i sweat

I'm all done my drum recordings.

Am I pleased with the parts? For now, yes.

Am I happy it's over? Fuck no.

We stretched the recording session over two days at the Ontario Institute of Audio Recording Technologies. Since we recorded two songs with some young blood there over a year ago, we were pretty familiar with the studio space. This time around we recorded in a separate room from the control center, which was nice for me because I didn't feel as if I was under a microscope the entire time from everyone watching. Just me and the Lodge.

I thought I'd take this opportunity to explain a few things seen in the second recording diary.



The "acoustic demo's" seen being recorded at the very beginning of the video are strictly for my benefit and will never make the actual recording. They are just for me to play along with and are recorded to a metronome.

I brought six shirts this time mostly for jokes, and for the fact that it's hotter than hell in that room and I play with a little bit of impact to say the least. And I sweat. When I'm drumming, oh boy do I sweat.

What get's me most is when people come up to me after shows, hug me or touch my back, and become disgusted by the amount of sweat on me. What, are you fucking surprised? What do you think would happen to you after an hour of using every extremity to it's peak stamina? Do you think you'd break a sweat after pounding the shit out of something while sitting under KFC heat lamps, on stage, in a 20-plus degree club? You're damn right you would. So please, try not to be surprised when you come in for a hug and I warn you that your clothes may not come out the same once the embrace is over. Because drumming is a sweaty procedure. Trust me.

I should say something about Birdman.
Birdman can simply be described as a "road game" or something to be played amongst close friends. You know that childhood game where you'd make a ring with your fingers and if the person looked into it you get to punch them? It's a more instense version of that.
Basically, if you make eye-contact with someone who's giving you the Birdman face, you have to lay flat on your back - no matter where you are. On the road, in your kitchen, in a restaurant, at the mall: it's all fair game. Meme, BK and I are all really good and crafty at it. It just takes some creativity and a sense of humor and you're off. I think it's hilarious, because it's like the feeling a black person gets when slamming down a Domino, except anyone can play.

The 3 broken sticks? I can't explain that either, because I've been breaking sticks like crazy lately. Even at our cottage show in Kincardine I broke four during one set. Strange.

"2 really tired guys". They went out drinking the night before. Colin barfed under a table at Joe Kool's and I laughed really hard when I heard that. I sided on staying in for a nights sleep.

The fact that the 6 tracks that needed recording was done in 5 hours was a two-sided effort. On my behalf, I was very ready to record and even impressed myself at the speed in which the takes were completed, even though most of the songs were more difficult than the previous recording session. More importantly, our producer Mikey T and recording assistant Jeff worked with a notable expedience that did not go unnoticed. I can honestly say I was thoroughly impressed by their diligence and input they put forth. They met my every demand (such as cue's, playbacks, and coffee breaks) and were patient during equipment change-overs. If there were a manly way to send flowers, those boys would have gardens from me by now.

At the end, the "misunderstanding" was Mike coming in for a hug, which I assumed was a chest-bump. Needless to say, I chest-bumped him and we had a good laugh.

ps. the line from Mike at the end was a Care Bears reference. If that doesn't ring a bell, nothing will.

show my some skin

As I made my way downtown this morning to pick up my developed negatives (something which is worth writing about in its own right), I could hear some pleasant ruckus heading south down Spadina Ave. at the corner of College St.

Not to my surprise, it was about 150 people all cycling, naked.

I've said it before, but I love this city. I have not once looked out onto the landscape and felt tiresome about living here. No matter how long I've lived here there's still mystery around every corner, in every neighborhood, within every bar. Just when you think you've come to grips with your area, a friend takes you down a back alley and it's a whole new ray of light. I'm not phased whatsoever by the fact that I have to live here for probably four more years.

As for todays marathon, that stuff happens all the time.

Here's a clip from a ride from the past.

i can see claritin now my rash is gone

After four days of incredible partying, dancing (my legs are whooped) and Valentineage, the dust has settled, slightly. I'll be heading back home for a few days later this afternoon, mostly with intention to visit family, friends, and shoot my term project.

This will most likely entail the drainage of my savings, seeing as I'm purchasing a brand new Sigma wide-angle lens for my digital body. But hey, that shit lasts forever, and who doesn't want a wide-angle lens anyway? Hopefully when I'm home I'll shake this cold, which has been perpetual for over a month now. On top of that, last night I experienced my all-time worst allergic reaction. A dark red rash spread over the upper half of my body covering my face, chest, neck, and arms. Seeing as I was scared shitless, I called my dad at 6 a.m. (karaoke, you understand), to which he granted me some sound advice and went to sleep.


The funny thing about this all is that I photographed the whole process, because I thought I was about to die. I showed my dad these photos and he wants to use them as allergic reaction examples when he teaches. Always glad to be of service.


The shitty thing about this is that I have no idea what I was allergic to. I came home after the bar and made my usual feast: oven-toasted pita with pepper, pan fried portobello mushrooms, arugula, hummus, and a big glass of pink lemonade. What the hell was I allergic to? I threw everything out this morning, including the giant pitcher of pink lemonade, which may have been the culprit of it all. Bummer, 'cause I love the pink.

But alas, after taking some Claritin, my face is back to normal. I also now have an epi pen.

yogurt

Come September, I think I'll start doing some yoga.

I sat down the other day and really micro-managed my mental health and realized:

Although on the surface I consistently appear calm, my soul races with stress on the inside.

I think this has been the case for quite some time. It has always (ever since I can remember) been my style to just shrug things off and let them resolve itself in my head, mainly when I sleep. My family has always known this, and I am occasionally called "a fart in a windstorm", mostly because I just drift through life seamlessly without a care in the world.

Until recently, I realized differently.
There is a small sign in the gym, here in my condo. It states:

Stress can be related to 90% of all illness.

True or not, it scared the shit out of me.

Maybe I've lived so strongly by my carefree lifestyle for so long, I've neglected the possibility of having any stress in my life at all. Now that I do, I have no idea what to do with it. I usually play my music loud enough in my headphones to drown out any concrete thoughts that may come floating in. My mom wants me to see a therapist because, after all, my personal life took a huge beating these past two years. I've never been too keen on the whole idea, probably because I'm old school and think therapy is an expensive way of dealing with your problems. After all this I can only rationalize one thought:

Isn't life fucking sweet, folks?

Just when you thought you were as cool as can be, life switches the picture and smacks you on the head. Just when you thought life was all figured out, your mind throws a stick in the spokes and tells you to handle it. I'm fine with that, because the path to self-discovery is like finally learning how to factor or long-divide numbers in Grade 11 math. When you realize something is wrong, what else is there to do than to tackle that motherfucker and get to the bottom of it? You can ignore it all you like. Shit, I've done it for most of my life.

I'm pretty sure there is a literal mass of neglected stress, stories, memories, and images stored somewhere in my body. It has to have created mass by now. I'm assuming it's either in my brain, my stomach, my heart, or my balls. Wherever it may be, it's time for a reduction.

So maybe some yoga will do.

my heart sweats

The results are in:

My Heart Is Okay

...to a certain extent.


For instance, my standing heart rate is (and I guessed it right on the money) 90.

Yours is probably around 70.

On top of that, the night I had the monitor on, we performed under the highest temperatures ever felt by Hue on stage. Apparently around the time of our set, my heart rate hit 194 bpm.

That's more than three times a second, got that?

So the plan is business as usual: Less beer, less salt, less caffeine.
I've been following that lifestyle for the past few months, along with some extended exercise.

I think I'm going to go celebrate by drinking a pint of Guinness at Molly's, while enjoying some free wireless internet - looking for a place to live.

everything is broken

Well friends, here we are again.

I trust you've all been soaking up your summer to it's full extent.

I've personally been squeezing the living shit out of my summer. I swam in a Great Lake yesterday and slept in a tent. We can complain about the heat and sweat all day, but when it comes down to it, we all know we'll be complaining about the cold in six months.

I usually like to keep this blog away from my personal life, but for now I'm going to dictate the next week of my life for historical purposes. So that one day, when I have a cushy life, I'll look back on the good ol' days and smile for a minute. I truly believe that no matter how feverish my life currently is, I'll reminisce about how much fun it really was.

In the next week I have to:

Find a Place To Live For September
Course Selection
Rehearsals
Convince Rogers To Sell Me a New Phone
Work Four Days In a Row
Install a New Painting Exhibition, & Remove An Old One
Figure Out How I'm Going To Do All Of The Above

Piece of cake? Easy as pie? Sure, why not.

In related phone problems, the final sentence was delivered the other night.

The screen on my phone is completely ruined. I'm sure the damage somehow correlated nicely with the cut on my arm pictured below. The funny thing is, I can hear when someone texts me, but can't read who it came from. So I've just been calling everyone, which has been kind of nice.

On top of that, I stepped on my ipod headphones. I'm not upset about this, because those buds are so terrible in terms of sound quality.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

it's always something

I'm seriously beginning to think that my body is trying to meet some sort of quota for how many things can go wrong with me in one year.

The other night I bailed stepping over a parking block and allowed my right hand, my favorite, to take the brunt of the fall. I must have crushed the shit out of it because it is currently about the size of a softball and the swelling is so thick that I can't tell if it's broken or not. The palm of my hand is slowly turning darker and the pain is almost nauseating at times.
Don't get me wrong, I can still use it. I'm just worried that it might be broken. That would be amazing because we play a show in two weeks and I can't really afford to take time off work. I also don't like icing it when I sleep because the coldness seems to give me nightmares.

face faucet

At it again, once again. Just when I thought I was in the clear, another cold grabs me tight and takes control of me. My face is leaking from all possible holes (except ears, gross), and my chest has that pre-pneumonia-heaviness that is all-too familiar to me. Here's a few things I'd like to share about colds and me.

- For starters, I don't really believe in cold medicine. Having grown up the son of a family doctor, I've been pumped full of meds, drugs, pills, antibiotics, needles, thermometers, and swabs for my most of my youth. Now that I'm away from home and these things aren't readily available to me, I just ride it out and let the progression happen. Which leads me to my next point.

- I've never minded being sick. Sure, it's inconvenienced me in the past, but I don't like to whine about it. Feeling like a sack of shit is actually good for you, I think. Getting better is almost something to look forward to, and puts into perspective how nice being healthy really is.

- I like the change in diet that happens when a cold strikes. All of a sudden, everything turns from black coffee to herbal tea and honey. Red meat becomes red beets. Corona and lime becomes water and lemon. The Vietnamese delicatessen Ginger 2 becomes Ginger Tea. Again, the healing process is a lot more interesting when you're actually taking physical steps to improve your health. It's a nice switch up.

- One thing I don't like is how unproductive being sick can be. Today, for example, was a beautiful day to paint and I had everything ready with a good idea on what the piece would look like, until I saw my bed. The very idea of resting sank in, and I found myself taking a three hour nap.

- The natural progression of my colds goes as so (in order of appearance): sore throat, hearing loss, full face of mucus, congested chest. My favorite of these symptoms is the congested chest. Not only is it the grossest thing ever when hearing that crackle-cough, but you actually feel like your getting rid of the cold when you muscle out a big brown loogee (lougeeh, lewgie, loogie, and lugi were all other guesses on the spelling of that word).

- I get pneumonia, like clockwork, about once every two years on average. The term I created for this is that "I'm prone to pnuemone". Usually around the same week of the same month, I'll get it. I think this year I'll cap-off around a bakers dozen on how many times I've had the illness. Speaking of which, remember when Bernie Mac died of pneumonia last year? That was easily the worst celebrity death ever. Pneumonia? Are we still in the dark ages? I'm pretty sure Bernie Mac had way more access to proper medication than I do, although I'm sure that wasn't the case.
Either way, I'm bound to check out one of these years, when the mucus seeps a little too deep into my lungs and I'll be too macho to ask for meds.

R.I.P. Eastwood Mac and Bernie Mac