the night is young, and so are we

This is a story about two boys in the woods at night.

Recently, while visiting back home, myself and a great group of friends attended a housewarming party in the Pond Mills area of London. After several hours of good times and a multitude of alcoholic beverages, it was time to make the trek home. Seeing as Pond Mills is an area that I would almost qualify as desolate (in terms of London's outline), we decided against taking a cab until we'd arrived at a major road on foot. I had a pretty good idea where we were about 20 minutes into the journey, and I knew that we were nowhere near cab territory. I'm talkin' country-road-no-streetlights-in-sight kind of nowhere. Two friends decided they would call a cab and wait. I had other plans.

I convinced my friend Bryan that we were going to make a fucking pilgrimage, like men, like our grandfathers fathers would. There we were, two boys, walking through the woods, approaching the morning light. I had convinced Bryan to make this journey based on the fact that it would be a funny memory and that it's what two Canadian guys should be doing in winter.

This is something I do on a very regular basis. You see, my theory is twofold.
1. There is absolutely no reason not to make memories, or at least attempt to. I would say more that 50 per cent of any of my actions provides me with some satisfaction, whether it's crossing the street on a diagonal or taking the longest way home. Adventure drives me, as does the quest to make a good story. The need to be entertained, or entertain, is at the core of any of my actions and decisions.
2. If you're going to get shit-faced you might as well use it to your advantage. I can't tell you how many friends I've used this line on, only because it makes absolute sense to me. What's the point? Getting drunk is not very easy to do. Yet once you finally achieve inebriation, you just throw that money away (in a sense) by hitting the sheets? (unless you're about to have sex, which is totally different). All of my closest friends have experienced this with me in one way or another. Three that come to mind are scaling buildings (do it safely please), swindling hospital security guards into allowing us to use a shortcut through the lobby, and hijacking a boat in Toronto harbor in order to use the bathroom. Those last two happened on the same night by the way. I could literally write a memoir on every intoxicated (mis)adventure I've had over the years. Call that what you want, but remember I'm the one with the tales.

So back to the woods.
I cannot put into words the feelings I get when on Canadian safari. During this night, we jumped creeks, hopped rusty fences, battled chest-high grasses, evaded headlights, and ascended underpasses - all in an effort just to get home. We laughed, struggled, and helped one another make the journey home, which was a staggering 7 kilometers. In fact, the photo seen at the top of the page behind the header is one of the fields we crossed.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that life is often too easy. It's easy to hop in a cab and be escorted home, and I'm not saying I don't take advantage of that sometimes. I suppose what I'm getting at is that sometimes you have to sacrifice your own personal comforts in an attempt to have some fun and make memories for yourself. It's also to important to remind ourselves that not only is life easy, it's fucking short. The night is young, and so are we. Let's hop some fences already.

*top photo. Bryan and I, Vancouver, 2007

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.

Mirrors Please

I need a hand.

Well, I actually need some mirrors.

As seen in the rough digital sketch above, I've been toying with the idea of photographing landscapes with large mirrors reflecting the image into several parts of the landscape (the semi-transparent represent the mirrors). However, I don't have many mirrors this size.
If any of you know where I could find some, somebody who has some to spare, or any other information I'd love to hear it. In honesty, the larger the better. If at all possible, some sort of stand as well that it can lean on. Otherwise, I may have to write a blog post directed towards my welder friends. Mirrors without borders are most preferred.
I'm writing this here because I know so many of you are great seekers, foragers, collectors, hustlers, pack rats and researchers.
I'm not asking that you break your day over this, but to just keep your eyes open. Chances are usually good that you'll find one on the sidewalk somewhere. If you snag any leads, let me know through email (andrew.allan.schmidt@gmail.com) asap and I'll reward you with a hug and some beers. You guys are the best. Thanks for looking.

Andy.

the machinists

Yeah it's been a while. For some reason I'll leave the house in the morning wanting to write something, then lose interest over the course of the day, for whatever reason. I could however, spout off on a certain diet that I've been on as of late.

My friend Aaron and I decided to depart on one of the more radical diets known within Hollywood (for film buff's, Christian Bale used this method to lose something like 60 pounds for his role in The Machinist). As I'm sure Aaron looked into the mirror with the same sort of discontent for his body as I did, we decided to hold hands and take the plunge together. That was eight days ago.

The diet consists of mainly apples (of any variety) and canned tuna, with a few personal exceptions (he eats carrots, I eat leafy greens), you know, just to spice things up. This diet/cleanse/whatever I assure you, is not as healthy as it sounds. Even with a daily dose of multivitamins, your body still requires much more than acidic fruit and fish. I realized this days into it. We loosely set personal goals for ourselves. Mine was to either last until this upcoming Friday (rounding off at about 12 days), or to lose ten pounds. I weighed myself on a friends scale across town on the first day, weighing in at 194. I haven't been back since, but I'll ball-park that I've lost about 8. I can see my ribs when I suck in for fuck sake's.

I was attracted to this diet for two main reasons. One, two lose a fare bit of weight. It's not that I'm wildly overweight, but I've just become pretty lacklusted about the way I see myself over the past few months. Not like "eating disorder" bummed, but I'm sure you know what I mean. The second was just the pure personal will to do it, as well as the deprivation of what I hold so dear: food.
I can make almost anything in my kitchen or yours. I love to cook, and I do it everyday. Yet this apple/tuna has got me really bummed because I can't even combine the two into something edible. Sure I can bake apples, but the taste remains.
One of the more challenging aspects of this hunger is just living where I do, and being surrounded by unbelievable cuisine. Little Italy, Little Portugal, Chinatown and everything ethnic in between. Although not so terrible now, the cravings were almost unbearable at times. I actually saw spit shoot out of my mouth once on the street, I kid you not. So in this respect, it is not the process of being hungry, but the reward that will come once it is all over - whenever that may be.

There have been some tough times I'll admit. I actually almost fainted in the computer lab at school last weekend before clinging to a vending machine with my head between my legs, punching in #143 to get some Crispers. All Dressed, of course. At that point, I knew these days were coming to an end. I can't say I was surprised though: apples aren't much aside from water, and tuna, by now, I've cut out of my diet completely and either eat salmon or cous cous. It's safe to say I ruined tuna for myself for a while, which sucks because I cringe at Gold Seal's promotional tuna posters spattered around the streets of Toronto.

I'll post a final weight loss figure on this site once I stop for good.

Oh and a big plus is that you get drunker WAY faster.

me and pretty

Almost 2 years ago, I briefly met a gentleman named Bernard Purdie. He was playing a show with Cut Chemist here in Toronto. I shook his hand. To most that doesn't mean much, yet what many don't know, is that "Pretty" Purdie is the most recorded drummer of all time. I really don't need to sit here and list his credentials, because if you have the time you should do that yourself. The list is staggering (he's recorded on over 4,000 albums).

I came across this video earlier today and it simply reminded me of "the passion" (direct Lizard King quote). It reminded me that it's not the task to learn or love something; it's the love. As I sat and watched Purdie simply tap the drum skins, I remember that this is what passion looks like. A love for doing what you do. It's that kind of passion that makes me believe in everything I love doing. I believe true passion is not giving a shit about the outcome, but more just looking at your objective and jumping into bed with it, with only time on your side.

Go have fun doing what you love everyone, and maybe watch a little "Pretty" while you're at it.

have a nice fucking day!

I have no idea what provoked these. I think it's because every time I see the image directly above, I utter the words "have a nice fucking day!", because it just screams energy, even though it's insanely grotesque haha. Come to think of it, most of them are pretty fucking ugly. Enjoy, and use them in any way you'd like. You can't say quality blogging is dead.

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.

twitted

got myself a Twitter account.

come join me at www.twitter.com/andicles

Blair Whatmore would be glad to hear that nickname still lives.

happy trails.

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.

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.