Just Breathe

Saturday night, It was nothing more than a niggling somewhere in the back of my mind that something wasn't right. I should have recognized the warnings then, but of course I didn't.

Sunday morning, I got up and had a nice breakfast for one at this place on Denman St. It was sunny, warm, and beautiful, and I was really digging my 3rd day off in a row. I came back home, and as soon as I walked in the door it started. I couldn't breathe. Just like that. One minute I was fine, and the next, I couldn't get enough air in me, no matter how hard I tried. Was it a blood clot? I thought back to the pulmonary embolism silliness of a year ago (and with my ever so helpful doctor's words ringing in my ears "You're susceptible now. This could re-occur at any time, so be vigilant...". Gee, Thanks Doc - Most appreciated for the now-ongoing paranoia). I paced around my living room a little, because remembering what happened last year, and how I felt walking across the room would be a good indicator if I needed to get some urgent medical care or not... after minute it dawned on me.

I was having an anxiety attack. Again.

So the rest of the afternoon was spent hanging out, and doing nothing to exacerbate the situation. Hours later, it finally waned, but having these episodes really knocks the wind out of you (no pun intended). So I stayed up late, drank some scotch, and watched the Big Lebowski, and listened to the new Pearl Jam album. (I figure that to right the ship, one might as well watch the funniest movie ever made, and listen to a darn good record - so I did just that).

Today, was another beautiful day. But I woke up with that feeling still hanging over my head / poking at the back of my mind, and thought to get out, go for a walk, and hopefully the exercise would do some good. It did. I walked down to the beach, sat there for a little while, watched a crane drop off some sculptures of what appears to be gigantic football players on the beach, no doubt another famous piece of Vancouver performance art, following the success of the gigantic Upside Down Church that got shuffled city to city, because no-one wanted it. (It went from NYC, to Stanford, to Vancouver, and we just pawned it off on Calgary. Suckers.)

I went to this little place right at the beach, and sat in front of an open window, had a beer and a sandwich and stared out at the blue sky and green ocean. Anxiety attack # 2 had been swirling around all morning, and I think my time out in the daylight helped. I had left my phone at home on purpose, so I was unreachable via phone, email text, or carrier pigeon from my office, or by anyone for that matter. It was just me, my Ipod, and a sunny day watching the palm trees sway in the ocean breezes.

Speaking of Pearl Jam, I've been listening to their new record "Backspacer" a lot -and I really am digging it. It actually is an up, happy record for them, and although it only clocks in at something like 37 minutes long, there are a couple of real gems on the album. One of which is below; the gentle, (and aptly titled) "Just Breathe".

Backward

I was drinking when I wrote that last blog entry. (It was awesome, BTW). But, for the record, I'm obviously emotionally dyslexic. It was one of those Rear-View-Windows type deal, where objects can woefully appear not what they seem.

It's grey, cloudy, rainy, cold & shitty outside, and through my open windows, amidst the falling rain, I can hear the grumble of a diesel engine, combined with the urgent bleating of a car alarm going off, so, living in the west end, this can only mean that there is another scofflaw getting towed to Buster's Towing impound yard. I'll say one thing about Vancouver's parking enforcement, much like their distant cousins running the snow removal crews in Montreal, neither cities fuck around with their respective strengths.

This summer was a record breaker, and it might have rained all of 5 days from June to the end of August. Forest fires were rampant, the Province blew their annual budget for the above just a few weeks into the summer, and the flames kept licking at the communities and the wilds of the north all season long. It was so bad, we are now in a Provincial deficit - not just the fires though - also the cost of the Olympics, health care, education, et al. And, with mid-September trends, the warming days are giving way to cloudy skies, from a season full of sunshine will lull us into the fall with its Siren's Song, only to reveal its true, ugly Gorgon head in the dead of winter.

There's trouble all around, the province is broke, the recently elected government has reneged on a lot of promises from their election a few months back, Afghanistan is going to the dogs (poor choice of words there, sorry), Canada may be forced into ANOTHER federal election, the right wing crazies in the US is driving all the crazies even crazier over their incredibly broken health care system which Obama is desperately trying to fix, (while appearing that he and all of us have been getting a lesson of the power of Fox News, and the boiling cauldron of the varying classes, bigotry, and education levels in America). So the forecast calls for basically shitty for the foreseeable future. I've had my ass kicked seven ways from sideways since February, and I really can't wait for this stinking year to be over. This past week was just another exemplary day showcasing the pitfalls, downfalls, and spike-laden-tiger-pits in both categories.

My personal life as previously stated is, well, largely private. It's my own, and the few times I've alluded to specific events has been fraught with peril, because;

1) I'm pretty private,
2) I wind up putting things out there for the world (and the 3 or 4 people who actually KNOW me) to read, but eventually I'll have some 'splainin' to do.

That being said, let's just say that things could be a lot better, and hopefully this will be the last time it's mentioned. I've had a really tough couple of months, and right now, I'm beat up, emotionally exhausted, burnt out, and, I really don't see much of light at the end of any tunnel. (This is referencing again, P&P). I have to work on this, and I hope at my age, a new dog can be taught old tricks - else it's Old Yeller time, but the simple truth is; that maybe I just need to go have a beer with a friend and vent for a little while. Maybe I just need a couple of days off.

Or maybe I just haven't had enough fun.

Some good news though, is that for the first time in my life, I've had to sort of stuck to a diet, (wasn't fat, but getting annoyed at being a little doughy) and I wasn't even a nazi about it either. I just watched what I ate, had a fair amount of exercise, and at the end of it, wound up losing around 10lbs. No bread, potatoes, snacks, no coffee, ate early, and thanks to the loss of the Millennium Falcon V.4.0 - with public transit, I've been walking 2kms a day.

Right now, the tow truck has jackknifed about a 45 degree angle in order to pry his target vehicle out of a tight parking spot, thereby blocking off both lanes of traffic on my street. Traffic has backed up both ways, it's rush hour, and people are anxious to get home. There is a cacophony of all sorts of car horns blaring, and people are yelling at the tow truck guy to move out of the way, and he's swearing right back at all of them. The target car's alarm is going at full force, and the with the roar of the diesels from the tow truck, it's really beginning to harsh my buzz from 4 floors up. (Doesn't anyone know what kind of day / week / month (s) I've had? I've got feelings up here!)

So, in light of all the above, (and also telling my diet to go suck it), tonight, I'm going to smoke some ganja, drink some beer & wine, eat a disgusting chili dog, watch some bad TV, and chase it all down with some chocolate fudge ice cream, all topped off with a healthy dose of pessimism. (Vomiting may or may not occur several hours from now. Call your friends, wake the kids, set your alarms).

Outside, the tow truck finally was finally able to extract the car, and I'm listening to its alarm lose all sense of urgency as the horn (much like a departing fire engine does), dopplers down in pitch & volume all the way down the street, around the corner, and away from here. Leaving just the cloud, cold, rain and me behind.

Forward

I was walking back to my hotel from my last event in Toronto tonight, and noticed this sign stuck to a wall, and obviously I couldn't let this go unnoticed.

I'm entering into the silly season, work-wise. The fall and winter are always busy, and if I include Uncle Stan's last weekend, Toronto, where I am right now, Chicago next week, and France for 10 days at the beginning of October, I'll only be waking up in my own bed 1 out of the next 5 weekends.

Not that I'm complaining that much about it, travel for all of it's issues and hassles, is a good thing. It gives me a chance to get out of town, see some old and dear friends, and provides the always good reason for returning back home. Like my Grandfather used to say when we visited as kids, (after we had also broken many of their collectibles) "It's nice to see you come, and it's nice to see you go".

Case in point, this was Yonge Street this morning.

But tomorrow, I'm getting up and blasting back to the airport so I can get home and see this:



And this.

After which, I'm looking forward to quickly getting out of town again. I have an weekend in Chicago that I'm really looking forward to, and I need to do something good for just me. So I'm coming back to the west coast to smell the ocean, do some laundry, and then keep on moving forward. In all ways.

Forward seems to be the right direction.

ANVIL!

I've been waiting to see this since it's triumphant debut at Sundance, in January of 2009.

It played in Cannes in May, and while I was there, I had a dinner engagement that kept me away from the festivities. There is a little Irish pub called Morrison's on Rue Tessier, where I've made it my unofficial home and I've been there enough that the managers know me, and always treat me well. So that night I had a dinner, and was hanging out at the Grand Hotel, all but a 8 minute walk away from Morrison's....the after party for ANVIL! The Story of ANVIL! was held there, and the band played, and by all accounts blew out every window in the surrounding neighborhood.

The next day, I showed up for my regular after work beer, and the Manager told me what I had missed the night before. I was shocked, bummed, and, suffice it to say, as a good Canadian Kid, I was sickened that I missed it. The Manager though, came back a few minutes later with an ANVIL! pin, and an ANVIL! t-shirt, and gave it to me. It was one of those you had to be there moments - especially in Cannes, because any Frenchman worthy of his reputation wouldn't even piss on a foreigner if they were on fire if he came across one lying in the street. (So that gesture alone really gave me pause to think that there might be some healing power of ANVIL!). But he realized how much I hated to have missed ANVIL!, so I gratefully took the shirt, and gave it to my significant other. And, the last I heard, it was her sleeping shirt (but that's not really important anymore). But I had really wanted to see the film. It played all of 5 days in the theatres in Vancouver, and then it was gone, so I had consigned myself to waiting for the DVD release and the movie slowly devolved from a must-see, into just one more film of any dozen on my list to see, which would be probably relegated to a slow Sunday afternoon when I had the time... but somehow that wasn't right.

Today, while flying from Vancouver to Toronto, I got to see it on the plane., and holy shit! I need to tell all 3 of you who read this; GO buy the DVD, order it on PPV, just see it. Tell your Friends too.

I was sitting in seat 19g, in tears at a few points. This is how great documentaries are made. This is what rock & roll is all about. This is what dreams are made of. I can't say enough about it - but Sacha Gervasi knows how to make a film, and Lips, and Robbo know how to stick it out. I saw myself, Stuart, Cameron, Bernie, Brian, Al, Vlado, Dale. Neil, and all the other guys I gigged with a lifetime ago. I had tears in my eyes.

As an old, retired road warrior - after watching this film, I was reduced to a puddle - much to the chagrin of the polite little Japanese girl sitting beside me. She probably hasn't seen a grown man cry while watching a documentary about an aging Canadian heavy metal band, at least I hope not. These guys are now in their early '50's and they still dream about making it. Their bond is as much, or more important than the music they're making. When all odds are against them, they still did their best.

Seriously. Rent, download (legally), PPV it, or buy it. It's astounding. Tell your friends too.

8 hours later, I'm in Toronto with a glass of wine, staring at the wall at 1:00 AM, and I can't get it out of my mind. That's what good movies are supposed to do. Get a reaction. Make you laugh. Make you cry. Make you think. Love your friends. Follow your dreams. Root for the underdog. Hope for the best, and deal with the worst.

Isn't that the way we are supposed to live our lives?

I'm in the film business, and I never give reviews. It's not my place. I'm not the arbiter of taste on the internets - there are a sufficient number of other assholes that will happily do that. I'm only the poor schmoe who has to sell the films I have, to increasingly more fickle buyers, in an ever shrinking marketplace, which leads to a very difficult, and stressful situation. But, I'm going to break from my long standing (& suffering silence) and tell you that this is the Best documentary / best film of the year, hands down. I'll say again. THE best.

Watch / buy this as soon as you can. You'll be glad you did. Tell your friends too.

*Postscript - Since the success of the documentary and the massive amounts of press they recieved, ANVIL! recently opened up for ACDC on a handful of US shows during their current tour. They played in Boston to 20,000 people about 5 weeks ago - and I think that's all right.

Do yourself, and everyone a favor and watch ANVIL! Tell your friends too. They'll be glad you did.

THE Best Doc of the year hands down.

Labour Days (The End Of Summer)

For the first time since I can't remember in the past couple of months, the weekend came, and it got cold, rainy, and shitty. On a holiday long weekend no less. I had three blessed days off, and the weather completely turned sour. I won't lie, it's almost a great analogy for what has been a tough go for most of this year. So, a quick recap of the last couple of months might be in order;

The break-up of a relationship is always a tough one - even though she did right thing - I still feel like I let both of us down. I hate disappointing people, and this one really took the wind out of my sails. It's coming up on being a while now, and I'm starting to let that whole thing go, but part of me hopes I will never fully, completely retract my claws. These things happen for good or for bad, and they are part of the experience that makes us what we are. Hopefully next time, I'll be more ready, for the both of us - whoever we may be.

The Job? It's making me feel like a "before" picture.

The Summer? It was unseasonably hot. Massive heat wave. At it's peak I soaked a towel, folded it 3 times, and stuck it in the freezer. During our 10 day furnace-blast of Dante's nightmares, I slept on my couch, stole a fan from work (not in that order), and crunched open the frozen towel, folded it inside another sheet, draped it over my hot, sweaty carcass, and slept like a baby. A hungry, angry baby.

The Millennium Falcon V.4.0? She Croaked. I've been taking public transit for the first time since... well, ever. It's been an interesting experience for sure. Not having a car at the best of times can be an annoyance, but not having a car at all - well, you have to deal with it, and figure out the bus schedules (and, dodge the scads of strangers who possess any of the following: Mental Illness (and there's A LOT in Vancouver Transit), people with poor hygiene (the first thing I do when I reach my destination is find the nearest washroom, grab a spare telephone cable, and have a ritual self-cleansing / flagellating session. It helps.), and the knowledge that it takes me like 12 minutes to drive to work, and taking public transit takes, like 45 min for the same distance. Thank goodness for my Ipod Touch. There's nothing like a little Oscar Peterson, or, well, any of the 3163 songs currently on file, to get me to the church on time. It was a grey morning last Thursday, but I was listening to Mike Peters of the The Alarm belt out "I love to hear the Rain In The Summertime".

The Great Data Debacle of 2009. Is kind of a funny story. If you're Stalin. Or enjoy drowning puppies. My nice, gaming computer (which has also brought me nothing but problems since nearly the day I bought it, btw), one of the hard drives had kittens and lost all of my data; My pictures, my music, my writing, my business stuff - everything. I took it to the computer place, and after paying a fair amount of $$, he restored most of the lost data and stuck it on my outboard drive. So I got home, reformatted the other disc on my PC, and while doing so, neglected to realize that my outboard recovery drive was plugged in... and I had erased my just recovered files from a few days before. Again. Luckily, my nerd friend Gino found me a data recovery program, and it recovered about 90% of everything, even after deleting it (twice). Three weeks of fucking around with a computer got me that, and a virtual equivalent of a cheese sandwich.

Gettiing Shit On By A Well-Fed Seagull. Meanwhile, at the height of this amusement, I was having a beer with my friend Lindsay on a patio downtown after work, and while telling him about most of the above - I got shit on by a bird. A large bird. Then I took the bus home with a large bird-shit stain on my shirt. Look at me go!

A few weeks ago, Uncle Stan called me. He is turning 90 next week and his birthday celebration is falling right when I'm in Toronto for the film festival, plus, since I've been wheel-less, I haven't seen him in the last 6 weeks. So we got to talking (and just for the record, I painted his entire 1600 SF rancher 10 years ago) the abridged conversation went something like this:

Stanley: "Want to paint my house? I need the kitchen & TV room done".
Me: "Sure, I just have to find a weekend"
Stanley: "How about Labour Day? I also need the living room, dining room, skylights, my bedroom, back bedroom, en suite, and laundry room done".
Me: "Uh... I had plans (being selfish), but sure, Labour Day will be fine for me".
Stanley: "Ok- great!"

A few days later, Stan called back.

Me: "Hi Uncle Stan!" (I've got call display)
Stanley: "I have to apologize. You know, at my age, most of my friends are dead, and I must be getting old & senile, because I know how important friends are. So don't worry, and whenever you can make it, we can work out a time to paint".
Me: (Staring at a 3 glorious days of doing nothing, preparing for all the travel coming up in the next 4 weeks), "Don't worry about it. I'm there. Labour Day weekend".

About 5 days ago, Stan called back again,

Stanley: "You're not in my will, you know".
Me: "I know - you've mentioned that a couple of times..."
Stanley: "You don't make a lot of money, and with everything you've done for me over the years, I want to pay yo-"
Me: "No".
Stanley: "The reason I said you weren't in my will, is that it's God's money, and I want to give it to you while I'm alive - not getting it when I'm gone".
Me: "You're not paying me, that will be the end of that, I'll be there Labour Day weekend, and if I hear anymore about it, they won't be able to identify your body when a farmer eventually stumbles over it somewhere out in the moors, probably whilst chasing an erstwhile sheep".
Stanley: "..OK. See you on the weekend!"

So I rented a car for the holiday weekend, got out to White Rock early Saturday morning, and went for the gusto. I picked him up, drove to the paint store, helped him select the colors, then went back and fought through clouds of fruit flies (he's an indoor composter - yeesh) and the spiders that follow the fruit flies, then moved mountains of furniture and shuffled stuff back & forth across the rooms to paint one corner, then the other. I cooked him dinners, did his laundry, took out his garbage, cleaned his kitchen, and oh yeah - if I haven't mentioned it yet - painted most of his entire, gigantic house and basically kicked ass and took names.

I finally returned home a few hours ago. Paint-stained, sweaty, stinky, my bad hip throbbing, having spent the entire weekend battling various arthropods, cobwebs, arthritis, all with a smile on my face.

I gave him my Labour Day weekend as his birthday present. He said "That's the best gift I could have gotten - it will last me years. My daughter keeps trying to buy me clothes. I'm 90 years old - why do I need new clothes?"