Finding Home

Hi there!


It's been a mad-whacked-out-crazy couple of months of apartment hunting, packing, moving, and watching nature kick the world's butt. And yet, when all is said and done, my world's settling into the warm months quite nicely. Of course, if you'd talked to me 12 hours ago before I found my keys that had been missing for a week buried amongst piles of stuff in my bedroom, I would have been singing a different tune.

But my optimistic side sees that as the final nail in the coffin of me not feeling like the place I've lived at for the past week with my lady love Kari is home. It is most emphatically my new home, in a way I've never felt before. Until now, home was the place where I grew up; a house long sold and re-occupied. Or maybe it was the house where I spent my teens and early 20s. But no, that's my Mom and Step-Dad's home, I just visit once in a while.

And strangely enough, my last apartment, where I lived for nearly 4 years, wasn't home, it was more of a place to hang my hat and pass out at the end of a night at the bar, with the exception of the deck out back.

But where I live now is starting to feel like home. Maybe it's because it's 5 minutes away from work, maybe it's because I've got the most awesome roommate ever... Or maybe it's that I finally have enough space not to feel like a cramped bachelor.

Anyway, what got me thinking about this most of all is the fact that, despite the lease being in mine and Kari's name, the apartment, or at least a small part of it, belongs to another creature.

Outside the bathroom window, in a hollowed out piece of a wooden eave, lives a family of some sort of chickadee or sparrow. It's oddly heartwarming listening to birdsong as you take a whizz! But that got me thinking about what it must be like for animals building a home to protect their family. They don't have the same foibles or silly aesthetic issues us humans do (except cats, of course). So, it got me thinking about writing a narrative on the duty of a bird towards its nest and it young.


May 9 2011

It's about time we got this nest going! The warmth can't last too long, the young must be birthed and cared for. Let's get some more grass stuffed into that corner...


Wow, can't deny that I KICK ASS at nest locations! This place is gorgeous, safe, and there's bugs EVERYWHERE! Wheeee! Let's sing for that one! Tweeweeweet!


Oh jeez, one of those big naked dogcats is looking at me again. I'm gonna cock my head and give it the "Whatchu got, punk?" look. That usually works, right? Yup, there it goes, lumbering away with the grace of a plummeting rock. Ha! Don't test me, jerk. I'll peck your brains out if you try anything around me! This is my HOME. This is mine because I'm nesting here. I don't know, nor do I care, what lived here before, I'm here now and that's what matters.


The mate is nestled over the eggs, giving the chicks her warmth. I hope they come soon, the excitement is killing me! Gotta hop around a bit I'm so excited here!


The sun's warming my feathers, and I'm filled with a pride that only comes to the new parent who's taken an empty space and made it a home for their spawn. I tilt my head to get more sunshine and sing my joy.


TWWWEEEETTWEEETTWWEEWEEWEWEWEEEETTTT!

Great, expectations...

Good day!

I keep wondering sometimes if I'm repeating myself or if I keep repackaging the same themes in this environment. I guess I find myself thinking a lot on the same topics. My last three posts strike me as tying in to each other thematically, and linking to this one.

Back in December, I covered the whole realm of dreams, followed by my New Year's resolution shpiel which, of course, I have failed to live up to. Sob sob. And then there was my last post, which dealt with the concept of judgement by others and judging others being necessary elements to living what I will smugly call a moral life.

All of these tie into today's theme: expectations.

Dreams are one thing, we never really expect them to come true. Obviously not the case with expectations. Y'know, because it's in the damn word!

Yet another frustration that has become part of the social fabric of normalcy (as I perceive it) is the backlash against the slacker movement that has led to what I will call an environment of massive pressure on one's self to live up to a series of expectations based both on self-delusion and perception of peers. And in the digital age of over-the-top self-promotion, I think that expectation focuses on a kind of homegrown fame.

Just about everyone I can think of wants to be known. Gone are the days of being happily lost in the crowd, standing out has become de rigueur. And I find myself feeling the pressure of that expectation. So much so that I created not one, but two blogs. And as much as I prevaricate to say that I created these as writing practice when bored at work (which is still true), in the end, the truth is that I started writing Nick Likes To Write Stuff and Dude, Cook! as a way of getting noticed by foodies and philosophers.

Too bad I don't seem to be striking the right chords (no one's calling me to write a cookbook). And even more frustrating is the knowledge that certain people who are shilling an image of themselves that isn't quite honest, because it's all they have going for them, are succeeding at it better than truthful lil' ol' me. Oh well...

But this takes me back to the concept of expectation. I'm not talking about parental pressures, because I'd hope anyone with a sense of self-determination would have learned to tell their parents' pressures to suck it, but rather I'm looking at the cultural environment of expectation in which many of us, I think, find ourselves wrapped up.

Perhaps it's because I'm surrounded by artists, musicians, dancers and event organizers that I get this sense of not measuring up. But I feel it no matter what. I feel like I'm not making my mark on the world.

Which leads to the inner monologue to pipe up with "Since when are you supposed to leave a mark?"

And really, since when are we? Isn't the only expectation we need to place on ourselves to be happy in our own skin and to do as little harm as possible to our fellow humans? But wait, freeze. That can't be it, that's too... lazy?

So, maybe there are expectations we need to place on ourselves. But they aren't the standard "get a good job, get noticed in your field, meet Mr./Ms. Right, change the world" expectations. Maybe, just maybe, we all could benefit from placing this one expectation on ourselves and on others: "be as good to each other as you can!" With that strategy, disappointment only comes to assholes.

March 26 2011

A red heart lain bare, raw and passionate is stronger than steel. In its fragility, it can be shattered, but in its capacity for love, it transcends pain.

In peace, all that which has come before, every failure, every misstep, every unfulfilled ambition can come together into a great tapestry of joy at the living involved in not achieving.

If everything we did succeeded, would life not become as boring as asphalt?

Wear your screw-ups like armour, like a bangle, like a medal. The attempt shines brightly too.

Judgement

Howdy!

It's ironic just how much of the Bible is taken in snippets when people are trying to make a specific point. In this case, the whole "judge not lest ye be judged" passage. Well, the full version of that passage is:

Matthew 7

1 Judge not, that ye be not judged.
2 For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.
3 And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
4 Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?
5 Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.

So, it's not really "judge not lest ye be judged", it's more like "Dude, you're in no position to judge others because you suck so DAMN MUCH!"

Well, I'm going to disagree with the Bible a little bit. We are going to inevitably judge others by their actions in accordance with our own values, especially based on the levels of intimacy we share with people. I've often been criticized or disapproved of for my perspective on friendship because I believe that friendship is NOT about unconditional support, but rather being there to help keep your friends on the path you believe best suits them. If you see someone you care about doing things that are hurtful to them or just generally dumb, it's up to you to call them on it.

As for the "mote vs. beam" message, well, Matthew, I'll ask you this: Isn't the one who's most experienced with a given fault or sin better suited to call someone else on that behaviour? Is it hypocritical or is it "I know because I've been there"?

But that isn't really what concerns me in this post. What does concern me is the growing social impulse to avoid judgement towards anyone in the name of privacy and independence. Problem with that is: How are you supposed to to keep yourself honest and behaving in an honorable way when you don't have someone else to act as a sounding board for your behaviour?

Seriously, individually we aren't really designed as human beings to take care of our own behaviour. How often do we fess up to our errors without any form of evasion or "butt covering"? Contrition  never comes easily, if it comes at all.

Therefore, isn't it almost necessary to have someone a little more accessible than God judging our behaviour? And if you're an atheist, then this whole argument is moot and the need for a behavioural standard is rooted in social interactions. So, isn't there a necessary evaluation that must happen in any interaction? Isn't it, in fact, necessary to judge others' actions?

Now, the word 'judgement' itself has a double meaning. First, judgement is the act of judging. But judgement also has an inwardly analytical meaning. Having 'good judgement' means the individual knows the consequences of their actions and acts accordingly.

Now, my point in all this is that this obsession with not being "judged", not being held accountable, has led to the death of honour, grace and courtesy in our time. I think it's time we learned to be at peace with the idea that someone close to us is watching our actions and will chime in when appropriate to tell us "Um, dude, bad idea. Knock it off." Whether or not we listen is a whole different story.

February 15, 2011

The Hollow World

No one is better or worse.
Impulse driven masturbation of the soul fills the World
With a fog of apathy and self-importance.
Each is become Caesar to themselves.
"Any who dare to speak ill of the King is to be exiled and reviled!"
We decree with peacock chests puffed.
All working towards base satisfaction,
Leaving the noble to fade, the genteel to be forgotten,
The beautiful to be thrown on the pile.
And when a bold voice dares to speak against it,
It is vilified as an enemy of freedom and cast down,
Leaving muses and saints to weep for what's been lost,
And dullards to revel in their obligation-free paradise.

Looking ahead to 2011

Happy New Year folks!

Well, 2010 has been one heck of a year. For me it was year of new discoveries, new experiences and crossing at least one item of the ol' bucket list. But it was also a year betrayal and lies that fundamentally shook my faith in others, thankfully offset by a love that brought that faith back. It was also a year of learning a whole heckuva lot, including the fact that you just can't reach some people. But that isn't going to stop me from crying out to the ether, because some of y'all probably enjoy what I have to say.

So, today's entry is dealing with what I call New Year's Goals. I don't like the term "resolutions" because to me it implies that if you don't stick with them, you've somehow betrayed yourself and failed the universe and should rot in Hell! Well, mayhaps I'm exaggerating, but I think you see my point. Goals are far more mutable than resolutions.

Now the twist here is that I actually think I've got some insight into how to make these work and I'd like to share my thoughts with you on the subject.

So here we go!

Sunday, January 2

Goal 1: Lose the belly


One unfortunate side effect of falling in love with someone as indulgent in hedonism as myself is that you double the amount of food you eat! I've always had a bit of a tummy, but since Summer I've kinda let it go into overdrive. I've not been exercising nearly enough, and that's purely out of laziness.


So, how does one go about addressing such a pesky problem, especially when everyone seems to share it and yet it endures. I'm sure at least half of you have made some sort of promise to lose weight this year. Well, I've found a few things help.


1) Keep moving! Even if you go to the gym 3 times a week and kick your own arse for 45 minutes on the elliptical trainer, it means nothing if the rest of your time is spent sitting on your butt (says the guy doing that very thing as he types this up). So, get up and go for a 20 minute walk at least once a day. I have the good fortune of living within walking distance to work so it's already part of my day, but try to find the time to do it for yourself. Next time you're going for a small grocery run, do it on foot. Nothing to do on your day off? Hit a museum or gallery; you get the benefit of being on your feet while checking out neat stuff!


If all else fails, get a Wii and play one of their fitness games, it can be a surprisingly good workout!


2) Smaller meals. I've been failing at this one miserably. Normally, it's recommended to eat 5 smallish meals daily. I've been eating, on average, a huge breakfast (I shake my fist at you Kari!), a lunchtime snack, and a huge dinner. This is the wrong way to go about feeding yourself. There's a simple principle to eating and maintaining a decent body shape and it's this: eat enough food per meal to be only just sated. Your body doesn't store unused nutrients, we aren't bears. Nope, whatever isn't being used to fuel the body is going to become fat. So, think of feeding yourself as a constant current of nutrition rather than spikes and dips.


3) Less meat. Meat is harder to digest, so more of it stays un- or under-digested. My friend Troy, who's a vegetarian, once wore a t-shirt I thought was disgustingly clever: "Beef, it's what's rotting in your colon." I LOVE meat. I would marry meat if it wasn't weird. But I've been overindulging in it of late. One meat course a day at most is my current plan.


4) Less beer. Ooooooh boy, this is going to be the hardest one. Apparently switching to gin works well, but gin is disgusting. Instead, I'm going to try drinking more wine. Problem is that wine and beer are about the same calorically. Hey wait, the Internet said wine has MUCH fewer calories! And the red stuff has those anti-oxidant whatchamadealies. SWEET! Where's my corkscrew?


So, those are some strategies. Oh, that and a medicine ball workout every other day. That should help...


Goal 2: Stop worrying about being understood


I don't know why I care so much about not being misinterpreted and being understood, nor why I obsess on trying to explain myself when that isn't happening. But it's a huge flaw that has gotten me in trouble on numerous occasions. I guess really it's about not caring what others think of me. I like me, that's the only one whose opinion really counts.


Goal 3: Think the best of others and keep quiet


This is the positive form of "stop holding grudges and gossipping". Really it's directed at a few people who know very well why I think badly of them. But hey, holding onto that anger doesn't help at all. So, here's hoping I can exorcise it with positive thinking and go back to the not caring what others think.


Goal 4: Take people as they are in REAL life


The Internet has this horrible power to skew who people are, so much so that some people start to let their online selves bleed out into their real lives and get so caught up in their online lives that real life seems less important. Just look at Twitter.


Well, I'm going to keep enjoying the knowledge and time-killing joys the Net has to offer, but I'm going to develop a greater sense of willful doubt when it comes to anything people say online.


Goal 5: Drink more wine, less beer. Not just for weight reasons, but also because it's delicious.




So, that's about all I have.

I hope all your goals come to fruition and maybe even a dream or two!

Cheers!

Dream A Little (or Big) Dream!

Aaaaaand we're back!

It occurred to me, after the last post dealing with my weirdo dreams from age 17, that it would be fun to look into and share some of my real-life dreams. I may be an old man of 36, but I still have a lot of dreams I'd like to undertake, things that are more than hobbies, but rather ideal paths for me. That being said, I'm a pretty pragmatic fella, I seriously doubt that any or all of these will come true.

But success to me comes from the attempt, not the achievement. I look to the example of one of my brothers. A few years back, he decided he was sick and tired of the life of a salesman and decided to try his hand at opening a business of his own that dealt with one of his passions, golf (yeah, whatever floats one's boat, I guess...). Long story short, it didn't last much more than a few years and it was strenuous to say the least. I'm not even sure how he feels about it any more, maybe he thinks it was an utter waste of time. I haven't really sat down and talked to him about it. I should do that. But I respect the hell out of him for giving it a shot.

Why? Because Lord knows I'm getting antsy to start exploring my own dreams, specifically professional ones, that are outside the confines of the federal public service. Don't get me wrong, the work's easy, the money's good, and there are always interesting characters to meet.

But is this work that makes me happy? Not really.

What keeps me from feeling like a complete sell-out underachiever is this: the notion that you have to find a job that 'fulfills' you is a steaming load.

Work isn't a calling, it is neither ennobling nor embiggening, and anyone who says it is has been reading too many Knights of Labour pamphlets. Less than 200 years ago, work was a necessary evil, paid or not. The idea of success was to make enough money to pay someone else to do the heavy lifting while you sat back and watched your belly grow. Not much has changed other than the ridiculous economic reality that dictates you have to keep working until you're old; where the idea of having enough income to be able to stop working at, say, 40, is laughable unless you're one of those 5 percent of the population who control 90 percent of the wealth. I am not, nor do I imagine I will ever be. I'd have better luck winning the lottery (which I never play).

And you can bet your arse that if I did win the lottery, I'd quit working 'toot suite' and ski until my knees collapsed.

And then I'd buy cyborg knees.

Am I digressing? Anyway, the point is that I'm getting pretty antsy to explore the idea of making a living outside the confines of an office, doing something other than staring at a computer screen. It is a dream of mine to open some sort of food service. Not really a restaurant proper, because I've been a line cook and I don't care to repeat the experience of running around for hours on-end like a chicken with my head cut off. But maybe a tea room or 10-table bistro. I've been seriously contemplating opening a food truck (not going to say more because I don't want anyone poaching my idea!), as well as some occasional catering work.

But that dream is precluded on the real necessity of having the capital to afford to set things in motion. I do not have anywhere near the resources to do such a thing, and the only real way I imagine I can get the collateral to secure a loan is to buy a house.

And that is another dream of mine: to be a homeowner before I hit 40. But, as the housing market in this town continues to have such ridiculously inflated prices, I'm going to have to keep dreaming it feels like.

Stupid reality getting in the way of dreams n' stuff... *grumblegrumblegrumble*

But yeah, I think we'd all like to live our dreams to the fullest and maybe, just maybe, some of us are clever (or delusional) enough to mold their own selves to the dreams that become attainable as time goes on. So suddenly, what may at one point have been a hobby or a side project can become a 'dream come true'. If humans are as adaptable as all the textbooks say we are, then it stands to reason that when we become convinced of the unattainability of our dreams, we necessarily change them.

That being said, I have dreams that I know are pretty much unattainable, but being a stubborn bastard, I won't abandon them. Mostly because it's a nice way to occupy one's mind, especially when drudging through a Sunday morning shift in media monitoring.

Among those dreams is to work for a year or so in Africa doing some sort of relief work. But that dream is nearly pointless when juxtaposed with the more realistic dream of becoming a father. Not like I can shlep the kids out to Tanzania, at least not any time before they're of school age. Another is to visit half the countries in the world. This is more realistic, but unlikely because of prohibitive costs.

Now, all you super-positivists can cram it if you start railing that I'm being too negative. I've always been this outwardly curmudgeonly and it hasn't stood in the way of me attaining some of my dreams. Luckily, some is good enough for me. I may not dream huge, but I rarely have my illusions shattered to the point of depression. I could die today, satisfied with the sum of my accomplishments.

But, in an effort to make this post both entertaining and cathartic, I'm going to write a passage on my favourite, yet absolutely unattainable, kind of dream: flying. I'm not talking learning to pilot a plane or hang-gliding, I'm talking Superman-styles; throwing off the shackles of gravity and hurtling through the sky with only my will to propel me. I have this dream fairly regularly, possibly as a counterpoint to my acrophobia. Ironic eh? The guy who gets nervous looking over a 3-story balcony dreams of flying. But, I suppose overcoming our worst fears is the most important dream of all...

December 17, 2010


It's late. It's always night time when the impression of possibility overwhelms me. I look out my bedroom window, which is always in my childhood home, yet looks out on any number of possible vistas that I've seen over a lifetime. One moment it's Heron Road, the next it's the Market, and then a placid lake somewhere in Cottage Country I once visited when I was ten.

Next, before I can even fathom why, I'm out on the sidewalk, looking up at the rooftops and thinking I should get up to them somehow. So, I will myself to rise up off the ground. My waking mind, which is always a tiny bit aware, even when in the throes of a dream, screams that this isn't possible, but the power of will is far greater in this environment than in the conscious world.

It's hard to describe a feeling that can't happen in the "real" world, but the memory of it is strong. It's like a vibration starts throughout your whole body. It's not quite a numbness, but it's in the same ballpark. It's sort of halfway between the warmth of a bath and a limb falling asleep, but it surrounds and penetrates every cell. Maybe this is what the womb feels like...

This feeling, fuelled by an intense, passionate, all-encompassing, necessary desire, causes my body to simply float upwards, slowly. The desire is beyond the mind's capacity to put into words, the action is one of pure instinct. But in an instant I realize what I'm doing and the mind kicks in. A mirror of consciousness comes into the scenario and it becomes real. And I now feel control.

With this realization, everything is possible. I shoot off into the air, bounding to the first rooftop. I'm not quite flying, more like leaping. Kind of like the Incredible Hulk, but more restrained. I alight onto a rooftop gracefully, as if gravity itself had become subject to my whims. Then, a smile worthy of the Devil on my lips, I launch myself into the air, completely abandoning notions of up and down having any effect on me. I am free to careen in the sky, to smother myself in the embrace of clouds, to hurtle upwards towards Heaven.

Soon the dream becomes one of impression rather than visualization. I can't see where I'm flying to, it's all a jumble of images, disjointed and confusing. But the sensation of peace in flight steadies me and I revel in it until I awake. And, as I open my eyes, I try to hang on to that moment between sleep and coffee. Somewhere in there, the feeling of flying is still there, hiding beneath the surface of my molecules. It's in that moment, lasting mere seconds, that I realize that, if I could ever find a way to keep that instinct, that magical capacity to shake off gravity, I will fly.

Empassioned Frustration and Frustrated by Passion

"The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."
- Yeats, The Second Coming

I've always loved Yeats' Second Coming as it tends to nicely sum up just how screwed up the world is in which we live.

But the line above strikes me on a more philosophical level in that it nicely describes the paradox of mental and psychological well being. It's becoming painfully obvious that the most "well adjusted" among us are usually the least passionate, perhaps even being coldly detached.

Lord knows I find myself trying to detach myself emotionally from the world, because I've had issues with lack of emotional control in the past and it's led to some pretty thorny situations. So, I understand that to lack passion/conviction/ideological dedication serves as an almost necessary armour in this "screw the other guy" world we live in. But I just as strongly recognize that this is an unsustainable way to live and think. Lack of empathy with our fellow human beings has gone on quite long enough.

How many more wars, genocides and enslavement must we witness before we start giving a damn?

Now, caring about the fate of others is all well and good, but on the flip side, being a complete bleeding heart with no emotional restraint only serves to paint a bulls eye on you and you'll suffer until you're completely drained of your compassion.

And to make matters worse, it's common enough that these empassioned humans are the ones in psychotherapy, sucking back Paxil until the drugs suppress that passion. To be an emotionally driven person is a weakness, perhaps even a sickness, according to our social norms of 'wellness'.

So, it's a "damned if you care, damned if you don't" Catch-22. Wellness is simply an illusion and all we can try to do is find our own answers and, I guess, be selective where we choose to open our hearts. But even that is a Herculean task for those individuals who haven't learned to rein in their emotional reactions. I have many people close to me who straddle that nigh-unlivable line. They are passionate, kind, loving souls, which is what draws me to them in the first place, but then the ugly side shows in that they feel all the negatives very strongly, too much so? They cry a lot, they often feel persecuted or let down, and often have difficulty with disappointment. I used to be like that (worse, really), but I had to harden my heart against emotional reactions for my own health, but I think there have been consequences. I suffer from panic attacks on occasion and I can't deny the suspicion that it's because I've repressed a lot of emotions over the course of my life. Is the panic a backlash?

So, what is the true path to wellness both within in how we react, and without, in how we show sympathy without entwining our well being in the well being of others?

In the end though, I think I'd rather interact with the passionate train wrecks than the reliable robots. As long as they don't mind me giving the occasional reminder that bad things are rarely as bad as they feel.

Now, my passage today is an attempt to put the emotional conflict I feel within into words.


November 20, 2010

It's okay, there's nothing to worry about. Don't look over your shoulder at the plotting shadows. They aren't real, only the fear they engender is. (But that fear makes them real!)

No one's out to get you, are they? (I don't know, but better to be suspicious than victimized...)

I can't be a victim of paranoia and I hope you can't either, but I feel it as tangible. There's hot breath on my neck and the Sword of Damocles hangs over the world entire. I know it's all in my head, and yours too. And the frustration over the inability to dispel it is maddening.

Smash out! Hit something! Murder the dread!

If we let everyone in, if everyone is our brother and sister, that might do the trick. You think you can handle that? Me neither. Oh well, at least we're trying...

Just remember this: better to risk being screwed over by everyone than never get close to anyone.

Now stop crying before I start tearing up too.


-Dedicated to anyone who fits the bill-

A Post to Boredom At Work!

I don't why, but I get easily bored at work. Oh wait, I know why: I watch the news for a living and unless there's some kind of disaster or scandal, things are pretty slow. As we like to say in the office: An exciting day for us is bad news for Canadians. So, be glad it's slow.

Anyhoo, usually when I'm bored but not feeling super-creative, I get into lists. Now, with this in mind, I'm going to fire off a list of my favourites/least favourites in the world. Afterwards, I'm going to spin a tale based on a dream I once had about dealing with nightmares. Yes, I had a very memorable dream at around 17-18 about how to ward off nightmares. It's weird, but then again so am I.

November 13

Listing favourites/least favourites

Food:

Favourite: Oh man, ummmmm... everything? I guess the one food I can never really have enough of is my dad's BBQd steak. He marinates it in, of all things, Kraft Catalina dressing. I've been known to nibble through over a pound of the stuff.

Least favourite: There really isn't much I don't like eating. I do have an aversion to green peppers, but that's for gastro-intestinal reasons.

I guess I'd have to say baked beans, but I've had some at really high end places like Play and Whalesbone and that has definitely shifted my opinion.

Books

Favourite: As cliché as it sounds, Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien has a special place in my heart and would have to be undeniably my favourite book. I don't think it's because it's so well written (it can get pretty draggy, especially the beginning), but rather because of its impact on my life. It was really the first book I read on my own as a kid that wasn't from school. My brother read it to me when I was about 5-6 also.

As for my favourite book for being a great book, Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut is definitely up there. Honourable mentions to Headhunter by Timothy Findley and Imajica by Clive Barker.

Least favourite: Umm, my Grade 10 math book? There are few books out there that I dislike. I am not a fan of much poetry, so perhaps The Collected Works of Alexander Pope can rot in hell...

Most difficult reads: Ulysses by Joyce, naturally, The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky, naturally, and Shake Hands with the Devil by Roméo Dallaire (it's his account of the Rwandan genocide of 1994, so yeah, not easy to get through).

TV

Favourite: The re-imagined Battlestar Galactica. Hands-down. Best TV show ever made, except the last 40 minutes or so of the finale, which was somewhat cheesy. I recently got my girlfriend hooked on it too! Mwahahahahaha!

Least favourite: I had to sit through about 5 episodes of America's Next Top Model last season (there are drawbacks to dating a fashionista). Pretty much all "Reality TV" makes me wince.

Movies

Favourite: Oooooh, now that's a tough one. Let's categorize, shall we?

Overall: Going to have to go with The Empire Strikes Back. It was about as grim as it gets for a 6-year-old. That movie cemented Darth Vader as the best badass of all time. It almost makes one able to forget that there was ever a character named Anakin Skywalker.

Favourite action: Predator. "If it bleeds, we can kill it.". 'nuff said.

Favourite horror: Does Shaun of the Dead count as horror? Let's say it does. Because frankly, I don't like many horror movies. I absolutely ADORE this one.

Favourite comedy: The Big Lebowski. I want to be The Dude. That's my long term goal. I could even stand to have Walter as my best friend!

Favourite animated/kid's movie: Monsters Inc. Most Pixar made films are masterpieces, but there's something about the cleverness of this one that just keeps me coming back for more. "Mike Wazowski!"

Favourite sci-fi: Probably Blade Runner.

Favourite 'drama': Cool Hand Luke. I like it more each time I watch it.

Favourite fantasy: LOTR, natch. Mind you, if they nail Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, it might be usurped.

Favourite Super-hero (I LOVE that this is now a viable genre of movie): The Dark Knight. I could go on and on about Heath Ledger's Joker, which is one of the best villainous performances of all time, bar none. Even Orson Welles' Hank Quinlan from Touch of Evil or Anthony Hopkins' Hannibal Lecter don't quite equal the brilliance of Ledger's Joker, mostly because you don't really know if it's madness or vision that motivates the character. He's so evil you're not sure he even recognizes it in himself. And certainly he doesn't care.

But what really makes me love the film so much is the pacing, you don't really get any breathers, even though it's over 2.5 hours long.

Least favourite: Can I say "most disappointing"? That, my friends, would be Spider-Man 3. I almost pulled back flips when I heard they were bringing Venom to the big screen. Then I heard they had cast Eric fracking Foreman (Topher Grace) as Eddie Brock. Eep! I maintained my resolve that it could still be good. They could throw in a touch of the Carnage character and literally make a leaner and meaner Venom.

(SPOILER!) But no, after 2 hours of bloated plot and Emo-Spidey, Venom is relegated to about 20 minutes of screen time and is damn near laughable. One of Marvel's best villains and certainly Spidey's true nemesis and he gets smoked by a Pumpkin Bomb? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

*sigh*

Music

If you've read my September 2 post on "Little bits of musical discovery", a lot of this may seem like a repeat. But hey, why not?

Favourite band(s): I've pretty much had a "top 5 bands" for a while now, but it's gotten a little muddled over the years. But there's two bands that have always stayed at the top, and always will. Those bands are Motorhead and Fishbone. Motorhead because they are still at it, they are immortal, and they are HEAVY! Also, Lemmy is simply cool incarnate. He's ugly, he's scuzzy and he doesn't care. He also happens to be one of the most genuine people in the world. If you get a chance, watch the documentary Ringers (it's about LOTR fans) and be amazed by his spiel on the 60s (Yep, one of Metal's founding fathers was once a dirty hippie).

Fishbone, to me, are one of the hardest working and underrated bands of all time. After their '96 show (documented in a previous post), I was humbled.

So, it's not even the music, really, it's the attitude of both these bands that keep them as my faves.

Others in the "top 5" (in rotation): Tragically Hip, Underworld, Mastodon, Tool, The Who, Rush

Favourite album: Again, it has something to do with the impact on my life at the time, I guess, but for some reason White Zombie's Astro Creep 2000 keep resurfacing as my fave.

Favourite song: Out of all those bands I love and tunes I've listened to over the years, how the heck can I narrow down a favourite song? Well, because it's simply brilliant, while still being a visceral experience. The song in question is Baba O'Reilly by The Who, the first track off of Who's Next. Maybe it's the guitar solos, maybe it's the violin, maybe it's Daltrey's vocals. I don't know, but every time I hear it, I get goosebumps. And the song title is BABA O'REILLY, NOT Teenage Wasteland! Get it right, people!

Least favourite band: Hedley. Why? I'll tell you. It was Ottawa Bluesfest 2007, I had just had my mind and ears blown by Buddy Guy playing a blistering set with the backdrop of the Ottawa River behind the stage. It was just an AWESOME experience. Now, the layout of the festival meant having to go by the main stage where Hedley was playing to exit the premises. So, I had to suffer listening to those pop-rock bubblegum cheese-monkeys and their crap started pushing out the residual musical joy of Mr. Guy's performance. I was irate. I'd never heckled a band publicly before, but was I ever letting them know how much they sucked THAT night! Fracking jerks!


I think that's enough for now on favourites, now for a story from my subconscious.

I'd always had trouble sleeping as a teenager, half because of insomnia, half because of nightmares (a lot of nasties beating me up, killing me, eating me, etc. Not fun). So, somehow my subconscious mind came up with the idea of assembling a team of the most kick butt characters to come into my dreams and watch my back and possibly kick some monster ass.

This "dream team" (groan) was quite an eclectic mix:

First, there was Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Because, really, in a scrape, I'd want Picard at my back more than any other Starfleet captain. Wouldn't you?

Also, this was 1992, so TNG was in its 6th and (maybe) best season.







Next was Wolverine. After all, Wolverine is pretty much the most arse-kicking superhero there is. Think about it, wouldn't you want someone with claws that cut through anything who can't really die taking care of the boogeyman for you?

As an aside, I wonder what would happen if Wolvie took on Superman. Could adamantium claws cut into Superman's skin? Would Supes' heat vision be able to kill Wolverine? Hey Marvel and DC, look into it! That would be one hell of a crossover!

Third member was Lemmy.

Yeah, sure, a Rock God can whoop dream-demons or whatnot. Well, if ANY 'mere mortal' could step up, it'd be Lemmy! Also, in my dream, he used his bass as a weapon and bludgeon monsters with it.

The last addition to the "dream team" was a loverly fellow by the name of Peloquin. The film Nightbreed had been released a couple of years previous with a follow-up comic series and one thing was clear: the most kickass monster to come out of Clive Barker's warped vision was Peloquin. He was ornery and vicious, the explanation for his addition being "might as well use someone worse than the enemy".







The last member was me, of course, armed with a pair of tonfa. Not sure why...

Hope you enjoyed this story of weirdness... BUT there is a lesson to be learned, which is this: If you or a loved one are having persistent nightmares, maybe this form of directed dreaming can help!


Well, that took care of 3 hours on shift...

Back to trying to find news...