So that's how it is.

The other day at school:

Mark (RTech instructor): ...and where are you from?
Me: Sarnia, Ottawa, Toronto.
Mark: Ah. You look like you're from Toronto.
Me: That's not very nice!
Mark: Naw, I just mean you have that look of slick confidence about you.

Just a shout out to me at 13, to say that it's worth it, it's working, and keep at it. Believe in yourself!

Metalocalypse

I learned something in class today. Metalocalypse is an animation on Adult Swim about the metal band Dethklok. It's from the dude who brought you Home Movies and uses a Beavis and Butthead style of animation. Actually it's a lot like B & B. But "blacker than the blackest black, times infinity!"

Intro song is here. The rest is on youtube.

RIX WLLZ

I remember recently saying that the only way I would ever own a car is if I won one, or if one was given to me. Well about two weeks ago the latter came true, and now I'm the owner of a flashy, sporty, chicks-dig-it, guys-get-jealous 1992 Mercury Topaz.

My grandmother gave it to me as a gift, and since it was a grandmother's car, it's nearly in mint condition. It's fifteen years old and I drove it past the 17,000 km mark. Me da and I have been fixing and tweaking, having fun working on this little project. You might be surprised that I can fit in it. We might take out the driver's seat and move the bracings further back... then add some hydraulics, lower it down, put on some spinners and a 120w sub in the trunk... maybe not.

We'll see.

Kickass red wipers though, eh?

Windahmeah Manah

Now I'm a parttime porter and server at the Windermere Manor, a conference and banquet (primarily weddings) hall, restaurant and hotel in London. It's part of Research Park and is connected to the UWO, just north of UH on campus. I get to dress up, which something that I secretly enjoy doing. The people I work with are pretty great. Ought to be a good PT position while I'm at school.

We'll see.

Back again

The camping trip, after a number of setbacks, was a huge success. Briefly:
bad -- punctured tire, switching campsites, grumpy nieghbours, too much driving.
good -- the food. the hike. the location (cheers, chris). the drum circles. singalongs. the food. the folks.

And now it's done. Difficult to return to the "real" world, if that's what you call this. Having spent most of my working hours entertaining myself inside my head by elaborating trip plans and practicing songs I would sing, I was stuck this week for something to occupy my mind. I wrote a couple tankas which ended up serving as a sort of catharsis -- I wrote each one about a girl that's had an impact on my life.

A tanka is a poem like a haiku with a syllable pattern of 5-7-5-7-7 (which adds up to 31, no doubt). I wrote fifteen stanzas in all. Here are a few:

TC
it's hard to believe
the games that i used to play
like a school bully
pulling hair, twisting arms means
"i want you to be my friend"

PP
part of me regrets,
but part of me won't forgive;
some of me wants to
see who you are today, but
most of me would rather not.

AC
so pathetically,
you have tied your numb self to
a loveless, clinging,
wife-beating asshole; you got
exactly what you wished for.

MH
because you saw my
semi-secret insides first
you contributed
to the construction of what
was later to become me.

CH
a goddess's grip
moves your pen around shapes of
unbelievable
grace and humility; you
draw fiction but capture truth.

Les Claypool show in Toronto

So the doors opened at 6pm. Gunner and I resolved to leave Max Thain's place at 6:00 to hop on the subway-- the Phoenix was a block away from the Sherbourne stop (which is at 420 Bloor St, I'll have you know). When we arrived, the concert hall was dark, and packed. We huddled near the stage at stage-left, and the band came on almost immediately after.

Les came out in shades and a cowboy cap and made a quip about playing short shows in quick succession as though he were in Vegas. A saxophonist came out and stood at our end of the stage wearing red face paint, devil horns and a mean grimace. He kept doing monkey antics during the show-- shaking his face and the like. He had tenor and baritone saxes; the tenor was hooked up through some sort of processor that made it sound like he was playing guitar solos.

The sitarist on the opposite end of the stage was a woman wearing a long, bright blue wig, Elton John glasses and a goofy lady hat. She would sometimes play through an autowah pedal, super funky. She also used a synthesizer that's played by waving and moving one's hands through an electric field. Weird. Neat.

Les totally owned (that is to say, pwnzed) the band; neat to watch the cues, as he nodded to and communicated with his bandmates, telling them when to solo, cueing when to come back. Huge grins on everyone as they played with him and watched him do what he does-- a bass looks large, intimidating and uncomfortable in many people's hands, but each one seemed natural in his. His hands moved effortlessly doing what seemed difficult if not improbable. He changed basses often and hats/masks just as regularly. After the upright string bass (which is just a neck, doesn't have a body) was set up, he came out on stage with the pig mask. When his historic four string was out, he was wearing a pompadour.

There was also a single-stringed instrument he played, where the neck looked like 2x2 plywood, which he played by slapping the string with a wand or drumstick. Instead of a machinehead the string was attached at the top to a giant lever, and pitch was changed by moving the lever as he slapped with the wand. For this he was wearing an ape mask.

There were two drummers, which I didn't really realize (from my vantage point I couldn't see the back half of the stage very clearly) until the dueling drum solos. One of the drummers had vibraphones and I think a xylophone too, and played those often. In the middle of one song Les snuck a bit of "Southbound Pachyderm" in a different rhythm, without losing the pace of the jam; it was funny to see one drummer in the background laughing and shrugging, seeming to say "I don't know how to play this one!"

Gunner remarked after the show, "Only one song I knew, and they didn't play it." =)

It was an amazing experience. Les Claypool is a magician, and I'm glad he didn't just stick to the sea and instead decided to share his genius with all of us. Be sure to check him out next time he comes through our little province.

Thanks so much to AM for hooking me up with the tickets.

Google Earth

Google Earth is the coolest anything ever to ever anything. Ever.

Sharon & Brent Wedding of Happiness!

Just finished creating a blog & photobucket for Sharon & Brent's wedding next year, to be happening on the tiny island Inishere off the west coast of Ireland. The webpage design includes a photo I took this summer on the neighbouring island of Inishmore. Hooray for me!

Tonight? Sunfest. Hooray for London.

Backcountry camping y'all

Currently nine people (including myself) have given the thumbs-up for the date of August 4-7 (Civic Holiday / long weekend) and the location of the Kawarthas, with three more I expect to say yes, and a few others yet to respond. On to the next phase, then? Transportation. Then supplies. We'll wait a few days first.

In other news I was stopped by the po while out for a jog yesterday afternoon. The TD bank down the street was robbed by a guy whose description I fit; a landscaper thought it suspicious that I was running around in that area at that time. Lucky for me I was just on my way home...

Bridge run

10k international run today across the Bluewater Bridge (which is actually two side-by-side bridges); starting at the YMCA on the Port Huron (US) side, 4km to the bridge, 2km across, and another 4km on the Canadian side into Canatara Park.

Ran the whole thing (ie, not walking) listening to Aenima, and finished in about 53 minutes. Booya.

I'm all about camping up in here

This summer's great project: big group camping. Looks like we have between 12-21 people interested. Next two steps are, in variable order, to pick a location, and to pick a time. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU HAVE IDEAS FOR EITHER.

Here are the few requests:
* fire allowed
* tea
* more woods than neighbours
* somewhere between ottawa and toronto

So the question I pose to you is: Operating or Non-Operating? Operating campgrounds have fire pits, picnic tables, some staff, and fees. Non-operating campgrounds are simply spots in the wilderness where people are allowed to camp; no fees, but no watertaps, latrines, etc.

Check out Ontarioparks.com (there's even a GoogleMap with clickable sites) for Operating and Non-Operating campsites in (southern, please!) Ontario; though if Non-Operating is your style, we could just pick a place to meet on the Bruce Trail...!

RSVP.

I've made a huge mistake.

"I'm sorry I took so long, but the Cheney expressway was backed up all the way to Halliburton Road."
Arrested Development is the funniest show not on television.

Pinchbeck

Looking up the word "pinchbeck" in a dictionary, you'll be met with the definition, "cheap, artificial, sham, counterfeit or imitation," in honour of the inventor of a copper alloy that resembles gold, Christopher Pinchbeck. Not really at all the same as Daniel Pinchbeck, author of Breaking Open The Head and 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl.


The former is right now on loan to Mr Gunner; the latter, I'm now most of the way through. If the first book (about contemporary and archaic shamanism) wasn't intriguing enough, a central theme to the second one is my birthday, or more specifically my upcoming 31st birthday.

It's honestly and chaotically written, and I sought out Mr Pinchbeck's website (www.breakingopenthehead.com) to tell him so. He responded within the hour, so cheers to that.

On a similar note I think I should start cataloguing my recent dreams / walking meditations. Something worth remembering and pondering some more, in regards to our certain insectlike nature and choosing the time for my impending death.

Sounds kinda morbid like that. All the more reason to flesh it out. More to come.

It seems that for the past few months around this time I've been compelled--and given the opportunity, too--to go for a wander; to walk and to dream. This has been an amazing way to spend afternoons (not-so-oddly near the full moon, it turns out) getting to know parts of the Forest City.
Just tucked behind one of the busiest intersections and near this house is a fieldy area with a little river running through it. Over the past two months it has become quite grown in and is getting to be hard to navigate. I keep a huge, perfect walking stick stashed in a tree and use it to try to find a way to cross the water; there's a bit of an island with a big rock that looks perfect for sitting on; just sitting, maybe thinking.
For whatever reason it's drawing me over. Unsuccessful so far but I'm more than willing to try and try again.

IMMIX 0.1

...any guesses as to theme? ;)

Hum.

It's important that you put on some eerie music, click this link, and move your mouse over the flash/image.

Caduceus @ Merkin Vineyards

Aside from being an intriguing wine (alchemy?) experiment, Maynard from Tool's foray into winemaking in the otherwise untapped mountains of Arizona has I think the sleekest webpage design I've seen.

The journals detail the process of preparing the land, getting & growing the grapes, pressings, bottlings; and the Flash animations and sound effects are subtle and appropriate. I wouldn't be surprised if teammate Adam Jones was the one who scripted the opening animation.

And the symbolism-- T-shaped crosses, black hawks, the hidden references to blood and alchemy --a little more interesting than the myspace/youtube pages I've been inundated with lately.

Immix (you do the math)

No shortage of attempts at starting new projects, but that's okay, I've justified: I'll just keep starting 'em until I finish one. Then probably start a few more. Each new non-success gets me closer to an actual success! Or so I'm deluded.

I imagine it should start with a picture, a drawing, a sketch. From that point, a short story. Being aimed toward a live performance, audience participation (presumably in the form of dancing, if not just listening/watching) end result, I am guessing that the next step will be base (sic) music, then requisitioning the talents of other musicians...? Only conjecture. We'll know when we get there.

And since I hold words to be supremely important, the title is officially the starting point of this project; consider Stage One complete:

IMMIX

Lord Stanley's Cup

So on Monday (June 5th) the Edmonton Oilers will travel to Carolina to challenge the Hurricanes for Lord Stanley's Cup. It will be on CBC and it will be in HD. 7pm.

Edmonton - 21 Canadians - 5 Yanks - 7 Nationals
Goalie: Dwayne Roloson
Carolina - 11 Canadians - 10 Yanks - 7 Nationals
Goalie: Cam Ward

May the team with the best goalie win.

The Prospect of Jam

There's a feeling welling up inside you. Or gathering, building like a wave, growing in power. It's a familiar, ancient surge, comfortable and welcome, though dangerous if diverted or ignored. There's an easy way to feed this urge: pick up that instrument and play, damn you.

London appears to be a cheap place for rehearsal space, and not at all sparse on the talent or desire. With a few likeminded individuals I might procure me a loud-noise-accepted-nay-encouraged chambers, and you're totally invited.

Aside from being nonlinguistic communication, which is to say communication with a few less barriers and that's a little more abstract, jamming has something primal attached to it, something not necessarily animal but certainly indigenous. It brings out something good in good people.

And speaking of good people in good settings, two Ottawaeans I have known
from two separate (800km distant) parts of my life-- one IgnorantCowboy and one ARMelhooshy, no less --managed to brush up against each other pleasantly and randomly... cheers to the surprising meetings that let a body know he must be on the right path.

Perfect weather if you're a duck

This weekend's tournament in Montréal marked the start of Gaelic football season & we had the perfect weather for it: cold, wet and muddy. I pity anyone that tried camping this long weekend. The men's team tied a game we should have won, lost a game we could have won, and then won a game; but it wasn't enough points to advance and play on the Sunday. The Lady Casements played excellently and advanced to the semifinal, but Sunday had lots of straight-up rain, and the men's team were lucky to be huddled on the sidelines under umbrellas and trees.

As for the craic: it was great, though the service consistently sucked most everywhere that we went; from things as small as charging $8.25 for a pint of Smithwicks (Jan was even charged $5 for a pint of Coke) to serving staff who complained about not being tipped enough (which provoked a mass exodus of maybe two dozen Casements; hopefully that was enough of a statement to get the point across).

Matt Collins's wallet got stolen, which was a shitty thing to have happen, and it provoked a surprising display of racism from some team members; but it also prompted teammates' support: everyone pitched in $5 so that the guy could feed himself and still have a good night out.

More photos in the photobucket, here.

Cheer this

"The Oilers were coming off a Game 5 tinged with controversy. San Jose fans had roundly booed the Canadian anthem at the opening of that contest, and many wondered if the Edmonton faithful would follow suit in Game 6. And they did, swapping boos for loud cheers from the onset of the U.S. anthem in obvious defiance of their American counterparts." (CBC Sports)

Seriously. In Ireland and in London I opted not to talk a lot of the time, for after being told by an Irishman that he couldn't distinguish between me (a Canadian) and "them Yanks", I didn't want to be confused with an American, else I'd have to pull out this argument:
"First of all, it shouldn't matter; second, I'm Canadian; and third: what's your problem with Yanks anyway? Is it their international politics? Because only half the country turned out to vote, and less than half of them voted for Bush, and most of them were probably duped into the vote..."

But then, with such a Bush-league (funny how things turn out) display of ignorance such as booing a country's national anthem, it's hard to want to stand up for this mass of people. Good to hear the Canadian crowd did the right thing.

Interestingly, of the 25 players on the San Jose roster, 12 are Canadian, versus 5 that are American. On the Oilers, 21/33 Canadians and 5 Americans.

There's only the conference finals left to go: in the West, Edmonton Oilers vs Mighty Ducks of Anaheim; in the East, Carolina Hurricanes vs Buffalo Sabres... then the Stanley Cup final in June.

even the weariest river winds somewhere safe to sea

Here I am safely arrived back from across the sea. After flying into Dublin we drove across (west) to Everlawn, Bunnanaddan, County Sligo: the farm of Caroline's granny. Chez Wynne was home base. From there, the major trips were to Inishmore (14km-long island off Galway where the first language is Gaelic), London (where we saw a Premiership match between Fulham and Middlesbrough), Dublin (home to Sharon and Brent), as well as visited every leg and arm of Caroline's family.

Platitudes aside, I was most floored by Newgrange, a burial mound that predates Stonehenge and the pyramids at Giza. The art and structure were interesting, but the compelling part is that it's perfectly aligned to allow light into the tunnel only at the Winter Solstice; from December 19th through 23rd each year, in the morning, light will creep upward into the tunnel, but only on one day will it fill the burial chamber with light -- December 21st, for a total of about 17 minutes. People are allowed to be in the chamber on that morning each year, and I applied to be one of the 15 chosen (though last year 27000 people applied). Wish me luck.

I took over 300 photos and have uploaded a few dozen of them, accessible here in three "albums": Dublin, Newgrange, and a selection of the rest. I also kept a sketchbook and have scanned and uploaded the images here.

But here of course is my favourite (wide panoramic shot [jpg] -- 2485x440, though that's a quarter the size of the one on my computer).

Alrighty then. Picture this if you will.

The new Tool album is worth buying simply for the packaging artwork, viewable through the built-in stereoscopic lenses ("use of the lenses for any other purpose is not recommended" -- intriguing). And I would like to posit that my favourite part, musically, occurs at about 4:23 into "Wings for Marie (Part 1)"

For anyone confused by the title of the album, consider the title track, "10,000 Days (Wings part 2)", and its preceding track, "Wings for Marie (part 1)". Judith Marie Keenan, singer Maynard's mother, suffered a stroke that left her paralysed until her death 27 years (or approximately 10,000 days) later. Knowing that, consider the words in the title track:

Ten thousand days in the fire is long enough, you're going home.
You're the only one who can hold your head up high,
Shake your fists at the gates saying:
"I have come home now!

"Fetch me the spirit, the son, and the father.
Tell them their pillar of faith has ascended.
It's time now!
My time now!
Give me my, give me my wings!"

---------------------------------------------

Herein as well lies an Australian radio interview (mp3) with Danny and Maynard, and the inside of the album (jpg) which can be used as a desktop wallpaper if you're so inclined.

Word from Galway

(1pm here, 8am there)
Right now I'm enjoying some of the world-famous Irish weather -- dark grey skies and sheets of rain. All the more reason to stay in for pints of Guinness, generally in the range of €3.50 (and no tax or tip). On our way to Inishmore, the biggest of the Aran Islands. Wish us good weather & look forward to photos and sketch scans when I eventually return..

Sláinte!

Yarn

I had a dream recently; one that got me to thinking.

I was sitting on a log by a river, having walked through some woods on a paved path. I looked out at the water and the trees, with the structures and the noise of a city in the background. If I looked out at where the tops of the trees met the sky, I could watch them breathe -- that is to say, they shimmered, rhythmically, expanding and contracting. They breathed not as a group of individuals but as a communal entity; I suppose then I should say that it breathed; more appropriately: she.

I felt judged by the trees, and negatively too, though I felt neither guilt nor shame; without shifting any blame I felt blameless; it wasn't accusation, just observation. Although quite conscious of being a specific individual, "I" referred not only to myself but to people in general; not as a representative but as a specific iteration.

The idea of a paved path seemed passively offensive; obscene and unnecessary. I explained without defending (to the tree/trees, I suppose), "We're on our way," and paused, uncertain now, "...right?" It appeared that we--

(which isn't to say apes, necessarily; bipedal apes might quite fit in to this planet, whose trees are the lungs and whose roots are the brain; "I" however felt quite alien to this place, like a house guest who's been trodding his muddy shoes on the carpet)

--had something that we were doing, something we'd get done then take off from here, but that "I" had lost sight of and couldn't quite remember. Space travel comes to mind. But that's probably just because my imagination is limited to science fiction. I felt that I was offensive, but didn't quite need to apologize; I sat on the log and looked out toward the water, and watched a branch grow.

It moved very slowly, but neither linearly nor constantly. Rather it stretched (and not just the tip; various parts of it, linkedly but not symmetrically) and shrank in a pattern that seemed random. The subtlety of its tiny, tempered movements were awestriking. I wouldn't doubt that my mouth was wide open.

I certainly feel more comfortable when there are trees around, and the greater the grouping of trees the better; but that doesn't mean that I'm not creeped out by them; and certainly I can no longer assume that they are, by default, cool with me.

-----------

On a totally unrelated note (which is to say: find a link btwn these and Ram Dass will give you a prize), I made a little green desktop wallpaper with The GiMP that I've been enjoying. Maybe you're interested:

No Tool for Me

Today was the day to get tickets to the Tool show in May; tickets went on sale at 10AM, and were sold out at 10:01. I guess that's what happens when a multi-platinum band schedules themselves at a 3000-seat venue as the only Canadian stop in a city of 1.5 million (downtown) on a tour to support their new album immediately after releasing the first single.

Shucks.

Preliminary Remarks

It's nothing important, of course, but: after securing a copy of Tool's newest album, 10,000 Days (curiously about the amount of time it takes for Saturn to "come 'round again"), and loading it up as a Winamp playlist, I noticed something interesting about the track layout: two tracks are over 11 minutes long, and are the same length, within two seconds. These tracks are #4 and #8, which divides the rest of the 11 tracks into three sets of three. With the middle (#6) track at an uncommon 73 seconds, it gives the album an image of symmetry.

I checked this out mathematically: the three tracks preceding the first 11-minuter add up to 1251 seconds combined (or 20:51); the three tracks following the last 11-minuter combine to be 1282 seconds (or 21:22). These aren't perfectly symmetric... in fact, it leaves a difference of 31 seconds.

That's my first reaction.

Bicycle Day

Today seems like as good a day as any for a bicycle ride. London seems to have a pretty extensive and scenic bike path system that runs along the Thames river. I say: let's investigate.

Equinox Baby

Now's as good a time as any to congratulate Josh & Sasha on their impending stork visit: if the timing is right, they'll have an Autumnal Equinox baby (three cheers for Virgo!).

And good luck to Josh in his decision to quit consuming tobacco sticks -- though luck has nothing to do with it; it's all in the Will.

And in this corner...

The fish have been deposited outside, freeing up the corner for the Sonor kit to exhale and stretch itself out. Haven't played it yet, but at least it's there:


Tomorrow: I apply for recording school, complete with an interview with the Dean. Wish me luck...!

Lateralus on Vinyl

Sure, you don't believe me, but that doesn't mean it's not true: I'm now a proud owner of Tool's 2001 release, Lateralus, on vinyl.

Without giving too much away: the tracks are in a different order. At least, that's how I see it. My favourite part: there are no words: not on the packagingn or on the discs themselves. Just the track listings for each disc on their respective sleeves.

Call it pretentious if you want. I think it's a nice touch.

Come over some time and we can listen to the records and stare at the packaging....

Sarnia yesterday

... Catton has bright red hair ... Dan White ... Granny happy to see me ... good ol' Josh ... Sasha needs to calm down a notch ...

Walking down a road by the river, a guy in his 20s was driving a red convertible with the top down, a lady his age in the passenger seat; he pumped his hand in the air and cheered "Wooo!@". I thought it was pretty funny, the guy was being a dork. It really irked Sasha, so much that she ranted for a while about it, eventually concluding that she wished he would run into something and die.

... Blind Boys of Alabama ... THUG2 for PC, $10 ... Canatara Park ... Jared = Nathan ... Don Cherry's & the Leafs game, where Sundin zinged a few pretty goals ... Isis: Panopticon as the soundtrack for the drive.

The Guntar

Slid in some new strings before heading out to a campfire weekend. Well, sans campfire... nor is it really the weekend, yet...

"Funny thing when you're unemployed, weekends don't mean quite so much, 'cept you get to hang out with your workin friends."

BRCGFC Quiz Night, here I come!

Testing

I am suddenly reminded of a dream I had a few days ago, in which I was hiding, or living, underground. There were scarabs or beetles or scorpions -- some variety of large bug -- scampering around. One startled to crawl up underneath my shirt, and I realized there was opportunity to be terrified, but I consciously chose to not give in to fear. It came out through the hole at my neck, and seemed pretty friendly after that.

Again, the theme of testing, of something seemingly independent of me applying terror and checking how I react. Or something.

On an ambiguously related note, I would appreciate any insight available on controlled epileptic fits and trances.

Grave Vision

At about half past midnight, I bed down after finishing a chapter of Breaking Open the Head, and don't immediately drift off into sleep. Eyes tight shut, I fall into more an hallucination than a dream. (I would like to posit that by 'hallucination' I don't mean a made-up visual game, but rather a lucid trance with an impressive air of importance and reality to it).

It was quite simple and quick: I was looking forward into a dug-out area, a deep and definite trench, like a grave. It was startling, but as I was conscious of what it was, I chose to neither succumb to nor deny the terror (ie, "feeling of reality"), but decided to go ahead with it. We/I fell forward into the grave; then standing in it, I looked straight forward at its dark dirt headwall.

If a standard grave is six feet deep, then my eyes, physically, should be just about ground-level. But I was deep enough into this pit to be significantly below the surface. I wonder if this is linked at all to how I, occasionally, feel a whole lot taller than I remember being. (Similarly, in a "regular" not-so-lucid dream later the same night, I was conversing with a Bob Saget/Dave Bishop character who was significantly taller than me, though not so in waking life).

I get the impression I am being tested, or perhaps introduced to something.

Entrez-vous

Think of London,
the Forest City.
Dark --
dark in the daytime.
People sleep,
sleep in the daytime,
if they want to,
if they want to.