitious "sorry you have the wrong number". Who got my old phone number? What are they doing with it? Who calls it? Do any of my friends still call it by mistake?

We're all looking to connect with one another. That's why the phone was invented in the first place. Reaching out making connections. Thumbing in ten digits and letting technology do the rest. Truth of the matter, as far as I see it, is that we're all already connected. You don't need a phone. You don't need the internet. You don't need plenty of fish. You just need to know how to reach out. Lower your firewall. Stop screening your calls. Imagine the answering machine won't get it. There are no missed connections. Only missed calls.

Salvation

2009-10-03T11:51:00.000-07:00

Eventually, we all get saved. I don't mean that in some sort of religious sense that your soul is gonna be saved by some sort of conversion to the belief and worship of a higher authority. For you it might be though. That might be the thing that saves you. That's the thing, it could be just bout anything that saves you.

I believe that our lives all have supports and we're all connected to them through tethers that hold fast. 'Ventually, at some point, these lines either get cut, fall away or simply become too strained by the overall weight of your life. Your family, friends, job, livelihood? All these things offer support and help hold us up while we balance precariously on a high wire over top a huge chasm. Maybe a friend moves away, or a a relationship ceases to exist. Your job no longer sustains you. You lose faith in your goals, or even lack goals. Sometimes all these things happen at once and you're left teetering on that line. Maybe you can hold your balance for a long time, maybe you can't. In time? Everyone gets tired and slips. Sometimes you know right away that you've slipped, other times you don't notice until you're in an outright free fall. Sure you can try and catch yourself right away, you can look for that one thing to hold on to. To keep you from dropping any farther, and that thing can catch you. You might catch that one thing, you might flail uncontrollably always missing it. Even if you do? It can't hold you forever.

I've come around to realizing that while one thing can catch you, it takes more than that to sustain your weight. I've lived my life often holding onto that one thing, and though I find it invaluable and powerful, eventually it's going to get stretched a little thin or crumble. Last year it was my job that held me up, a couple of relationships too, but it was my job that was that one big line. Progressively the weight of my life got heavier and heavier as I let got of pitons to all my other supports until it was just me and this one line hanging there while the winds of the world whipped around me. With only one line to hold me and none for stability I floundered and was left to swing to and fro in the this wind. I wasn't at the top of the chasm, I was in it. The wind battering me against the walls while I held tight to that one line. Ultimately as that line became weathered and my hands blistered I started to lose my grip and found myself plummeting.

I fell for a good long time. Sometimes my descent would be slowed by some safety nets but safety nets only hold for so long and I continued to fall. It was only until I saw the ground rushing towards me that I reached up and found that ledge to grab on to. Afraid, broken and weak though I was I knew that I didn't want to fall any farther. I was miles away from reaching my forgotten tightrope, but I felt sure that if I kept climbing I would get there again. What I decided then, as I climbed this barren crevasse, which had left me profusely bleeding, was that the only way I was going to make to the top and stay there was if I could find more than one line to hold me. I started to make new supports. New goals. New relationships. Re-establishing and strengthening old relationships. Past goals revisited. Once I got here I realized that I didn't have to do it alone anymore. That despite the fact that it was my journey, there were others who wanted to see me get back on top. When my arms were tired these people, ideas, and energies carried me. Never for too long though, I was aware to no longer put the full weight of my life in the hands of one thing. We're only so strong and while we can ask a support to help hold the weight it would not only be rude, but impossible to ask them to fully carry it. Our own lives are heavy enough on their own.

You save other people. Without ever even realizing it you do. By being that person who picks up the phone one day. Supporting an idea. Telling someone what they need to hear, not what they want to hear. Not saying anything at all. Giving a hug. And even just being there. The nature of salvation is not calculated. It is one of life's miracles. It's the turning point where hope, faith and determination come together in a perfect storm that allows us a chance at redemption.

You might not think you need to be saved, and for the most part? You probably don't. From the way I look at it most people don't get saved that often. Most people keep their head on their shoulders and manage to walk that tightrope without more than a few wobbles. But sooner or later we all slip. And whether that thing that offers you salvation is the ledge that you catch or the strong arm that drags you back up it's still something that you have to choose to take hold of. You can really only ever be saved if you want to be saved. That ledge or helping hand only makes a difference if you choose to grab on to it. Sometimes you're falling and you don't even notice it. But I believe that we are all capable of being caught even if it's just seconds before the ground comes rushing to meet your face.

Eventually, we all get saved. There isn't a right or wrong path to salvation. Most of the time it's a hard one either way. That uphill battle fueled by the innate human desire to find sure footing in a treacherous place. If you truly desire it, redemption is never outside your reach, you may just have to climb a ways for it. It's a helluva view when you get there though.

Reunion

2009-09-21T08:49:00.000-07:00

It ends in more or less the same manner with which it started. In a car.

Friday around noon Peter had come to pick me up from my house so that we could make the long pilgrimage back to 100 Mile. We'd stop and pick up Zack, my brother, 'long the way, after first getting lost in the hills by SFU. Nearly two hours later after being stuck in the edge of city traffic we were on the open road, music tumbling out of the speakers of Pete's Taurus, the wind whistling 'round our ears after we agreed to leave the windows open.

I always get a riotous feeling of ambition that leads me to taking notes or writing when I'm on a road trip. Perhaps it's because it's one of the most cinematic events we can witness in our regular day life. The sprawling beauty of the countryside coupled with whatever soundtrack you so choose. Even an uneventful drive is still a journey and as such can yield experiences and events that you'd never have come across otherwise.

I was back home for the fiftieth wedding anniversary of the Grandparents Levick. My mother's parents. Earlier in the month I'd bee on my way to Vancouver island for a very similar event though the participants there were all from my dad's side of the family. Two fiftieth wedding anniversaries, in two very different locations, with two contrasting families. The island's gathering was smaller and certainly less raucous than that in 100 mile. Immediate family only. Drinks were had dinner was eaten and conversation exchanged between all that hadn't seen each other in a good many years. I went home to Vancouver with a fresh salmon in my hand (having gone fishing with my uncle), and let out a huge breath and acknowledged that in a week and a half I'd make another departure from the place I now called home for the place I used to call home.

Along the drive home Peter, Zack and I had stopped at a roadside treasure hunter...enclosure? Best way to put it really. One of those places on an open stretch of highway that leaves wonder in the imagination and a spectacle for the eyes once you stop to actually look at it. Zack and I conferred that the sheer amount of stuff was simply amazing. Peter bought a bike for twenty bucks, and after dismantling it so that it would fit in the trunk of the car we were on our way once more. That treasure shop stuck with me. So many gems, so many little trinkets. Amazing to me that collections of silver spoons from across Canada still exist. Leather belts that I assumed were hand made? Idols from Cambodia and Luaus. They all had their place, and eventually they would all end up somewhere else. Just the nature of life and stuff I supposed.

Not twenty minutes after getting home, saying hi to my parents and quickly downing a beer I called Cody. Cody's been in 100 mile since more or less midway through August and I could tell that the charms of our small hometown had enchanted him less and less by the day. He jumped at the chance to come and hang out with my brother and I. Couldn't blame him. In the spring I'd spent a solitary three weeks in town after my accident and I almost hung myself in the basement. Cody arrived at the house and Zack him and I went down to the Iron Horse pub for a few beers.

The Iron horse pub was a general fixture around my youth. That is to say it was always there. The big Log building with the glowing windows and tin roof. The menacing portrait of a stallion clad in steel hanging by the road. And the broad and only sometimes used baseball diamond behind it. I could remember being seven years old and my mom laughing and telling people that the bar was only a stones throw away from our house, and that in fact there was a path leading there. Despite this my parents rarely went to the bar, neither of them being big drinkers and when they were they weren't about to pay seven bucks for a shitty beer. I had never set foot inside the Iron Horse until that night with Cody and Zack. For some reason my brain had always entertained the idea of brawlers, bawlers and general caribou riff raff inside. Like the cantina from Star Wars, a horrible den of filth and villainy. My magic world of rough 'round the edges truckers and loggers was soundly smashed as I stepped through the front doors. Empty as I've ever seen a bar it was. Only a few sat 'round and I'm pretty sure that they worked there. The two waitresses I'd gone to high school with but didn't really acknowledge. It felt rude but at the same time I sincerely doubted that they wanted to talk much with me.

We grabbed a pitcher of beer and sat. My two brothers and myself swapping stories and speaking of the future and what we looked forward to. Zack and Cody talked about school till the topic ran dry. We shifted to stories about summer camp, where we all work, and soon that topic was wrung out as well. Played a couple games of pool and several games of foosball before retiring back to our table with a second pitcher of beer and a fresh conversation.

We talked about where we'd ended up as opposed to where we'd started. And of our friends having gone on their own journeys. Agreeing that we didn't judge any of our friends, and in most instances were proud of them, we also felt that we were happy that our lives had turned out the way they had. Three years was hardly more than a few grains in the hourglass but to us it had felt like another lifetime. Amazed at how well we'd turned out we finished off the beer and made our way back to the house.

My parents have been working on our family home since I was roughly six years old. Remembering the days when Zack and I would run through the walls, which were not yet coated with jiprock much less the future dream of paint. We'd jump on the piles of pink insulation, use corner pieces of wood leftovers like throwing stars and look forward to the days when the house would be finished and we could invite our friends over without the shame of living in a construction zone. Now fifteen years later the house is close to donning it's cap adjusting it's tie in finality. Save for the main stairs needing to be re-done and the basement a good disinfection of clutter it was there. The blue plywood floors that had born the scorn of my sneakers for so many years had been replaced by blue tile and golden hardwood. The blue a matching hue to that which had always been under my feet, so much so that you barley noticed. The walls were fully covered and painted which left room for mom to furnish them with paintings and pictures. Seemed a shame to cover them, I thought, we'd spent so many years without walls you'd think we'd just want to full enjoy them not cover them up. The first floor bathroom was finished by my Dad, Actually it was in the process of being finished, as I arrived home. Finally I could pee and wash my hands without going to the kitchen sink! What a treat! Despite all the changes and lustre that the home had gained, she was still my childhood home. I say she because the house feels like another mother to me. A womb even if you want to get all Freudian with it. That house had seen me through some days that I'll never forget, and some that I wished I could. For better or for worse. I was happy to see that she'd gained some new things, to go along with her increasingly impressive finish.

In the house Cody and I looked through the mass amount of pictures accumulated by him over the years. Our first summer camps together. Shambala and the stories that went 'long with it. Canada day celebrations. Random assortments from high school. All there in wonderful digital celluloid. I've learned over the years that I collect my memories through the stories involved at any given time. Through the jokes or the tragedy. The food and the fights. The wonder and resolution that can come from any situation at any place or time in the world. I'm thankful that Cody, and others, are there to help me distill these images even tighter with their pictures. Those pictures are how other people collect memories. One in the morning rolled 'round and after a hug he left for home.

The next morning I dragged my ass out of bed to the sound of my mother calling for my help. A nostalgic feeling of annoyance came over me, as I felt just like I was still in elementary school. Pulling on my pants and a t-shirt I went downstairs to pour myself a cup of coffee and watch as the yard received more and more preparation for the evenings festivities. My mother had volunteered our home for the party, 'long with a guest list of over 60 people. I, despite my normally hard work ethic, did not want to linger 'round the house for the hours of set up work and quickly talked Zack into taking us both into town. With a list of things to retrieve from town Zack and I hopped into the car and were on our way. Skirting work was not my only motivation for wanting to leave the house.

Fascination Street, my alma matter, deserves a visit at least once when I come back home, often I'm there as much as logistics will allow. Two years of working at the toy store had produced some of the deepest relationships, skills, and experiences of my life. There are reasons why I'm so well adjusted and free with myself and I can attribute at least some of that to the magic that's stored in the walls of Fascination Street. I hadn't e-mailed or called Chris or Mikara (the owners) to let them know that I was on my way home, hoping that it would be a bit of a surprise. Thanks to my mother it was not. She'd mentioned to Chris earlier in the week that I'd be back in town, so my smiling mug coming through the door of his shop was hardly a surprise to him. Chris and I had a good long conversation about pop culture, as we always do, interrupted only momentarily by the foot shoppers of 100 Mile. Those looking for a child's birthday gift, sleeves for collect able cards or the occasional stunned browser. Christ gave me a graphic novel of which he'd received two for free from his distributor. I forgot to thank him for it when Zack and I left the store for lunch at the Alpine Deli just down the street. I'd wanted to stay and chat longer but I knew I had to be getting home for the party, as well as the fact that people were rarely patient enough to handle Chris and I's reverie of movies.

After lunch Zack and I picked up Allison, our sister, from a friend's where she'd stayed the night and were on our way home. The comfort between my siblings and myself is, at this point, based on our mutual openness and honesty. There are in fact no secrets between myself and my brother and sister. That's not to say that they know everything, but if they asked I wouldn't have a problem telling them. We arrived home to a household already starting to fill with family members which ranged from the very familiar (aunts uncles and cousins) to the entirely unrecognizable (Twice removed aunts uncles and cousins). Stepping in the door faces looked up at us though little was said as we scattered like roaches under a light, making way to better prepare ourselves for the evening.

I changed my shirt and put on my best smile before descending the stairs and allowing my mother to introduce me to everyone and their dog. It's perhaps a part that I was meant to play. Putting on my polite voice and undergoing the onslaught of questions that you'll invariably receive from those who know who you are but haven't seen since you were knee high to a fly. I hadn't had people confuse Zack and I like that since we were still reading Green Eggs and Ham. The question "So what are you going to school for?" haunting my every conversation of the evening as I was forced to again and again doll out my logical explanation of my career path as a writer. Surprisingly people seem to approve more of my ability to tend bar than craft a paragraph. My family, as viewed by me, appeared to have no archetype. We range from the reddest necks in the country to the flaunting bourgeoisie's of the inner city. It's hilarious to see these people connected by nothing other than blood interact in the vestiges of the beaten path of family. I enjoy looking at these people, their movements, their voices, their patterns. I see more of myself in many of them than they will ever know. I am the country boy, I am the city boy, I am the dirt on my hands worker, I am the silver tonged intellectual, I am young, I am old, I have stories, I like their stories, I'm related to you?

There are of course some faces that are newer than others. Roman. My cousin Becky's first child, a plucky two year old boy who exclaims "lucky boy" whenever he's treated by his parents. Becky and I used to be the best of friends, but time moving on and living in very different places we've since grown apart. Her husband Ken is around, displaying amazing virtues in both husbandry and fatherhood. I'm glad that Becky and Ken are together, their love and their family's love makes me happy. Becky is coming up on the due date of her second pregnancy which will be another boy. Her and Ken have decided to name him Montgomery.

Dinner was served and after holding myself back from eating and allowing a minimum amount guests to funnel towards the food before me I let loose. Turkey, ham, roast, chilli, tabuli salad, drunken sauerkraut, five layer dip and many more items fill the family dining table to the brim. Eat drink and be merry is the tale of the evening and there's not an empty plate or glass in the house. There are several deserts as well but non more impressive than the cake. Becky spent the past few days preparing for what I will grade as the best cake I've ever seen in person. Expertly baked and coated with a special bakers frosting that exists specially for projects such as this it is a thing of beauty right off've the food network. I'm glad that so many people are there to compliment it for it truly is a thing of beauty.

I'd held off drinking too much knowing what would be coming next. The room fills and the small toasting wine glasses are passed out. My grandfather hides in the corner while my grandmother beams at the center of the room. My mom climbs half the staircase and addresses the room. The speakers range from my granduncle, to my mother, to the best man of my grandparents wedding and, yes, me. The day before my mom had asked me if I could prepare a little something to say. I'd told her I would and then promptly forgotten that I'd ever agreed to undertake the speech. I'd remembered my charge just an hour before I was to speak and had spent the better part of forty five minutes attempting to fortify a flimsy story about my grandmother making pancakes and my grandad taking me fishing. In the end people told me that I'd done a good job, and I suppose that's all that mattered.

From there on in I was liberated from the yoke of sobriety and allowed a deluge of liquor to funnel into my guts, only pausing and gaining composure to say goodbye to my grandparents and converse with anyone who might've passed judgement on my hearty inebriation. A campfire was lit with gas producing a mighty whoosh and a belch of flame that left me wondering If I still had all my eyebrows. I did and with that I proceeded to sit and drink and shoot the shit with my uncles who continued to dole out more beer.

Becky Ken and Roman ventured outside. Equipped with a headlamp Roman, followed by me, went on a nighttime adventure into the shadows that surrounded the house. I felt a pang of jealousy wishing that I'd been able to experience the wonder of illuminating the dark with just a glance when I was his age. It is bonding moments such as this that leave a distinct imprint in my brain, whether he has any recollection of it or not. I'm glad I got to spend the time with him, knowing the bond I had with his mother I feel more like an uncle than a flimsy second cousin. After this Becky and Ken retired to the road home and I to the house.

Inside I began to create a foul concoction in my guts which would turn out to be the bane of my existence in the morning to come. Beer. Gin. Win. Whiskey, and I'm sure others. Not to mention that near the end of it all I even took my cousin Ian, who is sixteen so keep your panties on, out onto the back deck and prompted him to join me in shotgunning a beer. Successful family bonding time with the Levicks has somehow oft revolved around the consumption of liquor. These stories lead to the retelling of them in sobriety allowing for the comfort of that moment to seep back into life, your connection reforged through the memories. My eyes began to wobble along with my knees and I found myself concluding that I no longer wanted to be awake, nor did I want to experience the hangover that I would undoubtedly have to run the gauntlet of the next morning.

The Hangover is all that precluded getting into the car the day after the party. My mom was going down to the coast and as such would be giving Zack, Peter, Cody and myself a ride. All I could think about was drinking juice, and getting in the car. I'm over the hangover now. I've eaten some lunch, drank some five alive and am anxiously counting down the hours until we get to the city where I will immediately return to work. I've been writing this while in the car on my way home. Leaving the reunion of family that I travelled so far to get to. It was worth it, I knew it would be. There was never any doubt of that. I feel pretty good about all of it too. Cody returning to the city with me is a pretty momentous event. He said he'd never move to Vancouver, and while I doubt he'll be there for a truly extended length of time it's going to be nice to have him 'round. I consider Cody family, I consider him just as good as a brother. But I think that's part of the beauty of my family. Half the people that were at my grandparent's Anniversary? I'm not technically related to them. They're not my blood. Sure lots are, but those that are just friends but are still there? That's the family you choose. That's the family that my grandparents and aunts and uncles chose in their life. I have that family too. They're all over the place. They're static and fluid all at once. Constant figures who are always shifting and flowing 'round me just like I am them. They come and go, and some I don't think I've even met yet. There are people that I'm sure will enter my life in the next few years who will come to mean something to me, and hopefully I to them. So one day when my grandchild's at my fiftieth wedding anniversary and he's awkwardly explaining how he's trying to be a painter, or god knows what, he can feel the same thing that I felt all weekend. The unconditional love of family.

Staying The Course

2009-09-06T16:36:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about how crazy the past three years of my life have been. I graduated from high school and had no other plan than to move to Vancouver. That was about it. I took that journey about as far as I could have without any real direction or mission statement.

But this is a new year. This is THE new year. I've said it before, but fall will always be the new year to me. Of course it's because that's when school starts, but now that I don't go to school anymore it's just the end of summer. But what better place to start again? Crazy shit happens during the summer. You do twenty billion different things, you go places, you meet people, you have some summer romance, and ultimately at the end of it you're left with a good number of stories and experiences. Richer for it all. In this new year I am driven. Much as I've said that I have been in the past there's always been other things on my radar that have taken precedence over what should have been the number one goal in my life. Writing. This is the year that I will write harder and more than I ever have before, because that is my passion and passion can make all the difference in anyones life.

I'd like to take this space to briefly address some people. You'll know who you are, maybe you won't. This isn't directed at anyone specific. The people that ask me about my writing with that hint of cynicism in their voice. That little edge of ridicule that lends itself to the nagging question of "why aren't you in school Axel?...why are you wasting your time and life with a pipe dream". I'm not in school because I don't want to be, maybe I'm overconfident maybe I'm arrogant...hell I'm probably both. However I'd like to thank you to take your judgements and shove 'em where the sun don't shine.

I value education, I appreciate education, and I'm glad that people really enjoy their education. It's just not for me at this point. Never said I wouldn't go. I'm not THAT arrogant. I like to believe that when people undertake something in their lives that they deserve encouragement. I have no ambition to become an accountant, in fact even the though of having that job makes me want to hang myself. But I'd never tell you not to become an accountant, 'specially if that's what you're truly passionate about. I'd tell you to give 'em hell, go out there crunch those numbers and be the best goddamn accountant you can possibly be. I'll even ask you about it too. To hear someone speak about something that lights that furnace in their guts and sends flame shooting out of their eyes is an inspiring site to me.

But back to the point of this. I've been writing a book for the past five years. It's scary and embarrassing all at once to admit that it's been that long, but at the same time it's liberating and fills me with pride. I would think that there are few things in any of our lives that have remained constant for five years. When I finished the first draft of the manuscript I was sick of it. I shoved it out of my sight and said "well glad I won't have to think about that for a while". It sat there for a year. A year where I'd open it up every now and then and skim through it thinking "I should probably really finish this one day". So upon moving to Rossland that's what I started doing. I've been telling people that I've been editing it down, making it better. In actuality I've been writing all over again, second draft if you will. This has proved mind numbing, tiresome but ultimately inspiring. I got to see how much I've grown and learned from the experience. In just five short years I went from being enamoured with the comedic possibilities of bodily functions to having a deep appreciation of character development, story structure and the tale itself. Shakespeare it aint. But it's the story I was supposed to tell. The story I wanted to tell. And the story I am telling. I hope some people read it. I hope some people like it, but ultimately that doesn't really matter. Even it's panned by every single person that reads it, which I doubt it will be, I still know that it's not the end of the road, it's not even the end of the country continent or sea. I can't see what's past the horizon. But if I stay the course and keep on sailing? Even if the waters get choppy, the wind gets hard and every now and then I'm assaulted by pirates? I'll get where I'm going. Which, as I've learned over the past three years, is radically different from where you think you're going, but is often a much better place.

Life sorts itself out if you're patient and willing enough to let it. That's something that I more or less take for granted. I'm not an idiot, I'm not self destructive (least no more than anyone else), and I'm fairly self aware. Life will always sort itself out. Your goals and dreams? Those take passion and dedication. Those require that you stay the course, no matter how sorted life is.

The Dark Corners

2009-07-29T17:41:00.000-07:00

I've always thought of myself as a person who understood where he came from. I grew up in 100 Mile house, my family was always close by and I learned a lot from them. Over the years with and without the aid of these familia I've begun to trace back roots of my personal development. I wanted to know who my family was where they came from and why they are just the way they are. Through this I hoped to gain a better understanding of exactly where I came from if not who I was.

For the most part I've got a very developed sense of self and family. I understand the people on my mother's side of the family. They've always been very open with me. Sharing experiences of the past and traits of persona while I attentively listen. I suppose these are the people who have taught me how to tell stories all these years, this side of the family is nothing if not spinners of a good yarn. The rest I've picked up over the years, looking through photo albums, eavesdropping on conversations, and piecing together bits of information gathered through a lifetime of existing with open ears and a detective's mentality for humanity. I know this side of me very well.

The next part is a little tricky. For those of you that don't know, my dad who I refer to as my dad (Mike) is not actually my biological father. Mike adopted me when I was only about a year old so as far as I'm concerned with fathering aspects of my life, he's my dad. Mike's side of the family is slightly more enigmatic to me, but only because they live so far away from where I grew up. This being said I still did my best to listen to them when I did see them, and unravel the threads of the family quilt. While less developed there is certainly a clear picture of this side of my family as well. I know who these people are, what has happened in their lives and how it's affected them.

Just recently I came to realize that I had not spoken to my biological father (Bill) in about four years, and I started to make steps to rectify this. E-mails, a phone call...nothing entirely out of the ordinary. I wanted to reach out to this part of me that I barley understood and could honestly say I didn't really know. This effort was really put into gear when I started noticing tendencies and actions on my part that were entirely unlike the indoctrinations of my upbringing. Hereditary behaviour? I don't know how dialed in that science is but I do know that I was starting to exhibit traits that were certainly akin to those found in my father. I conferred with my mother over this and she confirmed my suspicions, agreeing that the things I was doing and saying were very similar to Bill. So while this has put me into a place of reaching out to comprehend this nearly unexplored version of myself, there's still a big glaring "also" that hangs in the air.

I had never really considered much of my extended family beyond Bill. It had always been a thought, but never really something that I felt a yearning need to explore. I have a sister that I've never met, and I honestly forget her name half the time. Keeping this in mind, attempt to empathize with me here while I relay some more current events surrounding my family.

Last night I received a phone call from my cousin, whom I have never met. The daughter of Bill's brother. We chatted on the phone in a whirlwind of explanations as to who we were and what our lives entailed. She began to speak to me about these members of our family in the same way that many of us would have spoken about any family member we grew up around. I came to realize through this phone call that I had little, if none, frame of reference around anything she was talking about. I don't know these people. I've never met them and only heard about them in second hand conversation. It was strange to hear her talk about Bill in such a clearly defined manner, that led me to believe that she understood him the way I understand my uncles. What she said of Bill made sense, but only based on exhaustive scrutiny I had made of the man when I'd actually met him.

This is the dark corner of my life. The unexplored edge of my existence. Presented with this opportunity to discover the people that are connected to me through blood I feel no other recourse than to explore it as full and as deeply as I can.

The photo's are as such:
1.Christmas 2008, my cousin Becky and I.
2. Christmas 2007, my family has never been escpecially good at taking pictures together.
3. The family I don't know(left to right)- My uncle Robert and his wife (?), Bill, My cousins.

My generation.

2009-07-07T19:18:00.000-07:00

Ok lets face it.

Our parents and grandparents did a helluva a lot more with a fuck of a lot less. I look at myself and people I know, and people that I don't know, and boil it all down to a cold hard fact that these days we're just big pussies.

A big part of it for me links to what I hear most people I know saying all day everyday. I'm tired. Fuck you. You're tired? What have you got to be tired about? We live in one of the most pampered generations as far as our day to day existence. I wonder to myself, did my grandad ever feel tired and whine about it? I don't really think that's possible. Not only was it not an option, it just wouldn't make sense. We live in an era of instant gratification where anything that surpasses a double click or swipe of a credit card falls into a category of "effort". I'm certainly not innocent in all of these, there are days when I just feel tired and bitch and moan as much as the next person. In the end of it though I just find myself repeatedly thinking "It's time to grow a pair, cowboy the fuck up and do what needs to be done". The big difference between myself and generations past is that I have to tell myself this. Those that came before? That's the way life was, you either grabbed life by the nuts, and did what needed to be done to the best extent it could be done, or you fell by the wayside.

I think that this is a big reason why, I believe, we do not have artists that separate themselves from the pack by being purely true and passionate to their cause. We do not have people who take their guts, blood and elbow grease and put it into something with all of their existence. Everyone always wants to be one step more famous. Because, really, these days it almost feels like nothing worth doing is worth doing unless you're going to be come famous doing it. Simply existing within a fabricated universe which has created what I like to call the "New Royalty". For those that are fortunate enough not to know, Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt of the hills were recently married. Two wealthy young people with no discernible skills or talents who now rise to a peak of fame and opportunity based on nothing other than lifestyles to which too many people aspire. The fact that these two people hold more of the public consciousness than the conflict in Darfur is enough to make me want to roll up in a ball and just let the rapture take me away. But of course, such is not an option. In a world where the fictitious concept of money is beginning to exist in a less tangible universe of digital, the only true currency is becoming more and more apparent. Fame.

Artists of the past did not necissarily crave this spotlight as we now do. They were people with a passion and drive that carried beyond the recognition of their peers. Writers told stories that echoed 'cross the cultural climate because it did not pander to it. Moviemakers looked to revolutionize rather than follow the current trend . Painters had an image that spilled from their hand unto canvass with no other motive than to convey beauty in whatever form they chose. Musicians were more than a snyth track with a digitally altered voice. All of them were flawed, inumerably so. But they had the one thing that my generation defies with apathy. Passion. I live as part of a generation of culminating insecurity. Those drawn to the arts circle the drain while they search for notoriety, uniqueness, and status. 'Stead of focusing on a simple unifying thought of passion regaurdless of opinion and stability.

I am not exempt. I as well crave money, status, and praise. But these are not the people I respect. Ambitions as such fall into the same self destructive nature which is akin to Macbeth. To be the person that does what needs to be done takes more gumption and balls than I think nine young people these days posses. I respect our Police, our soldiers, our ditchdiggers, roofers, construction workers, and a numery of other professions who day after day spit in their palms and do what needs to be done. 'Cause I sure as hell don't want to do that stuff. These are the people who allow us to live in the luxery of North America. The proliteriate which carries our fat asses.

In the end, to me it, comes down to a simple phrase which has played folley to many a shortcoming for myself, but which still carries words which always ring true.

If you're going to do something you might as well do it right.

Growing a pair, pulling your pants up, giving a shit and getting ready to kick some ass? That never hurt anyone.

Putting it all Together.

2009-06-18T00:47:00.001-07:00

This morning on my way to get my coffee, wearing old man slippers a food stained t-Shirt and shorts so large that I'm sure they constitute as pants, I hit a marvelous Ipod streak. Those of you that listen to your ipods on shuffle will relate to what I'm about to explain. It is the most perfect timing of music for you in that exact moment in time, it really only has to be three or four songs that fall in such a correct order that they can make your entire day. These songs are often cliched as all hell, but resonate with you for whatever reason that probably only you understand.

Maybe my dad and brother waking me up with a phone call informing me that they were outside my house with the remainder of my belongings had something to do with it. I think it is that it's the last little bits and pieces of life falling into place. Like a story you wrote that you already know kicks ass but just needs some icing on the cake. A painting that needs just a few thin lines to push it past the point of merely being another painting. A song that has the proper rhythm structure, tones and lyrics, but that has room for that final bit of pizzaz that allows you to truly own it. Yea I think that's what it was.

So walking for coffee the songs that came up were:

You can't always get what you want, By: The Rolling Stones
The times they are a changin', By: Bob Dylan
Superstition, By: Stevie Wonder
Redemption Song, By: Bob Marley
If you're gonna be dumb you gotta be tough, By: Roger Alan Wade.

I know like I said, cliched as all kinds of shit. But those were the exact right songs for me in that place and time. It's kinda hard to describe, but it was as if for twenty glorious minutes every aspect of existence had just dialed itself into place leaving no room for anything other than living right in that moment.

I tend to reflect a lot. Most people who read this probably figured that out a long time ago. But I spend a good deal of time just thinking. Vain though it may be, the chatter in my own brain often gives me more entertainment and intrigue than manufactured forms of either. You see me standing on the street corner, or the bus, or even just chillin' out eatin' a sandwich? I'm probably thinking about the deep seeded secrets of the universe, or at least how my interactions, relationships and such affect all other aspects of my life. Maybe I'm thinking about how to better utilize my personal skill set. Or how to fix the vacuum when I get home? You get it. And don't get me wrong here, I love thinking heavily about all this mundane and seemingly pointless crap, but well...Where am I going with all this? For a guy that spends so much time living in his mind, the past, and the future it's amazing to just stop and fully experience the present, even if it's only for the full length of four songs.

You don't get a lot of perfect moments in life. That's a little arduous and preachy, considering I'm only twenty one, but I'm gonna stick to my guns and believe it's true. The slippers. The songs. My bed head. I smell like sleep sweat. The sun's shining. The coffee's good. Sometimes, the pieces just fall into place and you're left with a mind boggling construct of existence.

The Measure of Success

2009-06-08T09:47:00.000-07:00

How does one measure their triumphs? Are they based on the hard work and determination that it took to reach the achievement? Are they a direct gauge of the failures inherit when pursing any goal? Or is success simply that, an outstanding victory to be set aside from other milestones to be marveled?

I don't know about you but the success of others makes me jealous. Despite the fact that other's interests and goals do not mirror my own in any way, I still find the green monster standing behind me and reminding me of my lack of concrete achievement. There's always an excuse in my mind. They had the breaks, the luck, the connections. But after a few years of sitting there, my arms crossed and only a handful of personal trophies gained I've come to realize the difference between these people and myself. Whatever their goal, these people's success mirrors their own passion. One does not become a famous artist, revolutionary physicist, or even restaurant manager without a certain fervent support of one's chosen calling. A stupid pride of mine is called into question at this juncture. It was long my belief that I could produce excellence with only a minimal amount of personal investment and elbow grease. Comes a time when I had to realize that the age old adage was and always has been correct. Anything worth doing, is worth doing right.

I didn't and don't really have a lot of epic goals in life. My passions where often fraught with revelations that, despite their easy apparition in my mind, required a lot more sweat from my brow than I wanted to give up. This gets put on the stand at some point, or at least it did for me. It's on the stand and you have to ask yourself and this lofty goal whether it's worth it. When this happens all your other failures, successes and most definitely excuse go directly out the window. If you want it bad enough, you put on your big boy underwear, hitch up your trousers and get to work. I was brought up in a world where excuses, no matter how reasonable, are entirely invalid. There's no "Buts", there's just the truth. So it comes down to a staunch an unfaltering self direction in whatever you do. If you want it you do it, and if you truly want it then you'll do it truthfully to the best of your evolution given talents.

How do you measure success? The truth is, 'least in my opinion, is that you don't measure success. Achievements exist on a plane of infinity where all lines fall parallel. In the end it's all the same place, the measure comes in when you're trying to figure out how to get there. Where ever that place might be.

Where the People Live

2009-06-04T10:59:00.000-07:00

So I moved this week.

Since I have been in Vancouver there has always been one area of the city that has stood out heads and tails above the rest. This is of course commercial drive. People probably have heard me talk about going over to the drive at some point, 'cause well that's where I like to hang out.

It's strange to me that I never managed to get my shit together and move here earlier. For the first year and a half of Vancouver livin' I was in Strathcona, which was great. Perhaps a little too socked in, with not so much in the way of hustle...but still a really pretty place. Next I moved downtown. Here I must tread lightly, to save myself from perhaps hordes who will crucify my now debunked appreciation of Vancouver's downtown core. It sucked. Well, ok that's not true, but there was just so much about downtown Vancouver that felt sterile and systematic. Downtown Vancouver is how I imagine an ant hill to look on the inside. Busy as shit, everyone doing there own thing, and there is relatively little personal interaction. Don't even get me started on how the number of Cactus (cacti?) Clubs are starting to rival the great Starbucks empire.

Now, on Commercial I've been playing with an entirely pretentious phrase that I feel is rather catchy. I'm where the People live. Which I feel is true. I walk down the street here first thing in the morning, it's just starting to get nut sack moisteningly warm, and the people I see are people that belong to the community that I've now joined. There are no strange faces, just faces. There are people living together in what I would describe as perhaps the most connected community in Vancouver actual. Through the business, the characters, and the architecture the world here is woven strong but loose, allowing room to grow but still hold the consolidated strength of a community. As far as I've seen there are few real taboos here. Moving down the street I feel inclined to display my smile and appreciation for the beautiful world we've been given, 'stead of burying it in fear that my glow will be scrutinized by those with a far more expensive and glittery t-shirt. Maybe I'm wrong in my criticism there...it's not that the culture I experienced downtown was that of scrutiny, more just entirely disconnected. If something does not provide stimulus, satisfaction or release to an individual it seems that it's rarely worth it?

But I have become preachy. Which means it's probably time to stop.

Thanks for letting me back in East Vancouver. It's gonna be swell.

'Least I could do.

2009-05-27T15:08:00.000-07:00

This is the Least I could do.

It's been nearly a month since my last blog post. It may appear to the general observer that I'm lazy. Hardly the case. In the past month I've returned to work, found a home, and managed to procure at least 10 days of unadulterated fun. I had been spending a good deal of time labouring over some moral heavy piece about everything I've learned in the past few months, but got sick of my heavy handed life lessons and abandoned it.

I had also been under the impression that my Kootenay journey was a simple beginning and end adventure. While that's true in some ways, for the most part its a continuation of my current adventure. While things felt like they might have been coming to a close when I started work, they're now picking up faster than a fat helium balloon. My point? Life is an adventure, blah blah blah...nothing ends, new stuff just starts....c'mon Axel you've got to be kidding me? And that's the cliff notes version of the twelve page monster I had been brewing. Basically shit keeps happening, and that's awesome. I can't believe I've allowed myself to just chill the fuck out and stop thinking insanely hard about everything in life. Four or five life goals right now, and everything else in between is just gravy.

Since arriving in Vancouver I've slept on approximately seven different sofa's. It's amazing how one gets used to not sleeping in a bed. I slept in a bed for the first time since leaving hundred mile last night, it felt constrictive yet supportive. There are parallels I want to draw from this. The couch surfing is all about living fast and loose...'cause it's not your couch, you're just there and then gone later. A bed is a commitment, because you sure as shit never want to let it go if you like it. So, along with my new home (which I am so much looking forward to), I will be committing to my bed and some form of "life".

Camp Season begins to roll around so I have to get it all together and prep myself for that beast. It should be a good summer though, having chilled out in the past six months it's less 'bout getting recognition for something and just doing it...in many aspects of my life.

The book progresses as always. Thanks for asking. I get just enough done to not feel guilty about it.

My back? It's getting there. Ask me in ten years.

In closing of this pathetic entry concerning the insights of my life and mind I leave you with this tidbit.

How much yellow is too much to let it mellow?

Gold Medal In Hypocrisy? Maybe not.

2009-04-30T22:12:00.000-07:00

So twenty ten is coming, in fact it's less than a year away. The Olympics are arguably the biggest topic of conversation relating to Vancouver, if not Canada, in the upcoming year. I know that a lot of people are really down on the Olympics, and for good reason. A full expenditure budget for operations alone that totals in around one point six billion dollars, the gentrification of the downtown east side, and the inevitable chaos that such an event will surely garner. There is the issue concerning Vancouver's transit lines. Will they be ready? Even if the expansions are finished will they be able to handle the capacity that's being expected, or will we need Tokyo style battering rams to fit people onto skytrain? God forbid the weather goes south and we wind up with another hellish month of snow, slowed trains and very very late busses. The generally well known "fact" is that no City, or Country itself has ever made money off the Olympics, or at least that's what everyone says.

But these problems not withstanding, what do we do now? The Olympics are coming and there's 'bout nothing that we can do about it. Protests are good, I believe in the right to assembly and even the particular message, but at this juncture perhaps there is no point fighting city hall. The dilemma I face is that I want to be able to embrace the positive aspects of this city hosting the world winter games but I do no want to simply submit to the will the event's true nations of pride, namely Coca Cola, McDonald's, and Nike.

I work in the service industry. Restaurants provide my means to exist and as such I want them to do well. There is no question that come twenty ten, recession or not, the businesses in Vancouver will for the most part be safe. I will have plenty of work that will no doubt garner me a considerable amount of chedda. Myself aside, put yourself in the shoes of a small business owner. Imagine,if you will, nearly four months of steady business, especially in the months following Christmas when disposable income is at a typical low? Great, businesses can succeed and thrive for a year, but what of the problems that we're sweeping under the rug? The problem of what to do with all of the homeless on the downtown east side has yet to be fully addressed. With the completion of the new Woodward's building imminent the city will have it's beacon of a new downtown east side. But what of the hamsterdam of old? I have an easy time saying that I'm pretty sure that the province will separate and displace these people across the lower mainland. But what if they don't? What if this becomes the beginning of changing the way we think about mental illness, drug addiction and the general issues that revolve around what most people quote as the "worst red light district in north America"? Is social revolution possible through the clueless funding of world's tourism? While it makes sense that no overall city would profit from hosting the Olympics, the concept that I find fairly simple is that the games provide a economic stimulus package that the taxpayers have been funding for the past six years. Money comes to Vancouver, money gets spent here, we have money, we spend money and the economy, if not stabilizes, at least begins to regain it's circulation.

Here is my overall conflict. I ,for the most part, disapprove of the Olympics, but want to profit from their existence. I would consider myself a liberal minded person and believe that the Olympics are a symbol for excess and profit, masquerading as global unity. The simple fact of the matter is that the Olympics are a multinational cooperation that if anything has the best interests of their wallets in mind, despite their clear message of a world united in sport. Sure it's awesome to hate cooperation's, but lets take a step away from that for a minute. This event provides Vancouverites with a unique opportunity to use while taking some lemons and making better social structure. The question is can we use this to our advantage in order to make a stronger urban community rather than just a shittload of financially secure individuals?

In my opinion it all comes down to the commitments of the people. Once we're on top, do we help the other guy out? Do we straighten things out while we're comfortable and secure? Or do we just say, well that was a helluva a ride honey lets buy those tickets to Cabo now. As for me, I'll take their money but I sure would rather take some hands to build a compassionate community founded by the belief that we're all connected but something bigger than a loonie.

Movies you might not watch, but should.

2009-04-24T01:07:00.000-07:00

Most years there are a few movies that fly under the radar and then end up being better than you thought they might be. All of my opinions are based on these film trailers. Using my maximum power movie brain I have generated a list and provided links to these films respective trailers:

-Fighting-

To the layman this might be considered just another stupid movie that people who love UFC will gain a hard on for. Basic concept...small town boy in the big city who can fight, who falls in love with a girl who now needs to fight for his life in the underground street fighting world. Seems simple and stupid enough right? Well Dito Montiel crafted a well hewn story about family and chaotic youth in his first film "A guide to recognizing your saints". When I first saw the poster for this movie I huffed and moved on. After watching the theatrical trailer I felt that there was a certain degree of depth within the fairly simple premise. I haven't seen the movie, and probably won't until it hits DvD, but I will vouch for it's integrity based on the director and scriptwriter alone. Which isn't to say I don't think the acting prowess of Terrence Howard doesn't carry any weight. Channing Tatum, who was in Montiel's first film, brings a more interesting depth to the lead protagonist even in the trailer which has me rooting for him, rather than just wanting him to punch some people.
http://www.apple.com/trailers/universal/fighting/

-Paper Heart-

Remember that chick in knocked up? Not Katherine Heigel, who cares about her. I mean that stoned asian chick, who talks about the baby stealing food through the imbelicle cord? Ok even if you don't remember that she's the star and co-writer of the movie Paper Heart. Her name's Charlyne Yi, in case you wondered. Charlyne plays...Charlyne who doesn't believe in true love and along with a documentary crew decides to go out and find out what love is all about. It's fiction but based on the trailer it carries a deft skill in the artistry of acting that makes me believe in it outside the shaky cameras. Charylne, along the way bumps into Micheal Cera, who seems to be in everything these days. Micheal has a crush on her and the focus of the story shifts from Charlynes pursuit of the understanding of love and the relationship between her and the engaging Cera. Of course the camera's follow suit. Sly and leading the trailer makes me feel that this movie will lead to more than just the sum of it's story or even actors. It boasts a large cameo group of Apatow regulars including Seth Rogen, of course. Beyond this I feel that this film will succeed on an emotional level without the splash of dick jokes that so normally follows these actors who typically clump togther.
http://www.apple.com/trailers/independent/paperheart/

-The Brothers Bloom-

I think Rachel Weisz sums it up best in the trailer, "It's like an adventure story". And it totally is. Adrien Brody and Mark Ruffalo are the Brother's Bloom, two conmen out to make one last score on Rachel Weisz's character an eccentric billionare. Along the way they deal with explosions, infatuation, and their own fumbling dynamic of family and irreverent professionalism. To me the concept and cinematic feel of this movie is more interesting than it's star studded cast, who are indeed exceptional. It flies in the face of conventionality and cool, creating both without even thinking about it. A cross between Wes Anderson and Ridley Scott, Brother's creates a magical world that isn't devoid of the adventurous sensibilities that build it's entire spirit. Think Hudson Hawk...but a better movie. Watch the trailer and if you don't think that this film can deliver on all fronts that it aspires to then you should probably go watch "Meet the Spartans".
http://www.apple.com/trailers/summit/thebrothersbloom/

-Anvil: The Story of Anvil-

Do you like Metal? No? Most people these days don't. I do. In doses. The story of Anvil looks inspiring, tear wrenching and bloody awesome all in one go. Anvil was a Metal band of the eighties that saw it's peak and then fettered from existence. The story in this documentary picks up with the band's front man working at a caterer as a driver, being proposed with one more tour. The ragtag group of former rockers band together again to travel with a metal tour in an attempt to regain their glory days. The beauty of this story seems to come from just how normal these demon spitting rockers really are. They reached their dreams, but perhaps too soon for it to have any true lasting effect? They have families and friends and once more with these people at their back are left to pursue their dreams, challenging though they may be. I had no interest in this until I watched the trailer, but watching the beleaugered musicians reduced to near tears on the shoulder of their flailing manager I was reeled in so deep that there is no way I won't see this movie.
http://www.apple.com/trailers/independent/anvilthestoryofanvil/

-500 Days of Summer-
What at first glance appears to be nothing more than a hipster slated romantic comedy balances itself between the precarious worlds of such overly fucking useless movies with clever names as "How to lose a guy in ten days" and the overwrought and equally usless artsy fartsy endeavours of the likes of of "Dreamers", "Wristcutters" and even "Lost in Translation. Boy meets girl boy falls for girl, things go their course and they seperate ways. Boy wants her back and through flashback tells the story of their relationship. It seems clever without being snotty, romantic without being sappy and fresh in the tradition of "Annie Hall". Joseph Gordon Levitt, and Zooey Deschanel are our leads and I leave this story in their highly capable hands. Levitt has produced nothing but excellence in his past few years, attempting to find his way back into a world of actual film rather than piddly afternoon specials. Deschanel has been up and coming for years, and it seems that she would rather avoid full exposure to fame rather than embrace it. I suppose this free's her to make movies that aren't earmarked with shit. At very least this trailer holds a charm that can't help but focus you on the fun, love and inevetable heartbreak that comes with relationships.

http://www.apple.com/trailers/fox_searchlight/500daysofsummer/

Anywhere I lay my head.

2009-04-17T12:44:00.000-07:00

It's interesting to me now how time flies without you really noticing it. There was one evening in particular that made me think about this harder than I have in the past. Conjuring the image above in my brain. My brother and I were brushing our teeth, he had come home for Easter, and staring at our reflections I was left wondering what happened to the boys we once were, and just who the young men that stood before us really were.

It was a trip of minimal length when you really think about it. Me leaving the city that is. January 30th-April 13th a total of seventy three days I was gone from Vancouver. In that entire time I came around to understanding that this is now the place I call home, even though at this time I have no permanent place of residence here. That even back in 100 Mile, I didn't fully feel like I was home. Because well...it's not my home anymore. It's been nearly three years and running since i left, and in that time I've changed my definitions of what my home is. Right now, I'm in Dan and Greg's apartment. It used to be my apartment too. But it's not anymore. This isn't my home anymore. It's interim.

Despite how short my absence was it still felt like a good long time for me. Coming back I almost expected that the universe here in Vancouver would stand still for me, letting me come right back to where I left off. That's not the case though, and I'm left picking up the pieces and threads of all the supporting characters in my life while they themselves have had their own respective stories to play protagonist in. In the face of this not much has changed for me. I've returned to more or less that same eking feeling I left behind. I've decided that this is probably because I'm not quite yet done my journey. Until I plant my feet firmly on the ground and sink my roots back into the city, this adventure isn't quite over. Like the Iggy Pop song I've been listening to on repeat, I am the passenger and I ride and I ride. I've been listening to a lot of songs like that lately. The kind that spurn hesitation and lack of locomotion. Those that fail to progress are doomed to stay right where they are? Or something of that accord.

The city is uneasy with me as of now. She's not quite sure to trust me or not. Am I going to leave again? Probably. Not right away, but more thank likely yes I will leave again. But that's for the best right? There's some dispute around whether or not you can go home again. But really....Home is where the heart is right? As incredibly lame and cheese dick as that sounds. I believe it.

Home or not. The adventure continues.

Week 2.

2009-04-07T20:13:00.000-07:00

This picture is almost five years old. My word how time flies.

Took a good long walk today with one of the dogs. Out the back forty behind my parents house. I'm testing the limits of what my back can endure. With my life lookin' like it's going to be returned to the city fairly soon I need to make sure that I can survive returning to work. I won't be able to dawdle too much upon returning. My meager bankroll won't survive long in the devourer of dollars that is known as Vancouver.

I'm going to be looking for couch's to surf. Any takers? I've got my own sleeping bag and I don't make much noise at all. I am slightly gassy, but that can be trapped to the sleeping bag so really it's not too much of a disturbance.

Easter's coming up. Zack and his girlfriend Danika are coming to 100 Mile for happy Jesus isn't dead anymore day. So that should be fun. Last time I saw them they were in Rossland and neither of our schedules afforded us much time to hang out.

The other night I hung out with Chuck and Pettman's. While it was indeed a reminder of times gone past there was something new in the air. Despite my loud proclamations for being beyond 100 Mile house and it's inhabitants, there have always been grounding people and places that hold much attachment to. There's something simply awesome about a small child proclaiming that "Fat Boy" is now her favorite song, moments before she tells me I'm frozen in a block of ice, and not to move.

Cruising around 100 Mile in the dead of night with Chuck brings so many memories flooding back that now a day later I'm entrenched in all of them. I like remembering stuff. I thought about this fairly recently. When encountering friends of who I haven't spent much time with I often reminisce about our bygone shenanigans. For some relationships that's all you can really have anymore. Without the proximity of people in your life things start to crumble and fall by the wayside a bit, while the memories of these times remain strong.

I think the memories of Vancouver are what have kept me driven this past month. All the people, places, and general things I really want to return to. That being said now that the sun's been out for a few days, providing me with beautiful fresh air and places to explore, 100 Mile doesn't seem so bad. Don't get me wrong I still want to get back to Vancouver, but as always the nostalgic charm of my hometown has gotten the better of me in many ways.

Your Backyard.

2009-03-31T23:03:00.001-07:00

The moustache has disappeared. Was an ill fated decision anyway. Four days in and I started to feel like I was carrying some sort of caterpillar on my upper lip. This didn't stop Cody from colouring it with eye liner though.

I'm back in the 100 Mile house area.

The trip home was long, and to be honest hung over. I did get to see some of the wonderful country of British Columbia that until recently had remained a mystery to me. The highlight was a ferry ride 'cross some huge lake in the kootenays. It was cold out and the ferry was small and open. When I got out of the car the mountain air cut into my face, but not enough to deter me from soaking in the sights that surrounded me, which were plentiful. It really is a beautiful land...though I'm not sure, as our slogan suggests, that it's the "Best Place on Earth".

Back home my first forty eight hours became painful rather quickly. Trapped in my parents house I was left with not much to do other than un-pack and be annoyed by the ridiculous sun that pours through the house's bay windows daily. Restlessness set in and I found myself digging through boxes of my old journals just to keep busy. In these journals I discovered that as a teenager I was one whiny Mo'Fo. Also, my dad has a sat radio so I get to listen to Howard Stern now, Score!

Now a few days later I've been out and about my small hometown soaking in the sights, sounds and smells during a time of year that is not overwhelmed by a holiday. I visited a few old teachers which was actually really nice, having not seen most of them since I graduated. As predicted the spring weather has set in making everything filthy to the touch. I blow my nose halfway through the day and my boogers are caked in mud from all the dust billowing through the air. Ug.

I'm shocked to discover that the children of Fascination Street have grown by leaps and bounds. The older of the two falling into a certain level of maturity that is accented only slightly by periodic wails which fall short when their logic is debunked. The younger has become a precocious adventurer and divisive attention seeker. She is also a Princess and a Superhero at the same time.

I miss Rossland. Spring wasn't nearly so gross there. Also there were a few people that I was quite fond of. My house nurtured me with no complaints while i lay flat on my back, crippled by the mountainside. I'm still glad I went, despite some of the setbacks it's left with me with. In the end I've come out of it with some strong(er) friendships, and a handful of stories that I'm sure I'll be telling until all are sick of them There's also my new found sense of purpose and drive that apparently could only be mustered when the profoundly vice-like grip of my city schedule slackened. I don't really know what I want yet, and I'm certainly miles away from being 100% focused, but I'm getting there. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, so Imma just gonna keep on walking. God being young and directionless is a shit job.

In the past three years I've seen some shit. But I'm still stunned that of all the places I've been, and all the things I've seen, I'm left with one sight that still holds a solid infallible ranking above the rest. The late night view from my family home offers more in the way of starscapes than anywhere else I can imagine. The fully open ceiling of heaven shines over me with no obstruction. There's a lot of great things in this world that I love, miss and desperately want back in my life....but I don't know? Somehow returning to my own backyard where the rest of the world just seems so much larger puts it all in perspective. The answer to most things is usually simplier than you'd think.

Take you on a magic moustache ride

2009-03-25T16:29:00.000-07:00

In two days I will say farewell to my interim home of Rossland. It's been a good home, even if it's currently melting apart as things have a tendency to do near the end of winter. I suppose i have the same messy fate to look forward to in 100 Mile, and oh good lord will I loath it. As in years past I am sure to complain about how much I hate spring and bring up the quote that describes it best for me and forever haunts my mind. "Spring in 100 mile is like surfing the rim of satan's asshole"....what a gem.....but anyway... Yes I will be making a return to 100 mile for some length of time. Probably about three weeks or so. I'm not really sure as of now. Once home my primary concern will be getting to Vancouver, and healing...maybe not in that order.

Since my last post I've remained bored. Staying up until about four thirty to five in the morning almost every night. The painkillers zonk out my ability to think but for some reason keep me awake. Not to mention what it does to my insides. My roomates are subjected to me talking about the earth shattering bowel movements that I must go through every couple days. Gross I know, but when you've seen a porcelean bowl filled with green sludge you can't help but talk about it.

A friend of mine told me that I'm lucky to have been able to make this trip as it's afforded me an opportunity to run an emotional gauntlet. It's definetly been a ride, that's for sure. From itching to get out of the city to embracing my new world here. After a struggled with money and relationships I'm left injured with nothing better to do than contemplate my future, and edit my book. It's led me to a lot of conclusions about life, and what I want to do with mine over the next little while. Like I usually say or think, you take a step back from what's going on and you can see it a lot clearer. It's led me to the decision to take up growing a moustache....as a celebration. As it stands now my cookie duster is just a scraping crown of thorns on my upper lip, but one would hope that it will evolve into a mighty beast in the coming weeks.

I have watched more movies in the past week than perhaps the past year combined. After a voracious kick of Paul Newman movies I've switched over to Hitchcock, with a smattering of other crap in the middle.

As the drugs wear off I become slightly more reflective, but without any general ambitions. Packing my bags tends to become painful after a half hour, which leaves me annoyed. I just want to get it all done with but my body won't afford me the time to do it. Oh well, at least my sit downs give me more time to post blogs.

Till next time.

Also...please note I do not seriously believe i can grow a moustache.

Can't Sleep clowns will eat me.

2009-03-15T23:26:00.000-07:00

Day 10

Trapped in my world of pharmacopoeia and restlessness I've become a victim to the Internet, and my own mind. Surviving with any degree of sanity is a chore at best for me most of the time but leaving me to stew in my own juices has dropped me in a world of late hours, too much sleep, and irregular bowel movements.

I feel positively vampiric most of the time. Daytime rolls around and the house becomes a hyperbolic chamber that I daren't leave. The snow's teasing me. Fucker. It knows I can't go out and play but it's still coming. Between the wealth of information and entertainment at my fingertips and my constant need to be distracted from my pain and thoughts I've become a shaking constantly unsettled mess. Not that I can expect things are going to be much better for a while.

If you haven't heard me say it before then listen now. I tend to get a little nutty when I'm entirely out of control with any given situation. If ever I didn't have control, it's now. At best being in the dark is a constructive atmosphere where I'm forced to get some work done. Until my obsessive compulsive nature and inability to be alone comes into play. Facebook is a godsend and your worst nightmare all at the same time. Constantly connected to every single person you've ever met, or not, has it's advantages but for the most part it just drives me nuts that I can't be with and talk to any of the people who's faces are trapped in my computer screen.

Weary of taking any more medication though. It doesn't really help much, besides feeling less and less aware only heightens how intense my interactions are when I'm fully sober, making them decidedly more miss-able.

The Not So worth it factor

2009-03-09T22:33:00.000-07:00

The not so worth it factor.

My self congratulatory statements in the last post have come around to severely bite me in the ass.

I managed to get a job. That was a good thing right? Securing a lifty position at Red Mountain I arrived for my first day at work and all was good. Throughout the first few hours at work i made my way from lift to lift learning about the various jobs I'd be doing at each position. Around my third hour on the clock I had to make my way from one lift to another as had been the common practice for most of the day. I strapped on my board and started to cruise at a half decent speed through some of the light and partially ridden powder on the mountain. I was going at a fairly good speed when I dropped off've a medium sized roller onto a very short flat stretch and then was immediately confronted with a large mass of snow. I rode directly into it, with all my speed backing me. The nose of my board dug in and stopped hard. I kept going. The momentum caused my body to fully fold in half. A splitsecond later my board was released from the snow and I snapped forward once more, tumbling through the snow losing my goggles, hat, and gloves....in the mountain culture this is called a yard sale.

I came up out of the snow sputtering and seeing stars. The next bit is a blur but I know that some guy went and got ski patrol who proceeded to follow all their rules and strap me to the back board, neck brace firmly around my throat and my head taped firmly to the very uncomfortable board. The ski patrol guys managed to get me off the mountain and into the back of the ambulance. During my time just off the mountain i had managed to get word relayed to Cody and co. . They met me at the hospital and I told Cody that he might as well take some pictures. I was in pretty severe pain at this point, unable to easily breath or exist without hurting.

Over the next six hours I got a bunch of x-rays, finally got some painkillers, a CCT scan, which resulted in a final diagnosis of....two fractured vertebrae due to heavy compression, as well as all the muscles in my lower chest being torn or pulled. After i was released from the hospital i was nice and numb from intravenous medicine that i made sure that I was the one to deliver my prescription to the pharmacist, which was made difficult by the fact that the paramedics had removed my boots and cut my shirts off.

That's it, done for the season. No more snowboarding. I should be up and about in a bit...which is to say I don't really know when. I can't stand or walk very easily, and breathing is still a chore. I was given some of the strongest painkillers that the doctors could prescribe, as well as a hormone spray that's supposed to help me grow back bones. So until such time that I become capable of doing anything other than taking drugs and watching TV i will continue to wallow in self pity and clamour of the attention and services of those around me.

The Worth it Factor

2009-03-05T21:02:00.000-08:00

There was a night a while back, one of my last nights in Vancouver, where Paige and I couldn't really think of too much better to do than walk down to the sea wall by my house, drink a bottle of wine and watch the sea planes land and take off. There's this dock down there, it's not really for much other than foot traffic to tour down closer to the water. During the summer I'd go down there in the morning, read the paper and drink my coffee. But Vancouver in the summer is an entirely different beast than the winter. The day Paige and I went down there it was a wet and chilly evening. Despite being bundled quite well I was still cold, and I hate being cold. I bitch and moan with plenty when I'm cold. Paige invited me to sit down on the dock's edge with her, I declined not wanting to get wet and colder standing, and then squatting. From here we began to address my old man nature, me smiling and chuckling but at the same time feeling quite lame inside. I often joke that I'm an old man before my time, that I like sitting at home doing cozy things, and that my life is run by routine. This isn't such a joke to me anymore. In the end I sat on the edge of the dock for only a few minutes, claiming that when it came down to needing to do something uncomfortable I could do it, but I wouldn't willingly put myself into discomfort's way.

Last week my roommates and I decided to hike a small mountain behind our house that's referred to simply as "The Summit". In the back of my brain I really didn't want to hike that mountain. It seemed like a big old pain in the ass for a half hour of view and a long arduous journey down. But I shut my mouth and I did it, because well there are some things that you just figure you should do. Challenge faced, fun had. The photo's you will see are from our journey to the top of the mountain.

From here I draw you to a simple concept known as the "Worth it Factor". The basic premise of which is simple. Was it worth it? Was what you just did to get where you are, and do what you've just done,worth it? An example? In the case of the mountain? Absofuckin'lutely. I really didn't think it would be, but in the end, after gagging for breath and feeling the burn in my legs, the mountaintop was exactly where I wanted to be.

Today around lunchtime the guys decided that they were going to hike Mt. Roberts and snowboard/ski down the face. I turned this idea down, dismissing it as not worth my time. I didn't want to hike up no goddamn mountainside, be exhausted, and snowboard something that might be out of my skill range. But then I got to thinking about that dock, and me sitting there afraid of getting my ass a little wet, and my legs a little cold. I started to think about why I came out here in the first place. Because my life had just become a little bit to comfortable. And then, of course, there was the worth it factor. While riding the lift I changed my mind and told Cody that I needed to be able to push myself out of that comfort zone, that broad ranging world where the un-realised realities of my life have more to offer me than those i have already championed. Sure when it comes down to needing to do something, I know I can do it. But when it comes down to climbing the mountain because it's there to climb? Well that I've gotta work on a bit.

So when I get back to the city? You can believe I'm gonna sit flat ass on that dock.

Just Add Fun.

2009-02-23T22:17:00.000-08:00

There was a day little less than a week ago. A grand day full to the brim with all of the worldly activities that I hoped I would be privy to when I moved to this mountainous wonderland.

Most times when I wake up in the morning, weither I'm going snowboarding or not, I roll over and with a groan try to drive myself back into sleep. The light cycles and my general exhaustion from actually getting exercise here has been effin' with my sleep patterns big time. Which isn't saying much. My sleep patterns are probably being more naturally re-aligned if anything. The glowing non-stop illumination of the city and my late night work schedule certainly put me out of wack with any regular life as dictated by the sun. But where was I? Oh right, so this morning like many others I didn't really want to get out of bed. However we'd just had our first real snow in...well sine I've first moved here...a grand total of ten centimeters. It really may not seem like much for a mountain town where it's not unheard of to get fifty centimeters in a night, but to us it was more than enough for a day to play.

The day progressed and as it ended and I became cold and cranky the rest of the group rose the hill for one more run. I almost opted to stay out but went the entire way which resulted in a bushwhacking excursion through terrain that I had not yet been through. I was pissed off, cold, hungry and in serious need of a beer. Muttering under my breath and carrying my board through the thick flatlands inside tree cover I caught up to my friends who were standing around a small pit in the middle of a clearing of trees. Suspended from the trees by a primitive pulley system there were two picnic tables with ski's on the legs, and a large stack of firewood sheltered from the elements in the crook of two trees. Also, there was an axe. My momentary bitching dissipated as I helped Cody with the ignition of the fire. Old man's beard, twigs, receipts from our pockets and tinder dry pine needles were all the kindling we needed to get a soon roaring fire started. As any good ski bum we had a small supply of beer in our backpacks as well as several sandwiches. We sat around the fire and commented on our tremendous luck. By the time the fire's embers had died the sun had disappeared behind the ridge of granite mountain and we were now running from the shadow of the sky down the mountain. There really was no rush. We had a roommates car waiting for us at the bottom of the hill and only dinner ahead we took our time in the dwindling twilight, enjoy being the last people off the mountain.

That evening a dinner was held for us. Heidi's ( Cody's girlfriend ) mother and our friend Clare's mothers had decided to hold a potluck dinner for us starving ski bums. It was barley potluck as we were asked to bring only bread. Wine, beer and plenty of food was ready for us when we reached Clare's house. We enjoyed our now eery status as adults, chatting with parents and other fully grown people. After dinner we delved into a large collection of costume items, grabbed a few beers, bottles of wine and made our way out to a toboggan hill to display our garb in the winter night and continue a rampage fueled by good food, booze and newfound friendships. The hill had but one light that flickered on and off every few minutes making the slick slope even more treacherous, though of course that added to the fun and the challenge. Despite the fact that I'm always somewhat cold, I was perfectly warm wearing nothing other than my bright teal tights, white plastic jacket and a foam tiara in the likeness of lady liberty.

Back at home we crawled into our beds the eking ends of the wine and the exhaustion into our legs weighing us down. It had been a good day. A very long day, but in the end a good one. The memories of it so in sync with the flitting daydreams of life in a ski town that I had while still in the city that I'm still in wonder that it actually came true. Despite my dwindling bankroll and lack of gainful employment I'm really quite happy with my decision to journey into the mountains, if for nothing more than a handful of memories and the warmth that can keep you snug even with the sparsest of garments.

Follow the Money

2009-02-19T16:27:00.000-08:00

Today BC's Premier Gordon Cambell stated that his government had added more prosecutors, and police to deal with the rising threat of gangs in the Vancouver area. Talk is cheap and according to Mr. Cambell so is funding a dedicated campaign against gang violence. The BC liberals, despite this tough stance against organized crime, have decided that the combined budget for the solicitor general and the attorney general was cut to be cut by a total of 19 million dollars. For those unaware these two positions oversee all of the law factions of a given state, or in our case a province.

It is apparent to anyone who gives a dam that the Liberal Party of BC is anything but what their nomer may imply. They are in the business of making money, and channeling it into what they feel will be the greater good. Since the inception of Gordon Cambell as Premier of BC the BC liberals have successfully privatized BC Rail (effectively selling of a government owned asset to the highest bidder). BC ferries has also become a privatized company owned by a non-public corporation. The ferries are still is technically managed by the government though they have no vote in the control and of the company. Furthermore the BC government tore up contracts of many government employees and legislating them back to work when they made a strike of protest. From here the BC liberals have proceeded to try and farm our jobs out through private contractors within the USA so that they don't need to be regulated by our government, but a corporation instead. In this way the government has effectively sold off Canadian jobs to a company that will continue to employ Canadians but with pay cuts, loss of benefits, and the overall profits being left in the pockets of foreign investors rather than the Canadian government. Why? Because many political figures have investments and ties in these corporations and stand to make a buck themselves. In essence the BC liberals have driven our government controlled industries into the ground and then sold them to private corporations that the already wealthy Canadians, as well as Americans, hold lots of interest in. Money. Its all about the money.

Still with me?

Cambell also stated that those who criticize his plan need to get "onside" and join him in a march to Ottawa to toughen the crime laws of Canada, most notably in BC. What happens if this actually happens? When the government gets tough and decides that there's no more BS to be had, and we've got stricter rules, a hard hitting plan....but no money to enforce it? His statements concerning crime are empty and hold no more conviction than his promises to the government employees of Canada.

So who profits? Certainly not the Canadian people. Despite the fact that the violent crime appears to be contained to the the lower mainland one cannot be so naive to assume that they don't hold any sort of clout farther north even if they're not displaying the same aggression. It's said that the UN gang has connections straight through north America, though their home base is indeed Vancouver, BC. With the investigations of these groups sure to lose their intensity due to the budget cuts it gives such syndicates a lot more room to move.

Ready for the crazy part?

It has long been a standard practice of criminal organizations to funnel their money into legitimate business ventures. This not only helps them launder money but gain a stronger economical business structure. Investing in property, foreign investments, and corporations. With the economy in the dumpster right now most people and places are looking for funding and investors almost anywhere. Money from criminal endeavours is not taxed, obviously, and is based on a simple supply and demand structure. Anything illegal be it goods, guns or drugs will always been in demand and therefore will always make money. As long as the money of such organizations continues to circulate into proper business under aliases it can't be tracked by any conventional means, and certainly not with the meager capital of a criminal task force who's already insufficient funding has once more been cut. So what do you think people with a large amount of money that needs a place to be legitimatized are going to do with their wealth? Invest it in private enterprise and business which is organized by corporations who have bought these poorly run franchises from governments who have failed, perhaps purposely, to manage them themselves. It's the money. Follow the money and you find a cycle. Government "fails" to do anything about organized crime. Crime continues. Crime invests in business that is facilitated by government officials who cut law enforcement budgets, and make sweeping declarations about getting tough on crime. Joe public is blinded by apathy or buys into the lies. The cycle continues. The opposite of shit, it seems that money rolls uphill.

Of course all this is just speculation. I have no proof. Just wild opinions and conspiracy theories. But it still sounds right to me.

"In eighty three days we will have to decide the economic future of Canada".

That is Gordon Cambell speaking about the upcoming election. I wonder what part of our economy he was speaking about? The kind of economy that is run by a government who cuts funding to police investigations in a city where there have been seven murders in less than two months? Perhaps the kind of economy where 1.4 billion government dollars are spent irrelevantly in what is considered one of the worst red light districts in North America? Or maybe it's the economy where someone profits off've the death of a young woman while her four year old son watches?

He's right, in eighty three days we will have to decide the future of Canada.

2009-02-12T16:03:00.001-08:00

On the edge of a mountain I'm sitting. Despite our best efforts at a snowdance there isn't anything new adorning the mountain other than that tracks of riders. It's ok. I'm there with my best friend the sun beating down and the glory of a blue bird sky backdropped with mountains. Damn am I happy to be surrounded by mountains again. The real kind, not the man made behemoths of the city. The scenery here is amazing, with photo ops galore.

Rossland is great. It's smaller than 100 mile, but has a population that feels less senior and more open. Everywhere is a hill. If I want to walk from my house the the town center I've got to go up at least 4 different hills, each leaving me huffing and wheezing for breath. At least I'll get in shape? There aren't many jobs here. I've been hitting the pavement, what little there is, in efforts to find gainful employment. Of course all the jobs are already taken by locals and those that arrived earlier in the season so I might have to hike on down to trail to actually get a job. There are worse things I suppose.

Night's consist of my roommates and I working our way through an my extensive DvD collection and having a few beers. We're usually too tired from the day to do too much else. Barring a job I haven't been able to go out and experience the moderate nightlife that we have here because i simply have no money. The seclusion caused by weather and dwindling financials has, as predicted, kick started my artistic trends. Back in my brain is the hope that I finish my book and sell the fucker. Nearly three years have gone by since I graduated from high school. Damn how time flies. I'm slowly starting to feel like I actually need to accomplish something other than surviving, and hopefully this will be the start of it.

My love for the removal from mass society doesn't mean that I don't miss the city. I do. I miss my friends, my locals, my job. But all those things can be returned to, with more stories for me to tell and experiences to have learned from.

In the meantime to make ends meet I'm attempting to become a high school tutor and sell my artwork. Who knows maybe that will work out? What i do know is that this is all gonna work out.

The missing year.

2009-01-15T01:58:00.001-08:00

This will be long.

It would be a wrong to say that 2008 was a waste, though some days it certainly feels like that. In truth it was anything but. Filled to the brim with my triumphs, failures and discoveries.

When I arrived here in 2006 I was clumsy with my movements. I was here to be here and that was seemingly good enough for me. There is little I can say to fully justify my choices other than that they were what I thought was the best for me at the time. This includes even the bad ones. Now a little over two years later I stand starkly contrasted by my former self. Those that knew him will understand.

You'll be able to see it in fact. There are two pictures i present here, taken roughly a year apart. I am not the boy I once was, but I'm not quite up to the responsibility of say that I'm a man just yet. Clumsy am I again in this new role that I've found myself growing into, the same way I felt as I grew into the body presented to me by the irking advances that come with puberty. But it's not just physical. My mind wriggles, attempting to stretch from it's atrophied confines of selfishness. Which is really what a lot of my personal predicament comes down to. You get comfortable enough with surroundings in both space of mind and living space that you don't attempt to do anything other than fill them fuller and fuller. I stopped saying to myself, this is where I'm going, and became content with where I am, what I am.

You know those people you meet who are twenty something and working a dead end job, with no goals in sight save to make it through to the next paycheck? The people that say "Yea I wanna go travel". The people that once had a dream but it's fallen by the wayside due to the heavier burden of maintaining the life that they think think they need to live. Well I was becoming one of those people. Living aimlessly from day to day, failed relationship to the next, forgotten idea to new inspiration. This was not the life I was meant to live. I don't want to be looking back as I lay on the cross pinned firmly to my fate, wasted potential seeping for from every orphus.

You ask me to recount the key events of 2008 for me and in my mind they are indelibly earmarked by the women in it. I could shrug this off, but it's clear when I go back and read the accounts in my private journal that these women carried with them, however unconsciously, the emotional peaks and valleys of my life.

Here I've stopped unsure if I want to continue, unsure if I'm capable of recounting these events, but it doesn't really matter if I'm capable. What matters is that I do it. I'd say that it matters that I try, but we all know that there is no try, just do or do not.

2008 started with me not having gone to school. Not being in a relationship. Not having a job. Not having much of anything except my self assurance that Vancouver was where I needed to be and that as long as I was here I couldn't fail. Because that's the way I thought after surviving for a year and a half. That if I could make it here I could make it anywhere. I was doing it. Whatever it was. Ultimately I felt like I couldn't fail because I had no lower to go. I didn't have anything other than my confidence and what I felt was the life I wanted to build upon.

It began with a defeat that was assured long before it started. M. was and is attractive. She was something for me to chase, to flex my confidence at and in the end walk away from knowing that there was no other alternative. She brought me out of my funk of simply not trying. She was involved in a situation that I was not part of and that I wasn't allowed, or able to be part of. Her boyfriend was in re-hab, and as much as she would have liked it to be over, it was not within her emotional responsibility to do so. We left on good terms. Afterward I was not a broken wreck. I was invigorated and sure of myself in a way that I had not felt, well, since ever. Failure was not an option because at the time I still didn't have anything to lose.

K. was the girl that ushered me into spring. Our flirtation pushed us into the friendship zone. A pitfall if there ever was one. She became an inspiration, a discovery and ultimately a great loss. I fell in love with her. At the time when I shared this with my friends I was lauded with criticism and laughing scorn. At the time I fell in love with her I had never kissed her and for the record never did. But there are somethings about people and personalities that draw me in and engage me so that I become blinded to the trappings that a personality can posses. She invigorated my mind. She pushed it into new realms of discovery, and consideration. She became an outlet through which I became comfortable sharing everything in my mind and heart. I became fearless for a short while. Having lived so long without what I felt was true love I opened myself up like a wild man and started a balls out existence that would eventually tear me down to the lowest level. By this I mean I shared my feelings, and lived a very open relationship of infatuation. I was, even months later, very sure that I was in fact in love with her. My feelings were not returned, and in fact not even really commented on. K. is one of those people that is so open to every person that it ends up becoming a detriment to her and her personality because she's incapable of providing any sort of rejection or emotionally opinions even when it may be necessary. But this isn't about her. It left me confused as to what I was feeling, whether it was real or if I was just overly enamoured. In the end I felt a silent rejection, and it consumed me. So overwhelmed by my angst was I that shamefully spiraled away from her overcome by my anger at my own naivety and willingness to leave myself vulnerable. I drank a lot during the month of April. Not like the I sat in my house and pathetically put away a bottle of bourbon every night, but I went out and put away a bottle of bourbon almost every night. I partied and drank until it took me off my feet. I feel a lot of shame in admitting this, but for the first time in a long time I feel the need to bear my soul and be completely honest. Heartbroken, empty and feeling validated that I was an idiot for sharing myself so completely. I woke up in a hospital bed at the end of the month. My appendix had been taken out, it's inflammation I am still sure is related to the amount of drink I went through and the lack of sleep I provided myself with. She wasn't there for me then, and honestly she wasn't really obligated to be there. She'd made no commitments to me other than to be a friend. But I was still broken.

The next month I reveled in my failure, though I've since come to realise that perhaps other than my innocent and bare bodied embracing of my emotions there was little to actually consider "failure". In May I was forced off my feet by the surgery. No work for a month and once i tired of video games i Had a lot of time to sit and reflect on the past month and how my choices had changed who I was and how i felt about love, relationships and my opinions on both. I came to no real conclusions, but decided that in the future being careful with my emotions was probably the best course of action, lest they overwhelm me once again, or another person. My body has never been the same since the operation, I lost a lot of weight and can't seem to be able to put it back on.

I returned to work with a more or less bleak outlook on life. I was broke. Being off work had put me thickly into debt with my parents, which I still haven't paid off. So I did what I always do when I go back to work broke, I just put my head down and worked. When I returned to work I found that my employer's had hired some new hostesses. They were attractive of course, the way you'd expect hostesses at a fairly fancy restaurant to be. I for the most part ignored them, being in my work mode and having my guts still freshly ripped out both literally and figuratively.

Of course, feeling broken or not I am cursed by my father's blood which lends itself rather heavily to wine women, and song. An evening of drink with co-workers provided me with enough intel to let me know that one girl had a bit of a crush on me. A week and a bit later after helping some friends move and putting a decent amount of beer into my gut move I worked up the courage to call her. I am not such a creature of self loathing that it would normally take that much courage to call a girl up, but well A. was gorgeous. I am however full of enough self doubt to say that she was certainly too good looking for a lowly nerd such as I. But what the hell, she seemed to be into me and I wasn't about to just let it die. I met her at a club that evening, I hate clubs. We made out on the dance floor. I was stumbling at my good luck, blinded by the booty. I suppose it only helped my cause that I prevented her friend, and potentially herself from being date raped that evening, though it's hardly important to the course of the relationship. She had a boyfriend, on the other side of the country. I, having left my belt buckle of conscience at home in favour of a roguish bandoleer of loose morals and a scoundrels dictionary of flirtation chose to simply not give a shit. Still wrought by my painful rejection of ignorance from K., I just wanted to see if I could again make a girl like me. I, for the record did not encourage or push that she break up with her boyfriend in anyway, though I certainly didn't tell her not to. I continued to press my advances, and with injunction of commentary from some of my other co-workers it did happen. This left me in the position of well...you pretty much get the picture. Things were good for me in many ways, carnal being the key of these way. As i began to strip my hard brushed metal layers leaving the more vulnerable and certainly more heartfelt interior agape she became less and less interested. Our relationship was to be over at the end of summer regardless, and I understood that. Of course I work at camp, and was obliged to be there for two separate weeks this past year. Around the time I left for my first camp we were at what I felt was a high point.

Camp being an emotional roller coaster, and me being an emotional guy I called her a few time during the course of the week. The most memorable being the conversation where I confided "I miss you", to which she rebutted "You better get used to it". This left me in a state of anxiety and paranoia. Was she faithful to me? What was the status of our relationship. A week earlier I had started throwing around the "girlfriend" word. She had expressed that she didn't want us to define anything, and well I simply didn't listen. So glossed over were my eyes that focused on her beauty as if it would disappear if I blinked. In retrospect we could not have been two more different people. Hers was, and I imagine still is, a life of excess and shine. A brilliant spotlight of fun and little consequence dotted with lip gloss. I sit in the dark and drink whiskey attempting to scratch out a meaning from a series of phrases, all the while pondering the meaning of my own existence with little success. I love beauty and truth and blah blah blah blah, all that great artistic bullshit. The point was, my insecurities aside as well as her departure we wouldn't have had a very healthy relationship had it lasted longer than two months. I returned from camp to find that she had little interest in me, I didn't quite take the hint though. She ignored my calls, and texts. There was no explanation to our cut of communication which left me vulnerable and plunging into the depravity and insecurity that I felt only months prior. She was not sick as she had claimed to be, and I knew it. I had been told she was out partying with another co-worker. What I did next is considered by me to be the single stupidest thing I have ever done, and I've done some stupid shit. Packing back an excessive amount of booze I made my way out into the night to find her. And I did through a series of deductive reasoning's. I barged into the club little concern for what the cover was, and what kind of situation I was about to put myself into. I wanted answers. This was the evening where I realised the insanity that I am driven to when I simple have no answer to my question, Why? I made my way to the back of the club, and she was indeed there. A guy had his arm around her and she was feeding him beer. I was reduced to the raw bloody core of my emotions, not knowing what to feel. I wanted to puke. I wanted to cry. I wanted to know what was going on, but all answers evaded me. As the guy, who was the entire physical and I can only imagine personal opposite of me, moved away from her I approached her. Her face faded from drunken happiness to a stark portrait of anguish, anger and fear all at once. I didn't yell. I just don't yell anymore. I haven't found the force within me to drive rage forth in the form of words. I have too much respect for words to do that. I was upset though. And we went outside where I proceeded to exclaim that we could just enjoy the rest of the summer, that it didn't need to be like this, that I just needed an answer. She provided me with one, though it was hardly satisfying. She just wanted to have fun that summer, she just wanted to enjoy her freedom. She didn't want to be responsible for breaking my heart, or her own after getting involved in something that was ultimately doomed to fail. After about ten minutes of this the co-worker she had been with came out from the club and told me I needed to leave. A big Albertan boy, I fully believe that he could have and would have kicked my ass if I didn't, but at the time it didn't stop me from looking him square in the eye and telling him to fuck off.

What he said to me next would echo in my brain for the next few months and even now reverbs slightly.

"Look at yourself"

In one statement I had been reduced so completely. I wanted to be Sick all over again, and my arms fell limply by my side as I admitted defeat and shuffled out from the alley onto the street. I don't know what to call the emotion I was feeling. Complete obliteration? There were no tears coming from my eyes but I was crying, if that makes sense. In that moment I looked at everything that I had become in the past months. I looked at myself and I saw a stranger. I saw someone I didn't know. I had gotten so wrapped up in making it in the city, in making a life that I myself was listlessly drifting alongside hoping that my life would define me, instead of me defining my life. My goals and who I truly was, or had wanted to be, had fallen by the wayside, along with my art.

Of course I went home and felt miserable. A. and I talked about it, we both apologized. I was wrong for being overbearing and confining when she wanted freedom, and she apologized for not being square enough with me. With leaving me in the dark. In the last two weeks of summer I pitifully tried to rekindle the romance but of course that failed and I was still left feeling stretched to far in every single way. I couldn't be mad at her. In one of our earliest conversations she explained to me how her entire life had been laid out in front of her, that all her choices had in essence been made by other people. I had said that she could and should do whatever she wanted. So easy to see now the hypocrisy in my words when all i wanted to do in the end was to keep her from leaving me. Besides I hadn't exactly been the best example of someone doing exactly what they wanted with their life. I had made very sure not to say "Love" at any point, because...well I wasn't in love.

Summer came to it's melancholy close mirroring my feelings. I was defeated and plunged into myself attempting to search my soul for just who I was. But 'course I was reeling from the events that had just transpired. I started making broad proclamations of things I was going to do to redefine myself, of course none of them actually involved changing my life at all and none of them became a reality. I went to Victoria for a week which resulted in nothing other than clearing my head and looking back on it now a glimpse of my ultimate decision. The freedom that comes with having a fresh new start. I enjoyed my time there thoroughly. Among friends. Every day was a new adventure. I was genuinely happy. Cody proposed that I move to Victoria, to which I replied with the same tired ass excuse I always did. But...but my job, but my apartment, but my friends, but my life.....and so I returned to Vancouver.

J. was the next. Her and I had known each other since well, since I moved to Vancouver pretty much. And our relationship was that of convenience. I found a simple companionship with her. An assurance that everything that I had built of life in Vancouver wasn't without it's assets and benefits. At the same time she was indeed a rebound. In the wake of A. and I's relationship I was just looking for someone to be there for me. J. wasn't that person. Having gone through an emotional revelation of her own, our interactions were to be limited to that which was convenient for her mostly. This left me waiting, and wondering and hoping that she would be there for me. She wasn't able to do that. Which doesn't mean that my attraction for her was any less valid, but it does mean that at that time in my life she was not the person I needed or wanted. It dawned on me that I was just going through the motions again. The same situation of emotional void. Of a relationship lacking substance where I would inevitably be left holding the bag. So, slowly after time and time again of being left hanging I just let it be and it dissolved without strain or exclamation. It was then I made was a very large decision.

When I said that I was letting my life define me, instead of defining my life it was certainly true. After a long phone call with my mother where I essentially wailed about the shortcomings of the past two years I decided that it was time for me to take the reigns and steer my life rather than, well...you get the picture. I phoned Cody. He had told me that he was planning to move the kootenays for the winter to just Ski and live. At the time I had though that it was a great idea and wished that I could partake. Immediately after getting off the phone with my mother I called him and told him that I wanted in. And so the decision was made. There was of course two months where I wasn't sure if it was the right decision. I was afraid of everything I was leaving behind and the new live that awaited me, but when it came down to the deadline to make the decision I still chose to take the plunge.

But of course, there's always another girl.

And there is right now. I'll give you her name though because I'm sure she won't mind. It's Paige. I'm not much of a fatalist, but I think if there was once person I was meant to get involved with it was her. That sounds like sentimental much, but despite the fact that I'm not a fatalist, I certainly am a sentimentalist. I didn't meet Paige in person until almost two months ago. Our relationship is a fable that is for the information age that we live in. We met years ago through a mutual friend via the Internet. We didn't talk for a few years and then through random happenstance and unforeseen forces we found each other again. You can balk at this all you want, but I feel like somehow we were meant to find each other were we are right now. I've fallen in love again. It would feel awkward to say that here, so publicly except that she's fallen in love with me too. If you can take anything from the relationships I've had in the year past that I've talked about here, it's that I've been looking and have pretty much always been looking for someone who wants me as much as I want them. In Paige I found that. Someone who got me, and loves me. It wasn't just me peering into someone and finding empty desire. It was two people who had found each other and matched so well that it seemed impossible. It breaks my heart to leave her. It breaks me once again to have my care and profound connection severed due to the forces of life that have carried me to where i am right now. I don't know what will become of Paige and I. I know that I'm leaving Vancouver for all the right reasons, but there is no reason I can think of that seems right for me to leave her. Yet, I have to. For the record, I truly do and still do love Paige.

Thank you to everyone who has ever been there for me in Vancouver, and beyond. In some way all you have helped me reach where I am right now, weither you realize it or not.

This journey of mine picks up after the missing year of 2008. The year where I was changed so profoundly by all the things I didn't do, and all the goals I didn't acheive. Now i set forth to face the year full of everything that I Do. No regrets. Love is in my heart, and challenge in my step. Do or do not there is no try.

?

2008-12-03T15:09:00.000-08:00

To be afraid of the next words I writing being lesser than those before them is the pitfall I fear lays ahead of my every time I set pen to paper. What If I peaked to early? I wrote a goddamn book when I hadn't even turned twenty yet. Albeit maybe it isn't the world's greatest book, but I still did it. The longer I call myself a writer the more scrutiny I place on myself, the more hesitant I am to undertake new ideas and new challenges for fear that I will become lost in my over ambitious concepts and worlds that really only make sense to me. I let my world affect me just a little to much, my rather than harnessing the energy of my emotions I often find myself sitting with them letting them bury me. Rather than let a torrent of ambition reach out and take hold of my art, freeing me from my own self imposed shackles I sit waiting for something or someone else to free me. I've put the bonds on and just because I have lost focus does not mean that I cannot attain it once again. 'Suppose I've always got room to grow and challenge myself a little more, but if I don't encourage this growth it's not going to happen right? Or It's going to happen and I'm going to sit there while things grow and spread in every direction but the ones that I choose? Just a thought.

Wagons Ho!

2008-11-25T16:31:00.000-08:00

Rachel Getting Married was the best movie I've seen this year, other than the Dark Knight of course. But Darren Arnofsky directing Mickey Rourke in the upcoming film "The Wrestler" looks like it just might take the entire damn cake.

I had to get that out of the way.

I'm moving to Nelson. My best friend Cody had been telling me for a while that he was moving northward for the winter to become a ski bum and finally put his numerable talents to the test. I heartily congratulated him, wishing him all the best of luck. I wanted to go with him, deep down inside I was yearning to say "can I come too?", but of course that wasn't possible. I had responsibilities here in Vancouver. Job, friends, a great apartment. I put it out of my head and kept on doing all the things I'd been doing for the past six months. Working, drinking, thinking about writing, and wanting for adventure. After a extended phone call with my mother where she pointed out that I was in fact miserable, I took about a half hour of walking circles in my room to decide that she was right, as mother's often are. I immediately phoned Cody and told him that I wanted to move with him to Nelson. He of course welcomed me, and in the past couple weeks I've been swaying back and forth debating the grand adventure in the back of my mind. The first three days were the hardest, saying I was going to do it and then becoming really chicken shitted fifteen minutes later. I started telling people I was moving in an attempt to pressure myself into it. I really want to do it, and that's why I am going to do it. I'm moving to nelson, damn the torpedo's full speed ahead. This of course means that financial preparations need to be made, but I've already started that. What it comes down to in the end is that I love adventure, I love new beginnings, and I love being challenged. Vancouver was my mountain, and I climbed the shit out of it. But once I got to the top I could certainly see that there were other peaks even higher, but I'd have to leave my mountain to climb those. So much effort! But it's time to set up a new base camp and do it again.

In other news I've chosen that tattoo I would like for my inaugural inking, and in the next twenty minutes I'm going to start my first creative writing endeavour since the last one published on the last wordsmith, which if you haven't read already you probably should.

Peace be with you all.

2008-11-05T13:21:00.000-08:00

Well a year and a half of being glued to CNN has resulted in what everyone is calling a historic time. Obama won. Half the world pissed their pants and started shaking each other's hands. The good guys did it. I'm happy too. I know it's gonna have a huge affect on the world stage. It can't not.

Of course I have a big hairy "but" lingering about. But what about us? What about Canada? No doubt Canadians are inspired by the president elect's ratifying symbol of change. But does it inspire us enough to make a significant change in our own nation? I will no doubt concede that this is a great moment of the determination and championing of human spirit, but is it just for the USA? Is the rest of the planet going to step up? Or are we going to sit back and say "well shit, there's the big change for our century, glad I don't have to do anything now" ? "Yes we can", no doubt a powerful message, but lets hope that everyone who tuned into CNN doesn't take that "We" as meaning just Americans.

Say you want a revolution, well you know, we all wanna change the world. I don't care if we're riding coattails. I think if anything this is a sign for the rest of the planet say that grand slogan as well "Yes we can", 'cause change only means as much as the people who are willing to make it. Lets hope WE, can.

Just another Saturday.

2008-10-25T14:49:00.000-07:00

Despite little motivation aside I felt a need to update my blog today. No big sprawling rants, opinions and conceptual realiseations that my young mind can perculate. Just my life, what's going on, if you care for that sort of thing.

I'm a victem to my own impulses. "Don't spend money", constantly I'm thinking this, most often when I don't have any money. Yet when I find myself with cash in hand I get rid of it as if it were a leper's loincloth. Sometimes I think I get this from my mother who for the most part lives her life with finiancial train of though "fuck it, it's just money". This doesn't stop her from lecturing me that I should save it though. I live comfortably enough though. So what if sometimes I'm living on ichi-ban and cereal, I'm still young enough to get away with trashing my body.

I'm going through spurts of creativity. Stopping and starting progress on short stories. Editing my book which as I'm sure I've said in the past is beyond monotonous. The thing is when I'm editing, it doesn't really feel like I'm being creative, it just feels like I'm re-hashing a story I've already told a million times. To be fair I've only told the story once, but I've read it so many times I'm just wishing it was behind me. I've been asked why I don't just leave it as is, and I'd love to be able to do that, but it's not done yet. It needs fixing, and patching, and it will never be perfect but it certainly needs to be able to contain itself rather than leaking all over the place. A writer I really respect said that the only thing he ever learned from art school was this "It's never done it's just finished". I doubt I'll ever be 100% happy with it, but eventually I'll be able to completely step away from it. It busts my chops a bit that no one comments on my creative writing blog. I know people read it. I have a hit counter, so someone other than me must be looking at it, yet my peices go un-commented on. Sigh.

Oscar seasons coming up. I saw W. It was good. Acting was great. Story's a little sparse. My vote for bandwagon movie of the year is "Rachel Getting Married", in which Anne Hathaway attempts to break through the Disney vault in which she has been sealed. Just because it's a bandwagon movie it doesn't mean it's a bad movie, it just means that it becomes everyone's darling. Critics and people that don't know anything 'bout film. Otherbandwagon movies include "Juno", and "Little Miss Sunshine". And I like both those movies, but they're really easy movies to like. I'm really looking forward to Clint Eastwood's "Gran Torino", the trailer for which is viewable at apple trailers.

Anyway, I'm off to work y'all enjoy your day.

If my vote counts for anything.

2008-10-16T20:08:00.000-07:00

Lets get right into it.

So the conservatives won. Boo fuckity Whoo. Walking down the street in the weeks coming up to the election I saw many a sticker fixed to street lamps with pictures of Stephen Harper paired items, captions and people such as Hitler moustaches, "Zombie Government", and good ol Dubya. This pissed me off. While I am by no means a conservative, and didn't vote for them I consider bullshit lame as propaganda tactics like that to carry little merit and even less intellect. Putting Hitler moustache on someone is pretty much the laziest political smear out there, and really these days it's only matched (At least as far as the liberal politics comparisons are concerned) by the new face of fascism. W. I'm not saying George didn't fuck some shit up, I'm just saying if you want to discuss the issues discuss the issues don't dip back into the same old well that's served for so long, 'ventually it's gonna run dry. In fact that's the problem with politics in general. You keep running the system the same way and eventually the world the system is made for changes, but the system doesn't. I'm just sayin'.

On to the matter of the conservatives having a stronger minority gov. Well duh. That's why they called the election. Stephen Harper may be a creepy dude, but he sure as shit isn't a stupid one. You're not going to lose conservative votes. Rarely do people on the right side of the fence think that the grass might be greener on the other side, because they're so set in their ways that they're pretty damn sure that their grass couldn't get any brighter if they were pumpin miracle grow into it and had twenty seven peurto rican gardeners tendin' it. Those on the left side, however, are more apt to give things a shot. You probably already know all this. Me? I can't really fault what the conservative gov has done as far as the fact of keeping our nation secure. Without the conservatives in power would we have the six billion dollar surplus we have now? Would we have the national financial security that we do with this recession coming up? Maybe, there's no saying that no one else could have done it, but the fact of the matter is that the conservatives did do it. And at the end of the day social issues may be a social concern but when it comes down to the individual they want to keep them and theirs secure with full bellies and roof's over their heads. Do I agree with the conservative gov selling off our national enterprises and jobs piece by piece? Shit no. Do I think that we should have gotten involved in an overseas conflict because a neighbour of ours started dragging their ass when they got spread too thin. Hell no. Do I think that every Canadian citizen should have the right and ability to make as much money as they possibly can? For sure. Should they be allowed to step on those below them to do it? That's also a no. Do I think that Canada should have a stronger global prescience, and that despite the fact that we are a peaceful nation we should have a better military infrastructure? Absolutely.

You've probably heard me say it before. I'm not a conservative. I'm not a liberal. I'm a realist.

On a lighter note. I'm working, though certainly shorter shifts for less money. Time to tighten the ol belt. Yes I suppose there is a pretty lady in my life right now, won't say much more...don't wanna jinx it. You don't care that I've been playing a lot of Metal Gear Solid 4 (but it's pretty damn cool). Also right after I post this a new short story goes on www.thelastwordsmith.blogspot.com so go check it out.

2008-09-30T15:48:00.000-07:00

The bustle and chatter of the city's golden and often racous summer is now replaced with the demure and most times relaxed conversation of atumn. Despite the fact that my traditionally confining fall apparell includes the ties and thicker sweaters I feel more relaxed and genuine. A root beer in hand, and a newspaper fallen across my lap I sit down by the water's of downtown's coal harbour listening to the waves lap the shore and the sea planes barge into the skies.

My life's pace has slowed but not stalled. I've been working a fair amount, and not really making enough money for my trouble, but such is the fate of those employed by restaraunts in the fall. Business slows, and certainly the state of global economy can't really provoke people into wanting to spend their hard earned dollars on expensive food and liqour. I'm content though. My paintbrushes and paper have been seeing the action that my general life hasn't. Damn me for not having a scanner to show off more of my work. But that isn't all my life. Work and art. I can admit that I've been playing a large amount of playstation and going to the movies. For the record don't bother with Assasin's Creed. Poo Poo. Also I've been spending time with old friends, as well as new ones.

I won't be making it home for thanksgiving. Which is unfortunate. I certainly looked forward to it, but finaincially it's just not going to work. I also don't have a ride back to the north, which makes things a bit more complicated still. My brother may or may not go back home, and in the event that he doesn't he wants to have a thanksgiving of his own at his new home in burnaby. That I could do, thanksgiving is a time for family even if their numbers are sparse. Later this month I'm going to see Neil Young with my sister which will eventful if anything. And I did spend an afternoon with my mother, adding as always another layer of depth and honesty to our relationship. So I think october will give me the fix of family that I desire.

My hair's pretty long. That doesn't mean much. 'Cept I've decided to keep it long. It used to be real long, that was a while ago when all I knew how to do was put a hat on. Maybe now I can work some of that Patrick Dempsy hot? Here's hoping.

Forcast says....

2008-09-20T20:46:00.000-07:00

That picture is old. I still like it.

I'm sick. It's my own fault. That doesn't mean I'm hung over. Not that kind of sick. It feels like I've got a tennis ball stuck in my throat and speaking hurts something aweful. I took the day off work today. I rarely do this unless I'm so sick that I think I'm definetly not gonna get better whilst I work. So here I sit on a saturday night, everyone out having fun and me sitting here in a paint covered sweater suckin' back tea and soup like it's goin' outta style.

Last week I had a very good couple of days off. A friend of mine had a birthday party which felt more like two days of continuous party. When I arrived at her home the second day, her and the rest had created "Supercouch". I'm sure you can all imagine the beastlike seating and sprawling arrangement that a name such as that entails. Video games were played hair of the dog was drank and we prepared ourselves for that next evening which we would spend watching one of my most favorite local bands, "The Whiskeydicks". Their show was great, and my evening was long. Stupidly at the end of it I was just drunk enough to think that walking from commercial drive to downtown was a good idea. 'Bout an hour and a half later I stumbled exhausted into the house. I felt my sickness coming on, but it mattered little to me the past days had been so very good.

On another note, my creative production this quarter is up something like 75%. I've finished a painting which I will hopefully display for y'all real soon, and have started another. Last night I finished a short story that will soon be on my creative writing blog for all to read. I feel productive and happy, and fairly optimistic. Financially I'm pretty good although it's always a killer to take a full day off work. Whatever I'll be good.

And to close, anyone know how I can get a ride home for thanksgiving? Much love to all.

REALLY GOOD!

2008-09-04T15:54:00.000-07:00

The last week was may last hurrah of summer and it could not have gone out in greater fashion. After finishing camp for the summer I made the decision that I needed an actual vacation. Camp's not easy, despite what you may think. So i booked some time off last minute and with the way things out I had nearly a week off work. I decided to go to Victoria as Cody was having a party to celebrate his new home. It has a pool. A real one.

So I left thursday morning for the island. My friend Heather picked me up from the ferry and we had a good 48 hours of visiting before Cody re-arrived in Victoria from trips and vacations of his own. The days and nights were filled with beer, good food and a certain amount of the great BC green. I cooked exactly four meals while I was in Victoria. They all left a good taste in my mouth and a strong odour in my feces. Salmon, Tortelini with bur blanc, green curry (from scratch, and lets just say that the next day i found out why they call it green curry), and amazingly and deliciously enough whistle dogs and pilsner. Monday night was pretty much the best party I'd ever been to. The pool was lavishly decorated, my associates dressed in the finest rediculous attire, and the music thumping so hard that now I have a heart murmur.

As I tend to do I went over there looking for something. Something intangible. Something typically Axel in that it holds some greater meaning or depth. What I found in Victoria that wasn't subtle or mentally cautious in any way was that there aren't enough people in my life that I an near whom I love the shit out of. Spending time with Cody, Landon, and Tyler, along with plenty of people who quickly became new friends I realized that even though living here in Vancouver I've invested so much into my life, and my independence I haven't really spent a lot of time cultivating anything. Investments are for banks, cultivation is for growth. I think I've proved to myself that I can be independent, what I want next is to prove that i really am happy.

What I did on my Summer Vacation.

2008-08-27T15:52:00.000-07:00

The dieing glow of summer is replaced by the crisp and thoughtful repose of fall. Ah fall my favorite season. The smells, the colours, and the mindset of the third act of the seasons. For me fall has and always will be the beggining of the year. January be damned. Of course it's because the fall is when school begins, and school will forever echo with new begginings for me. New stuff to learn, new heights to reach, and new relationships to pursue. It's a time when all that happened during the summer comes to fruition and we have something to hold, even if it isn't entirely tangible.

When summer started I was of the mindset that it was going to be like any other three months of my life, maybe just a little busier making my wallet just a little heavier. It's not, it never is. To say that I was involved in a relationship this summer would be wrong, but only because she asked me not to call it a relationship. To say my art suffered this summer would be right, because I made a concious decision to put it on the back burner until I had "time" to make it happen. There was a lot of work that got done, and not all of it resulted in fiscal earnings. 'Course I didn't know many of the things I'd get out of summer until now.

Probably the first and foremost was the work that needed to be done on me. You ask me who I was even are year ago and the definition seemed pretty clear. I mean I had a pretty good idea of what and who I was. My roomate Dan and I had a pretty good discussion about it a while back, and he told me something that I blew off as aged rhetoric. He told me that as clearly defined as my sense of self was that it wasn't always gonna be that way. That maybe I was ahead of the game at that time, but that one day I was gonna wake up and realize that I didn't have a clue, about myself, my future and the world I lived in. He was right. There was a day, after making a series of bad decisions and blind actions that I woke up and relalised that I was lost. In the really cliched way that I'm sure everyone at twenty gets lost. I wasn't secure in myself anymore, and I was looking to the people around me, the people close to me, to define me. They can't do that though, only I can. Because people come and go, but I'm always gonna be here, and if I ask them to carry me then when they leave I'm gonna have a ways to fall. My art had started to crumble, because I had stopped caring. Why? Because I didn't think anyone else cared about it. But what I had to realise was that that didn't make it any less art. This is retread of my last post, but it's a pretty clear point and it goes along with larger point of what this post is about. I have to start caring if I wanted anyone else to give two shits and a penny. I had to care about me. I had to care about my art. I had to care about the things in my life that mean something to me, and I have to work for them because no one else is gonna do it for me, or be willing to help unless I take the lead.

I don't think anyone really stops being lost for a good long while. They usually learn where they are, but that doesn't tell them where they're going or where they're gonna end up.

So what is there for me at the end of summer? I've got some ideas, new ones, good ones. And I'm gonna put them to work for me. I've got a heart, and it's wide open. But most of all I've got some determination and willpower, and without that everything else is just stationary.

It's art, suck it.

2008-08-15T15:13:00.000-07:00

Cracking my knuckles I take a deep breath and peer right into the computer. No one said this was gonna be easy. It takes twenty minutes of false starts and google interruptions to make it work. My brain that is, I give my head a smack and start typing forcing the words to flow through my fingertips, even when the phrases look ugly and less then poetic. 'Cause the truth is i haven't written anything of any substance in so long that i don't really give a shit if it sucks full on camel dick.

I look back fondly on the days of my first foray's into prose. When I was just writing whatever made me laugh, and most times revolved around bodily functions of some sort. Today though it's such a shit slicked slope of artistry that I attempt to climb. It's true that we become our own worst critics, but we wouldn't know what to criticize without the world at large telling us that we need to criticize at all. When I moved to the city, I liked art and that's all there was to it. I liked writing, and I liked painting, and I didn't really give two shits about all the pabst blue ribbon, multi coloured vintage scarves, and ugly haircuts that went along with it. I'm speaking of course of the pretension that goes along with art in the city. It wasn't long before I was taking a very concerned look at my own product deciding that it just wasn't edgy enough. That I didn't have enough wallowing in self pity or sneering at the societal norms to really be a true artist. I'd have to go wallow in some shitty beer in some basement in east vancouver with a bunch of people wearing ray-ban wayfarers at night quoting warhol and smoking belmonts.

I was there. I saw it. God I hated it. But that's what artists did right? They congregated together and wallowed in self loathing. Right? Fuck that noise. Lets kick the word in the balls, and make it my oyster. Notice how whatever I write always has some upbeat tirade at the end? Yea, well I just don't give a shit, 'cause when you've got a point that's how you make. It may take me a little bit to get back in shape, but as if right now? I don't give two shits what all those other so called "artists" think or do, because my kung fu is better than theirs. So they can bring it.