tree trunk progression

Last night I hosted a band meeting; one that I've wanted to do for some time now.
We're coming into our last leg of recording. Our producer, Mike Tompkins, is currently enjoying some much-needed rest in Mexico with his wife. Upon his arrival in less than a week, we'll be hitting the recording studio again for the final recording sessions on this album.

This fact scares the shit out of me.

Being a musician, and having been one for many years now, you begin to take very special care of how your music takes shape. Just as a parent would make sure their child was guided through all the proper steps, given the proper attention, and sent off into the world proudly, musicians are equally enamored with making music that properly represents their passion and vision for their music.

This fact excites the hell out of me.

Firstly, I'm no song writer. Never have been and never will be. I am far too critical of anything I write that even touches poetry, I have no gift for melody, and if I were to finish a song I would hate releasing it because I'd hate to hear people analyze it. So with this aside, I'll touch upon my true passion: the rest of it. The day I picked up a guitar I knew that the instrument alone would never be enough. When I sat on my bed strumming my first chords, I heard possibility. It was like a canal had just been built in my brain that had the ability to channel all of my creativity, vision, and passion. It was only when I picked up drums years later that things were coming full circle - I learned what rhythm was. Fundamentally, knowing these two aspects of music (melody and timing) opened up a valley of creative potential.

This fact brought on curiosity.

Yet, like anything, practice is necessary.
When I listen back to the first album Danny and I ever recorded, Fly Away, it sounds exactly like what it was: two teenage boys sitting in a room discovering a range of instruments, one at a time. If we were to re-work those songs now they would be infinitely different from their original sound. Yet this is the very thing that makes this progression special. I'm sure that if you were to look at the progressive career of a musician in terms of growth, it would look very similar to a tree trunk cross-section; some years were more progressive than others, yet it continues to grow and expand exponentially.

This fact influenced progress.

Now, staring down yet another album, we have more experience, more fantastically talented members, more songs, and more opportunity. Yes, we have all these things, but what do we do with them? Get to fucking work is what we do.

The entire purpose of the meeting I previously mentioned was to take a somewhat different approach to the recording process this time around. As was the case with the previous record, I would say that most of the songs were executed with a "face value" approach. By this I mean that we knew how to play these songs, and we played them just as they were (with maybe the exception of 2 songs). There's nothing wrong with that in actuality; the record turned out nicely. However, due to time restraints we weren't fully able to explore the songs sonically.

This fact makes my skin crawl.

I mentioned yesterday to the band that I was interested in over-recording this album. (p.s. drummers should never hold band meetings). By over-recording I mean that we should really strive for the "no-idea-is-a-bad-idea" approach. Instrumental tracks can be discarded as easily as they are recorded. What I am interested more in is what sounds can transpire from experimentation, because if you think about it, most great pop songs have one strange sonic aspect to them; something that differentiates it from the guitar/bass/drums formula.
I also mentioned that we should bring every instrument we own to the recording sessions. I believe that having extensive opportunities in front of you is far more advantageous to your practice than none at all (I've been trying to put an analogy here for an hour, but couldn't think of anything worthy of comparing).

Another thing I'm interested in, personally, is what to do with silence, if anything. Last night we were all sitting together around the old modern campfire (Danny's mac) listening to rough mix-downs of the record. During certain moments there would be dead silence in the middle of a song that would suit the track just perfectly. Other times we'd sit and think that silence wasn't even an option.
And that's just what do to with the silent parts. Think about how we are going to execute everything else. Thankfully (not luckily), our producer is exceedingly talented at what he does. The quality of the demos (not actual recordings) that he has given us so far almost surpass the quality of the last record already, and they haven't even been manipulated/balance/compressed electronically yet. His talent has obviously been recognized and he deserves every bit of it, so there are obviously things that are completely dependent on mixing that we just have to leave in his hands, which are made of gold, by the way.

This part will be continued...

King Shit

For a while now I've been tampering with the idea of scoring. Not scoring chicks. Scoring films. I'll blame it on the combination of my most recent university elective "Music and Film", as well as the Pianomation project. The course has given me a lot of insight as to the purpose of music in films, as well as the multitude of ways and styles the music can affect the viewer.
Its actually come to the point where I might begin to offer my services to film students seeking unique original scores.

Now, I'm not saying I'm King Shit when it comes to making music. I've had no formal training on any of the instruments I know how to play (except the Chinese dizi flute, which I can actually read music for as well). My familiarity with drums, bass, guitars, piano, percussion etc. are all bi-products of years tinkering (I'll call it tinkering for the sake of not saying "rigorous practice"). I will most often pick up an instrument and play until I'm satisfied with something I've done. Does this lack of training hinder me from my ambitions? No. Does the fact that I will probably never willingly seek lessons make me lose sleep? Not at all. You would be interested to hear how many of your beloved musicians have no idea how to read music, such as Billy Joel, Phil Collins and famed composer Danny Elfman. None of them have a clue, and that's fine by them.

Now, I'm not saying I'm King Shit when it comes to making music, but by fuck do I love making it. I'm going to risk sounding like an idiot when I say making music is one incredible experience. Seeing as the options are limitless, it's just you versus your instruments. The number of possibilities for harmonies, arrangements, instrumentations, timbres, placement, rhythm, etc. are sitting there waiting for you. It's seriously amusing, and I wish for you all to experience it one day.
I remember my first experience scoring a film. A friend made a silent spaghetti western in his apartment and asked me to provide an impromptu soundtrack. Using a dictaphone, an acoustic guitar, and a jar full of peppercorns, we crafted a soundtrack in about an hours time. The finished product was as satisfying to me as pulling a perfectly exposed print from a developer tray. There's something about seeing a completed piece that just gives you the willies.
I'm fairly new to this idea, and I'm sure my first few attempts would be the audible depiction of a child's first steps, but it scratches me where I itch.
Who knows for sure though. Like I've said before: I could probably compile a list of more than 30 artistic endeavors that have never transpired due to time and money.

drifters

I firmly believe that an artists value should not only be validated through the content of their work, but also the incessant need to create it in the first place.

The only condition in which I'd actually look myself in the mirror and call myself an "artist" (a debate that has been touched upon many times on this site) is that I just want to lay all my ideas down somewhere I can see them. I don't really give a shit if anyone ever sees them; I just need to know I made them. In fact, 90% of all the work I've ever made sits in the dark. However, I experience solace knowing that it even transpired.

It shocks me to hear that some of my closest friends, who's works of art I once loved in the past, have nearly completely abandoned their love for creating more work and/or have barely made any since our last encounter. I don't understand how a once burning passion to created images was simply done and done-with after a certain point in their lives. Isn't it something that should just burn like an ember inside of you?

Personally, I know that once I have an idea in my head, it's go time. I smirk to myself, write or type it in detail (because one time I was drunk and wrote "family security" on a piece of paper and had no idea what the fuck I was getting at the next day), and then sleep on it. That entire night, I'll lay in bed with the sensation that I'd just won the lottery and didn't want to tell anyone. I then damn-near run to my studio within days to get things moving on a canvas. Nothing can get in the way of this kind of speed, because usually I know exactly what the finished pieces are going to look like, almost how a chef can taste the food before it's been prepared.

So for me to hear that ones inspiration to create is all but lost, it confuses me more than anything. I was going to say it saddens and upsets me, but a lack of motivation and drive are not character traits I hold very high. If you want to make it, make it. If not, just keep drifting.

sit down, stand up

T-Mok and I are going vegetarian and sober this week. So far, so good.

I'm actually not finding the vegetarian part hard at all. There are so many bomb fruits and veg that, in consistency alone, stand proudly next to the finest meats. Assorted mushrooms, avocado, and tomatoes all contain umami which is a beautiful quality that gives certain vegetables and fruit their meaty, hearty taste. Cooking with any of these items is an easy way to sub' meat out of your diet - just learn how to cook with them.

The absence of beer has been the harder of the two.

I'm going to try to write this next part in a way that makes me seem as little like an alcoholic as possible.

I love beer. It's a wonderful thing. That's a point worth making.

Yet however nice it is, like anything, there are limits.
Most times over the summer alcohol is just straight up over-used. I was going to use the word "abused", but that sounds a bit overdone. Abuse usually involves binges beginning in the a.m.
But most of the time, amongst my circle of friends, boozing is just something to do on a nice sunny afternoon or to congratulate yourself on a hard work week over $10 pitchers.

Although fun, it has some restrictions.
I began drinking when I was 19, which is quite uncommon given that most people I've met used to hustle old men or their brothers for Max Ice outside of the LC when they were 13. The bottom line is that I've been drinking long enough to recognize a good time from a shit one. Fifty per cent of the time, it is an absolutely worthy effort to get drunk for i.e. birthdays, essay completion, fridays, exams, sporting events etc. The other fifty usually isn't, and it's something to recognize as one gets older. You can avoid certain outtings by simply dividing what you know of the setting, the day of the week, the occasion (or lack of one), what you're drinking and who's coming. Is getting drunk at that point a good idea? Not really.

I know I can't preach to people about the importance of drinking in moderation, because I am in fact one of the biggest drinkers (in frequency and volume) of beer that I know. But every man's got his limits, unless your an alcoholic of course, and that's a completely different story.

The difficult part that I mentioned earlier is strictly derrived from the pleasure that I get from hanging on a patio with my friends and some brews. So when I walked down Queen Street this afternoon, seeing patios like The Horseshoe Tavern, Black Bull, Smokeless Joe's, and The Rivoli completely packed made me sad I couldn't call my friends for a beer. Because it's not always about the drinking as much as it the aroused senses that come with it.

Either way, this no meat and no beer diet is being coupled with 300 sit-ups a day and nine glasses of water in an effort to cleanse myself for next weeks cottage fest in Sauble Beach, because lord knows there will be plenty of meat and beer up there.

i figure...

..if I'm paying for my hydro bills, which includes the power running to my refrigerator, I might as well just start freezing the clothes I don't wear very often, just to see what happens to them. Just trying to keep my gear nice and fresh. Yep, that's it....

I'm freezing my clothes.

hitchhiker's guide

After so many major consequtive purchases, I literally have a few dollars to my name at the moment. When asked if I wanted to go out tonight by my dear friend Kudzai, one story came to mind immediately.

The story of a penniless, stranded Douglas Adams and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy goes as follows:

"Adams claimed that the title came from a 1971 incident while he was hitchhiking around Europe as a young man with a copy of the Hitch-Hiker's Guide to Europe book, and while lying drunk in a field in Innsbruck with a copy of the book and looking up at the stars, thought it would be a good idea for someone to write a hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy as well."

The book went on to sell more than 14 million copies.

I plan to do something similar tonight.

I'm literally going to take the twenty dollar bill in my pocket and blow it on beer with one of my best friends in effort to drink and dance my way into some flash-of-genius-stupor that will send my artistic career into another (if any) stratosphere.

I really enjoy putting myself in holes like this. At times I consider money to be simply a privilege; something to be enjoyed and dealt with at a later date. It's one of the great freedoms we allow ourselves to relish in: the ability to do whatever we want with our earnings. The simple fact about money that doesn't scare me one bit goes like this:

I know I'm not going to die.

I have food in my house and money coming my way in various directions. I know I'm not going to go hungry or homeless tonight, so it's time to put my inspiration on the stove and let it cook for a while.

danny in three

I finished this piece a few weeks ago for a required school assignment. I'd been toying with the idea of manipulating photos through various mediums over the past few months and have recently jumped head-first into the pool.

I suppose I was originally inspired by the works of Christo and Jean-Claude a few years back. I was obsessed with Christo's draftsmanship when applying pastel and various other mediums to schematic photographs. For those of you unfamiliar, first: what have you been doing with your life, and second: here's a link.

There will be a lot more of this work coming out of my studio these next couple months. My newest series is driven by memory: I plan to blow up (massive) old black and white photographs and apply washes of color in attempt to recreate how I remember them at the point of when they were initially shot. Exciting, no question.

amazing!

Before leaving for home, I decided that it would be a good idea to deep clean the house. Here in Toronto, the garbage system outside of waste and recycling also has a bin for organic compost. Seeing as I hadn't changed my bin in a while, it was go time.

There must have been some seriously rotten shit in there, because as soon as I removed the bag from the bin, I barfed!! Blluughghhaaaahhhuuuuwwa!!! Amazing! It smelled so rotten that I barfed right there on my lino floor!

I think barfing is the funniest shit ever. One time my dogs got sprayed by a skunk back home and the sheer smell of the skunky-dogs getting washed in the tub made my sister barf. I thought that was amazing.

I've never personally barfed from smell alone, until about ten minutes ago. It happened instantly. So rad.

I've never had a big problem with barfing. Most of my close friends know this. I used to barf on purpose after big nights of binge drinking, just so I wouldn't feel like shit in the morning. I don't do it anymore. Come to think of it, I've gone through all kinds of drinking ritual phases. Two sweet barfing instances come to mind: one was with Tiff on the Nathan Phillips Square ice rink last winter after drinking super expired McDonalds milk (one halfwit security guard thought we were bulimic, so I made him smell the milk), and the second with Meme in the city hall parking lot on top of a Smart Car, which subsequently led to Meme spewing the most amazing rice barf of all time.

Barf is awesome. Don't be afraid of it, unless you have the flu, then prepare for shittyness.

Honorable Mention goes to Lwam last Saturday night at the Madison, which was based on a gag reflex rather than drunkenness. Beautiful Heinekin barf cascading down a set of wooden stairs followed by the roar of 20 screaming jocks? RAD TO THE BONER.

marla and me

I've mentioned it a hundred times over: I am utterly confused by the term artist. He's an artist, she's an artist, they're artists. It all boggles my mind, and I'll tell you why.

The reason I'm so confused by this term is that I thoroughly believe that anyone is capable of making art. We all are. In fact, I know people who are more an artist than I and they don't even make art. It's in the way they carry themselves: the way they articulate words and tinker with anything tangible, almost unconsciously. Then there are those that make art, but do not consciously think it's good enough to display and become discouraged out of any sort of exhibitionism for their work. There are also some that make art and don't even know it.

There are also those that claim to be artists, which is all good, provided you backup your statement, you ballsy prick. Like I said, I've mentioned this argument before.

There is a massive grey area to be seen. For instance, in the dictionary the term "artist" seems fairly straight forward: the centric line states "a person who produces paintings or drawings as a profession or hobby". Fine. Later, the same dictionary mentions singers, dancers, and actors. Except what the hell is a singer creating? All they really do is remember someone's lyrics and make their vocal chords vibrate. However, they do have the capacity to provoke emotion, just as much as Christo's big bedsheets, Serrano's Piss Christ and Rothko's squares of color.

The fact of the matter is, everything that has been indeed deemed "art" has provoked some sort of emotion one way or another. Your kids crayon drawings, your dog barking (ever hear that barking solo from Eels?), the suds on your car. This is where the problem presents itself to me, because all I see is grey.

If somebody were to walk into a room and a friend of mine turns and says "Hey, that guys an artist!" I'd say "Fuck him". Not the most well-rounded argument, but it's a state of mind.

HOWEVER

There are people who I do truly credit as artists. They've paid their due's, and got paid. Fine. My big problem is finding the line between your seven year old kid and the man who hangs work every two weeks in seven countries. A prime example of this can be seen in the film My Kid Could Paint That.

Although I'm not looking for the answer just yet, let it be known that I'm still on my quest. Because nothing makes me feel dirtier than calling myself "an awwwwtist".

tbc.

add it to the list...

Am I the only one who's ever thought to invent Designer Milks? I'm talking about taking the milk that's been soaking in cereal for about twenty minutes and selling that as it's own product. Million dollar idea right there.

I can see it now: Cinnamon Toast Crunch Milk, Apple Cinnamon Cheerio Milk, Special K Milk, Shreddies Milk, Lucky Charms Milk. AWESOME! I'd drink that shit.

days of flight

Ever stop to notice just how fast life moves? It's cheesy, but it's true. I was just cycling through some old material I'd written about this time last year, and it felt like yesterday I sat down and wrote it all.

It is now my personal goal to slow down time, except I'm not sure where to start. I do know that napping chops days into two pieces, so maybe I'll start there. Although, with such little sunlight these days, I best enjoy the sun while I can still get it.

the list

10 Reasons Why I Want to Marry an Asian

They Age Well.

Even to this day, I'll walk through Chinatown and still double-take matured asian women. The strange thing is, when you go over to an asian girls house to meet her parents, the mom is usually just as attractive as the daughter. I can only assume this is due to years of drinking green tea instead of coffee, holding umbrellas when it's sunny out, and special attention to personal appearance. On top of that, they don't gain weight. I've seen 80 year old ladies who are probably the same weight as when they were in high school.

Her Rich Parents.


I can honestly say I've never met a poor asian family. Sure, I've seen them on the streets before, but I bet even the poor looking ones have a lot of money stashed away in old bags of white rice. They (as a race) have such an incredible work ethic and only really accept success from themselves, and their peers. It's the same reason why Asians own, have made, designed, or sold you pretty much half of everything you see and own. The dominant two businesses I've caught on to (in terms of families with money), comes from either owning convenience stores or restaurants. I've had friends who's parents have owned one of those (or multiple franchises) and drive Lexus' when their 'Cedes are in the shop.
Her parents will support her and I in times of need, and in times when we don't need it at all. Her dad will take me to his rich golf course and I will kick his ass off the tee, but his Asian precision will kill me on the green.

The Future.


Let's just say that when the Asian populace has power over everything, I'll have a head start. I can't really decide on any more jokes for this bit, so I'll move on.

The Cute Kids.

For starters, I have no idea what my kid would look like if I procreated with an asian honey. I'm counting on the strong asian genetics to wipe out any trace of gingerism my kid may have, which is cool. I'm not really keen on the survival of my own race, because I'd rather be a dying breed than part of a thriving sun-burnt populous.
All I want is a fat, asian, buddha baby. Even more than that, I want a pregnant asian wife. She'll passively complain about her back and holy shit will I be there to help her. I'm pretty sure my asian kid would never learn how to walk because I'd never put it down. I'm also sure I'd never have to buy my baby clothes either, because my asian in-laws would smother it in weird fobby shit and my parents would buy it even more baby clothes, just so it wouldn't have to wear that weird fobby shit.

The Food.

Simply put, asians love their food. There's not a single asian on this planet who doesn't love to eat. Not only do they know how to eat, but they know how to cook. They don't really have a choice. Do they? I've always assumed that every asian has had a crazy grandma around them since birth, constantly holding a hot plate of food. I'm almost certain that a knack for cooking is just an inherent gene they all have. Aside from that, I'm sure her parents will own a restaurant anyway. A restaurant that would openly feed me at no charge until 5am.

The Fun.

I've always been a great admirer of the asian culture. Not so much that I brush up on my Japanese characters in my spare time, I just like to observe. One thing that I've always known: Asians love their fun. They usually travel in huge groups, soberly running down the street laughing in smiling, probably coming or going to karaoke and bubble tea. And I don't blame them. Not only is most of that clean shit really fun, but the ones doing it are usually hilarious. The fine balance is finding a wife who can not only lay into the booze now and then, but can challenge me and not cop-out after two cups of sake.

The Sex.

I can only deduce that it would still be good after years of marriage. We'd eat, go for a run together, and then bone. Rad.

I'm Not Picky About It.

I've seen every shape and form of asian girl, and none of them really sour the relationship thing. Everything from straight-up American-apple-pie-accent, to the straight off the boat variety; it's all kinda cute. Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Korean. Kim-chi, Sashimi, Pad Thai, Egg Roll. I'm not picky about it.

The Smarts.


Asian or not, my wife has to stand on her own feet intellectually. The last thing I want is to do all the talking for the extent of our marriage. I don't want to talk about how donkeys have the loudest farts in the animal kingdom for the rest of my life. I need a lady who can teach me a thing or two every once in a while. So why not marry an asian? Lord knows they've got the brains. I think that's the beauty about being with somebody who's career relies mainly on smarts. She'll come home all stressed from work and I'll make dinner, kiss her on the forehead, pinch her butt, put on an album, and then paint her something. It's a Ying-Yang thing.

The Respect.

I want to one day be walking down the street with my Asian better half, see another white guy doing the same, and then hi-five each other as we pass. No words will be exchanged. We just both know we did it. Later that week, I'll show up to a backyard party with my Asian better half, and get glared at by all the other white dudes who married Plain-Jane white chicks with brat kids. Those same brats will tease my Asian youngster. My kid will really want to beat up those kids, because daddy taught him/her not to take shit from anyone.

If only it ever learned how to walk.

pillow clouds of poison gas

Some things that have been on my mind:

Firstly, has anybody besides myself noticed that this video is receiving large amounts of hits? It jumped almost a thousand within the past week. I've tried to check the stats but have come to no solid conclusions. I figured it was linked to some site perhaps, but who knows. I didn't think it was that good in the first place, except maybe when I wrote it, four years ago.






I recorded that piece just the other day. That siren sound was not added, but fully interrupted my one and only acoustic guitar recording. I saw it as fate and kept it. That is a small example of how much noise my bedroom endures at any given moment. The poor quality is mostly due to the fact that the built-in Mac microphones were never meant to record any instrument of any kind.

I was originally inspired when introduced to a new tuning (open A), while in the process of learning the entire Icky Thump album by The White Stripes. Aside from the new tuning, I did manage to learn every song (aside from the cookey guitar solos) on the record. It was a lot easier than I thought it'd be, but garage rock always is.

Now why not talk about some more music?

Some other quality records that I have been into lately include:

Japandroids - Post-Nothing
Great Canadian duo. I took a chance on this album and based my decision on getting it when seeing them on the cover of Exclaim! last week. I love duo groups. I love to see them achieve success because there are so many limits with just two people, and not just in their sound. There's also a lot of freedom. Small bands are mobile and travel well. A classic example of that would be Museum Pieces, who claimed to have toured the country in a Honda Civic.
Either way, this album is full of sweet stuff, and I can't stop listening to the albums outro "I Quit Girls".

Matthew Good's song "Life Beyond the Minimum Safe Distance"
Download it, listen to it, and love it. Even reading the lyrics is enough for me. I know only so few writers who can paint such images with that little words. Lines like:
"Like a climber lost in the mountains, I dream only of sleeping." strike such chords in me. That whole album is awesome, but this is truly a gem.

Department of Eagles - In Ear Park
One of my favorite albums since, well, I have a lot of recently favored albums. But this one is awesome. Really weird, full of reverb, abstract themes, beautiful instrumentation, and catchy shit. It's the kind I can really wrap my head around as a musician because it's so unique and I have no idea how most of those sounds are created. That, and No One Does it Like You is the most played song on my iTunes.

Asobi Seksu - Citrus
One of those albums that is good enough to buy even after downloading it. I intend on doing such a thing. This is not the kind of record you'd put on at a party, it's just for you and maybe who you're in bed with. Literally translating to "playful sex", and fronted by one hell of an asian hottie, this band cooks with loud sonic, electric soundscapes accompanied by Japanese falsetto lyricism. It's romantic, loud, fun, and mysterious all at once. Good listen.

Oh! Would you look at the time. Sleep would be best if I want to avoid any more nervous breakdowns. Hand specialist in the morning.

RealD

Things I will do with my Saturday:

a) For starters, I don't smoke weed very often, but some occasions just call for it. For example, in about 20 minutes, we are going to get blunted so badly and then go see Monsters vs. Aliens in IMAX 3D. Honestly, if you've never tried this it's the best thing ever. The feeling is worth way more than the $15. If I knew these movies looked that amazing under the influence of mary-jane I'd probably pay something around $45. So yeah, that's that.

b) From there I'll probably come home and throw down an amazing meal after racking up the biggest bill ever at Metro yesterday. This was probably due to the fact that I was using a shopping cart and I just had the urge to fill that thing. That cart was also a first in three years.

c) Later tonight I'll probably juggle between a party at Cheese's place and a party at this cute Jewish girls house who I met last week. Thankfully, they live across the street from each other. How sweet is that? Good old Baldwin Village.

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

boring mouth

I sometimes wish I had a rotten tooth. 

Something to mix up my image a bit. 

My mouth is rather boring. 

I'm thinking one rotten, black, fucked up tooth would be cool. 

Probably the fourth tooth in from the molars on the right side. 

That way, people would say, 

"Oh yah, I know Andy. The guy with the fucked tooth, right?"

It just makes sense to want one. 

Maybe I'll get a gold tooth instead. 

new year

Well, here we are again, together. About to jump headfirst into another year of our lives. I usually takes this night pretty seriously; I'll have my resolutions all set out, some girl to kiss, a strong belly full of booze and good times on the mind. But as I sit here now, listening to all the bustle outside of my window, I'm slowly realizing that tomorrow is just another day, and that tonight is no different than the last.
Coming off of one of the most radical and complicated years of my life, I am in the mood for setting radical goals for myself. One being, is a springboard that stems from one of my all time largest fears: bad news.
If I sense the smallest bit of disappointment coming my way, I avoid it and shove it to the back of my mind, right about where the Savage Garden lyrics sit. So I've decided to grab life by the nuts and face this fear. Procrastination is another good one, but that comes with the fear of bad news. I've decided to punch myself in the head every time I catch myself consciously putting off something important. Well, maybe not in the head, but something. Aside from those majors, I've set forth a bunch of miniature goals as well, but those are for me to know. But enough about my babying, I should also mention that I had an excellent 2008 and look back with some pretty great feelings.

Something else happened a year ago exactly that I'll never forget. I was out with some friends in Nathan Phillips Square here in Toronto, waiting for the fireworks to ignite and plowing through the thousands of people that fill the square every year. There was a large group of us, so we took the beads off our christmas tree and made, basically, an idiot rope for us to all hang on to.

Moving along, I ended up meeting this paraplegic guy who was trying to enjoy the night. We ended up talking for a while but I could see his head was really cold from all the snow, so I decided to give him my toque. Later, during the fireworks, this group of guys were passing this huge holiday joint around and some of us decided to smoke it. At that point, I offered some to my wheeled friend and he totally accepted. So there we were: freezing our cans off, attached to a glitzy rope, watching the fireworks and embracing, and spoon-feeding a paraplegic a massive bud.
I said, then and there, that this was to be the funniest story of 2008 (only minutes after the bell had struck twelve), and I concluded last night that it really was. Hopefully I'll see this man later tonight.
So friends, from me to you, have a great night and enjoy whats left of the year. I had a good year, and the economic recession was probably one of the highlites. Seeing suicidal Wall St. dicks flood the front page of every newpaper for almost a year put a true smile on my face, because when you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose. Don't forget your toque either.

deadly weapons

The other day I was flipping through the paper and decided to read one of a hundred articles on felons. As usual, any journalist will state where the person is from, and what they were convicted for. Around this point, I came across a term that I've never fully wrapped my head around:

Assault With a Deadly Weapon

Now, there is no doubt that some weapons are indeed, deadly. But really, isn't every known object capable of killing somebody?

My confusion concerns around when an object ceases to be non-life-threatening, to the point where it can end somebodies life. For example, say you and I are playing catch on a nice, sunny day. No problems, right? All of a sudden, I decide that I'm going to throw some serious smoke your way, so I throw a 300 mph fastball, right through your chest! Obviously I am going to be thrown in jail for first-degree murder, as well as assault with a deadly weapon. But when did this conversion happen? When did that baseball stop being a ball of fun and start being a ball of death?

Just for fun, I've decided to compile a couple things that I could easily kill you with, which were pretty harmless in the first place.

I'll start with Rick.

First, before anything, I would take the CD out of the case and play it. You'd be having a good time, because we would laugh at Rick Astley's super-black voice. It's such a deep, soulful, and rich voice that we can't stop laughing when we look at the cover. Then I'd beat you with the case (because they're usually cracked when you buy them in the first place, right?).

The nail clipper. Ooooooh.
One minute you're cutting your nails, the next, you're dead! Probably around that time you cut just too close to the nail bed and bled to death, even though you knew you were going to do it, but you just didn't want to cut that nail again for a very long time.
At what point did these two pieces of metal become deadly?
Various sports balls.
I can easily say I've been victimized by any sort of sporting goods equipment at one point or another. I've been hit from 200 yards by a golf ball. I've had a tennis ball in my eye. I caught a football with my upper lip. A kid threw a softball at my nose. The list is endless.

You may look at the photo above and assume that these are all either displays of abuse, or damage at the workplace. But they are in fact all Wii related incidences! That's right, you could kill a muthafucka with one of those things. Wailing your arms around at top speeds in a small room with a friend while simulating kicking their ass is grounds for a deadly weapon, I think. Hell, even I've almost killed somebody with one.

Pencils are sharp and pointy. You get the idea.

My beef is only with the phrase. Yes, we all know that this person tried to kill someone with a normally harmless object, so maybe I am just feeling sympathy for that object. I butter knife is just as dangerous as a machete, and a slingshot is just as deadly as a gun. It's all in the application and intention. Assault With a Deadly Weapon just doesn't make sense because at their core, everything is dangerous.

However! I do have a solution. A new law! It's called:

"Assault With a Friendly Weapon"

It's for all those Wii-murderer assholes.

let's go places

I've always wanted to say it,

twenty tigress' and a single lion, in a jungle,

go ahead and arrest

i could use a little healing.

no big deal.

grrr, what a tone

what's the point?

it certainly isn't this.

this will never effect a "successful" person, ever.

you want to know why? because it's not in me,

it's in you.

Pain has always been of serious interest,

and anyone who knows anything about me knows this.

A little time to myself is good.

A little relaxation is great too.

Four wheels, rolling, laughing.

All for a nice couch, on pg. 87

God, that's fucking comfy.

A, perfect, space.

Doesn't that top-dollar taste good?

"Cuh-rear" makes a better backseat.

Did I mention there is an asshole on that couch?

A smack on the face,

a huge laugh, "in your room,".

healing has always been the most interesting part,

except for that part on my left arm. Christ, it hurts.

change everything, why don't you.

please baby, make your tits bigger.

Run from that post to that post.

okay, now from that post to that post.

Get some fucking control over those vices, already.

Although

Take a rest, I'll be back in fifteen minutes.

The Spaghetti Spoon.

The truth is, it's all been a huge lie and you've all been fooled.

Feel better?

Things have been going well.

moneymoneymoneymoneymoneythewordlosesallmeaningdoesntit.

get me drunk.

get me drunk!

Two words: twenty foot yacht

"oh shit, remember that forest of dandelions? hilarious!"

we could use one of those.

I love you.

GET YOUR OWN.

You look friendly, so I'm going to tell you a story.

Court-Appointed Attorney.

my dad can beat up your dad

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

"I dreamt of you on a hill with an axe and a keg."

Put up your dukes and I'll lose. It's a given.

Fuck the young hottie at work.

Constructive criticism: not for everyone.

Orgasmic and organic are not the same thing, so please stop jacking-off.

We're all out of power cords, hunny!

Distortion on ten, please.

When did my hard-drive get so soft?

"That's where the party is,"

Scented candles, your moms best pie, and a well-cooked tofurkey.

Let us just close our eyes and pretend we're somewhere else.

everybody poos

While taking a shit today, I began to wonder who else was shitting at that same moment. Then I began to laugh, because I started thinking about celebrities shitting. After cycling through about a dozen shit-lebrities, I laughed hardest at the thought of Victoria Beckham shitting.

Think about it.

Posh Spice pinching off a huge loaf? Haaaahahaa!! I'm trying to imagine her struggling-poo face.

I'll try to think of some more funny ones.

Nicole Kidman, Ghandi, and Bruce Wayne are all funny too.