london ain't growin'

The polls are in!

My beard currently sits at 70% positivity rate, up from it's previous 45% in London, Ontario.

You see, I don't think the masses of London know what beards are all about yet, because it's been getting great reviews here in Toronto. Words like "becoming" and "masculine" have been drawn from numerous compliments from friends and strangers alike.

I apologize if this beard has been getting too much attention on this blog as of lately, it's just that it's a big deal to me. This is the first beard I've ever had. I've been dreaming of these days since grade 9, sitting in the cafeteria looking at my friends beards, dreaming of hairier days. Dan and I talk about beards for at least an hour a day, every day. They're fascinating to me, and I'm taking my first baby steps at it....

...and still growing strong. To grow or not to grow? That is the question.

the best feeling

Finally, after about two years of searching, I found my old ipod.

I can't remember the last time I listened to it, but it's been a long time. I was probably landscaping someones yard the last use. I'm eager to see what's even on that thing because I have little memory of it. All I remember is a lot of John Coltrane, Jimi Hendrix, Howlin' Wolf, and Miles Davis. I also had a fine collection of Nina Simone records as well, which is great because I can't find any of the ones I bought. Also some good Eric B and Rakim.

Come to think of it, that was one black-ass ipod.

No Need To Read This Next Bit

We're back in town

London that is. After leaving Halifax, we thought we might as well drive all the way home, all at once. 27 hours, three caffeinated drinks, four tanks of gas, and more fast food than I'd like to mention later, and we're home. The thing about the energy drinks is that I couldn't get to sleep once my driving shift of four hours was up, so I never slept. I can distinctly recall driving through the GTA around sunup, barely there. My body shut down completely, while leaving me with enough energy to understand whether I was going to crash into another vehicle or not.
The funny thing was, I didn't sleep for most of the day once arriving home. I still haven't fully recovered from that night. Remind me to tell you a funny moose story later as well...

The Wooden Sky

The same night we arrived, we went to go see The Wooden Sky perform in Paterson's backyard. Awesome show. Not only did we get to drink Olde E for the first time in months, we saw a ton of old friends and met a lot of great people. I even saw the boys from my old band The Dustbowl Refugees, which I'll detail at a later date. Check TWS out for sure. Super psyched on their new record.

Golf, Big Time

Myself and the boys went golfing yesterday in St. Catherines. It was Dan's first game and he killed it. Well done my man. It pissed rain nearly the entire time, but we played anyway. Darcy and I both had flying-club incidents, which caused me to "peek" in laughter (which means it doesn't get any louder). I won closest to the pin on a hole, which is always nice. My prize money payed for gas on the way home. Dan and I also cleaned up in the prize draws, taking home the majority of the gifts. I fucking love golf. Alright? I LOVE IT.

Family Time

It's quite rare for me to have any quality time with my family when I come home. I'm usually rehearsing, eating at King's Inn Diner, visiting friends, attending whatever event, or curing a hangover. There's really not enough hours in the day to see everyone. Luckily for this weeks visit, I have plenty of time. Made tortellini prima vera for dad, visiting gram for the first time in a dogs age, made bbq'd corn salad and butter chicken for my ladies, and driving around town with my sister listening to Jackson mix tapes. Awesome.

Retro

By god, was that ever an interesting night.

The Heart

I've mentioned it a hundred times over: I have a bum ticker. It's not all that bad, it just gives me shit every once in a while. There's nothing like the feeling your palpitating heart is about to explode out of your chest. I'd arranged to have an Electrocardiogram with my dad about a week ago, which took place this morning. Everything looked pretty normal, save for my pulse, which pumps around 89 beats per minute, sitting down. Later this afternoon I have an appointment with a cardiologist to have a 48 hour heart monitor installed onto my chest. This is funny to me, considering we have a show to play tomorrow night, and I plan to beat the living shit out of my drums. Hopefully it doesn't run out of batteries and die like the last one. Electrodes are so much fun.

The Beard

I've never heard so many mixed reviews about anything. My beard has hit an all time record in length. Some people think it's handsome, others think it's burly and and out of character. Even last night, two ex-girlfriends of two years gave me polar-opposite reviews. What the hell? Maybe it was too radical a change for some and they're just not used to it. Either way, I'm going to keep it for at least another week I think. At least until I can't take the ridicule.

Haircut

I got a haircut yesterday. I proper haircut. One that I didn't do. My hair was a little pissed I think. I can't remember the last haircut I got professionally. However, it did feel good to get my head rubbed by some cute 'dresser. I think I'm going to marry a hair stylist just so I can get my head rubbed every once in a while. When I was young, my mom would brush my hair to get me to sleep. There's something about that brush that just conks me out. Looks good though.

Travel Tick

My career, no matter what it eventually may be, will not be boring by a long shot. Even as I sat in the waiting room today, my skin crawled with the notion of a desk job. The kind of job where the only things that excite you throughout the day are the fan turning on and off, lunch breaks, having to take a piss, and maybe the dirty magazine you keep in your filing cabinet. No thanks, not for me.
Even after being home for only days after traveling, I want back out. The thrills were all there on this trip: the strangers, the scrounging, the filth, the distance. I travel quite a bit for someone my age, only because I allow myself to. I have no sympathy for those who are jealous, because I have no more opportunity than the next person. Initiative is what separates the do'ers from the dreamers. All it takes is some simple planning, some vision, some money, and you're off. Don't wait for your friends to finish three years of school, just go get it.

On that note, I have to go clean the trailer. In two hours I'll be a robot.

don't forget to tweet

To be honest, I'd love nothing more than to get into Twitter.

The whole idea excites me.

I know many people who use it.

I think my account would be hilarious.

However, I can't find any good reason to do it. It's just another thing that I'd get people to visit (not that I encourage visits to this blog, ever), which would also suck another thirty minutes out of my already busy days.

That, and Schmitter on Twitter is already taken.

... but should I?

happy hick day

To commemorate last night's fight, I took it upon myself to make my own UFC mug shot. Apparently it was a good match. I insisted on sitting in the hotel instead.
Funny? I thought it was pretty good. Gotta love that Mirror in Photo Booth.

I'm still not quite sure where I sit on the whole UFC thing. I fully understand the appeal of dudes pounding the shit out of each other. This stuff is huge out here (and in any other small town where there's nothing else to do but gamble and smoke). However, to me it's nothing more than one big advertisement. The fights really only last minutes, sometimes seconds. Yet the visual onslaught of ads shoved in your face for hours is enough to kill anyone's buzz.

Budweiser, Chevy trucks, Monster, Coors, Ford, Bud Light, Creatine, Harley Davidson, Sports Illustrated, Maxim, Burger King. There should be an epileptic disclaimer before these events.

But hey, at least it's better than the alternative. At least it's real.

mizokami san

Have you ever seen an ear do this?

Tomo dropped this bomb on us a couple months back, and nobody was ready.


"Doesn't it look like a dumpling?"

That's as close as you get to me laughing without rolling on the floor.

rebel yell

I love this thing.

When I graduated grade eight, my parents bought me the Canon Rebel G. It was my first camera, save for a few junky disposables. Since then I've used it at least once a month.

It loads film like a dream. The auto focus is still lightning fast. The pop-up flash impresses girls. I've never had a bad exposure (unless due to my manual settings) in all it's years of use. It works as good as the day I got it. It's a very meat and potatoes camera; not very flashy looking, no great features, just a straight up camera.

The sounds it makes sound like it's really getting things done. When you press that shutter button down it really sounds like you've just chopped wood. If it were a household appliance, it would be a washing machine, because as soon as you press go, you know some shit just went down.

I've owned many different cameras in my day, but this one consistently impresses me. I've brought it on every major trip. Whenever I need a reliable camera for a shoot (or multiples), this one is always included in the mix. Even my digital SLR can't stand up to it. I love it so much, I own two. The other one is black. BK, you can have it back whenever you want.

They used to run for about $900 back in the day, but you could probably get yourself the full deal nowadays for around $150. If you're a film enthusiast, I highly recommend this beauty.

Quik Note

scratch what I said earlier today about my phone.

she's been working like a dream since arriving at Signal Hill (no pun intended) here in St. Johns, Newfoundland.

Call and text away my pretties.

signed, east.

True Patriot Love

Happy Canada Day, my friends.

Having skimmed through my usual blog roll earlier this evening, I thought it necessary to at least brush upon the fact that it's Canada Day. The only thing I've missed mentioning while on tour is the passing of Michael Jackson, but that topic deserves some planning, which I'll get to.

But really, etiquette and tact aside: I love this fucking country.

For starters, I should mention that I've never really understood the large amount of pride that one puts into it's own nation. You'll never see me defending Canada in fatigues, nor will you see the red maple leaf stained permanently on my arm. I've always thought that priding oneself on the soil you were born on was more of an elementary idea, and that goes for every nation. There's not a country on this planet that I'd pronounce any pride from. However, I know that I enjoy living here.

I won't go on about how much I love the Rockies or Double-Double's, but rather what is contained within our borders, figuratively speaking. Our culture (and trust me, we have one) is such an incredibly fragile thing. It really only hangs by a few, strong threads. Our passive nature as a nation really allows us to legitimately lollygag around almost any situation, and I love that. The manners, the courtesy, the respect for one another: it's all quite remarkable.

It's only when you step outside of this nation that you realize how unique our culture really is. And you need not travel too far: minutes south of any Canadian border lies an accent you'd swear was as foreign to you as China. Having traveled across this country many times, under very different circumstances, I can tell you that Canadian culture is not too hard to find. All you really need is an empty stomach (to crave the food), a vehicle and destination (for the sights), some knowledge of the French language (because you're supposed to), and an old couple to talk to (because that's where the straight Canadian goods lie, largely).

I could just as easily go on about how many problems we have in this country, but I'll leave that for another day. Because who likes to get shit on when it's their birthday?

And besides, I got to see Joel Plaskett play last night for free in St. Johns, New Brunswick, so how hard can life here be?

I really want to revise this, but I'm tired from driving across the country. I'm going to bed, and wouldn't have it any other way.

Happy Birthday Canada.

changes to my mind

Real quick note:

The majority of my writing will be passed over to Spreken Ze Talk.

Funny tour stories for the most part.

I'll probably drop off some thoughts here as well the odd time.

See you there!