Wow, that's pretty angsty...

Jesus, every break I take from posting here seems to get longer. Trust me, that's not my intention. Life has been exceedingly more busy yet, paradoxically, less interesting. Now its back to the grind, literally (I suppose that's only funny if you know that I'm writing this in a Starbucks. Even then, I guess it's more cliche than funny... damn) Anyways, I'm espresso-fuelled and ready to tackle the world. More or less...

(**Update – After writing that, I couldn't stand my own hypocrisy, so I moved to this great little indie coffee shop in Kensington called “The Tea House”. And switched to green tea soy lattes. Wow, that sounded far less gay in my head. Oh well.**)

So, on the political front, Obama clinched the nomination, and Hillary (finally, though I wouldn't quite say graciously) conceded. After taking her time about it, she finally did throw her whole-hearted support behind Barack's campaign. Let's just hope that all of her slightly more... er, “devoted”, shall we say, supporters were listening. Though I still think that Hillary is the more qualified candidate, you can't argue with the popular vote unless you want rioting in the streets. Granted, I'm of the opinion that with the current situation the States is in, a little rioting wouldn't be a bad thing, though for reasons other than who is going to be the next president. What has happened to our capacity, as a society, for proper social unrest? The last time North America was embroiled in a conflict like this was Vietnam (and yes,I'm quite well aware that I'm very far from the first one to draw a parallel between the two, fuck off), but look at the differing climates. We're over five years into a completely unnecessary war. Hundreds of thousands of innocent lives lost, hundreds of billions of dollars spent, and an entire geopolitical region turned into a proverbial powder keg (the Middle East this time, as opposed to the Far East). The only significant difference between the two is the dark spectre of “The Draft”. If you believe for even one second that no one has proposed going down that same route in this circumstance, then you are very naive, my friend. Now, I know that being only twenty-four years young, my words and opinions carry only so much weight. I've only been alive to experience one of the wars that I'm referencing, as the other one happened about twenty years before I was born. I will be the first to admit that there is no substitute for having experienced it directly, and that all my knowledge of that particular period comes vicariously through research. Having said that, I've always believed that the point of history is that we LEARN FROM IT! Where are the student organizations? Where are the protests? Where are the marches on Washington? We have a worldwide rally on the anniversary of the declaration of war, and that's about it. That's one bloody day a year! (Excuse the pun) It's as if our capacity for radicalization has been replaced by an alarming predilection for impotent outrage. I mean, really, there are simply so many reasons to be angry. Just look at the two latest additions to the growing list of outright crimes that the current administration has blithely admitted to. First, the 'generals' scandal. A massive team of retired generals, all employed as supposedly non-partisan military advisers to the major media outlets, being very actively and deliberately fed false information (if not outright propaganda) by a specially appointed Pentagon task force, then spewing those utter falsities all over network television as fact. Anyone who dissented was immediately shouted down and, subsequently, “cut out of the loop”, though it is the only instance I've ever encountered where being cut out of a loop of bullshit is a detriment. These facts are in no way contested or circumspect. The administration has all but explicitly ADMITTED to it! Just to recap, we have a government that has admitted to actively running a malicious propaganda campaign, designed with the sole intent of keeping the American populace entangled in a war that it can't justify starting in the first place. Let that sink in for a minute. Then think about this: Bill Clinton, who was a great president, an extremely progressive leader, and most importantly, a peacemaker, got impeached for cheating on his wife. I'm not justifying the act, and I'm not supporting his choice, I'm simply pointing out the disparity of the punishment. Something that, really, would have had no effect on the populace, aside from perhaps the first presidential divorce, and he got publicly humiliated and bounced out of office. George W is directly responsible for the death of thousands of his own citizens, not to mention the cold-blooded murder of hundreds of thousands of Iraqi citizens, and this was all before he was elected to a second term!!! How have we come so far in only eight short years? Now, we have the latest development in this ongoing farce – Scott McClellan's new tell-all book about how he, as the most prevalent and prolific of the Bush White House Press Secretaries, was lied to and, as a direct correlation, lied to the media about the evidence for the invasion of Iraq. McClellan provides a multitude of instances and specific examples to illustrate his point, and does so quite thoroughly throughout the book. So throughly, in fact, that the US Supreme Court is currently debating whether or not to hold possible indictment hearings based on the evidence presented in the text. What's truly funny (or truly saddening/sickening, depending on your point of view) is that the White House's response to this has been to basically say that McClellan is a disgruntled employee, while not actually denying any of his claims. This basically amounts to fourth grade diversionary psychology. For example:

Fictional fourth grade teacher, who we'll call Mr. Hague -
“George, did you start that fight?”
Fourth grade George W. (who is astoundingly similar to present-day George W) -
“Well... yeah, Mr. Hague, I did But Scott tattled! He's a big tattle-tale!”

It utterly disgusts me, the sheer level of contempt this administration has gotten away with showing toward the American public. They've basically been standing up at the podium everyday, giving the entire world a great big “Fuck you!”, and doing it with a shit-eating grin. Mr McClellan himself is one of the most guilty of this particularly heinous sin. Having said that, it's better that he's come forth late than never. At least now, his testimony can still do some damage, as opposed to waiting until ten years down the road The next few weeks will tell us exactly what kind of damage, if any, it does. Especially with G.W. currently involved in (formerly) secret talks with the (US-installed) Iraqi government to provide immunity from Iraqi law to all US contractors and military personnel, as well as setting up fifty(!) permanent US military bases, and giving the US control of Iraqi airspace below 29 000 ft. What was that John McCain was saying about being “fine” with the prospect of the US in Iraq for the next 100 years? Hmmm, someone's been sharing secrets at the $5,000-a-plate dinner table...

Perhaps some of the cause of this surge of activist fervor (it's always there, I'm just feeling it extraordinarily strongly right now) has been the my increased consumption of all things mid-to-late 60's lately. I've been going back and listening to a lot of the early Bob Dylan again. Same with the Beatles. Music of a revolution. Immersing myself in the literature of the time – Kerouac, Ginsberg, Abbie Hoffman, Norman Mailer, etc... If I really wanted to get “deep”, which I don't particularly enjoy doing anymore, I would surmise that it is probably an extension of my own need for some purpose in this life. I'm still struggling to find my niche, my way with which to better this grand old planet of ours. Really, what man is truly a man who doesn't make the world a better place? Every time I think I have some insight, every time that I think that I'll finally be happy, the feeling of contentment only lasts about six months, then I get restless again. I'm in need of more of a challenge. Everything feels like a holding pattern, like I'm just putting in time, waiting for something to happen. There are few worse, more stomach-wrenching feelings in the world, than the feeling that you're wasting such a precious and finite quality as your own life. For those of you who are reading this but don't have me on the all-knowing Book of Face, I recently had the Latin phrase “Te Digna Sequera” tattooed on my right forearm. Translated, this phrase means “Follow Worthy Things”, and it also happens to be the motto of my family's crest, a fact which is at once both ironic and fitting. The reasoning behind getting my body permanently adorned with this, especially in such an obvious place, is to remind myself not to fall into my former “less-than-healthy'' lifestyle, and to mark a turning point in my life. In the two weeks since I had the words inscribed, I've been doing a lot of thinking about the true meaning of the words, and how I can go about fulfilling them. It's brought back to the fore a great many feelings that I thought that I had successfully buried. We really are amazing creatures, the multitude of ways in which we can delude ourselves. The sad part is that I'm doing rather well right now. I've got a more-than-decent paying job, one with bit of respect and great benefits. I'm getting (slowly) out of debt, and living a relatively metropolitan lifestyle in sprawling urban city. Yet it still feels like I'm simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. Life, by most standards, is going rather well, but it's still getting progressively harder to resist the urge to liquidate what few assets that I do have, pack a bag, and get on a plane to God-Knows-Where. Even with all the life-altering I've done in the past six months or so, it still doesn't feel like enough. It's a good thing that I haven't gotten my passport renewed yet. Though that's something I intend to take care of quite soon... Maybe the problem is that I've become a vagabond in the true sense of the word. Is it possible that I've actually lost my capacity to put down roots, to think in terms of anything other than transitory? I know that I've long since passed the point of compulsively keeping people at arm's length, even people that I care very deeply about. I've been living in Calgary for six months now but, aside from the casual relationship I'm in (and even that is a pretty loose term, especially lately), I still don't have anyone that I consider a “friend”. Sure, I've met a great many people since I've been here, and been on a great deal of extremely random adventures (and that is in no way an exaggeration) but, to borrow a line from Chuck Palahniuk, they're all “single serving friends”. When I do go out, 99% of the time I go out by myself. I've recently noticed that I feel no difference between being in a crowded pub or coffee house, or being completely alone. Yet I never feel “lonely”, per se. I'm not sure if this is a normal development or not. Actually, I'm quite certain that there is nothing normal about it, but “normal” is a term that really only applies to me in its most relative sense, if it even applies at all. Which I'm pretty sure it doesn't. Of course, “normal” is more or less synonymous with “ordinary”, and who wants to be ordinary? Two kids, a Collie, and a Colonial? Suburbs and minivans? Divorces, alimony, and alcoholism? Personally, that sounds like a fate worse than death. So, the big question is: What do I do about this? So far, no single answer has been forthcoming. Really, when you get right down to the heart of the matter, I suppose that it all comes down to how much you're willing to give up.

Wow. How's that for stream-of-conscious?

*** Update!! McClellan will be testifying!!*** Click here for details.

When we've legislated certain types of sex, we've gone too far...

Seriously. I was browsing through the Globe And Mail online today, and I stumbled upon this article. Now, I'm perfectly aware that these are merely new adjustments to already long-established legislation, but it was this excerpt in particular that caught my attention:

Another area of concern for critics is that it remains illegal for anyone under 18 to participate in anal intercourse - critics say this targets gay male teenagers - even though the law has been struck down as unconstitutional by many provincial courts of appeal.

Think about the weight that this carries. Think of the experimentation that you go through in your teens - even straight couples have generally tried this a few times. Trying to find yourself during your adolescence is hard enough these days, even more so for gay teens. Though the level of acceptance has risen, it's hardly universal. To think that they are breaking the law simply by experimenting with the fulfillment of their natural urges is ridiculous and troubling, both for the individual, and for us as a society. As noted in the article, this law has been stricken down several times as being in contravention to our constitution, thus in opposition to our very rights and freedoms, the things that we hold so very high as Canadians. So, why is still around, I ask you?

The Infiltration Of Facebook - A Study In Stating The Obvious

Infiltration, indeed. We all saw it coming. Two years ago, it was asking a friend (generally a new friend) "So, are you on Facebook?". A year ago, it was the new "So, what's your number?". Then it became a verb. Things like "Dude, that was hilarious! I'm so Facebook-ing that" or "Just Facebook me" were suddenly part of the vernacular. It was borderline obscene not to be involved. People who had shunned it were greeted with incredulous replies of "What do you mean, you're not on Facebook? EVERYBODY is on Facebook!" When a socio-cultural phenomenon like that hits a certain point, it becomes a self-fulling prophesy. These days, it's damn near true. Everybody is on Facebook. Your parents, your siblings, your fourth cousins, twice removed. Your third grade gym teacher is probably on Facebook. It's in the news every day, like this is some sort of new development, which is most definitely is not. This is merely a watershed moment. Those of us, the early adopters, we saw this coming a long, long time ago.

We just hoped and prayed we were wrong.

Yet, perversely, take a bit of satisfaction in knowing that we were right.

Of course, all of this is, as the title says, merely stating the obvious. The only reason that I bring it up, is that with popularity comes restraint. I generally post a link to my new blog posts on my Facebook page. However, as I tend to sometimes drift into sensitive topics (like my tenuous mental "health", drug abuse, sexual escapades, etc.. ), the implications of members of my family reading this come into play. As I've been at least moderately successful, so far, in convincing them that I'm not a total fucking loon, the perils of them having a glance at some of what's written down here spells D-O-O-M. Well, that might be a bit melodramatic, but it could most definitely lead to some seriously uncomfortable conversations at Christmas. I say these things having no illusions. One of the grandest things about the interwebs is the duality between complete anonymity and scathing intimacy. Who cares if you release your inner-most thoughts and feelings to the world when no one knows who you are? Ah, but a caveat. As I said earlier, I generally link my new blog posts to my Facebook page, so there are a number of people out there who do know who I am, and can put a voice to these esoteric ramblings and psychopathic babble. Judging my tracker stats, those folks make up an increasingly smaller percentage of my audience (but my love for you hasn't shrunken one bit, kids :) ). It's one thing to have your friends - even your closest, most dear friends - reading about your trials and tribulations in coping with life. It's an entirely different ballpark when your family does. Hell, half the reason that we end up so fucked up in the first place is because of the shenanigans that we were involved in with our friends, while hiding from our psychotic families. And we went to great pains to make sure that, to coin a phrase from Sienfeld, "the worlds stayed separate", thank you very much!

So, as always, the question remains the same. Do I limit myself, "toe the line" as it were, pander to the soft and wholesome? Or do I keep going, balls out, heart firmly attached to sleeve, facing the specter of possible exposure for the narcissistic, severely-in-need-of-medication, borderline sociopath that I am?

Fuck it. Run with the devil. And if I see the men in white coming around the corner, I'm going to run like hell.

The Slinky Vagabond Gets Very, Very Distracted...

Apologies are in order, one and all. It's been over a month since I posted here, a fact that was very succinctly pointed out by a number of you. The reality of things is that I actually have approximately twelve different blog posts sitting on my hard drive, in various states of completion. The complications and tribulations of meatspace have been intruding on my time spent

in cyberspace as of late, and that has led to a sharp decline in my posted output. However, I intend on doing a great bit of catching up with this post, so grab some popcorn, curl up in a comfy chair, and bust out your favourite text-to-speech program (should you happen to prefer auditory stimulus to visual). I've got my espresso In short, smoke 'em if you got 'em, 'cause here we go.

First off, I am brimming, nay, I am a virtual font of glee over the latest results of the presidential primaries in the US. The (some say predominantly white) middle class answered the call to arms, which led the Clinton camp to a tsunami-like sweep of Texas, Ohio, AND Rhode Island! That faint sound of china cracking that you hear is Obama's smug self-confidence being given a healthy wallop with a bag of metaphorical hammers, coming courtesy of a tri-state campaign stomping. Hilary's appearance on the Daily Show this week can only help the cause. I'd really like to see her on Colbert, to tell you the truth. Of course, on the other side of the race, John McCain clinched the Republican presidential nomination with 1 191 delegates. What does this mean? It means that we get to watch John's “Elmer Fudd”-esque persona, front and centre, alone in the heat of the spotlight, as he tries to make somebody actually give a shit about the Republican party for the next ten months. A messy, mid-campaign meltdown is not only a distinct possibility, but one that I am really, really rooting for. At least the crushing look of rejection, when the Dems sweep the vote next November, will be worth the wait. Like I said, I am utterly filled with glee.

In other political news, this past Monday the Tories took the provincial election by a bit of a landslide, here in my adopted home of Alberta. Disappointing? Greatly. Worrisome? Undoubtedly. Somewhat expected? Well... sadly, yes. Not only for the fact that it's the Tories, the Canadian political party of snide, money-grubbing, anti-social blowhards, but also for the fact that this province's government has been continually ruled by the same party for over 20 years. A tenure that long very handily lends itself to an political environment rife with back-room deals, power-mongering, and a general disdain for the due process of the political system. Being a (overwhelming) majority government, the system of checks and balances that is supposed to be provided by the official opposition are, for the most part, nil. For example:

Typical Tory provincial cabinet minister - “We want to decrease oil royalties, and put off any environmental impact studies on the effect of that decision indefinitely, as it would make us look bad.”
Liberal opposition - “But, you can't do that. We've already got the world on our ass for our flagrant violation of the Kyoto Protocol”
Tory backbencher - “Hey, you Liberal bitch. No one asked you. Now shut the fuck up and play nice, or we'll lock you in the closet with Karlheinz Schriber again. Don't make us put on the “Daddy” pants...”
Castrated, defeated Liberal (meekly) - “Yes, sir. Just keep that damn German bastard away from me.”

Seriously, this is the tone of the next four years. An acquaintance of mine has semi-officially renamed this province “The Socialist People's Republic of Alberta” as a “tribute” to the ruling party. Though I'm not convinced that it's as bad as all that, it's most assuredly not good. Not to mention the sheer torture of having to endure four more years of Ed “I'm the head douchebag in these here parts” Stelmach's sneering, arrogant face and general contempt for the concept of, oh, you know, fair and just government. Ladies and gents, the reign of King Eddie has just begun in proper.

On a far happier note (depending on your point of view), one of the major points of distraction in my life of late, has been the re-discovery, or more appropriately, the re-indulgence of the nerdy bookworm part of my psyche. That is not to say that it was ever hidden, by any means. I did go a while without properly nurturing and feeding that bespectacled, social-shunning, library-shelf-prospecting part of my persona though, preferring to keep my nose buried in a pint of good (and, just as often, not so good) ale, as opposed to burying it in a good book. Well, that has most certainly gone out the window, and it has done so much to my delight. Due to the wonderful library system here in Calgary (the third floor of the main branch is the most heavily used in all of Canada, and that includes university libraries), as well as the simply fantastic abundance of cafes and excessively well-stocked independent book stores, this city is veritable oasis of literary indulgence. And indulge I have, with great vigour and gusto. I've been going through tome after tome like a repressed housewife goes through gin and Vicodin. Getting back into a heavy reading circuit makes your brain feel as if someone has given your synapses a shot of condensed neurotransmitters laced with speed. Your thought rate multiplies itself, and those thoughts come in greater volleys. It's like going from a dsl connection to the interwebs, to a hard-wired, dedicated T-3 fiber line. In short, your mind COOKS. It percolates. Of course, as most of you know, I was never one to let my neural pathways atrophy in any way, but even I can feel the difference. “Mental gymnastics - It does grey matter good.”

In a related topic to the one above, I feel that I must once again reiterate that anyone who hasn't yet read any of the work of Douglas Coupland, you are missing out on one the most poignant, endearing, and culturally-relevant authors of our time. A proud Canadian, and the person who coined the term “Generation X”, he uses uniquely Canuck touchstones to make his stories that much more personal. You instantly fall in love with his neurosis-ridden characters, because, deep-down, you know these people. Generally writing from the intimacy of the first-person, his exquisitely-crafted narratives draw you in, and hold you tight. One of my favourites is “Hey Nostradamus!”, a beautiful novel about the aftermath of a (fictional) mid-nineties high school shooting in suburban Vancouver. It sounds dark, and at points, it is, but it's never depressing. His sharp wit, cunning wordplay, and ability to effortlessly express the deepest of human emotion make it a lush, life-affirming read. His latest, “The Gum Thief” is an exceptional book about the inner workings and interpersonal relationships of those red-vested servants toiling away at your local Staples, and is an enormously heartwarming piece of literature. I'll limit that to my book recommendations for this entry, because I could very easily fill a diatribe several times this length, but for sake of interest, we'll move along.

The other thing that is taking up a great deal of my time, and is just as wonderful, if not more so, than my renewed faith in the power of the written word, is a girl. A gorgeous, absolutely adorable, and impossibly sweet girl, to be more specific. Her smile lights up any room she enters, her zest for life hasn't yet been tainted by the cynicism of age, and her mind continually proves her a worthy adversary, Did I mention she's gorgeous? Oh yeah, I did. What this heavenly pixie sees in me has, heretofore, eluded my understanding, but I'm willing to stay in the dark as long as it lasts. There will be more on this to come, but that's it for now.

As I consider myself a bit of a music snob (really, “a bit” is a fair understatement), and as you care enough about what I think to read this, I would like to take this opportunity to give you ten album recommendations. These are by no means a “top ten” list of any sort, nor are they the best in my admittedly vast collections. They are merely ten albums that I have been listening to a great deal of late, and that I think would be appreciated by the discerning audiophile. They are in no order, nor do they all adhere to a particular genre. My ten album picks are:

1)“Night Drive” by The Chromatics. Dark, moody electroclash from one of the newest bands on the “Italians Do It Better” imprint. My favourite from the album is the cover of the Placebo track “Running Up That Hill”.



2)“Let's Stay Friends”, the latest and possibly best album from veteran indie-rockers Les Savy Fav. Runs the gamut from rockabilly-stomp to delightfully accented indie pop. Sounds like what would happen if you crossed the Flaming Lips with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.

3)“Galore!” by Dragonette. A fantastic dance-floor album. Punky, electro-tinged, with great, big bass hooks, almost every song makes you want to dance around your house in your underwear. Preferably with someone of the opposite sex (depending on your orientation, of course).

4)“Brain Thrust Mastery” from We Are Scientists. Though it doesn't technically come out for a couple of weeks yet (God bless the interwebs!), it's a solid record, through and through. Urgent, and more intellectual than they're past two albums (of which I'm also a huge fan), it still keeps the hooks generous, and the beat in lockstep.

5)“This Gift” by the Scottish quartet Sons And Daughters. They're first full length LP, and worthy of all the hype that accompanied it's release. Brassy, melodic, and quick-paced, this album never lets up. The guitar lick and thumping kick drum of the opening track,“Gilt Complex”, grab you by the collar, and holds firm throughout the run of the album. Impeccably tight harmonies, fantastic instrumentation, and a sexy Highlands lilt all add up to make these kids a contender for Franz Ferdinand's crown as the kings (and queens) of the Scottish indie scene.

6)“A Twist In My Story” by Secondhand Serenade. The sophomore full-length, this album sounds like the Dashboard Confessional album that Chris Carrabba has always been too brokenhearted to make. Lush, laced with piano melodies, acoustic guitars, and raw emotion, this one is really great for indulging that emo side that you keep hidden. Just make sure use headphones, or that no one else is in the house.

7)“Scream! Aim! Fire!” from Bullet For My Valentine. The follow-up to 2006's “The Poison”, this one is loud, fast; and aggressive. Avenged Sevenfold but without all the mid-song personality swings. The title track is a definite standout, and the power ballad “Hearts Burst Into Fire” has Rock Band/Guitar Hero written all over it.

8)“Something Real” by Meg & Dia. If Tegan and Sara decided to smash their acoustics into a million pieces, pick out a tight backing band, and say “Fuck it, now we're pissed!”, this is the album that they would make.



9)“The Bedlam In Goliath” from The Mars Volta. How Omar Roderiguez-Lopez is keeping up his astonishing output lately, I have no fucking idea. This is what “Amputechture” should have been, though Omar's use of every fucking vocoder that's been produced in the past thirty years can get a little thin. John Frusicante is the guest guitarist, and he helps keeps things grounded while Omar is letting his guitar reach dizzying levels of psychosis. A return to all the things that I love about the Volta.

10)“Fortress” by Protest The Hero. High-minded, highly-technical screamo at it's most deliciously schizophrenic. The lead singer has one of the most compelling voices in the genre. Speed metal for the ADHD generation.

***Honourable Mention***
“Field Manual” from Death Cab For Cutie's Chris Walla is fantastic, and of course, “Bring Me Your Love” by Dallas Green as City & Colour. “The Death Of Me” is great, as is “Sleeping Sickness”, the duet with the Hip's Gord Downie, but, and I know I'm going to get shit for saying it, but I'm not as in love with this album as much as I was the first one. It does grow on me, listen by listen, though. Maybe it's a creeper. Also, if you can find it, everyone should try giving The Kills first album, “Keep On Your Mean Side”, a listen. Has been one of my favourites for a few years now. They're third full length is due for release in the next few weeks, so I'm almost betting on a reissue.

Okay folks, that's it for this little spiel. I've ranted and raved enough for one evening, I've got a bit more espresso left, and I can hear a few more chapters of a marvelous Norman Mailer novel calling my name. I solemnly vow that I will not slip from my blogging duties like this again. Punishment for doing such – an evening with Ann Coulter. I hear that Satan was rumoured to be considering adding another Circle just for that specific torture. I'm not entirely sure it would work though. There's too many Republicans in hell already.

The Slinky Vagabond and the (Seemingly Wanton) Crisis Of Faith

I know that this is the first post in a little while, and for that I apologize. I've been going through a slight case of writer's block, combined with the fact that it's been a relatively uneventful couple of weeks. Actually, that's not entirely true. There have been a few events of note in my little sphere, but we'll get to that later.

What I'd like to talk about right now is on a bit of a somber note. In the past two and a half weeks, there have been two deaths in my hometown. Both were young men in the prime of their lives, and both went far before their time. It would be callous of me to claim that I was personally affected by these two separate tragedies, as I didn't personally know either of these two well enough to call them a “friend”. They were, however, rather close to some of my close friends, and it was their reactions to these horrible occurrences that put me on this train of thought. Not directly, mind you. It was the outpouring of sympathies, and sharing of personal mementos that brought back the flood of emotions that had been lying suppressed in the back of my mind from the last major loss of someone in my life. As selfish as that may sound, it's only human nature. We can only empathize properly when we have a frame of reference, and mine was (and still is) a very, very painful loss. This has set a bit of a morose tone in the past week or so, combined with some other complicated issues (and the fact that I'm completely unmedicated these days, and that includes my old methods of “self-medication”). Oh yeah, and fucking Valentine's Day is coming up. Interesting little factoid – February 13th, the day before Valentine's, has the highest suicide rate of any day of the year. All of these things, plus the fact that I really haven't developed a circle of friends out here yet, which consequentially results in me having a lot of time to myself, has had me thinking a lot about faith. As most of you who know me are quite aware, I'm not a religious person. I was a devout atheist for a long time, an ideology that going to Catholic school actually made stronger, paradoxically. I have since reformed that view into one of agnosticism, which some say is basically too fucking scared to pick a side. Mine comes not out of fear, but out of a lack of evidence. In my times, I've come to experience some things that point to the existence of something beyond this plane, but I have absolutely no reason to believe that it's anything that has been detailed by any of the major faiths. In fact, I believe that the very existence of faith structures is going to lead us to our complete downfall as a society, which is basically happening before our eyes. Right now. Evangelical Christians and/or militantly radical Muslims being prime examples, though those two are not the only ones, just the most predominantly problematic right now.

But I'll let you in on a secret.

Sometimes, in the absolute dead of the night, I pray.

You read that right. I admit it. I pray for what ever deity is there to show me a sign. Something to give me hope. Something to give me a glimmer, a probability of existence. Basically, something to give me faith that ALL THOSE PEOPLE AREN'T TOTALLY FUCKING DELUDED!!! Something to get me “off the fence”, so to speak. Just something. I guess that's what the purpose of faith is though, isn't it? Believing even though you don't have any proof. There are some times that I wish I could. The atheists will call me an idiot, and the zealots will call me a coward, but that's the way it is. I've spent a good chunk of my life trying to reconcile myself with my own demons, torn between my heart and my head. For someone who doesn't have faith, it seems like I've been going through a crisis of such for a long fucking time now.

Considering that I got laid last night, you'd think I'd be in a better mood.

Fuck it.

The Slinky Vagabond and the Plan To Become Both Less Slinky And Less Of A Vagabond

Good evening all, and good morning, as it will be after midnight (my time) by the time I finish this. This is my first post since of the new year, and I know there's more than a few of you who want to hear the story of debauchery, excess, and mayhem that was New Year's Eve on my end, but too bad. Unfortunately, I'm not the only party involved and there are possibilities of ramifications for others should I go telling stories, so suffice to say, it was a FUCKING BLAST! A blasty-blast, even. That's all you get.

Now, to the title of this post. Firstly, I positively loathe New Year's Resolutions. They are always bullshit, never followed through on, and very rarely remembered through the haze of substance abuse partaken in while crafting said resolutions. The course of action that I'm going to outline later in this post has nothing (NOTHING!) to do with New Year's Resolutions. It does, however, have to do with a new year. Or, perhaps, a new chapter. Seeing as I've embarked on a new, and so far, quite rewarding path in the past six months, it's only suiting that I follow the changes in mental state with changes in the physical state. Some of these changes have already been put in place. I've re-adapted my dress code. I'm a blonde again (and how!). My posture, poise, vocabulary, colloquialisms, and mannerisms have all been slightly shifted. In short, all these little changes amass together to create a different person. Well, not quite a different person, but a different version. I know that I've talked before about the dangers involved in a alter ego, and I haven't forgotten those lessons, though it may seem like I'm doing it again. The most glaring difference, mind you, is the ethos behind the personas. This time, I'm closer to the me that I want to be. I've cut out the drugs (all but caffeine, that is). My drinking is down to one night a week, and even then, it's only a few drinks and then catching the midnight train home. To quote Billy Crystal, “I feel mah-velous!” (There's an old pop culture reference for you!). I do still have a few more steps to take. I'm still too far under-weight, though I'm in great shape. I only weigh 148 pounds as I write this. I want to hit 168 in two months. Considering the way I can gain and lose weight, this should be a realizable goal, but that's not to say it isn't going to be hard. I'm also going to do a start a month-long detox. No booze, no smoking, and I'm going to try to cut back on the caffeine substantially. There are several reasons behind this decision. First, I've cut all of these things down to minimal amounts, now I want to see if I have the willpower to shut them out completely, even if only for a month. Second, it will help to accelerate the process of getting my apartment, which will be the next “Big Step” in creating my new life here. I plan on staying for a while, so it's time to put down some roots. Plus, being up in the suburbs, though great for a the peace and quiet, sucks from a logistics perspective.

Another change that I'm planning is the completion of some of the tattoo work I've had on the docket for the past couple of years. Nothing helps christen a new chapter in life like body modification. I know that's probably stupid and immature to some, but it's something that has a deep significance for me, and they serve as great reminders of things not to be forgotten. I'm consulting with several artists this week and early next. The thirtieth of Jan is tentatively set as the date (barring any scheduling problems), as I already have it as a paid vacation day. There will be another couple of posts between then and now, so I'll keep you posted on the details.

The other big change that I've really got to get moving on, and I touched on it briefly earlier, is “The Apartment”. That's in quotations because it represents not only a physical domicile. but a figurative idea. My stay in Calgary so far, I've been lucky enough to have been able to live with my aunt and uncle, who are two of the most caring and generous people on the face of the earth. they have welcomed me into their home and their lives with open arms, no questions asked. The debt of gratitude I owe them, even I can't put into words. That being said, I'm still a guest in their home, and it's a temporary situation. I won't really feel like this has any permanence to it until I get my own place. That's when this new chapter is really going to start writing itself in earnest.

Wish me luck...

The Slinky Vagabond and the Inherent Dangers Involved In The Life Cycle Of An Alter Ego

Christmas is finally over. We all survived, some for the better, some... well, not so much, but we're all still kicking. Either that, or you're very bored in whatever afterlife you happen to hold near and dear. Being that I generally succumb to a bit of malaise around the holiday season, it tends to be an intense time of year in terms of my my own introspection, which in turn fuels my my creative outlets like Nyquil and cutting agents fuel a meth head. That's just how I work (or how I don't work, depending on your particular point of view). I get a little depressed, the mental flashlight starts trying to eradicate all the shadows in my head, and I vent. Which is good. Have you ever smelled baking brain? Not good. Like greasy vomit roasting on fresh blacktop after a very long night of partying. Gross. Anywho, one thing that I've been kind of fixating on lately is the effects of alter egos. And I'm not referring to the Clark Kent/Superman deal here. I mean the little masks that we all put on, the people we become in different social situations. A great many of us aren't even aware of it. For some, it's merely a subtle shift, there's hardly any difference from the the person you are in the arms of a loved one to the person you are in a sea of strangers. For others, it's not so subtle. I, myself, am what is called a “extremely high self-monitor” by psychologists (Actually, the terms “Rapid Cycling Bi-Polar” and “Borderline Personality Disorder” have been thrown around on more than a few occasions, as has the less clinical term “Positively Fucking Insane”, but we'll leave those alone for now). Essentially, I am extremely sensitive to how I intended to be perceived by others, and constantly change my behaviour to fit my idea of the situation. Over time, this (as well as other underlying emotional problems) led to the creation of “Judd”, my pseudo-split personality. Judd was different from Justin. Judd was fun! Judd was down for anything. Judd was charming. Judd was everything that I had repressed during my rather tumultuous adolescence, distilled into a hard-partying, money-spending, drug-abusing, womanizing, borderline sociopath. The downfall is that “Judd” was a hit. I have ten times the amount of people in my sphere of influence that know me simply as Judd. A great many of the acquaintances that met me as Judd are rather dumbfounded when they find out my real name. Several of my now-close friends didn't know my real name until several years into our respective relationships. This lead to “Justin” getting shoved into the background, and “Judd” spending more time in the limelight, a long sequence of events that can be directly correlated to my emotional, financial, and personal decent. The more time I spent as Judd, the more trouble I got into. Now, all of this was my own choice, it's just one that I wasn't consciously aware of making at the time. I loved the attention, the popularity, the freedom to do what ever I wanted with little to no fear of consequence. Judd was the little devil whispering in my ear, and he had taken a six-gun to whatever angel counterpart he had, assuming there was ever one to begin with. I blame no one but myself. Looking back on the past decade, which has pretty much been the lifespan of Judd, it does scare me a little, this factioning of psyches, splintering of personas. I can't pinpoint the day that Judd was created, but I'm aware of the period when he began to inch his way into prominence. What's even scarier is that it was a time in my life that is very similar to this current period in my life, though I now have an extra decade's worth of knowledge and insight. I had gone through a year of very painful hardships, and had moved in order to re-invent myself. “Judd” was a big part of that re-invention. A way to fix the mistakes made, a shield for my true self, a coping mechanism that eventually did more harm than good. I guess only time will tell if I've wizened up any. Here's hoping...

The Slinky Vagabond and the Only Muscle In My Body That Works Harder Than My H-H-Heart

Seriously, I have done nothing today but read books and listen to music. My album list for the day looks like such:

• Senses Fail “Let It Enfold You”, followed immediately by “Still Searching” (the special edition w/ the four bonus tracks, not the original album release)

• Brand New “Deja Entendu”

• +44 “When You Heart Stops Beating”

• Silverstein “Arrivals And Departures”

• Matchbook Romance “Voices”

• My American Heart “Hiding Inside The Horrible Weather”

• Story Of The Year “In The Wake Of Determination”

• The Academy Is... “Santi”

• The Recieving End Of Sirens “The Earth Sings Mi Fa Mi”

• Taking Back Sunday “Notes From The Past”

• The Distillers “Sing Sing Death House” & “Coral Fang”

• The Receiving End Of Sirens “Between The Heart And The Synapse”

• Brand New “The Devil And God Are Raging Inside Me”

• AFI “Sing The Sorrow”, “All Hallow's” EP & “Black Sails In The Sunset”

• He Is Legend “Suck Out The Poison”

• Liars latest self-titled

• Saves The Day “We're Through Being Cool”

• The Used “Lies For The Liars”

• Rise Against “The Sufferer And The Witness” & “Siren Songs For The Counter Culture”

• AFI “Decemberunderground”

I shit you not. The headphones went on at 9AM and longest that they've come off was about an hour that I spent on the phone, making arrangements for that oh-so-delightful of holidays taking place this evening (Fucking God-Damned Yuletide Bullshit!). It's 12:57 AM on Christmas Eve as I write this, by the way. It's been great! I finished the last half of Augusten Burrows' fantastic “Running With Scissors”, which showcased an adolesecnce even more incomprephensibly fucked than that of my own. The only downside is that there is absolutely no way the recently-released movie can possibly measure up to black humor and (sometimes) stark horror of the book. I also got a chance to read “Rant”, the latest work by Chuck Palahniuk, the author who wrote “Fight Club” and “Choke” (“Choke” was actually better than “Fight Club”, but that's just my opinion). The book itself is written in the fashion of someone transcribing an oral history, which is enough of a device to make even a trip to the grocery store a little edgy and disjointed. Considering that the book concerns, among other things, a rabies “superspreader”, an urban demolition derby called “Party Crashing”, a mass segregation of society by night and day, and time travel... you could say it's a bit of a mind fuck. A rather superbly executed one, at that. Once I finished “Rant”, I moved on to “Death In Holy Orders” by P.D. James, which I'm currently about 230 pg's into, and haven't been able to put down. This whole process is one of the most effective ways to stave off SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder – aka The Christmas/Winter Blues) that I've ever encountered. Put on some of your favourite albums, grab some snacks, and just lose yourself in a couple of good books. I find that books work much, much more effectively than movies, because books truly engage your brain, whereas with movies, you're merely a passive observer. Plus, with the current degredation in the proper use of language that we as a society are experiencing, it really wouldn't hurt for everybody to read a little bit more often.

The Slinky Vagabond and the Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

I want to start this one off by stating that "I'm in a very weird mood." There, it's been stated. Not really perturbed, by any means. It's actually a very difficult feeling to classify. I feel like I'm cautiously waiting for something, but I'm not sure what. Which begs the question, even if said unknown event occurs, will I be aware of it? What has put me on such a philosophical tangent, you may ask? Well, earlier this evening, some family members of mine visited a so-called "clairvoyant". Being as fact-and-proof oriented as I am, I've never really put much stock in the premonitions and prognostications of psychics, though I have chatted (informally) with more than a few in my worldly travels. Apparently, this woman is the real deal. She consults with law enforcement agencies on special cases, and she has a proven track record of fulfilled prophesies. The family members in question were nothing short of amazed by this woman's power. Seeing as three of them went, and were all given separate consultations, the knowledge presented with matter-of-fact precision was uncanny. Hearing the testimonies from the three, it has shaken my resolve slightly. I myself, though having never gone for a formal consultation, have been told on three separate occasions over a span of five and half years, by three totally unconnected "psychics", that I am going to die by the time I turn twenty-six (or just shortly there after). All three have given that specific number (with absolutely no prodding from myself), and in two of those cases, the people in question had never met me before and had no prior knowledge of my existence. As I am a person who generally bases life on the concrete, I've been able to dismiss all of these as mere coincidence, unlikely but not impossible. Now, however, I face more doubt in my own convictions than I have ever had reason to. What's worse, I've been feeling very aware of my age as of late. I'm still a young man, but I am creeping up ever closer to that dreaded quarter-century mark, and the thought that I might, in fact, only have another year to live past that deadline only exacerbates my feelings of creeping melancholy. Having said that, I've been both fortunate and resourceful enough to have done more in my twenty some-odd years than a great deal of people get to do in an entire lifetime. The problem with this is that it makes you very aware of those things that you haven't yet done, or have been putting off until a more opportune time. By the way, try to tell me that my nephew isn't going to be a super-pimp!

PS - Bonus points to anyone who gets the song reference in the title.

The Slinky Vagabond and the Virtue Of Never Procreating

So, over the years, I've taken a lot of shit for my stance on procreation. Which, when you think you about it, is more of a complement than anything. I've maintained, since early high school, that I am never having children. Friends of mine, upon hearing this, generally react with something bordering between incredulity ("What do you mean, you're never having kids?!?!") and near-disgust ("Well, that's just ridiculous. I can't believe you would even say that."). This all stems from the fact that I'm really great with kids. In fact, I love kids. I just never want any of my own, which I don't think is really that big a deal. The fact that I'm getting close to the quarter-century mark, and a great deal of my friends are starting to pop out offspring has recently put this choice into sharp focus. However, I remain steadfast. I know for a fact that I don't want any children of my own. Now, just because this was a decision that I arrived at some time ago, don't htink that there isn't a lot of thought behind it. For instance:
- I'm too damn old! If I were going to have children, I would want to have them between half a year ago and the time I turn twenty-six.
- I'm too fucking broke! There is no way that I could support a family and still keep the lifestyle that I'm accustomed to, though that kind of goes without saying...
- I'm too fucking irresponsible! I really am. There is no way that I will ever be responsible enough to be a full-time parent. I'm an amazing uncle, though!
- I'm rarely in one place longer than two years. And that's no way for a child to be brought up.
There will be a bunch of you that look at this and say "Yeah, but all that would change if you ever got into the situation." Sorry, but you're wrong. I'm just one of those people that isn't meant to further the race. Which is probably a good thing. I've had an impact on more than enough people in my lifetime, and if I ever did to a child what my dad did to me, I'd never be able to sleep again. Or, at least, I'd feel obligated to pay for a lifetime's worth of therapy. But that's just me. I'm more than content to go on about my life, without having to worry (terribly, anyways) about anyone but me. Wow, that makes me sound so fucking self-involved. Oh well. But, to all those friends of mine that are currently expecting children, or raising children, you have all my love and respect. You're stronger than me. And I guess that's what it all comes down to in the end.

What do you think?

The Slinky Vagabond and the Key To Waking Up On The Right Side Of The Bed

So it's come to my attention that I'm being widely regarded as a morning person. While this is nothing new, the recognition of said fact does put me in the position to offer my advice to those of you that aren't of the AM persuasion. So, without further adieu...

The Slinky Vagabond's Guide To Being (Or Becoming) A Morning Person

- Never get more than 2 1/2 - 3 hours of sleep a night, maximum.
- Coffee is your friend. In fact, coffee may as well be your lover. Espresso, however, is coffee's younger, sexier sibling. Now, which do you want?
- Exercise should be the first thing on the agenda. Very first thing. Before shower, coffee, or full consciousness, you should be working out.
- Listen to the following playlist. Loudly.

1. "Wake Up Call" - Maroon 5
2. "Our Bovine Public" - The Cribs
3. "Eddie's Gun" - The Kooks
4. "Unless It Kicks" - Okkervil River
5. "Smoke Detector" - Rilo Kiley
6. "Past In Present" - Feist
7. "Back In Your Head" - Tegan & Sara
8. "A Day Late" - Anberlin
9. "Challengers" - The New Poronographers
10. "Take Me To The Riot" - Stars
11. "Add Your Light To Mine, Baby" - Lucky Soul
12. "Latchmere" - The Maccabees
13. "The Big One" - Nellie MacKay
14. "Toxic" (Britney Spears Cover) - Mark Ronson feat Tiggers & ODB
15. "Can't Get Along (Without You)" - Hard-Fi
16. "Cupid' - Amy Winehouse
17. "Naive" (The Kooks Cover) - Lily Allen
18. "Buttons" - SIA
19. "Come To Me" - His Name Is Alive
20. "The Glory" - Kanye West
21. "Grip Like A Vice" - The Go! Team
22. "This House Is A Circus" - The Arctic Monkeys
23. "Thrash Unreal" - Against Me!
    

The Slinky Vagabgond and the Eternal Quest To Offend Every Religion Possible

Wooosh!!! That's the sound that all the music streaming in through my torrent client would make, if data coursing through optical wire (and in this case, the air) could make a noise, that is. I'm finally catching up on my perusing of the various music blogs, sites, and mags of which I am dedicated reader (Pitchfork, Stereogum, Filter, DecoyMusic, et al), and recouping a little more dearth in my current audio collection, though it continues to be as eclectic as ever. A strange blend of indie-pop, emo, post-rock, dance, and a century's retrospective of blues. I think my currently bordering-on-manically-gleeful mood has been contributing to the sharp rise in my indie-pop consumption. Happy music for good moods, blah blah blah.

Another contributor to the afore-mentioned good mood? I had some company this weekend. My father flew in from the mighty P-Dot, and came a-knocking, accompanied by my little sis and my nephew, the two of whom are pretty much the most important people in my little world (besides myself, that is). We had a fantastic time, took in a little Latin Jazz at the jazz jam, and just appreciated the chance to spend some time as a pseudo-family again. Having said that, I'm still dreading Christmas. God, I hate this fucking season. But not in a depressive woe-is-me, I'm-all-alone-for-the-holidays, I-think-I'll-go-cry-to-my-cats way, I just really, really despise the bullshit commercialization and rampant exploitation of both sentiment and ignorance. First of all, most scholars will agree that all the evidence points to Jesus being crucified around early September. The Christians moved the celebration of it to the end of December because that's when the Pagan celebration of the Winter Equinox was generally held. And we all know the Christian views on competing religions. Let's just say that the Catholic Church makes Microsoft's monopoly look like child's play (there's a convoluted little metaphor for you!). Bah!
(Post Update: - I'm a douche. That's what I get for writing blogs on an hour of sleep, spread over four days. The birth of Jesus {and supposedly what we celebrate at Christmas} is largely agreed to have taken place in September. Crucification is believed to have happened around early December.)

Speaking of matters of worship, I recently read that Mitt Romney (one of the Republican presidential candidates in the States, for those of you who don't follow politics) is a Mormon. Upon discovering this, I realized that I really didn't know what was involved in the Mormon religion. Sure, I knew about the polygamy and the general association with Christianity, but those were merely things that I had gleamed from the mass media, and the mass media is usually very fucking wrong. So, I took it upon myself to do a little research. You know what I found out? Mormanism is FUCKING CRAZY!! Almost as crazy as Scientology! I don't want to offend anyone (that's not true, actually), but if you're both unbalanced and gullible enough to believe in the teachings of the Book of Mormon, I have some great Enron stock that I would really like to sell you. When fundamentalist Christians (who are some of the scariest and most dangerous zealots to ever walk the face of this planet, in my opinion) are distancing themselves from you, well, you've got some issues. Seriously. Do some research. I thought the Catholics were a damned train wreck. Oh well.

The Slinky Vagabond and the Challenge of Staying Out Of Mischief

Evening all. So, it's Monday night, and I'm recouping from the weekend. Actually, recouping is probably not the most apt term. I actually stayed sober enough between two bar outings and a Christmas party, I didn't even have a hangover on Sunday. By the sounds of things at work today, I was one of the lucky few (figure that one out!). I did, however, discover my new favourite pub in Calgary. It's a great little Irish pub called Murph's, and it's just off of 6th Ave. Right downtown, it's the perfect place to unwind on a Friday night after work which, incidentally, is how I discovered it. After an impromptu trip to the Eaton Centre (yes, there is one here too, and it's almost as good as Toronto's), an amigo of mine from work and I were looking for a place to grab a bite and a beer. After wandering for a few blocks, we came upon Murph's, calling to us like a siren song. "Beer", it cooed. "Cold, delicious beer" It was destiny. And who the fuck are we to question the ways of the universe? The second we walked through the door, we were home. The place was packed with students and young working types, all celebrating the end of another work week by indulging in that truly Canadian pastime - getting pissed. Not being the type to offend anyone's social sensibilities, Mr. S (my compatriot from work, and a fellow Ontario expat) decided that it was our mission, nay, our duty to join the citizenry in getting bombed. And we tried valiantly. Mr. S took off around 10PM, at which point I turned to D'jane, the Ethiopian gentleman sitting to my left, and proceeded to get another drink. I left Murph's around 11:30, looking for somewhere with a few more people and some slightly more active music. I felt like dancing, which was a good sign that I was starting to get nicely buzzed. Off to a little place called "The Marquee Room", which was unmarked from outside, and hidden up a flight of stairs. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure how I found it in the first place... Oh well, ce la vie. I was barely through the door, when I was approached by a trio of very cute, albeit rather young-looking, girls (my God, I'm getting old). They invited me to their table for a drink, which turned into several, interspersed with dancing, of course. By this time, it was getting late, and still being new in the city, I didn't want to a) make a possible drunken fool of myself or; b) miss the last train home. I'm still staying with family here, and they live in the suburbs, which would be about a fifty dollar plus cab ride home from the downtown core. With this going through my head, I excused myself, and ventured out into the night. Two minutes to the C-Train, then a twenty minute ride to my stop, then a cab from the train station. All that, and I was still home by 1:30-ish. I love this city.

With the adventures of the previous night still running through my head, I lumbered around the house, in a slightly pre-occupied daze, most of Saturday morning. Then I started to get ready (very slowly) get ready for the festivities of Saturday night, namely my office Christmas party. The event was being held at a very nice hotel, with our meals, prizes, and first two drinks on the company. Cocktails were scheduled for six, with dinner starting around seven, then prize draws, and dancing for the rest of the night (an awful lot of dancing for one weekend, no?). Around three in three in the afternoon, my aunt asked if I wanted to join her and my uncle for a drink at the jazz club they frequent on Saturdays, to warm up for the evening. Even though this would put me further away from the hotel than I would have been just coming from home, I couldn't say no to Saturday afternoon drinks and jazz. We rallied up around four, and headed downtown to Broken City. We met their group of friends ("the jazz regulars", as the staff calls them), and proceeded to have a drink. Time started to get away from me, and before I knew it, it was six and I had to jet to catch the train for uptown. Not being able to pass up the temptation of the Starbucks crack-in-a-cup that is commonly referred to as a grande six-shot soy Caramel Machiato, I missed the train that I should have caught, and had to wait for the next one. That being said, it was -27 degrees Celcius and that espresso tasted like a little bit of heaven. Back at the train platform, I caught the norhtbound train to Rundle Station, only to realize that I should have gotten off one station earlier. "Fucks sakes" was the vocalization of said exasperation. I waited ten minutes, and caught the southbound to Marlbrough Station. Once I left the cozy confines of the heated train station, I realized that it was, in fact, very fucking cold! I also realized that the walk I had believed to be about five minutes was going to take a little more like fifteen to twenty. I had dressed for the cold, but I had not dressed to be out in it for extended periods. The good thing about the cold here in the west is that there is no humidity. Even when it's damned freezing out, you don't get the damp chill that you get in Southern Ontario. I realized just how frigid it was when my MP3 player froze. I mean it. It literally froze. Just locked right up. The circuits had gotten cold enough that it had stalled the playback. I was dumbfounded. This did serve to add a little bit more urgency to my step. I hustled on to the hotel. I arrived at a quarter after seven, and dinner had already begun. Not wanting to make a spectacle in front of about three hundred and fifty of my co-workers, I decided the best course of action was to wait it out in the hotel bar. I grabbed a steak for some stomach padding, and a double-rye and coke. One double turned into three, aided by the fact that the hockey game was on. I switched to a pint, and the Calgary-Columbus game started. Believe it or not, I've actually been getting into hockey a bit more since I've been out here. The bar was packed with revelers from another Christmas party that was taking place at the hotel that night, and I got chatting with a table full of folks. I didn''t realize that it was almost nine by this point. I looked up a few minutes later to discover a posse had been sent from my party to round me up (I had text msg'd Mr. S to tell him I was in the bar). I followed the group back to our little fete, where I was greeted with several jokingly harsh "Where the fuck have you been?"'s. We grabbed more drinks, and set about to getting socially twisted. The party finished out around one-ish, and I caught a ride home with a co-worker. I also realized that I was locked out of my house. With the temperature somewhere around -30. That little debacle took about forty-five minutes to resolve.

Now, after all this fun, I was understandably a little wiped on Sunday. The best way to cope, I figured would be to relax as best I know how. I woke up at 9AM, put on my headphones, and did absolutely nothing but listen to music and draw until 4PM. To others, that my seem like a waste, but felt great. All I had to do was close my eyes, and listen to the melody, and then BAM! I woud be centered, content, and inspired. A selection of my favourite albums, plus a few new ones, and I was in nirvana. I used to need drugs to get that kind of peace, so it's really a big step for me. As I said in one of my earlier posts, my creative output has gone right off the scale. As such, I've been doodling and drawing near constantly. At night, on the bus, even at work, I've almost always got a notebook with me these days, just for jotting down the random thoughts and tangents coming out of my mind, or trying to get an image to stop bouncing around my brain. I scanned a few doodles, and I'm going to post some more in the next few days. (Hint - Click on the pics to see higher res copies of them. The small versions don't do them justice. ;-> )

The Slinky Vagabond and the Art of Life Lessons Learned From Pop Music

As Mr. West says:

"Fifty told me -
Go ahead and switch the style up,
And if they hate,
Then let them hate,
And watch the money pile up."

Sorry. Randomness. The new Kanye album is pretty great. Not as good past the past two, but still better than 95% of the rest of what's out there.

The Slinky Vagabond and the Harem of Cougs Do The Zoo

The past two days have been great! Just great! Between ego boosts (which I need about as much as I need an extra orifice!), befuddled servers, stoned bus drivers, exquisite martinis, and the explorations of a new urban jungle, it's been hectic. I feel so alive, I'm electric! And eclectic. I'm also pretty... symmetric, perhaps? Definitely eccentric. Sorry, broke off into a little tangent there. Anyways...

So, I don't know what the fuck is going on lately, but I'm getting more compliments than I can shake a stick at. Believe me, I've tried. It was a bloody massacre. After it was over, all anybody said was "Wow! Nice aim! Way to go!" Normally, I'm only a superstar in my own head, so it's kind of nice to see that the larger populace is finally starting to come around to my perspective. It's about time. If I can just get enough support behind me for that parliamentary nomination, my road to world domination will be set. But seriously, I've been getting more gushing praise than a kindergarten teacher doles out in a month. Between my style, my intellect, my physique (hey, that one surprised me just as much as you!), and the fact that I'm just an all-around nice guy, I'm kind of starting to wonder where the fuck my ticker tape parade is?!?! "Sir Justin D. Parnell Memorial Day of Celebration" has a nice ring to it... Sept 1st! Lobby your local politician! We can make it happen! Remember when I said that I my ego didn't need any more boosting. I wasn't kidding (Yes, I was).

Ok, so a couple of words on my new hometown. I went shopping at the Chinook Mall last night (Wednesday). Chinook is one of the larger, swankier shopping centres in Calgary, but not the largest, nor the swankiest. Impressive, nonetheless. My mission was to find something to wear to my work Christmas party at the Coast Plaza Hotel on Saturday night ("The Coast Plaza"... sounds sexy, doesn't it). This is merely the set-up to a story. The Chinook Mall takes me two buses and two trains to get to, and the same to get back. After disembarking at the train station, and wandering down to the bus transfer terminal, I lit a smoke (relax, I'm still having less then one a day). It's about nine o'clock at night by this point. I was standing there about three minutes before I caught the scent of that lovely old acquaintance, Ms. Mary Jane. Looking around, I spotted a middle-aged man on the far side of forty, with the tell-tale bemused expression of someone who has just gotten pleasantly baked. About a minute later, this fellow sidled up to me, and asked what bus I was waiting for. I told him, and we "got to talkin' ", as they say in the old movies. This man was quite obviously high, and as inquisitive as a ten year old with ADHD, yet not terribly annoying by any means. We chit-chatted for about ten minutes, interspersed with the occasional intrusion of a passerby. Before long, my bus pulled up, and I excused myself. After boarding the bus, and sitting down, I noticed that the man I had been talking to was following me. Then I started to take a look at him. As I did, he began speaking to the driver of said bus, who was curiously cleaning up his personal effects. The two men were exchanging pleasantries, but they had a certain comraderie that had something ticking in the back of my brain. It wasn't until I got a look closer look at his jacket in the bright light of hte bus interior that I finally put two and two together. "Calgary Transit" was embroidered on the breast of his parka. That's right! The stoner was the replacement bus driver! Priceless. I started giggling, very audibly, as the bewildered looks of people in my immediate vicinity could attest to.
The cherry on the icing of the cupcake was that he got lost - twice. I love it.

Next. As I've said, my new job has a bunch of perks. Our private 24/7 fitness facility, for one. Our Christmas party this weekend, for another, the grand prize at which is a 47' plasma TV. One perk that I didn't get in on, however, is the corporate Christmas party next weekend, at which Great Big Sea is performing. I missed the ticket cut-off date by a matter of days (tickets were a whopping ten dollars!), so I, along with the rest of the people in my training group, was SOL. Corporate, upon hearing of this tragedy, sent over a bunch of tickets to an private event at the Calgary Zoo (about half the size of the Metro Toronto Zoo, so it's pretty fucking big) called "Zoolights". The zoo staff decorates the zoo grounds in tens of thousands LED lights, all done in a Christmas theme, and then opens the zoo at night. It really is a spectacular sight. But I'm getting ahead of myself. A bunch of people decided we were going to go, and a group of ladies from my group asked if I would like to join them. When I said that I was unsure, they added that we were going for a bite to eat and drinks first. That pretty much sealed the deal. So, the group of us arrived at Earl's (a chain of upscale restaurants out here in western Canada), me with six thirty-plus year old women. These ladies are pretty relaxed, and weren't afraid to give me a little playful harassment, which led to all kinds of bewildered looks from the staff. It didn't help that I was dressed like a member of Interpol and drinking martinis. Never being one to shy away from such situations, I played it up. We had a blast!

That's it for this one. It's bedtime. Just one last thing before I go. Would people I know please stop getting pregnant? I know it's the trend, but my God, you're making me feel old, and in some cases, giving me a fucking scare. Night everyone.