The Find

Sometimes I just don't believe in things. More specific, I believe things will never happen. One of the great personal attributes I've held high over the years is my ability to practice reason, and very well. I'm not an idealist - I'm a realist. I know when things are so fantastical that even romanticizing certain ideas is a waste of my time. Don't get me wrong: I dream as much as the next person, but I know when to draw the line between "sure, that's possible" and "sure, that's a nice fantasy". Although this is the line in which my mind usually draws in the sand, sometimes I just cling to realities long enough for them to actually come true.

On the evening of December 21st, 2008, I was given a Christmas bonus at the establishment I worked at for the amount of one hundred dollars. At this point in my life I was really into amassing a musical instrument arsenal, which continues steadily to this day. I wanted everything that challenged everything capable of sonic altercations (mainly directed towards electric guitar playing). At the time I was obsessed with something called an Ebow, which is an abbreviation of "electronic bow", "electric bow" or "energy bow". This device, about half the size of a can of tuna (wow, what a shit example), is a hand-held wireless device that creates electromagnetic fields of energy that, once placed over a guitar string, cause it to vibrate, simulating the sound of a stringed instrument. Trust me when I say I was obsessed. The bonus went to this, plus a bit extra. I ran home to test it out (on an acoustic guitar, strangely enough) and it was everything I'd dreamed of.

Here is where this story begins to take shape. My parents' marriage was in it's final state of disrepair around this time. This being the case, the summer I moved home from Toronto would be my last in that house, as we were about to sell the house that following fall season. I'm not sure how it happened, but I must have put the Ebow in a drawer and forgot about it towards the end of the summer, because it would be the last time I ever saw it.

I can't explain the breakneck speed needed to move out of that house. Towards the end of the move, we'd given ourselves such little time to pack that everything, and I mean everything, was rammed at full speed into boxes, wrapping paper, bins, jars, bags etc. (productive procrastination: a genetic guarentee to most Schmidt family members). The worst part is that everything was shoved somewhere, meaning that it could be in one of four houses, in one of three cities, in one of 200 boxes. Needle-in-a-hay-stack-type-shit.

There were only a few items I've missed over the years: a vintage Kentucky Derby t-shirt, some MiniDV tapes, some photographs, drawings, and that Ebow. My friend Danny knows this way too well. Wherever I'd go; whether back home, my cottage, any family members house - I'd always say, half-jokingly "Oh, and while I'm there I'll check for that Ebow". I'm not kidding when I say I'd say this almost every time, for several years. It would usually be followed by a very mutual sigh between us, and the realization that this thing would never be found.

I've already mention that I'm a realist, which doesn't rule out everything. One of my favorite lines that I've used over the years, which frustratingly makes sense to many, is "I didn't lose it. I just haven't found it yet". Losing something is accepting that you've lost it. When you know something is within your grasp, there is no reason to accept defeat. That's like saying just because you got sunburned you're going to look like a fucking lobster for the rest of your life. It's not like it doesn't exist anymore (philosophy majors, fuck off on that one). So with this in mind, I never stopped looking for it. Everywhere I thought it could possibly be, I looked through in a process of elimination. Imagine Indiana Jones trying to find the Arc of the Covenant in that warehouse. Kind of like that.

I came home yesterday to my moms house, mainly to work on school-related projects in the privacy of my own thoughts and not have to worry about anything related to being in Toronto. As usual, I grabbed about six beers and a few cassettes and descended into the basement to untangle the mess of cardboard, clothes, lego, books and Christmas decorations. Things were going as planned: I pulled a few photos from my past, a few books, some paint brushes, a couple slides, reels of Super 8 film and select skateboarding magazines. Then, there it was.

Laundry Room Drawers was the name of the box. I can understand why I've never touched this box. For starters, it was under some box called Moms Books, which is a fucking landfill of 40-year-old woman literature. Kind of like if Oprah's book club needed an archivist. After sorting through this and downing an entire can of Guiness, I undertook the triple-decker sandwich of needles, thread and newsprint that was the next box.

Scraping towards the bottom, I found it. The object I'd been looking for all these years was staring me right in the face. It had to be the equivalent to seeing an old lover for the first time in years, and you're both single, and outrageously horny. The unflattering grey sheen covering this relatively insignificant piece of my history was staring me in the face, and everything I believe in was rekindled. The look on my face was priceless. I know this because I took a picture of myself holding the Ebow and sent it to Danny. He thought it was a stapler.

I didn't write this for you, the reader. I wrote it so I'd remember this moment. However, you can take this story with you as a reminder that hope and belief, no matter how unattainable or distant, is very possible. I should know - I just did it.

If this overly-positive article could visually personify itself, it would look like Bambi eating an ice cream cone while Thumper sings Hallelujah.

find me outside

Finally, an updated Flickr account. I used to be so heavy into that.

Last weekend I spent some more time in London "researching" my term project. I'll say researching because I showed up to the schools, which were locked. I have no idea why I didn't put this together in my mind days before leaving. However, on a more positive note, the principle of HB Beal has just granted me access to the school at my disposal. Fantastic.

Another reason for being in London was to purchase what would ultimately lead me to applying for welfare. That's right: the coveted Sigma 10-20 wide-angle lens. I purchased it mostly for my term project, which solely revolves around the photographing of interiors. That, and it has a 10 year warranty - which is great because I'm pretty hard on my lenses for the most part ie. my Nikon stock lens vs. Rivoli pool hall floor circa 2007.


So, it's safe to say I've been using this lens extensively, which is at least ten times a day. On top of that, I picked up a portable flash from my moms house over the Christmas holidays, which allows for much more dynamic lighting scenarios as opposed to that flat-in-yo-face-flash. That's also been a ton of fun to practice.

Oh, and Bike and I got to play in the snow most of the day Saturday. Great packing snow.

Tin Tin.

It went down.

meow

I just witnessed something very interesting. As I was walking down the street, I noticed four people looking very concerned for the safety of this street cat that was trying to cross the road. On the other side of the road, a homeless man was sleeping on the streetcar tracks with nobody gave a shit. Kinda makes you wonder where peoples priorities lie, doesn't it?

lights on, I can't sleep.

I completely forgot about this next piece. I wrote it while drinking beer in our hotel room in Cornerbrook, Newfoundland. I originally intended it to be longer, but the ideas are all there - and there they will stay.

Life is funny like this.

Most of my personal time is spent perusing through the isles of everything I think I believe in. Since being on tour, there have been a lot of waiting periods, particularly before the shows themselves. At these points, I'll usually find myself in only a handful of places.

I spend a lot of time in the bathroom, for instance. There's something about the silence and tranquility of bathrooms that really calms my nerves. I usually stand in front of the stall, read ads on excessive gambling, pants completely zipped up, until some other guy walks in. At that point, we'll exchange maybe two words until I wash my hands and leave. I also love our van. I'll sit in the drivers seat, listen to some music, and play poker on my phone. I roll down the windows, just to catch some breeze and to listen to street chatter.

I also like a nice cigarette sometimes. Now, don't go assuming that I'm Joe Smoke. I'm in no way addicted to the stick; I merely appreciate the calmness that nicotine brings me, and this is nothing new.

The nice thing about smoking is that it gives you an excuse to be outside. Hear me out on this one. When it comes to socializing, I thoroughly believe that at least 90% of any conversation when meeting new people is useless dribble. There's so much bullshit slung amongst people these days, it's scary. So naturally, I'm not standing on a patio just to meet people, because I can meet people any time I want. Anyone can. All you have to do is use your vocal chords, even badly. I'm there to catch some fresh air and maybe a puff. If somebody wants to talk, that's fine. I'll talk. Otherwise, I'm not going to seek out individuals because they have cooler clothes than me.

Lastly, I'll walk. Particularly in foreign places, I find myself wandering the streets for the majority of my stay. Every dark alley is explored, and even the odd fence is jumped. I think the idea of getting into trouble excites me, only because I'm curious to see how I'd get out of the situations I put myself into. Words like "trespassing" and "restricted" spark my curiosity, so I'll usually challenge them. I've also taken sincere pleasure in watching others partake in something as simple as walking. Human beings are far too interesting to assume you have them figured out. Just watch.

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.