Paper Airplanes

我靠 *

2009-12-31T12:47:00.000-08:00

Well, 2009, as my Grandfather used to say; "It's nice to see you come, and nice to see you go". Percy, wherever you are - I couldn't agree more.

I took this photo on Christmas Eve down on the beach at English Bay. I thought it was sort of fitting. Part of me feels that they are celebrating the upcoming future, going forward with glee and good spirits. Another part of me feels they are laughing at the departure of the bad things, and that while "Joy is in the ears that hear", type-thing and they are looking forward to the upcoming future. Its kind of the same thing, no?

All I know is that as one who really doesn't put much stock in the passing of the years - for 2009? I say good riddance. Thanks for dropping by - and there's the door.

According to the Chinese Zodiac, 2009 apparently was the Year of the Ox. That's funny, because I was sure that it was "The Year of Getting Urinated On From A Great Height". Even after all that though? I'm going to remain cautiously optimistic about 2010.

Bonne Annee, and Bonne Chance, Everyone.

*wǒ kào (我靠 or 我尻) – "Well fuck me!", "Fuck!", "Fuckin' awesome!" or "Holy shit!" (Originally from Taiwan, this expression has spread to the mainland, where it is generally not considered to be vulgar. 尻 originally meant "butt.") Source: Wikipedia

It's Fading

2009-12-29T01:27:00.000-08:00

In the last 8 weeks, I've had the rather ignonymous duty as serving as sounding board for 3 friends who's marriages that have very recently broken up. Also, I've been an impartial observer to a long term relationship that recently hit the skids as well. I think it's been a tough year all around for matters of the heart.

I loved, Loved, LOVED this version when I initially saw it. The great Todd Rundgren, Live From Daryl's house, with a crack band, and two blue-eyed Philly soul men at the peak of their powers.

I've been trying for a while now to find a way to slide this song in here without being maudlin. It's honest, earnest, & truthful - it's everything what a perfect pop song should be; Unbelievable background vocals, true artists flexing their creative muscles, and showing the rest of us poor schlubs the real meaning of craft & taste. All while singing about something as horrible as heartbreak & loss. Sometimes though, heartbreak & loss can create beautiful things. This must be one of them.

Awesome. Just awesome.

I've Got Troubles, But Not Today

2009-12-28T05:06:00.000-08:00

It's always impresses me how quiet my apartment building, and the surrounding neighborhood are at 4:00 Am. I live one block west of Denman Street in downtown Vancouver - a fairly main street, 4 blocks from the beach, the strip, and such, but once you cross Denman, westwardly towards Stanley Park, it's a completely different deal. No traffic noise. No sounds of the bums & dumpster divers dragging their shopping carts in an endless procession up and down the back alleys, No sound of anything, really.

The reason I know this, is because I went to bed around midnight and 2 hours later, it appears I'm up for the duration. I tried reading myself back to sleep (which, if any of you might have slept with me at anytime over the last 20 years, you'd know it's usually fail-safe, and a bone of contention to any and all sleeping partners) and yet nothing. So after an hour of tossing & turning (I'm reading Cormac McCarthy's "The Road, which in its own is depressing enough to keep anyone awake) but it's not just that. Another hour went by, and I tried a sleeping pill which I rarely, if ever do. I had some left over from my last overseas trip - and nothing. So, I pulled out the big guns, a steaming hot mug of Neo-Citran - and nothing. So now it's 4:15 AM, and I'm resorting to some very good 18 year old scotch. If this doesn't work, I'm going to be at my wits end. The only thing even remotely comforting about this, is that eventually, the scotch will kick in sometime within the next 20 hours or so, I should be getting some sleep. Hangover most probably included.

I have a considerable amount on my mind. I suppose this is just the way my subconscious deals with it. This would be much easier though, if it would do it at 1:00 PM, but then again, I'd be missing out on sitting in my living room with candles going at 5:00 AM, with all my windows open on an eerily quiet night, listening to Joe Purdy sing "Wash Away".

Holy Shit. It's Christmas

2009-12-25T11:02:00.000-08:00

This time last year - the Lower Mainland was in the grip of a massive, week-long, once in a decade-type blizzard. This year? Nothing but green grass & blue skies.

On a different note - I always sort of though I was plugged in to the artists whom I admire, and to my utter astonishment - I JUST stumbled over Live from Daryl's House. Daryl Hall is one massively cool dude. He invites up & coming artists to his house, and him and his absolute crack band play old H&O songs, the guest artist's songs, and cook up huge dinners each week. A new episode is webcast on the 15th of each month. Check out the Todd Rundgren, Company of Thieves, and Parachutes episodes. Brilliant. Simply brilliant.

As for me, I'm retrieving the aluminum pole from the crawl-space (very high strength to weight ratio) and preparing for the annual airing of grievances.

It's not seasonal, but I thought to include a beautiful version of "Hey There Delilah" with Daryl, the band, and the Plain White T's. As with staying with the above smiling motif, it made me smile. Hope it does to you as well.

Happy Holidays.

How Much Does Your Life Weigh?

2009-12-04T00:38:00.000-08:00

*The above picture was taken by my assistant in Cannes 2 years ago - George and the rest of the Oceans 12? 13? crew walked right past our window at the Palais du Festivals on the way to their press conference*

So, my obvious, awkward, man-crush on George Clooney aside, I saw the footage of Reitman's new film "Up In The Air" previewed at the Toronto Film Fest in September, and it knocked my socks off.

The 'teaser footage' below is something that Jason Reitman cut exclusively for the web. He had a battle royale with the marketing folks at Paramount to release it. The officially sanctioned trailers 1, 2, & 3 are all very well done - but this one is the best. Well done Sir! Well done indeed!

The basic guts of the story is about a guy who is corporate downsizer, which means that he works for a company who is contracted by their clients to fire their own employees. He has no life, travels 300 days a year, has a goal to make 10,000,000 air miles, and is more at home in an airport, rather than, well, than at home. Until he gets downsized. The National Post has a pretty nice review. I'm sure there are others that are better, but the way Chris Knight spun his tale about the film - it just kind of stuck with me.

As one who has spent a considerable amount of time in airports, flitting from one city to another, one continent to another, (or quite infrequently, one relationship to another), while risking nothing but an inconsequential personal life... I'm completely down with this story. They even interviewed (and filmed) 25 people who had lost their jobs during this massive recession, and included them in the movie.

For the record? I'm only up to 92,000 air miles. Thank goodness.

When Something's Gone

2009-12-03T19:17:00.000-08:00

"... I want to fight to get it back again". (The Fixer / Backspacer / Pearl Jam / Rel 2009)

Rock & Roll, my brothers & sisters! It's indeed a contact sport, even into your '40's.

I've really been grocking on the new-ish Pearl Jam record. It clocks in at a paltry 33:36, and is (for the most part anyway) chock-full of optimism & hope. As an added bonus, the below video for "The Fixer" was directed by the great Cameron Crowe.

"When something's low, I want to put a bit of high on it
When something's lost, I want to fight to get it back again
When signals cross, I want to put a bit of straight on it
If there's no love, I want to try and love again".

The prototypical angry young men have become middle aged fathers and gloriously squeezed out a joyful, happy record... and I think that's all right.

November? Fin.

2009-12-01T19:14:00.000-08:00

"Parallel lines never do cross over". (Parallel Lines / Nearly Human / Todd Rundgren / Rel. 1989)

What the heck is it about this particular month? Has everyone gone insane? Everything always seems to suck balls in November. To reinforce; I can refer you to Terry & Sab's Dog Dawson 2007, the Silly Fresh Water Riots of 2006, The Month Of The Dead from 2005, also My Cousin Maya's dog Shilo 2005 (Or, for that matter, my last three weeks if you're a particularly avid sadist).

It was also this November where I very quietly noted the 25th anniversary of the passing of my Mom. 25 years! It's just crazy. It still seems like it was yesterday. Also, in 3 weeks, it's going to be the 7th anniversary of the passing of my Dad - just before Christmas. (As a side note, I'm thinking of trademarking December as November Jr.).

A few people who are very important to me have drifted out of my life as well, but hey - it's ok - people come and people go in each others lives all the time. It's the natural progression of things really. The only thing that sticks in my craw is that both are long time friends, and of whom I've invested a considerable amount of time & energy, and *poof* they've just disappeared / dried up and blown away in the winds. That would be the November Winds - if anyone out there is keeping score (or still awake). I feel that November can make one... disposable. Has anyone else noticed this?

Here's another tidbit: although we didn't come CLOSE to the record set in 2006, I'm please to report that in November 2009, out of 30 days - we had 26 of rain, and only had 38.6 hours of sunshine the entire month. The reason that statistic is relevant is that 7.2 hours of that sunshine came last Friday - one of the few days we had more than a few uninterrupted hours of not getting covered by grey skies and deluged with pelting rain.

Last Friday morning, as I was padding around the kitchen before work, making a cup of tea, something made me glance upwards to the ceiling, and there was about 100 fucking larvae crawling around up there! Larvae. Beige colored, about 1/2 inch long. Everywhere. Now, with a nod towards my growing maturity - if this was 10 years ago - I'd have simply moved - that same day. But now, I spent my time cursing, and doing the pee-pee dance obliterating baby whatever they are, and called the building Super. Turns out they are Mediterranean Moths. They most likely hitched a ride home in some groceries, and then set up shop inside my pantry walls, venturing out to snack on various kinds of breakfast cereal and such. I get to look forward to a full apartment fumigation over the weekend, as opposed to last weekend, where I spent it painting Uncle Stan's house (Aka the job that will never end).

Last night, a friend of mine was passing through town for the Whistler Film Festival, called me up, and we got together for a late night spur of the moment cocktail at the Hotel Pan Pacific overlooking Vancouver's magnificent harbor. We're old pals because we gossip like schoolgirls and talk smack like NBA players, so it's always a pleasure to spend some time with KB. About 5 minutes into it she dropped a bombshell - she and her husband of 5 years are splitting up. I was shocked, and obviously more than a little concerned for her. As people often do, we went through the details, dug up the nasty bits, talked about the past and the future. And, as I so often do, I stole the line from Todd Rundgren's great song Parallel Lines (So I send you the gift of empathy), and we talked for a while. We got to talking about the anatomy of a break-up. How it happens, how you are supposed to feel, what do you do with your life now... the usual stuff. Then she asked "What's happening in YOUR life?".

I sort of spat my drink all over the table (mainly through my nose), then blithely changed the subject.

So now, for something completely different, (and to celebrate the passing of The Cruelest Month), captured via a nature-cam, here's a happy young Elk calf playing in a wallow.

Catherine Wheels

2009-11-26T00:29:00.000-08:00

As previously stated, I Like / Have a Man-Crush on / LOVE Crowded House & Neil Finn. In my opinion, they are the bar that sets the standard for basically all of pop-music history in the 20th Century (Besides the those hacks - The Beatles).

This, of course brings me to "Together Alone", their dark masterpiece which was their 4th album, released in October, 1993. Among such classics as "Distant Sun", "Pineapple Head", & "Private Universe", there was "Catherine Wheels". This is one of those songs that sadly didn't become a hit single. I blame society in general. What a masterpiece of a song! When you listen to it, try not to get hypnotized by the beauty of the melody (which is hard NOT to do) but follow the lyrics, and the piece takes on a whole new slant. ("Who's needs do I serve?").

Speaking of a whole new slant...

I've very recently left my job and got dumped in a relationship. But, if I can be honest? I've probably been dumped in 3 relationships because of the job I just dumped. (Somewhere out there, the ghost of Freud is either having a double latte, or a migrane). I'm starting on a new thing that may or may not be great, and that scares the bejeezus out of me. But I remain optimistic - I have to be. I've seen the other side, and I'm, well, not going to be dumping any more. (That, on retrospect sounds SO wrong in so many ways - except if you are into weird, German Porn - then you know what I'm talking about).

It's late. I should have been in bed 3 hours ago, but I can't get this song out of my head. So instead I'm staying up, drinking some very good Irish Whiskey, and boring all 3 of you who read this, while continually hoping for the best.

Listen below for the ongoing greatness of Crowded House:

She's gone,
Vanished in the night
Broke off the logic of light
He woke, tore the covers back
Found he was empty inside

(Catherine Wheels / Together Alone / Crowded House / Rel. 10/1993)

What Was I Thinking When I Let Go Of You?

2009-11-23T19:42:00.000-08:00

Ah - Jeff Tweedy. What would I do without you?

The end of two long-term relationships happened this week; I left my job, and the long term girl finally came to her senses, and pulled the last plug on our already-on-life-support-long-distance-relationship. The writing for both had been on the wall for a long time, and I'm surprised that it took this long to disconnect the machines.

Regarding the Job? I had been waiting for a year to spring the divorce papers. I needed new horizons, new challenges, all without the constant reminder of the stress, time served / time wasted and broken promises of the years gone by. Regarding the girl - little did I know she was looking for the exact same thing. I knew both weren't going to work. I wanted them to, but I wound up delivering my usual half-assed job for each of them. I was subconsciously sabotaging both.

But - turning that frown upside down - It's better this way. It has to be.

Now, I get to branch out into the brave new world - alone, and unencumbered. Free of all fetters & restraints, and ready to make hopefully my last fresh start. No looking back. Just learn from what is seeming like a litany of mistakes. (Pretty soon, I'll be publishing Cole's Notes on the litany of mistakes - bullet points only mind you - as it would otherwise it could be mistaken as Job's owners manual). I also suppose I should have thought this strategy over a little more since buying my new BMW 2 days ago, while knowing I was pulling the plug on my job today.... but hey, no-one ever accused me of being boring! (Or smart, for that matter).

So in closing; I've got a spanky new car, an uncertain future staring me in the face, and, well, a fresh start.

Let's hope I don't fuck this next one up. I'm running out of chances.

Who Threw That Stone?

2009-10-27T21:52:00.000-07:00

The Canadian Film Industry did. I'm only throwing it back.

A few weeks ago when I was in Cannes, I was walking home to my flat when my phone rang. It was one of my friends who is one of the head programmers for the Toronto Film Festival. We've always enjoyed a friendly, non-working, cocktail - laden relationship, and while I was navigating the traffic whilst crossing the highway at le Boulevard Republic, he explained that the reason for his call was to invite me to be one of the 10 "Professionals" who choose the Top 10 Canadian films of 2009, and they would be pleased if I would take part.

"Hell Yeah" was my response. Maybe I might have some market value after all, and I was (and am still) very honored.

Two weeks later, and my package of films finally showed up. Now, this also is an extraordinarily busy time as the American Film Market starts next week, so I've got my day job to attend to, plus, a TON of after hours work in order to book my meetings, screen the films I need to see for last minute acquisitions, try and have what resembles a social life, and basically get my ducks in a row. When they finally arrived, I took a quick gander, and I was desperately hoping I'd never say this, but here it is:

I've seen the future of Canadian filmmaking, and the future, my friends, is bleak indeed.

What a pile of crap I've willingly dove into! I know Telefilm (The Canadian Government Funding body for most films that get made in Canada) have the taste of a dead Water Buffalo's anus, but really, this lot is bollocks. Of the 24 films to plow through, and NONE of them are any good or close to being commercially viable, by any stretch of the imagination. I can say this with some authority as I've been in the business for close to 20 years, and have done everything from selling home video, to realeasing films domestically, to acquiring films for North America and International, to selling films internationally... blah blah blah. In short- I've been around the block a few times, and I Do know what I'm talking about.

They are ALL bupkiss. It's an embarrassment. I'm outraged because as a taxpayer, these are where yours and my dollars are going, that they are never going to turn a thin dime, and certainly not repay Telefilm Canada for their investment in a picture that any blithering idiot / bureaucrat with enough sense to rub two matches together, who, after reading the script, should have invested $$ in Bernie Madoff rather than "a Tale of life in a northern British Columbia Town..." Seriously. Just shoot me now. Every year, Canada tries to laud it's homegrown "talent" but instead you get the something close to an allegorical cinematic version of "a wretched hive of scum & villainy..."

So I've spent all my scarce hours preparing for the world's 2nd largest film market by coming home from my difficult, stressful job, and putting yet another bad Canadian film in the DVD player (3 - 4 per night), hoping for the best, but getting the worst. And I mean THE worst! I actually had to stop last night and take a dramatic renewal of purpose. It was so scary that today, I called my friend at TIFF, and said (paraphrased)

Me: "Dude. With the stuff you've sent me, I'm unable to assemble a Top 10 list. I'm unable to even submit to you a Top 2 list. Sorry, but with what you've provided me, I can't give you what you want. These films are THAT bad".

Him: "I know. I'm sending you another 25 or so 2nd week in November, these will be better".

Me: "Oh. Ok. Thanks for letting me know, (and wasting the last 30 or so hours of my life watching dreadful movies)".

Him: "No problem. We appreciate your support. It will get better, but we had to send you everything that was applicable to be to be in contention. It will get better though".

So that's been my life over the last 10 days. Working a difficult, stressful job, of which I'm totally burnt, burnt, BURNT out from, only to blast home, and subject myself to 6 hours of dreadful, and I mean dreadful Canadian films night after night, only to find out that they knew most of them had their challenges all along. The good stuff is coming in a couple of weeks. I should say now that I can't wait. But I won't.

This kind of got away from me, because I started writing this quite late last night. I was dejected about my life, my social life, the idiocy of Telefilm Canada for green lighting (and funding projects) that only more contribute to the decrepit state of Canadian Film, (which contributes more to my misery) when I said "Fuck It". I lay on my floor and started aimlessly flipping through channels, and stumbled upon Bravo's 6 night installment of Monty Python's 40 year anniversary. This one dealt with The Life Of Brian, and in a few seconds my despair turned sideways. John Cleese, Eric Idle, Michael Palin, Terry's Jones & Gilliam were talking about their favorite scenes from the Meaning of Life, and this came on.

"All I said was, that Halibut was good enough for Jehovah".

This totally made me laugh, while lying on my floor at 1:30 AM, as the ugliness & stress of my recent days melted off.

Getting The Message Out

2009-10-14T04:31:00.000-07:00

I've never been one for cars. I mean I appreciate them in the normal, non-mechanical sort of way, but I'd much rather read Guitar Aficionado magazine (a great read, BTW, which I discovered in Heathrow Airport last week), than Car & Driver any day of the week. I do appreciate a nice car, but really, they are nothing more than expensive machines that should get you from point A to point B with a modicum of fuss and not a telling of your status symbol / income / approximate penis size etc. Conversely, I'm totally addicted to Top Gear, and above all that, I do have a healthy crush on European cars, namely German cars, namely BMW's and Volkswagens. (Ok, toss in the occasional Audi and older Saab, and I'm right there too). Sadly, I know nothing about how they work, their reliability, or even what a spark plug is, or anything of that nature. I think in a perfect world, I'd drive a sporty little European import, and as long as it didn't have kittens on some highway in the middle of nowhere - then we're all square.

Volkswagen however, has always caught my eye. With their well deserved reputation of being a little more pricey, thus holding onto their resale value a little higher, means quality and more quality. What REALLY dips my biscuits in gravy though, is their awesome ongoing advertising. For years, they've in my opinion anyway, held the Gold Standard for advertising. Their commercials and marketing approach in my mind are second to none.

What really has had my attention the past couple of weeks though is the new Volkswagen Fun Theory. A huge global car company, spending some serious dough, and putting their best foot forward and really re-jigging their brand under the guise of better living and such. It's sly, crafty and pure genius. Here's their first one from The Fun Theory; The Piano Staircase. Just a brilliant way to market their brand, without evening coming close to mentioning cars. My hat's off to whoever their ad agency is. Even in the midst of my formidable skepticism, I found myself smiling.

Another awesome campaign was their (supposedly) banned "Bollocks" ad:

Here's another favorite of mine - the weird, mutant fish/dog that only ran in Europe with the perfect Stand By Me accompaniment .

My all time favorite though, is the masterpiece of a commercial with the late Nick Drake's timeless classic "Pink Moon". Just all around magnificent filmmaking / selling all presented in 59 seconds. I'll say it one more time- a masterpiece.

So that's it about my car commercials spiel. Ok - maybe just one more...

The unbelievably hilarious send-up of the traditional suburban standard car commercial starring Andy Richter. Funny as all hell. This is the end of my free advertising for the huge conglomerates for now anyway. But there is some seriously brilliant stuff happening out there.

The Enemy Of My Jet Lag Is My Friend

2009-10-11T04:44:00.000-07:00

(This was my view from my balcony in my flat in Cannes last week)

A few weeks ago at my Doctor's office for my first ever prescription for sleeping pills;

Dr. Johnson: "Hi, so what can I do for you?"
Me: "I need some drugs."
Dr. Johnson: "No Problem! Everything can be solved with drugs."
Me: "... You're like a God to me."

As I've gotten older, I've noticed my body changing. I had yet another overseas trip coming, and I've had to face up to the sad truth that I'm no longer a young buck - that I'm more consistant with a Grumpy old Git (as one of my UK friends made a marked observation at the recent Toronto Film Festival).

Jet-Lag in particular has been a real indicator over the past couple of years of my diminishing powers. 10 years ago, I'd go to Cannes with little else but a briefcase of condoms, a budget for Vodka Red Bulls, and a card in my wallet which would be translated into French, saying something like "In case you've found me drunk, or mugged on some beach somewhere, the phone number of my office is +1 604-XXX-XXXX, and the number for the Canadian Consulate in Nice is +33 (0) 4.93.92.93.22. Merci Boucoup in advance from an inebriated festival-goer, and sorry for any vomit that might be staining my immediate vicinity".

Now, when I travel overseas, my inventory consists something like this:

Sleeping pills
Anxiety medication
Canadian toilet paper
Emergency Hemorrhoid Medication
A good book, and plans for a hot bath
Manuscript for my upcoming book "Most. Boring. Tourist. Ever."

Oh my youth - I hardly knew ye.

The sleeping pills Dr. J prescribed for me were nothing but a Godsend. Seriously. I slept 5 hours going over in the plane, and popped on the first 3 nights of the market, so I was in tip-top shape. As opposed to the debacles of other years, where I'd be still wide awake at 6:00 AM, because my body was telling me it was only 9:00 at night back on the west coast - and I had still a full day of work ahead of me. Mmmm drugs. Is there anything they can't do?

Anyway, By the time I landed at YVR back from another trip from Cannes yesterday, I had been up for something close to 17 hours. Factoring in the delays at customs, waiting for luggage, then getting actually out of the airport, then on the Canada Line to downtown, then to flag a cab down for the rest of the 10 block trip to may apartment, I staggered through my doorway in the middle of a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon on the Canadian Thanksgiving long weekend. I thought to stay up the whole way, have an early dinner then get to bed, and come out shiny and happy on Sunday to enjoy two blessed days off.

As it turned out. Reverse jet-lag reared it's ugly head, and I ordered a pizza at 6:00, fell asleep at 7:30, woke up at 2:00 AM, and have been up for the duration. So, it's either pretty early, or really late, depending on your individual proclivities. (But whatever- I'm not the boss of you).

The sun is just coming up now, and although I wish I could get back to bed, I'm going to be gutting out the rest of the day. I've got Thanksgiving dinner tonight and I think after a few glass of wine, some tryptophan, and the company of some good friends, I'll be ready for bed in about 19 or 20 hours from now.

It's nice to be back home. Jet Lag and all.

Just Breathe

2009-09-21T16:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-16T19:29:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-13T22:26:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-09-09T21:31:00.000-07:00

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)

2009-09-08T01:38:00.000-07:00

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?"

Where The Wild Thing Was

2009-08-25T01:19:00.000-07:00

It's late - well, late for me these days.

It's around 2:30 Am on a school night. Being middle aged, my schedule is pretty much non-negotiable at this point in my career. Usually, I would have been in bed a long time ago, either asleep (& drooling with a book on my chest and the light on while cloaked deep in the dreams of ignorance,) or tossing, turning, and most probably being wide awake at 4:00 AM worrying about the things I can control or cannot control.

I've been really close to writing something about this for a long while now. However, mitigating circumstance including (but not limited to) the job, the life, and what seems to be my many amazing debacles might quickly start outweighing any past successes; both personally and professionally. All of which have been contributing to a rather healthy case of writers block for the past bunch of months.

So you know, it's a perfect evening coming up to the end of summer. My windows are open, and there is no traffic noise, no wind, no nothing, just a calm, gentle cool breeze almost imperceptibility moving my blinds back & forth, letting me know it's there and cooling me with the clean ocean air.

I just came back from a late night walk up & down Robson Street, and while reaching for a cigarette, I found my lighter was out of gas. There were two Japanese guys smoking cigarettes walking towards me and I stopped and asked them for a light. Right then it took me back to Milan, 2000. I was there for a film market, and the city was foggy, polluted, and exotic as it always is. The two guys I stopped tonight were smoking Marlboro's, and that smell triggered everything. Smoking American cigarettes, at the top of my game, hanging out with German Financiers, living the big life, with a pile of hopes, dreams, and most of all having the luxury of time to make them happen in front of me. I was in my early 30's then, and the world was indeed my oyster.

I remember when I was a kid. My parents used to make me read, write, then read some more. One of my most favorite books was "Where The Wild Things Are". I read it voraciously. I drew pictures of the creatures. The book scared me sometimes. The book took me away to where all things were possible, and it made me realize that there were dreams out there that I'd fulfill.

I've been waiting all my life to see this movie. The funny thing is, that after all this time, monitoring this somewhat - troubled film as it went through production, re-shoots, and finally watching both trailers, part of me kind of doesn't want to see it yet. Not in the way that things are going now, where dreams seem a little more scary, hope seems a little more fragmented, and life is a little more tough that I had bargained for.

OK. Who am I kidding? I can't wait to see it!

But part of me also wishes I had a couple of my own kids to take with me - so I could take a Sunday afternoon, load them up with junk food, watch their wide open eyes, almost smell the wood burning as they processed what they were viewing onscreen, and ultimately, blow their puny, adolescent minds with monsters, hopes, dreams, a lesson about how to live a life... and later it would be my job to try and give them good answers to the questions that would surely follow.

But for now? Back to the sleeplessness.

A Blank Piece Of Paper On The Top Of My Head

2009-08-10T20:54:00.001-07:00

It's been a really interesting, screwy, dreadful, topsy-turvy couple of months.

I'm getting closer to coming back. Really, I just need something that I can write about.

I'll be back sooner than I think.

Dump

2009-07-18T01:07:00.000-07:00

3 Months ago, I was lying on a shit-covered sidewalk, with a freshly broken rib (courtesy of the sidewalks of the rue d'Antibe), all the while getting soaked in an otherworldly, almost Biblical downpour of rain in Cannes. At that exact moment, I came to the realization that this trip wasn't starting out on the right direction. Little did I know how prophetic that would be.

Anyway, As I lay arms & legs akimbo in the pouring rain, which now was creating a more perfect mix of liquified dog shit (if that's at all possible), I also noticed that I was sprawled out front of the hottest lingerie shops if not just France, then the entire Free World. The Mannequins in the windows were unbelievably lifelike, and physically? As they say in France "Versez s'il vous plaît de la bière et cheese sur les chaussures de Mon Ami".

Nevertheless, through my blinding pain, I decided to take a bunch of pictures of the super-hot, incredibly lifelike mannequins, knowing that my friends at home would never believe what what lifelike pornography they put in storefronts in France, unless I had photographic proof. So I did. Separated only by 1/2" of plate glass, I was face to face with Selma Hayek, and whoiswhatshername from Transformers wearing the most illicit, illegal lingerie ever conceived by a sane person.

So imagine what the young lady thought who was pushing an infant in a baby carriage, and dragging a toddler by the hand, when she walked around the corner onto the rue d'Antibes, only to come face-to face with a soaking wet, shit covered, lurching-like-Quasimodo protecting a broken rib, tourist standing there, taking photos of incredibly hot, almost naked, incredibly lifelike Mannequins in a Lingerie store on his cell phone in the pouring rain.

I think now, that it's not a big mystery why the French hate tourists.

Intermission

2009-06-24T00:10:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this just to thank the 3 people out there who read this (and who have the audacity to email me wondering where I've been, and just what the hell is going on), and to let you know all's well, and that I'll be back soon. (Like you really care, you bloodsuckers).

Meanwhile, its: onwards & upwards / chocks away boys / pip-pip & all that rot / etc. I suppose the best way to explain what's happening right now, is left to the magical wordsmithing of George Lucas who can really turn a phrase. (Fun Fact: When they were filming the first Star Wars, Harrison Ford said "George, you can type this shit, but you sure can't say it."

That being said - this is where we part ways once again.

Han Solo: [sounding official] Uh, everything's under control. Situation normal.
Voice: What happened?
Han Solo: [getting nervous] Uh, we had a slight weapons malfunction, but uh... everything's perfectly all right now. We're fine. We're all fine here now, thank you. How are you?
Voice: We're sending a squad up.
Han Solo: Uh, uh... negative, negative. We had a reactor leak here now. Give us a few minutes to lock it down. Large leak, very dangerous.
Voice: Who is this? What's your operating number?
Han Solo: Uh...
[Han shoots the intercom]
Han Solo: [muttering] Boring conversation, anyway.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

It Certainly Was A Beautiful Day

2009-03-07T12:01:00.000-08:00

Oh, what the hell.

Here's part 1 of the Halftime show.

Yes. It's awesome.

Rain Down On Him

2009-03-05T11:55:00.000-08:00

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

I've been following U2 on Letterman - they're there all week. I've heard a couple of songs off the new record, and at this time of writing I'm withholding judgment. (Not withstanding David Fricke's 5/5 star review in the most recent Rolling Stone).

That being said, I was thinking about U2, and what they've meant to me over the years.

In Fall of 2002, Dad had just started to scuffle around the lip of the crevasse which, would start his inevitable slide. I had moved him in with me by then and for days, had been doing pretty well. Uncle Stan wanted us to drive out from Maple Ridge to his place for Dinner, and as Dad had been OK, we both agreed to make the trip. We got out there just fine, fine enough in fact, for him and me to have an afternoon beer on a sunny patio in White Rock before traveling the other couple of blocks to Stan's place.

None of us were big football fans; Uncle Stan likes his baseball, Dad liked to read the sports pages, and well, when I was a kid, my Mom wouldn't let me play hockey like my older brother - I was her precious flower who had to take piano lessons instead. (Of course I got picked on immensely growing up in frozen, hockey-mad Edmonton). But it was the Superbowl, so we watched part of the game, Dad & Stan caught up with each other, and I busied myself in his kitchen. (Usually when Stan invites me out - it means that he's bought the groceries, and I have to cook, then clean everything - I don't mind at all). Halfway through the meal though, his pain came back with a vengeance. Dad turned pale, borrowed a sweater from Stanley, and I put him to bed in Stan's spare room. The rest of the evening was spent with the football game on in the corner with the sound off, Stan sitting in his chair either gazing off into space, or just not wanting to talk about it, me cleaning his kitchen, and wondering how severe Dad's pain was, and how the hell could I get him the hour drive home? Should I put him in the White Rock Hospital instead? Should I knock him over the head with one of Stan's ancient mining tools enough so I could get him home and back in his own bed where he was comfortable and safe?

Regardless, I just remembered this tonight and thought to send it along. The amazing second part of the 2002 Superbowl halftime show. Some brassy Irish guys in America, 12 months after the tragedy, at the absolute height of their powers, singing about hope when I had none. (Fun Fact: At the beginning, Bono is mumbling something when the band is kicking into the song, in fact, he is saying "Lord open my lips ... so my mouth show forth thy praise").

Just because of that - I really hope I like the new album.

Are You Alright?

2009-03-01T20:40:00.000-08:00

While I've been sporadically writing this thing over the past couple of years, I've always kept one inviolable rule largely intact; which is that I never comment on certain aspects about my personal life here. There are certain parts which I've gladly and anonymously shared, and to a small extent, that was sort of what I was going for. (I'm a pretty good self-editor). I was able to have a blank canvas, and & utilize my high-school-dropout-brain to try something that would be worth spending a couple of minutes a week reading, and hopefully a little entertaining for both you and me. I think for the most part, I've been at least in my mind, been moderately successful. But when broaching the subject of my REAL personal life - which is buried deep down inside that is only whispered into a lover's ear, or confessed to someone of the utmost discretion - I've always preferred to keep things very private and very personal. I've always thought that if I had a real problem, I could call up a couple of trusted friends or even more easily - I could just dummy up and keep my big mouth shut, smile politely and come out (at least on the outside), none the worse for wear.

Today though, I'm going to bend that rule just this once.

I've been seeing someone important for a while, and it all collapsed this week. I kept shutting this person out, and it was more due to my own fears & insecurities than for anything else. After some serious self-examination, I realized that I might have been alone too long, that I might have missed my chance, that my bad habits from years of self isolation / the loss of people close to me etc., might have taken their toll. And now when something good was staring me right in the face, I couldn't conjure up the words to talk to this person about it. The worst thing is I still can't. I can write it. I just can't say it to anyone. Which, if you knew my friends, they would be shocked hearing that sentence from my mouth.

Last Sunday, this person had every right to ask me about what our future plans were , and I couldn't answer.

This Thursday, when I finally manned up enough to show up at her place, this person had every right to tell me she had been crying for 3 days. I still couldn't give a good response, because I let her down.

Yesterday was my birthday, and I spent it alone. We were supposed to be having dinners & brunch with my friends. I let both; her and them down, I deserved it too. I wanted to tell her about how great she is, about how much I love that picture on her fridge, about how scared I am of the future, and deep down inside she could be my future - yet I couldn't muster up the words that were inside, me, when we both needed to hear them the most.

So today was the start of another year, and if my past history is anything to go by - can't say as I'm looking forward to the next 12 months. Sure, I've left my job, and am starting my new thing. That's cool and everything - but along with the stress, pressure and global economic meltdowns that obviously cast a long shadow over my future and daily operations - Bravado is overrated. I suppose that the worst thing about this whole debacle is that I hurt someone who most certainly didn't deserve it. The only thing she did was to come to me with an honest heart & offer me everything. Being cavalier with someone's feelings has never really been my strong point, and it's made me take a long, hard, rather unpleasant look at myself.

The Great Lucinda Williams, on her album entitled "West" (Rel. February 2007) had a song called "Are you Alright?" She wrote it after the breakup of a long relationship, and during same time, her mother had passed away. It is a tender song that as Rolling Stone put it as: "Rides a deep, lazy title refrain that she repeats 22 times "Are you Alright?" these words in the most commonest of language:

Are you Alright?
Are you sleeping through the night?
Do you have someone to hold you tight?
Do you have someone to hang out with?
Do you have someone to hug & kiss you?
Are you alright?

I really hope she will be. She deserves it.

Lucinda Williams - Are You Alright

Duel

2009-02-17T00:23:00.000-08:00

If I haven't established my love of Jazz enough, that's OK. I really don't want to sound like a wanker. But, picture if you will, walking down some street, when up above you hear a trumpet & a trombone being played out their respective windows, probably on the day of that night's gig, wielded by two masters.

Well if you are ever lucky enough to be walking under the respective hotel windows of Wynton Marsalis & Wycliffe Gordon when they apparently have some time to kill in the afternoon - then you should also be buying lottery tickets.

CrazySexyCool.

One Thing Turns To Another

2009-02-15T22:49:00.000-08:00

And no. It's not a reference to the late, great FIXX of the new wave era. (But I should have something to say about that whole thing shortly).

It seems everything is changing, and yet - not so much. Reason being is that out of the blue, I got a very nice fan mail today from someone in New Zealand, so I took a look back at some of the stuff I've written over the past couple of years, and realized that although the flavour sometimes changes, the taste remains the same. This, of course is also a back-handed compliment to our Eternal Majesty and Benevolent Overlord Neil Peart, whom I continually rip off his massively usable line from The Circumstances: "Plus ça change, Plus c'est la même chose, The more that things change, The more they stay the same". (Rush, Hemispheres, Rel. 1978).

As always the Flux Capacitor is running about 110% of nominal, changes are afoot, and I'm a trifle verklempt. It's reassuring to see that all systems are still running smoothly. So during these days of stress, uncertainty, self questioning and such, rather than to vent - I found this fantastic ad by Sony a couple of days ago. Then spent the last couple of days figuring out to embed HD code into this blog.

Amidst the thousands of lay-offs, and massive evil that huge, multinational corporations perpetrate on us unwilling saps on a daily basis, I'm not particularly a big fan of them and what they practice doing for a living - but I WILL give them this though - the millions of dollars spent to those high end advertising agencies sometimes really are dollars well spent.

This is Jose Gonzalez's AWESOME cover of The Knife's barely listenable (piece of trash ) song "Heartbeats". Jose did a Karl Rove for sure. (Took a turd - and made it blossom), he's turned it into something that rivals the late, great Nick Drake.

I've just been sitting here, just listening, just doing my thing, but I keep coming back to this on a Sunday night, and it makes me think about other things, least among them dropping 300,000 bouncy balls downhill in San Francisco on a beautiful summer day.

For some strange reason, I've also got a sudden, uncontrollable compulsion to go out and purchase myself a spanky, brand new, expensive Sony Bravia.

Impossible Germany

2009-02-08T21:06:00.000-08:00

To the east, the sky is just showing some faint signs of brightening, but you wouldn't know it unless you were looking for it (or silly enough to be up at 5:00 AM writing about looking for it). I've sort of been up most of the night struggling with the remnants of jet-lag, and wrestling with a too-full cranium.

My time in Berlin has come to an end for another year. I'm off to Tegel airport in about 2 hours for the quick hop to Frankfurt, then the long 11 hours back to Vancouver which, if my calculations are correct, should get me back home around 4:00 PM last Tuesday.

What an amazing city this is! I highly, HIGHLY recommend that if you are ever in the north-eastern area of Germany with a little time to kill - you should totally drop by. The food is great, pricing is totally affordable, the architecture is out of this world, and you can even go to the U-Bahn (Subway) and watch Berliners young & old buying and consequently drinking Warsteiner & Yaegermeister at the newspaper kiosks on the subway platform at 7:00AM.

I walked up to the Brandenberg Gate.

Right beside that is the Breathtaking Holocaust Memorial (that occupies 20,000 feet of prime real estate in the heart of downtown Berlin (Never to be built on).

I strolled past the infamous Unter Den Linden which was the place where the East & West would do meet for prisoner exchanges & spy swaps during the cold war.

I hung out in Sony Square.

I saw the world's largest indoor cylindrical aquarium.

And I took comfort in seeing old friends, having some fantastic meals, and enjoyed laughing and catching up on our lives.

It's been a real slice - and now I'm really looking forward to (and alternatively dreading) coming home. I have to get back to the real world of work, life, challenges, and with thanks to Germany, to now what I consider going forward to be sub-par Canadian beer.

Auf wiedersehen.

Come Fly With Me

2009-02-04T15:31:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting in a surprisingly good Spanish restaraunt in Spittelmarkt, Neue Grunstrasse, (in the former East) Berlin.

I figured that rather than sit alone in my room, smoking cigarettes while watching Scrubs reruns on the internet, I'd get out of the place, and stumble about 40 feet across the street and sit alone amongst a roomful of people who's language I don't speak. All in all, I'd say it's working out pretty well.

I'm really fond of Berlin. It is architecturally a jaw-dropping city to look at, the people are very friendly, there is zero litter on the streets, and their bathrooms & elevators remain unparalleled. The one drawback is that I still can't get strange way that Europeans design their showers. Most tubs have a shower situated right in the center of the tub, rather than at the end like the typical north American plumbing, also all with no shower curtain. I've tried and tried, but I don't think there is a system devised for non-europeans not to get water all over the damned floor. The toilets though, are about as good as one will find anywhere on this blue planet. One might scoff at that audacious statement, but I'll stand behind it (and more importantly squat on top of it whenever and wherever necessary). Not only do they seem to be of a slightly higher height than back home, there has been clearly some substantial thought put into the the actual design & layout of said piece. (Not like the French ones where the main bowl is a flat platform which then drops off to the drainage area at the back. Stupid French, and don't even get me started about the holes in the floor in Italy either.) The German toilets I've encountered thus far give you the user, unparalleled, and unfettered access accompanied by the ensuing the bulls-eye right into the target zone, thus ensuring the endorphin-producing of a job well done, knowing that with the designs inherant cleverness that splash-back is not an issue, and also leaves a clean playing field for the next time of use. I suppose the coolest thing is that there are two flush buttons; one for a standard, automatic flush (which is your standard flush & forget) and the other is a "use it as long or as short as you need it" button. Not only do these Bavarians excel at toilet design, it's also economical, AND good for the environment! Thanks, German Toilet Engineers - is there anything you CAN'T do?

With all the travel I've done this year, I guess I accumulated enough air miles to be a part of Air Canada's "You're a super duper GOLD ELITE member" - which basically only gets me access to the Business lounge in the airport where there is free booze, newspapers & snacks, Mmmm snacks. I still sit back in peasant class, squeezed into too small seats, elbow to elbow, and shoulder to shoulder with complete strangers, breathing their air, smelling their farts and witnessing their bad habits. I've developed this mad, irrational thing about my personal space, and the one thing that literally drives me batty is being touched by a stranger. I think that we should all have a 1 inch force field surrounding us. Don't invade it. Ever. Take for example the armrest. We share an armrest. There are unwritten rules about this; I will take the front half, you take the back half of the armrest. Also, Unless specifically prompted (or unless you are a totally hot babe) there will be no conversations about what we do for a living, small talk of any kind other than a pleasant smile when sitting down, or the slightly embarrased "I'm sorry" shrug when the window seat occupant has to get up to go to the washroom. Other than that? We're strangers, not even two ships passing in the night. Just two small people who wound up on a collision course at that exact place & time to sit beside each other for 11 hours, and then lets just end it already!

For example, take Vancouver - Toronto a couple of days ago. I was in the immediate vicinity of someone who had simply HORRID gas, of which said noxious fumes spewed out about every 10 minutes for the 4.5 hour flight. I was about ready to strangle someone by the time we began our final descent into snowy Ontario, I also think there was a fair to middlin chance of me being acquitted of any charges too - it was pretty nasty. There was also Mr. Fat Guy sitting in the aisle directly across from me who right after take off, promptly fell asleep and snored so loudly the entire trip most of the people in my area were chuckling. Well they were, until the masked Farter let his presence be known. Again. The Fiend.

Toronto to Frankfurt yesterday. Using my manly charms and Super Duper GOLD ELITE status, I sweet-talked the check-in lady to give me the aisle seat on the bulkhead for the long overnight overseas flight. I was originally checked into a middle seat - so thank god I'm irresistible and charming to women, else there would have been a mile high meltdown. The beauty about getting the bulkhead on an Airbus A340, is that there is nothing between me and business class, except about 8 long feet of beautiful, empty industrial carpet stretching out in front of my feet. Wonderful doesn't begin to describe it. That is, until "Robert" the 6 foot 4 inch Astrophysicist squeezed his massive bulk in beside me. OK I can deal with that, but Robert has a problem. Robert is a huge, chronic nose-picker. Robert likes to work on his laptop, all while sticking his pinky so far up his nose that the underside of his brain must have bruises on it by now. Seriously. This guy was knuckles deep every 5 minutes, then inspected said digit, then of course sucked whatever was there into his mouth. I was so disgusted after 2 hours of this, I gave up my perfect seat in Valhalla, and squeezed my way into an empty seat across the aisle, beside a single mom and an 8 month old baby.

Take Frankfurt - Berlin Yesterday morning. I was squeezed into my seat on an older Boeing 737, and sitting beside me was Mr. Twitchy Guy. A little east Indian chap who not only looked like a bit of a rat, had the mannerisms as well. He had the Jimmy legs, he liked to stick his pinky into his ear, and furiously wiggle it around like the world's biggest, unhygienic Q-Tip, then furiously scratch his neck. He would cross over his legs so quickly, that he would literally erupt with a start, switch his legs, the settle back to plunge another finger into his ear and violently scrub it from side to side, then go back to scratching his neck. As I hadn't slept on the overnight flight to Frankfurt, I was just drifting off for the short, final hop into Berlin and each time he would squirm in his seat, either he'd kick me, or jab me in the ribs with his elbow as he renewed his assault on his inner-ear canals. After he woke me up for the 4th time. I took a deep breath, faced him squarely and simply glared at him for a good 5 seconds. I didn't trust myself to say anything, and apparently by the look I gave him, I didn't have to say anything after that. Mr. Twitchy Guy slunk into the corner of his seat and remained still as a statue for the last 20 minutes of our descent.

So the madness of Berlinale starts tomorrow, another film market, another vicious round of jet-lag, and another back & forth roller coaster of shaking far too many hands, drinking far too many drinks, spending for too many interminable hours in airports, airport lounges, taxi cabs, and the like. The film business; The Glamour! The Excitement!

I'm going to finish my scotch, pack up my laptop, and sit here for just a little while longer. The Spanish restaurant is pretty empty by now, there are 3 Brits holding up the bar a few feet away, talking about footy, Gordon Ramsay, andfilthily insulting each other like only the Brits can. There is lovely version of Sabor A Mi playing over the loudspeakers, and soon, it will be time to try and get some sleep, and come out shiny & happy in the morning.

The Freedom Leg Bag

2009-01-25T18:49:00.000-08:00

I've also been re-reading "Me Talk Pretty One Day" by the genius that is David Sedaris. Here he is on Letterman delivering an essay about the "Stadium Pal External Catheter".

What The Hell Is An Aluminum Falcon?

2009-01-25T16:59:00.001-08:00

Lots has been going on. Too much to blather on about, and generally bore all two of you out there (judging by what I've written previously). Work. Life. Augh. Blarg.

Below is the fabulous Robot Chicken doing a *Lucas approved* riff on Star Wars:

Patience & Time

2009-01-03T12:34:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been having trouble sleeping. or, perhaps more accurately I've been having trouble WITH sleeping. There certainly has been a lot going on, and understandably the Christmas season is always a little bittersweet.

After my Dad passed away at Christmas a few years ago, it was left up to me to go through all of his things and sort out what was to be given to Goodwill, what was to be kept, and what was to be tossed out. Upon opening his storage locker, I was astounded to find literally a mountain of plastic grocery store bags all stuffed to the brim with papers, all secured by the loop handles of the bag tied exactly the same way. My father it seems was the pack rat of the century. Undaunted, I started opening them one by one and going through the contents. Hundreds of lottery tickets from years past purchased out of desperation, old telephone bills from 25 years ago, his half-written and discarded term papers from his ambitious but ultimately failed attempt at going back to University after my Mom died, years-old Christmas cards from people I didn't know, pictures of friend's kids who I didn't have the foggiest idea of who they were, old bus tickets, magazines, and tons of trinkets that he would get as a "free gift" for subscribing to the hundreds of junk magazines that he never read but kept stuffing up our mailbox. I remember stuffing full green garbage bags of his papers - there were so many bags going on that at one point, the living room floor looked like it was covered with 3 foot-high green boulders. It took days to go through. With so much that I didn't know - I had to open each envelope and carefully examine the contents. It might have been labor intensive, but this was the only way to find things pertaining to his finances and his estate. I actually found his WILL in there, along with some life insurance policies which had been wrapped up with an elastic band, and stuck in the same bag as some old Maclean's magazines from 1997. How could he let this happen? How could ANYONE collect this much crap?

I had 10 days off this Christmas break, and with my significant other out of town, decided on a massive house cleaning. There were closets full of clothes that I no longer wore, and seeing as how I've been a little *cough-cough* overdue on filing some income taxes, there was no time like the present to get my affairs in order. Next month is the 5 year anniversary of my living in this apartment, and my closets were full of grocery bags stuffed with old papers. (what are the odds of that?) I've always felt a bit transient ever since moving to (and subsequently back from) Montreal, and these bags full of crap brought into focus exactly how much I'd avoided some responsibilities, letting some things go from my past, and setting down some roots for the future. Luckily (for tax purposes anyway) I have a bad habit of keeping every piece of paper that is given to me; be it a gas station receipt for a pack of gum in 2005, or an old boarding pass for a long forgotten flight - it was a 10 year old time capsule. At first groaning about my sheer stupidity for ever letting it get to this point, it remarkably turned into days of reclaiming things I thought long gone from another life. Just some of the unearthed moments were:

A credit card receipt for an expensive restaurant in Montreal turned into the evening where my then girlfriend at the time and I went for dinner, then to the opera. She dragged me out of there at intermission to grab a bottle of wine, go back to my apartment and make love until the morning. I still remember what she wore that night.

An paper confirmation from British Airways became that crazy weekend in 2001 where a last minute seat sale took me from Montreal to London England, and back in 50 or so hours. I called in sick for work, crossed the Atlantic in Friday morning, and stayed at a friend's house in Notting Hill. We had a lost weekend in Old Blighty, all culminated with me flying back home to Montreal on Sunday night, and showing up at work Monday morning. We had such a great time, and people at my office asked me did I do anything on the weekend, I just said "Not really".

A gas station receipt turned into a memento of driving across Canada in the summer of 1999. Blind River, Ontario for $35.00 of regular unleaded was just a cover story for my venture into the great unknown.

In 2002, a security deposit slip from a medical supply company for bottles of oxygen and a hospital bed that I had arranged for Dad for our home care when he was on the steep slide downwards.

A boarding pass from January of 2005 for an amazing weekend in Chicago to visit my first love after reconnecting with her after 23 years.

A receipt from the year 2000, from a photo store in Old Montreal, it was me flying back to Vancouver for a weekend to be the photographer for my dear friends Bonnie & Steve's wedding. Randy, Sab and Stevie all came to the airport to pick me up.

An old letter from a girlfriend who, 10 years ago really loved me. Now, she won't speak to me since she has married.

A cheesy plastic place mat that Terry made for Sab for one of his birthdays from years ago, which featured photos of him at all the important stages of his life, a baby photo, cheesy high school mustache, graduation, when him and Terry were married, when their first child was born, and yes - him and I drunk in a hot tub. I was honored to realize that I was a part of collage of their lives even way back then.

An old birthday card mailed to me from my Dad, and a Christmas card from my Uncle Stan.

My hurriedly hand-written eulogy for my Aunt, from 1997, which I found out the night before the service that I was supposed to be speaking. I sat at my cousin's kitchen table in Prince George, drank an ungodly amount of scotch, and wrote until very late that evening, and ultimately pulled it off.

After three days of going through all that stuff, it slowly dawned on me that my Dad, although a pack-rat of the highest order, might have kept all of that stuff for other reasons too.

Keep The Car Running

2008-12-27T21:00:00.000-08:00

After the huge blizzard of yesterday (we got walloped for sure - 13 inches of snow in 24 hours), I was listening to some poor sap across and down the street from me try and get his car out of his parking spot. I could hear the tires spinning madly, the whine of his transmission in reverse, and judging by the sound of it, the fruitless attempts at getting out of his space on the ice-covered street.

That got me to thinking about one ridiculous week when I lived on Montreal about a lifetime ago:

It was summer 1999 or so. Things at home weren't going so well with me and my girlfriend at that time. We had sort of devolved from lovers to roommates, and well, our writing was on each others walls. At the same time, I received an offer I couldn't refuse from a big media company, and moved out to Montreal for a very cool, very high paying gig. This was the stepping stone for my career, and with the obvious monetary enticements made it impossible to refuse. My girlfriend and I of course made the obligatory efforts to be together (while living 3000 miles apart) and each of us spent hundreds of dollars on long distance, burned up the internet with very inappropriate emails, and flew back & forth across the country a few times in the months that followed our separation. We both knew though, that we were running out of gas - but with best efforts and a lot of time & energy already invested in each other, we were reluctant to finally pull the trigger. A few months later though we finally ended it, But that story is best left for another time.

During that winter, Montreal had their worst storm in years (not withstanding the crazy ice storm of 1998). This particular storm though, was epic. Biblical. Snow & ice like nothing I'd ever seen. People couldn't even walk on the sidewalks, there was so much ice. I went to a movie with someone from work, and by the time I got out of the theatre 2 hours later, there was literally 2 feet of snow on the ground. I lived about 12 minutes from the downtown core on just off Sherbrooke St. and that evening, it took me over an hour to get home. Crazy doesn't even begin to describe the weather. Crazy does though, start to describe the week of madness that followed. Here's a brief run-down of what happened.

I'd started dating a publicist who was self employed, worked from home, and was an absolute creature of the night. My working a day job meant absolutely nothing to her and her schedule. Between her (expensive) nocturnal meanderings, all set in a city whose bars & restaurants don't close at ANY time particularly because of the weather, plus she lived on the Plateau, and I was out west in Notre Dame de Grace, that week started with long nights of drinking, then back to her place for some more 5 AM silliness. The problem was 1) the weather, and 2) the company I worked for had a strict 8:30 - 6:00 policy. Meaning that if you were late, you'd better have a much better reason than just the penultimate blizzard of the decade to keep you from coming into the office on time.

MONDAY: I got home VERY late Monday night / Tuesday morning after another night of cocktailing / fooling around with said publicist, and of course I slept through my alarm. I woke up late for work, and looked outside to see that we had gotten a huge amount of snow overnight, and to make matters worse - Montreal's crack army of snow removal machines had run up and down my street and the snowplow had piled up snow to the height of my driver's side door handle, making it impossible for me to get out. I knocked on my landlady's door, and mimed borrowing her snow shovel. (She spoke no English, I didn't speak enough French to know the words "snow shovel" so I smiled, and mimed the appropriate gestures). I dug out the car, called work, told them I'd be late as I got snowed in, and then I was off. Got a few raised eyebrows from my bosses (there were 3 of them) that I was late, while no-one else was.

TUESDAY: Went out with the Publicist again. Got all sexed up, staggered home again very late, and sure enough, another overnight blizzard happened, and I had to borrow the shovel and dig the car out again. This time though, yesterday's snow had melted into thick black ice, and even though the way was clear for my car to get out through the snow and onto the roadway - I was completely stuck. On the flat ground, with a rear-wheel drive car, on black ice, and spinning madly. Nothing could get me to go forward. People were walking by ignoring me (stupid French), and no-one would help to give me a push. I wound up phoning work saying I was going to be late (again) and called a tow truck. The tow truck eventually showed up, he took one look at the car and said "You don't need a tow". I told him that I knew that, but I was stuck on the flat ice, and so he jumped into my car trying to free it, and had the same result as I did. So, he backed behind me, put his front bumper to my rear bumper, and pushed me forward all of about 3 feet till my tires could grab a purchase on the traffic worn concrete - so 1 hour and $45 later, I was on my way. I also got chewed out too for being late 2 days in a row.

WEDNESDAY: Another huge overnight dump of snow. Again, the crack snow removal dept of the City of Montreal had barricaded me and all the other cars on the street wheel-well-high of plowed snow. I got up early though, mimed & borrowed the shovel, and after digging the car out AGAIN (and stupidly parking in the exact same spot overnight as before) got stuck in the same ice on the same flat ground. I couldn't move at all. Complete black ice. The tire & traffic worn (and traction giving) tread ways of the main road were just a few tantalizing yards away from where my car was, but that bare stretch of road might have been in outer space for all that mattered. I called the office, saying I was going to be late (again), and then called the tow-truck again, the SAME guy came by from yesterday - looked at me, chuckled, and put his front bumper to mine, gave me a 6 foot push onto the bare street, charged me another $45, and off both he & I went. I got into work, got yelled at for being late 3 days in a row.

THURSDAY: Of course it happened. The 4th huge snowstorm in 4 days - I borrowed the shovel, and dug the car out again, and yes, I was stuck. Again. So I went upstairs, called work, and told them I was going to be late (again) and then called the tow company. Last nights storm had been so bad though, that it was at least a 2 hour wait for a tow truck, so I finally snapped and gave in to the Snow Gods. I called a taxi, and told him to take me to Canadian Tire in Cavendish Mall. The cab eventually showed up, and off we went to buy those collapsible metal things you can put down in front of your tires so when & if you're stuck, you can just pull them out of the trunk, and conveniently lay them down in front of your traction giving tires, then conveniently drive away. I made him wait out front while I ran in and got them, came back and jumped into the back seat and told him to take me back to my place.

We were in the cab driving back towards my apartment, and had stopped at a red light, probably about 4 cars back from the intersection. I was in a volcanically shitty mood, and glaring out the side window cursing anything that moved, knowing I was in the total shit at work. After a while though, I realized that the cars in the lane beside us were moving and we weren't. I looked up at the cabbie, and in the rear-view mirror saw that he was fast asleep. Near as I can recall it -the chain of events went like this:

- At the intersection was a Mailman who had been waiting to cross.
- At this moment, I was looking up at the driver, seeing him asleep in the rear view mirror, and yelling "Hey! Wake Up!"
- The Driver woke up with a start, and in an instant realized where he was, saw the green light, and hit the gas.
- At that exact same time - the Mailman assumed that our car had stalled or something, so he decided to walk across the intersection in front of our non-moving car.
- We then proceeded to run over the Mailman.
Me: "WHOAH!!!"
The Mailman: "EEEEEK!!!" (Or possibly AUGGGHH!!! That moment is open to writer's interpretation - as it happened pretty quickly).
Me: "HOLYFUCKINGSHITSTOPTHECAR!!!"

I jumped out, and was amazed the Mailman wasn't badly hurt. It turns out that he either bounced off the front end, or what I really think is that he fell in the very deep, soft snow and the front tire passed right over him without injury. I made sure he was still breathing, and when he was fine, I helped him up, brushed off the snow, and double checked that he didn't have a compound fracture or anything. It was only after a few moments, when my taxi driver (who had remained in his car the whole time) pulled up alongside of us, rolled down his passenger side window where the Mailman and I were standing, and started to swear at the Mailman:

The Cabbie: "Hey, Tabernac! You dented my Car! Ostie! Sacrer! Crisse!"

So I threw $20 onto the seat, and decided to walk home from there. I got home, and sure enough, those metal traction things worked like a charm. I drove out of there, got to work, and someone asked me why I was so late. I just replied "Nothing really, I just was stuck". I didn't think anyone would believe me.

FRIDAY MORNING: It didn't snow. I had parked my car in another place on the street, and that morning was able to pull right out, and make it to work on time for the first time that week.

FRIDAY EVENING: Dark, -20 degrees or so, after leaving the office, I walked to my car which was in a parkade in Old Montreal, and with a nice, warm, "thank God this week is over" kind of thing happening, I opened the car door, sat down, turned the key and

*click*

The battery was dead.

It was that moment when I realized that life was bigger than me. And, within a year, I had left Montreal, and returned to the West Coast to start all over.

Holy Shit. It's Christmas

2008-12-24T18:15:00.001-08:00

And I am pleased to present to you: The. Creepiest. Snowman. Ever.

At this time of writing, it has now been snowing for 26 straight hours. This is the 3rd big dump we've had in the last 9 days, and along with the obvious anarchy on the roads, it has caused much more headaches at the airport. People have been stranded there since Monday of this week, due to Saturday & Sunday's massive dump, and today, Air Canada cancelled all their regional and short haul flights. Thousands of people are stranded at YVR right now - hundreds of them have been there for 4 days. [Fun Fact: Vancouver usually recieves 55 cms (1.8 feet) of snow annually. That amount has been met and surpassed in this past week alone.] Last Saturday / Sunday we recieved 30 cm's (12 inches), and last night's / today's amount is already over 20 cm's (7.8 inches) with no signs of letting up.

Even me as a hardy Albertan born & bred driver didn't bother taking my car out of the parkade this morning, and in a mixed blessing, wound up taking today off from work. (I got stuck yesterday for about 17 minutes just outside of the garage door - blocking the alley all that time, then I finally got to the office, and got stuck again for about 15 mins within spitting distance of my office door). I figure that discretion can be the better part of valour, and today climbed into my winter boots, took, scarf, gloves and walked all over downtown finishing my last bit of Christmas shopping. I walked down to the beach, walked up and down Davie & Denman St., then got back and cleaned my entire house. I think that at least on the molecular level, having a clean place for Christmas and New Years has been ingrained into me by my Mom.

This is what the beach looked like this afternoon (Yes, there is an ocean somewhere out there):

Right now, it is incredibly quiet. Most of the apartments across the street are dark, and my building is as quiet as a church. Everyone it seems, has braved the elements and left to join their loved ones this holiday eve. Inside though, I've got my world famous Garlic-Chicken-Death on the go, my even more famouser Garlic mashed potatoes in the chute, and some nice steamed broccoli and cauliflower with lemon waiting in the wings. For dessert, there is some chocolate truffles, and the ever decadent Chocolate Fudge Crackle ice cream. Immediately after which - I plan on having a heart attack.

This is what my street looked like this afternoon:

So it's still quiet. I've been avoiding thinking about all the ghosts of Christmas past though. One can fall easily into that morass on a night like this, and not have the wherewithal to climb out of it. [Fun Fact: Bushmills Irish Whiskey is a fine, fine beverage when sitting alone, pontificating on Christmas Eve]. Too much has gone on over this past year. I'm cautiously optimistic though, because down south, Obama is going to be in power in a couple of weeks, and hopefully he will turn this thing around.

Bad News: One goes out.

Some good news: S ome came in.

Some better news: Dig you Magnificent Bastards! Dig! Thank goodness for snowmobilers! After 100's of people in shifts digging a 1 KM trench through 6 feet of snow, they got them out. Just in the nick of time.

So that's a wrap - another Christmas come and gone. As always, my best to you and yours. On this quiet evening, I'm going to complete the finishing touches of gift-wrapping for my friend's kids - then get the aluminum pole out of the crawlspace.

Happy Holidays, Everyone.

The Shortest Day Of The Year

2008-12-21T17:50:00.002-08:00

SNOWFALL WARNING: Greater Vancouver Issued at 3:25 PM PST SUNDAY 21 DECEMBER 2008

ADDITIONAL SNOWFALL AMOUNTS OF 5 TO 10 CM ARE EXPECTED FOR MOST AREAS OF THE SOUTH COAST TONIGHT. THIS IS A WARNING THAT SIGNIFICANT SNOWFALL IS EXPECTED OR OCCURRING IN THESE REGIONS. MONITOR WEATHER CONDITIONS..LISTEN FOR UPDATED STATEMENTS. BANDS OF MOISTURE ROTATING ABOUT A LOW PRESSURE SYSTEM WEST OF VANCOUVER ISLAND WILL CONTINUE TO DEPOSIT SNOW TO THE SOUTH COAST. FURTHER SNOWFALL AMOUNTS OF 5 TO 10 CM ARE EXPECTED TONIGHT. THE SNOW WILL TAPER TO A FEW FLURRIES OVERNIGHT OR MONDAY MORNING AS THE LOW DRIFTS TO THE SOUTH. MEANWHILE ARCTIC AIR WILL CONTINUE TO PUSH THROUGH THE COASTAL VALLEYS AND INLETS PRODUCING VERY STRONG NORTHEASTERLY WINDS GIVING WIND CHILL VALUES BELOW MINUS 20 TONIGHT THROUGH MONDAY. (Source:The Weather Network)

I might have mentioned that I'm really getting tired of this constant darkness thing. It's dark when I get up in the morning, and dark by the time I leave work at night. In the past 8 days, the West Coast has been hit by 1 big snowfall, one bigger snowfall, and the blizzard that started last night, and has shown no sign of letting up almost a day later. It's been snowing for just about 24 hours straight now, and not the little pansy snowflakes, but the big, cotton ball flakes that ceaselessly bombard us poor saps on the ground, covering everything in a thick, white blanket of quiet. For most of today, visibility has been hovering around a few hundred yards or so - which is just the way I like it, on a quiet, sleepy Sunday.

I did though, venture out this morning to pick up some gifts that I'd had on hold at some places, and figured to get the drop on the last minute shoppers and find parking downtown. So at 9:45 AM, I wrapped up on scarves, leather, boots (wait - that sounds wrong), then strapped myself into the Millennium Falcon, and ventured outside to find... no one. We had had so much snow the last day, that other than a few knucklehead joggers (wearing shorts & T-Shirts, 'natch on the second coldest day in Vancouver's recorded history - The coldest day was 40 years ago in case you are wondering) that downtown was empty. A ghost town. I wondered why until I drove up Robson St., and it was nothing but a layer of ice, then snow, then more ice. But, I was born and raised in Northern Alberta, where nothing short of a typhoon would make us want to even think about purchasing an umbrella - and living on the west coast now - where people can't even drive in the rain (of which we get 200 days a year) it was a cakewalk.

So the those who still read this - I apologize to the both of you. A lot has been going on - the ironic thing is that there just isn't that much I want to talk about. In the meantime, I'm working on Christmas, finishing the job, and planning out the next treacherous couple of months. In between all that, I've been trying to negotiate the daily comings & goings / ins & outs of what my life is supposed to resemble - and juggle all that with a personal life. (That made sense in my mind, at least).

***

At 12:04 p.m. UT (5:04 a.m. Mountain US Time) on December 21, the Sun will reach its most southerly declination. Over the past six months, for people in the northern hemisphere, every day the peak of the Sun’s arc across the daytime sky has been getting lower. Well, at 12:04 UT it reaches its lowest point, and now every day the Sun will be a bit higher in the sky at local noon. It will peak on June 21 at 05:45 UT, and be at the highest point it can get. Then the process reverses.

We call those points in time the solstices. Despite the fact that half the Earth has its seasons reversed, tonight is the Winter Solstice, and June’s is the Summer Solstice. If you live south of the Equator, sorry, but that’s what you get for living your lives standing on your head.

Anyway, the Winter Solstice has always been a time of celebration, because ancient people — more closely tied with the skies due to agriculture and no light pollution — knew that it meant the Sun was coming back up, and spring was coming. We celebrate it in modern times by going into debt. We’re far more sophisticated these days. (Source: Discover Magazine)

****

And thank goodness for that.

So with a subtle nod to the blizzard happening just outside my window, click on the below for some good old Charlie Brown goodness - Vince Guaraldi - Linus & Lucy. Enjoy the season, and I'll be back for the annual "Holy Shit! It's Christmas!" before you can swing a frozen hockey stick in my general direction.

And Every Evening When He Gets Home

2008-12-09T18:45:00.000-08:00

"To make his supper and eat it alone..." (Jeff Tweedy / Wilco, Summerteeth, from the album Summerteeth, Rel. 1999).

Is it the Winter Solstice yet? Because I think that would be just corking. Nutty. Groovy. Nifty. Splendid.

I've never been one to honk / flap / kvetch and such about the Vancouver winters, because as one who grew up in Northern Alberta, and then spent a couple of brutal winters in Montreal - I've never had a heart attack from shoveling rain in Vancouver.

I've always loved my life on the West (wet) Coast, and for years have been able to be a barstool prophet going off to anyone who would be unfortunate to be in earshot about how beautiful the winter is here (it still is), and how cool it is when the fog rolls in and covers everything in a monochromatic shade of grey (it still is & does), and how it gets dark at 4:30 PM, and people scurry around in their brightly colored umbrellas (some of them still do), but take refuge in brightly lit, warm comfy pubs, bistros and such (maybe - I'm not going out that much these days). Seriously all you need is a leather jacket, some waterproof shoes, a good umbrella and a fair amount of patience. (Not like the infamous bottled water foolishness of 2006).

I have a friend who for years (with his high paying gig) is able to jet off for a couple of weeks down Mexico way every winter - as the lack of daylight really gets to him. For years I never really understood that - until now. Maybe it's the stress of my stupid job that I've been carrying around with me for the better part of a year. Maybe it's because I've decided to strike out on my own in this time of turmoil and global uncertainty where NO-ONE is paying their bills on time, or maybe I just need to catch a break and get some daylight.

December 21 isn't too far off. The Winter Solstice will come and go, and if history is any judge, by mid-January I'll be able to look up at the sky at 5:00 and see that it is still light out, and know that it is only going to improve on a daily basis.

Change? Oh, Please

2008-11-28T23:25:00.000-08:00

It's been a couple of interesting weeks for sure.

I've made the decision to leave my job (Which, I could probably have held on to with a white-knuckled-death grip for as long as I could have withstood it), but I think the time has come to teeter out on my own at the edge of the nest, spread my wings, and either get lucky enough to catch an opportune updraft, or conversely wait for the ensuing *thud*. Venturing out into the wilds of self employment in a very sketchy industry all while during the world's most devastating fiscal crisis in 80 years probably isn't the smartest thing I've ever done timing-wise, but hey - at least I'm never boring.

The following is just another reason why the Internets can be so amazingly awesome:

The Playing For Change Foundation is "dedicated to connecting the world through music by providing resources (including but not limited to facilities, supplies, and educational programs) to musicians around the world". The following is from their award winning documentary about a bunch of musicians from around the globe doing Ben E. Kings "Stand By Me" all at the same time. Amazing you can do with a laptop, a boom mic, and a plane ticket.

With all that's going on right now - this put a smile on my face. (It couldn't have come at a better time either).

Punched In The Face

2008-11-15T00:27:00.000-08:00

Actually, it is a really, REALLY fucked up (And brilliant) ad that some weird demented Genius's not only dreamed up, but apparently the production company called "Action Figure" filmed all of their employees getting punched in the face.

“The disturbing thing is that no one questioned it when all employees were asked to meet in Stage One so that we could punch them in the face,” says Matt Hovis, Director and Principal at Action Figure.

I could say more about this, but the sad reality is that this is pretty much a metaphor for what I happens to me on a daily basis. (Being the punchee, not the puncher). But after watching this, I think I can tolerate my job a little bit more than I did yesterday.

Going To California

2008-10-30T22:34:00.000-07:00

I've got 3 days & 3 nights left before I leave to Santa Monica for the American Film Market. Again.

I was reading through some of my older posts, and have discovered that I'm a broken record / whiny Bitch these last three years, and that I'm back to whining about this. Again. I Can't say as I'm entirely pleased about my capacity for sniveling either. However, besides the fact that I'm going down to probably kill myself by working non-stop for the next 12 days (not unlike my recent trip to France which entailed my killing myself for 7 days straight, plus 2.5 days of travel time, plus the jet-lag, plus being back in the office Monday morning), And certainly not including my trip to France in May where I worked non-stop for 12 days, plus the travel time, and being back in the office Monday morning). I don't think I need to get into Berlin either. Basically since my little medical procedure in March, I've been kicking it old school, and have nothing but a cheese sandwich to show for it. I'm wondering if I've had a glimpse of my own mortality, and if I'm wasting it away selling movies.

Hopefully this will be my last AFM though. At least in my present capacity. Things are afoot. It could be a great adventure, but I need some chutzpah - of which I'm sorely lacking. I used to love, love, LOVE traveling for business! It was great, grand and always an adventure. In one of my earlier capacities, I had to do Western Canada each month, which was Vancouver - Winnipeg - Calgary - Saskatoon - Edmonton - Vancouver - with stops in Kamloops & Regina every other month. The gig just after that was a national level where it was Vancouver - Halifax - Montreal - Toronto - Winnipeg- Calgary - Edmonton - Vancouver, so I racked up a fair amount of frequent flier miles and loved every minute of it. I had it planned out perfectly too; I could leave Sunday morning, fly to Halifax to arrive late Sunday night, meeting Monday AM, then do Quebec on Tuesday, Toronto on Wednesday then arrive Winnipeg first thing in the Thursday morning, then fly to Edmonton in the aternoon for a late afternoon meeting, then depart for Calgary first thing Friday morning, do my meetings and be back home in Vancouver by 4:00 PM Friday afternoon. I'd grab a taxi home dump off my stuff, and meet my friends for end of the week beers by 6:00 down at Cardero's or Stamps Landing, or some patio beside the Pacific Ocean. They would honk & flap about their week, and I'd just chuckle that I've just flown 6000 miles in like, 5 days. Fun Fact: I bet you didn't know that while in Halifax NS, you are closer to London, England, than you are to Vancouver!

But now? When I have to fly 2.5 hours south to LA? I'm plotzing & kvetching about it. Sure, Flying to Europe has its issues (I can't imagine anyone would enjoy sitting on a plane for the better part of 16 hours while waiting to get back home), but I am also looking at myself and wondering "Dude - what happened to you?" I think I'm just dreading the job and the pressure that comes with it. Well also, we have like 110 meetings booked, all in 30 minute slots, so I'm going to have to be giving the same spiel 110 times, plus shaking hands with strangers, strangers who have colds and cough into their hands, strangers who pick their nose then extend their hands in greeting... that sort of thing. (Note to self - bring handi-wipes & anti-bacterial hand lotion).

I have a full last day of work at the office tomorrow, and a million things need to get done. There is laundry to do, plants to apologize to, Uncle Stan to really apologize to (I haven't seen him since before France, and he is getting cranky), and a myriad of stuff which has to happen before I get on the plane Monday morning.

I found this video and stuck this up here a year or so ago, but again tonight - found it appropriate. Monday is going to be my 4th time in LA in the past 6 months, and as much as I hate LA, I really like Santa Monica (for a maximum 12 days at least).

The Ashtray Said I've Been Up All Night

2008-10-26T00:59:00.000-07:00

(With apologies to the great Jeff Tweedy)

Mr. Sundial is already pointing towards the end of October already! Time? She is a thief who slinks through the night.

A quick recap: In the last 35 days I've been to: Vancouver Island, Toronto, Los Angeles, France, and in about 11 days I'm going back to Los Angeles for another long 12 day trip during first 2 weeks of November. My job is a cruel mistress, but one in which I'm preparing to draw up the divorce papers. If all goes to plan, I will be my own man come early in the new year - and it can't come fast enough either. As previously mentioned the job and I have been sleeping in seperate bedrooms for a while now, and it's time to draw a line down the middle, fire up the chainsaw, and have at it.

Since returning to Vancouver from France (meaning it was Cannes to Nice Airport, then Nice - Munich - Frankfurt - Vancouver all in about 16 or so hours) and after some rather severe jet lag (courtesy of my ever-infalligable internal body clock) its been a bit of a thing getting used to being back on the West Coast time. France was a total kerfuffle jet-lag speaking. Brief recap: My flight to France left Vancouver at 4:00 PM last Thursday, arriving Nice 2:30 PM Friday local time. I didn't sleep on the plane at all - and by the time I got my luggage and made it the hour north to my flat in Cannes, it was close to 5:00 PM. "No problem" I lied to myself, "I'll just have some dinner, stay awake until 10:00 PM, sleep all night and wake up smelling like roses tomorrow morning". Right? Wrong. I passed out at 8:00 PM, and was up, TOTALLY awake at 2:00 AM, and couldn't get back to sleep. This pattern repeated itself alarmingly, without fail every evening when it was time for bed. It worked like this: I'd stay up until midnight France time, be a little tired and hit the sack. However, although it was midnight local time, my body was telling me that it was only 3:00 PM that AFTERNOON in Vancouver... so no sleep was had. Wash. Rinse. Wipe sweaty hands on pants. Repeat as necessary. This foolishness lasted the entire time I was there. Suffice it to say, that after 6 or 7 days of this? It got real old, real quick. The funny thing was that after I returned back home, I've been waking up at EXACTLY 3:00 AM EVERY morning. Why? That's a darned good question. The only possible answer I could submit is that 3:00 AM Vancouver time is 12:00 Noon in Cannes. It makes no sense really, but at least I wasn't in Thiruvananthapuram. Because that could only suck even more.

On that note, I'm leaving again next week to Los Angeles for the American Film Market (The AFM also means "Another Fucking Market"), and am there for 12 days. At least I'm in the same time zone and only a 2.5 hour flight from home. I DO though, have enough time to dry clean my suits, water my plants, sleep in my own bed for the next 7 days, all while noticing another year slip through my fingers. I'm pretty tired, and am really looking forward to some rest or a change. Either would be welcomed at this point.

To avoid ending this thing on a total downer though - I was out for with some friends for some tasty beverages the other night, and a few months ago my friend Colleen paid hundreds of dollars for this designer miniature chihuahua. Behold this $800 Rat-Dog named "Peewee" in all of its Satanic Glory. (Accessorizing dog-handbag was only a few hundred dollars extra - and yes - she bought one as well, 'natch).

PS22 (Throw Your Arms Around Them)

2008-10-16T07:30:00.000-07:00

While skittering away the hours until I depart France, I had some time off this afternoon, and was noodling around the internets (my TV doesn't work in my rented flat), and came across THIS.

It is the blog of "Mr. B" a music teacher in Public School 22 somewhere in New York City, and he teaches his awesome, AWESOME elementary age school choir to sing stuff by (and with - as it turns out) Crowded House, Tori Amos, Coldplay etc. I can't find much about how they do it, or the history of, except on the blog site it says that "This website is PC22's efforts to promote the benefits of keeping the arts and integral part of the school curriculum". Well done Sir! Well done indeed.

Somehow, he and his choir played the Fabulous Fillmore Theatre in New York, and along with their interpretation of a couple of Crowded House songs, actually had Crowded House join them to play "Throw your arms around me" on stage. Seriously, turn up your speakers because this is quite magnificent.

Lastly, whether you are a Coldplay fan or not - watch this awesome rendition of "Viva La Vida", especially the unbelievable a Capella version at the end. If this doesn't make you smile, then you are either a heartless bastard who likes throwing bags of live puppies into the river, or Dick Cheney.

My Mom was a full time 3rd grade teacher, and an alternate music teacher at her elementary school. She had tenure though, so she could have worked at any school she wanted, but by choice, she worked at Dalton Elementary, in a bad part of town, teaching kids who were living in broken homes, poverty, alcohol abuse, and neglect. Sometimes she would come home after work, sit on the couch and just cry for a few minutes - then she'd come over and give me a hug. I never really understood this until I got much older. If she was around today, I think she would have really enjoyed watching this.

In a book that I've been reading while overseas, there is a line from one of the protagonists who says "Joy is in the ears that hear".

I couldn't agree more.

The First Garbage Truck Of Fall

2008-10-10T19:51:00.000-07:00

I'm in France. Again.

I'm here for MIPCOM (which is one of the biggest TV sales markets in the industry), and as per usual travel, jet-lag, and other egregious responsibilities are adding to my already formidable superhero-esque stress levels. I left the West Coast Thursday afternoon, to arrive in Nice Friday afternoon local time, by the time I got my luggage and made it the hour or so north to Cannes, (and after not sleeping on the flight), decided to gut it out and just stay up until normal bed time, eat something, then hit the sack, and therefore be coming up golden and smelling like posies Saturday AM. (As previously evidenced, I'm probably the worlds worst jet lagger).

Well, like most things I plan? Not so much. I went to the little corner store around the corner from my flat, bought a bottle of really, REALLY good local cheap red french wine (2 Euros!), I stopped at this place that serves simply amazing shwarma's just around the corner that Me and Melanie discovered while here last May, and had dinner, a drink and that would get me to bedtime, right? Wrong. I wound up falling asleep at 7:30 PM, woke up at 11:00 PM, slept again from 1:00 AM - 3:00AM, and now (I fear) I'm up for the duration.

It's just now coming up on 5:00 AM, and for once, the city is quiet. No traffic, no loud Frenchmen talking at full volumes from the busy narrow sidewalks, there's no noise at all. The fact that there is no traffic is astounding - I don't believe in all the years I've been coming to Cannes where I haven't heard the droning of the street sweepers at all hours of the night, or the blitzkrieg-like roar of the many garbage trucks making their early morning rounds, or the non-stop buses or trains that have to uphold their high French standards of never being on time. It will happen soon enough though, but for right now, It's just me, the clicking of my keyboard, and the hum of the neighbor's air conditioner through my open windows from across the alley.

*UPDATE*

Ok. That didn't last very long. It is now 5:40 AM, the sky is just starting to lighten to the east, and I just heard my garbage truck. It looks like the French Riviera is about to get up and start their day. I guess I should too.

That's Good Enough For Now

2008-10-05T19:27:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago I was in LA to take a couple of meetings with some media companies that *might* be interested in taking that fucking collossal albatross piece of shit movie off our hands. (Stupid fucking movie).

The official line is this: I woke up early, got to YVR, and caught the morning flight to LAX and landed in the early afternoon, got my rental car, did my meetings and flew back home that same day.

The actual facts are that I think I'm losing my mind, and here's why:

Last week I was booking these important meetings for Friday (this was like, last Wednesday) and I apparently told my travel agent to book the ticket for Thursday. (I'm such a fucking knob sometimes). So Friday AM, I get to YVR, and check in only to find that the check in kiosk can't locate me, so could I please talk to a staff member at check in. I waited in line, then talked to staff member at said check-in. The conversation went like this:

Me: Hi There. The machine can't find my reservation.
Her: Hmmm you're not on the flight manifest
Me: That's weird because I've booked the ticket through my travel agent who never makes mistakes.
Her: Ah. Here you are. Your flight was yesterday. Not today.
Me: What?
Her: Yep.
Me: You're kidding.
Her: No Sir. I'm not.
Me: That can't be right. (I then pulled out my paper copy of the flight reservation and handed it to her).
Her: Sir - this reservation was for yesterday's flight, not today's. The dates are even highlighted on it.
Me: That's impossible - there must be uh, some, uh... (looking at the highlighted dates on the paper clearly showing Thursday, NOT Friday)... um...
Her: Giving me the patented customer-service-lazer-beam-of-death stare.
Me: Uh, I'm calling my travel agent. Just give me a second.

I called Dave, my travel agent at 8:20 AM on his cell phone. (I think I woke him up as well - I don't think he was very pleased either).

Me: Dave, it's me. I'm at the airport. My flight was for yesterday, not today!
Dave my travel Agent: Yes - That is correct Sir. Why are you at the airport then?
Me: WTF? I'm at the fucking airport for my flight! It was for Friday morning, NOT Thursday morning!
Dave: Well don't get mad at me! I didn't know you meant to fly on Friday, if I had known, I could have changed your ticket.
Me: ...I'm having a brain hemorrhage. I'll have to call you back when I stop bleeding from my ears.

This whole thing was my fault. I'm such a fucking idiot. King of the idiots. Sometimes I think they should name an adjective after me like Woody Harrelson's Roy Munson in Kingpin. As it was, I wound up paying an exorbitant amount of money in the form of a change fee, talked my way onto the plane and off I went.

I landed at LAX at 1:30 - my first meeting was at 2:30, and it was in Santa Monica which isn't that far from the airport, so no problem I tell myself - I've got time. I get to the car rental place, and just when I am disembarking from the shuttle bus, a chill colder and stabbier than any 2 foot long icicle suddenly stabs through what can only be construed as what remains of my manhood - the car reservation was for the day before as well! Sure enough, I get inside and they are sold out. No cars. Nothing. Nada Senor. No Habla. I get back on the phone with Dave, and no soap. I'm in LA and due to a particularly large brain fart - I'm stuck just outside of the LAX, an the first of a couple of important meetings happening in about 45 minutes from now, and no fucking rental car to get there.

Dave however, (and after only I'm assuming having a massive coronary), somehow finds and reserves a car at the same place. he calls me with the confirmation number, and I give it to the gentleman at Thrifty. No reservation, no reservation, no reservation... I call Dave back, Dave confirms it to me again. The rental car guy tells me that new reservations can take up to 30 minutes to ping their way through Thrifty's reservation network. But miracle of miracles - about 15 mins later, the new reservation popped up, and I was gone like a shot. I was only about 5 minutes late for my first appointment after all that, and the rest of the day went as well as it could seeing as how I fought Friday afternoon rush hour traffic from LAX to Santa Monica, to Brentwood, to Westwood, to Venice, then back to LAX.

Upon returning to the airport, I discovered that my flight was full, so I decided to pay $50 to upgrade to business class at the last minute so I wouldn't be touching thighs with a total stranger for the next 3 hours. (This was wise, else the airplane homicide rate might have risen dramatically that evening).

There was a rather attractive (female, to boot) flight attendant taking care of us, (especially to the brain dead passenger in seat 1F from LAX to YVR), and while I was walking around and stretching, we got to talking to kill some time. After a little while, I returned to my seat, and she came over & delivered to me an unasked for cocktail - and also dropped a note in my lap saying it was nice talking to me, and such.

After the day I'd had, I just had to chuckle. We never got in touch, - she didn't even enclose her phone number - but she sure made me smile all the same. So thank YOU Miss Hot-30-something-flight attendant - you totally made up for what was a colossally volcanic day. As it was, I landed in grey, overcast Vancouver, found my car, and drove out into the rain for the drive back home.

The nice thing about being in an airplane is that once you break through all the clouds - the sun is usually shining somewhere.

Feel, Feel It Grow

2008-09-29T18:08:00.000-07:00

In Your Mind, In Your Mind. (The Hard Road, Sam Roberts, We Were Born In A Flame, Rel. 2004)

Is it the end of September already? Good! Because with just about 98% of it - it couldn't be done fast enough. Stupid fucking September.

Ok - Who want's an anxiety attack? Thematically & mathematically I can only hope that there is either some crazy scholar, or 1000 monkeys reading Freud out there who will absolutely determine that somehow work = anxiety attacks.

In my entire life (before this September that is) I've had two. Both were 6 years ago - the first was 3 days after my Dad passed away, the second was about 2 weeks after that. Both were truly well deserved, to be sure. In the last 4 weeks though? I've had five. Two of these recent episodes were especially notable as one of them was in a plane, 35,000 feet up, about an hour out of Vancouver en route to Toronto for the film festival. It was NOT fun. For about 5 minutes there, I was seriously about to pull the trigger on landing the full plane (including both my boss, and Academy Award Winning Actor Jeffery Rush) in Winnipeg due to a medical issue. The great thing about Air Canada is that the Chief Steward actually found a doctor in business class, brought him back to me (I wound up camped out at the back of the airplane in the Stewardess's section) and after checking me out asked one of the flight attendants for a couple of scotches. Strong booze apparently, helps relax constricted blood vessels, plus with the altitude & pressure, allows the lungs to be able to feel like they are bringing in at least the bare minimum of oxygen. I remained in the kitchen area for the remainder of the 4.5 hour flight, the Flight Attendants all cooed and mothered over me, and poured as much free scotch down my throat as I could stand. (You know those National Geographic shows with the baby chicks in the nest, mouths agape anytime a parent flies by in the hopes of them stuffing some sort of bug-based mulch down their yappers? Then picture me with 4 matronly flight attendants with a hand-truck full of booze - you'll get the idea).

Notable Episode # 2 was last Wednesday after returning from Toronto. We've been having all sorts of problems at work, but Tuesday and Wednesday morning I was having problems trying to catch my breath. With visions of blood clots running through my mind, I called my Doctor and told him that I was having trouble catching my breath. He told me to hang up the phone, and go immediately to Emergency. I coyly said that I might just be having an anxiety attack - as they've been happening recently, and he said "GO to hospital - it doesn't matter if it is anxiety or not, rule it out, get checked out because it's medical malpractice if you don't - and we'll see you first thing in the morning at my office."

So off to emergency I went. It was kinda funny actually, because of all the days I should forget my wallet at home, that was the day. Dr. Johnson told me to bring a good book as I was going to be a while. Also, on the way back to my apartment from work, I took a couple of wrong turns - all from a route that I've taken every day for the last 2.5 years. (It's weird getting lost where you know exactly where you are). But I finally got home, dropped off my laptop, and knowing the wait time in emergency, I packed another bag with a tooth brush, a couple of books, a change of socks & underwear, and headed out (again) to the hospital. I could breathe, (well sort of anyway), I got through the rush hour traffic, arrived at VGH, entered the parkade, and just when I shut off my car, I realized that I had left my wallet in my lap top bag at home. "Fuck."I said to myself. So I had to leave the parkade, explain to the attendant that I'm an idiot, who isn't breathing well, who forgot his medical card, credit card, and cash in his wallet at home, and back home I went.

Well I didn't really forget; because the thing with Anxiety attacks is that you don't think totally quite straight. Sometimes vision is a little blurry, and little things like directions, finding your way home on routes that I take everyday become a little challenging. It's like you're there, but not really there. But I got home (again) ran upstairs, retrieved said wallet, then shakily drove BACK to the hospital to re-enter the parkade and start the whole process again. 8.5 hours, a CT Scan, lots of needles, blood tests and such later? Was pronounced clean as a whistle, smart like stick, sharp like marble, and I was free to go. I emailed my boss around 10:30 PM saying I was ok, and on my way home and was going to be at my doctor's first thing in the morning and would talk to the office after that.

A side note to all of this was after 5.5 months on the blood thinners to get rid of the clots in my lungs after my much beaten-to-death-surgery-stories, (which no-one needs to hear about anymore), is that I was also experiencing some fairly sudden, massive, and alarming hair loss. It was enough that 4 weeks ago I googled "warfarin" & "hair loss" and came up roses. (Well, that, and literally filling an envelope full of hair that had fallen onto my desk in the span of 4 short hours) that I went to my Doctor the next day, with said envelope of hair and pathetically showed it to him:

Me: Look at this! (extending envelope of shed hair)
Dr. Johnson: Hmmmm, Well I've never heard of that side effect before.
Me: Then just Google warfarin + Hair loss.
Dr. Johnson: (Googling warfarin + hair loss at his computer), "Well... It looks like there ARE some people who DO suffer a rare side effect of warfarin..."
Me: "I KNOW! and look at this again!" (pathetically again offering the envelope of hair that I brought in from Yesterday, cradling it gently like it contained the Dead Sea Scrolls). "I don't have much going on in my life! I'm single, don't have a lot of bank, I'm apparently middle aged, and all I've got going on for me is my hair! You HAVE to help me."
Dr. Johnson: It's fairly obvious, you have to leave your job. As your physician, I'm telling you that you need to leave your job. I'll even give you a note. Stress & anxiety are killers, and, well, you have to leave your job. Your body & more importantly your subconscious is telling you what to do.
Me: ... I know.
Dr. Johnson: Regarding the hair loss? It also seems that we have to find you a woman who is just as shallow as you.
Me: Tell me about it.

Welcome To The Movie Business

2008-09-12T20:45:00.000-07:00

I just spent close to 2 hours on the phone tonight with a U.S. Producer who has a film lined up & ready to go. It is a funny idea actually, totally tongue in cheek, and without giving away any of the plot - it might or might not be about a certain breed of voracious tiny rat-dogs that get genetically crossed with a certain notorious carnivorous fish, and then start graphically killing everyone at this remote, wooded camping area. (I smell Oscars!). I also hear stuff like this all the time and usually discount it, but he has a big name attached, & owns his own CGI SPFX house, has the budget together, PLUS can shoot it on the cheap. I thought to myself: "I could sell it this" (All the while trying to avoid the fires of hell...)

But again, I get all sorts of stuff thrown at me all the time, but I liked his pitch, and He was unlike most of the other "Producers" though. I checked him out on IMDB, and he has financing, has done a deal with a major studio in the past, and most importantly REAL. That was the biggest thing for me. I guess that everyone has a film that needs to be sold, and I have to deal with a lot of dreamers, time wasters, assholes, and people who quite frankly have no idea what they are talking about.

But really, I don't mind. I'm building a business, (but it's also possible that I just like to hear myself talk), so I emailed the guy my number and we had a chat. This is sort of my internet dating filtering thing. I figure that I'm a fairly bright guy, and a good judge of character, so if I can get a feel from them from a phone call while getting the scoop on their business plan, financing, production facility etc., then I will know sooner than later if they are full of shit, or ultimately worth investing a couple of months & a lot late nights and hard work towards my future or not.

More important though is the kind of person they are. I've dealt with assholes before - and believe me - there are no more worse assholes than the film business. So we talked, kvetched, and after a while, we started to connect. We were speaking the same language, and I gave him enough tantalizing information to keep him interested, all the while going back to his spiel, trying to poke holes in it, to check out his bona fides. The type of person they are is really what brings me around. It's that if I make the decision to make a long term investment in this person, then they'd better be worth it. Life's too short, you know?

He asked me questions about my background, my work history, and I did the same. I told him about the huge companies I've worked for, and the many deals I've made etc., and in turn he told me that he ran a production house, shot commercials for Nike, and then told me about his wife who is his producing partner, and how solid they are, and how they were out walking their dogs when he first called me etc. We gradually we got into each others comfort zone. He told me that he was going to send me the latest draft of their script later this evening.

*Bear in mind that we had been talking to each other on our cell phones*

About 10 minutes after we hung up, my phone beeped with a text message. I got one, then immediately a second text from HIS cell phone and they read verbatim:

Sept 12, 2008 8:11:26 PM: "Hey hot stuff! I'm writing late tonight but i have time tomorrow to see you. Would you like to make it a date? Please deedel yourself really good tonig..."

Sept 12, 2008 8:11:42 PM: "...ght and send me photos so I can't see straight... Meow!"

Me: Shocked, looking at my blackberry "... Right".

Ah, the movie business! Love! Marriage! Mis-sent text messages! (Mistakenly to me, and certainly not to his wife, co-producer, & dog-walking life partner etc,).

I do need to bone up on my intra-personal radar though. I thought I had this guy pegged as someone I could do some business with. Part of me wanted to write him back asking for pics in return or something - but that would have just been so wrong, on so many different levels.

Sometimes I really have to question what the hell I'm doing for a living.

You'd Better Turn That Frown Upside Down

2008-09-09T23:03:00.000-07:00

"There's only two things that frighten me man - Dr. Evil and Carnies." (Austin Powers).

After a couple of days of sheer Toronto International Film Festival induced madness, I did my yearly sojourn to my dear friends Brian & Lynda's place in the far wilds of Northern Ontario. They are located (from what I can gather) just west of the Laurentians, and apparently just south of the Arctic circle, while at the same time firmly ensconced on the far western fringes of the Canadian Shield. This, according to my calculations puts them somewhere in the vicinity of Gimli, Manitoba.

I love going up there though. Each time I rent a car for the drive, Brian (probably subconsciously) gives me directions to drive these beautiful secondary highways, rather than the huge traffic clogged expressways, and I'll tell you - that young Man has it going on with his directions. Having lived out on the West Coast for the better part of 17 years now, I'm pretty familiar with the lay of the land, and I do love it out here. But, maybe I've got a wandering eye, and sometimes I'm looking at more than what the west coast can offer me, even with all her womanly charms. I think that sometimes Northern Ontario is the girl you want to marry, but the West Coast is the girl you meet in the bar. Who knows? All I can tell you that I've got a wandering eye - but come winter, I'll probably be changing my tune, and thanking the Gods that I live in Vancouver where no-one has had a heart attack shoveling rain.

In Ontario in the fall, Brian's directions always take me through these rolling hills so I can zoom past full, lush fields of ripe corn, through these delightful little hamlets that are full of antique stores, (Complete with angle parking on the main streets, 'natch), wineries, and so much quaintness that quite frankly, makes me want to puke. Finally I arrive at his place to be welcomed with open arms, a fridge full of cocktails, and the best barbequing that I've ever been privileged to attend. This weekend was no different.

We wound up going to a tiny, lovely village called Uxbridge a few minutes outside of Brian's tiny, lovely village, and there was the massive, booming town fair going on. When I say massive & booming - I really mean the whole fair covered about 300 square yards - complete with Carnies. So with his neighbors, we took the kids, and watched as they got jacked up on cotton candy and went on the rides. There was no beer gardens though, because apparently there was some alcohol + knucklehead induced malfeasance last year - so they put an end to that right smartly. Bastards. So We walked around, laughed, watched the kids do their thing on the Strawberry Ride and the Mini Train Ride, mocked & got frightened by the Carnies, then we went back to Brian's place for a huge dinner, a huge amount of red wine, a guitar thing, a firepit, a hot tub, and a fair amount of debauchery.

All in all, it was a pretty great day. I love going out there. I even bought a cool cowboy hat to try & fit in. (It didn't work though - I was still pegged as "City Folk").

The next morning, I did the usual get the hell out of bed / jump into the car / make the mad dash to the airport / dump off the rental car / just make the plane and fly home thing. I arrived back to the West coast on a hot Sunday afternoon. It took a while to get home from the airport as there was traffic everywhere, so I rolled the windows down, and took the slow drive down past the beach at English Bay. I watched the people stroll on the packed beach, past the huge trees, watched the magic-hour sun paint them and everything else with subtle shades of green & gold, and finally made it to my door. I walked in, and after days of meetings, miles of walking, late nights and early mornings, I dropped my suitcase on the floor, stripped out of my travel stained clothes, and walked around my empty apartment.

These Are The Sort Of Windows Faces Look In At

2008-08-23T02:20:00.000-07:00

It's late.

I just got back from my friends 5th annual Rib-Fest. They throw this party every year in August and invite their closest friends to go to their place in Burnaby for booze, bocce, music, bbq'd ribs, homemade corn fritters and coleslaw. She empties out their car-port, and hangs hundreds of lights, rents tables, chairs, plates, cutlery and such from a local catering company, He is relegated to cooking about 50 lbs of ribs for us freeloaders, and a good time is had by all. It was a beautiful day; hot, sunny, and basically the standard end of August weekend day that you long about (also knowing there will be slabs of ribs on the barbie in a couple of hours...).

By the time I got home, it was a very quiet night in the West End; no traffic noise, and my windows were open, and while I was walking through my kitchen and about to turn on the lights, I heard the "Ohmygods" & moans coming from the apartment next door. Yes, my neighbor was fucking his girlfriend again, and judging by the sounds emanating from their open bedroom window (which is about 2 feet from my open kitchen window) they were apparently setting at least a couple of world records in what could only be construed as some quite vigorous, imaginative, (and quite possibly illegal in several southern U.S. states) sex.

Part of me chuckled at this, and I was about to close the windows, and go to bed. But then another part of me soon took over, and I stood there exercising my (unexpected) inner voyeur. I noticed two floors beneath me, the hot, blond neighbor who had moved in a couple of months ago with her boyfriend. Her apartment lights were off, and she was leaning out her window smoking a cigarette, and was obviously listening to the same things I (and everyone else within a 400 yard radius) was. I watched as she almost wistfully exhaled the smoke onto the glowing tip of her cigarette. We both watched the smoke go out of her lungs, and into the air, to be mixed in with the sounds echoing off the adjacent buildings.

Directions For Idiots

2008-08-16T22:27:00.001-07:00

"You can do a lot in a lifetime, If you don't burn out too fast"
(Rush, Marathon, Power Windows, Rel. 1985. Music by Lee & Lifeson, Lyrics by Peart)

It's been a crazy week, and one that is fraught with difficulties, problems and conversely some massive excitement (With me? there could be no other kind, really). I've made a rather big decision work-wise, and am working towards my future. If I can speak historically for a second? I'm so on the ball that everything I do is probably sprinkled with pixie-dust, and blessed with good fortunes going forward. Really. I mean that. A lot.

Here's a good example of why I'm sharp like marble / smart like stick:

As I might have previously mentioned, my dear friends Terry & Sab moved into this big-ass farmhouse about 1000 miles from where I live. Terry sent out an email a month ago inviting everyone to their housewarming party on August 16th (today). Last Saturday (the 9th) I had it in my head that it (the 9th) was the day. Last Saturday, I even re-opened her email (clearly inviting us on the 16th), to get their address and Google map it, but obviously & casually disregarded the rest of the message again - clearly stating Saturday, August 16th. I had it in my head to call Randy & Drew and carpool out with them, but I figured that I'd probably leave early and it was best to venture out on my own, so why bother them right? So last Saturday, I canceled some other plans that I had for that night (which might have even involved sex) & gassed up the car, then drove the entire hour plus out of town, to enter the wilds of extreme southeast Surrey BC. If I haven't belabored this point enough yet - You need to know that I had an entire hour of driving time while getting out of the city, to figure out what day it was, sadly, I didn't. It wasn't until I pulled into their driveway seeing only Sab's car there, when something odd and foreboding grew inside of me. I had this weird, sense of dread, of confusion while walking up to their front door, and as I was ringing the doorbell it hit me. Sab opened the door, looked at me, and at the exact same time it hit me like a lightning bolt:

Sab: "What are you doing here?"
Me: "Oh. For God's sakes! Your party is NEXT week isn't it? Not today".
Sab: "Yes. That's correct Sir. I was napping, WHAT are you doing here again?"
Me: "Great. Um, Well sorry about that. I brought some beer".
Sab: [pause]"Come on in".

It went downhill from there. But luckily my friends love me even for my foibles, and Terry showed up not long afterwords, and she was gracious enough to laugh at me, scorn & mock me, then cook me dinner, plug in a movie and even forgive me for accidentally kicking over a glass of red wine that I had placed on her floor.

Today though was indeed the day of the party, I arrived back out that their house with my timing intact, the scheduling was tight as a button, and all was right in the world. it was a scorchin hot day, Our friends were there, Terry's Mom & Dad showed up (who I have sort of adopted all those years ago), and with Bon, STEVIE! (who must be named here), Randy, Drew, Stroke-Dog and assorted children, and we all sat on their deck and had a lovely time enjoying friends, family, and various canine stroke victims.

Eventually I left to make the hour drive home, and stopped at the gas station at the corner of Main & 2nd. The attendant was hovering over a map with a not-unattractive girl, and after a minute or two, she looked at me and said "How do I get to Whistler? Is it far?" I thought about it for a second, and replied that it is about 1.5 hours with no traffic, and do you have hotel reservations...? She said that she didn't and had driven up to Vancouver from Oregon to celebrate her sisters birthday, and basically, had no idea that Whistler was at least 1.5 hours north, and hotels were booked all over the lower mainland. Girlfriend and her sister are probably in for a long night. She even asked me if Whistler was a cool place, and were there like, bars there? Yikes.

Upon leaving her and pulling out of that gas station, I was stopped at the next red light. A mini-van was beside me, and two very heavily made up, trampy-type girls rolled down the window and asked me for directions to Granville & 12th . I just shrugged, put on my good Samaritan cap, and told them to pull over just ahead. It turns out they were hookers (driving a mini-van, oddly enough). The girl driving couldn't have been more than 22, and the passenger was Latino and spoke very little English. The Driver thrust a piece of paper into my hand with the John's address, and the to / from directions from the stripper bar, to the destination to somewhere around West 12th, was written with a big $250 EACH circled in black mascara pencil. I told them how to get there, the one who could speak English smiled and thanked me. The one who didn't really habla muttered something under her breath something about me possibly being a "Punta". Regardless, I smiled, waved back, and with my double good neighborly duty clearly being accomplished, climbed back into the Millennium Falcon V.3.0 and continued my journey home.

I'm really jazzed and frightened about this new thing I'm about to embark on. I'm going to be flying without a parachute, and jumping without a net. I don't know how it is going to turn out, but at the very least, I gave some hookers some good directions.

I could use some myself.

When I got home, I was listening to Rush: "You can make the most of the distance". It seemed appropriate.

The Stroke Dog

2008-08-10T19:26:00.000-07:00

No, it's not a bad Billy Squier song - but it certainly has been mocked over the years. I prefer the Barry Manilow version though "Her name was Charlie - She was a stroke Dog..." Think Copacabana, then you'll get the joke. (Such as it were)

Charlie is Randy & Drew's dog. Randy adopted her about 10 years ago or so. Back then, he got it into his head that he wanted a dog, to accessorize along with Tuesday the Kidney cat (more on this in a second), so he went out and did something amazing... went to the SPCA and adopted not a cute puppy, but Charlie, who had been running wild for a couple of years and was fully grown with all of her bad habits in tow. No one really knows how old Charlie is. I remember Randy telling me that the vet checked her out, and judging by her teeth, she was 2-3 years old at that time. Charlie had been mistreated, and had been out running loose, doing her own thing before being snared by the animal police, so Randy promptly adopted her.

Speaking of Tuesday the Kidney Cat ... Just to preface; there are nice cats who love everyone, and want their ears scratched by strangers, and there was Tuesday. Tuesday fell into the aptly named Tuesday category. She loved Randy, but barely tolerated anyone else in the near vicinity. When we'd come over (which was frequently over the years), Tuesday would sit 2/3rds up the stairs, and glare at everyone with open hostility - ready to make a run for the the upstairs bedroom if someone got within a 10 foot radius. But Randy had had Tuesday for 14 years, and when time began to run its course, Tuesday's kidneys started to go on her, and he was on a business trip in another province, and upon hearing the news, canceled his meetings and flew home to be with his rather cranky Kidney cat. Rather than put her down, Randy refused to take no for an answer, and for the next couple of years, he & Drew would once a week insert a needle into Tuesday and do some in-house-kitty-dialysis with some fairly large expense attached. (Just so you know, Tuesday's legendary crankiness was offset by Randy, who would often call me with Tuesday in his arms, and say "Hey - do you want to hear my cat?" He'd then squeeze the cat with the telephone receiver close by so I could hear the bitchy, strangled "...MmmmRRRWWwerrooww", then he'd giggle and hang up). It was comedy gold, Baby's.

Back to Randy. In the summer of 2002, Randy had a pretty dreadful year. There was the cat/kidney thing, and while this was going on, Randy's Dad (who he was very close to, and who was a really, really wonderful man) was suffering in the final stages of a pretty bad case of terminal cancer and kidney failure. On top of this? Charlie the dog had a stroke. I kid you not. The dog had a fucking stroke. Now, my memory about actual time frame is hazy around this particular time as I was dealing with my own Dad's terminal diagnosis, but Randy had been dating Drew for about a year or so before all this happened, and Drew was a tower of strength throughout this whole terrible affair. Shortly after Randy's Dad passed in the late summer, I was in the process of moving MY dad in with me as he was stricken with cancer as well. Randy & Drew came out and helped me move all of Dad's stuff from the basement suite he was living, and into the new two bedroom place I had rented. The three of us moved all of his possessions from one place to another, small talking, and trying to avoid the topic of of Norm (Randy's Dad) and Charlie (the Stroke Dog) and Tuesday (The Kidney Cat), and Davey (My Dad). It was pretty painful, and very surreal, Randy and Drew moving my own terminally ill father in with me, weeks after Randy had lost his own Dad.

So back to Chuckles the Stroke-Dog. It was really sad. But, if Randy would do expensive home kitty-dialysis, some pesky little thing like a massive canine brain hemorrhage wouldn't deter him either. So Randy put Charlie through intensive hydrotherapy, physiotherapy, acupuncture, the gathering of strange & magical herbs, and had a laying on of hands healing ceremony, and eventually Chuckles came around and began the long road back to recovery. The funny thing is that I don't think that dogs are entirely self-aware. Charlie was trying to walk and was constantly staggering around like a drunk enjoying the bender of the century. She always loved playing and such, but seeing as how she couldn't get up or anything, she'd just sit on her blanky looking at everyone, doing the doggy smile / goofy shit eating canine grin (no pun intended) with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, while trying to figure out why we weren't throwing her favorite ball for her to fetch.

Forward to all these years later, I babysat Chuckles for a few days while Randy, Drew and Jackie-Boy were out of town. We hung out, bonded, and threw our thing down. All the damage from the stroke has largely been mitigated. She only wears a rubber doggie-booty on her right front paw as she can't straighten it out while walking. (Click on the above picture to see the booty). So she kind of drags her right knuckles on the pavement, and the booty is there to protect the top of her foot against the eventual road-rash. She is a chick magnet for sure, and I was getting stopped by everyone on the street inquiring as to why the booty and the limp. She's a good girl and an unintentional attention-whore.

She's also mellowed in her later years. In her younger days, she was always nippy around children and smaller dogs, but that's largely stopped now. She was also vastly territorial, but now she more than tolerates Young Jack, and really doesn't care much if other dogs are coming down the sidewalk other than a perfunctory sniff of their ass, then she sort of shrugs and says "Whatever - I'm behind peeing on all this new territory, so I've got to keep rambling". I had her in my office for a couple of days, and there are 5 of us there, and she very quickly got used to all of us, and any of us could come and go through the front door, and Charlie couldn't even be bothered to wake up and see why the front door was opening and closing. But, when the mailman or the courier guy walked in? She would go bananas; barking, and generally making a big deal about things. I thought that was pretty cool how she knew this was where I worked and she very quickly got the sense of how things worked. It was only when a stranger (other than the other 4 strangers who were working there) walked in, she got all territorial protecting the rest of us, as she considered my office her turf.

Back when Randy & Drew were dating and things were taking a turn for the serious, I remember Randy telling me that was that in the immediate aftermath of the stroke, Drew would pick up this 40 pound dog, and carry her outside late at night in the pouring rain, don a rubber glove and manually stimulate the dogs rectum to force a poop, as Charlie couldn't do it on her own at that time. Randy said that he knew right then that Drew was the one for him.

All these years later, they are married, happy, have a kid, and are plugging right along with Chuckles The-Wonder-Stroke-Dog.

From A Better Vanished Time

2008-07-29T19:15:00.000-07:00

He bought his main bass, a 72 Fender Jazz Bass in a pawn shop in Kalamazoo, Michigan over 25 years ago, and through all the years, going from the J-Bass, through his Rickenbackers in the 2112 era, then the weird British made WAL , and the even weirder graphic construction, headless Steinbergers of the mid to late '80's, he's been back with his original Jazz Bass since Counterparts was recorded in 1993, and hasn't left it since.

Happy 55th Birthday Garry Lee Weinrib. You Magnificient Bastard.

(YYZ, Rush, Rush in Rio, Music by Lee, Lifeson, & Peart).

Save Me A Saturday Night

2008-07-27T19:12:00.000-07:00

Sab's lovely wife grudgingly consented to grant him is annual 24 hour pass to escape their dark lair and breath the intoxicating scent of freedom - the sweet, sweet smell of my apartment actually - free of any and all boiling demon children, or yard-work related activities. Like Tim Robbins, he was free & clear and leave the burbs, come over to my place, drink too much and sleep on my couch (all without crawling through 800 yards of sewers). So we hooked up with Gino and nerded out at the noon IMAX of Batman. After which, we found a patio in Yaletown, and commenced drinking, then went back to Gino's place for a BBQ, and more drinking.

With another yearly successful night of freedom under our belts, a little after midnight we called a cab to get back home, and our driver was rocketing down the backstreets. Only about 4 blocks away from Gino's place a cyclist approaching us from the other direction yelled out "SLOW DOWN" at our cabbie - and not more than 10 seconds after that? We screamed through an unpatrolled intersection and our car collided with two cyclists who were coming down the hill. One guy bounced off the car and was ok, but the girl though totally broke her arm, and possibly her leg. We were in the back seat, I was passenger side, Sab was behind the driver. I was looking the other way, and didn't realize what had happened until the collision where I heard this huge *thud* and looked over to see a flailing body, and the odd vision of a riderless bicycle slamming into Sab's passenger window.

We jumped out of the car, and while I was calling 911, a bunch of people in the surrounding apartments had heard the commotion, and God bless 'em, a few of them came running out with blankets, water, and one guy even had his St. John's Ambulance First Aid (I have it as well - but as we'd been having some cocktails earlier and buddy appeared to have it under control - I just hovered around and pretended to be the pro-temp executive director of the accident scene). Within a few minutes, an ambulance and two firetrucks showed up and picked up the wounded, and got them off to the hospital. When the ambo was leaving the police showed up and Sab and I gave our statements. the female cop who interviewed me was also disturbingly hot - and after telling her that we had seen Batman, she got all warm and tingly, and stroked my arm, and purred into my ear that she missed seeing movies like the Lord of the Rings. I quickly sprang into action; offered her my phone number, astrological sign, and told her that I'd also been a very, very bad boy and needed to be handcuffed. Stat.

All this time though, I need to mention that our Cab Driver remained in the car. The guy & girl had slammed into his (and Sab's) door, and after which, she was in shock, and in a sitting position leaning against the cabbie's door. He just sat there with his window rolled down a crack and didn't say a word. Now, that he was heavily bearded and turbaned has nothing to do with it, but he didn't do a goddamned thing. I was shocked. Even more so when the police showed up and weren't going to charge him - they said he could continue on our trip. I asked if we were getting a free ride after all of this - and he said no. Then the hot policewoman asked if he was going to turn off the Meter, he also replied in the negative. I couldn't believe it. He was driving waaaay too fast, hits two cyclists, 40 minutes later he is free to leave and wouldn't even turn off the meter after all of that! Sab & I told him to fuck off, and called another cab.

The hot policewoman had also called a cab for us on their radio-thingy, then left. (She no doubt has just been biding her time to call me ever since - that Minx). So we waited. And waited. And waited. I called the cab company, and told them that we were the ones in Car # 83 that had hit cyclists, and could you send someone to pick us up?? They said "Sure - on the way". Then we waited. And waited, and waited. A little while later, in an eerily prescient voice over circa Black Hawk Down, Sab said "I don't think they're coming Dude". I agreed and called the cab company again, and told them that we were the ones in Car # 83 that had hit cyclists, and could you please send someone to pick us up?? They then replied that there was no record of the accident, or my previous phone call. So we would have to wait like everyone else. It was quite surreal, just the two of us were all that remained after the circus had packed up. The helpful bystanders were snug in their beds, the injured girl was safely in hospital, the fire trucks and ambulance were no doubt out helping other people, the hot policewoman (who, obviously smitten with my charm and planning to conviently pull me over at a later time), was probably out hitting on other men already, our speed-racer cabbie was free to continue his quest for the world land-speed record, and the two of us were stranded in Fairview Slopes, alone, bemused, drunk, and more than a little vexed.

We finally got back to my place, and immediately grabbed a couple of bottles of wine and headed directly to the beach. After sitting on a bench by the ocean for a time, Sab looked over at me and said "It's lucky that it was only two bikes that piled into us and not a car - that would have been really, really bad". I vociferously agreed, then sprang into action by quickly opening the other bottle, and we spent the rest of the night talking about small stuff, smoking cigars and watched the city lights reflected in the flat-as-glass ocean until the sky started to lighten.

Somebody Get Me A Doctor

2008-07-19T10:05:00.000-07:00

As previously stated, I'm STILL on blood thinners due to those nutty, pesky pulmonary embolisms, so every Thursday morning I get my blood tested, my doctor gets those results in the afternoon, and calls me at the end of that day to adjust my dosage accordingly if need be.

Thursday July 17, 2008. My cell phone rings, and the call display says it's Dr. Johnson Calling.

Me: "Hi Dr. Johnson"

Dr. Johnson: "Hi Craig it's Dr... Cough, Cough, Ahg, Hack, Yargh, Choke, Ugh, Cough, Cough, Um, waitasecond, Ineedsomewater, Cough, Cough, Hack, OHMIGODI'mchoking...."

Then he hung up.

Balance

2008-07-13T11:52:00.000-07:00

What a great, glorious weekend this was!

This is why I live in Vancouver, the summers are breathtaking, and even the winters are equally so. Just so you know, from October - March, it rains just about every day. We get the occasional snow, and in February - March, the fog rolls in and blankets the city for weeks at a time. The ocean & mountains are all shrouded in monochromatic shades of grey, and people bustle about in the streets hidden under their brightly colored umbrellas.

But in the summer? This is the most beautiful city in the world, hands down, no question about it. It was 4 months and 6 days ago that I had a complete right hip arthroscopy (which for those of you who aren't totally sick of hearing about this - means a total hip replacement). About 3.5 months ago, I was in hospital with pneumonia and blood clots in my lungs, I couldn't walk, had difficulty breathing, had to inject myself in the stomach with anti-clotting medication on a daily basis, had an infected wound and was in pain like you wouldn't believe. 12 weeks later, I went out and bladed the entire seawall . The total distance was a little over 11 KM (or just shy of 7 miles for those of you who aren't metric), and it was glorious, exhilarating, and profoundly gratifying.

After years of constant, chronic fire-breathing acid-gargling hip-related pain, I strapped on my skates and headed out without a care in the world - I flew over the concrete, glided down hills, burned around corners and revelled in the rush of covering 20 feet with each single stride. I noticed a juvenile bald eagle soaring above me, (who, no doubt like me was enjoying his own fantastic gift of flight), and after blasting by Siwash Rock, I stopped for a while to watch the Rock Balancing Guy on Second Beach. (Click on this picture to fully get the details of what he was doing - and just so you know? It worked).

Usually when he throwing his thing down, there is a crowd of people clogging up the seawall, but other times I've seen him other times just working alone, in bad weather, just taking the rocks and balancing them. Once they are in place, he gives each one a little finger-tap as he is testing their balance, almost like he is listening to them, and then if necessary, does a minute almost indistinguishable adjustment. He does this day in and day out, and sells postcards of his creations to the tourists, and has a guest book for people to sign. I was reading it this morning, with comments like "This is amazing, thank you so much for sharing this with us..." from somebody in Barcelona. The same was signed from Japan, the US, places across Canada and around the world.

So, I stopped for a while in the perfect weather, on a shiny weekend morning, and watched him do his work. I watched crowds of people stop & stare. I listened to the sound of the waves gently lapping the shore. I stood covered in sweat under the clear blue sky, all the while thankful as anything that I'm able to live in this city, and that I was able to get out and discover that I still had a bit of balance on my own.

(This week - I'm going to drive to my surgeon's office and deliver to him an expensive bottle of scotch).

Summertime Think It Was June

2008-07-06T16:36:00.000-07:00

Well, July actually, But close enough for horseshoes & hand grenades as my Uncle always said. I just got back in the door from blade #2 of the day, and here's what I did today:

View Larger Map

(For all the photo's click to embiggen). I went through Stanley Park:

Past Lost Lagoon and ventured into the Second Growth trees in the heart of the park:

Then stopped at the Totem Poles:

Then finally meandered my way back towards home for a welcome (and well deserved) cold beer, I finished a book that I started yesterday, and looked down my street in the summer, with my happy, healthy plants. Left to right they are: Bullwinkle, Bloomy, Owen the cactus, Robert Plant, and the one that's only identified by a weird facial expression:

All in all, it's been a pretty good Sunday. Here's some fantastical Stereophonics to get those summertime juices flowing, so turn up the speakers, pop a cold one, and enjoy your day. I sure did.

The World Is Just Awesome

2008-07-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

From what has been a colossally grievous & turd-filled week at work, to having a rather pleasant weekend - it's amazing what good friends, a clean apartment, a good book, and 48 hours of happy, non-work-related activities can accomplish for the psyche & soul.

Friday, I had someone very special over for dinner (and ultimately breakfast), and there was good food, good wine, and some rather pleasant fooling around.

Saturday, I had some other friends over for dinner, and there was even better food, good wine, and Bon, Stevie and I had double desserts, and we unleashed our inner geek by watching all the battle scenes of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. Really loud.

This morning, I woke up early, strapped on the rollerblades, and went for a nice long-ish cruise through my neighborhood, then down to the seawall, skimming the concrete and gradually gaining speed while testing out the new hip. My strength is returning, and my natural inclination to take baby-steps to guard my new titanium prosthetic implant is starting to disappear, which is a good thing. Just before setting off, I was thinking to myself "What if I wipe out? What if I whistle up a slice of road-pizza? If I do splooge into a human skid-mark I have to remember to try and & fall to my left, or directly onto my face, (where there will be the least amount of damage, obviously)".

Well, that trepidation lasted all of about 4 seconds, and before I knew it, I was flying through the streets; I stopped at the Great Blue Heron Estuary in Stanley Park, and then I was beside the water, the beach was largely empty, with overcast skies and a light breeze I then sailed back through downtown towards home. Covered in sweat, my muscles quivering and aching, I smiled and patted myself on the hip for a job well done.

Below is the awesome new Discovery Channel commercial. Every once in a while, huge corporations get it right.

Closer To The Liquor & Whores & Checkerboard Floors

2008-07-01T23:50:00.000-07:00

She said "Boy - we should do some marrying,"
I said "Sure, but there is something you should know,
that I like liquor & whores..."

(Liquor & Whores, Bubbles, The Trailer Park Boys, Rel. 2006).

Here is Geddy, Alex, and Neil pounding out "Closer to the Heart" on CBC a couple of years ago with Ed Robertson from BNL, and Bubbles from the Trailer Park Boys. (Alex Lifeson is a huge fan, so much so that he appeared in two of their episodes, and as well the feature film; in the opening scene when Ricky get's pulled over by the cops, the police are played by Alex and Gord Downie, the lead singer of the Tragically Hip).

Here's Closer to the Heart:

Here's Bobcaygeon by The Tragically Hip. There are so many great pounders to choose from these guys, but I've always had a real soft bent towards their quieter acoustic stuff. (Fun Fact: I opened for The Hip about 4 thousand years ago when they were shooting their first video in a nightclub. They were all really nice guys, and during sound check we all compared gear, swapped shop talk, and eventually I played through Rob Baker's gnarly little Randall guitar amp for the gig that evening).

And lastly? Bubble's seminal classic "Liquor & Whores" recorded at a Vancouver Radio Station a couple of years ago. I realize that I've said the words "Liquor & Whores" 4 times here. Happy Canada Day. Penis.

Moving Around, Moving Forward

2008-07-01T22:20:00.000-07:00

View Larger Map

Sunday, I drove way the hell & gone into the wilds of the mysterious dark continent - South East Surrey to be specific - to visit Terry & Sab and see their new house. Then to see Uncle Stan in White Rock. T&S moved into this rancher / farmhouse that was built in 1910, with a huge yard, huge deck, and little teensy doorways. Since the place is so old, one can only assume that there were no building standards; door-width-wise speaking, and no-one had thought to measure the interior doorframes. They are tiny, like 2 feet across, and built right into the ancient wood moldings, so there is no way to pop the frames & jams off. Terry & Sab also have the HUGEST furniture in the western world, so, this is apparently an issue. None of it can fit upstairs where they had everything planned out. However, they do have the nicest assortment of big, expensive, comfy furniture on their covered patio that will probably will ever see in those parts for years to come. But I saw the kids, and friends of ours and Terry's had come into town for that weekend to contribute various babysitting duties / moral support. I was just there for the comradeship, to kiss their kids and have a cold beer or two. I also used the old "I've just had some major hip surgery, so I can't help move anything, but I will sit on your porch and drink your ice cold beer while I watch you unpack". Suckers.

After that? I kept on driving south through the country en route to my weekly Sunday visit with Uncle Stan. It was beautiful actually. I drove past orchards and organic farms, up and down rolling hills via country roads, past llama and alpaca breeders, and huge swaths of forests & meadows that are bursting full of critters and things that fly.

After sitting with Uncle Stan, I was on the way home when a long lost, very important person called from Indiana, and we had a chance to catch up with a lot of things, I was pleased as punch to hear to hear from her. We talked from Granville & 16th, all the way through downtown back to my home, then through the parkade, into the elevator, and up to my apartment where we finished up on the couch (sounds sort of slutty I know). She's moving on and moving forward and I couldn't be happier for her. It was a long, good, beautiful perfect day. 121 KM's of driving, around 2 hours of travel time, and visiting with friends, family and hearing from old friends. Priceless.

Here's something else about moving on; in 2006, this 30-something slacker named Matt went on a round the world trip sponsored by Stride Gum, and well most of you probably know it already, but he does this goofy little dance set to some pretty cool music, all quick-cut amongst the places he has visited. The 2008 version is below, and my reference to the 2006 version is here (For Those Who Are About To Dance, We Salute You). It's still pretty darned cool.

Lastly, Randy, Drew & Little Jack came by my place yesterday as they were downtown, and all of us had a great visit, while Little Jack ran around and did his best to trash my house and booby-trap my car. Also, while Little Jack was busy smashing one of my rollerblades into my living room wall repeatedly, Randy asked me if I could blade yet (referencing the long running hip issue), I said no, and I lied to him that it would take a couple of months more until I was stable enough. The truth was, that it had been close to two years since I've been able to do it, and I thought that this soon after my surgery, I'd be asking for trouble, and well, I was just a big, fat stinking complacent coward.

So today, I left work early and went for the longest unaided walk since my surgery and it was fine. I walked up and down my neighborhood, then went to the beach and walked along the sea wall, and back again. No pain, no discomfort or anything. I came home and started looking at my rollerblades and thought "Oh, what the hell..." So 3 months and 29 days after having a total hip replacement, I strapped them on, and within 5 minutes I was soaring up and down the street, into Stanley Park and gliding through the trees on a perfect hot summer day. Moving around and moving forward indeed!

I can't wait to see what happens next.

Couldn't Conquer The Blue Sky

2008-06-29T12:24:00.000-07:00

This spectacular picture of an island off of Mexico was taken from 200 miles up by Astronauts on the International Space Station while traveling at 17,000 miles per hour during one of its 15 or so daily orbits.

I thought this was pretty darned cool.

Earlier this month, we had the coldest day in June since they started keeping records from back in the 1930's. The mercury dropped to all of 12 degrees for a daytime high, (which was like 3:00 PM), so in the morning it was all of 6 degrees or so. Simply put, while walking to the store a couple of weeks ago, it was so cold you could see your breath freezing in the air. Yesterday and today though? There were record high temperatures set all over the province, and BC was by far the hottest spot in Canada. It is simply perfect. Hot, sunny, no wind, and there hasn't been a cloud in the sky at all since Friday morning, nothing but perfect clear blue skies over the mountains and the ocean.

I woke up early (which is continually confounding me as why I can't sleep in on weekends, but on work days, I could quite happily sleep until noon - duh. "Paging Dr. Freud"). But I digress. Last night, I blew off a going to movie with Gino, and just stayed home and cooked up my first in a long time batch of Garlic-Chicken-Death, (which was awesome BTW). I watched some TV, had a few glasses of something, and went to bed at 11:00 PM. I'm also thinking that my lazy, crazy, swinging days of summer are behind me, considering its a long weekend, I just got paid, and it's perfect weather and all, yet I choose to eat something healthy, shave my bunions, yell at those damned kids to stay off my lawn, and then go to bed early). This morning though, I was up before 8:00 AM, and went out for a walk to the coffee place, then down to the beach and just reveled in living in the heart of the most beautiful city in North America.

I walked through my neighborhood, and was assaulted by all the smells of summer; Maple and Oak trees gave off their scent, and I was able to walk in and out of the perfume of the many different flowerbeds as I strolled by, all the while framed with the fresh-cut grass smell of the ocean which is a scant 2.5 blocks away. The city was quiet, there was no traffic on Denman St, and the sun was warm, and rays of light were lasering through the tall trees and lighting up the sidewalks with contrasts of green & golden light.

Randy's Weiner

2008-06-22T13:03:00.000-07:00

I ventured out into the wilds of far, far away Cloverdale yesterday for a final dinner with my great group of friends at Terry & Sab's place, before they move into their new house (which by all accounts is an amazing 100 year old farmhouse) and is amazingly located even farther away from the rest of us - if that is at all possible. It was great, and I always look forward to our communal gatherings. We all hug each other when we arrive and leave, we all get to kiss all the kids goodnight when it is bed time, and I really take comfort with being close to them, and being surrounded by my friends who are my family.

It was a little over 4 years ago that all of us moved them into their current place from their big rental place in Tsawwassen. (For those of you not up on your local Vancouver geography, Tsawwassen is as far south as you can get in Canada, before getting needlessly intimidated at US Customs. (Fun fact #1 about Twassassen: The Lower Mainland region is the traditional home of the Tsawwassen First Nation people, with their present-day 700-acre reserve located near the Ferry Terminal. The Tsawwassen People are one of 54 Coast Salish nations who traditionally inhabited this land for over 10,000 years). (Courtesy BritishColumbia.com)

It was a grey, rainy, and utterly shitty day 4 or so years ago when all of us descended en masse to move Terry & Sab from Tsawwassen to their new digs in Cloverdale. The rental truck was ready, the friends were ready, and the only thing that wasn't ready, was Terry & Sab. They hadn't finished packing (by a long shot) by the time we arrived. We only had the truck for that day, and had to also stop off at Terry's parent's place to drop off other big heavy things, then make the long trek to Cloverdale. Have I mentioned that they hadn't even come close to finishing packing? Suffice it to say, it was a very, VERY long day which involved multiple trips from Cloverdale, to Tsawwassen (which is approximately 400 miles as the crow flies) back and forth, jamming loose clothing, jewelry, children's toys, and various children into the moving truck. Don't worry though, we lashed the children down with packing tape and wedged them between Terry's freakishly weird large antique cabinet collection, boxes of sharp cutlery, and a few moving blankets to prevent the furniture from being scratched. (Fun Fact #2 about Tsawwassen: Tsawwassen is actually pronounced "soo-WAH-sin" but most lazy people pronounce it "too-WAH-sen").

It was only 4 years ago that we did all this, and yet so much has happened in our lives; Terry & Sab squeezed out the unholy boiling demon (and infinitely adorabole source of amusement) known as Shanie - Pie. Their middle daughter Mia, who when she was 2 weeks old, Doctors told her parents that she was severely retarded, probably blind and would never walk. Yesterday, little Mia sang the ABC song (twice) in front of everyone, to great applause. After which, she demanded more ketchup and ran around the back yard playing with the multitude of other kids who were there only to annoy us. Their oldest daughter Ella, is now a stunningly beautiful girl of 10, who is blessed with movie star good looks, and will be the bane of her father's existence when she starts getting interested in boys in a few years. Randy & Drew got married, moved to a bigger house and adopted little Jack, Bonnie & Steve moved into a newer, bigger house in Richmond, and I bought some sandals. I just found out while there yesterday that the husband of a friend of ours collapsed and died last Tuesday, while she was driving their kid to school. She got back home 20 minutes later and found him on the bathroom floor. He apparently had a heart issue, but something that unexpected really put things into perspective for all of us.

With the extraordinary changes that are happening to all of us (my sandals not withstanding), and with what is going on in the world these days, it's somewhat disconcerting that change keeps sweeping around me, and life keeps moving forward, no matter what.

But, it's equally reassuring that no matter what happens that my good friend Randy can always find the time to wrestle up any sort of joke that is scatalogical, fart related, infantile, or just completely adolescent. So, I submit photographic evidence of the above.

Stay Classy, Vancouver.

Floating Weightless On The Air

2008-06-15T22:24:00.000-07:00

(Suffer Never, Neil & Tim Finn, FINN, Rel 1995)

I stumbled across the amazing photo above which was taking on on October 3, 2007, by the HiRISE camera on NASA's Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter. This is the Earth & Moon as viewed from Mars. I thought this was pretty cool. (via boingboing, through FARK, winding up at NASA).

It's a couple of months later now, and I'm VERY impressed my recovery rate. After a problematic, (and botched slow start), in truth I was wondering if I'd ever be getting back to some sense of normalcy, the last 4 weeks or so have been fantastic! I see positive results on a weekly basis, and I'm very thankful for my doctors, my physiotherapists and that I haven't succombed to this middle age blight. It was little things that meant the bigger things like; in LA nearly 5 weeks ago, when I was in a hurry to get to a meeting and without thinking about it, was able to put on my sock with no mechanical or otherwise aids. After checking into my hotel in Santa Monica, and having a quick shower, I was naturally late, so with no thought, I bent down and slid my sock over my right foot, and only after did I realize what I'd done I smiled about it like I had just won the Olympics or something.

It was in Cannes where after using the cane for the first 5 days, I said "fuck this" and shelved it, and forced myself to start walking without depending on any additional help (read into that metaphor as you will). But, all those hours on my feet, walking to and from the Palais, to getting home and walking up and down 4 flights of stairs everyday, not to mention being on my feet 15 hours a day, I utilized muscles that needed to be awakened, and had to keep moving forward.

I'm getting stronger, faster, and feeling more human with each passing week. I can't say how glad I am about this. Six short weeks ago, I had to use an elevated toiled seat and sleep on my couch because sleeping in my bed was too painful, and scarf down massive amounts of Oxycondon (10mg God love it) just to get through the days. Now, I'm painkiller free (basically) and today was another shining example of why the sun is always shining. I spent the day cleaning out my closets and my storage locker. Countless trips up and down the stairs, countless times bending over, and picking up heavy stuff to cart down to the dumpster / recycle bins out back of my building. It took all day, and I was thrilled to do it.

Speaking of the sun shining, Vancouver has had the WORST June weather since they've been keeping records of it since 1936 or so. Can't say as I'm entirely happy about this, but things can always be worse. Today was also Father's day. For those very few of you who know me, you are familiar with that sad, sad story. I'm not getting mushy about it as whatever will be has been will be but - I was cleaning out my storage locker, and as it is jammed from floor to 10 foot ceiling with stuff, most of it is my Dad's stuff. I'd been hanging on to it for the better part of 6 years as I didn't have the heart to go through it and start getting rid of it. I started to go through it today. some stuff I tossed, a lot of it I kept

So I was basking in my good health, coupled with my obvious natural attractiveness, and I started thinking about my friends who have kids (those poor bastards) so I made a few calls to Randy & Drew, and Sab to wish them the best, and also to reinforce why I never want to have children. Sab's strained voice alone spoke volumes. Last year he met me in France, and then travelled around Spain. This year, We're going to go fishing (read: drinking) sometime in July, and I'm looking forward to spending some time with my friend. He is looking forward to spending any time away from his childen. So it's a symbiotic kind of thing.

***

Either little steps, or giant interplanetary leaps, I'm remembering my Dad, and Gino's Dad, and Randy's Dad, plus - I'm glad to be where I'm at. Wonky hips, friends, the universe, Demon Children and all.

Take Me Anywhere, I Don't Care I Don't Care

2008-06-11T23:38:00.000-07:00

I might have mentioned earlier that I've been lucky enough to have known and been with, and consequently screwed up what could have been the perfect relationship (s) with several remarkable women over the years, (I multi-tasked, but in different decades), but last night out of the blue, one of them called me and said she was in the neighborhood, and wanted to drop by for a quick visit. I was shocked, gob-smacked, and a shtickle verklempt.

"After all this time? It's been years!" I thought to myself.

But I quickly got my bearings & sprang into action; I washed some dishes, stuffed the pornography into the oven, removed the out-of-order sign on the bathroom, and doused myself in cologne. (Just kidding - my place was surprisingly porn-free, I smelled nice, and the dishes were already washed, and the apartment freshly scrubbed), and she came over and we split a bottle of wine, caught up, and had our first face-to face- since who knows when. She's happily married, doing well and that's cool, and the fact that we'd been very fond of each other for something like, oh, 16 years or so didn't dampen the fact that I was very glad to see her, as she was me.

Obviously nothing happened, and I was glad nothing happened. After all this time, someone important thought enough of me to call, drop by to catch up. With our circumstances radically different and everything - I thought that was kind of cool.

Below, is the Great Neil Finn, the Great Johnny Marr, with Sebastian Steinberg (Soul Coughing) on Bass, Ed O' Brian & Phil Selway (Radiohead, on Guitar and Drums respectively), and Lisa Germano (John Mellancamp) on Violin, just POUNDING out the Smiths Classic "There is a light that never goes out".

I thought my chance had come at last.

Baby, I'm The One Who Can

2008-06-09T12:55:00.000-07:00

It's late, and I should have read, and tabulated my notes on 2 scripts that are due tomorrow morning for a big business deal that we have been circling around, like 4 hours ago. But MY life gets in the way sometimes, and that's all there is to it.

Regardless - I'm going to offer up a quickie: The great, glorious, timeless, ageless, (and the woman who I would crawl miles though broken glass to stand in her garbage) Bonnie Raitt, performing "Love Me Like A Man", accompanied by the equally great James "Hutch" Hutchinson on acoustic bass. She's an ass-kicker and one serious MOFO of a guitar player. Here's Bonnie doing what she does best, and as an added bonus? From one who's been lucky enough to play live... there are some rare times when you are jamming, and everything just clicks... You just look at each other across the stage and just smile at each other. Look for that smile about 2:29 into this:

Hallway Sex

2008-06-04T23:36:00.000-07:00

After a long day at work, I got home a little before 9:00 PM wanting to do nothing but drink a glass of something, eat a plate of something, and just sit and be alone with my thoughts. "No computer, no blogging, no extraneous thinking" I commanded myself. Myself actually listened, and indeed I successfully had a few glasses of wine, and a very delightful dinner of a tiny lamb loin accompanied by some grilled asparagus with lemon, and a couple of baked baby potatoes marinated in olive oil and some delightful peppers & spices.

I've been getting introspective of late, and obviously there's been a lot on my mind. Work has been becoming an issue for sure. I love it, but at the same time, I really, REALLY fucking hate it. We are sleeping in separate beds at the moment. Sadly, it's not if, but more appropriately when the eventual hallway sex* will happen.

At this very moment, my heavily tattooed, impossibly good looking next door neighbor (and all around nice guy, that Bastid) Shawn, is currently fucking the brains out of his newest hot waitress girlfriend. How do I know this? Because my kitchen wall adjoins his bedroom wall, and by the sounds of it, his girlfriend is either getting the rogering of her young, 26-ish year old life, or is he's doing something Dahmer-esque). But my Money's on the former, not the latter.

** Update** she is indeed getting what could only be surmised as fuck of the decade, I know this because our windows are all open (it's a nice night here in Vancouver), and to go along with the girl's crazy orgasmic screaming, there is a woman living underneath us on the 3rd floor who has leaned her head out the window and hollered "Shut Upppppppp!" at the top of her lungs, at least twice in the last 5 minutes. I should add that I also feel somewhat unclean, and suddenly feel the need to take a ritual purification bath. God knows what I'm going to say the next time I run into him in the elevator:

"Hey Shawn, I couldn't help but hear that you were doing some brick laying last night...",

Or:

"Hey Shawn, I know that I fall asleep in front of the TV sometimes, and I hope the noise hasn't bothered you while you are fucking your girlfriend as she was screaming her head off".

Or:

"Hey Shawn, you must have been boiling at least three lemurs alive judging by the sounds coming through my wall last night. Do you have a permit to keep exotic animals?"

Or:

"Hey Shawn, does your girlfriend have any friends? Sisters? Pets?"

Regardless, I'll figure something out by tomorrow, or else I'm taking the stairs for the next week or so.

The above picture is a bunch of room keys from the fabulously scuzzy Hotel Carmel, taken during an amazing few nights I spent with an amazing person while in Santa Monica last November. I'm sure there were some annoyed neighbors as well. But hey - it's California - and they probably just turned up the volume on the TV's or stood against the wall with their ears pressed to a drinking glass. However they might have been put out? It was SO worth it. If you don't believe me? Just ask my neighbor, Shawn.

*Hallway sex: "When we were dating we used to fuck on the hood of the car. When we were engaged, we used to fuck on the kitchen table. After we got married? She'd pass by me in the hallway and say "Fuck you".

On an unrelated note - it looks like Barak Obama just won the Stanley Cup or something.

You've been a great audience. I'll be here all week. Don't go changing.

I Glued A Blender To My Face

2008-06-03T21:08:00.000-07:00

I've always loved cartoons, I grew up watching the Saturday morning specials of Bugs, Looney Toons, George of the Jungle, BatFink, The Pink Panther, Super Friends, Rocket Robin Hood, Spider Man, Rocky & Bullwinkle and many, many, many more. Once the cartoons were over on TV, it was always the Saturday paper with the pull out cartoons section (after Mom & Dad had read it) and I immersed myself into the Wizard of ID, Hagar the Horrible, For Better or for Worse, and the king of the cartoons, Peanuts. After that, I was out to ride my bike, play road hockey, or go throw rocks at girls.

Recently though, I stumbled over something which I found quite fascinating (although that 300,000 other people have seen this already, and has already been the subject of a Washington Post article - so, there goes my argument about me being on the cutting edge of things). It's called GarfieldMinusGarfield.net, and some mad genius somewhere got the bright idea to take those annoying, insipid Garfield cartoons, and erase Garfield completely, leaving his owner Jon Arbuckle to show to us all a very dark, alarming, sad, and (sometimes touching) portrayal of his goofy lovable owner. I quote from the site: "Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life? Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle. Let’s laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness in a quiet American suburb."

Yes my friends, it's all true, and weirdly addictive. I've always hated Garfield, as do a lot of comic purists (of which of course I'm not. I only dabbling noodler - albeit daily) but that this unfunny cartoon has been published for 20+ years, and making Jim Davis a shit-load of money, hasn't dampened the disaffection of cartoonists and artists all over the world. He has been decried for selling out his art for the sake of coffee mugs with cute little sayings, stick-on cat-car window puppets, t-shirts, and any other chatzke he could license out to make a quick buck ad nauseum. I know that the great, shining heroic examples of cartooning greats like Berkely Breathed and Bill Watterson especially have made Jim Davis a focal point as to why they don't merchandise, or toe the newspapers company line about shrinking comic space, or such. As a passive comic reader (and I mean VERY passive) I agree with them that this is indeed an art form and selling out for the sake of selling out is well... selling out. (Charles "Sparky" Schulz not withstanding of course, because well, he's like the Beatles).

That being said, One of garfieldminusgarfield's occasional readers is Jim Davis, who heard about the site a few months ago. The cartoonist calls the work “an inspired thing to do” and wishes to thank Walsh for enabling him to see another side of “Garfield.” (Courtesy the Washington Post). That he didn't sue was cool as well. He's still a hack, but a non-litigious hack at least.

Take a look for yourself. It's weird, and it gets quite dark, and weird. And it sort of makes sense sometimes. http://garfieldminusgarfield.net/.

I wish this was the Garfield I had growing up.

Who Knew That There Were TWO Man Eaters In San Diego?

2008-05-25T17:37:00.000-07:00

Well apparently this poor bastard found that out the hard way. It's a terrible thing that happened, but one that I think could have been avoided, and here's a few reasons why:

1) He was training for a triathlon, and was swimming in a Great White thoroughfare where seals and sea-lions were hanging out, and doing their yearly birthing / following the inflexible call of nature / repeating of the seasons type deal that has been going on for millennia.

2) People on the beach had been reporting beachings by seals & sea lions for a couple of days beforehand, which is always a sure-as-heck-fire sign that something ominous this way swims. As a matter of fact, the Fish & Rescue people were en route to take care of another beached seal when when the call came in when something else (not seal based, yet mammalian all the same) had been bitten.

3) He and his group were swimming about 150 yards off-shore early in the morning, looking suspiciously like seals from 30 meters below, when sharky feeding time is basically the breakfast smorgasboard. Great Whites patrol close to shore, on the bottom, looking for seals and such usually for the few hours after sunrise. They have spectacular eyesight, and being colored dark grey on top and white on the underside, they are quite hard to detect from either above or below, depending on your particular point of view. The reason that they patrol on the bottom is that they can spy a seal flirting around the surface and do a massive, awe-inspiring, near-vertical rush from the bottom and nail their victim with such force that often both are hurled out of the water. The shark, contrary to popular belief doesn't chow down on it's victim in a huge frenzy (that's for those other chump wannabees like blues, Reefs, or White-tipped sharks). The Great White is a surprisingly timid creature, so once the fatal bite has been dealt in its single massive onslaught, it safely circles away while it's victim bleeds to death. Thus ensuring no injuries to itself, and it basically becomes a civilized affair (as it were). Lastly, not a lot of people are eaten by white sharks. They usually take a bite (sadly that one bite can be fairly problematic though) but then realize their mistake and spit us out because with the exception of about 30.5% of Americans, we aren't fat enough, and probably don't taste all that good.

4) We look remarkably like seals from 30 meters below, while swimming in seal territory. During meal time.

5) Don't train for triathlons. Ever. So I'm going to have another beer, and maybe some Ben & Jerry's Half Baked Ice Cream, while curled up in a blanky watching some mindless TV. Mmmm TV.

6) Given my druthers, I'd take my chances with a grizzly bear any day.

.

Cannes By The Numbers

2008-05-25T12:29:00.000-07:00

1: Trip to the famous Le Pizza in the old port. It is the best pie you'll probably ever have, and as a bonus all the French people bring their ratdogs into the resturant, and sit said rat dogs right on the table and hand feed them greasy pasta & cheese. This bothers no one but the North Americans, and judging by the amount of dog-shit on the street, canine digestive systems apparently.

2: Parties attended. One was a casual thing on a $8m Euro Yacht in the old port harbour, hosted by a South African Jewelry exporter. The bathrooms, floors and counter tops were all marble, it slept 8 comfortably, and the master bedroom was bigger than my living room. The second was a massive, massive Soho House party at this amazing castle about 5 kms north of Cannes & La Bocca which was magical. Waves of the Mediterranean gently lapping the back walls of the battlements, suits of armor in every room, swordfish, lobster, caviar, accompanied with a dazzling array of Grey Goose martini's, and just one of those "it's a moment" experiences.

3: Number of times I mixed expensive champagne and butt-cheese tasting iced Yaegermeister. (Here's a tip - BAD idea). There was no puking involved, but it did lend itself to a vile headache, and bizarre dreams of me writing a bad, bad sitcom about a guy who gets out of prison based on character references from a mass murderer. Hey, I just write 'em, I shouldn't try & explain them

5,571: Miles between Vancouver & London as the crow flies on Air Canada flight 897.

5,571: Hours that Air Canada flight 897 between London & Vancouver felt like today.

3: Number of screaming children aged 6-8 months within a 1 row vicinity of seat 12F of Air Canada Flight 897.

4: Number of homicidal fantasies entertained by the occupant of seat 12F of Air Canada Flight 897 (the additional murder fantasy was for the nimrod mother of the year sitting two feet away from me, for not giving a shit that her little monster of an air-raid-siren was frequently hitting glass-breaking decibals, and who did absolutley nothing about it at great chagrin to the other passengers and/or residents of Greenland within hearing distance).

1: Number of astoundingly bizarre breast-feeding incidents witnessed on Air Canada flight 897. Sometimes you just don't want to use your spherical vision. Lets just say that with my very limited experience, one can assume that there are right and wrong ways to breastfeed in public, and it's going to take some time to reconcile that sudden, shocking visual. On a side note, I can't believe I'm saying this, but it's a actually good thing I'm not having sex anytime soon. What I witnessed today on the plane is going to take some considerable time, and possibly some intensive, long term therapy to get over.

$400K: In Euros, the Value of a White gold & diamond necklace plus matching earrings the Jewelery exporter tossed on the table of the yacht in front of us.

3: Number of crowded resturaunts that we had no way in hell of getting a table in, until my friend Melanie worked her looks, smile and charm to our advantage. It was like having a get out of jail free card. All I did was follow her around, and we were in. Stupid French.

138: Meetings taken in 12 days.

600: Approximate number of hands shaken in 12 days.

600: Approximate number of moist towelettes / liquid hand sanitizers gone through in 12 days.

2: Attempts by cab drivers to rip me off in consecutive days. In the early going of the market, my hip was sore so late at night I jumped in a cab to go from Bar 72 on La Croisette to 42 Rue Jean Jarre which is all of about 10 blocks, but sensing a quick fleece, the cabbie hid the meter, and tried to charge me 30 euros. I saw the meter before he did his sleight of hand, and it was 8 euros. As mentioned a year ago, I might of put Canada - French relations back to the dark ages. The second instance was a friend of mine got into town late, and I had the key to his apartment. I met him at Bar 72 on the Croisette (as it was late, open and central) got him and his luggage into a cab, and dropped him off on the way home. Meter read $13.30 euros, the cabbie tried to charge $40 euros saying that it was a "luggage tax". Let's just say that "Those Fuckers rued the day". Stupid French.

1: Non Cannes-related Person who's true colors I discovered, and it was (and is) a very sad thing.

2: Times I really had to bite my tongue.

1: Time I didn't but should have, but didn't, plus also learned the valuable lesson of not putting it on an mail at 2:00 AM. Oh well, I'm not perfect. I blame the French.

40: Number of business cards I had in my briefcase.

300: Approximate amount of business cards needed, which coincidentally I had left on my kitchen table at home.

27.5: Consecutive hours of being awake from yesterday waking in Cannes, to getting to Nice, flying to London, to Vancouver, then finally going to sleep in my own bed.

3.5: Hours of sleep I had tonight after all of that, before finally waking due to jet lag, weird dreams, and painkillers needed.

4: Really fantastic and old friends which I had the opportunity to see, kvetch with, laugh with, and hoover down an alarming amount of cocktails with (all for the good of the service 'Natch).

5:14AM: The precise minute that dawn broke just now, and it looks like it's going to be a beautiful day. I'm glad to be home.

A Boy Alone, So Far From Home

2008-05-23T15:02:00.000-07:00

Plus ca change, Plus c'est la meme chose.

Finally.

The Marche du Film wrapped up yesterday, and not a moment too soon. I'm exhausted, both physically and mentally. It has been a ridiculously long haul the past 2 weeks here, plus the prior month leading up to this back at home. It is midnight in Cannes, and my flight leaves in about 8 hours from now. I should be sleeping, but seeing as how I've already had two naps today, sleep for the moment is only a vague shadow that floats around the room always out of reach like a mischievous sprite.

There will be a further Cannes recap when I can get my head out of the Cote d'Azur and back to the 604 area code where it belongs, but for the moment, I was merely walking by to give a brief wave to those who have bravely stood by me, and also to those who haven't. (You know who you are all - name tags are unnecessary).

Oh, and just for the record - since they banned smoking indoors, It's only now that the French have revealed themselves to be the right proper assholes we always suspected they were.

LA Was My Lady

2008-05-08T02:01:00.000-07:00

Turn my back to the wind To catch my breath
Before I start off again
Driven on, Without a moment to spend
To pass an evening With a drink and a friend

(Rush, Time Stand Still, Hold Your Fire, Rel. 1987)

It's 2:00 AM. I just walked in the door about 30 minutes ago from my flight from Los Angeles.

Tuesday, I went to LA to screen my new movie that my company made, produced, & paid for, and showed it to the big-wigs at Sony, The Weinstein Company, Universal Pictures, Paramount, Lion's Gate etc. The idea is to lock down the all- important US deal before I leave for Cannes on Sunday. Having a US Distributor helps immensely for the foriegn sales side of things, especially before a major film market. As today I've been driving around LA like a maniac, taking meetings and such, I have no news to report about the results of the screenings (which is probably good -I hope), but certainly by tomorrow morning I should have a better idea of the mine-filled landscape I gingerly tread in on a daily basis.

Here's the quick recap:

Monday night, I had a tenants meeting in my place as I am the pro-temp leader of the rebellion. The LA trip came up very quickly the end of last week, but I had already committed my apartment as a meeting place for the remnants of the alliance who still remain trying to fight our eviction (Think of my apartment as the desert planet of Tatooine, if you will). So I couldn't bail out on everyone. In case any of the 2 people out there don't know me? I keep a somewhat messy house. Not dirty, but there are times that if I drop an oven mitt on the floor - it will remain there until I damn well decide it needs to be picked up. Anyway. For the the 2 weeks prior, I've been dealing with the new movie, and all the pre-market madness of Cannes, and housecleaning has gone the way of the Dodo. I was stressed, and had 8 complete strangers in my house, all discussing strategies on how we can save all of our houses, while I kept glancing at my watch the whole time. It came up to 8:00, and I kicked everyone out so I could pack, clean, work and get my affairs in order. (I've pulled a few 4:30 AM working shifts of the last couple of days), and still recovering from Mr. Hip Surgery, and dealing with the loss of my assistant right before one of the two major film markets on the planet. So, it goes without saying that I'm a little overloaded.

Back to Monday. I kicked everyone out. Quickly scarfed down a meal of something, packed, then I had to keep on working, and I was up until 1:15 or so. I then went to bed, and the alarm went off at 4:00 AM. Got up, showered, and was en route to YVR at 5:00 AM. Flight was at 7:00 AM, landed at LAX at 10:00, and at 10:45 AM was in the car en-route to Universal Studios to drop off the precious HDCAM master of our movie. (The only one in existence, which cost about $1.3M, that I was humping around in my laptop back pack). I limped around Universal, dropped off the master for the screening, then limped a long, LONG way back to the parkade where I thought I had parked. the problem with that is, that I've inherited my father's sense of direction, so basically I can get lost in my own living room. What this really means is that there are TWO parkades side by side on the Universal lot, and of course, I picked the wrong one that I thought my car was in. I limped up and down rows & rows of cars hopelessly pointing and clicking the remote car alarm in the key chain in hopes that I'd find my ride. Now, remember that I have a cane, a limp, a heavy backpack, and basically about 3 brain cells to rub together - it was only about 20 minutes of doing this when I looked outside, and saw the OTHER parkade adjacent to the building I was in... that I realized what a complete and total doofus I really was. So I got in the elevator, went down the main floor, walked about 10 yards to the other parkade, got in the elevator, and found my car in about 10 seconds flat. There I was with aching hip, wearing a suit, covered in sweat, limping like there was no-one's business, and all perfectly timed as I had to get to another meeting immediately following. so basically, I drove from LAX to Universal City, to Santa Monica, to West Hollywood, back to Santa Monica (because my stupid blackberry needed charging - in rush hour traffic no less, and because I'm stupid and left my charger in my hotel room) then to Beverly Hills, then to Culver City, then to Venice Beach; all within the span of 30 or so hours. I also got lost about 200 times.

This afternoon after my last meeting, I called my old friend Marty to meet for a drink before I went back to LAX. He suggested Venice. I said OK. I was in Culver City at the time, so he gave me directions to get to this nifty bar right on the beach. "Go west on Venice BLVD, and you'll get there - you'll eventually run into the ocean - it's on the left hand side, you can't miss it". "No problem - I can't miss the ocean, I live by the ocean it's the Pacific, how hard can that be?" I logically reasoned to myself, but the thing is that in LA, there was so much smog and fog and haze, that I couldn't see the position of the sun, so I had NO idea which way west was. Really. I've only encountered that a couple of times; Vancouver in March during our annual fog storm (but I know where I'm going), and in Milan where it is so polluted that they make Sunday a no-car day downtown, (but I took cabs or the metro).

What IS important, is that because I couldn't figure out which way was west, or where the ocean is, so of course, I went east. In rush hour. I wound up in Inglewood, then Compton, then Sacramento, and it wasn't until I hit Oregon that I knew I might have made a tiny oopsie. The REALLY stupid thing is when I picked up my rental car yesterday at LAX, the guy asked if I wanted to rent a portable GPS system, and it would only cost an extra $12 a day. I said no, because I can find my way around etc. Suffice it to say, it was a big,.. BIG mistake. I'm about as good at common sense & direction, as I am with women.

Now, I have only a mere 3 days to get all the work done, pack, clean, get my eviction legal papers in a row before I leave for France for 2 weeks which will be not stressful at all, especially when I get back on the 25th, and my eviction hearing dispute is on the morning of the 26th. Jet lag? We don't need no steenking jet lag!

Thank God I'm Me.

Postscript: Marty and I indeed wound up having that beer at that place by the ocean. And there were chimichangas, tequila, cervezas and of course, the hot waitress and the large, Blue Parrot. What else would you expect in LA?

If only I could make time stand still. And not just about the beers on Venice Beach either.

No Women? No Cry.

2008-05-04T18:11:00.000-07:00

I'm single. Does it tell? Above is a photo of 22 socks that have holes in them. Twenty-Two socks. That's 11 pairs that have been taking up space in my dresser for years. I never wore them obviously (Ok I might have worn a couple in a laundry-induced squeeze) but, the evidence remains. As any single male does on a Sunny Sunday afternoon, I was cleaning out my sock drawer (Who doesn't, really) and made this tragic discovery, and obviously, it got me to do some thinking.

Also, below is a brief excerpt of an email exchange between me and my friend Vlado who always emails me and yammers at me to write something if I haven't done so in a couple of days. This was from this afternoon:

Me: "...I'm debating whether to write something blog wise right now -still on the fence about it, but am working towards writing about giving up on women, and concentrating on other pursuits, like yahtzee."

Vlad: "That's funny. If only Yahtzee gave head."

Testify, Vlad. You alway bring it home.

So that's where we are peoples. It ain't self pity hour - hell, not even close to it - but there have been some recent events that have given me cause to pause and take stock of the whole sityation, female-wise.

I haven't been in an actual relationship now since 2000. Yes, you read that correctly. 8 fucking long years ago. Now I'm certainly not saying I've been living a monastic lifestyle since then, but the few times I've ventured out on that road less traveled, more often than always, I've hit some speed bumps, ran out of gas, or in retrospect in a few instances, should indeed have taken that left turn at Albuquerque.

The fact of the matter is that although my mind, soul,& intellect are (and probably always be) perpetually boy-ish and always giggling over a good fart joke, but (as recently evidenced) my body, and quite probably my mirror are telling me otherwise. All of a sudden people who match my chronometer are being referred to as "middle aged". To further enforce that, my physiotherapist's card is on the desk next to my keyboard, and I just noticed that his job title is "Physiotherapist, Adult & Older Adult Program". Nice.

Maybe it's just not the age thing, but I think the problem stems further to the mistakes I've made, and the opportunities that I missed, due to nothing more than my own avarice and short-sightedness. I've got to work on that.

I was going to go on & on about this, but I think it would do nothing but further bring attention to this issue, and also expose my repeated screw-ups with some unbelievably extraordinary women. And, goodness knows - we don't want that. The end of this, is that I'm seriously contemplating protracted, temporary retirement in every sense of the word. I think there should be no more crusing of the internets, noticing hot young somethings while driving my car to work, and I should also add that the timing of this is perfect, considering I'm in LA this week, and in the French Rivieria the next two weeks following (God knows that there are NO good looking women in either place). I love it when a plan comes together.

So, to all the women I've loved (and lost) before? I'm totally sorry, and sure as God made little green apples - I'm paying the price for it now. The Fates indeed have a sense of humour.

If Women don't work out, and I DO decide to switch teams? All I can say is at least one total bonus about being gay is that after having sex - we could talk about hockey. But that's a long, long way away my friends.

In the meantime, I'm not going to wait in vain for some female who smells nice, and is into Scrabble (or Yahtzee). Maybe she's out there? Maybe I've met her already. (I HAVE though, been spending time with a certain cute, funny, smart Audiologist - and we'll see how that goes). Regardless, chances are that I won't let you know what I come up with. (Its easier to kvetch & plotz about the things you DON'T have, capice?)

Could You Slide Your Shorts Down Please?

2008-05-01T23:18:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like a little Coen Bros, John Turturro, and The Gipsy Kings to put things into perspective.

I watched The Big Lebowski last night for the first time in a couple of years, and it totally reminded me of why I love the film business and why I still foolishly remain the film business.

Re: Sliding one's shorts down? There is going to be a rather large rogering happening in my workplace soon, and it ain't going to be pleasant either. "I'll stick it up your ass and pull the fucking trigger until it goes click". After that happens? I'm going to happily look for another line of work. (I'm thinking Peace Corps. / World Vision / a few select Convents that take men who aren't catholic and also are ok with all kinds of crazy-type hot monkey sex).

Here's something that's quite awesome.

And, even more awesome.

I'm running ragged and being ridden hard, and put away wet - and not in the good way either. I leave for Cannes in 10 days, and the workload is staggering. With my assistant leaving, I'm not only dealing with double the amount of emails & details, I've also had to find a cure for cancer at my office - and I just might have, but the aftermath is going to be ugly.

I was at the office until 8:30 PM last night, Then got home and was working until 4:30 this morning, The next week is shaping up to be the usual pre-market no-sleep madness (artwork design & deadlines), booking meetings, and physically preparing myself not only for being on my feet 15 hours a day in Cannes, but just getting there? I fly Vancouver - Montreal - London - Nice, then sit in a car for an hour to get to Cannes. I still have a hard time sitting still for more than 20 Mins, so it should be interesting nonetheless.

But, I'll get a trial travel run as I'm off to LA next Tuesday and returning Wednesday night. I'm there screening our newest film for the bigwigs at Universal, Sony, Lions Gate et al - and I'm in town for all of about 38 hours. I get back late Wednesday night, and then leave Saturday for France for 2.5 weeks thereafter.

The fun never stops, and I know this has been boring, but stay tuned for my Cannes Diaries once again. I should be able to come up with something mildly dramatic, while inhaling the French Riviera version of hospitality from snotty waiters.

Nobody fucks with with the Jesus.

Apathy Or Atrophy

2008-04-20T23:31:00.000-07:00

Yeah, it's been a while. A lot has gone on, but I'm wary of regurgitating ... Oh, what the hell, it's my blog and I can do whatever I like. If Pete Townshend wrote his best stuff when things were dreadful - then I can write my worst stuff when things are the usual amount of normal.

Bad #1:

I'm growing increasingly tired of my hip replacement (as I'm sure all of you are as well) so I'll keep this short. It appears that sometime last week, I might have partially dislocating the newest member of my anatomy - and well, that's Rule #1 in your hip classes that they tell you to explicitly avoid. It's not a for sure thing, but the sudden reliance of a cane, and massive amounts of painkillers tells me there's something wrong. Further stupidity shall be revealed when I go back to the Surgeon's office for what will no doubt be a severe dressing down from him, by me fucking up all of his good work. All I can say is: This whole thing sucks donkey balls, and gargles boiling acid. Oh, as an added bonus, my physiotherapist said that after a couple of years favoring the hip (and therefore not being able walk without a distinct penguin waddle) I've got the core strength of something approximating the Pillsbury Doughboy, and for the next 6 months I have to walk, sit, and sleep with my ass clenched. My response was "Is that when I am OUT of prison as well?" (Insert tumbleweeds / chirping crickets here). Those physiotherapists are a tough room.

Bad #2:

Work. I can't sit still for more than about 4 minutes at a time. (Reference above hip problem). I need to get up and walk around for a second. Between that and the aforementioned partial dislocation issue? I'm hoovering down massive amounts of opiate based pills at an alarming rate - which is leaving me dull, with zero short term memory, and an insatiable need for a nap in my soft, tacky, yet extremely comfy leather couch.

Bad #3:

Regarding the leather couch? (Its called the Love Couch) and no, its not because of that. It's because I bought it in Edmonton about 19 years ago, and it is quite possibly the comfiest thing on the planet. I'm also sleeping on it now. It's too painful to sleep in my big comfy king-sized bed (which I'm still trying to figure out why), so every night I have my pillow, my pillows under my leg, and off to dreamland I go. Well not really off to dreamland, because I have to wake up a few times a night in pain, and snork down more pills. Mmmm pills.

Bad #4:

All this is happening when my assistant left a week ago to do her own thing. But We are 3 weeks before Cannes. The amount of work that has to be done is staggering, and with me SO not being on the top of my game is just well, overwhelming. I feel like I'm fighting a battle that I won't win. For the first time in my life, physical limitations are becoming a reality. When I was younger, I could get a leg ripped off by a pack of rabid polar bears, and say it was just a flesh wound. Hell I could stay up all night drinking, have beer for breakfast then run a mile. Now? I'm out with my Uncle Stan (with matching canes, 'natch) and yelling at those damned kids to "Stay off my lawn!" If you don't believe me? Here's photographic proof:

Exhibit A.

This first picture was me a week before Surgery on my birthday at the end of February, which was taken at a friend's place who graciously cooked me my favorite dinner. See? Nice, healthy, normal, (Possibly even doable in dim lighting, granted, you might have had to ingest a fair amount of vodkas, but who's counting?)

Exhibit B.

This was me a about week later, two days after my operation on my first lap with my training wheels. Sure, I'm pimpin', stylin' and getting used to the "new deal". But I'm still pulling it off. I mean for God's sake; Who else has hair like that in their '40's? Really. Yahtzee!! (Blue paper hospital booties not withstanding of course).

Exhibit C.

This is me today:

God punishes with a stick. Listen to your Doctor. Eat your vegetables. Don't get into the film business.

Things Ain't Cooking...

2008-04-15T00:31:00.000-07:00

...In my Kitchen" (Weather with You, Woodface, Crowded House, Rel. 1991)

It's been quite the thing the past 2 months dealing with the health issues, the work issues, and most recently the accommodation issues.

As mentioned before, because of those sum-bitches at HollyBurn Properties and their Kool-aid drinking eviction tactics; I've become the pro-temp leader of the Rebel Alliance of my building (because it was my bright idea to get all bitchy & indignant & stick it to the man in the first place). Now, I'm wondering if I bit off more than I can chew, and truth be told, had thought about taking the buy-out & slinking out with my tail between my legs. But After I opened my big mouth, I am committed and now 12 other tenants are depending on me to make things right. So now, I've been trading emails with various Provincial BC Government MLA's, the Mayor's Office, and I'm getting interviewed by the Vancouver Province, the Globe & Mail, and will gladly whore myself out to any and all other local media who flash a rolled-up fiver, and stuff it into my G-string. If that doesn't work? Then I plan to get in touch with the Dalai Lama, and then Bono. (Our story also got featured in the West End Rental Association 's splinter blog called Renters At Risk.

Work? Well, this recovery thing has really been kicking my ass (no pun intended) and even after having 4 weeks off, I think I could have used another 2 to get my head, hip, & ass together, because right now, it just isn't. Just so you know - my incision for my hip? They went through my ass as opposed to going through the thigh, because as it seems the scar is smaller and going through the ass, they don't have to disconnect all the muscles & tendons like they would have the thigh route. That's all fine and all? But when it comes to sitting (which I do at the office, or at home, or in my car) or more importantly sleeping? It's a little problematic even after 5.5 weeks later. But anyway - we all have bigger fish to fry. I also hear that Grunions are especially tasty. Mmm fried Grunions.

I've got the Cannes Film Festival in about 3.5 weeks to prepare for, and my assistant just quit to do her own thing, so I'm hamstrung with the loss of her at the worst possible time, and quite possibly losing my own drive & determination. However, I will tell you that it is almost 1:00 AM and I'm up repeatedly calling the lady in charge of screenings at the Cannes Market (they're 9 hours ahead) because they boned me on my screening times for my new world premiere movie. If my screening doesn't go well? I'm fucked. As yet, she's not answering her phone (it's 9:50 AM in the south of France, so I'm going to keep calling as long as the opiates let me sound at least somewhat like I'm not some ordinary junkie asshole who is whacked out on Oxycondon, instead, I'm a Film Selling junkie asshole who is whacked out on Oxycondon). Seriously, I'm in some pain, and I'm gulping down more morphine than what was anticipated at the moment. I figure a glass of red wine on top of that? And I will be unintelligible - well even more so to the French. Bastards.

Back to the Cannes Marche? I called 30 minutes ago, and they told me to call back now. So I just called, and they told me to call back in 30 minutes. Chances are it's going to happen again during the course of this evening. It's a good thing that I've already paid these fuckers $60,000 for their fine service. Actually? I retract that. They're just being French. Cute little scamps.

So, that's the hell that is my life. Fine & Dandy. But now let's talk about Crowded House for a second.

I was doing some thinking though about the Weather With You song. It's nice and all, but what had been going through my head all night was another song off the same album (Woodface - I HIGHLY recommend it. And if you don't already own it? You must be some sort of Philistine / Caveman / Republican / Republican-Nazi /Hybrid).

Italian Plastic is the song. It starts a little slow and such, but when it hits the triumphant chorus, you can't help but to want to to roll over and greet her with a morning-breath kiss, it would also be the perfect song to crank loudly in the car going for a weekend drive with her up the coast on a sunny Sunday afternoon, with her hand on my leg, after spending a perfect Saturday night together, after the perfect, greasy Sunday morning breakfast.

When you wake up with me - I'll be your glass of water. Uh Huh!

Italian Plastic - Crowded House

Fate, It Seems, Is Not Without A Sense Of Humour

2008-04-13T00:09:00.000-07:00

Well, everything is reverting back to the long overdue idiocy which I'd been expecting. I had a sweet ride there for a while, but I knew it had to end.

Sure, I had a hip replacement. Sure, there was that pesky pneumonia thing. Sure, there was that nutty pulmonary embolism thing. Sure there is that walking badly with no sleep constant pain thing. Sure, there is my highly stressful, yet ultimately low-return job that has taken up the lion's share of my life, while destroying at least one relationship red-handed, and was probably suspect for another. Sure. No problemo.

I am though, comfortable with the murky waters in which I choose to swim.

And then last Thursday, I got evicted. Well not just me, but 19 other tenants as well.

The reason is that Vancouver is in the midst of the biggest rental boom in recent history, and all the people that were singled out (for mild renovations which was a new tub and doing the floors - so you must vacate - permanently) were folks who had been here for at least 2 years. Taking me for an example, they've realized that if I moved out of my large, spacious, sunny, quiet top-floor-corner suit, (which is 1 block off Denman St., 1 block away from Stanley Park, and 2 blocks from the beach) then they could charge up to $500/ month more from some poor sap for the same living privileges (there's a waiting list for my building - has been for months). As the Provincial Government caps rent increases at 4% annually, and as I've been here over 4 years my landlords did the math (as they did for the other 19 residents who got axed) and got smart about it and decided to try and evict us all en masse. Well that's why we are capped at 4% increases. We were lucky to be here before the housing boom - and now they are trying to evict us for more profit. Hollyburn Properties are arguably the single biggest rental property landowner in Vancouver. Housing purchases and rentals have been skyrocketing here for the past 2 years, all in no part due to the upcoming Olympics, and a small part of me was thinking this was going to happen. Well, it happened. Bastids.

What my property company is doing is just plain wrong. I've been on the phone with the Government of BC Landlord & Rental Tenancy act, and I do have some (dwindling) options. So I decided to act on them: In the space of 48 short hours I've gone from the single, convalescing gimp-boy, to crusading activist. I've talked to the government, talked to the head of the West End Tenants Association, emailed both the Vancouver Sun & Province Newspapers, printed off 50 notices to meet at this restaurant tomorrow at 1:00 PM for all the tenants, taped notices in the elevator, left flyers on every car window in the parking lot, and well, have either become Luke Skywalker, or Che Guevara. (Hopefully it will work out like the former - not the latter). I've become the head of a rebellion - it would be much cooler if I had a lightsabre. Chicks dig lightsabres.

To be honest? I'm not equipped to be doing all of this, nor do I want to - but someone had to step up and take care of things, so it looks like I'm the patsy. For better or worse - this is my home. No one is going to uproot my life into a disaster except for me, and also at the time & place of my choosing, not theirs. Ok, here's the other side of this issue: There are 3 senior citizens in my building who have been living here for at least 20 years, they are all on pensions and are all over the age of 65. There is a guy named Brad who has AIDS who has been here for 7 years who lives on disability and carries around a gym bag full of medicine every time he has to leave his apartment. They want to raise Brads rent from $767 to $1000. Brad and the seniors face some real problems and challenges. Someone has to help these people. If not me then who? If not now, when?

Lastly - on a personal note - when all this nonsense is said & done? I'm going to look for a girlfriend. I figure that should be a very easy thing to accomplish. And why not? Everything else this year has been sweet as Tupelo Honey thus far. It should be really simple to do, and I anticipate no difficulties whatsoever.

The Drugs Don't Work

2008-04-09T02:59:00.000-07:00

"Wherever you are, it's 3:00 AM, and I'm awake." (Neil Finn, One Nil, Rel. 2001)

Sure enough. It is indeed 3:00 AM, and sadly, the drugs aren't working. After inhaling my daily dose of opiates, I crawled into bed and they lasted for exactly how long they were supposed to last, which is about 3 hours after I took them, the pain came back, and obviously there is enough of the other stuff rattling around my noodle where sleep isn't an option.

Mmmm Oxycodone. (Mother. Teacher. Secret Lover). Just one of the iffy side effects of this wonder drug though, is that it will either knock you out cold, or it will just zap you out enough to sort of float around in a morphine induced haze for a couple of hours so that it takes the edge off whatever pain you are in, but fail to go the distance sleep-wise. (However, I have had some interesting pharmaceutically-induced conversations with myself about the merits of chocolate, or striped basketballs, etc.) Something else annoying is that with anything opiate-based, an unfortunate by-product is some rather creepy night sweats. Only from the neck up mind you, but it is enough that it wakes me up with a startling amount of regularity. (Speaking of regularity, I don't think I need to go into side effect #3 either).

All in all? Drugs however nifty they are - I just don't get the whole addiction to prescription drugs thing. There's got to be a better way to get one's rocks off. Now don't get me wrong - there's nothing like a little escape from reality now & then - but no matter how inviting I think it would be to invite some friends over and gunning down 7 or 8 Red Bulls, and then popping some Tylenol 3's would be a great fix from the daily grind... I can't see this as a regular, fun way to enjoy oneself irresponsibly, I could probably come up with something much more entertaining.

It could also be that with the insane amount of medications I've had to ingest / inject over the past 5 weeks, that if my liver was biopsied, the lab would probably register me with the Guinness Book of World Records. What it really boils down to is that it's 3:34 AM. I'm wide awake.It's so quiet. No traffic noise, or anything from the outside world at all. My window's are open and it's dead silence outside, and as an added bonus - I've got the hiccups.

So, it's either go back to bed and try and get some sleep for another 3 hours, or sadly, I'm leaning towards jumping in the shower and going to the office to try to scale the mountain of work that has accumulated over the last 4 weeks of my absence. I also think that is the real reason I can't sleep, and why am sitting in front of my computer at some ungodly hour of the morning.

I think this is going to be the last time I go in depth into the medical coming's & goings of what's been going on. I am certainly sick and tired of hearing, reading, and writing about it, as I am sure you are (all 4 of you).

So for the next time? I'm thinking international intrigue, flowers, kittens, and that week when my singer punched an unconscious biker in front of his biker crew, after my drummer had already beaten him senseless.

Good times.

Paper Airplanes

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It's Fading

I've Got Troubles, But Not Today

Holy Shit. It's Christmas

How Much Does Your Life Weigh?

When Something's Gone

November? Fin.

Catherine Wheels

What Was I Thinking When I Let Go Of You?

Who Threw That Stone?

Getting The Message Out

The Enemy Of My Jet Lag Is My Friend

Just Breathe

Backward

Forward

ANVIL!

Labour Days (The End Of Summer)

Where The Wild Thing Was

A Blank Piece Of Paper On The Top Of My Head

Dump

Intermission

It Certainly Was A Beautiful Day

Rain Down On Him

Are You Alright?

Duel

One Thing Turns To Another

Impossible Germany

Come Fly With Me

The Freedom Leg Bag

What The Hell Is An Aluminum Falcon?

Patience & Time

Keep The Car Running

Holy Shit. It's Christmas

The Shortest Day Of The Year

And Every Evening When He Gets Home

Change? Oh, Please

Punched In The Face

Going To California

The Ashtray Said I've Been Up All Night

PS22 (Throw Your Arms Around Them)

The First Garbage Truck Of Fall

That's Good Enough For Now

Feel, Feel It Grow

Welcome To The Movie Business

You'd Better Turn That Frown Upside Down

These Are The Sort Of Windows Faces Look In At

Directions For Idiots

The Stroke Dog

From A Better Vanished Time

Save Me A Saturday Night

Somebody Get Me A Doctor

Balance

Summertime Think It Was June

The World Is Just Awesome

Closer To The Liquor & Whores & Checkerboard Floors

Moving Around, Moving Forward

Couldn't Conquer The Blue Sky

Randy's Weiner

Floating Weightless On The Air

Take Me Anywhere, I Don't Care I Don't Care

Baby, I'm The One Who Can

Hallway Sex

I Glued A Blender To My Face

Who Knew That There Were TWO Man Eaters In San Diego?

Cannes By The Numbers

A Boy Alone, So Far From Home

LA Was My Lady

No Women? No Cry.

Could You Slide Your Shorts Down Please?

Apathy Or Atrophy

Things Ain't Cooking...

Fate, It Seems, Is Not Without A Sense Of Humour

The Drugs Don't Work

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