tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169051092011-05-11T08:52:04.198-04:00Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.comBlogger401100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-11893953441461788492008-02-28T19:58:00.010-05:002008-02-28T20:22:20.981-05:00This past weekend Shauna and I gave a big middle finger to winter and took off for <a href="http://www.roddvacations.com/ourhotels/pei/millriver/index.asp">Mill River Resort</a> in western PEI. We were hoping for a weekend of relaxing around the (indoor) pool...unfortunately the place was crammed with families, who of course took over the pool like packs of locusts. But, no matter, we had a good time, starting with the tubing hill:<br /><br /><br /><object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-56bc7ede49c60fa7" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v8.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D56bc7ede49c60fa7%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331329430%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D1D28659AF45656B03B5990EB32EA69F36B2658AC.242FE58E30BEB15505E7034A9A4035063694171C%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D56bc7ede49c60fa7%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DWAswBHd5FMn3NPCjLllLhjJxiHs&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v8.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D56bc7ede49c60fa7%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331329430%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D1D28659AF45656B03B5990EB32EA69F36B2658AC.242FE58E30BEB15505E7034A9A4035063694171C%26key%3Dck1&iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D56bc7ede49c60fa7%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DWAswBHd5FMn3NPCjLllLhjJxiHs&autoplay=0&ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /></object><br /><br />Then later that day we took a trip to North Cape, the northwestern tip of the Island, where there is a crapload of windmills:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/R8da-nxCtJI/AAAAAAAAAN8/R-Mm-3ganyY/s1600-h/Mill-ion+Dollar+Weekend+031.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/R8da-nxCtJI/AAAAAAAAAN8/R-Mm-3ganyY/s320/Mill-ion+Dollar+Weekend+031.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172202728931374226" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And things are sexy in that icy-dirty kind of way:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/R8dbYXxCtKI/AAAAAAAAAOE/SUeiD5KdnwI/s1600-h/Mill-ion+Dollar+Weekend+010.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/R8dbYXxCtKI/AAAAAAAAAOE/SUeiD5KdnwI/s320/Mill-ion+Dollar+Weekend+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172203171313005730" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Basically, it's a real beach vacation in PEI:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/R8dbwXxCtLI/AAAAAAAAAOM/UT2Q6bDs6kk/s1600-h/Mill-ion+Dollar+Weekend+006.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/R8dbwXxCtLI/AAAAAAAAAOM/UT2Q6bDs6kk/s320/Mill-ion+Dollar+Weekend+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172203583629866162" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So we hung out at the resort for awhile, ate good food, drank more wine than necessary, turned our noses up at all the bratty kids, that type of thing. It was beautiful again the next day, and we decided a snowshoe through the woods in Millvale was in order. Mill River, Millvale, no relation to each other, more than an hour away from each other, but whatever. First we went home and got Bru, because Millvale is pretty much his favourite place on Earth. It's, like, better than a thousand unattended kitty litters in his mind, to the point where jumping photos are in order:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/R8ddAnxCtNI/AAAAAAAAAOc/fMca5zN5Knc/s1600-h/Mill-ion+Dollar+Weekend+037.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/R8ddAnxCtNI/AAAAAAAAAOc/fMca5zN5Knc/s320/Mill-ion+Dollar+Weekend+037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172204962314368210" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'll let Bru take it from here, at <a href="http://thebrublog.blogspot.com/">The Bru Blog</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-1189395344146178849?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-82053285492589269362008-02-19T14:57:00.001-05:002008-02-19T14:59:18.068-05:00Umm, in case this thing vanishes if I don't post at least once every few months...<br /><br />*post*<br /><br />There.<br /><br />Honestly, I will update it sometime.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-8205328549258926936?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-82505124538972516392007-07-17T22:30:00.000-04:002007-07-17T23:17:19.101-04:00I just finished reading Ian McEwan's <span style="font-style: italic;">Amsterdam</span>. The funny thing is, I just started reading it, this evening. It's under 200 pages, but even so starting and finishing a book on the same day is an extreme rarity for me, as I've got the reading speed of a concrete block. Yeah, it was really helpful in grad school. But <span style="font-style: italic;">Amsterdam</span> also turned out to be fantastic, which sped things along.<br /><br />The further along I get in a plot like that of <span style="font-style: italic;">Amsterdam</span>, the more I think of scaffolding. Most humble house painters and storytellers build a scaffold from the ground on up. At his blackboard or his park bench or wherever he does his scheming, perhaps McEwan erects his plots from the ground up, too. But with something as intricate as <span style="font-style: italic;">Amsterdam</span>, perhaps not. The relevant details, the key planks and piping that allow one level to link to the next, are interspersed so skillfully and almost randomly throughout the narrative that I can't see how they could be thought up in linear fashion. Instead, I'm so dazzled by it that I envision the scaffold floating in mid air, pieces gradually filling in here and there below it, with not a touch of urgency or wobble. Add McEwan's graceful prose, eye for metaphor, absorbing characters, intelligence without pretension, and you end up with a novel that would please architects and concrete blocks alike.<br />I highly recommend this book, as well as <span style="font-style: italic;">Atonement</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Saturday</span>, and I'm confident his other dozen or so books I've yet to read are just as impressive.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-8250512453897251639?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-23321520088325428292007-05-28T13:56:00.000-04:002007-05-28T15:01:10.516-04:00College: On the day we were moving Algonquin College finally accepted me into the program I wanted, but I was so unimpressed with them that I decided in favour of Centennial at that point. Sheridan never let me know one way or the other. So, I've accepted Centennial's offer of September admission, but at this point it doesn't look like I'll actually follow through on it. The more likely plan is to engage in an internship with a multimedia company here on the Island and take courses or a whole program over the internet. While I'm a bit antsy about this less traditional form of schooling, moving back to Ontario would be rather difficult, in terms of money, living arrangements and so on. I won't say there's no chance at all that I'll be going to Centennial, but right now it doesn't look likely. Part of the reason for this...<br /><br />House-buying: At first Shauna and I were looking around for an apartment and dealing with our favourite rule of the rental world: "No Pets". We got frustrated with that and visited the bank. The bank gave us good news. We started looking at houses. At first we only looked in rural areas, as it is our dream to have a place in the country with some acreage where we can have a little farm. But then we changed our focus to finding a small starter home in downtown Charlottetown, which we thought would be more in our price range and better suited to our current way of living and careers. We've looked at a bunch of houses now, and last week we found a place that we really liked and once the vendor lowered his price a little, we signed an offer and agreed on a closing date. However, in house buying it's always a good idea to make an offer conditional on inspection, which we did. Our respective father figures have tons of experience in construction and on Sunday they gave the house a thorough going-over in the manner of Holmes On Homes. The house was great except for one critical flaw in the foundation, which would have been extremely costly and inconvenient to fix. Given that the house was already in the upper range of what we could pay for, we decided to walk away from the deal, which was a giant let down. But we moved on, and inspected another house that we had looked at previously. Its price tag isn't so high, and it's more solidly built. While there's no showstopper issue like the first house we saw, there's more minor/medium problems/fix-its, so we have to decide whether we're willing to buy a house that will require some money and "sweat equity" as they say in this business. Right now we're mulling over this decision, but have also identified several other properties, which we hope to view on Wednesday. We hope to find a place that is appealing, affordable and structurally sound. Sometimes we wonder if this is too much to ask for, but those three principles aren't ones we're willing to compromise. Until we find the house that meets those criteria, we're living with my folks in Cornwall. They've been super, and very patient despite suddenly having two other people and their pets in the house they're used to having to themselves. Shauna and I are a bit sick of living out of boxes, though, and another plus to whatever house we choose will be MOVE IN A.S.A.P!<br /><br />Soccer: I've joined a team in the senior men's first division here. We haven't had the best start: one win, three ties and two losses. Certainly nothing as confidence-building as Imports FC last summer. But the team is a good bunch of guys, several of whom are from the UK, which makes things fun. The level of soccer isn't quite as high as it was in Kitchener, either, but I think it's improved from when I last played here almost a decade ago. Almost all of our games are on new turf fields, too, which is pretty kick ass. Nonetheless, I was reading the forums on the websites of the two Kitchener leagues I played in and found that I miss all the rivalries, trash talk and post-game analysis. Honestly, by the amount of time some of those guys put into the website, I wonder if they ever do any work in their day jobs.<br /><br />Otherwise, I'm kind of in stasis right now. The month of May has had its good points, but it's also been rather gloomy. I'm motivated to hunt for houses, but not much else. I want to get my own space, to set up, to have a home base, and then to sink my teeth into what I'm going to do about education and work. But right now I feel more like I do when I'm camping---my home and my stuff are somewhere else, and it's nice for a few days, but it's no place to be when you need to get shit done. So I'm listless in limbo.<br /><br />But, June (and hopefully some good weather) is around the corner, there are some good possibilities in the next batch of houses we're going to look at, and my listlessness can't last forever. Perhaps part of the reason for the listlessness is that I'm trying to break my daily coffee habit, and I've been fairly successful. I still crave it, but I don't get headaches anymore when I go without. I haven't weighed myself, but I think my tummy softness has reduced a little, too. And with that, the rain has cleared, so I'm going to wake Bobo from his doggy dreams and we're going to go for a walk.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-2332152008832542829?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-28173499150809143292007-04-09T12:25:00.000-04:002007-04-09T12:45:21.354-04:00This week I got some information that will factor in to my decision on college for next year. But it's not good info. No, I didn't receive a rejection---I received a nullification of sorts. Holland College has decided to suspend their interactive multimedia program for a year, to review it or some such. So whether I would have gotten in or not doesn't matter, because there's nothing to get in to. My decision is now whether to work for another year in PEI and aim to take the Holland College program in Sept. 2008 or to attend one of the Ontario schools I've applied to, this September. Either way, I will be moving home to PEI for the summer at least, as Shauna starts her job at UPEI on May 1st. It's now a logistics decision; I don't want to wait till 2008 as I'm eager to get into the multimedia field as soon as possible, but coming back to Ontario would mean being apart from Shauna, having two rents between us, saddling her with pet duties, etc. At the moment I still have offers on the table from Centennial, Canadore and Algonquin and am waiting to hear from Sheridan and Algonquin on a more advanced program. Hopefully letters will be out this week, as Ontario college admission offers must be accepted by May 1st or they are revoked.<br /><br />So, friends in Ontario---hope to see you over the next few weeks. Otherwise, have a good summer and I might be back in the province in September. Friends in PEI---I'm looking forward to a good summer on the Island, hope you're around.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-2817349915080914329?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-89927458953951075722007-04-01T21:52:00.000-04:002007-04-01T23:09:47.690-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBj7sgQODI/AAAAAAAAAKI/fndwRa-jeWU/s1600-h/72_bambi.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBj7sgQODI/AAAAAAAAAKI/fndwRa-jeWU/s320/72_bambi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048645059492198450" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Meat is murder. Tasty, tasty murder.<br /></div><br />There is no better way to ring in the month of April than by grilling some venison in the backyard. Today was a misty, drizzly day, but some warm weather earlier in the week made Barbarian Brian and I vow that this would be the weekend of the barbecue's return, no matter what. So this afternoon we dragged it out of the shed, dusted it off, with trembling hands lit the flame and then stood back in caveman-awe at the low roar of fire reawakened.<br /><br />I had been waiting for this moment for some time, and wasn't about to throw any old piece of gristle on the burning altar of manly cuisine. Upstairs Tim gave us some deer steaks back in the winter, and I tucked them away in the freezer for a momentous occasion like today. This morning I researched venison marinades and chose a honey garlic recipe (it was the only one for which I had all the ingredients). As I am wont to with those little bulbs of taste, I overloaded the garlic and the house was pungent all day long.<br /><br />Over beer, humus and guacamole we stood outside in our shirt sleeves and salivated as the steaks, chicken and veggies sizzled. In honor of the barbecue's emergence from the shed, the sun emerged from the clouds and gave the evening a pre-glimmer of summer. Nextdoor Cindy came over and tossed the soggy tennis ball for Bru until his tongue was hanging in the mud. Aunt and Uncle Funtime baked Sauce n' Cake de rigueur, for which Uncle Funtime invented a song to the tune of the Spider Man theme. When the meat was ready we retired to Casa Courtney to feast and watch the Juno Awards. The verdict on the venison: "gamey," much as Upstairs Tim had said it would be. He couldn't explain or articulate it any better, and neither can I. The verdict on the Junos: a flop. We Canadians can fire up a mighty barbecue, but don't ask us to put on a music awards show.<br /><br />All in all, a great first barbecue of the season for 205 Strange People.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBtW8gQOEI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/n2Rh2wpS_cw/s1600-h/2007+04+01+001.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBtW8gQOEI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/n2Rh2wpS_cw/s320/2007+04+01+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048655423248283714" border="0" /></a><br />The deer steaks gather their succulence. And yes, my counter top is blood red.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBtwcgQOFI/AAAAAAAAAKY/MtlMbdYz1C4/s1600-h/2007+04+01+003.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBtwcgQOFI/AAAAAAAAAKY/MtlMbdYz1C4/s320/2007+04+01+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048655861334947922" border="0" /></a><br />Barbarian Brian and The Gaping Maw of Meaty Deliciousness.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBua8gQOGI/AAAAAAAAAKg/nZqREakHnTI/s1600-h/2007+04+01+005.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBua8gQOGI/AAAAAAAAAKg/nZqREakHnTI/s320/2007+04+01+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048656591479388258" border="0" /></a><br />Aunt and Uncle Funtime in da house.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBvGMgQOHI/AAAAAAAAAKo/iPcklsyT2oI/s1600-h/2007+04+01+007.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBvGMgQOHI/AAAAAAAAAKo/iPcklsyT2oI/s320/2007+04+01+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048657334508730482" border="0" /></a><br />Action shot: Nextdoor Cindy is about to launch Bru on a chase, Barbarian Brian enjoys a contemplative grunt and Mavis is a tired little mop.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBvpMgQOII/AAAAAAAAAKw/Ly-5T-cbkvc/s1600-h/2007+04+01+011.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBvpMgQOII/AAAAAAAAAKw/Ly-5T-cbkvc/s320/2007+04+01+011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048657935804151938" border="0" /></a><br />That thing on the bench? It's a tennis ball. After Bru has had his way with it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBwD8gQOJI/AAAAAAAAAK4/IfS2UT72Kf4/s1600-h/2007+04+01+009.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBwD8gQOJI/AAAAAAAAAK4/IfS2UT72Kf4/s320/2007+04+01+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048658395365652626" border="0" /></a><br />Uncle Funtime tries the ingredients for Sauce n' Cake, which he says taste neither like Sauce nor Cake.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBwgcgQOKI/AAAAAAAAALA/WNTtO4K-bq4/s1600-h/2007+04+01+012.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBwgcgQOKI/AAAAAAAAALA/WNTtO4K-bq4/s320/2007+04+01+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048658884991924386" border="0" /></a><br />Choice cuts of Bambi, sizzling away...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBxBMgQOLI/AAAAAAAAALI/NMsZ8UHwsXM/s1600-h/2007+04+01+014.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBxBMgQOLI/AAAAAAAAALI/NMsZ8UHwsXM/s320/2007+04+01+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048659447632640178" border="0" /></a><br />Uncle Funtime can't believe Nelly Furtado is doing that on television.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBxY8gQOMI/AAAAAAAAALQ/eKCtpKgmmo0/s1600-h/2007+04+01+015.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhBxY8gQOMI/AAAAAAAAALQ/eKCtpKgmmo0/s320/2007+04+01+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048659855654533314" border="0" /></a><br />Sarah Chaperone works around her barbarian bun in the oven.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhByY8gQONI/AAAAAAAAALY/WZCYCyPs3Jo/s1600-h/2007+04+01+016.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RhByY8gQONI/AAAAAAAAALY/WZCYCyPs3Jo/s320/2007+04+01+016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5048660955166161106" border="0" /></a><br />Shauna was absent, so Aunt Funtime gives me the vegetarian's "Honestly, you men and your obsession with the meat of innocent animals" look.<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-8992745895395107572?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-43912009920277175562007-03-03T14:42:00.000-05:002007-03-03T15:16:31.355-05:00For Shauna, March is Major Thesis Writing Month. Her data-collection is complete and now she just has to buckle down and conquer (write) the beast.<br /><br />For me, March is the month for deciding. I've applied to interactive multimedia programs at Holland College (Charlottetown), Algonquin College (Ottawa), Sheridan College (Oakville), Centennial College (Toronto) and Canadore College (North Bay). By the end of this month, or hopefully earlier, I should know where I stand in terms of acceptance with all of these places, and I should be able to start planning my future, i.e. where the heck I'm gonna live. Some acceptances have actually started to trickle in...<br /><br />Holland College - Wildlife Conservation Technology: This was my original aim in applying to college, as I thought I would like an outdoorsy job, which I still might. But then I realized how much I've enjoyed the digital/web design components of my job at MVCA, and thought interactive multimedia might be more my ticket. Anyway, I've been accepted to the wildlife program, which is two-years long. However, I haven't heard back about HC's multimedia program. I'm pretty keen on moving back to PEI and so I'm anxious to hear about this one. The one problem: tuition. This program costs $8000 for nine months. That's pretty rich for my blood, and it doesn't include books/materials. Whether this can be offset by a lower cost of living on the Island, I don't know.<br /><br />Algonquin College - Interactive Multimedia Developer: I've been accepted into this two-year entry level program. However, I'm still waiting to hear about their one-year, more advanced Interactive Multimedia post-degree program, which I'd prefer. Algonquin looks like a very good school, and I like the Ottawa area, despite its cold winters. Also not too far from Montreal, and Aur and Bry live there. They're not the cheapest for fees, coming in at just under $5000, but they're more reasonable than Holland College.<br /><br />Sheridan College - My application to their Interactive Multimedia program is still under consideration, but the college that was originally my frontrunner has kind of fallen by the wayside in my opinion. It's expensive to go there, Oakville sucks, and while their program has a good reputation, I think a lot of the other schools will be just as good.<br /><br />Centennial College - Despite being in downtown Toronto, this is the least-costly option, with tuition around $3000 for their 12-month New Media program. Centennial also seems to want me the most; a requirement of their application process is a one-on-one information session with the program coordinator. I sent my portfolio in, but then lost interest in the school and didn't set up the information session. They called me twice, said they were impressed with the portfolio, and this week I got my letter of acceptance---without ever having the information session. There is an open house there this coming weekend, and I think I'll give the place a chance and go see what it's like. My one sticking point with Centennial is that it's in Toronto. While I'm partly open to living in a giant city, our recent experience with the car break-in (see Shauna's blog) has soured us on Toronto a bit. It's also expensive as all get out to rent there. The other option might be for me to commute from Kitchener, preferably via the train. Shauna could get a good job here in KW. But commuting would be kind of hellish, and I'm not sure how well it could work with my school schedule.<br /><br />Canadore College - I've been accepted to their one-year Interactive Multimedia program, and it costs about the same as Centennial, so money shouldn't be an inhibitor. North Bay looks like a pretty place, and I suspect it would be more like Charlottetown than Toronto. However, I don't know much about the quality of the program. It could be good, it could be bad, it could be average. All these programs have similar-sounding course titles, and most have some sample student work and graduate testimonies on their webpages, but it's still hard to judge. Assuming rent in North Bay is a little lower than Toronto, it may be feasible for me to move up there while Shauna finds a good job here in KW, and visits on weekends. It's about 3-4 hours north of here, I think.<br /><br />So this is what I'm looking at right now. I almost want one or two rejections just to narrow the field a bit. If only Holland College's program didn't cost so much, it would make the choice much easier. There's still more research to do...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-4391200992027717556?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-6342541972232862392007-02-17T11:04:00.000-05:002007-02-23T12:04:02.689-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdcn6zty2SI/AAAAAAAAAI8/1XdQDJ4NbzE/s1600-h/Habs+002.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdcn6zty2SI/AAAAAAAAAI8/1XdQDJ4NbzE/s400/Habs+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032534999877998882" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Habs-crazy, Adam and I arrive way earlier than necessary<br /></div><br /><br />The weekend before last Adam and I met up in Montreal to see a couple of Habs games. We stayed with John and his two cats at his apartment near Rue St. Denis. These were the first NHL games Adam had ever attended, and it was a lot of fun for us to finally get to see our team together---Adam is the only person I know well who lives and dies by the Habs as much as I do. For both of us, if the Habs win, elation. If the Habs lose, depression. Whether this is healthy is another matter, but we both bleed <span style="font-style: italic;">le tricolore</span>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdc2KTty2TI/AAAAAAAAAJE/XGUUxaHzSxs/s1600-h/Habs+007.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdc2KTty2TI/AAAAAAAAAJE/XGUUxaHzSxs/s400/Habs+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032550659328760114" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">These are from the pre-game intro; the Habs are coming up on their centennial, and they display all their past logos to an instrumental of Coldplay's "Clocks". It gave me the goosebumps and I almost got a little verclempt.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdc2STty2UI/AAAAAAAAAJM/lJNx7A1dnhw/s1600-h/Habs+008.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdc2STty2UI/AAAAAAAAAJM/lJNx7A1dnhw/s400/Habs+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032550796767713602" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And then the current CH gets bigger and bigger...<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdc2fDty2VI/AAAAAAAAAJU/NKS3n5E2Db4/s1600-h/Habs+012.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdc2fDty2VI/AAAAAAAAAJU/NKS3n5E2Db4/s400/Habs+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032551015811045714" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Then, something really cool: the <span style="font-style: italic;">24 </span>number forms on the jumbotron, and you hear Kiefer Sutherland, er, Jack Bauer, say "Previously, in Canadiens history," which leads into a montage of great Habs moments and players through the years, like Henri Richard shown here. When they get to the present, Jack Bauer comes on the jumbotron and says in French "Join us as we continue the pursuit of number 25" (the 25th Stanley Cup). The goosebumps are out of control at this point.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdc2nDty2WI/AAAAAAAAAJc/hiR7EsKSCnI/s1600-h/Habs+017.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdc2nDty2WI/AAAAAAAAAJc/hiR7EsKSCnI/s400/Habs+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032551153249999202" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Then, to the tune of Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" they introduce the current team, with the biggest cheers coming for Saku Koivu and Sheldon Souray.<br /></div><br />Until Saturday's game against the Islanders, I had attended five Habs games in my lifetime (against the Blues, Penguins, Sabres twice and the Wild) and they had won all five. Things looked good after the first period; the Habs had lots of chances and the Islanders were unable to keep up, with only their goalie keeping them in the game. The Habs went ahead in the second period, but slacked off the pace a bit, and upon entering the third the Islanders tied it up and the Habs mailed it in the rest of the way. 4-2 Islanders was the final and the team left the ice to boos. My win streak was over. I never like to see my team lose, but to be the better team at the outset then stop concentrating and coast to a defeat is infuriating. So much for a successful end to Adam's first live NHL game...<br /><br />That night John met up with us downtown, we had some dinner and then met up with Aura Lea, Bryon and Rachel, who were spending the weekend in Montreal in honour of Rachel's birthday. Before heading out on the town we watched the Leafs squeak out an undeserved shootout win over the Senators, which was <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> fun for me, a Habs fan in a room full of Leafs lovers. Their taunting almost drove me to violence. And no back up from Adam! Our first stop in the uber cold Montreal night was the Peel Pub. I would only recommend this place if you're a male university "student" who likes to drink till you're sloppy, prefers a wide selection of cheap swill over quality beers, likes the ambience of flashing siren-lights randomly going on and off, and likes bad music played at deafening, and certainly conversation-nullifying, levels. After enduring this place for a pint we took the Metro to John's neighbourhood and Le Diable Vert (The Green Devil), a club with a decidedly red, not green, facade. Whatever, it was hot and crowded and a little difficult to find dancing room, but it was fun and much better than the Peel. A very short, straight girl kept butting into our group and staring at me in a way that was half "I'm gonna kill you", half "Come hither". It was good for a laugh, but man, little people give me the heeby-jeebies.<br /><br />The next day after poking around the shops near John's place, Adam and I headed downtown for the Penguins game. The Penguins are a hot commodity in NHL arenas because they have the league darling, Sidney Crosby. Just a few days beforehand the Habs and Pens had played in Pittsburgh, in what I'm told was an amazing game that the Pens won in a shootout. This time, it seemed almost conspiratorial in that the referees, or whoever is in charge of them, wanted the Pens to have an easier time of it, as they gave them six straight powerplays through the first two periods, without calling a single penalty against them. The amazingly blatant non-calls and invented calls in the Pens favour had the crowd absolutely livid. However, the Habs were playing much harder than the previous day and did a good job killing penalties, only trailing 2-1 after the second period. In the third the zebras finally called a penalty on the Penguins, and the crowd gave them a standing ovation. There have been plenty of ovations in Montreal, but I've never seen one for the refs. The third period was fantastic---lots of chances for both teams, and the Habs tied it up and then went ahead 3-2. They got a penalty late in the game, though, and the Pens made a nice play to tie it up with very little time remaining. At some point in the third Sidney Crosby felt like someone high-sticked him and he went down in a heap, but didn't get the call and then whined about it. This is what I don't like about Crosby; he's amazingly talented, but he acts like a spoiled brat sometimes.<br /><br />The third period ended in a tie, so the game went to four-on-four overtime. I had seen the Habs come out victorious in two previous overtimes, against St. Louis and Buffalo, with Russ Courtnall and Alex Kovalev scoring the winners, respectively. The atmosphere was tense; the good guys were playing well, but fewer players on the ice meant more room for Pittsburgh's offensive players like Crosby and Evgeni Malkin. About two minutes in Crosby was looking very dangerous, eluding several Habs as he circled through the their zone. However, just as it looked like he was going to break free and have a golden opportunity on net, Tomas Plekanec, who had been the Habs' best player of late, made a great poke check, relieving Crosby of the puck near the Habs blueline and sparking a two-on-one in the other direction. He carried the puck into the Pens zone and fooled the lone defender into backing up too far, then made a great cross-ice pass to Sheldon Souray, who absolutely wired a slapshot just under the crossbar for the winner. Everyone jumped ten feet out of their seats, of course. It was the perfect ending to a hard game; the Habs had been put at disadvantage after disadvantage, had weathered the storm through hard work, and had come out on top...at the expense of the whiney pretty boy. The next day <span style="font-style: italic;">La Presse</span> had a great picture of the Habs celebrating with Crosby skating off dejectedly in the background.<br /><br />Back at John's I made a pasta dinner for the three of us with ingredients I got at a nice little organic produce store up the street. We watched the Super Bowl on John's tiny black and white tv---I found the tv more interesting than the game itself. Football is a major snore in my mind, and all the hype and excess around the Super Bowl only makes it worse. But sitting around with buddies, eating good food and jeering the unabashed Americana of it all was fun. A good weekend all around.<br /><br />Post-script: Since that great win over the Penguins, the Habs have been putrid. Downright awful. They have lost five in a row, including two to the Senators, against whom they usually do well, and one to the Panthers, a perennial non-playoff team the Habs can never beat. In those five games they have only scored seven goals, and their star players like Saku Koivu, Alex Kovalev and Michael Ryder have contributed very little. In fact, the whole team has played like they don't care, and to top things off, Alex Kovalev and Christobal Huet are now injured. The debate around the hockey websites is whether they should make a trade for someone who can help turn things around enough to contend in the playoffs, or start unloading all their underachieving "stars" in return for young prospects. Either way, in this losing streak they went from 4th in the conference to 10th, from a comfortable playoff position, to the outside looking in. All is not well in Habland, and tonight they play the Hurricanes, a team that usually employs a run-the-goalie strategy that works well against the them.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdc5LTty2XI/AAAAAAAAAJk/GoeJA3IZrZk/s1600-h/Habs+020.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rdc5LTty2XI/AAAAAAAAAJk/GoeJA3IZrZk/s400/Habs+020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032553975043512690" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As they might say in Liverpool<br />(a team now owned by the same guy who owns the Habs):<br />Come on you reds!<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-634254197223286239?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-2489985836707710932007-01-21T14:30:00.000-05:002007-01-21T16:18:43.583-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">O Holy Night</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RbPPf5sdAgI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Pwv4iAxC6sI/s1600-h/nativity+scene.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RbPPf5sdAgI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Pwv4iAxC6sI/s400/nativity+scene.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022586156418400770" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />That's yours truly, starring in 2nd Floor Holy Cross Wing's Christmas Nativity Scene, 1997. As Mother Mary. Did you ever see such a head of hair? On the nativity chesterfield with me are Baby Jesus, played by Murray Lindsay, and Father Joseph, played by Adam Neal. Note the details: Baby Jesus is born with a wrist watch. Father Joseph is wearing a very modern pair of sandals, bathrobe, and towel. I think I'm wearing a bed sheet. The Christmas tree: stolen from a local lot by a couple of my wingmates...who got caught. Maybe that tree was one we actually bought after returning the stolen one, I forget.<br /><br />The reason for our get up was the annual Christmas wing decorating competition between the various residence wings at St. Thomas. A keg party was up for grabs, and as usual the boys of 2nd HC took things a step further---we didn't just decorate, we animated. When the judges came to our wing, they were taken on a tour by our MC, Esty, who was decked out in his finest Christmas duds. The tour culminated in this splendorous nativity scene. Not pictured are the many bathrobe-clad wisemen and barn animals. Yes, we really did have one guy crawling around pretending to be a sheep. We served eggnog to the judges and hummed Silent Night. Did we win the keg party? HECK YES! Crappy thing is, I was not yet 19 at the time, and had to miss out on the boozing. That's the last time I get dressed up like a woman for the sake of alcohol. Oh, I've said that a few times over the years...er...umm...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RbPPnJsdAhI/AAAAAAAAAIY/Ud6sdVnzwi0/s1600-h/nativity+2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RbPPnJsdAhI/AAAAAAAAAIY/Ud6sdVnzwi0/s400/nativity+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022586280972452370" border="0" /></a></div><br />A note on my co-stars: Adam Neal (Father Joseph) is now a feared litigator and all around bad-ass law-talkin' guy with a Fredericton law firm. He and I remain good friends. Murray Lindsay (The Lord Our Saviour, Baby Jesu) studied journalism and I'm sure is off spinning his whacky brand of news and sports somewhere on this planet. Murray was one of those characters you meet in university and never quite understand. I can't really put his personality into words, but to give you a sense...when the weather got warmer that year, Murray and his friend Nick put up posters for a wrestling match to take place in the campus courtyard on a certain Sunday. People didn't know what to think, but when they showed up at the appointed time and place, they were treated to a display of foolishness like no other. Murray and Nick went all out in a fake, over-dramatized, WWF-style match full of mock blows, torturous holds, not-quite-3-count pins, amazing shifts in momentum after sound beatings, and all the great set pieces to be found in the exalted theatre of manly battle. Murray, as the photo shows, was a scrawny runt of a guy, and Nick, well, was what you might call "huggable". And both were clumsy as new-born colts fed an <span style="font-style: italic;">in utero</span> diet of screech. For me, the highlights of the match were the prop use. Nick totally nailed Murray in the face with a cafeteria tray. Where actual materials could not be obtained, the wonders of the imagination filled in: the two of them must have agreed on the approximate confines of the "ring" (the courtyard is a wide open grassy space with some trees), and they would regularly take runs across the grass and rebound back off ropes that were invisible to the crowd, but very, very real to Murray and Nick, I'm sure.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Who ya gonna call?!</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RbPPYpsdAfI/AAAAAAAAAII/viuq-ZLc2sU/s1600-h/ghostbusters.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RbPPYpsdAfI/AAAAAAAAAII/viuq-ZLc2sU/s400/ghostbusters.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022586031864349170" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">More costumed nonsense, only by this point I was in grad school. For Hallowe'en in 2001 this quartet of twits got together to take the Social Club by storm in their ghost-bustin' best. From left to right, that's Chris Keirstead in the role of fearful but good-hearted Ray Stanz, Jared Cheverie in the role of ladies' man, joker-hero Peter Venkman, me as hard-workin' black man Winston Zedmore, and Adam Neal in the role of science guy Egon Spengler. Aside from being a good, drunken time, Hallowe'en at The Club also offered up a cash prize for the best-costumed, which we won, of course. How could they deny us? We scoured the city for cover-alls of that specific shade of grey, used iron-on transfers for the logos and spent hours painting them, and rounded out the outfits with canvas belts, chemical-resistant gloves, and little gadgety doo-dads from the dollar store (yes, those are bicycle reflectors). We did not have the backpacks and guns (what were they called? Ectoplasm-somethings?), but we covered every toy store in town before agreeing that they were just too antique to be found. You'll note that we are all bespectacled...in shop glasses. I'm not sure why. Only Egon is supposed to wear glasses. I think after posing for photos we were gonna go build a hutch or something.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RbPPGZsdAeI/AAAAAAAAAIA/_xg2pkd1mg0/s1600-h/ghostbusters2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RbPPGZsdAeI/AAAAAAAAAIA/_xg2pkd1mg0/s400/ghostbusters2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022585718331736546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Where are they now? </span>Chris Keirstead (Ray Stanz) is now himself a feared litigator at a big law firm in Moncton. Chris is a pretty straight-laced guy, and I think this was one of the wilder things he did in university. You know all about Adam and me, which leaves Jared...basically, Jared Cheverie is an 8 year-old in a 29 year-old's body. If there was something silly or fun to do, Jared would do it. Jared was the driving force behind bringing the Ghostbusters together for this occasion---it was in his car that we drove here there and everywhere looking for the all the important components. He was the one who talked to Bud at Bud's Army Surplus on the north side (read "sketchy, very sketchy, run and hide") part of town. I think Jared might even have gotten an invitation to go out "huntin' and muddin'" with Bud. Yikes. Jared was also implicated in the Christmas tree story from above, and countless other residence-related shenanigans. Jared and I used to build little figurines out of celery, cherry tomatoes and toothpicks and leave them in the fake plants between the tables at the Diplomat restaurant. What does he do now? He's a teacher. Would you let this guy teach your children?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RbPVK5sdAiI/AAAAAAAAAIw/hlsgHcDeIbU/s1600-h/jared.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RbPVK5sdAiI/AAAAAAAAAIw/hlsgHcDeIbU/s400/jared.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022592392710914594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">He's also getting married this summer, to Nathalie, a gal who loves his shenanigans like no one else. Congrats, Jared.<br /></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-248998583670771093?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-73122027914033427902007-01-16T17:01:00.000-05:002007-01-16T18:44:45.299-05:00It seems that Kitchener-Waterloo may have a glimmer of hope in this dark hour of zombie invasion. A troupe of wandering barbarians have put aside their current "Pillage the Village" tour to come to the aid of the fair twin-cities (screw Cambridge, they're on they're own...dat's right, Lame-bridge!). This motley band claims to be the scourge of the undead. Prior to setting out on the zombie hunt, they gathered for some ale and a display of their prowess.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1LP5sdANI/AAAAAAAAAE0/QjafB6wYA6c/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+012.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1LP5sdANI/AAAAAAAAAE0/QjafB6wYA6c/s320/barbs_zombs+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020751896145363154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">From left to right: Princess the Barbarian, Chaz the Barbarian, Gypsy the Barbarian, Wizard the Barbarian, Caveman the Barbarian, and Coonskin the Barbarian (seated).</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1TxZsdAOI/AAAAAAAAAFA/5q5WDAORaQ8/s1600-h/barb_zomb+023.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1TxZsdAOI/AAAAAAAAAFA/5q5WDAORaQ8/s320/barb_zomb+023.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020761267764003042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Chaz the Barbarian displays the tool of his trade: twenty pounds of pure plastic signage and duct tape, the ZombieWhacker.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1U15sdAPI/AAAAAAAAAFI/hM2VWCw7_ws/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+013.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1U15sdAPI/AAAAAAAAAFI/hM2VWCw7_ws/s320/barbs_zombs+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020762444585042162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Caveman the Barbarian, a.k.a. Brian the Barbarian, likes to put little dogs on his shoulders and bare his teeth.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1WJJsdAQI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/tSr_F8erYgs/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+020.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1WJJsdAQI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/tSr_F8erYgs/s320/barbs_zombs+020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020763874809151746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Princess the Barbarian will use her haughty stare to stop zombies in their tracks.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1WhpsdARI/AAAAAAAAAFY/79ewcr7cEzI/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+019.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1WhpsdARI/AAAAAAAAAFY/79ewcr7cEzI/s320/barbs_zombs+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020764295715946770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">We're not sure how Gypsy the Barbarian will combat zombies...but, oh my.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1XGZsdASI/AAAAAAAAAFg/ITgYPdFVEbo/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+025.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1XGZsdASI/AAAAAAAAAFg/ITgYPdFVEbo/s320/barbs_zombs+025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020764927076139298" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">The elusive and anachronistic Coonskin the Barbarian...doing something.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1bXJsdATI/AAAAAAAAAF8/CfhAk8ZIxIw/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+032.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1bXJsdATI/AAAAAAAAAF8/CfhAk8ZIxIw/s320/barbs_zombs+032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020769612885459250" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Are those barbarians that grow when you put them in water?</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1b45sdAUI/AAAAAAAAAGE/TbrzteuI7BU/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+030.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1b45sdAUI/AAAAAAAAAGE/TbrzteuI7BU/s320/barbs_zombs+030.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020770192706044226" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Gypsy the Barbarian and Princess the Barbarian enjoy a tankard of ale. Princess the Barbarian gathers her robe as she has just discovered that Gypsy the Barbarian has filched her underthings, and is hiding them behind her back, as is Gypsy custom.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1dLpsdAVI/AAAAAAAAAGM/2J54z2PezA0/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+026.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1dLpsdAVI/AAAAAAAAAGM/2J54z2PezA0/s320/barbs_zombs+026.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020771614340219218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">We mustn't forget AlienDog, trusty sidekick of this Barbarian band. Aside from his freakish eyes, AlienDog's abilities include being impervious to plastic swords, and alienating things.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Coonskin the Barbarian and Chaz the Barbarian demonstrate what's in store for zombies:</span><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1fFZsdAZI/AAAAAAAAAGs/TIpikPgGvZY/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+016.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1fFZsdAZI/AAAAAAAAAGs/TIpikPgGvZY/s320/barbs_zombs+016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020773705989292434" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1eV5sdAXI/AAAAAAAAAGc/nh6fLyHQiEQ/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+017.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1eV5sdAXI/AAAAAAAAAGc/nh6fLyHQiEQ/s320/barbs_zombs+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020772889945506162" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1ecZsdAYI/AAAAAAAAAGk/vXt8iV1WNiQ/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+018.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1ecZsdAYI/AAAAAAAAAGk/vXt8iV1WNiQ/s320/barbs_zombs+018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020773001614655874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Chaz the Barbarian has one message for all the zombies out there: "Deth = you".<br /></span></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1ftZsdAaI/AAAAAAAAAG0/U79iyo_xqCo/s1600-h/barbs_zombs+028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Ra1ftZsdAaI/AAAAAAAAAG0/U79iyo_xqCo/s320/barbs_zombs+028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020774393184059810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Somebody's</span> gotta chaperone these lunatics.<br /></span></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Brought to you by 205 Strange People.</span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-7312202791403342790?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-25484266560815878092007-01-15T11:41:00.000-05:002007-01-15T14:34:17.433-05:00Several sightings of zombies have recently been reported in Kitchener-Waterloo. Their origin and the exact threat they pose are not yet known. However, reports say that they are dressed for the weather and have yet to begin rotting, as undead ghouls are wont to do. The following photos have been submitted, and are posted here so that you will recognize the zombies in case you come across them. In the event that this happens, we suggest defensive measures such as: running away. By no means should you confront the zombies, as with their mittens they may give you a good pawing.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RauxFZsc_6I/AAAAAAAAABE/l-QULmy_A44/s1600-h/barb_zomb+050.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RauxFZsc_6I/AAAAAAAAABE/l-QULmy_A44/s320/barb_zomb+050.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020300915989348258" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">A chain link fence is only a temporary barrier against zombies. Though some may become distracted and try to bite each other on the head.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RauyTJsc_8I/AAAAAAAAABU/D5ZIwakx-9Q/s1600-h/barb_zomb+058.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RauyTJsc_8I/AAAAAAAAABU/D5ZIwakx-9Q/s320/barb_zomb+058.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020302251724177346" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Zombies want in.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RauxtZsc_7I/AAAAAAAAABM/nNezcpicAhA/s1600-h/barb_zomb+054.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RauxtZsc_7I/AAAAAAAAABM/nNezcpicAhA/s320/barb_zomb+054.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020301603184115634" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">And they won't take 'no' for an answer.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RavLPpsdALI/AAAAAAAAAEg/Ot5Scl3UheM/s1600-h/barb_zomb+037.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RavLPpsdALI/AAAAAAAAAEg/Ot5Scl3UheM/s320/barb_zomb+037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020329679385329842" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Don't be fooled by this zombie's air of stupefaction...</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau-W5sdAEI/AAAAAAAAACU/aePlRxIh7Xo/s1600-h/barb_zomb+080.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau-W5sdAEI/AAAAAAAAACU/aePlRxIh7Xo/s320/barb_zomb+080.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020315510288220226" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">...he has retained enough brain power to know how to hide and spring out at innocent passers-by.<br /><br /><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rauyn5sc_9I/AAAAAAAAABc/4bU-4eOKSBk/s1600-h/barb_zomb+063.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rauyn5sc_9I/AAAAAAAAABc/4bU-4eOKSBk/s320/barb_zomb+063.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020302608206462930" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Should you find zombies in restive poses, follow the age-old maxim: "Let sleeping zombies lie." Never wake zombies for the sake of a picture, as the unknown photographer did in this case. We can only surmise that he now ranks among their shuffling, drooling numbers.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RauzOpsc_-I/AAAAAAAAABk/kfBee37wedk/s1600-h/barb_zomb+068.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RauzOpsc_-I/AAAAAAAAABk/kfBee37wedk/s320/barb_zomb+068.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020303273926393826" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rauzw5sc__I/AAAAAAAAABs/KRsWv2fbn7U/s1600-h/barb_zomb+070.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rauzw5sc__I/AAAAAAAAABs/KRsWv2fbn7U/s320/barb_zomb+070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020303862336913394" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau0cpsdAAI/AAAAAAAAAB0/EH5DgS-6IOI/s1600-h/barb_zomb+072.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau0cpsdAAI/AAAAAAAAAB0/EH5DgS-6IOI/s320/barb_zomb+072.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020304613956190210" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau_mZsdAII/AAAAAAAAAD0/X8YYdJoZqzg/s1600-h/barb_zomb+096.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau_mZsdAII/AAAAAAAAAD0/X8YYdJoZqzg/s320/barb_zomb+096.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020316876087820418" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Sometimes a zombie just needs a buddy to lean on. Also, contrary to popular belief, zombies can smile.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau-kpsdAFI/AAAAAAAAACc/0omP6CbQdnM/s1600-h/barb_zomb+083.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau-kpsdAFI/AAAAAAAAACc/0omP6CbQdnM/s320/barb_zomb+083.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020315746511421522" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Zombies often get themselves into things they can't get out of. What drew them to this dumpster is not known, but we suspect it was heaps of discarded brains.<br /><br /><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau-KJsdADI/AAAAAAAAACM/tAAnHWzxWPQ/s1600-h/barb_zomb+079.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau-KJsdADI/AAAAAAAAACM/tAAnHWzxWPQ/s320/barb_zomb+079.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020315291244888114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Zombies enjoy the agrarian lifestyle.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau2uZsdACI/AAAAAAAAACE/9FMXdDfVTgw/s1600-h/barb_zomb+077.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau2uZsdACI/AAAAAAAAACE/9FMXdDfVTgw/s320/barb_zomb+077.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020307117922123810" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">But this one became visibly upset when he found out that he stood not in a field of wheat, but among a bunch of stupid weeds in front of a condo.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RavAWZsdAKI/AAAAAAAAAEE/moeeMHrhQPU/s1600-h/barb_zomb+036.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RavAWZsdAKI/AAAAAAAAAEE/moeeMHrhQPU/s320/barb_zomb+036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020317700721541282" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Go team zombie!</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau_S5sdAHI/AAAAAAAAADs/XxGlt9bATmY/s1600-h/barb_zomb+095.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau_S5sdAHI/AAAAAAAAADs/XxGlt9bATmY/s320/barb_zomb+095.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020316541080371314" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">From all of the zombies...</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau-6JsdAGI/AAAAAAAAADk/0iFOekL6Sto/s1600-h/barb_zomb+085.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Rau-6JsdAGI/AAAAAAAAADk/0iFOekL6Sto/s320/barb_zomb+085.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020316115878608994" border="0" /></a><br />Buh-bye!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Brought to you by 205 Strange People.</span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-2548426656081587809?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-50258469531850599632007-01-15T09:23:00.000-05:002007-01-15T10:56:30.961-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Raui6Jsc_1I/AAAAAAAAAAU/48ayOiiJoxc/s1600-h/nelly.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 188px; height: 188px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/Raui6Jsc_1I/AAAAAAAAAAU/48ayOiiJoxc/s320/nelly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020285329553030994" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RauiiZsc_0I/AAAAAAAAAAM/NBZaBX_WsYo/s1600-h/cover800600.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 188px; height: 141px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bGE9WxWA6IE/RauiiZsc_0I/AAAAAAAAAAM/NBZaBX_WsYo/s320/cover800600.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020284921531137858" border="0" /></a><br />My two most recent CD purchases: Nelly Furtado, <span style="font-style: italic;">Loose</span> and Madonna, <span style="font-style: italic;">Confessions On A Dance Floor</span>. Had you told me when I was a teenager that someday I would pay money for Madonna's music, you would have given me a good laugh. Had you told me when I was in university that I would someday pay money for Nelly Furtado's, you would have earned my scorn. Times change.<br /><br />Nelly Furtado actually started to grow on me with a couple of songs, "Explode" and "Forza," from her previous album. Lately if you turn on the radio for five seconds you'll hear "Maneater," which thumped its way into my head so steadily that I either had to start liking it or get a labotomy. Prior to that, "Promiscuous" was a big hit, and I didn't mind it. But just the other day I heard the third single "Say It Right" for the first time---on CBC, of all things---and that sold me. "Say It Right" is a really good tune: catchy rhythm and beat, Nelly's voice is at its best, and lyrically the song has a bit more angst and art in it than a lot of her stuff. This is the same reason I like "Explode." So I bought <span style="font-style: italic;">Loose</span>, and it's okay. My opinion of the songs I knew hasn't changed, and I advance it to "Say It Right" a lot. The rest of it is hit and miss. She has collaborated with Timbaland and some other hip hop guys, and this means that the CD has those between-track interludes and chatter that you frequently get on hip hop albums, and are mostly fantastically annoying. All in all, some good songs mixed in with some bad ones. I've had worse returns on CD investments.<br /><br />Madonna...oh Madge, you old slut, always changing your music to fit whatever is trendy. I guess I might get some kind of kitchy pleasure out of her tunes from the 80s, but I'm in no hurry to snap up the Madonna discography. However, a few months ago I downloaded "Hung Up" and "Sorry," because I heard them on the radio and they were just so bloody catchy. Since then, every time I've entered the CD store, she's been there, taunting me in her leotards on the cover of <span style="font-style: italic;">Confessions</span>, saying "Look at how ridiculous I am. I'm fifty. You know you want to buy this CD." And Friday I gave in. Well, actually I made Shauna buy it for me, cause I was just that embarrassed.<br /><br />And she's probably regretting indulging my weakness, because I've been listening to it over and over ever since. In fact just now she's fleed to the bathroom and turned on Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, as if to cleanse herself. Anyway, the two singles give you a good idea of what <span style="font-style: italic;">Confessions</span> is like---beat driven dance music that will get tons of play in clubs. It's bumpin'. I challenge even the most anti-techno/dance types out there to listen to it and try to stop themselves from nodding along to the beat. And maybe chair-dancing a little. Every song is groovy and catchy, but never manages to cross that good/cheap techno line by devolving into nothing but a bass, drum and high-hat beat like the trash you tend to hear at hockey games. Lyrically, it also stays on the good side of the line by not being moronic. So much of the wide genre of techno has no lyrical thought behind it whatsoever---I'm thinking of that awful hit that once followed me around Ireland, "Put yer hands up in de air/Put yer hands up in de air."<br />The songs on <span style="font-style: italic;">Confessions</span> are more subtly produced and layered, and while I wouldn't suggest Madonna should publish her lyrics as poetry, they're a lot better than what's found in most pop tunes. With one exception: musically, "I Love New York" is as creative as anything else on the album, but lyrically it's a bit of a laugh, opening with "I don't like cities/But I like New York/Other places make me feel like a dork." Goodness.<br /><br />Guilty pleasures, Nelly and Madonna both. They are not the first to fall into this category---I am a proud...well, semi-unashamed...owner of Kylie Minogue's <span style="font-style: italic;">Fever</span>. I've revealed my musical weaknesses. Time to restore my manliness with something nasty, like Queens of the Stone Age. Or something light years from mainstream, like...oh geez, I don't even know what the cool cats listen to these days.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">La la la</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">La la la-lala<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">I just can't get you outta my head...</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-5025846953185059963?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1159918487116484182006-10-03T19:12:00.000-04:002006-10-09T12:36:18.896-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Red-Hot-Chili-Peppers-0003.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Red-Hot-Chili-Peppers-0003.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Skinny Sweaty Men<br /></span><font><br /><font><font>So the details of awesomeness were a little delayed.<br /><br />Last Tuesday we saw the Red Hot Chili Peppers at the ACC. I payed many pretty pennies for floor seats, but it was well worth it. Shauna and I took good notes.<br /><br />Though they've mellowed their sound in recent years (perhaps because they're in their 40s) the Chili Peppers remain my idea of a band that goes bonkers on every song. Back in the 80s they were a wierd act in a wierd decade; a band with revolving doors on drums and guitar but a consistent overdose of funk, punk, wackiness, colourful clothing or lack of it, bizarre lyrics bizarrely vocalized, phallic socks and, unfortunately, drugs (heroin claimed the life of original guitarist Hillel Slovak). If you're only familiar with the post-millennial Chili Peppers, go pick up any of their 80s albums---self-titled, <span style="font-style: italic;">Freaky Styley</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Uplift Mofo Party Plan</span>, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Mother's Milk</span> have all been recently re-released and are fairly cheap---and you'll see for yourself. They could easily pass for two different bands. In the early 90s they lost a bit of the freakiness of their music but replaced it with more polished funk and a lot of womanizing swank on <span style="font-style: italic;">Blood Sugar Sex Magik</span>. In between tales of feeling up female cops, there were a few more serious moments on this album, like "Under the Bridge" and "I Could Have Lied". Then mid-decade they went through a strange period of hazy sexuality on <span style="font-style: italic;">One Hot Minute</span>. Apparently they don't get along with their then-guitarist Dave Navarro and so they never play songs from this album live, and I think a lot of fans ignore it as a kind of limbo between old and new Chili Peppers. Granted, some parts of it are pretty wussy ("Pea" and "Tearjerker"), and others are discordant ("Deep Kick") but there are excellent mellow funk tunes on the album that shouldn't be cast aside ("Walkabout", "Transcending"). After this they shifted into the Chili Peppers of today with <span style="font-style: italic;">Californication</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">By the Way</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Stadium Arcadium</span>. These albums still have funky elements, but they're polished and you don't quite get the sense that the band are flailing their limbs and ripping their clothes off while playing the songs---and this was definitely the sense in the 80s. And the funkier tunes now take a backseat to songs that are more straightforward rock, though they still maintain their own sound that sets them apart. This was especially the case on <span style="font-style: italic;">By the Way</span>, a very introspective album. Some of the fans who know their 80s material don't like the three most recent albums because they're more radio friendly. I'm okay with the change---they went from a good sound to a good sound. In a way, <span style="font-style: italic;">Stadium Arcadium</span> is more balanced, as over two discs it has a good combination of rock-it-out, funk, mellow, acoustic, even slightly jazzy ("Hey") songs with very few weak points. Definitely the best album of 2006.<br /><br />We arrived at the ACC just after La Mars Volta started their opening set. They should re-title themselves La Mars Revolta. There are seven or eight guys in the band, and beyond the bassist and drummer, who create a small inkling of rhythm, I'm convinced the purpose of the rest is to make noise. Apparently they need people in the next province to hear their important noise, as they cranked the volume to an inhumane level. We left our seats and returned to the lobby after about 1.5 songs, and hung out there until LMV was done, feeling like old fuddy-duddies with fingers in our ears. Well, we were older than most of the crowd, many of whom wouldn't have been alive before <span style="font-style: italic;">Mother's Milk</span>.<br /><br />RHCP kicked off around 8:30. The crowd instantly took their feet when John, Chad and Flea played an instrumental jam for several minutes and then wound their way around to the opening chords of "Can't Stop" as Anthony came on stage. At this point the wall of lights behind the stage not only lit up in red, so did the giant fan of long horizontal bars on the ceiling, which I thought was some sort of acoustic rig to keep the sound out of the rafters. Four screens came on in front of the behind stage lights. From our floor seats it was like we were face-to-face with a multi-storey Exhibition ride about to swallow us whole. Mucho fun. Here's how the show proceeded...<br /><br />"Dani California" - if you've turned on a radio in the past five months, you've heard this song. A good tune with a sing-along chorus, but a little over-played at the moment. The four screens started moving around behind the stage. It was a warm night and Anthony said something like "Is it August up here? Time to start removing layers." This turned out not to have any dirty connotations---I know you're all hoping this is when they stripped down to the old socks on their dicks routine, but it didn't happen.<br /><br />"Scar Tissue" - also not a bad song, and spearheaded their new sound when it came out in 1999. Also a bit over-played, but the crowd loved it.<br /><br />"Charlie" - this is a really good song off <span style="font-style: italic;">Stadium Arcadium</span>. Very funky but also has great harmony by John. The addition of John's voice is something else that sets new and old Chili Peppers apart. He hits some beautiful notes and adds range to the vocals. Anthony has a good and very distinct voice but it doesn't go too high or low. During this song we noticed that even the guy going up and down the aisle selling pizza was dancing.<br /><br />I should mention the clothes, because they were interesting. Anthony wore long shorts and an undershirt, with strange tight-fitting gloves. John wore a crushed velvet leisure suit, which combined with his long hair made him look straight out of the 70s. Flea was in a tightfitting body suit of pinkish paisley design, which was so tight it could have been mistaken for full body tattoos. Chad wore white cover-alls and matching backwards cap, making him look like a housepainter. He's also a dead ringer for Will Ferrell.<br /><br />"Fortune Faded" - neat snowy background behind the stage.<br /><br />"Readymade" - a heavy funk tune from <span style="font-style: italic;">Stadium Arcadium</span>. Good solos by both John and Flea.<br /><br />"Throw Away Your Television" - this song was sensory overload, which was probably the point. The four screens flashed tv clips at a dizzying rate...the only image I recall is Michael Jackson's face.<br /><br />"Humpty Bump" - not one of my favourite songs off the newest album, but the best part was the giant cartoon monkey that nodded along on the stage background.<br /><br />"Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" - John played and sang this cover solo, and did a really nice job of it. He has several solo CDs out and one of these days I must give them a try. Everybody sang along.<br /><br />"Snow (Hey Oh)" - Great song with great lyrics.<br /><br />"Me and My Friends" - With the preceding songs all coming from more recent material, this oldie came out of nowhere. It really hits you over the head, too, as though Anthony and His Friends are mostly dedicated to going around smashing things.<br /><br />"Stadium Arcadium" - This is a moody song that I like a lot for its harmonies. Without them I think it might fall flat, kind of like "Californication". "Califonication" got a lot of air play, but I've never liked it much; it's rhythm is boring and it just gets wrapped up in being moody without adding any flourish. For "Stadium Arcadium" the background showed the globe and various planets spinning around in space.<br /><br />"Right on Time" - Catchy song from <span style="font-style: italic;">Californication</span>. Flea ran out to the edge of the stage and played his bass like a madman.<br /><br />"Don't Forget Me" - A graphicly-lyriced song from <span style="font-style: italic;">By the Way</span>. I didn't know that the rhythm for this song is strummed on the bass.<br /><br />"Tell Me Baby" - The next song at risk of over-play. Still, I like it, it's very happy funky bright.<br /><br />"Soul to Squeeze" - I think this is off the Beavis and Butthead soundtrack, of all places. After this song Flea launched into a tirade of 'thank yous' to various people and things. He talked so fast I couldn't make out who/what he was thankful for, but he got a big cheer.<br /><br />"By the Way" - They did this song with lots of intensity...then again, they did every song with lots of intensity. The lights were blinding here and everyone sang along. After it finished they left the stage and the crowd noise was deafening for several minutes. A spotlight flew around the place, highlighting different crowd sections and eliciting more noise.<br /><br />After a few minutes Chad came back alone and played a jazzy-to-heavy drum solo. Then the other three came back and played...<br /><br />"I Could Have Lied" - from <span style="font-style: italic;">Blood Sugar Sex Magik</span>.<br /><br />They then started a song I didn't recognize, complete with lyrics I've never heard. There was a guy on the stage whom I didn't recognize, and he sang along...this turned out to be just an intro to...<br /><br />"Give It Away" - before bringing this song to its crescendo they did part of it in a reggae style.<br /><br />Next they went into a long instrumental song that seemed to be part "Get Up and Jump" and part "Show Me Your Soul" and part a bunch of other things. Anthony jumped around and tried to throw his limbs out of joint. Then he jumped onto a tall stack of amps without using his hands. This nameless song went on for several minutes, and included a part where Anthony told John to "make those girls dance with your guitar". John played something groovy and three girls beside the stage flashed their bohooms...no, they didn't, this wasn't a Poison concert or anything. But they did dance and looked to be having a fine time.<br /><br />When this song ended John and Anthony quickly left the stage...Flea walked off on his hands (the guy is a freak of nature, honestly) and Chad thanked the crowd...the lights came on and Sly and the Family Stone's "If You Want Me to Stay" played...and that was it. It was only 10:20pm, and they had played since 8:30pm. It was the most intense concert I've been to, and I was tired from dancing and singing along the whole time---we never sat down---but I was still ready for more. Pearl Jam played for a full three hours, as did the Stones. Perhaps because the Chili Peppers were well into their tour and it was the second show in as many nights they were a little tired, but I still felt like a second encore would have been nice.<br /><br />So, at present I don't have tickets for any other concerts. Despite their brevity, the Chili Peppers will be a tough act to follow because of their overdose of energy they put into their music and how much I've been listening to them this year. But I think I might have become addicted to the spectacle of big concerts. Oh the flashing lights, and the crowd sing-alongs, and the lead singer's banter, and the epic solos, and all the big show set pieces...I can't get enough..<span style="font-style: italic;">.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-115991848711648418?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1159281322438448902006-09-26T10:33:00.000-04:002006-09-26T10:36:16.063-04:00"I'm doing a thing. It's not a thing. I'm not doing it."<br /><br />Shauna just said this to me. Clearly she is going insane.<br /><br />In other news, we're going to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers tonight. Details of awesomeness to follow.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-115928132243844890?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1156696889762861982006-08-27T12:18:00.000-04:002006-08-27T12:43:04.810-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Hair%20002.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Hair%20002.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />The pirate look<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Hair%20011.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Hair%20011.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Mulletastic!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Hair%20020.0.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Hair%20020.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />The next day<br /><br />Yup, got rid of the locks. On Friday night over some pitchers of Sweet Oblivion with Shauna, Brian, Sarah, Brenda and Gideon we buzzed my head. The job was carried out in drunkeness, but the decision had been made beforehand. I was tired of the weight of all that hair, of it falling in my face, of it being wet in the morning, of strands of it showing up all over the apartment. My hair has never been as short as it is now, and I love it! No more brushing, no more tying it back, no more fussing, no more all the other things they say in shampoo commercials---because I barely have any hair! And, in going from lots of hair to almost none, you can stop at silly haircuts along the way. Have you ever seen a more rockin' mullet?! FUBAR!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-115669688976286198?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1156102132258158022006-08-20T12:11:00.001-04:002006-08-20T15:28:52.363-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Neil.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Neil.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>My Year of Big Concerts reached a milestone last weekend when Shauna, my parents and I saw Neil Young at Bethel Woods Centre for the Arts in Bethel, New York. Well, technically, we saw Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, but Neil was our reason for being there. When asked who my favourite musician/group is I tend to provide a long, rambling, historical answer that in the end comes around to Neil Young. For simplicity's sake, if you look at my CD collection I have far more of his albums than any other artist or group. He's well known for his own brand of acoustic country-folkie tunes and all-out-deafening rock anthems, and I love both. On top of the fact that he's the best guitarist in the world (Jimi Hendrix once said so, so don't even try to argue with me) he's written a lot of the best lyrics in rock music. There aren't that many musicians out there that really grab me with what they say <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> what they play.<br /><br />I would have preferred to see Neil on his own or with the 'third best garage band in the world', Crazy Horse, and from what I had experienced of their work, it was my opinion that Crosby, Stills and Nash dilute Neil's music. Basically, when they play together they're CSNY, but in truth they should be csnY, as Neil has way more power in the lead than he does as an equal part of a quartet. But, when I found tickets for the show in Bethel I knew that it was not the time to be picky; Neil turned 60 last year, so who knows how many more tours he'll have, and Crazy Horse are as predictable as their title. So I bought four tickets and last Saturday Shauna and I drove across New York (about 8 hours) and met my parents, who had driven down from PEI, at Mongaup Pond Campground in the Catskills State Park, about 40 minutes north of Bethel. NY is a very pretty state if you get off the Interstate highways, but that's a subject for another time.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.bethelwoodslive.org/">Bethel Woods Centre for the Arts</a> is a story in and of itself; it's on the site of the original 1969 Woodstock concert, at which CSNY played their second gig together. On Sunday, Stephen Stills made a crack about having stage fright, as it was only "our 4000th gig together and we're scared shitless". Bethel Woods, once a farm, is a sprawling piece of land with tall, rounded grassy hills huddled together like giant shoulders. It's mowed and manicured, with strategically placed boulders and copses of trees here and there, and the buildings where Art is Centred are architectural accomplishments of wood and glass. The stage is at the base of a bowl, with a fixed -seating area fanning out in front of it, and lawn seating at the top and to the sides. We had tickets for the lawn, and were going to sit at the top, a good distance from the stage, when Kevin realized that no one was occupying the areas to the side of the fixed seating. We quickly relocated to the side and were less than half a soccer field from the stage...I could have kicked a ball to Neil...I wonder what he'd do with it...<br /><br />(On a very tangential note, the layout of the Bethel Woods Centre for the Arts reminded me a lot of the <span style="font-style: italic;">War of the Worlds</span> scene in which the aliens converge with the human military in a huge grassy bowl of fire and explosions...I felt the slight nervousness of impending disaster as we went up and down the hillsides amid a crowd of concert-goers not unlike the displaced citizens in <span style="font-style: italic;">WoftheWs</span>. I digress.)<br /><br />The concert didn't start till around 7:40p.m. but we landed in one of the giant parking lots around 5p.m. From my parents' Roadtrek we watched the tailgate barbecues and pigskin-tossing going on around us. To fit in with all this Americana we drank some Busch and Miller swill, and Kevin watched Nascar on his new flatscreen mini-tv. I wonder if I can type Nascar as it's pronounced in the States...Nas-cahr...Nahs-cuahar...Nas-quahar...whatever, just say it with as much mumble on the vowels as possible and you'll get it. Then we toted our blankets, mini-chairs and extra clothing through the gates and down to the concert bowl, rearranged our seating as I mentioned, and settled in for the show.<br /><br />Prior to the show I hadn't actually heard any of Neil's latest album, <span style="font-style: italic;">Living With War</span>, so I didn't know much about the songs, other than that they were very critical of the U.S. government. The four guys took the stage and launched right into "Flags of Freedom," a song that begins with the lines "Today is the day our younger son/Is going off to war/Fighting the age old battle/We've sometimes won before". This song, and the rest of the new album as I've since found out, marks a move back toward loud, electric Neil, showing that he hasn't completely mellowed into acoustic-folkiness in his old age. Obviously a distorted electric guitar adds a little more oomph to angry songs calling for the President's impeachment and railing against the state of the world than an acoustic one does. Neil has also added a new drummer, Chad Cromwell, who has a hard, driving style similar to Pearl Jam or the Stones. The first set consisted of these new rockers, with Crosby, Stills and Nash singing harmony or taking alternate lead breaks, and older CSNY classics, with C, S or N taking the lead and everyone else supporting. While I didn't know the music so well, I enjoyed it more than I thought I would; the CSN songs were better than I predicted and the new Neil stuff was everything I had hoped for. Neil wore a green military shirt with a matching hat and tilted back-and-forth heel to toe as he played, like a big rocking horse. David Crosby sang the lead on a few songs and played acoustic support on others with the neck of his guitar pointed at a 45 degree angle in a more a classical style. His voice is similar to Willie Nelson's, which I liked. When he wasn't playing guitar on a song, he stood at the mic with his arms at his sides, big belly sticking out, his Einstein-like grey hair all over the place and a big smile constantly present under his bushy moustache. He was Shauna's favourite. Stephen Stills wore a somewhat-hideous red, white and blue Hawaiian shirt and was very energetic, deeply bending into a lead break here, jumping up and down there. He has mannerisms and a voice very similar to Joe Cocker, and with his barrel chest and gut on short legs played an interesting contrast to Neil, who remains the tall, reedy one in the group. Graham Nash was very much Mr. Polished Average...he sang some nice songs, did the most talking to the audience, had the most kempt hair and clothing and reminded me a lot of Paul McCartney. For that reason I found him the least interesting.<br /><br />The second set opened with a more acoustic feel, and they each took a turn leading a song on the piano. Neil's tune was "Only Love Can Break Your Heart" which was the first song that I fully recognized and could sing along to---before then it was all <span style="font-style: italic;">Living With War</span> material, or CSNY songs that I might have heard before but didn't know well. The true diehard Neil Young fans out there might chastise me for ignoring all the material he's produced with CSN, but I just haven't gotten around to it yet. Maybe after seeing them and having them rise in my estimation, I'll pick up an album or two. I was hoping the second set would continue this way, with more of Neil's own material, but it switched back to CSNY stuff for awhile until returning to politics with "Find the Cost of Freedom". After this song a strange ceremony took place. Jimi Hendrix's version of "Star-Spangled Banner" played loudly over the speakers, the band abandoned stage and a ten-foot microphone rose up from the fog. A man, woman and boy walked on stage and pinned a giant yellow ribbon to the mic. Then they stood there contemplating it sadly for the rest of Hendrix's song. I couldn't tell if they were actors or a real family that had lost a son or daughter in Iraq. When this song ended, the band returned to the stage and struck up "Let's Impeach the President," the new album's most overtly critical song. The big screens displayed the words for people to sing along, and then footage of George W. Bush saying various things about Iraq, Saddam Hussein, weapons of mass destruction, etc. and promptly contradicting himself, while Neil and the crowd shouted "Flip! Flop!" The crowd clearly shared Neil's opinion, but there was some booing during this song, notably from an old guy behind me, who, despite being decked out in tie-dye, had earlier asked his wife "Which one is Neil Young?" He got a lot of disapproving stares for his boos.<br /><br />This song then led into "For What It's Worth," the most famous Buffalo Springfield song that is now synonymous with war and the world turning ugly. After that "Ohio," the song about the Kent State University protest shootings in 1971, was bookended by two CSNY songs I didn't recognize...and then everyone went wild with the unmistakeable percussive aggression of the opening chords of "Rockin' in the Free World." I don't think I know of any other songs quite like this one. It possesses such a hard-hitting rhythm, such scorn and anger in its lyrics, and Neil is famous for going into throes of guitar wildness while playing it (if you don't know what I mean, go to youtube.com and do a search for "Neil Young Rockin' in the Free World"...the top result is his rendition on <span style="font-style: italic;">Saturday Night Live</span> in 1989, one of the greatest rock performances ever). As much as this song is bombastic, as much as it's testosterone-induced, it can't be denied. It's hard to be articulate about it---it's a song meant to blow speakers, to piss-off your neighbours, to knock over shit, to middle finger modern life---yet it's so lyrically cutting ("We got a thousand points of light/For the homeless man/We got a kinder, gentler machine gun hand"...peerless). An amazing display of muscle, emotion and thought. At Bethel the song went on forever, with both Stills and Neil playing lead breaks, and culminated in waves of deafening noise during which Neil broke half the strings on his guitar but kept playing. The band came back to play "Woodstock" as an encore, but in comparing intensity it was like a walk to the corner store after a marathon. I felt battered and bruised and out of breath and could only half pay attention.<br /><br />Clearly this concert was very political, and very anti-war. At different times on the stage backdrop they projected the peace symbol normally, then skewed sideways and dripping paint, a silhouette of a helmeted soldier, and the yellow ribbon. During "Living With War" they played footage of Iraq and Afghanistan on the big screens in a mock-CNN style, with LWW in place of the station acronym, and anti-war statistics on a news ticker at the bottom. I think it was during "Find the Cost of Freedom" that the big screens displayed thumnail photos of all the Americans killed in Iraq, while at the bottom a casualty counter rose into the thousands. I've read a few tour reviews on the web and some are critical of it, calling it more of a political rally than a concert. Well, so what? The album is very political and harsh because it's responding to a very harsh time. I think some of the criticism hints at how bombastic and one-sided Neil's stance is, as though he doesn't understand the bigger picture. I counter that he's railing against a President and a government that have no clue about the bigger picture of the world, or if they have a clue, are burying their heads in the sand and taking a numb-skulled Us vs. Them approach. Neil's response is raw, but it's not unintelligent or uninformed. The album cover of <span style="font-style: italic;">Living With War</span> is plain beige packaging, with the words painted in military stencil; I think the message is that it's an urgent time and there's very little that is subtle about it anymore.<br /><br />All in all, it was a fantastic concert. I might have liked more of Neil's own material, but the CSNY songs were very good and I'm less opposed to adding some of their music to my collection now (and I'm going to own all of Neil's own albums sooner or later, anyway). The open air venue was fantastic, though they didn't have the asshole detector turned on at the gate: the old booing idiot; a teenage girl who insisted on standing up and "grooving" out of sync with the music, tossing her hair around narcissistically and all the while blocking the view of we seated folk; and a bizarre trio of an old guy who was either falling down drunk or had lost all equilibrium through illness but either way was extremely rude, his female caregiver and her husband who went on an expletive-laced tirade against her near the end of the show for bringing the old guy along to be babysat---all these people managed to get in and dim the glow on the show a bit. Was it the best concert I've seen? I think I'll hold off on a pronouncing the answer to that. You see, there's a long and detailed explanation as to why Nine Inch Nails, The Rolling Stones and Pearl Jam are also deserving of that title, yet no single show can quite claim it, I'll start with Nine In---....[I'm tuning <span style="font-style: italic;">myself</span> out here]...<br /><br />Next up: The Chili Peppers, Sept. 26 at the ACC...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-115610213225815802?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1154191080043297212006-07-29T12:00:00.000-04:002006-07-29T12:38:00.150-04:00Since last post...<br /><br />-I scored tickets to see Neil Young on August 13th and the Red Hot Chili Peppers on September 26th. Shauna, my parents and I are seeing Neil in Bethel, NY at the Bethel Woods Centre for the Arts. This is on the site of the original Woodstock 1969 concert. Unfortunately, it's not only Neil who's playing; he's on tour with Crosby, Stills and Nash, the three biggest diluters of his music I've ever heard. After reading <em>Shakey</em>, the Neil Young biography, and reading of how he and Stephen Stills rarely got along, I don't know why they still play together. Others may think otherwise, but I've never thought CSNY has made good music. Where is Crazy Horse when you need them?<br />The Chili Peppers concert is at the ACC, and takes place exactly one year after I saw the Stones at the Rogers Centre. I'm very pumped for this show; Shauna and I have been listening to Stadium Arcadium almost non-stop over the last two months. It's just that good.<br /><br />-the two soccer leagues I play in are in full swing. One of my teams is in first place, the other in third or fourth I think. Playing goalkeeper for one, midfield for the other.<br /><br />-I watched every France game as Les Bleus made their dreamy run to the World Cup final after everyone had written them off as has-beens. Everyone knows about how the final turned out and the bizarre Zidane headbutt incident, but I still wear the French jersey with pride. As people who have broached the subject with me are probably tired of hearing, I believe France won the game, they simply lost the shootout. The Italians were no match for the French attack, but fortunately for them their goalkeeper made some big saves, the French coach made the wrong subsitutions and David Trezeguet hit the crossbar.<br /><br />-my bathroom exploded. In renovations. The floor of our shower was no longer water-tight, so Brian and Sarah decided to rip out the shower stall, sink and set tub entirely and redo it all. The tub is installed and at the moment Brian is working on the tiling. It's taken a lot of patience and adjustment, but it's going to be a nice bathroom when it's done.<br /><br />-Shauna and I had a fun, if hectic, two-week vacation in the Maritimes. Highlights included biking the biggest hill I've ever biked to get to Marianne Falls on the Cabot Trail (and then flying back down in the dark); braving the choppy Bras D'or Lakes on a rough day in Shauna's Dad's little boat; making it to the final of the Codiac Cup soccer tournament in Moncton with my old Fredericton team, only to lose (such tragic heroes, just like France); hiking the woods at Millvale and making plans for our dream home/farm/woodlot; visiting Pioneer Farm in Prince County, where the off-the-grid, organic farm dream is being realized; and seeing lots of family and friends in Fredericton, Cape Breton and PEI. Didn't manage to see everyone---Dave and Nancy are two notable absences---but the trip home only further solidified our desire to finish up work and school in Ontario and move back to the Island, and hopefully we'll be able to see everyone more regularly as soon as next summer. We've even started looking at Island real estate websites...<br /><br />That pretty much sums it up. The major events, anyway. It's too hot to sit in front of a computer and type these days, but maybe I'll start posting more often again in the fall.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-115419108004329721?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1147624362709553062006-05-14T10:26:00.000-04:002006-05-14T12:32:42.923-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/PJ.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/PJ.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">What's the matter, Stone?<br /><br /></span></div>First: do you like zombies? Do you think zombies get a bum rap, that they deserve more respect? Do you think they occupy an important niche in our cultural mosaic? If you find yourself saying "Yeah...HECK YEAH!" then scroll down a ways to a post called "Zombie Freakout!" It's the third one down, just past the Leafs faerie. [Stupid blogspot insists on putting that post third from the top because I started it back in March and made some other posts before finishing it. Stupid blogspot. Or stupid Ryan for not being able to figure out how to reorder his posts.]<br /><br />Okay, now you're informed on zombies or you just skipped it because you want to read about those handsome gentlemen pictured above. On Wednesday Stevie G and I saw Pearl Jam play at the ACC. I think it's fair to say that for both of us this was a seminal event in our lives; I fell in love with Pearl Jam the first time I heard "Jeremy" back in the heyday of grunge when I was a mere 12 years-old. I take credit for turning Steve on to the band not long after that. Through our teenage years we were the biggest, and for awhile the only, Pearl Jam fans in East Wiltshire Junior High and Bluefield High Schools. We both bought every album the moment it came out, and then proceeded to analyze each one endlessly. When <span style="font-style: italic;">Vitalogy</span> came out in 1994 I wrote a prose poem that made use of all of the song titles. It was on my bedroom wall till just a few years ago when I decided I couldn't bear the reminder of my teenage writing skills anymore. I think love of Pearl Jam was a big factor in both Steve and I learning to play the guitar when we were teenagers. In our minds rock star was clearly the most promising career choice.<br /><br />I loved Pearl Jam all through high school and into university, but then around the time they released multiple recordings of concerts on CD, my love faded a bit. I'm not completely certain why. I still bought their albums, but not the moment they came out. <span style="font-style: italic;">Riot Act</span>, the last album before the one they're currently touring, really didn't thrill me, and I've probably only played it five or six times. When Steve discovered that tickets were still available for both Toronto concerts, I said I would go but I admit that I hesitated slightly. And even taking the TTC downtown to the ACC on Wednesday I was not as excited as I thought I would be. Going to the concert felt like a symbolic gesture, a nod to past obsession now empty of enthusiasm.<br /><br />Pearl Jam took the stage not long after the opening act to chants of "Ed-die, Ed-die". In blue lighting they opened with the slowly-building "Release", a song neither Steve nor I predicted they would play. Before they took the stage Steve and I passed the time by coming up with lists of the songs we thought they would play. Steve took the stance that they would play their hits and well-known songs to please the fans. For contrast, I predicted mostly non-hits and less popular songs, relying on the scorn the band has shown through the years for hits and music videos and radio-repetition.<br /><br />Here's what they played...<br />Release<br />Worldwide Suicide<br />Life Wasted<br />Severed Hand<br />Hail Hail<br />Unemployed<br />Dissident<br />Evenflow<br />Corduroy<br />I Am Mine<br />Low Light<br />The Whipping<br />You Are<br />I Got Id<br />a few bars of Cinnamon Girl<br />Betterman<br />Jeremy<br />Marker in the Sand<br />Black<br />Rearviewmirror<br /><br />[Encore]<br />Wasted Reprise<br />Man of the Hour<br />Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town<br />State of Love and Trust<br />Do the Evolution<br />Alive<br /><br />[Double Encore]<br />"Don't leave us/Don't go/To-ron-to"<br />Go<br />Crazy Mary<br />Fuckin' Up<br />Indifference<br />Yellow Ledbetter, with Beast of Burden mixed in<br /><br />Steve predicted 14 of those and I got 6. I guess this points to the fact that Pearl Jam has mellowed over the years, and have realized that concerts are about having a good time. There was a time when they were an unhappy bunch and had a reputation for playing without emotion, as though concerts were manual labour. This was in the same period as their crusade against Ticketmaster, and while they're no less politically-motivated these days (Eddie told the crowd during "Fuckin' Up," that "George Bush really likes this song") now that they're in their 40s they clearly like to have fun again. Mike McCready constantly runs around stage and jumps and does funny little dance moves; Jeff Ament punctuates big notes with splay-legged jumps; Eddie Vedder talks to the crowd constantly; Stone Gossard remains comparatively subdued, but bobs his head along to the music (maybe, after all these years, he still has to concentrate to play guitar properly) and I couldn't really see Matt Cameron behind all his drums and cymbals, but there was lots of crashing and banging. They've also added another member, whether permanent full-time or only for now I don't know: keyboardist Boom Kasper. From where we were sitting he looked like some flabby-armed, grey-bearded, long-haired biker pounding away on a piano like it was his opponent in a bar brawl. I really don't know how he managed to play it properly while carrying on like that, but for the most part I couldn't hear his contribution. I don't think he really fits with the band, but hey, as long as he doesn't wreck the music...<br /><br />So they rocked on through 30-odd songs over 3 hours. In addition to blistering crescendos in practically every song, the show had lots of the little things that make a concert entertaining. In "Evenflow" Eddie said "Check this shit" before Mike launched into a behind-the-head guitar solo. "Jeremy," a song that foreshadowed the Columbine school shootings, ended with Jeff playing an eerie riff while lit by a red spotlight. The crowd practically sang "Betterman" all by itself (this is my absolute least-favourite Pearl Jam song, but I sang along too). The band payed several tributes to "Uncle Neil," from Eddie playing a few solo bars of "Cinnamon Girl," to the song "I Got Id" from the Pearl Jam/Neil Young <span style="font-style: italic;">Merkin Ball</span> release, to "Fuckin' Up"---a cover that is actually better than the original in my mind. Eddie got the crowd to shout "Happy Birthday, Sean!" which was recorded for sending to Sean Kinney, the drummer of Alice in Chains, currently on tour in Portugal (I didn't even know they were still together). Eddie made a few "global village" comments, such as pointing out the person in the stands behind the stage waving the Brazillian flag and the person in front waving a Canadian one, and comemorating the crowd as "so many individuals, with so many variables, that coming together like this is something special".<br /><br />Just like sitting through a friend's photos and stories from a vacation to Europe, it's hard to share the enthusiasm and awe of a concert without having been in the crowd, so I'll halt the praise train right about here. Suffice to say the show totally renewed my appreciation for the band. I stood through most of it, sang along, bobbed my head...maybe not as physically compelling an experience for me as it was for the girl to my right, who shouted and jumped and seemed about to tear her clothes off, or the fat ball-capped guy in front of me who played an imaginary drum set and shook his head and generally seemed to be in the throes of something mystical. But man, I <span style="font-style: italic;">felt</span> it.<br /><br />I was particularly appreciative of the tributes to Neil Young and the brief one to the Stones, tying together three of my all-time favourite artists. If there is a "Big Four" group of concerts I must see in my life, I've now seen three of them: Nine Inch Nails (spring, 2000), The Rolling Stones (last September) and now Pearl Jam. Only Neil Young remains, and I fear that this will be the most difficult one to get to, with his age and smaller and smaller tour schedule. Not that he isn't still producing music---just yesterday while picking up the new Pearl Jam and Red Hot Chili Peppers CDs I saw that he has yet another album out: <span style="font-style: italic;">Living With War</span>. By the album and song titles it's clearly very current affairs, which, in Neil's case, can mean it's a groaner (like "Let's Roll" the song he released after 9/11) or a gem (like "Ohio," his classic about the Kent State shootings in the early 70s). Fanning out beyond the big four, I'd really like to see the Chili Peppers (new album=new tour, so maybe they're next), Tool (new album out, but Toronto show already sold out), Radiohead (no idea), Queens of the Stone Age (just missed them), Coldplay (no idea), Bob Marley (he's dead...) and the list goes on. A little ways down that list is INXS, whom I happen to be seeing in a few hours, again with Steve at the ACC. I like INXS, and have enjoyed their 80s swagger since I got <span style="font-style: italic;">Kick</span> on tape when I was 8. However, I feel a bit smarmed by the way they used a reality TV show to put themselves back in the spotlight. Of their new singles, I like "Pretty Vegas" but "Afterglow" is too schmaltzy. Nonetheless, Steve assures me the album is good, and hopefully they'll play a few of their classics tonight, though it will be different without Michael Hutchence singing them. And both Steve and I have recognized that after having finally seen <span style="font-style: italic;">the</span> band that has been a major focus of our friendship through the years, anything else is a little anti-climactic.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Why do I keep fuckin' up?</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-114762436270955306?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1145724815182310352006-04-22T12:07:00.000-04:002006-04-23T09:58:34.526-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/newo_r1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/newo_r1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>New Order - <span style="font-style: italic;">Get Ready</span><br /></div><br /><br />I'm in love with weather.<br /><br />How boringly Canadian is that? I classify days according to weather type, so that when I get up in the morning and look out the window I think 'This day is like a day so many weeks/years ago. That means I'll feel this particular way and these particular activities are appropriate.' It's not that literal or intentional, but upon seeing the outdoor air for the first time each day some unconscious part of me makes a decision or takes a first step down a pre-trod path with stops at given moods and actions.<br /><br />Today in Kitchener it's not raining, but it's misting. Tiny beads of water buzzing around in the air. The grass is a wetter green. The tops of the office buildings downtown are half not there. It's cool enough to keep your hands in your pockets, but you keep rubbing your fingers together because the air makes your skin warm and smooth. On days like this I want to move to Ireland or England and live in a small village with two pubs, a castle ruin, a few friendly stray dogs and a lot of wool sweaters. Shit, <em>every</em> day I want to move to that village. Or that small town in the south of France that's bursting with colourful vegetation, has a section called the medieval village, a bunch of old men playing <em>petanque</em> and stone walls that are pinkish-beige from all the heat they've absorbed over the ages. But I'll put my tourist idealism away for a few minutes.<br /><br />The actions appropriate for a day such as this include hiking through the gloom of anything manmade now sprouting with weeds, ferns, and the general greenery of reclamation. Also mixing the fumes of an outdoor laundry vent with what you can recall of age three. Also drinking wine far too early in the afternoon and listening to Van Morrison. Also watching a dog dream. Also frequenting places beneath more than the sky, like basement apartments, underbellies of overpasses, concrete drains, subway stations, caves if you can find them.<br /><br />Today I have a sexy To Do list that includes items like 'Do taxes' and 'Clean AXMT'. (AXMT 263 is our car. When he lived in New Brunswick he was Gil, flame of Anne of Green Gables. Now he is Axmit, long-haired guitarist of the Norwegian band Valhalla's Vengeance.) Was 'Write stuff' on the list? No! I flout thee, itemized controller of my life. I fart in your general direction.<br /><br />Awhile back I wrote about my music collection, and about the tie-in of albums and memories. Music collections these days less frequently occupy shelf space, and more often are hosted in devices that look like sticks of gum or small calculators. Or fat, pastel-coloured beans, in the case of Shauna's, which she left on the couch here beside me. 'Album' is to 'playlist' as 'horse and buggy' is to 'car'. While I have a significant amount of mp3s on my computer, I am faithful to the discman, the stereo, the cases---pleasing square plastic units, slim building blocks of the tower of song. I call myself a collector, though I'm not as hardcore as the vinyl-heads. Music doesn't need added imperfections in my mind.<br /><br />I estimate between 300 and 400 CDs in my collection. Did I buy them all brand new? Heck no. If $25 is the average cost of a new CD and I have, say, 350 CDs, that's $8750 shelled out for CDs in the past ten years. Jumpins. The only time I buy a CD full price, brand new is when it is a new album of a band I really like or when I feel like throwing cash around because I'm a complete fool. Aspiring CD collectors listen up, I will fill you in on the secrets...<br /><br />Hit your local used-CD store. Many years ago, like when I was in grade six, I remember how kids considered it terribly gauche to shop at Charlottetown's primary used-clothing store, Froggy's. This was the late eighties, decade of the materialistic and fashionistic. These values were cast aside in the early nineties when grunge scorned the new and polished for the slack, the well-worn, the worn-out and the dirty. I haven't seen the receipts, but I'm sure business picked up at Froggy's, and I do know that several other used-clothing stores and even a few 'retro' boutiques opened up for a cut of the market. The about-face in attitudes was startling, even in PEI where trends arrive at the speed of a rowboat crossing the Northumberland Strait. Anyway, in the music world, used-CD shops never suffered the same scorn. The oldest one in PEI is Back Alley Discs, which, though it no longer resides in a back alley, is still in operation. Back Alley is operated by a well-known figure of the Island music scene, and the merchandise you'll find there is more for the discerning collector; it's a small boutique and there's no place in the bins for twenty copies of Third Eye Blind's debut album. Instead, you'll likely find artists you've never heard of and the less common albums of artists you have heard of. I bought The Police's <em>Zenyatta Mondatta</em> and Neil Young's <em>Zuma</em> at Back Alley, for example, among many other albums over the years. The prices there are reasonable---usually $8 to $10, or slightly more for really rare goodies. Every trip home entails a stop in at Back Alley, even if just for old time's sake. In other cities I've found similar stores; small, discerning, always with intriguing music playing on the stereo, maybe a little incense burning, and often operated by a musician or feverish collector with a striking similarity to John Cusack's character in <em>High Fidelity</em>. Fredericton has Back Street Records (what is it with good music and out-of-the-way thoroughfares?); Toronto has similar places about once every two blocks. I usually leave these places with one or two harder-to-find albums of bands that I already know and like.<br /><br />There are also used-CD stores with less ambience, less atmosphere of discernment, but a lot more volume. We're talking bin upon bin. While you will have to wade through twenty copies of Third Eye Blind, Britney Spears <em>One More Time</em>, Hootie and the Blowfish <em>Cracked Rear View</em> and other albums people have realized are crap and shed like pestilent blankets, you will come across the occasional goodie. I call this process sifting, and while doing it I usually carry a metal pan and mumble through missing teeth about the mother lode that eluded me at the Klondike. Don't bug me while I do this and definitely don't cut in front of me in the alphabetical rows, pardner, or you'll see the business end of my 'coon musket!<br /><br />Anyway. As compared to the Back Alley boutiques, these places are warehouses, and while you might not feel as cool shopping there, they definitely serve a purpose. Usually the prices are slightly lower, between $5 and $8, making it possible to purchase more than one or two albums at a time. The Cash Converters chain is a good example of this type of CD store, though they require patience as the staff spend little time on inventory management so the bins are often spilling over into boxes on the floor, the place has the sad atmosphere of pawn/junk shop desperation, and they will accept <em>anything</em>, so you have to be prepared for even more copies of Hootie's <em>Shitty Album #3</em>, or whatever. (Or REM <em>Monster</em>, an unexpected presence among this shameful crew...don't know what happened there.) You won't find Pink Floyd's <em>Ummagumma</em> there, but if you're missing a popular classic like <em>The Wall</em>, you might come across it. Granted its case will be scratched and the liner notes may be water-damaged, but the album should still be playable.<br /><br />My favourite of the warehouse stores is unquestionably Digital World on Dundonald St. in Fredericton. DW is a great store, and I spent many a sifting hour there. Several features make it stand out. Like Cash Converters, it sells used musical instruments, video games, computers, movies and CDs; however, the staff keep the place clean and in order, and the merchandise is in general of much better quality---they will not accept John Doe's broken junk and try to sell it back to their customers. The place is staffed by a bunch of happy young long-haired guys who all play in local bands, know their music and clearly enjoy working there. Usually when you bring a stack of CDs to the counter they offer a few comments on a gem or two you've picked, boosting your collector ego. (If a hip musician approves, you must have taste.) Conversely, if you select a complete groaner, they don't point it out or even give you a scornful eyebrow raise unless you ask for their opinion. Remember the scene in High Fidelity where Jack Black's character will not allow an average square father to buy a silly record for his daughter and ridicules him right out of the store? Don't worry, this won't happen at Digital World.<br /><br />When it comes to the actual CDs, they have tons and while there is some crap, a lot of it has been shuffled off to the $2 bin. Most times I go there I manage to find 5 to 10 CDs of solid quality and middling rarity. I've only found one other store that manages to successfully combine volume and discernment, which I'll get to in a minute. This combination, and the reasonable $5 to $8 prices, makes DW the best store to try out new artists, whether it's bands you've heard of but never heard or bands that are completely foreign but have a cool name or an artful album cover. I didn't amass my collection by only buying the work of bands I was already familiar with; you have to go out on a limb and follow a hunch every now and again. This pays off sometimes and burns you others; case in point my trials of New Order and Pet Shop Boys. I will probably never, ever play that Pet Shop Boys album again (but will not get rid of it, that's collector folly) but now own three New Order albums, am looking for more, and am in fact listening to <em>Get Ready</em> as I type, which they released in 2001 and all out rocks. Those of you not interested in foppish British bands from the eighties might ask 'what's the difference between New Order and Pet Shop Boys?' I shake my head in sadness at your philistinism.<br /><br />The other quality/quantity store I referred to is Sonic Boom, which I recently discovered in Toronto. It actually edges out Digital World in terms of both; you could park several school buses in the store space, and its merchandise is extensive, constantly updated, of highest discernment (I have seen many CDs I've never heard of but look so very cool there) and meticulously classified according to genre and artist. It is also staffed by a bunch of guys who look like musicians, or at least they sport all the usual trappings---long/messy hair, tattoos, intentionally grubby clothes. They don't have the welcoming exhuberance of DW's staff, though, and there is a slight element of Toronto-ism to them---if they let you into their coolness club, it might dilute it a bit. But they're not snooty waiters, either, so don't worry that they'll sniff if you bring a Madonna album to the counter. Sonic Boom truly is the Cadillac of used-CD stores in my experience, but in a couple of ways I still prefer Digital World. One: their pricing is much better; Sonic Boom's prices range from $6.95 for used CDs marked 'scuff' (small scratches that aren't really noticeable in playback) to upwards of $20 for new, rare stuff. I would say the average price is $10.95, so buying several CDs still hits the wallet harder...and it's hard not to haul a pile to the counter every time you visit. Two: I can't believe the management of Sonic Boom, whom I assume are collectors and connaisseurs par excellence, have not come to the realization that it is much easier to please your CD junky clientele if you STORE YOUR DAMN CDs WITH THE SPINES FACING UP! Back Alley Discs gets this right, as does Digital World, but Sonic Boom prefers them with the spine to the left, so that to see all the titles you have to flick through with your fingers, a process that not only takes much longer, it also fills the store with a headache-inducing <span style="font-style: italic;">clack-clack-clack</span> noise that drowns out whatever good music is playing and generally reduces the pleasure of sifting. If it weren't for Sonic Boom's redeeming qualities, this would be enough for me to never darken their doorway again. Frustration aside, I do love you, Sonic Boom. Just the other day you provided me with...<br /><br />New Order <em>Get Ready</em> - already discussed, am very pleased with.<br /><br />Sleeping Lords of Iona <em>We Found A Love In The Streets But It Was Not Ours</em> - never heard of them but I bought the CD because it was really cheap, I love the band name and album title, and the album cover bears an appealing photograph of a below-mountain village in Japan. The music: pretty good, trip-hoppy, kind of like recent Radiohead with a female singer.<br /><br />Everything But the Girl <em>Temperamental</em> - everybody knows "Missing" ('And I'm missing you/Like the deserts miss the rain') but I think this duo deserves to be much more than a one-hit wonder. This is a good album; catchy beats and electronica mixed with a really nice voice and decent lyrics. Sadly, I also suspect that they never became more popular, at least in North America, because Tracey Thorn, the singer, isn't very good looking.<br /><br /><em>Run Lola Run</em> Soundtrack - have been looking for this since seeing the movie several years ago. It's a decent, if repetitive, collection of mid/late nineties techno and listening to it makes me want to run around the city like Franka Potente. Man, she must have been <em>in shape</em> after filming that movie.<br /><br />So there you have my latest purchases. Gee, there's a lot of synthesizers and drum machines on those albums and nary an acoustic guitar. Must be Toronto's urban hipness rubbing off on me.<br /><br />Okay, so I've filled you in on used-CD stores. They're all you need to know about in order to start building a good collection, right? Wrong. Used-CD stores are key, perhaps central, but there are other important resources you should not neglect.<br /><br />Your local library. 'Ryan, you're suggesting I steal CDs from my library and keep them for myself?!' Never. Don't be foolish. Borrow them. Pop them in your computer. If you have a program like Real Player, it will coyly suggest that you save the songs to your library. Why say no? You have a copy of the songs, and the CD goes back to the library for another patron to enjoy. You can then leave the songs on the computer or burn them to a blank CD.<br /><br />There are pros and cons to the library resource. It is obviously the cheapest way of obtaining new music, so there's zero chance that you'll get burned by chancing it on an album that appeals to your curiosity in even the slightest way. Purely for the silly name I once signed out <em>Shekkie II Electric Boogaloo</em> by deservedly unknown Canadian band Dig Circus. It sucked but I payed nothing save a few minutes of aural pain for it, so no biggie (and no shekkie). Again, the flipside of this is that you can chance it and come across something good, like the time I signed out The Bravery's self-titled debut because I thought the cover was pretty. The Bravery is another contemporary throwback to eighties pop, like The Killers, but what their album lacks in soul and substance it makes up in catchiness. Obviously you don't get to keep the original CD and liner notes, which I would prefer to have, but I'm not so much of a purist that I won't include burnt CDs in my collection. Also, every so often I get thirsty for a different sound but none of my favourite bands have a new album out; the library is a great place to place to go and randomly select some new bands and hopefully uncover at least one or two worth adding to the List Of Bands I Like And Therefore You Should Too.<br /><br />The library does have its limitations. Back in Fredericton the public library only lets you sign out four CDs at a time. This can be a blessing in disguise as their collection isn't that large, so you can't exhaust it very quickly. I was bowled over when the nice lady at the Kitchener Public Library told me I could sign out as many CDs as I wish. However, their collection isn't much larger and I think now, after having made about five mass sign-outs, I might have exhausted the supply of CDs that bear any interest to me. Also, as libraries are not for profit you won't find the newest releases, and the nice librarians don't select CDs with the same eye for quality and rock 'n roll as the staff of my favourite used-CD stores. Library collections seem to be mandated for Can-con, which is a notion I support, but it's probably only thrilling to actual Canadian artists and devoted Tom Cochrane fans. For some reason, these Tom Cochrane fans never seem to make it to the KPL, as his CDs are never signed out. I wonder why. Also, libraries try to cater to all demographics so the Pop/Rock section is rivalled in size by snores like Gospel, Adult Contemporary and World Music. This is great if you're a Richard Clayderman fan, but again, these fans never seem to come around...<br /><br />Finally, not every CD in the new-CD stores is prohibitively priced. MusicWorld has always been my favourite chain because they frequently sell new CDs for less than $18, or 2/$25, or even as cheap as $9. HMV has similar deals. The one thing you have to ask yourself is "Am I buying this because I really want it, or is the low price making me overlook the likelihood of crappiness?" Sometimes these CDs are cheap because, face it, they suck. I once bought a David Gilmour album on the premise that it was cheap and hey, he's the singer from Pink Floyd so it must be good. Well, I've heard worse, but suffice to say I haven't taken that album off the rack in years. But, again, taking the risk can pay off---I don't know how many times I've seen Esthero's <em>Breath From Another</em> for $9 at MusicWorld and I assure you, it is a very good album.<br /><br />So, to sum up, CD collecting is like any other form of investment; if you select your risks wisely, they are more likely to provide good returns. I hope you have enjoyed the Ryan Conway Seminar On...shit, that's so cheesy. I can't be bothered ending with a flourish, so I'll just stop typing now and you can put up with it.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-114572481518231035?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1145144494111692572006-04-15T18:54:00.000-04:002006-04-15T20:38:01.116-04:00<div align="left"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/butthurts.1.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/butthurts.1.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong> </strong><br />Happy Easter everyone.<br /><br />Let's see...my last post was on February 26th. That's awhile ago. I have been writing since then, working on a fun little essay here and there that I'll finish one of these days. "Fun" and "essay"...two words I never thought I'd pair. Adding "little" in between makes me think of a tweedy academic sitting in his dusty office, drumming fingers together in anticipation of a date with his typewriter and Foucault.<br /><br />Otherwise, life carries on. Soot the bunny is getting bigger but no less cute. She's getting close to Blossom in size, but not in aggression. The older bunny is still territorial, and does her best to inflict injury any time Soot comes near. And Soot just wants to be friends. Bru put on a few pounds over the winter, but with the weather change we've started fetch at the park again. He's no less ferocious than last summer and I'm sure he'll be slim and trim in no time. However, right now he's being ignored because while we were out he climbed up on the table to pilfer some twizzlers Shauna had left there. Not only did he eat the licorice and most of the plastic bag, he scratched the nice table to which Shauna's Dad once applied seven layers of varnish. Bad dog. Bad, bad dog.<br /><br />And the weather has definitely changed here. There's not a trace of snow left, most of the grass is green, flowers are blooming, and it's sunny and +10 to +15 everyday. Today, in the middle of Easter weekend, I put my winter clothes in a box and barbequed a steak for supper...and ate it at the picnic table in the backyard in a t-shirt and jeans. On Easter weekend! On most of the Easters I remember from home, there were still at least a few tenacious snowbanks, the grass and sun were the same pale, thin yellow and any outdoor activities at family gatherings and the like were always a little too optimistic, with good cheer having to make up for the chills. The people around here don't seem too bowled over by the weather, so I guess it's just southern Ontario. It's only 3 lines of latitude south of Charlottetown, but apparently that's enough to make a noticeable difference. Maybe that's a lot, what do I look like, a geographer?<br /><br />In addition to generally improving my mood, this weather has meant that the transition between indoor and outdoor soccer was very brief. We've had a few practices now and the season starts in early May. It looks like I'll be playing for two teams this summer, and I might play goalkeeper for one of them, which is a bit of throwback...to my more nimble days. I can still make saves, but the slight softness around my middle slows me down somewhat.<br /><br />In other news...Shauna, Steve and I saw the Raptors play the Suns at the ACC on the 31st. Steve Nash dominated in his usual unselfish way. Of course it's not that hard to dominate the Raptors, especially with Chris Bosh injured. On the same trip to Toronto I finally made it to Sonic Boom, much-rumoured Mecca for the used-CD junkie. It lived up to the rumours. I laid down a lot of cash. Shauna won a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC, pronouced 'shirk') grant worth $17,500 for next year's studies. I think I'll quit my job and eat bonbons all day.<br /><br />As I write this I'm watching the Canadiens vs. Sabres on French CBC, and checking tsn.ca periodically to get the score in the Leafs vs. Senators game. The Habs need only one point tonight or in their final game on Tuesday to secure a playoff spot. Right now, however, they're losing 1-0 after a first period in which they had lots of good chances but were frustrated by the Buffalo goalie. As for the Leafs, they are currently 10th, and even if they won their remaining games they can't catch the Canadiens. However, if they win and the 8th and 9th place teams don't maximize their points, the Leafs could squeak in to the playoffs (the top 8 make it). TSN tells me that they're currently winning 1-0 over Ottawa, a team that has spanked them several times this season and hopefully will redden their fannies again tonight. Oh my. Anyway, yes, I despise the Leafs almost as much as I love the Habs. Their missing the playoffs would provide me with great schadenfreude.<br /><br />The second period has begun, so I bid you adieu and Joyeux Pacques. And a special message for the Leafs...<br /><p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/fairy-boy.1.jpg"><img style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/fairy-boy.1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em>Seeya...</em></p></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-114514449411169257?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1142200148747539942006-03-12T15:11:00.000-05:002006-05-07T22:40:15.763-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/zombies.0.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/zombies.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Run for your lives! It's a zombie freakout!<br /><br />I have to credit Craig Davidson here---"Zombie Freakout" is the title of a funny little screenplay he wrote. But I'm borrowing it for now.<br /><br />I've got zombies on the brain because I've renewed my love/fear affair with Resident Evil 4. I originally played and finished this game about a year ago. Once I finish a video game I don't usually feel like playing it anymore, but RE4 is so enthralling and creepy that it was all I could do to not immediately start from the beginning again. I waited about a year and then a few weeks ago I popped my favourite game back in the Cube and got ready to be scared. Turns out a year is just enough time to forget all the spots where zombies jump out from behind things to startle me half to death.<br /><br />So what makes RE4 so much better than other games? Let's start with the premise. You control Leon Kennedy, an agent who has been sent to a boondock Spanish village to find Ashley Graham, the kidnapped daughter of the U.S. President. Okay, maybe that's not the best place to begin a defense of the game's merits; it's pretty unlikely that if one of the Bush gals was kidnapped, G-Dubya-B would send one lowly agent off to Spain to rescue her. Even he is smarter than that. But being all alone ups the fear value, so I'm willing to overlook the implausibility. Anyway, you get dropped off way out in the woods on the road into a village that looks like it hasn't had contact with the outside world since the 1800s. It looks like November; all the trees are naked, the fallen leaves are various shades of grey, fog prevents you from seeing far through the trees and the only sound is Leon's footsteps and some spooky crows. There is a loosely defined path to follow, but you get the sense that bad things could come rushing at you from any direction. You follow a rotten fence down to a decrepit little stone house. Inside, a tattered villager tends to a fireplace...when you ask him if he's seen Ashley he snarls something in Spanish and out of nowhere takes a swing at you with his hatchet. The creepy music starts and he comes shuffling toward you...<br /><br />The setting in this game is so much more effective than in any other scary game I've played. The previous RE games relied on over-done settings like zombie-crawling cities and mansions. In addition to the pastoral-village-gone-wrong, the game's locales include ancient graveyards, cultish churches, an abandoned mine, a decadent castle, a twisted laboratory and so on. The graphics are incredibly vivid and the music gives you the chills. The game takes place in third person view, but rather than the camera being set back several feet like in, say, Zelda games, you view everything from just behind Leon's right shoulder. This gives it a wonderfully claustrophobic feeling; unlike other games you don't have greater vision than the character you control. It always feels like something is behind you and when Leon gets swarmed by bad guys, they are <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">right there</span>. You can almost smell their bad guy breath as they lunge to bite Leon. And they do more than bite...some give an overhead swipe with a hatchet, others strangle, some shoot flaming arrows and you don't want to know what one guy does with a chainsaw. As the game progresses Leon can buy nastier weaponry with which to fight back, such as the Striker shotgun which can send a bevy of bad guys flying from point-blank range, or the sniper rifle, one bullet from which can liquify a bad guy's head from long range. Yes, this game is as graphic and nightmarish as they come. Never, <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">ever</span> let a child play Resident Evil 4. I feel guilty that I find the game so fun...at the same time that, like no other game, it makes me want to jump under the covers and hide, it is more satisfying than any other game when Leon gives a bad guy a round in the face or sends him stumbling with one to the knee.<br /><br />But perhaps the most intense feature of the game, though, are the 'bad guys' themselves. Now, any one familiar with the RE series knows its games are about zombies. But the enemies in RE4 are not your typical mindless, moaning, decomposing undead who shuffle toward you so slowly you've got about twenty minutes to decide whether to hand them flowers or a bullet. In fact, by the traditional definition, they are not zombies at all, as they are not undead. Instead, these fellows, called Los Gannados in the game, are regular, living people that have been taken over by an insect-like parasite called Las Plagas. These parasites allow them to be controlled by the game's evil mastermind, Lord Saddler. Sometimes the parasite in a particular Gannado will make its appearance if Leon removes said Gannado's head. Mainly the parasites make their hosts act zombie-like; they are a bit stiff, they are single-minded in their drive to mutilate Leon, and they make no effort to get out of the way of whatever weapon Leon wields. But shuffle mindlessly they do not. Los Gannados either rush at Leon as fast as their parasitic legs can carry them, or coyly walk toward him then break into a sprint for his jugular. It's not quite like having a zombified Donovan Bailey bearing down on you, but acting snappy is of the essence.<br /><br />And this brings me to the general subject of this post: the contemporary zombie.<br /><br />Gone are the days of the shuffler, the moaner, the reanimated corpse dropping rotten apendages left and right. The B-movie zombie was never much of a threat. Its outstretched arms suggested it would grope you to death if it ever got ahold of you. It seemed just bloodthirsty enough to gnaw on your elbow. Part of what made zombie movies of yore so B was the sheer stupidity of the characters who fell victim to the moaning masses. Instead of turning and running, or even walking briskly, away, the characters stood their ground and screamed or otherwise acted like ostriches. In the array of supernatural creatures, the zombie has traditionally occupied the lowest position. The poltergeist haunts us by intruding from a spookier plane. The werewolf gives us the fear of the pursued and represents the union of humans and tooth and claw wilderness. Faced with the vampire, we really know what it is to be prey, drinking boxes for creatures of superior strength, intellect, consitution and a penchant for being at their best when we are at our weakest. Even skeletons have their lipless perma-smiles and empty eye sockets. But zombies...well, they bear a similarity to old men bumbling about in slippers and shabby cardigans. (To those of you who may confuse the two, Dave Hickey is not a zombie...or is he..?)<br /><br />I suppose the B-movie zombie still exists, still shuffles about in its undead stupor, but of late a few more polished movies have renovated the zombie concept. The zombies of RE4 and movies like <em>Dawn of the Dead</em> (the remake) and <em>28 Days Later</em> are the best examples. To begin with, these zombies only shuffle mindlessly until they see living flesh---then they break into an all out, slavering, snarling sprint, like personifications of the Id, if you will. Take the scene early in <em>Dawn of the Dead</em> when when Ana's (Sarah Polley) newly zombified husband chases her out of her house and down the street. Reckless and slightly clumsy? Yes. Slow? No effing way. And in the precursor to this scene we see that an old chew on the elbow is not what these new zombies are after; a girl, formerly a friendly neighbourhood rollerblader and now a zombie missing part of her face, gives Ana's husband's neck her best vampire impression---with none of the cool two-cuspid precision of Dracula but way more biting, tearing and ripping. Even in <em>Shaun of the Dead</em>, a witty Britty zombie flick whose ghouls are more of the old shuffling, moaning variety, there is a shocking scene in which a crowd of zombies tear open a character's belly and pull out his stringy innards like a game of group cat's cradle. Whether symptomatic of the general increase in graphic displays of violence in the movies or not, the zombie of today is not good for your complexion.<br /><br />The contemporary zombie isn't always undead, especially not in the sense of being one of a horde that has spontaneously thrust grasping hands through cemetary sod, as in Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video. As I've explained, RE4's Gannados are infected and controlled by a parasite that effectively renders them zombies. The zombies of <em>28 Days Later</em> are humans who have been infected with a virus, but it hasn't killed them. In fact, near the end of the movie we see that the zombies are dying for a very-alive need, the want of food and water. The one exception to this is <em>Dawn of the Dead</em>, where the living switch teams after being bitten by their opponents; they become infected with the unnamed virus, which kills them and immediately reanimates them as zombies. But in all these cases, there is no unexplained and sudden bursting forth from graves en masse. Instead, the zombies multiply, and swift apocalypse looms, through the spread of viral or parasitic infection. It's no great observation to say that this points to our fear that science and biology, rather than God-induced cataclysm, will bring about the end of the species. <em>28 Days Later</em> even parallels the story of AIDS in that its virus first makes the jump to humans through a monkey bite.<br /><br />In the same way that in the Old Testament God would clear away those who displeased him with a flood or other swipe of his fist, nature seems to have an almost sentient way of keeping populations in control. Whether it's through the introduction of a predator, the exposing of a genetic weakness or a change in climate, no one species can grow ad infinitum without nature taking it out at the knees every so often. This is no different with humans; right now we're due for a pandemic but we continuously try to stay one scientific step ahead. These zombie movies present pandemics that descend so swiftly that medicine, law and all other systems of order are quickly overloaded. Unlike sicknesses such as bird flu or SARS that take time to spread, the zombie pandemics have society turned upside down by dinner time. All the pandemics that I can think of use the over-population of the affected species against itself; individuals become contagious, and the greater number and density of these individuals, the faster spreads the virus or illness or whatever. However, the most effective thing about the zombie pandemic is that the infected actively seek to spread the infection. Rather than lay in bed or otherwise submit to quarantine, they're out there trying to convert us all, like ultra-persistent Jehovah's Witnesses. We become the agents of our own culling. Think about this next time you walk the streets of a city like Toronto or visit Walmart on a Saturday. The zombie fear is irrational, but is it the same with the fear of our own numbers?<br /><br />I also enjoy the commentary of these movies. They're not the deepest or most subtle, but they manage to say a thing or two. <em>Dawn of the Dead z</em>ombies flock to the mall, making plain the question whether mall-goers and consumers in general are not zombified in their own way. While the more recent <em>Land of the Dead</em> remake is ripe with corny lines and pleas for pathos (the main character closes the movie by reflecting that the zombies "just want somewhere to live") the best part of the movie is the scenario: the zombie outbreak has forced the regular humans to hole up across a river, in a barricaded city. Most live in slums at the edges of the city but those who are rich enough inhabit a controlled-climate tower at the city's centre. The tower is a reconstruction of the good life, with simulated bird song, sunshine and greenery, and the people who live there shop and dine and spend their time enjoying life's pleasures. It's ostriching of the worst kind; creeping death is just across the river but the wealthy ignore it as they sip their pinot. They're buffered by the lower classes, after all. The comment here is that we're so intent on maintaining our life of ease, our comfortable affluenza, we'll continue pursuing it even when we're surrounded by contagion---as long as it's happening to someone else.<br /><br />So I think it's time the zombie got some respect. It's obviously a fictional creature, but what is more plausible, a virus that controls its host or a fanged guy who sleeps in a coffin, bites necks and is afraid of garlic? a regular joe who just happens to turn into a wolf once a month? a walking set of bones? Like these other figures, a zombie embodies certain fears. It's traditionally been the walking dead come to claim the living, but now it symbolizes the viral pandemic, the biological apocalypse, the danger that lies in our over-population. And sometimes it gets us to fess up to our own shuffling mindlessness.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-114220014874753994?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1140983943596065482006-02-26T14:30:00.000-05:002006-02-26T15:12:20.076-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Ryan%20and%20Soot%20cropped.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Ryan%20and%20Soot%20cropped.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Soot<br /></span> <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><font><font>Yes, we gave in. After Zooby died I was adamant that I didn't want any new pets for awhile...but how could I deny such a face? Soot is a holland lop, around two and half months old. We got her last Saturday and she's settled in already. She's about half Blossom's size but we figure she'll keep growing as her hind feet are too large for her little body. We hope the two of them will bond, but so far Blossom is being rather territorial. Eventually they'll probably be tough to tell apart, other than by Blossom's wonky ears.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Blossom%20with%20branch.0.jpg"></a> </span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Blossom%20with%20branch.1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/200/Blossom%20with%20branch.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>Big Bunny</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> <font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><br /><br 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style="text-align: left;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font></span><font></span></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font><br 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/span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font> </span><font><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Soot%201.1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/200/Soot%201.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Little Bunny</span><br /><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: 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font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><font></span><fo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/></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: 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/></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-114098394359606548?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1139802869869918372006-02-12T22:54:00.000-05:002006-02-18T16:51:51.290-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Neil%20and%20dog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Neil%20and%20dog.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;" ><b>"I'm The Ocean"</b><br /><br />I'm an accident<br />I was driving way too fast<br />Couldn't stop though<br />So I let the moment last<br />I'm for rollin'<br />I'm for tossin' in my sleep<br />It's not guilt though<br />It's not the company I keep<br /><br />People my age<br />They don't do the things I do<br />They go somehwere<br />While I run away with you<br />I got my friends<br />And I got my children too<br />I got her love<br />She's got my love too<br /><br />I can't hear you<br />But I feel the things you say<br />I can't see you<br />But I see what's in my way<br />Now I'm floatin'<br />Cause I'm not tied<br />to the ground<br />Words I've spoken<br />Seem to leave a hollow sound<br /><br />On the long plain<br />See the rider in the night<br />See the chieftain<br />See the braves<br />in cool moonlight<br />Who will love them<br />When they take another life<br />Who will hold them<br />When they tremble<br />for the knife<br /><br />Voicemail numbers<br />On an old computer screen<br />Rows of lovers<br />Parked forever in a dream<br />Screaming sirens<br />Echoing across the bay<br />To the old boats<br />From the city far away<br /><br />Homeless heroes<br />Walk the streets<br />of their hometown<br />Rows of zeros<br />On a field<br />that's turning brown<br />They play baseball<br />They play football<br />under lights<br />They play card games<br />And we watch them every night<br /><br />Need distraction<br />Need romance and candlelight<br />Need random violence<br />Need entertainment tonight<br />Need the evidence<br />Want the testimony of<br />Expert witnesses<br />On the brutal crimes of love<br /><br />I was too tired<br />To see the news<br />when I got home<br />Pulled the curtain<br />Fell into bed alone<br />Started dreaming<br />Saw the rider once again<br />In the doorway<br />Where she stood<br />and watched for him<br />Watched for him<br /><br />I'm not present<br />I'm a drug<br />that makes you dream<br />I'm an aerostar<br />I'm a cutlass supreme<br />In the wrong lane<br />Trying to turn<br />against the flow<br />I'm the ocean<br />I'm the giant undertow<br /><br />I'm the ocean<br />I'm the ocean<br />I'm the giant undertow<br />I'm the ocean<br />I'm the giant undertow<br />I'm the ocean<br />I'm the ocean<br />I'm the ocean<br />I'm the ocean<br />I'm the ocean<br />I'm the ocean</span></div><br />------------------------------------------------<br />Memorable albums...<br /><br />Nirvana - <span style="font-style: italic;">Nevermind</span><br />I got this tape on a weekend in grade eight. Yes, a tape; CDs were only just becoming common then, and I had a tape player, a small ghetto blaster actually, in my bedroom. Anyway, I got the tape and then promptly got a cold, so <span style="font-style: italic;">Nevermind </span>reminds me of being in bed with a sore throat and stuffy nose. Even when I look at the chlorine blue of the album cover I think of clogged sinuses and feeling shitty. And it's generally a feeling shitty about oneself type of album, anyway.<br /><br />Pearl Jam - <span style="font-style: italic;">Ten<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span>For years this was my favourite album and PJ was my favourite band. <span style="font-style: italic;">Ten</span> plays in the background of all my junior high years. I guess if there's one particularly strong association, it's weekends at John Clorey's house, where he and I played Dungeons and Dragons in secret because his parents didn't think it was a good idea. <span style="font-style: italic;">Ten </span>has a certain mystical feel about it and I think it fed my creativity in inventing wizard- and warrior-laden adventures. So many of my characters looked like Eddie Vedder. Except taller. (I was keenly dismayed at finding out that my hero was only 5'7".)<br /><br />[Sidenote: Doug and Marion Clorey, if you ever read this, yes I led your son down the garden path. But it was an imaginative path, and probably better for our brains in the long term than all the video games we played. And we both turned out okay, don't you think?]<br /><br />U2 - <span style="font-style: italic;">Achtung Baby</span><br />This is the album of summer nights for me. I got the tape around the time my mother and step-father got married on my twelfth birthday (this is the fate of the born-in-June). They didn't play it at the ceremony or anything, but the backyard reception went into the night and I remember chasing around this girl, whose name escapes me now, who was the daughter of my parents friends Ken and Nancy. She was two years older than me, which meant that she had learned how to flirt while I was still just a confused but amorous pre-teen boy. Nothing came of it of course, but I was smitten for the rest of the summer. Mom and Kevin were going on their honeymoon after the wedding so my sister and I went to stay with Dad in Charlottetown. When Aunt Nan dropped us off that night it was still warm out, there was a breeze coming in the windows of Dad's apartment, and he was watching the video for <span style="font-style: italic;">Even Better Than the Real Thing</span> on Much Music. So, tangentially, <span style="font-style: italic;">Achtung Baby </span>is a bit of midsummer night's dream for me.<br /><br />A few years later, in grade eleven, I started hanging out with Linda MacDonald and Aaron Collier. Linda is the biggest U2 fan I've ever met and <span style="font-style: italic;">Achtung Baby</span> was quite frequently on her car stereo that first summer when we went driving around the Island to coffee houses, moshes at the Arts Guild, parties, midnight beaches or down random roads when there wasn't anything else to do.<br /><br />Blind Melon - <span style="font-style: italic;">The self-titled album with the bee girl on the front</span>, Soundgarden - <span style="font-style: italic;">Superunknown</span>, The Smashing Pumpkins - <span style="font-style: italic;">Siamese Dream</span><br />These three tapes were on constant walkman rotation on my family trip to Ottawa in the spring of my grade nine year. The weather was making the transition from dirty, crusty snow to sunshine and the undeniable desire to doff your jacket even if it wasn't <span style="font-style: italic;">quite</span> that warm yet. I remember a lot of Ottawa itself, and it's still a city I quite like, but the music reminds me more of watching the greening New Brunswick, Quebec and Ontario countryside go past from the back seat of Kevin's Econoline van. Somehow there was much more to see then; I've made similar car trips several times recently and the 20 in Quebec and 401 in Ontario are plain deadening. But, perhaps because it was my first time seeing it and the music was good, even the endless flat straightness of the 20 held some sort of natural wonder. The best part was driving along the high waters of the Saint John river near Fredericton. I thought there was something hopeful about all those naked hardwood trees up to their shins in river water, and the little islands waiting for their summer cows...though I couldn't have known about the cows at that time. Maybe if I hadn't had the musical influence I would have thought the trees were hopeless and the islands lonely, who knows. I drove the river road, on both sides of the river, many times when I lived in Fredericton and it's always been one of my favourite routes, in all seasons. I've heard many people complain about it and bless the new, mind-numbing divided highway between Fredericton and Moncton, but I just don't understand. It's no wonder NB is dismissed as the "Drive-Through Province" when its residents would choose to overlook a treed, twisting, agricultural river path for a boring tunnel of gravel ditches and endless Irving spruce plantations.<br /><br />Anyway, those albums, especially the Blind Melon one, have been suggestive of spring ever since that trip to Ottawa. Every spring there comes a day when the sun finally beats down on the rivulets of meltwater flowing down the street, and the bee girl album accentuates that happy springtime rush. Even <span style="font-style: italic;">Superunknown</span>, with its plodding grunginess, somehow says sunshine to me. "4th of July" is perhaps the most grinding song on it. The first three lines go "Shower in the dark day / Clean sparks driving down / Cool in the waterway / Where the baptized drown". Rather grim, but somehow I think of sunlight reflecting off water dripping from the top of a shady under-road tunnel or culvert...I really don't know why, but I just see it as such an optimistic image. I guess music can influence the interpretation of a hopeless landscape and landscape can influence the interpretation of hopeless music.<br /><br />Nine Inch Nails - <span style="font-style: italic;">The Downward Spiral, Broken, Pretty Hate Machine, The Fragile</span><br />I would be remiss not to mention NIN, given the hold they had on me for the longest time. I used to get in arguments with Saundra Clow about who was better---NIN or The Beatles. I concede now that I was defending an untenable position, but at the time I argued with passion and conviction. NIN doesn't speak to me so strongly now, in fact I feel that I've grown up and Trent Reznor is still a depressed teenager, but there's still enough loyalty to make me buy new albums, or <span style="font-style: italic;">halos</span>, as each one is called, and give them two or three listens before setting them aside.<br /><br />I got <span style="font-style: italic;">The Downward Spiral</span> the summer after grade nine. Upon hearing the first song, "Mr. Self Destruct," with the deep-fryer crackle of its chorus, I knew that I had found something nasty and beyond where grunge or heavy metal could ever take me. They were still just music, this was music with really menacing noises thrown in. Thus was my discovery of the industrial genre. I never got into other industrial bands like Marilyn Manson, Filter or Ministry, but for much of my high school years Nine Inch Nails spoke to both my teenage angst and surging testosterone. <span style="font-style: italic;">TDS</span> doesn't really suggest one particular moment or season, but is more of the background for all of high school, like <span style="font-style: italic;">Ten</span> was for junior high.<br /><br />I bought the eight-song <span style="font-style: italic;">Broken</span> album on a winter weekend in grade ten. I remember I was playing in an indoor soccer tournament at UPEI and between games I went over to the mall and bought it...and then my Dad picked me up and I played it on his livingroom stereo and I was actually embarrassed at how heavy and full of bile it was. But my Dad, cool guy that he is, (he watched Much Music more than I did) didn't mind.<br /><br />I think I got <span style="font-style: italic;">Pretty Hate Machine</span> in grade eleven. Produced in 1989, it's the first NIN album and is more synthesizer- than guitar-oriented, and therefore doesnt' quite have the heavy crunch of the 1990s stuff. I remember having it on the tape deck of the Colt, the first car I could drive, constantly during the weekend of the under-15 boys national soccer tournament in Hunter River in October of that year. Considering I was in under-17 by then and was just a spectator I don't know what significance that has.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Fragile </span>didn't come out until the fall of my third year of university. With its two discs it gave me plenty to listen to that year, but I was disappointed that in the years between it and <span style="font-style: italic;">TDS</span> Trent Reznor hadn't developed his lyrical ability at all and was still stuck singing about "you" and "it" and how bad "you" and "it" are, with the occasional f-word thrown in for inarticulate emphasis. But the music was a funkier-kind of heavy that I enjoyed, so I just blocked out whatever he was moaning on about. Then in April of that year Aura Lea and Bryon got us tickets to the NIN concert in Toronto and invited me up to visit. So now<span style="font-style: italic;"> The Fragile</span> reminds me of driving around a spring-time Mississauga in Aur's mom's car and going to the show at Maple Leaf Gardens and never before seeing so many people dressed in black with white face paint and loving it but realizing that it was the finale of my obsession with the band. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">With Teeth</span></span> came out last summer and I bought it, but aside from a couple of songs, it blows. Lyrically the same, and now it doesn't even sound much different from other guitar-driven metal crap like Linkin Park. But if he makes another album, I'm sure I'll buy it, 'cause I'm loyal like that.<br /><br />Pearl Jam - <span style="font-style: italic;">Vitalogy</span><br />This album reminds me of mornings sitting in Mr. Kelly's homeroom in grade 10, talking about it and the band with Steve and a classmate named Shawn Arnett. I don't know how the three of us ever managed to talk about the band so much...it was all Steve and I had in common with Shawn, so it was either silence or Pearl Jam. Oh the conversational abilities of teenage guys.<br /><br />Pearl Jam - <span style="font-style: italic;">No Code</span><br />I had just managed to finance a shelf-stereo CD player in the summer between grade eleven and twelve and <span style="font-style: italic;">No Code</span> was one of the first CDs that I owned. I played it non-stop through my last year of high school, a year that is also synonymous with my first multi-month relationship, with a gal named Heather McLaren. As I said before, after we broke up not-so-smoothly I couldn't listen to this album for awhile. But sour tastes fade after awhile, and I enjoy this album musically and memorably now...it's particularly suggestive of a sunny but cold morning in the fall when I gave Heather a drive into Charlottetown and we ate muffins from Tim Horton's on the giant concrete steps of the Confederation Centre before she went off to her graphic design program at Holland College and I drove back to Bluefield, my high school nestled in the bucolic brown (not blue) fields of Hampton, for first period. Again, no great significance to that morning, other than it was something out of the ordinary. If you're waiting for the great, life-directing moments of my past in this post, I guess you might as well stop reading. The connections I make, and I suspect most people make, are often abstract and not obviously important.<br /><br />Pearl Jam - <span style="font-style: italic;">Yield</span><br />This album came out in my first year of university, again it tied into a significant relationship, this time with Darci Arch, and again it was unpleasant to me for awhile after we broke up. Time passed and I like it again. The image I still get with it is a night in the summer, must be between my first and second year, that I was visiting Darci in Fredericton and we were driving to some destination I forget on the Lincoln Road (which runs along the south side of the Saint John river, and I love it). "Wishlist" was playing and the line "I wish I was the full moon shining off a camaro's hood" struck me as very fitting, though we certainly weren't driving a camaro. "Wishlist" is a song with vivid imagery you don't often hear in rock music.<br /><br />Neil Young - <span style="font-style: italic;">Mirrorball</span><br />Ah, my Neil. My love for the man and his cowboy-hippie-grunger music grew gradually through my teenage years. It started with playing Mom's <span style="font-style: italic;">Comes A Time</span> record on the player in what we call the "good livingroom" (read: no tv in there). A lot of teenagers go through a period of exploring their parents' music and realizing some of it is actually, umm, kinda cool. I thought I was reaching far back by dusting off this old country effort of Neil's, but it's actually only a year older than I am. In high school I used <span style="font-style: italic;">Harvest Moon</span> as a calm, acoustic counterbalance to NIN's electro-death. <span style="font-style: italic;">Sleeps With Angels</span> is a strange, sparse, piano-focused album that I liked in grade twelve and has really grown on me since. But during the 90s the Neil album with the most influence on me was <span style="font-style: italic;">Mirrorball</span>, a great collection of driving hard rock tunes he did with the members of Pearl Jam. I really enjoy the memory associated with "I'm the Ocean" which is a little known song that I think should be much better known and appreciated. It was some summer night after rain had passed but it stayed grey and moist on into the evening and Linda MacDonald, myself, Mike Stanley and someone else were driving from somewhere in the country like New Glasgow into North River...don't remember where we were coming from or where we were going, but "I'm the Ocean" was playing and we all got caught up singing along to the chorus, which is just "I'm the ocean" repeated several times. The wet evening, the ocean metaphor, and the aimless longing of the song and our own literal and figurative aimlessness all rolled together...I don't think any of us could have not sung along. The funny thing is, I can't remember who the fourth person was.<br /><br />Big Wreck - <span style="font-style: italic;">In Loving Memory Of...</span><br />In my second year of university Adam Neal and I used to listen to this album while playing PlayStation in our residence room. We always played either this Star Wars fighting game or Cart racing game in which we derived great pleasure from driving backwards on the track and trying to get in spectacular accidents. Big Wreck, car wrecks, oh the irony! Adam and I used to call the whole affair "Smashy-smashy".<br /><br />Jamiroquai - <span style="font-style: italic;">Travelling Without Moving<br /></span><font>The summer between my second and third year at STU I had the privilege of not only having a vehicle all to myself, but a swanky Ford Explorer with a leather interior and good stereo. The environmentalist in me is ashamed that I once drove an SUV, and a Ford (Fix Or Repair Daily) at that, but at the time I thought I was hot shit. I even referred to it as the Sexplorer, though it never did earn the name. That summer was a good one for hanging out and partying with my co-workers at Green Gables and I put quite a few clicks on the odometer in Cavendish alone. The same summer I got <span style="font-style: italic;">Travelling Without Moving</span>, which is a most funky album, definitely the funkiest thing I owned up to that point...well, there were a few preceding Chili Peppers albums, but who's counting. Anyway, the Explorer's stereo had a great bass and I must have played <span style="font-style: italic;">TWM </span>a thousand times that summer. Jacquie Griffith and I hung out a lot that summer, and she never liked Jamiroquai, so after listening to maybe half of it she would always bug me to put on Radiohead's <span style="font-style: italic;">Pablo Honey</span> which I had bought at the same time, and also conjures memories from the same period. But Radiohead are not a very funky band and <span style="font-style: italic;">Pablo Honey</span>, even in its early-nineties alterna-poppiness, just doesn't quite make you want to dance.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><font>Kula Shaker - <span style="font-style: italic;">Peasants, Pigs and Astronauts<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span>At the end of the same summer, on a total whim after only having heard a brief clip of "Mystical Machine Gun" and liking the album title, I bought <span style="font-style: italic;">Peasants, Pigs and Astronauts</span> and played it on into the fall when I returned to St. Thomas for third year. There is an interesting picture on the back of the album with a guy, or actually the figure makes me think it's a girl, in a strange astronaut-ish outfit, sitting in a copse of trees reading a newspaper. And the ground is cluttered with leaves...only they're all purplish-pink, like the astronaut suit. That's my image of the album and in my memory I tied it with a cloudy Friday afternoon after classes when Erin Gallagher, Shelly Collette and I drove out to Shelly's apartment way out in the woods of the north side of Fredericton to make dinner and drink wine. While there we decided to take a hike in the woods themselves and we took the wine with us. We ended up choosing a very random place to just sit on a fallen log and drink...and being fall, the ground was covered in leaves. I'd say that the wine was extra potent and the leaves turned pink, but it wasn't and they didn't. Doesn't stop me from thinking of that Friday whenever I play or look at <span style="font-style: italic;">PPandA</span>, though.<br /><br />Leonard Cohen - <span style="font-style: italic;">Greatest Hits<br /></span>Finally an album analysis that won't start with "in the summer between...". This is definitely a winter album for me. I got it in January of my fourth year when my then girlfriend Kyla and I took the train to Montreal for Japanese Exchange and Teaching (JET) program interviews. I found it in a used CD store that my co-worker and completely oddball friend Nick Robichaud took us to. (Nick gave us a walking tour of old Montreal in -25 weather...I can still see him plowing on ahead in a big long brown coat, turning around every now and again to say "If you guys need to stop, just tell me, I don't get cold"...we ended up in a very strange theatre/art centre on the waterfront that was fully lit and open with apparently nothing going on inside and no staff manning it. Nick was also the person who turned me on to the comedy of Mitch Hedberg, and in a sense is very much like Mitch himself...you gotta hear him to understand, but he's funny in his own way.) Anyway, <span style="font-style: italic;">Greatest Hits</span> surprised me because until then I only had heard a few more contemporary Cohen songs, like "Closing Time" and "First We Take Manhattan", and was expecting his smoky baritone. But apparently he hit a mid-life puberty, or drank a lot of hard booze at some point, and the earlier hits featured a youthful tenor that I almost couldn't believe was the same person. I loved the album nonetheless, and still do, especially songs like "Susanne", "Hey That's No Way To Say Goodbye", "Famous Blue Raincoat" and "Chelsea Hotel". For memories, listening to it reminds me off-rhythm rocking of the train on the ride home through the night. Fitting that I first got into Leonard Cohen in Montreal, I guess. I was accepted to go to Japan as a JET, but I turned it down and decided to go to grad school instead. I've often wondered "what if"; it could have been fun, but it could have been torturous, too.<br /><br />Esthero - <span style="font-style: italic;">Breath From Another<br /></span>Esthero, my favourite one-album wonder. <span style="font-style: italic;">Breath From Another</span> defines trip-hop for me. I'm not really crazy about the genre; I can only take so much of Portishead, Morcheeba is boring and so on. But this one is a major standout; Esthero has a voice that at times reminds me of Bjork, at other times of Holly Cole, at other times of no one else. Most of the music is done by this guy named Doc, and it has such a range---slow beats, break beats, salsa-like rhythms, mellow grooves, classical guitars, heavy electric guitars and on and on. I don't know which of the two wrote the lyrics, but they are strange and evocative (e.g. "Superheroes": "Stay awhile longer sweet tongue of fur and feather / There is a white breast / Waiting for you here / Between the superheroes and the electric blanket is warm"). Unfortunately after this album came out Esthero and Doc split, and since then Esthero's stuff has been very dancy, clubby, ravey electronica that is sometimes catchy, but nowhere near as intelligent or hypnotic. If you are at all into sultry trip-hop or just looking for a good album, I've seen <span style="font-style: italic;">Breath From Another</span> on sale for cheap so many times at Music World and the like. Anyway, I bought this album in the summer after my fourth year, which was the first one I stayed in Fredericton instead of going home to the Island. It was kind of a lonely summer after the high of graduating from STU; with all the students leaving Fredericton gets a little empty in the summer, and it gets oppressively hot. I think Adam was working weird hours that summer and my only other close friend in town was Jared Cheverie. We hung out and did a lot of drinking, but otherwise it was not completely what I had hoped for. I broke up with Kyla part way through the summer...turns out we would get back together and break up two more times over the ensuing years, but that's a whole other drawn out story. At the end of the school year I had moved out of my old apartment to sublet a place down the street for the summer. I was living with a bunch of people I knew as aquaintances, and they were all nice, but we never became very close. My room was off the kitchen, and there was a washer and dryer right outside my door...with five of us living there there was always someone doing laundry, which added noise and more heat to an already sweltering place. I spent a lot of time in my room trying to get lost in Esthero.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Queens of the Stone Age - <span style="font-style: italic;">Songs For The Deaf</span><br />Got this album in my second year at UNB, and it rekindled my love of loud music. Metal has turned sucky in recent years, with the so-called new metal of craptastic bands like Staind, Nickleback taking over and sounding so very, mind-numbingly, gratingly similar and awful that I'd rather listen to Tiny Tim tiptoe through the tulips. But QOTSA is one heck of an exception. "No One Knows" is such a catchy tune and I was hooked right away. The rest of the album doesn't let up. With the exception of a few songs where they let the bassist caterwhaul, it's got lots of heavy but captivating melodies and Josh Homme can sing some great harmonies (see, metalheads, harmony does belong in tough-guy music). Best of all he doesn't sing like he's trying to shit a bowling ball like the guys from Nicklestaind. I've often thought that all the singers in that group of bands (Creed, Staind, Default, Three Doors Down, etc.) all listened to Alice In Chains in the early 90s and tried their best to immitate Layne Staley. 'Cept that that is Layne Staley's real voice and those guys are faking it in hopes of sounding tough. Anyway, I got <span style="font-style: italic;">Songs For The Deaf</span> in my second year, while I was primarily focused on writing my poetry thesis, and it influenced some of my writing. Heavy metal poetry, yup. Don't know how successful it was. I guess if there's a memory here it's walking back and forth on Albert St. from campus and my apartment, listening to QOTSA and working out aggressive poems in my head.<br /><br />Neil Young - <span style="font-style: italic;">American Stars n' Bars</span><br />After we finished our MA, Dave Hickey and I moved in to an old, cavernous duplex on George St., set to become salarymen with our double degrees. Shauna moved in with us in the fall, and around the same time I decided to get serious about Neil, and ordered six or seven recently re-released albums through Amazon. Lots of good stuff there, but the album we played the most was <span style="font-style: italic;">American Stars n' Bars</span>, with great country rock tunes like "Hey Babe", "Star of Bethlehem" and "Like a Hurricane". I used to play it on my computer stereo and the three of us would sit around the kitchen and drink tea, Dave and I talking Islanderese and Shauna just laughing.<br /><br />Keane - <span style="font-style: italic;">Hopes and Fears</span><br />I first heard this band when Shauna and I were on our WWOOFing trip in Ireland, and assumed because of the airplay and the name that they are Irish---only recently did I find out they're from Sussex. Anyway, I bought the CD one evening when I decided to take a solitary walking tour of Dublin. I highly recommend doing this if you ever go to Ireland, there is so much to see in that city. For example, I stopped and had a pint in The Brazen Head, a pub that's been in operation since 1198. However, it wasn't until the France leg of the trip that we managed to get a pair of discman speakers and play <span style="font-style: italic;">Hopes and Fears</span> publicly, and so now I associate it more with our time at Les Courmettes in the Alpes-Maritimes near Nice. If you've never heard of Keane, they're made different by the way fact that they play like your typical four piece rock band, but they have no guitar. The songs are very piano driven and the singer has an epic voice, giving the music a soaring quality. I felt Shauna and I were soaring, living up a mountain overlooking the Mediterranean, taking in the French sun, wine, food and joie de vivre. I'd return there in a second, and I frequently return there in my head.<br /><br />The Red Hot Chili Peppers - <span style="font-style: italic;">By the Way</span><br />I've played this album a lot in the last two years. At one level it's very strange to listen to, as I began listening to the Chili Peppers in grade eight when I got their <span style="font-style: italic;">What Hits?!</span> tape, the wacky funkiness of which is very different from the sound they make today. On a summer drive back from a weekend trip to PEI I once tried to explain to Adam and Molly my enthusiasm for <span style="font-style: italic;">By the Way</span>, but I couldn't quite articulate it. Shauna and I listen to it a lot on car trips, and there's a part on "Dosed", near the end, where either John Frusciante or Flea, or maybe both, chime in to the chorus with such a lovely harmony that we always stop whatever conversation we're having to hear it. We never have to shush each other, it's just automatic that we stop and then start again after it's passed. This isn't just a memory, but an ongoing moment, a high note that we both tacitly recognize and love.<br /><br />Okay, if you've read all of this, I congratulate you. I hope my memories were worth reading. I suspect they're similar in theme to anyone who has gone through teenagerdom, university and the mid-twenties. May rock n' roll never die.<br /><br />Next I think I'll write a little bit about the other joy of collecting: acquiring new music...</span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-113980286986991837?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1139371298887689892006-02-07T21:29:00.000-05:002006-02-12T22:51:54.830-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/jazz%20kenny%20g%201.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/jazz%20kenny%20g%201.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">"Ladies, join me and Stevie for some easy-going, soulful soprano sax. If you're good I'll let you touch the hair. Oh, what does Stevie play? That sexy, silky love machine called the oboe. Watch out."</span><br /></div><br />Howdy...so now that I've peeled myself from the Gamecube (seriously, 'twas like a starfish to a clam, the Gamecube was becoming <span style="font-style: italic;">part</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">of me</span>) and re-committed to keeping this blog thing going, I've got to come up with something to say. I was bugging Stevie G about not writing anything in ages, not since his 'To See Live With Nickleback or Not To See Live With Nickleback' post, and he said "Man, I'm really busy right now---Kenny and I are going on tour and things are just too soulful and contemporary to write much right now. And Kenny's perm is, well, just perfect, you know?"<br /><br />No, he didn't say that. But he did say that he didn't have anything to say. My immediate reaction was to think "So you've been mute since mid-December? Man, that's monastic." But then I thought, who am I to talk? The only things I've been able to say in the past two months have been Work, Busy, Merry Christmas, Nintendo. So here I am <span style="font-style: italic;">trying</span>. ("I can't promise I'll try, but I'll try to try..." Words to live by.)<br /><br />I think I own approximately 300 to 400 CDs. About half of those are at my family home in Cornwall, PEI, in a box, because Shauna, wily gal that she is, convinced me that I could rough it in Ontario without my copy of Dee-Lite's second album (post-<span style="font-style: italic;">Groove Is In The Heart</span>) and Rammstein's <span style="font-style: italic;">Sehnsucht</span>. She tried to convince me that because such albums rarely to never make it to the stereo, I should sell them or give them away. Ha. She clearly didn't understand my music collector ethic. I don't even give away the Moose Tracks CDs that used to come in cases of Moosehead Green Bottle (oh how I miss you). But the prospect of dragging box upon box of worldly goods to Ontario didn't appeal to me, so I did come around to the idea of trimming down to some essentials. Can't say it doesn't bother me, though---I can just picture my sister digging through the coveted box of goodies in my bedroom, cackling with glee upon finding Junkhouse's <span style="font-style: italic;">Strays</span>, taking it out of the box, listening to it, putting it in some other CD case, <span style="font-style: italic;">leaving it sitting around in no case at all</span>, lending it to one of her friends. CD faux pas I tell you. Julia, when I return to PEI sometime down the road, I expect to find each and every CD in its proper case, stacked in orderly fashion in the box, with not a scratch or thumbmark to be seen. I don't care if you rip them all onto your Mac, just please don't let anyone else touch them!<br /><br />So I'm uptight about my music collection. In truth I think music is the only thing I do collect. I love music and can't go long without it. But it's not purely an aural pleasure; I've enjoyed watching the collection grow from a handful beside my little Audiovox shelf stereo that I bought in grade eleven (it still works and now fills the lesser but important role of bathroom stereo) to filling a brick-and-plywood shelf above the monitor on my desk, to maxing out the 250-CD capacity media tower I bought three or four years ago. Being denied the enjoyment of looking at my entire collection in one place has me in manageable but constant stress, like a mother with a child away at camp.<br /><br />But who collects CDs just to fill wall space? People with a lot of money and the need to seem discerning without making the effort to do the discerning, that's who. The greatest joy of having a respectable collection is that I can fall in love with a new CD and play it to death for awhile, grow tired of it and shelve it for months or even a year, let new flings and flirtations come and go, and then, perhaps on some rainy, reflective day, stumble upon it in the rows, put it the stereo and <span style="font-style: italic;">presto</span>, mentally step back into my life of some time ago. I believe it's simply playing frequency that makes most of my favourite albums conjure periods of time; some sort of neural connection is made, and if you play Nirvana <span style="font-style: italic;">In Utero</span> I'm instantly back in the fall of grade ten. There doesn't have to be a signficant event within the period for the music to remind me of it; hook-ups, break-ups, moving, new jobs, new schools and so on sometimes feature, but not always. Frequently the most immediate memories are more abstract or less-obviously significant. When I play Coldplay's <span style="font-style: italic;">X&Y</span> I think of the fat wet leaves overhanging our mini-parking lot on Scully St. last summer. No real reason, other than I played that album in the car a lot.<br /><br />This memory evocation is almost always pleasant...I'm not sure why exactly. I think nostalgia can be a bit narcotic; it's especially easy to construct for yourself a rosy picture of the past if you don't feel smashingly about the present moment. Oh yes, you had troubles then, but they don't seem as bad as now, do they? It's pretty wonky reasoning, but it's easy to give in to. But while I vocalize the evils of nostalgia (it's a slippery slope, kids---next you'll get <span style="font-style: italic;">sentimental</span>) in what better context is there than musical enjoyment to relax the rules of your thinking? Debatable point, perhaps...if you turn off thought you might find yourself grooving to Britney Sp---no, nevermind, that stuff is just soul-jarring, you don't even need a mind to cringe and experience the urge to stab yourself or anyone in the eye with the jagged shards of her snapped-in-two CD. But I find the rut of memory to be comfortable, almost all past/present circumstances aside. Perhaps it's the renewed intensity of the memory, just like the intensity of the emotion the song itself might produce. In silence you could recall the memory, or you could feel, say, sad, but the music is an intensifier. It is <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span>, it is <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span>, it is <span style="font-style: italic;">completely</span> and it is even <span style="font-style: italic;">utterly</span> sometimes.<br /><br />Perhaps the only time I don't like the music-memory game is when the music is tied to something or someone unpleasant and not enough time has passed between then and now or them and me. Both Pearl Jam's <span style="font-style: italic;">No Code</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Yield</span> albums were unpalatable to me at different points because they reminded me of a couple of people I wasn't pleased with (sigh, ex-girlfriends). But enough time has passed and while I don't care to re-establish connection with these people, I can now listen to those albums and think about that time in my life, not just those people, and now I enjoy the music again.<br /><br />At this point I wrote about several memorable albums of mine, but the post got very long and I don't expect people to pack a lunch before sitting down to read it. So I'll publish this much for now, and then in a few days I'll publish the rest.<br /><font><font><br /></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-113937129888768989?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1138937179930492692006-02-02T22:08:00.000-05:002006-02-02T22:26:19.950-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/HolyGrail004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/HolyGrail004.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>...I feel happyyyyyy!<br /><br /></div> Yes, I'm still alive---to those who have faithfully checked dogvocab and not found anything new for the past two months, I apologize. No, I was not overcome by death or a depression as deep as Hades. Instead, my job has become very, very busy and I haven't had the mental energy to type anything worth reading. <span style="font-size:78%;">And in what time I could spare I was playing this awesome video game called Fire Emblem...</span><br /><br />But here I am again, and here's a bit from an email to a couple of coworkers, in which I was responding to the question of leaflets that relate to a current project and, specifically, how many we should have printed:<br /><br />'So my gut reaction was to say 1000...do you think that's too much? Too little? A voice in my head reminds me to temper my enthusiasm for spreading what I categorize as "pro-environment" information with a recognition of the potentially environmentally-harmful means of dissemination, i.e. the killing of trees to make paper for printing. Does the awareness (and maybe change of attitude and behaviour) the information on these pages will promote outweigh the destruction of trees and whatever pollution is produced in converting them to paper? I run into this quandry all the time; does the "pro-environment" work I do in my job outweigh the environmental damage I do by driving my car two hours per day, 3-4 days per week to get to and from the office? In the men's bathroom at the Clinton Health Unit I'm confronted with the choice of drying my hands with paper towel (kills trees...or kills more trees in the future by more rapidly depleting the currently available stock of already killed and converted trees) or use the air dryer (uses electricity, which is usually generated at some point by burning fossil fuels)? I tend to use the air dryer because it's less certain that environmental damage is being caused, and what damage is caused may be more infinitesimal than that associated with a sheet of hand towel, but I still wonder. Maybe I should just wipe my hands on my shirt or drag them on the carpet or something. Anyway, I find these questions coming up all the time and I guess the most important things are to minimize environmental damage, accept minor damage only if it is part of causing greater benefit, and whatever I do, don't let myself become paralyzed by the dilemma, because someone once said something to the effect of "worse than doing the wrong thing is doing nothing at all".'<br /><br />What a nightmare to work with, eh? That weird guy you ask a question and he turns it into a dilemma and starts going on about shadows, caves and sunlight. Sir, put the university down slowly and back away...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-113893717993049269?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1133643272043844622005-12-03T14:59:00.000-05:002005-12-03T15:54:32.376-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Zooby%20and%20food.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Zooby%20and%20food.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Zooby, 2003-2005<br /><br /></span> <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Things are a little subdued at 205 Strange right now. On Thursday Shauna and I had to put Zooby down. He had a tumour on the end of his bowel, and it became prolapsed. I won't bother explaining what this means, but it's not pretty, nor is it comfortable. We took him to a vet who specializes in small animal surgeries but he gave it a very slim prognosis for survival, and we decided that the humane thing to do was have him euthanized. We had no idea that the tumour was there until the prolapse, and even if we had I'm not sure what could have been done to fix it.<br /><br />If you've never met Zooby you might think it's just the death of a minor pet, a momentary sadness with a same-day recovery. Not so. At risk of sounding like the "rabbit people" I've previously made fun of, he was our perfect little man. He had lots of energy and loved to explore and zoom around the living room. Once he knew you, you could stick your nose through his cage and he'd lick it with his tiny tongue, or he'd appropriate you by rubbing his chin on your fingertips. He was also the pinnacle of adorability...if you took all the cute bunnies in Telus ads and combined them into one uber-cute critter, you'd have Zooby.<br /><br />I bought Zooby for Shauna on a whim in November, 2003. For some reason we were on the north side of Fredericton and decided to get groceries at the Sobey's in Brookside mall. While there we stopped at a pet store, and there he was. We weren't planning on getting a rabbit, and probably should have cleared it with Dave, whom we were living with then (sorry, buddy). But he was just so pathetic in this tiny little cage, and I don't know how anyone could have refused him. The pet store people were clueless about rabbits and we felt compelled to get him out of there and give him a decent home. He lived with us at George, Scully and Strange Streets. I think he had it best here, where we built him a large, two-level cage and let him run around the apartment more or less at will. We adopted Blossom because on his explorations Zooby always seemed to be looking for other bunnies, most likely females. We didn't want to have bunny babies on our hands, but we thought that once he was fixed he might enjoy bonding with a spayed female. Well, they never did bond; Blossom seemed open to the idea, but Zooby never gave up being territorial and fighting with her whenever possible (though he usually got the worst of it, being much smaller). We would have liked them to cozy up to each other more, but in a way I think Zooby liked the fighting and competition for territory. It was just part of his feistyness, and it gave him something to focus on for the last month and a half of his life. He was only two years old, but I think he had a better life than many pet rabbits that live to be seven or eight, as unlike many of these he was always given healthy food to eat, lots of exercise and plenty of attention. <br /><br />Please forgive me if I'm being a bit sentimental here. Actually, I don't care if you forgive me or not. I miss the cuddles and baby-talk and nose kisses and everything about Zooby-zoo, and I'm not ashamed. He was our perfect little man and I loved him very much.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Angry%20Zooby.1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Angry%20Zooby.1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div> </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-113364327204384462?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1131000713971330992005-11-19T18:18:00.000-05:002005-11-19T18:19:25.066-05:00I like sports. I like movies. I don't think I'd like sports about movies, but I do like movies about sports, though I'm more often than not disappointed by them. Perhaps I'm being a purist, but I can't stand how sports get twisted out of shape in movies. I don't care if it makes for better storyline or makes the audience buy more Gatorade. If you only saw movies about it, you'd think modern sport had nothing but shots to the top corner, haymakers and last second Hail Marys. Poppycock.<br /><br />Here are some notable offenders and my ideas on how to make them better.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Rocky I, II, </span>heck, all of them. Truth be told, I haven't seen all of them, but if the rest of the series is anything like what I have seen, I wonder if Sly Stallone has ever actually watched a boxing match. If heavyweight boxers squared off, lowered their guard and hit each other in the face repeatedly, we'd never get out of the first round. These movies would have us believe that boxing technique never progressed beyond that demonstrated by bare-knuckled, handlebar-mustachioed men playing you-hit-me-I-hit-you-till-one-of-us-falls-down in the 1800s. Modern boxing is not ro-sham-bo, Sly. There are things called feints, defense, footwork, combinations and strategy. Heck, people know how to <span style="font-style: italic;">duck</span>, Sly.<br /><br />My remake: Rocky is not pure power, guts and indomitable American spirit, but a patient, tactical master. He studies his opponents strengths and weaknesses, and wins matches on points by tiring out opponents, keeping them outside or staying inside, working the body and so on. Garbled dialogue and robot servants are kept to a minimum.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Bend it like Beckham</span>. Everybody raves about this movie, and I just don't know why. Before I address its depiction of the beautiful game, let me hurl some other insults.<br /><br />1) At bare-bones, its plot is the same as <span style="font-style: italic;">My Big Fat Greek Wedding</span>: protagonist of an ethnic descent wishes to do something untraditional, her family opposes it on cultural grounds, she goes ahead and does it anyway and lives happily ever after. It's supposed to display the protagonist's growth as an independent person, but it characterizes the objecting family and their whole culture as static and unbudgeable, like those plywood cut-outs of opponents huddled together covering their genitals you use as a fake wall when practicing free kicks.<br /><br />2) Keira Knightley. What is so great about her? Everybody seems to be in love with her these days, and apparently she was recently voted the UK's sexiest woman or something similar. From Jules in this movie to the pagan sexpot Guinevere in the sagging cesspool <span style="font-style: italic;">King Arthur</span> to a flat, undeserving-target-of-infatuation character whose name I can't be bothered to look up in <span style="font-style: italic;">Love Actually</span>, I've never thought much of her. A quick google of "Domino review" yields words like 'incoherent mess,' 'downright annoying,' 'fractitiously vapid action film' and 'boobs,' so it would seem she has yet to carry a movie on her back like, say, Cate Blanchett can.<br /><br />3) David Beckham. Yes, he is a master of the curving free kick, and yes, his name and face are renowned world over. But there are other free kickers and personalities out there. How about <span style="font-style: italic;">Place it like Ian Harte</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">Drive it like Roberto Carlos</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">Sneak it by like Thierry Henry</span>? Also, I must confess a bias here. Beckham used to play for Manchester United. I am a diehard Arsenal fan, ergo I must despise David Beckham.<br /><br />4) I just visited the movie's official website to check character names and was immediately greeted with the loud thump of a boot connecting with a ball. I didn't realize my speakers were turned up so high and it fucking startled me.<br /><br />The soccer in the movie is a ridiculous goalfest. In every second scene Jules or Jess effortlessly dribble through six defenders and the goalkeeper in plays that would make the highlight reel on <span style="font-style: italic;">Sportsworld</span>. The game scores end up like 6-5, 6-3 and so on. This is frigging soccer, not the new NHL. Scoreless draws are common. 3-nil is a one-sided thrashing. Spectacular displays of ball control wizardry that weave through six hapless defenders are enacted by a guy named Pele and pretty much no one else. Certainly not David Beckham, nor Jules, nor Jess. As a final scornful sidenote, the heart throb coach Joe, played by Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, was supposedly forced to give up his potential as a player due to a knee injury...yet we see him pulling dipsy-doodles and tricks with the ball that many uninjured players can never get right. I accuse this movie of lying to me.<br /><br />My remake: The game is tighter, with stifling Chelsea-esque 4-5-1 formations and constant battles for possession in the middle third of the field. Jess can remain a star striker, but by scoring key goals in 1-nil victories, which she does by accurate passing and teamplay, with the occasional well-placed shot, though most certainly no selfish, odds-defying lone runs through the entire other team. Jules isn't a striker, but a tenacious, balanced defender given the task of shutting down the other team's dominant offensive weapon, Girl In Blue Shirt #5. Because defenders are heroes, too. Coach Joe's playing career was ended by a tackle so vicious that he lost both his legs, and now he feverishly puts his players through chesting and heading drills and nothing else, insisting that these skills form the essence of soccer. The movie-going audience appreciates that soccer is a complex, many-layered game in which a nifty tackle or penetrating cross-field switch of the ball are to be applauded like a subtle wine; goals are to be met with ecstatic hooting, hollering, back-slapping and clothes-tearing, like the biggest, best undergraduate bender ever.<br /><br />Onward.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Mighty Ducks</span>. Oh wait, it's a series. I'm certain they're all awful, even though I only saw the original. Luckily I saw it years ago and I have forgotten a lot, as I'm sure I'd be writing into next week otherwise. But even as a twelve year-old, albeit one with a voluminous knowledge of hockey, the movie rubbed me in a smarmy, glitzy, Hollywood way. Let's start with its lasting legacy---no, not the actual NHL team---<span style="font-style: italic;">the flying V</span>. Hockey is a game of space and movement. You very rarely see two or more teammates very close together unless they're battling opponents for the puck along the boards. Once the puck is gained, they quickly spread out for passing options, making use of space and letting the puck do the work, as they say. This is largely because in hockey there is bodychecking; two or more opponents standing close together can be smashed together, relieved of the singular puck, scored on and laughed at. So, given that the puck need only be carried by one player at a time, and the other team's job gets a lot easier if you line up like bowling pins, the flying V formation is not some revolutionary strategy but a stupid gimmick.<br /><br />'But wait,' you say,'the V's brilliancy lies in the fact that the ducks can drop the puck back and push it forward within the formation, making it impossible for the defenders to know who to check.' True, in hockey only the puck carrier or the player making a play for the puck can receive physical contact from an opponent. Even before the post-lockout crackdown on interference, players could not randomly check, trip, board or hook each other while the puck was nowhere nearby. But that's exactly what happens in the movie! The flying V is left alone, but you never see a player in open ice without him being bowled-over a second later and if the camera is on the puck carrier the background is littered with collision upon collision. I wager that this, hockey's seemingly unregulated bullrushing, is one of the gimmicks the Disney execs latched onto in the boardroom brainstorm.<br /><br />Michael Eisner: How we gonna sell this movie?<br /><br />Lackey 1: Get this: hockey is played on ice. Ice hockey! Ain't that wacky?!<br /><br />Michael Eisner: Yeah, and so is figure skating. Do kids bug Mom for the figure skating action figure at McDonald's? No. You're fired. <span style="font-style: italic;">To Lackey 2:</span> What you got for me?<br /><br />Lackey 2: Sir, in hockey apparently you can do this thing called "bodycheck." As far as I can tell, you can ram right into a guy as hard as you want, anytime you want. Kids like smashing things.<br /><br />Michael Eisner: You're right. And the players wear all that armor, like warriors . We'll sell the frickin' dolls with spikes coming out of their shoulders and blood coming out of their mouths. Now this flick needs a name. Ice hockey, ice, ice---don't stop me, I'm free-basing here---what says ice? water---stream, lake, pond---pond!---ice---pond---duck---duckling! Ugly duckling!---The Ugly Ducklings! Nah, shit, shit---The Shitty Ducklings---nah, no good, kids wouldn't get the irony, gotta drive it home to the brats---The Super Ducklings, The Awesome Ducklings---The Mighty Ducks! Hot damn, did it all on my own. What the hell are you doing here? You're fired.<br /><br />Lastly, I'm sure hockey is played in Iceland, but they're not exactly a world power in the sport. Yet the movie would have you believe they are feared dominators, with nations like Canada and Russia mere also-rans. Also, in the conveniently-ignored real world, Iceland's national colour is not bad-guy black. I guess <span style="font-style: italic;">Ice</span>land was just too irresistible to pass up. Oh well, at least one of Lackey 1's ideas stuck.<br /><br />My remake: is an unmake. This movie, this whole series, is never made. Disney leaves hockey alone, the NHL never expands further south than Washington and the Montreal Canadiens win the Cup every year. Americans come to understand and revere <span style="font-style: italic;">The Hockey Sweater</span> as the only story of childhood and hockey needing to be told.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Million Dollar Baby</span>: Stands head and shoulders above the other movies here. I don't have near as much to complain about; I liked the movie a lot, and found the moments of cringe-inducing departures from sporting reality were few and far between. I'm no cynical, Bronx-accented, fedora-wearing, cigar-chewing ring obsessive named Turnbuckle Ted, but it looks to me like Hillary Swank really learned how to box in making this movie. The training scenes are convincing and her body is honed, silky, smooth---ahem. She looks to be in good shape. Her progress through the ranks in a flurry of Round One knockouts is not too common, but Mike Tyson was once so meteoric, and at least her opponents relent when dealt multiple blows to the face, unlike the apparently steel-skulled (or rubber-armed) boxers in the <span style="font-style: italic;">Rocky</span> movies.<br /><br />Now, before I present my criticism, I don't want to give the movie away. If you haven't seen <span style="font-style: italic;">Million Dollar Baby</span> go watch it, then come back and read the rest.<br /><br />I was disappointed by the title match, particularly by how we're expected to swallow the idea that the titleholder, Billie 'the Blue Bear,' played by Lucia Rijker, can get away with blatant cheating and receive no more than a warning from the referee. She grabs Maggie's head, elbows her and ultimately cold-clocks her after the bell; the ref either doesn't see or gives her a 'next time you'll lose a point' warning...like eight times. This is supposed to be a world title match, yet they must have hired a WWE referee, as he is apparently too distracted by the antics of managers or unruly fans to focus on the fighters. Given the match's significance, you'd also think that it would be recorded, that some sort of authority would be reviewing it after the fact and that they would see that Billie clearly sucker punches Maggie <span style="font-style: italic;">after the bell has rung to end the round</span>...yet we later find out that Billie is declared the winner, as though she had not broken the rules at all. My complaints regarding the other movies produced little more than a rolling of the eyes when I saw them, as those movies are shite and I didn't truly expect accurate athletic portrayal in bad movies. But with <span style="font-style: italic;">Million Dollar Baby</span> I was into the movie from the get-go and thought Maggie's development was convincing---thus my disappointment was ever the more profound when it relied on silliness to make its crucial turn.<br /><br />My remake: Goddamn it, make Billie a more subtle cheater. Hell, just make Billie and Maggie extremely evenly-matched. There's loads of opportunity for permanent injury in boxing; falling on the corner stool after an illegal poke isn't necessary. And if that plot device must be retained, disqualify Billie in the end and take the belt away. With Maggie confined to a hospital bed and satisfied that she gave her all, I don't think it would make a huge difference.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-113100071397133099?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1131857405074445762005-11-12T23:17:00.000-05:002005-11-12T23:50:05.126-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/leafs_82389.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/leafs_82389.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Overtime: Leafs 5, Habs 4</span><br /></div><br />I am the hockey fan equivalent of Job right now. The Canadiens outhustle, outmuscle, outplay, outshoot, outhouse the Leafs, and what do they get?<br />-a simply retarded Leafs tying goal with about 2 minutes left in the third: the puck was behind the net, the defenseman tried to clear it, it ricocheted off a Leafs player, flipped up <span style="font-style: italic;">over</span> the net, hit Theodore in the back and dropped in the net behind him<br />-a too many men on the ice penalty in overtime: I, as well as the rest of the viewing world, am still wondering where the ref saw said man too many, as I could only count four red shirts (overtime is four on four)---this gave the Leafs a 4 on 3 power play, which set up the winning goal<br /><br />So, smote by the game to which I so faithfully sacrifice countless a Saturday night, I ask why? why?! WHY?!<br /><br />Yes, my red, white and blue obsession, as I've come to call it. You read of my elation at the Canadiens stealing the show in Buffalo last weekend, now you read of my dejection as the fruits of their labour are stolen from their hands and scoffed by a bunch of guffawing goons named Eric, Mats, Tie and Aki. My rage and frustration are so profound I can only give them voice by uttering my mother's curse of curses, the death word, the ferocious f...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Fiddlesticks.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-113185740507444576?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1131230482025376892005-11-05T17:39:00.000-05:002005-11-06T13:36:28.003-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Second%20period%20face-off.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Second%20period%20face-off.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Hockey night in Buffalo<br /></span> <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Here are a couple of posts, one before the game and one after, I made at www.hfboards.com, the hockey chat page where I go by the username Neil Young Fan.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />----------------------<br />"Tonight: My first live Habs game in 15/16 years"<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div> </div> Hello everybody,<br /><br />I don't post very often, but I catch Habs news here everyday. It's so good to see them finally dominating again.<br /><br />My girlfriend and I are driving down to Buffalo tonight to see the game. This is a very big deal for me; the last time I saw a Canadiens game in person I was ten or eleven years old. I grew up in PEI, so NHL hockey was pretty far away. My dad and I took the train to Montreal in February of 1990 or 1991 and saw two games. In the first, the Habs routed Pittsburgh 11-1, which is obviously pretty strange as Pitts was a contender then. If I recall correctly Mario was injured and poor Frank Pieterangelo had absolutely no help. The second game was against the Blues, and the Habs won 6-5 in overtime. The two highlights I remember from this one are Brett Hull firing a slapper from inside the blueline that was so hard it had bounced off the rear cross bar and almost all the way back to his feet before anyone saw it (including Patrick Roy) and in overtime Russ Courtnall flying over the blueline on a 2 on 1 and one-timing a slapshot through Vincent Riendeau's legs for the win. It was a great trip---other notables include going up the tower at the Stade Olympique and sneaking glances at all the strip clubs and sex shops downtown. <img src="http://www.hfboards.com/images/smilies/eeek.gif" alt="" title="eek" class="inlineimg" border="0" /><br /><br />All the games I've seen since then have been on tv. For the first two years of my undergrad in Fredericton the farm team was there, but I only attended a handful of games. This was the during the Habs' dark years of the late 90s, and I had other obsessions while in university like, umm, philosophy...yeah, philosophy, that's the ticket. The only notable player I remember from the time was Theodore. My buddies and I were all convinced it was pronounced Ho-say, like Jose Canseco. A friend of my then girlfriend knew him (she was a bit of a puckbunny) and insisted that it was Jo-say. We told her that's a French girl's name, like Josee Chouinard. I'm sure she's laughing at us somewhere. Anyway. Now that I've renewed my Habs obsession---it came back when they finally made the playoffs again after all those years---I'm kicking myself for not going to more of the Fredericton Canadiens games. They played at the Aiken Centre, which is right on campus and only a 2 minute walk from the residence I lived in. Tickets were cheap and easy to get and the worst seats were still fantastic.<br /><br />But now the AHL has left the Maritimes...as have I. We moved up to Kitchener in August. The closest team is the Leafs, and we all know how tough it is to get tickets, especially when they're playing the Habs. So the best option is Buffalo...not the first opponent I'd pick if I could only see the Habs play one team, but what the hell, at long last I'm going to see my team play, goddamn it! <img src="http://www.hfboards.com/images/smilies/yo.gif" alt="" title="yo" class="inlineimg" border="0" /><br /><br />I'll let you know how it goes...<br />--------------------------------------------------------------<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Neil Young's thoughts on last night's game"<br /><br /></span>Ok, so I'm not Neil Young, but as far as I know I'm the only one with his name in my username, so I will act as his official representative. Keep on rockin' in the free world.<br /><br />Buffalo fans must hate us now. First of all, I think the first two periods got their hopes up---their team was up by a goal going into the third and the mighty new Canadiens looked nonchalant. Then they realized the Habs were just toying with them, as they took it up a notch, had the play all over them in third and sent them home disappointed. On top of that, their building was invaded by scores of Theodores, Koivus, Roys, Namelesses, a couple of threadbare Gaineys and Carbonneaus and even a D'Ippolitano, all of whom drowned out the sparse Birons, Satans and one Rasmussen. (My girlfriend, like so many hockey-ambivalent significant others before her, simply could not reconcile that someone was actually named after the devil, all pronunciation aside.) To the loud choruses of Go Habs Go and the Ole song the hometowners could only respond with halfhearted booing. And when the Habs festivities spilled over into the lobby and the street, I saw a lot of Buffalo fans with their heads down, making for their cars with the purposeful stride of the dejected. A throng of Buffalo fans at the Bell Centre tonight and a Buffalo road win would level the karma a bit, but let's hope things stay cosmically imbalanced in our favour. Somehow I can't picture the Bell Centre raucus with those, um, well-known Buffalo Sabres chants (Let's Go Buf-fa-lo! is so easily reworked to Let's Go Mon-tre-al!) but you never know.<br /><br />Some other observations on the event (I took notes):<br />-the pretzels are saltier than the bloody Dead Sea. I think they must drag them through road salt coated in epoxy. My girlfriend used 14 packs of mustard to try to tone them down. I'm having tongue replacement surgery on Monday.<br />-the Sabres took the ice to Street Fightin' Man. I've read the complaints on the Canadiens warming up to Coldplay---some feel that this is a bit too, shall we say, "inspirational," and prefer something tougher. On the other hand, Metallica or AC/DC might be a tad too mulletastic. I might suggest The Stones as a happy medium. Start Me Up or Jumpin' Jack Flash would be appropriate. Hell, a Neil Young tune would be great---Harvest Moon, Pocahontas, After the Gold Rush...Piece of Crap if the team is ever on a losing skid and need their ire raised.<br />-during stoppages in play the resident twit with a microphone was constantly on the jumbotron, and he kept trying to poke fun at "French Canadian" things. Then he interviewed Gilbert Perreault, who was evidently a bit nervous speaking live in front of 18,000 people...and the guy ended the interview promising that Perreault would sing an Elvis song if the Sabres won. Dude was as unfunny as your typical plastic-haired weatherman.<br />-I was sitting next to a pair of grannies who clearly loved their Sabres...every time Buffalo got the puck it was "c'mon Max!" or "c'mon Henrich!" or "c'mon J.P!" I couldn't help myself from throwing my arms in the air when the Habs scored or chanting with the other out-of-town fans, and I was expecting a purse upside the head every time. But I managed to escape un-maced and un-purse-thumped.<br /><br />My thoughts on the players:<br />Buffalo - They wore red and tried to score on the good guys.<br /><br />Montreal -<br />Koivu: Plays hard, creates opportunities, keeps his stick on the ice. My girlfriend likes him because his name rhymes.<br /><br />Zednik: Up till last night my girlfriend's favourite player because his name rhymes really nicely if you call him Dick. At some point last night he made a good play and she shouted "That's my Dick!" We got strange looks and there was a lot of explaining to do.<br /><br />Kovalev: My goodness that guy can stickhandle. The Sabres defence were on their heels everytime he crossed the blueline with the puck. A few times in the third the puck slipped off his stick when he got a bit too fancy, but I definitely agree with those who think it would be smart to put him on the point for the powerplay. Dandenault, Bouillon, even Markov look like puck-rushing amateurs compared to him. He's my girlfriend's new favourite player because he's "sneaky" though she wishes his name rhymed better.<br /><br />Ribeiro: Realized part way through the second period that I hadn't even noticed if he was playing or not.<br /><br />Ryder: He's not fancy like Kovalev, but he knows the value of driving to the net. His goal was nice, and you could feel it coming the way the line was buzzing around the Sabres' zone that shift.<br /><br />Dagenais: Man. I kind of feel bad for the guy. I think he gave it more than his usual token effort last night, but it's clear he just doesn't have the skills. He did manage to connect with two hits...though in the time it took him to collect himself after the first one the puck went out of the Sabres' zone and came back in, and he just couldn't get those big strides going fast enough to get out. He also let go a crafty, ever-so-threatening slapper from centre ice. The way he strides about and then turns after side-stepping opponents makes me think of a big, goofy pelican chasing a bunch of falcons. Or a semi trying to play tag with Mini Coopers. You can almost hear all eighteen wheels screeching every time he tries to make a turn.<br /><br />Sundstrom: Scored a nice winning goal, but I pretty much didn't notice Mr. Supporting Cast the rest of the night. Someone must have, as he got the first star.<br /><br />Bulis: Wow, did he ever get flattened. That hit will definitely be on Rock 'Em Sock 'Em 57, or whatever the series is up to now. I can hear Cherry's commentary now: "Brian Campbell, good Canadian kid, knocks some visor-wearin' Euro into tomorrow." I thought Bulis must have been concussed, as it took him awhile to get up, but then he came back with a good solo rush a few minutes later. I shouted "Go Bulis!" and my girlfriend thought his name was "Goboolis"...this quickly devolved into Gooboolus, Globulis, etc. But I thought he played well.<br /><br />Begin: Not only is he a constant hustler, I think he's turned into a genuine offensive threat. Dude's got zoom.<br /><br />Okay, this is getting long, and it's almost time for tonight's game, so I'll speed it up.<br /><br />The Kid Line: Good hustle, though they didn't capitalize on some good chances (Plekanec's breakaway, Higgins on the doorstep). Nonetheless, the future is bright.<br /><br />The Defense: Man, Souray is the size of a tree and sheds the puck as gently as falling leaves. Clear the zone, man. Rivet and Komisarek are solid. Bouillon may be short, but he knocked a guy on his *** along the boards. Markov clearly has the most skill, though he didn't wow me last night. I found Dandenault nondescript. I swear I saw Streit floating around in the warmup, but then they announced him as a scratch. I wonder why he dressed at all.<br /><br />Danis: I guess he was solid, if not showstopping. On a few shots, though, to my eyes he looked a little slow to react.<br /><br />All in all, a great time. The cautious, tense, yell-at-the-team-through-the-television part of me does fret that the Habs seem comfortable with doing just enough to win, though. But that part of me stayed home last night, as it was a night out for the joyous, beer-swilling, my-team-is-the-best-there-ever-was-because-I'm-watching-them-live part of me.<br /><br />To make my weekend even better, Arsenal won this morning. Now if the Habs can even the all time series against the Sabres tonight (I read the other day that they are 88-86-something against Buffalo, and now of course it's 88-87-something) and my indoor soccer team can pull out a win tomorrow morning, I'll go to work happy in a 4-0 kind of way on Monday morning.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-113123048202537689?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1130779876919527932005-10-31T10:00:00.000-05:002005-10-31T12:31:17.006-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Bru%20at%20attention.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Bru%20at%20attention.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A profile for the Royal Mint</span><br /> </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Bru is getting old. You wouldn't know it if you saw him at the park tearing after the ball, but at home he mostly sighs and sleeps and makes huffy noises. We just bought him a plush new dog bed of faux suede and braided silk trimming, and he spends most of his day sprawled out on it like a sultan.<br /></div> </div><br />There is a new addition to the household: last weekend we made the trip up to a rainy, traffic-clogged Toronto (the Don Valley Parkway was closed for some reason...this is like closing the femoral artery and telling the toes they'll have to get their blood some other way) and visited four different rabbit foster homes in search of a girlfriend for Zooby. We had only planned on looking at the first three bunnies, but at the third home, as we debated which of the three skittish and not-so-Thumper-from-<span style="font-style: italic;">Bambi</span> but more-so-Rabbit-from-<span style="font-style: italic;">Winnie-the-Pooh</span>-type critters we should settle on, it was suggested that we visit a fourth rabbit, the aptly-named Blossom, then living in a nearby flower shop. After about two minutes with Blossom we made our decision. She's a black, medium-sized dwarf and rex mixture. Her ears act independently; one points to three o'clock, the other to eleven, like some sort of punk hairdo from the eighties. Unlike Zooby, who, for all his sheer cuteness, would rather sniff and run away than snuggle, when picked up she nestles into the crooks of arms and chins. And in the truest litmus test of whether she should be my pet, I can't prevent myself from addressing her in cartoony voices and goo-goo-ga-ga talk. I couldn't see myself doing this with the other three candidates; they seemed like they would either bite me with their ugly pointy mouths or faint dead in my hands. But Blossom is a doughy, docile little doe. However, now that she no longer lives at City Flowers, her name has lost its fit; I've never seen a jet black blossom on any flower, at least not on any that are still living. Most rabbits, Blossom included, don't respond to their names, so we're trying to come up with something more suitable. Suggestions are welcome. Yes, I will actually let you see what she looks like: visit <a href="http://shaunarama.blogspot.com/">Shauna's blog</a> where she is currently headlining.<br /><br />Now, we have not brought home a female bunny so that our male can fulfill his nagging urge to hump the bejesus out of something. That nagging urge is fading, as he was neutered a few weeks ago. Rather than mate Zooby and The Bunny Formerly Known as Blossom, who is spayed, we want to bond them. This is a tricky process; you can't just put two rabbits in the same cage and expect them to cuddle up to each other and be lovey dovey. The little buggers are actually quite territorial. When Zooby and Blossom first met on neutral territory, they touched noses for a few seconds---we thought this was a sign of affection, but it turned out to be more like two boxers touching gloves before coming out swinging. A bunny fight is at the same time nasty and somehow cute, like a pair of three year-olds going at it. You don't want to let them do it for long, as there will definitely be tears, but you know no one will truly get hurt. For bunnies the accepted method is to spin around in a furious, tight little circle while biting one another on the butt, like some sort of angry, fluffy yin and yang. Z and B did this for a bit until Shauna and I managed to separate them. Though Zooby is the more aggressive bunny, I think he got the worst of it, as Blossom went back to her cage with a triumphant tuft of his grey fur on her chin. Since then we've kept them separated, though now their cages are next to each other in the living room. They'll stay like this for a bit, until the next step, which is to put Zooby in Blossom's cage and vice versa. That way they will be forced to get used to each other's smell, and to accept its presence in what they consider 'my territory'. The ultimate technique that many veteran bunny bonders (there is a cult of these people out there, and they're strange, strange, strange) use is to put both bunnies in a small portable cage and to take them for a ride in the car. Bunnies find the car a scary thing, and most often would rather huddle together with the enemy than brave a drive alone. Bonding by intimidation; seems a bit harsh, but with the animosity between B and Z right now, we just might have to try it sometime down the road. Another technique that we're currently using is the stuffed toy emissary. When we first brought Blossom home we kept her cage in the bathroom, where Zooby does not roam. We thought she might be a bit lonely in there, so we bought a grey stuffed bunny at Value Village and put it in the cage with her. She mostly ignores it. It has, however, taken on her unique bunny scent, and so we tried putting it in Zooby's cage as a form of pacifying diplomat from a warring nation. It turns out that Zooby follows the rules of war about as well as the Vikings might have, as he immediately flipped out, biting and stomping on the poor stuffed bunny in an attempt to kill the messenger. When it neither fought back nor ran away, Zooby retired to the opposite corner of his pen and sulked. Don't be fooled by his sheer adorability; he's 2.5 pounds of pure spite sometimes.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <div style="text-align: left;">Just now I tried putting the envoy in Zooby's cage again. It wasn't pretty. There was stomping, biting and bunny poo was scattered everywhere. I think I had best call the UN.<br /><br />Dramatis personae:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/The%20emissary.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/The%20emissary.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The unfortunate emissary</span><br /><br /><br /></div> </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Blossom%20up%20close.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Blossom%20up%20close.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The indomitable princess</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Angry%20Zooby.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Angry%20Zooby.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The petulant prince</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Bru%20looking%20down.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Bru%20looking%20down.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The confused king</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Me.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Me.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The meddlesome god</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-113077987691952793?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1130471234276521252005-10-27T22:18:00.001-04:002005-10-27T23:47:14.276-04:00That's right, I am now a bum with a job.<br /><br />Starting on November 7th I'll be working as a Communications Specialist for the Maitland Valley Conservation Authority. This means writing/compiling/editing a lot of their reports and documents, keeping media contacts, some fundraising and a bunch of other things. The Authority works with municipalities and the provincial government to protect the Maitland Valley watershed. Visit their website at www.mvca.on.ca to find out more if you like. I'm pretty excited because I'll be able to use my writing skills for a green cause. I don't have too much media relations experience but I like the challenge of being the go-to guy for the organization.<br /><br />The ironic thing in all of this is that the KW area supposedly has the second best economy in the country (after Calgary) and that jobs are plentiful here...but this job is an hour's drive away in Huron County. At first I thought this was going to be an insurmountable barrier, and had actually told them that I couldn't take the job because of the distance. But MVCA is flexible, and we've worked out an agreement where I'll be in the office three days of the week and working from home the other two. Though I don't think I'll like the early rising, I like the drive, as it goes through miles of flat farmland that makes me feel like saying '<span style="font-style: italic;">This</span> is Ontario'. Many of the farms are Amish or Mennonite and the road shoulders are extra wide for their horses and buggies. The office is in a community called Wroxeter, whose welcome sign at the village edge informs you it is a former ghost town. The building itself is in a nice grove of mature trees, with some stately homes across the street. Coupled with caffeine, driving usually makes me pensive, so I expect I'll get some good writing out of the landscape and the town.<br /><br />So, when you're hanging on to those last few minutes of bed warmth and semi-somnolence, if in your final dream a black horse pulls a carriage and its hatted driver out of the fog and you feel yourself tiny in the cold palm of a field with scattered husks lying about like fingers held up to stop a blow of hail, be static, not a moving point on a map, not a daytripper in a place of abandon.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-113047123427652125?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1129914551016893502005-10-21T11:22:00.000-04:002005-10-27T15:39:47.363-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/B0002I9RQ8.01.LZZZZZZZ.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/B0002I9RQ8.01.LZZZZZZZ.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />This is the main reason my posts have a bit more space between them lately. It's tough to sit and write when I can sit and BLOW THAT GUY'S BRAINS OUT! HIT HIM WITH THE AR4 COMMANDO! USE YOUR POLARITY SHIELD! THERE'S A SNIPER OVER THERE!<br /><br />Ahem. Sorry. Yes, I never quite grew out of my boyish loves for video games. While in university I disciplined myself not to play them, as I knew they would start vying with studying for my time. Once out of university I got back into video gaming gradually...at first it was just replaying some old Super Nintendo favourites like Super Mario World, which I can almost beat with my eyes closed, hands tied behind my back, 50 yards down the street shouting out directions to the person actually holding the controller. But then, for Christmas 2003 Shauna totally spoiled me by giving me both a Gamecube and an original---and still functioning---NES. For the first few months I barely touched the GC, and played Tetris nonstop. I am proud to say that I have the high score record at 572 George St., Fredericton and still retain it unless the old divorced lawyer guy who moved in after us is a Tetris-fiend. Eventually the GC's fancy graphics and cool games drew me in. I think Metroid Prime was my first obsession. (I can't beat Metroid Prime or Metroid Prime Echoes! In both games I've made it to the final bad dude, but I just can't beat him. I've kind of given up...the fun of these two games lies mostly in the exploring and gaining new abilities, rather than the fighting, I guess.)<br /><br />My favourite games tend to be first-person shooters, like Goldeneye: Rogue Agent. As the genre title implies, these games are rather violent. There is a perverse satisfaction to looking through a scope and waiting for the exact moment that the bad guy pops up and the crosshairs turn red and then bam! down he goes. Perhaps Nintendo will someday come up with a less utterly-inappropriate-for-children first-person shooter game, like Super Mario Nerf War or something. After all, with Super Mario Smash Brothers they did make a quality one-on-one fighting game, a genre that is best-known for the ultra-bloody Mortal Kombat series. But I'm a grown-up, so I allow myself to play games with real guns and real killing, albeit not without a certain guilt. For example, I cringe when I think about my mother reading this. She wouldn't even let me play with GI Joes when I was a kid, and they could barely<span style="font-style: italic;"> hold</span> guns in their stupid inflexible hands, let alone fire them. Transformers were acceptable because they transformed from a robot to a train or a dinosaur or a tape recorder. I guess she just overlooked the laser guns they either held or had mounted to their shoulders, knees, chests, ears, eyes, fingers and earlobes. My peace-loving mother always liked to believe that I chose non-violent toys of my own accord. Yes, I did choose Lego, but then I would turn The Fire Rescue Set into the Intergalactic Death Machine With Big Guns.<br /><br />However, I will not touch video games that have a thinly-veiled real-world political stance behind them. The main offenders here are games like SOCOM and Rainbow Six. I am just not interested in pretending to be an American soldier "defending American freedoms," as I once read on the back of a Rainbow Six game. Those who like these games say "It's just a game, it doesn't mean that I condone the war in Iraq or anything." Video game or not, I find it sickening to partake in a game that takes situations that are so very close to reality and then portrays one side as good, right and just and the other as evil, treacherous and needing to be eliminated like insects. As if such a video game can claim to be ideology-free. This is probably the same reason my mother is anti-GI Joe. I don't agree with most of the known US military actions since WWII, so I I don't want to play games in which I carry out these actions or similar but "fictionalized" ones. Also, in today's economy of media conglomerations, playing SOCOM is quite possibly buying into American warmongering in more than just an ideological sense. Who knows who owns the software developer, and what else they own or have vested interests in.<br /><br />I don't think I'm some kind of moral beacon because I boycott a few games. The case could be made that all video games have some degree of real-world ideology behind them, and playing these games is, in at least a passive sense, opening oneself to the validity of that ideology. I can't say that I research the game-maker's parent company before buying a game. For all I knowEA Games, makers of Rogue Agent and Nightfire, another Bond game I like, might be owned by Haliburton or Lockheed or some other group involved in oil and guns. James Bond, Dr. No, Oddjob and Enemy Soldier #2 are fictional characters, but they're still representations of humans and my shooting them in the head is a violent act on some spiritual level. And I've played and enjoyed even more graphic games, such as my all-time favourite, Resident Evil 4. So I'm willing to partake in video game violence but I balk when the violence is in the name of political causes that are too close to reality. Not a stance for which I would expect to be added to the Bible as a good guy. But at least it's a stance. Ilkay Silk, wonderful woman of the theatre and friend to many a St. Thomas student, once told me a very simple truth that I retain as one of the important lessons of my university experience: 'People are interesting for their contradictions.'<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-112991455101689350?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1128973828678631922005-10-10T14:35:00.000-04:002005-10-10T22:38:47.923-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/bio_walter_ostanek.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/bio_walter_ostanek.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Yet </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">another</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> aging rockstar</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span> <div style="text-align: left;">Every town has a claim to fame. Charlottetown: Birthplace of Confederation. Fredericton: Home of a lot of trees, poets and Harvest Jazz and Blues. Moncton: The tidal bore/snore. Saint John: Weirdest street layout I've ever seen.<br /><br />Kitchener-Waterloo, having a solid German community, has Oktoberfest, an annual week-long party of beer, sausages and polka. Oktoberfest organizers hasten to point out the parade and other cultural events that make it so much more than a boozefest, but this is like talking about the light fixtures while a massive sot of an elephant staggers around the room in lederhosen.<br />Our neighbour Rudy, a devoted Oktoberfest volunteer, scored free tickets for Brian, Sarah, Shauna and I to attend Oktoberfest celebrations at the Queensmount arena on Saturday night, where none other than The Canadian King of Polka, Walter Ostanek, was playing. Despite the presence of His Highness, I was a bit torn at first, as the Canadiens and Leafs were playing that night. But I'm quite glad I chose to attend the concert. Any one with hockey sense knew the Canadiens were going to win, anyway.<br /><br />We arrived at 8pm and the arena was already very crowded. I expected a mostly older crowd because of the polka, and was surprised to find that almost everybody was around my age. Two points reveal the silliness of my assumption: 1) lots of beer=lots of young people, and 2) nobody, regardless of age, actually comes out for the polka. Nor is this an event people enjoy for its refined ambience; row upon row of undecorated picnic tables surrounded by beer ticket vendors, sausage stands and more or less serve-yourself bars creates a no-nonsense drink-and-then-drink-some-more atmosphere. So drink we did.<br /><br />Sometime around my second beer the band started up. Walter Ostanek's band is just as old as The Rolling Stones, but much less driven to dance, wiggle or strut. Mr. Ostanek---somehow I can't help but call him Mister...he looks like he might live two doors down, and you'd wave and say 'Hi, Mr. Ostanek! Your lawn's looking really good!' Whereas I would never call Mick Jagger 'Mr. Jagger' and if he was my neighbour I'd try to get invited to his parties---anyway, Mr. Ostanek sits in a chair and tickles the keys of his accordion with a big smile, big glasses and plenty of avuncularity. His bandmates, all decked out in the same yellow shirts, play along in a sedate but jolly fashion. Most of the time the music trundles along to the walking bass beat, kind of like the same sotty elephant hopping back and forth from one leg to the next...hmm, I'm not sure if that image works...it's hard to give a visual representation to the sound of music and, technically, elephants can't jump, so they probably can't hop, either. Whatever, you've probably heard snippets of polka before, you know what I'm talking about. One thing I did discover about polka, though, is that there are only five songs. And each one has some sort of nonsensical line, such as 'Ziggy zaggy, ziggy zaggy, oi oi oi!' that is shouted out repeatedly as an encouragement to drink. This is done over and over at increasing speed until all the drunks are shouting 'Zeezahzeez---OI OI!'<br /><br />If one of the songs doesn't have a ziggy-zaggy part, then it must involve the bird dance. After plowing through five beers, our table finally got up the gumption to move to the front of the stage for some dancin'. Naturally it was bird dance time. If you don't know how to do this complex and subtle number, here are the rudimentary steps (rich and digressive variations occur according to culture and locale, of course):<br /><br />1) Hold up your hands and pretend they are two ducks talking at the same time.<br /><br />2) Pretend you are simultaneously scratching your armpits and trying to pump your smell about the room by beating your elbows against your sides.<br /><br />3) Wiggle your ass toward the floor, but don't fall down, drunkface.<br /><br />4 The next part is the hardest, and I think I should let Brother Maynard give the directions:<br /><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span> 'First shalt thou raise up the Holy Hands. Then, shalt thou clap to three. No more. No less. Three shalt be the number thou shalt clap, and the number of the clapping shall be three. Four shalt thou not clap, nor either clap thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then, beginnest thou thy talking ducks routine once more until the band, being repetitive in My sight, shall snuff it.'<br />(Brother Maynard is also very well-versed in the procedures for using the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch.)<br /><br />In my state I believe I did stumble from steps 1 to 3 on occasion. Brother Maynard would not be impressed. But never did I fall down, despite all the spilled beer making the concrete floor quite slippery.<br /><br />We stuck around just long enough for the arrival of Uncle Hans, the rotund, orange-headed mascot dressed in traditional Bavarian garb. (They take his arrival quite seriously; a security guy actually held me back from impeding his path as I left the washroom...apparently in today's political climate even Uncle Hans must be protected from his enemies.) Then we staggered out into the cold night as the band played on and on and on and on and on and on and on and...<br /><br />The four of us capped off the night with a raucous trip to Sobey's, a 1am barbecue of sausages and half of <span style="font-style: italic;">Goodfellas</span>. We watched the fellas that are good, not barbecued them. <br /><br />All in all a grand Bavarian time. Shauna may tell you a different story, having seen it all through sober eyes, branded with a big 'Designated Driver' sticker on her shirt.<br /><br />Ziggy zaggy, ziggy zaggy, oi oi oi!<br /><br /></div> <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div> <span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-112897382867863192?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1128282550461178272005-10-02T13:35:00.000-04:002005-10-02T15:51:44.070-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/la.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/la.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Another aging rockstar<br /></div><br />Just got back from the park with Bru our landlords Brian and Sarah and their dog Mavis. Mavis is a shitzu-poodle mix and is only slightly bigger than our rabbit Zooby. But she loves to chase Bru as he runs after his ball. It's funny to behold. You know that episode of Star Trek when the Enterprise gets infested with those little fuzzy creatures called Trebles or Tribles or Furbies or something like that? Imagine one of those chasing Bru, and you've got an idea of what Mavis looks like.<br /><br />Saw <span style="font-style: italic;">Love Actually</span> last night, on Shauna's insistence. Much as it shakes me to the core of my maleness, I have to say that I enjoyed it, sappiness and lovey-dovey and all. But the sap cocktail was reduced in sacharrine by a bracing shot of silly British humour. Hugh Grant as the self-conscious Prime Minister and Bill Nighy as a washed-up rockstar making a comeback with a cheesy Christmas song are particular standouts. I'd put it in the same category as <span style="font-style: italic;">About a Boy</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">Bridget Jones' Diary</span> (the first one, heard the second was terrible): undeniable chick flicks, but made palatable by the British talent for embarrassment and phrases like 'saucy minx'. About now you're probably thinking '<span style="font-style: italic;">Bridget Jones</span>? <span style="font-style: italic;">Love Actually</span>? Ryan, are you sure that's rubber fumes in the Kitchener air, not estrogen?' Don't worry. I also rented <span style="font-style: italic;">Windtalkers</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Goodfellas</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Day After</span>. WWII, mobsters and nuclear war; those are some serious guy topics for one serious guy who would never, under any circumstances, get a pedicure, accessorize or talk about feeeeeeeeeeelings.<br /><br />Gotta go change the laundry.<br /><br />Okay, I'm back. Had a thought this morning in the shower as I matched Mick falsetto note for falsetto note as he sang 'Ain't no use in cryyyyyyyyyin'/Stay away from me': if Mick should ever happen to kick the bucket before Keith, Chalie and Ron are on life support, and are therefore still touring, I'd be a pretty good replacement. I can pull off a cocky British accent. I don't embarrass myself in tight pants. I've got my own idiosyncratic way of dancing. C'mon fellas, keep the Stones a-rollin!<br /><br />Umm...what else to say...so I've been following Craig Davidson's blog about his new book, <span style="font-style: italic;">Rust and Bone. </span>I haven't read it yet, but apparently it's full of stories about boxing, dog-fighting and porn stars. In one of his posts Craig addresses whether he is writing from experience---other than a dalliance with boxing, he says he isn't (nonetheless, I'm never letting him get close to Bru---his bark and lick approach would survive .2 seconds against a Jack Russell that knows what its teeth are for). We're always told to write about what we know, and I know soccer. I've been applying steady pressure to the fullbacks of my brain in hopes that they will cough up a plot I can capitalize on, but man, those guys are as revelatory as an iron door. The score remains nil-nil. So I hereby open the field to suggestions on attacking strategy, i.e. ideas for soccer-based stories. Hell, I'll make it a contest: if I make use of your suggestion, next time I score a goal for my indoor team I'll pull my jersey over my face and run around screaming your name. Until I collide with the goalpost or get a yellow card.<br /><br />I'm gonna go ride my bike now. I promise I'll be back before the streetlights come on.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-112828255046117827?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1127964827058032502005-09-28T22:13:00.000-04:002005-09-29T13:11:34.400-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/400/004.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Big smiles, wrinkly faces<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">So, if you have any clue about symbols and cryptic messages, you know that my last post gave a strong hint that I saw The Rolling Stones in concert and rather enjoyed it, as did Steve. Now I will try to fill you in on why.<br /><br />1) The SkyDome, er Rogers Centre, is huge. It sits like a great round nipple-less boob on the Toronto harbour, next to the tall straight CN Tower which is so much like---jeez. We had seats at the 500 level. The lucky bastards who could shell out $450 to sit at ground level looked like brightly coloured ants. I wish I could have been at the Magnetic Hill venue for the Moncton show just to have shared in the Maritimes experience of The Stones, but being at the Dome was awe-inspiring in itself.<br /><br />2) After an hour of anticipation, and Beck's dismal half-hour opening act which he ended with his dismally radio-friendly latest hit, the real show started with an explosion of flames that, even in level 500, would have roasted the marshmallows I forgot to bring, the well-known but still fresh chords of "Start Me Up" and Mick swaggering out in a sequined waistcoat.<br /><br />3) The Stones know that people see them for their history, not for the strength of their latest work. (That said, apparently A Bigger Bang is pretty good, and I liked the new songs that they did play.) Their list of damn good songs is too long, and my personal list of favourites is growing with every album of theirs I add to my collection...but some standouts include the aforementioned "Start Me Up"; "Tumbling Dice" complete with a fantastic trio of backup singers; an upped-tempo, upped-raunch "Miss You"; "Honky Tonk Women" underneath giant blue flower-covered inflatable lips and tongue; "Out of Control" accompanied by subtle blues and purple for its moody verse and explosions of blinding white for its chorus; and the irresistable sing-along of 'yeah, yeah, yeah, woo!' of "Brown Sugar".<br /><br />4) Mick Jagger dances like a combination of boxer, ballerina and live electrical wire. Keith Richards and Ron Wood go off on blistering lead breaks that send them into deep knee-bends, then work their way back to the drumset where they're all smiles and private jokes. Charlie Watts precisely bashes the shit out of his drumset while looking like his third hand, if he had one, would be holding a cup of tea, pinky raised.<br /><br />5) This is stadium rock. It's as much about spectacle as it is about music. People whine about The Stones being charicatures of themselves, but they miss the point. These guys aren't angsty youths with an edge, like, I don't know, The Strokes. They aren't out to prove a political point like Bruce Cockburn or, sometimes, Bruce Springsteen. I think they're quite honest in their approach---they want to play a variety of the old, the new and the covered, they want to have a good time and they want the audience to have a good time (albeit an expensive one). When they were younger maybe massive lightshows and big screens would have been out of place, but they're beyond that now. Don't get me wrong; I enjoy The Strokes and The Bruces quite a bit, and I don't think all music should rely on spectacle. But when you've been everywhere, done everything like The Stones have, why not make it a big event?<br /><br />6) Relating to the point above, I loved the stadium rock set pieces---Mick introducing the whole band, from backup singers all the way up to Keith, who got the biggest cheer; the middle part of the stage detaching and carrying the band down a runway way out into the audience; the audience being given the task of singing the chorus of "You Can't Always Get What You Want"; a crescendo of a finale, capped off with flames and fireworks, "Jumpin' Jack Flash" an abrupt "Goodnight!" and then several minutes of sustained cheering before an encore; a final, fitting end with "It's Only Rock n' Roll", a series of bows and a cavalcade of black SUVs exiting the stadium from behind the stage.<br /></div> <div style="text-align: left;"><br />I can't really put it all into words other than the usual, over-used ones like 'awesome', 'crazy' and 'wicked'. But that's what it was. Words fail me. You had to be there, I guess. Go there, if you get the chance, because, much as they've fooled us so far, even The Rolling Stones can't last forever.<br /></div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-112796482705803250?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1127801065563336782005-09-27T02:00:00.000-04:002005-09-27T02:05:30.103-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/rolling-stones-800.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/200/rolling-stones-800.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>09/26/2005<br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:times new roman;" >BEST</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:times new roman;" >CONCERT</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:times new roman;" >EVER.</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Details to follow.</span><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-112780106556333678?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1127580831147835812005-09-24T11:35:00.000-04:002005-09-24T12:54:17.003-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Factory%20from%20tower%20corner.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Factory%20from%20tower%20corner.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Looks kind of like a castle, doesn't it?<br /><br />This place is in my backyard. Every 40 seconds or so it makes a sound best described as a crow coughing.<br /><br />Last night Bru and I walked around the neighbourhood taking pictures of houses and buildings. I love digital cameras. I love that Shauna owns one and lets me use it.<br /><br />The houses of strangers may seem like a slightly twisted choice of subject. I choose mostly large, splendid ones I could only dream of living in. I don't care about the people in them, I just like the structures themselves. Rare paint color, clever yard layout, out-of-the-ordinary portico, etc. I have to rev myself up a bit to do it, though. I'm always worried that someone is going to come running out and slap me with a lawsuit. That's how I imagine rich people; apt to go from zero to litigious in .6 seconds.<br /><br />I've got a busy week coming up...going to see The Rolling Stones at the SkyDome on Monday; driving to Niagara Falls, NY to send 200-odd books to my uncle in Mexico on Tuesday; a job interview at Sun Life Financial on Thursday and getting Zooby neutered on Friday. Oh, and learning how to take a bike from an assemblage of rust and deflated rubber to a rideable vehicle next Saturday. I can foresee a few blog entries in there. Thanks to Shauna, Julia and Nancy for the comments so far. My readership of three fine ladies. Stephen, I know you're reading, but you haven't commented. Once you do, we'll have a readership of four fine ladies.<br /><br />Ok, I gotta go take a shower and make something of this day.<br /><br />At the houses of strangers<br />I rethink the leadership<br />of my readership<br />and the uncommon dangers<br />of life in high finance,<br />while the satans of virility<br />and a bunny approaching sterility<br />bookend a week of happenstance<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-112758083114783581?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1127420504267426792005-09-22T15:29:00.000-04:002005-09-22T16:21:44.360-04:00I'm bilingual. It says so on my resume, and on some certificate in the vault of my high school. Now, high school was, um, eight years ago for me, and I've forgotten a lot of the French that I picked up from grades 1 through 12. It came back a little last summer in France, but then left again. So my French is about as reliable as a deadbeat dad. Maybe my English will stop believing its lies and promises and turf it out for good next time.<br /><br />But I want to keep my French. And I've been enjoying the silly sentences of the Speak English Cafe, so I thought I might enjoy some silly French sentences. With this in mind I contacted the French departments at Wilfrid Laurier and Waterloo Universities. Laurier never got back to me, despite being named after a French guy. I did, however, gets lots of invites from secretaries and students at Waterloo to join the Cercle francais, even though I'm not a student. The first meeting of the year was yesterday; a nice-emailing student named Caroline offered to meet outside the Modern Languages building. I thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">pourquoi non?</span> and showed up promptly at 4:45pm.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mon dieu.</span> Apparently at U of W only women speak French. By the time the meeting was called to order, I was the only guy in a room of about 30 girls. Not only that, a fair share of them looked to be first-years with bilingual certificates not nearly as deep in the high school vault as my own. There I was, sitting right in the middle of these keen 18 year-olds clutching their backpacks and dayplanners, wearing a broken pair of sandals and my aviator sunglasses, not even a pen or a scrap of paper to make me look like a student. I'm sure they were eyeing me warily, wondering if I was the local version of Matthew McConaughey's character in <span style="font-style: italic;">Dazed and Confused</span>. No, but I do know this Agent Baker guy...<br /><br />We did the introduction rounds---<span style="font-style: italic;">nom, specialization, raison pour joindre le cercle</span>. When it came to me I said:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Je suis un boy-toy,<br />Le monde se moque de moi;<br />Je suis un boy-toy,<br />Personne ne sait pourquoi</span><br /><br />Which, for those of you who don't speak French, is roughly equivalent to "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred.<br /><br />No, I didn't say that. I just said I'm Ryan, that I'm not a student anymore but did my Master's in English a few years ago, and would like to join le cercle to practice my French. To give that deadbeat dad another chance.<br /><br />Anyway, this was just a planning meeting to go over previous years' activities and elect an executive. Part of me wanted to throw my name in for president, but I thought small steps would be best in the beginning. But soon, I know I'll be the leader of a fearless pack of young women terrorizing campus, storming the offices of staid deans and registrars while defenseless secretaries squeak "oh no, it's Dread Ryan and the French Maids!", hopping onto desks, looking down at the brown-tie bureaucrat squirming below, thrusting my index finger and hissing <span style="font-style: italic;">Parlez-vous francais?<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span></span></span>Yeah. Gotta go...it's almost silly sentence time at the Speak English Cafe.<br />-How much would you pay for a boo-boo bunny and a set of mattress straps?<br />-Fifty dollars!<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-112742050426742679?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1127244052138484372005-09-20T13:02:00.000-04:002005-09-20T15:41:07.833-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/1600/Dim%20Bru1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/773/1617/320/Dim%20Bru.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bru</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">-I dare you to say 'kill'</span><br /></div><br />You'd be surprised at just how frustrating the process of posting this picture was. My advice to those considering their own pictorial blogs: don't download the stupid program called Hello. Just trust me.<br /><br />I've been thinking about words a lot lately. All the jobs I've applied for have been writing-focused, and I'm tired of describing my linguistic proficiency in cover letters. Maybe I'm kidding myself; maybe I'm a hack with an inflated lexicon, much as Bru has his own bag of words. I just hope I can combine them a little more meaningfully than he can.<br /><br />As though the world is governed by the laws of Sesame Street, the best and worst movies I've seen lately both start with the letter C. The best: Crash.<br /><br />No, not the David Cronenburg one about people crashing cars and having sex: the more recent one with people like Matt Dillon, Don Cheadle, Sandra Bullock, Ryan Phillippe, Brendan Fraser and Ludacris in it. These actors and others play various people in LA, who are tied together loosely by circumstance and thematically by being racist or impacted by racism. It's a harsh but absorbing movie. I don't want to give away plot elements, but if you like movies in which a diverse, seemingly unrelated set of characters gradually fall into the same pot---a la Snatch or Magnolia---you'd probably like Crash. Don't be fooled by the title and the trailer---I was skeptical about the originality of a movie based on the idea of people 'connecting' through car crashes. This idea comes up about three times in the story, which I think was just enough to make it an undercurrent in my head, not a hammer coming down on it.<br /><br />The worst: The Cave.<br /><br />Oh. My. Goodness. What a load of bat guano. First the sad story of how Shauna and I ended up wasting money on this <span style="font-style: italic;">travestie.</span> And I don't mean <span style="font-style: italic;">travestie executif.</span><br /><br />Last Friday was rainy, and we figured what better to do on a wet Friday night than see a movie. In hindsight, a better activity might have been to just sit on some curb and get dejectedly, soddenly, soaked. There are several cinemas in the KW area so we had new and just-past-new movies to choose from. Shauna was gunning for <span style="font-style: italic;">Charlie and the Chocolate Factory</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">The Brothers Grimm</span>, whereas I was holding out for <span style="font-style: italic;">The Constant Gardener</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">Lord of War</span>. To decide, we watched trailers and read movie reviews online. Nothing really stood out. <span style="font-style: italic;">Lord of War</span> had an interesting description, but seemed foolish in its trailer. And I've never liked Nicholas Cage. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Constant Gardener</span> looked good in the trailer, but received scorn in its reviews. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Brothers Grimm</span> was downright panned, and <span style="font-style: italic;">C and the CF</span> was held up as a poor hand-me-down of the original Willie Wonka movie from 1971. We considered alternatives; the most highly-touted of these was actually <span style="font-style: italic;">The 40 Year-Old Virgin</span>, which I would have seen, but Shauna figured would be too puerile. ('Better puerile than Rinkydink and the Rinkydink Factory,' I thought but did not say.) Then we came to <span style="font-style: italic;">The Cave</span>...now, both Shauna and I love scary movies that are <span style="font-style: italic;">actually, really</span> scary. <span style="font-style: italic;">28 Days Later</span> and the remake of <span style="font-style: italic;">Dawn of the Dead</span> qualify for this category. Some may disagree, but we both find the scenario of the world crumbling under an outbreak of fast-moving, vicious zombies deliciously terrifying. Also, The Ring is an awfully creepy movie full of nightmarish visuals, e.g. the horse on the boat. The general absence of stupid decision-making ('There's a serial killer in the woods? We better split up unarmed and go find him'), gore for gore's sake, and mass-produced plot and characterization that is normally part and parcel of the horror genre helps set these three movies apart. So, we had some expectations for <span style="font-style: italic;">The Cave</span>. Shauna even hoped that it would have some token reference or parallel with Plato's cave. Not to be. A reviewer at filmcritic.com gave it a middling 3 or 3.5 stars, but was enthusiastic in his review, likening the cave-spelunking, monster-fleeing movie to a dark waterslide he rode as a boy. I thought, 'Appealing to boyish fears, sounds good to me.' We didn't go running in full force with our eyes on our shoelaces, but we were quietly hopeful.<br /><br />And then we actually watched the movie. Ok, here's the scenario: some scientist guy with a smart-sounding accent finds the ruins of an ancient church in the Carpathian mountains in Romania. The ruins have fallen down into this cave that is, of course, the deepest cave on Earth. But don't worry---he knows <span style="font-style: italic;">just</span> who to call. Cut to the young, sexy, daring and racially diverse group of adventurers out on some body of water scuba diving through dangerous and exotic submarine caves. The team is made up of the usuals: one muscular bad-ass black guy, a blonde who needs to wear skimpy clothing in order to do her job right, a quirky tech guy who you know will be the first to die, and three white, square-jawed bo-hunks who, for at least the first half-hour of the movie, are indistinguishable from each other. But don't worry---these three will soon fully develop into rounded, intriguing, conflicted, richly-woven, not at all stock characters. One establishes himself as the maverick, staying under water longer than is safe, going into the deepest caves, pushing the envelope, giving 110%. Hmm, hero of the movie perhaps? The older brother of the maverick is the leader of the group, Mr. Calm, Cool and In-Command. (The actor who plays this guy is Cole Hauser, who seems to have learned his facial expressions and swaggering southern drawl from the Matthew McConaughey School of Acting.) Finally, the third white dude is Briggs---I've never understood why calling characters by their last names makes them tougher...maybe Briggs's first name is Fabian or something---whose only functions are to provide more square-jaw and bicep and to later on challenge Matthew Mc---er, Cole Hauser's leadership. Okay, so we've assembled a cast of characters not likely to grace the syllabi of Classics courses in the year 3041. If they do, our era will be retitled the Very Very Dark and Stupid Age.<br /><br />So of course this bunch of hip young sciency folk just have to get their crampons and climbing gloves on this once-in-a-lifetime spelunking opportunity for the purposes of mapping all the underground caverns...or something like that. They are joined on this adventure by Dr. European-Accent Man, a sexy female 'Romanian' (I know a few Romanians, and she sounds as Romanian as my elbow) scientist who you just know is going to establish chemistry with the younger brother maverick-guy, and an Asian dude whose job seems to be to videotape the trip and feel the brunt of Cole McHauser's tougher-than-thou scorn. [Sidenote: this character is played by the same guy diehard <span style="font-style: italic;">24</span> fans know as Agent Baker and who, to further link <span style="font-style: italic;">The Cave</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Crash</span> together beyond their diametrical opposition on the good/bad scale, also appears extremely briefly in the latter.] The gang is equipped with cool technology, such as this silly solar gun that shoots sound/light/plasma/CGI into the darkness to give them readouts on the cave structure. Not only are they equipped with the junk, they also like to talk about it. Without end. Using pseudo-science jargon to the point that I mentally put my hands up in front of me and said 'Okay, you've got more gadgets than James Bond and despite being young idiots you all have advanced scientific degrees, whatever, I'll believe you, just shut up already'.<br /><br />But I should get to the real meat and potatoes of the story, the plot. And I'm not going to hold back on revealing too much, just in case any of you still think you should see this movie despite what I've already said.<br /><br />So the group of young twits gets to the cave in no time and sends out their first scout, Fabian Briggs. He goes far, far into the claustrophic depths of the cave for the purposes of <span style="font-style: italic;">reconnaissance</span> and setting up <span style="font-style: italic;">base camp</span> and other military terms cool people in movies use. He reports back over a Blair Witch-like videocamera thingie but his report gets interrupted suddenly, just as he was saying 'What the--?!' The rest of the crew goes swimming after him and finds out, thank God, that he's okay, but that something chewed the fibreoptic communications line (and all the people at home slammed their keyboards and shouted 'I want my Internet back!') So nerdy tech man, whose name is something bizarre like Strod or Strahn or Stroganoff, and someone else split off to go repair it. Uh-oh, here comes the monster, which is a mix between <span style="font-style: italic;">Alien</span> and a gargoyle. Nerdy man gets ripped to shreds and dragged down into the depths of the ubiquitous underground river, much to the horror of whichever character it was who was with him I can't bloody well remember they're all so very bland. You can see the plot unfolding from there; our swashbuckling spelunkers are too far to turn back the way they came, so they must press on in hopes of finding a way out on the other end while gradually getting picked off by monsters who always advertise their arrival with a clicky, chickadee-like call one of the characters intuitively identifies as echolocation. When one attacks bad-ass Mattcole McHaushey, our fearless leader manages to cut off a claw, which Romanian scientist/sexpot woman analyzes in her portable scientific laboratory. Turns out the claw is crawling with this wormy parasite grossness. In collecting this specimen, McCole gets a good rake across the back...as the movie drags on, his behaviour starts to change. He starts making snappy decisions without any explanation (like any good adventurer leader should do...everyone should follow him out of respect for his awesomeness, goddamn it). He gains ultra-senstive hearing. His irises re-shape themselves to look like, um, ninja stars. He starts doubling over with nasty bellyaches that make you wonder when a baby monster's going to rip out of his innards in another shameless rip-off of <span style="font-style: italic;">Alien</span>. Is the parasite turning him into one of the monsters? Could he make the ultimate sacrifice by fighting to the death with his future brethren so that the remnants of the young cool people can escape? In a word, yes. I figured this out around the time they said the word 'parasite' and his eyes turned starry, as I'm sure all of the other five people in the theatre did too. But, of course, this didn't stop the characters on the screen (and the authors who put words in their mouths, shame on them) from debating the evolutionary existence of these creatures and pondering their place on the cave food chain.<br /><br />The movie drags on from one scene and obtuse explanation of escape route to the next (the writers, directors and producers should have realized that no matter how much you talk about it in expository dialogue, one part of a cave looks the same as every other part...unless you're creative with the rules of geology, see below) and the characters gradually die in semi-cool ways until the great face-off between between the guy whose name I'm tired of poking fun at and one of the monsters. This suicidal face-off takes place in a room full of flames and lava the characters emerge into from the underground glacier next door (yeah, I'm serious). [Sidenote I can't resist: As his final act, Cole Hauser climbs this giant stalagmite and jumps off to meet an in-swooping monster in mid-air...<span style="font-style: italic;">just like</span> Matthew McConaughey's character does in to an in-swooping dragon in the climax of <span style="font-style: italic;">Reign of Fire</span>. Hmm, maybe McConaughey trained the actors <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> wrote the story. And I've heard that Agent Baker brought a coffee to a guy on the set of <span style="font-style: italic;">Reign of Fire</span> and...] In the end, younger brother maverick guy, sexy Romanian scientist and bad-ass black guy are the only ones who escape, though the black guy does sustain a broken leg that initially seems painful but he is then able to 'walk-off'. In the final scene, the Romanian woman and maverick man sit in a quaint, stereotypically European cafe and hmm and hah over the events and the existence of the parasite in the cave, until the woman leans forward, pecks him on the cheek, reveals ninja star eyes behind her sunglasses and says 'I think it wants to get out.' She then runs off into the crowd and maverick man can't find her. SEQUEL! SEQUEL! SEQUEL!<br /><br />...my goodness. When I first started writing this, I didn't think it would end up as much more than '<span style="font-style: italic;">Crash</span> good, <span style="font-style: italic;">Cave</span> bad'. But, I felt sheepish leaving the theatre on Friday, and I'm sure the attendants were looking at Shauna and I and thinking 'Ha, they got taken,' so this is my revenge. As Paul Bettany, playing Geoffrey Chaucer in <span style="font-style: italic;">A Knight's Tale</span>, said, 'I will eviscerate you in fiction.' Or in an impromptu movie review.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-112724405213848437?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16905109.post-1127162204729212672005-09-19T19:40:00.000-04:002005-09-19T16:41:43.796-04:00<span style="font-family:verdana;"> ...is a classic movie starring Al Pacino and the guy who played the loser brother who gets shot in the rowboat in The Godfather...but it also describes the days Bru and I are having lately. Not robbing banks, but sitting around the apartment being bored and dreaming twitchy-leg dreams. Unemployed, livin' in a basement...sounds like despair, doesn't it?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> Well, it's not that bad. Funds are coming in. I'm taking this time to think about what I want to be when I grow up. Taking career workshops here and there, including the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. I'm an INTJ. That means Introvert, iNtuitor, Thinker, Judger. Infer what you will.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> Also been playing a lot of chess, building rabbit cages (well, one), speaking silly English with immigrants ('did you use a toaster today?', 'Yes, I did use a toaster today') and writing in the park while the weather lasts. So, life is good and doggy.<br /><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16905109-112716220472921267?l=dogvocab.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10509593564542207801noreply@blogger.com1