new blog business

Friends! Alert!

As of tomorrow I will stick to the Spreken Ze Talk blog for the three week period of my trip through Eastern Europe.

I will do my very best to narrate, humor, and inform you on what's happening. Pictures will also be uploaded as much as possible. I guess it all really depends on the internet connections I come across.

Either way, I hope you join me.

UPDATED - move it or use it

For starters, that's my third and newest cast. Well, it's a splint for arguments sake. I'm incredibly happy about this, and why? It's removable! Velcro, son. It also makes me look like a stormtrooper. Gone are the dark ages of bag-shower-dickhead. I can actually now wash myself with two hands like a big boy. The best part about this is that I'll be able to remove it whenever I please for my trip, within reason. I don't want to royally mangle my hand by leaving it off too long and cause another alignment problem, which lead to the most painful medical procedure I've ever endured. I won't go into that for the sake of those reading who choose not to see their lunches for a second time.

On top of all that, I think I'm inches away from pneumonia again, which is funny because it made me realize something.
Every new years eve I'll attempt to forecast what the theme for the year will be. Two years ago was the Year of Disguise, last year was the S.H.I.T. acronym, and this year is Personal Injury! I might as well roll with all these defects because it's actually quite comedic from my point of view. But enough about that.

As I mentioned earlier in the week, I will be participating in the annual CN Tower stair climb tomorrow. Quite frankly, I haven't thought about my vacation hardly at all because my mind and body have been fixated on this ridiculous personal challenge. I have been exercising my legs and lungs constantly for the past two weeks and, apparently to some, have lost some weight. I thought that was due to not wanting to eat because of my hand, but who knows.

To me, this climb isn't about pandas at all. I can guarantee you I'll never use that last sentence ever again for as long as I live. But sure, the money raised (thanks DP and Flip') is for a good cause, yet I approach it a lot more personally. In the end they give you your elapsed time and you get to see either how in shape you are from walking and exercising daily, or how unhealthy you are from drinking Olde E, eating Starbucks food, smoking casually on the stoop, a ten pound weight increase, and inadvertently huffing oil paint fumes on a daily basis.

Seeing as this is my fourth straight climb (past times include 22:41, 18:13, and 26:02 minutes), it's anyones guess what will happen. If I bomb I'll just blaming it on being sick because I currently have no lung capacity. I'll post my time on this blog tomorrow morning before my flight leaves. Predictions are welcome. I'm going to ballsilly (not a real word) predict 25:00 minutes.


one day later....And that kids is how you climb a fucking tower. Turns out I'm not so out of shape after all.
Kudos to friend and karaoke all-star John Ainey for pulling together an admirable time of a little more than 16 minutes.

easter photoboothage

I had my Mac on me last weekend and clearly had to have a Photo Booth session right at the dinner table. I think my sister loves it the most, and I can usually tell because she ends up crying from laughter. Here are some highlights.

Aunt Lo, rocking the Bulge setting. My personal favorite.

That's Bikes dog, Mana. The cutest half-dog half-rabbit ever.

That's my mom and her gigantic sagging tit. I think we were going for something else initially but I couldn't stop laughing at her asymmetrical chest.

That's my sister. Laye, don't say a damn word.

That's my grandma Dorothy. She's in her 80's and still manages to be funnier than most of my friends.

Gram, again. This time with icing on her face, but she doesn't give a fuck.

The ladies of my life.

picture sifting

I'm currently sitting on my old PC here in London and thought it would be funny to search through my received files from the past few years. Some of the stuff was just too good to not share, so here's what I'm talking about:
That's Adam Green. Him and his babe wife own The Little Red Roaster. He is one of the only people I've ever met that I would truly call a character. He is instantly quotable and never ceases to make me laugh. I could tell you a hundred stories, but I won't.

That would be Dan and I sitting in the Melbourne airport during one of the longest layovers I've ever experienced. That night we decided it would be unwise to stay in a hotel when we could just spend the night in the terminal. Looking back, I'm wishing we did. By that point I hadn't slept in over two days. I spent the night safeguarding our gear and writing in my journal while the others attempted to sleep. I can never sleep when there's the risk of losing my belongings, especially my Thai fisherman's pants. Check that shit out!That was taken at the second-last Joe Schuster Way Halloween party. I've been going to those for years and sadly they just got too crazy and were forced to discontinue them. But it was nice to party with Mario, Whoopie Cushion and Emily Rose. That party always had the best costumes.
Way back when, Hue was a circus. When we'd play live it wasn't uncommon for each member to play every instrument on stage during different songs. It was so, so hectic between songs because everyone would change positions and end up playing something entirely different from the last song. I can be seen here playing the bass, which was always a fucking pleasure.

That is Harrison Ford in a speedo. I never really cared to delete it from my received files, probably because it makes me laugh every time I see it.
This photo above was taken two years ago on the patio of CTO. If you haven't already figured it out, that is my gay twin, and his name is Andrew. I was freaking out. Nobody there could believe what they were seeing, and neither could I. The entire night felt like a segment from A Christmas Carol.
This man is a famous Fijian, at least to me. We stayed on the island of Mana and noticed this man strutting around with his huge gut, just building stuff and throwing down huge Fiji-Life style naps (that's when you lift your t-shirt above your belly to relieve some heat, and it only looks cool on them so don't try it)
Again, another crazy Hue lineup of musicians. Mary-Beth is probably the most talented musician I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Her accomplishments trump most seasoned orchestra players, and she's not even 30. Before she played for ex-president Bush, she was recording with us in the studio and the CIA would call her periodically for security checks. That was a trip.
That's my friend Ferris rocking the Indian look so hard with that hand drum.
That's my friend Stephen. He is the most asian person I know and also happens to be a super genius (don't those usually go hand in hand anyway?). He once proved to me that 1+1 does not equal 2. Maybe I'll call him up and ask some day how this is so. He likes history.
That's Gary. Bike and I found Gary in a Wal-Mart parking lot. He was trying to cross the road and held up traffic until we scooped him up and took him home. Later that day we did our research, built a habitat, and fed him crickets. His tongue was long and lethal. In fact, I used to have nightmares that Gary would grow ten times his size and suck my eyeballs out of my head with his incredibly long tongue. He changed color with mood and would always try to escape from his tank, and he usually succeeded. He would climb curtains and the fake trees in my brothers Africa-themed bedroom. Gary is now dead and resides in Dans freezer awaiting a proper burial. Peace out Gare-bear.

I am a business

So I decided to get my taxes done yesterday. Nearing the end of the session at H&R Block (which was terribly located on the fifth floor of The Bay near the kids clothing section, and they only told me the address of the building), I was asked if I had any other source of income. I bit the bullet and reluctantly said that I was an artist (and not because of tax evasion purposes). After a bunch of questions and fine print reading, I qualified to be a small business owner!

In reality it's probably not all that cool, but this will definitely be beneficial for me seeing as I can claim all of my material expenses on my income tax returns. And that is a lot of money. I roughly estimated that over one thousand was spent within the last eight months. But, you have to give to get I guess.

I'm really looking forward to this. I've always enjoyed personal banking, not business. I still go to my branch to pay my bills and make transactions. In fact, I've never even attempted online banking before. There's something about the tangible exchange of money that just feels more sound in my mind, and it gets me out of the house. Does this mean I have to starting wearing my suits? Sweet! I fucking love wearing suits.

if this post is riddled with spelling mistakes, please cut me some slack. it was done one-handed

plaster sandwich

Well, I have since had an upgrade and it is surely more stable than the last. This addition has made me realize many things, some of which I will now go into detail about.

. It has been a very interesting learning curve so far. Actually, I should say re-learning curve. I am slowly realizing what I can and cannot perform with my right hand. For instance, these are the things you wouldn't think would be difficult, but actually are: grinding pepper, getting your wallet out of jeans, tying shoelaces, grating cheese, all bathroom activities, shaking hands, answering the phone, writing, typing, riding a bike and holding pretty much anything.

. It's really warm. I never think to wear gloves when it's cold, (not that a glove would ever fit). I can even avoid using oven mits at times.

. It is relatively bad ass. People really second look when they see a busted hand protruding from a jacket sleeve. It's just among one of those cool things to have in your hands when walking. The list also includes: hot dogs, a wreath, a coffee, a box of books, a bag of fruit, a christmas tree, a tripod, etc. Either that, or they think I'm an idiot.

. If I had a lady throughout the duration of this cast we would probably have lots of sex. Lots and lots. That's something I would enjoy doing with my time instead of fumbling with paint brushes and roaming around College Park. Nothing like the mambo to take your mind off things.

. Showering is becoming less difficult. Seeing as I can't get my cast wet, I have to do whatever it takes to keep it dry, even if it means asking my Coll-Bev lovers to hoard empty sleeves for me. The only really difficult thing about showering is dispensing soap. How is it done with one hand? Think about how you'd do it. I'll leave you with that image.

. Since I'm not working, I've been forced to conjure up some get-rich-quick schemes. Around my place they call that "The Big Dirty". I always find a way to make giant sums of money really fast, and it pisses off my brother to all hell. He'll work for three months and I'll sell two paintings in a day. Sometimes that horseshoe gets uncomfortable in my ass.

. Half of my shirts don't fit because I can't get my arm through the sleeve.

. The cast will probably affect my stair climb later next week. I use my hands a lot throughout the event when grabbing the rails. Oh! Also, I'm accepting pledges and I'm $25 away from reaching my goal, so if you like to donate to the cause just drop me a line. I'll go into detail about this day later this week.


All in all, this cast has turned out to be a very interesting ride so far. I've never had something so constricting attached to my body for so long, except for that time in Vegas, but that's a whole other story. Every morning I wake up and it just feels like it was all a dream, until I attempt to wiggle my fingers. I guess distance makes the hand grow stronger.

Open Apology - Lee's Palace

Hey friends,

As you may or may not have heard, last week I fell on my hand and managed to fractured and temporary misaligned my fifth metacarpal bone in my right hand (the one that went wee wee all the way home). This has disabled me from doing much of anything, including playing the drums. Believe me when I say I tried everything possible to get that hand to work, but the plaster cast I'm wearing allows no wrist flexibility and only the use of three fingers.

With great regret, we've been forced to cancel this Fridays show at Lee's Palace. We considered many other options, but felt this venue deserved a proper show for a proper crowd. I even considered playing the songs differently using a different grip, but this would strongly compromise the precision and execution of the songs. It takes a whole lot for us to cancel a show. In fact, I believe this our first cancellation. Either way, I'm personally sorry and can't wait to get back on the stage with the boys.
Who knows, maybe I'll end up like that kid who broke his arm in Rookie of the Year, but instead of throwing incredible fastballs, I'll be able to drum like Buddy Rich, sans the attitude.

Be well.

race to sleep

On any given day I couldn't care less about telling stories about dreams, or hearing about peoples dreams. It's never really interested me, and why should it? It never happened, and probably never will. Although some dreams are just hilarious, why should other people care about my or your subconscious? This is probably the same reason why I never read fiction novels. I crave knowledge, and although I have a very vivid imagination, I don't really put a lot of interest into things that will never occur. Is that lame? Maybe.

Well, today is not one of those days because I have two dreams I simply have to get off my chest.

The other night I dreamt that I was walking the streets with Bike. It was later in the evening and we were just out for a stroll. I noticed one woman really checking me out and following us. This woman looked exactly like Jen from Hells Kitchen.
Yes, that Jen. Except she was a TTC employee and on her name tag it read CLING. I have no idea what that means, but moving along. We talked and she was being really touchy and inappropriate. I threatened to call the TTC office and report her behavior, but she was persistent. We began walking quickly through some mall and she was running after us! I was honestly terrified. We thought we'd lost her in some backyard, until I got smoked in the head by a can of Five-Alive. It was CLING, once again.
The strangest part about this dream wasn't really about sex-hungry TTC employees, but rather citrus fruit. Every time we thought we'd outrun her, I was assaulted by a flying piece of citrus fruit. That is the jist of that dream.

Now, the next dream is more of a personal nightmare. Some very close friends, especially my band, know about this dream because it scares the shit out of me. I have it about once a month and it never gets any better. I dream that my drums slide away from me while performing in front of large groups of people.

Basically, try to imagine playing the drums on top of a sheet of ice and every time you hit something it slides further and further away from you. Not only this, but everything is at really strange heights. Cymbals will be nearly eight feet in the air and my snare drum will be five feet to the left. I never play my drum kit, and something terrible always happens. During last nights dream I just gave up during a performance and decided sing a solo version of Oh Come All Ye Faithful acapella, except with tonnes of delay on my vocals, which sounded terrible and nobody clapped.

I wish I could express how much I hate these dreams. The funny thing is, I've experienced things like this when playing in reality. I remember when opening for The Spades last year, my kick drum (the big one) slid around the stage to the point where I couldn't even produce sound from it because it wasn't attached to the pedal. I would have to pull this 50-pound beast back to me at every chance, even mid-song.
And that is that.

bondark presents

Just a little note saying I've updated my Flickr account with some stuff I shot at Yellowstone over the summer. Keep in mind, it's all digital black and white. I'll begin printing my film when I win the lottery.

it's a wrap

Once the swelling subsided, I knew something wasn't feeling right. My pinky finger was all twisted and my knuckle had been clearly pushed backwards.
After checking into emerge I awaited to hear my name called. It's really based on priority, so I understood why I was forced to wait three hours just to see somebody. I spent my time mainly talking to this woman, as well as eavesdropping on the police that were questioning her. Poor thing.

I was also quite amused at how many different places I was asked to wait throughout the hospital. I think it topped off somewhere between nine or ten different locations. At one point I was asked to stand in the middle of the hallway, conveniently located in front of a room where a fat naked Samoan guy (I think everyone is Samoan) was laying in bed. Deelish.
I then had my x-rays by some douchebag who got my hopes up when saying "Well done" but actually meant "Your hand is fucked".

Long story short, I've managed to fractured and misaligned my fifth metacarpal. This means cast time, and not even one of those cool casts. I look like I have a mummy hand. Apparently this will be on for around four weeks. I still don't consider this to a break, so the streak lives on. Yet now that I think of it, how uncool is it to have never broken a bone? Broken bone stories are far better than none at all.