A True Chemical Romantic

I do not like My Chemical Romance. It’s December 2006 and I’m holding a Christmas present from my brother. As I start to open the CD-case shaped gift, he jumps into an explanation of something I only partially pay any attention to. I tune him in when I get the paper off of an album called “The Black Parade”. At this point he’s informing me that I do not like My Chemical Romance. I look up from the My Chemical Romance disc and wait for the punch line. It doesn’t come. It’s not a joke. He has spent time, money, and thought getting me the latest release from a band neither of us like.

He tells me I’ll like it. He tells me he’d been skeptical but that he likes it. He tells me about strong reviews, radio coverage, a cool music video on the internet. He tells me a lot of things. Then he tells me to play the CD.

By the third song I was smiling. After a full run through, intro to hidden track, I was a fan. After rolling the album over twice I was totally hooked. At this point, the Brothers Webb decided that we needed to see these guys live, and if they found Cal on their next tour, we would be there, no question.

My Chemical Romance arrived in Calgary three days after we left. “We would be there, no question…” There was a question, and the answer was “no MCR if we are in Europa”. Terrible timing. And just like that, the Black Parade had marched by. We were punished for being BandWagon jumpers.
_________________________________________________

“Look alive, Sunshine…”

There hadn’t been a note of music yet, but this was the official announcement from the stage that MCR was in the queue.

“109 in the sky but the pigs won’t quit
You’re here with me, Dr. Death Defying
I’ll be your surgeon, your proctor, your helicopter
Pumpin’ out the slaughtermatic sounds to keep you alive
A system failure for the masses, empty matter for the master plan
Louder than God’s revolver and twice as shiny
This one’s for all of you rock’n’rollers
All you crash queens and motor babies
Listen up!
The future is bulletproof!
The aftermath is secondary!
It’s time to do it now and do it loud!
Killjoys, make some noise!”

People actually ran, dangerously. Nothing as dramatic as pushing or shoving, but I saw one person spin-out and bail, and a number of others ditching nearly full adult beverages in order to trade Beer-Gardens for Front-Stage – sacrificing stimulus for stimulus. It was the same intro poetry that shot through my speakers the first time I fired up “Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys” – an adventurous title for an album of equal quality.

_________________________________________________

The Fabulous Killjoys was to their fourth studio album what the Black Parade had been to their third. This was something I really liked about My Chemical Romance, the band was as Method as Brando, the band dug Alter Egos. During their time as the Black Parade, the group performed as characters from the album, costumed in black marching uniforms, giving us MCR but with a personality twist.



Representing the lead singer Gerard Way’s belief that death comes for a person in the form of their fondest memory, to don the black uniforms was to become part of the album’s rock opera – the story of “The Patient” and his passage out of life, through the afterlife, and into reflection of his existence. It’s not as dark as you think. It is definitely as unique as it sounds though. It is a near perfect album that wavers between beauty and sadness, and along the way clutches you with power, contemplation, and humor. It’s a Rock Opera, and Rock Operas will do that to you.

The Killjoys are night and day to the Parade, or rather day and night. Not in the way that the groups are detached, but rather in their related difference – opposition in perfect connection. Standing apart as Vibrant to Pale, Action to Death, Speed to Strength, the two Day and Night editions of The Romance are that mix of consistency and unknown that give substance to both volumes; the first and the sequel.

On stage as on CD cover, the Fabulous Killjoys are colour charged with fast outfits and loud personas that energize MCR’s 4th chapter. Their bios are a story of outlaws, carrying aliases picked up off their designer guns, driven to fight comic-book evil and save fairy-tale girls. It’s almost Shakespearean it’s so rooted in Classic. For some reason lead-singer Gerard Way’s red hair works. Matched with their holstered guns and bright biker jackets, the group screams Business and creates a post-apocalyptic warrior vibe. Like the Black Parade this MCR quartette is raw, unified, and like nothing else out there. The Killjoys are cool, the Killjoys have that Be-Like-Mike effect on you, the Killjoys are a strangely comfortable mix of Tarantino’s ‘the Bride’ and Marvel’s ‘Biker Mice from Mars’. And meanwhile, they also rock a mic with the best of them.







_________________________________________________

Dr. Death Defying’s radio broadcast warmed the air, and gave way to the Killjoys’ colour and rebelled ways.

Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na) [Killjoys]
Venom [3 Cheers]
Planetary (Go!) [Danger Days]
Hang Em High [3 Cheers]
Vampire Money [Danger Days]
Mama [Black Parade]
Only Hope [Danger Days]
House of Wolves [Black Parade]
Summertime [Danger Days]
I’m Not Okay [3 Cheers]
Famous Last Words [Black Parade]
Destorya [Danger Days]
Black Parade [Black Parade]
Teenagers [Black Parade]
Bulletproof Heart [Danger Days]
Helena [3 Cheers]
Cancer [Black Parade]
Kids from Yesterday [Danger Days]
(recorded acoustic version) Sing [Danger Days]

This is how a band, who toys with identity crisis and personality reconstruction, puts together a set list. Brilliance. Slotting tracks from across their discography, MCR stitched together vastly different genres of music, creating a fluid performance. This is also how a band with a fan base carrying everything from real life emo-vampires to 15-year-old pop princesses, thanks the Underground and the Mainstream followings at the same time.

While the Brothers Webb were fluent in the ways and words of “the Parade” and “Danger Days”, MCR’s first two albums had only been briefly explored retrospectively. The beautiful thing about watching the Killjoys cover the stage was that we were thirsty for new favourites like ‘Planetary (Go!)’ and ‘Bulletproof Heart’, longing for retro classics circa 06 a la ‘Mama’ and ‘Famous Last Words’, and excited about unearthing what many long time Chemical Romantics had already loved, lost, and resurrected (the Helena’s and Hang Em High’s of collections 1 and 2). Although it was the same band sending out music and lyric from “Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge”, things had changed. They had changed. They were no longer a group peeking out from behind a debut cult disc (“I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love”), walking into the light of the general public for the first time with “3 Cheers”; they were that, the post-Parade, and the comic book Killjoys, all 'Genre Law-Breaking' together.

And I had changed; I liked them. The concert indulged the New Need, reminded the Long Love, educated the Ever Explorer, and satisfied that something that could only be fulfilled playing the Starved Spectator.

_________________________________________________

A concert’s music is a restaurant’s menu; it’s the foundation for substance, it’s the creative heart, it’s the outlet of quality, it’s only the beginning. My Chemical Romance introduced an energetic team of Killjoys. Lead singer Gerard Way and his line-up of mates pushed 90minutes of big sound and bigger presence from stage to cheap-seat. They were the foreground to a balanced backdrop that felt large enough to support the group’s anthems, while maintaining a subtlety deserving of any raw Rock. The opening acts took hold of their By-Association but didn’t overstay their welcome. Perhaps seen as a demotion from their Black Parade stadium stay in 2008, Calgary had offered MCR the MacEwan Hall, which housed all the Youth and Rough and Vibrant that alt-rock could want. The crowd had prep’d for a party, the beer gardens roared and swelled with life, the Hall and the lobby and the gardens became one, and the Merch line danced around it all. Everyone sang to the ceiling during ‘Teenagers’, the odd lighter joined the cell screens for ‘Kids from Yesterday’, no one stood still during ‘Na Na Na’, and when the lights announced the curtains close, the crowd burst into review. Sometimes the best part of live music is between the notes and behind the melody – the Brothers Webb barely blinked in order to drink it all in. Even after a post-performance breakdown that stretched out over beverage and a homeward bound walk, we still aren’t done reliving the Live.

MCR was worth the wait, worth the cost of admission, and worth the over-priced scraps from the back of the Merch table that I left with.

_________________________________________________

Since the concert, the band has taken hold of my stereo and now grips me with a new allure. The Post-DangerDays version of myself has changed, yet again; He (being ‘I’) is hearing the Black Parade again but for the first time; He has found in the Killjoys a personality and charm that had lacked when the songs were just ‘tracks’; He craves more from My Chemical Romance, anything, everything, all ways, always. This rejuvenation is a clear sign of true live music – a concert should open the group up and offer you new depth, depth that gives the band more character, depth that layers your love of them. I am now a true My Chemical Romantic.

I’m not the only one…

I have no need for keeping secrets of the MCR kind. While casually getting debriefed by a co-worker, the Night-Before story turned into a show and tell, resulting in a trade: Killjoys for a little John Prine. Like any good Texan, said co-worker loved that Prine-style folk, and had ranted and raved in turn about his ability to woo an audience. I had an incline that Prine’s wooing was mildly different from the Chem’s wooing, but John Prine didn’t concern me, I can dig the Country/Folk, it was handing a member of the Prine Pride something like Danger Days that felt bold. I opened for the band with some Wiki facts, and described their music like I were a connoisseur of abstract art – nothing is more entertaining when it comes to the business of translating music than teaming odd adjectives together. I told him MCR spent more time as Alternative than Hard Rock, I told him of my hate-love relationship with them, I told him the group’s groove was Poetic and Colourfully Aggressive. I love My Chem, recommend the Chem, vouch for the Chem, promote the Chem, but I had no hope for the building of bonds between Team Prine and the Killjoys. I should have. I was wrong. Mr. Texas Folk powered through Danger Days twice without coming up for a air. He imported the tracks on to his computer, and when he finally pulled the phones off his ears, asked if I had another dose for him.

Along with many other stories of MCR pimpery, the Danger Days Tour transformation that I have undergone has re-fueled my drive to discover. I now want more of that feeling. It’s a Greed that can’t be tamed by one band, and so I search. It’s great to find passion, and to love music is to love the excitement of Life. So I say: Listen to My Chemical Romance. I say: move off the Dial’s pre-sets. I say: Shazam all of it. I say: YouTube is your friend. I say: Make music part of your life. And if you need a nudge, I say let Hi-Jacked! highjack your player.

And if it all makes sense, and you miss the confusion, listen to the rhythm and rhyme of Dr Death Defying and just go with the flow:

Bad news from the zones tumbleweeds
It looks like Jet-Star and the Kobra Kid
Had a clap with an exterminator that went all Costa Rica
And uh got themselves ghosted, dusted out on route Guano
So it’s time to hit the red-line and up thrust the volume out there
Keep your boots tight, keep your guns close
And die with your mask on if you’ve got to
Here, is the traffic

_________________________________________________

Get to know MCR – more than a Band, more than music:

- “Vampire Money” was written in response to an offer made by the producers of Twilight – they wanted MCR to write music for the movies, MCR thought the movies sucked, MCR never wrote a song for Twilight, MCR wrote “Vampire Money”, “Vampire Money” makes fun of Twilight.
- The Band refers to their music as Violent-Pop.
- Gerard Way worked as an Animator and Comic Book Artist before becoming the face of MCR.
- At the age of 15, Gerard Way was held at gun point. Gerard’s brother and MCR member has also been held at gun point.
- At the age of 15, Mikey Way was bootlegging Disney Movies and auctioning them off on E-Bay. Mikey was caught by authorities.
- The younger of the Way brothers, Mikey was working in a book store and had picked up Irvine Welsh’s book “Ecstasy: Three Tales of Chemical Romance”. Mikey thought ‘Chemical Romance’ had a cool ring to it. Mikey also thought that adding a ‘My’ in front of it sounded even better.
- The first song written by Gerard Way, and the subsequent start of My Chemical Romance, was “Skylines and Turnstiles” – the song draws inspiration from the effect the September 11the attacks had on Way.

_________________________________________________

And now, as Live and Raw as the performance, Footage from a Fan - iPhone Art:

The Preemie Elephantini

Relationships can't be described - at least not in any detail, and not if they're made of real substance. The moment two people connect is the moment words lose ground, and life takes on a new level of quality. Whether driven by Love, bonded through Friendship, covered in Hate, or simplified as Acquaintance, the complexities of interaction don't play favourites.

It's partly their emotional nature, partly their diversity, but ultimately, what makes the portrayal of Relationships so fluid and abstract is their intricacy. If you think you understand their 'whys', don't be funny, you don't, you can't, no one can, and that's why Relationships are so beautiful (and ugly and painful and perfect).

I could go into great detail about NickName origin stories, the Romantic-Comedy movie we've lived, the way my personality hugs hers, but sometimes less is more. Kerry and I met, danced the dance, moved in close to play house, and are now building up our own fairytale happiness with each day that passes.

Don't worry about standard rules, Relationship Do's-and-Dont's, or what the movies tell you - sometimes love just does its own thing:


[from the email history of Jack Webb's sent messages]

Hi Kerrykins,

Today is May 4th, meaning that if we were Elephants and had made special Elephant love on our first date, and we had created a perfect little Preemie Elephantini, that we would be introducing our own little undersized Dumbo into the world today. The truly beautiful thing is that had we been Elephants, and decided to create Elephantini Tinny life on August 4th of 2009, it would have been perfect, because right now, today, I wouldn’t want to have a little Elephant with anyone else.

Happy 21 months my Love. Je t'aime beaucoup Kéri.

Xoxo
John


Next up is the Elephant Anniversary - 22months of togetherness matching the gestation period of the beautiful beast. Welcome to the thoughts of my inner nerd. See also the 9month Baby Anniversary (that's a human baby, not to be confused with the elephant baby or the premature elephant infant)... like I said, sometimes love just does its own thing.

A Witness to History

"Osama Bin Laden".

I was at the dining room table, playing my part in the post-meal, Sunday Night debrief. Family discussed, chatted, and talked about our worlds and the weekend and life's special moments. There was no talking when President Obama got to the podium. He addressed the nation, the world, me, and as the people I love gathered in silence, history presented itself.

Osama Bin Laden. Terrorism. September 11th. Evil. And now, synonymous with this name can be added "Dead". Or more appropriately "Dead!"

We had raced into the TV room as breaking news alerts threw around the Taliban Leader's name and attached it to Death. So rarely does time stop. So rarely does the universe open itself up and reveal a secret so precious that time needs to slow down to fit it in. So rarely does nothing else matter. Barak Obama confirmed that the symbol of Terror had been killed. He delivered a speech that will reach around the world, with endless speed, and touch lives in a most powerful of ways.

Tonight, as the beautiful chaos of life began to wind down a Sunday evening, the unity of Good was strengthened as a new chapter began. For the victims of the September 11th attacks, for the families of the murdered, for the people in fear of terror, everything has changed. And as the President described the beginning of this new chapter, this version of Yesterday but without Bin Laden, I felt a warmth that only true greatness can bring.

Like Mitch Rap, or Jack Bauer, or 007, the good guys worked their way through a mine-ridden chess board to respond to an attack on innocence that began nearly two decades ago. But unlike the Bauers, Bournes, and Bonds of the spy genre, the heroes of today's history found victory outside the arena of fiction, giving us richer reward from a deeper risk.

We will not allow evil to push us around. We will not settle for uncertainty, fear, terror. We will not go quietly. We will not stop. We will fight back! I felt chills, because this moment, this piece of history, was more than a headline could handle, it was more than information, it was bursting at the seams - it was pure life.

Tomorrow we will wake up to a new world. A world where Peace and Liberty, join the charge of Good-over-Evil, and the Free World in celebration. Osama Bin Laden is dead. Our world tomorrow is a better place. We got him!

Da Byes

“Da Byes”: Pronounced as phonetically read, but drawing it’s meaning from a dialect’s twist on “The Boys”.

Not only is their name clever, but the team has put together a strong collection of personality that sets them apart from the rest of the Calgary Men’s Hockey Association. The team is a brand. At the utterance of their title, a story is told. A story that all of the CMHA knows well.

These Maritimers have embraced their cultural solidarity in the same way the French have a history of dominating Les Canadiens’ locker room. In fact, these byes are so authentically recruited that as their opposition, it’s a rarity to understand what any of them are saying when on-ice chit-chattery is provoked. It’s like they speak a completely different language, and the language is coded in gibberish – a quality that is both fun and unreasonable.

They proudly fly their culture on their crest – a culture that may be primarily “pop”, but one that is so rooted in Eastern Canadian ways that no explanation is needed. A caricature of one Mike Smith dons old-school gear, creating a logo that blends the grit of hockey with the character and personality of the coke-bottle specs that his most treasured creation has made famous. Arguably one of the best Men’s Hockey symbols in the history of Hockey and Men, Da Byes are lead by the heart of the Trailer Park, Bubbles.

Da beauty o Da Byes’ uni’s don’t stop there. Bubbles shows up again on the shoulders of the loomingly black jerseys, but this time as a 2D player cut out, pulled off the rod of a classic table hockey game – it’s a spectacular touch demonstrating detail that just scratches the surface of the groups deep commitment to the team.

But the squad is more than just surface level flare and Trailer Park Boy references, da team’s got skills. A common theme in Men’s Hockey is a thin bench, but Da Byes are an enthusiastic army of players that seems to push max capacity every game. The bench is overflowing with Bubbles jerseys. And it works. They roll through, line after line, cutting up the ice at full tilt, aggressively wearing down other teams until it seems like goals are inevitable. Every year they finish 1 or 2, and from there, the post season is just more of the same.

So why is this impressive? Why hoist this team so confidently to the top of the list of noteworthy clubs?

It’s a good question. Are they any different from that team breaking the hearts of all other hockey hopefuls in almost every Men’s League out there? It’s not unfathomable that one could round up a cluster of Maritimers, or that a team should Johnny-Cash-it with black uniforms, or recruit Bubbles, or communicate via jibber-jabber. And although the fact that dees byes have created a dynasty-style series of season victories may hint at the extraordinary, this combination of characteristics is not what brands Da Byes with this special aura of awesome. What really makes The Boys impressive?

Da Byes are DouchBags.

All of them. Zero exception. This is what makes them awesome. And by ‘awesome’ I mean DouchBag. And by ‘make’ I mean DouchBag, and by ‘them’ I mean DouchBag. In fact, all that talk of ‘unique’, yeah, I meant DouchBag. ‘Clever’, ‘victorious’, ‘authentic’, all fun ways of saying det dees byes eer rr beeg DouchBags. And of course by ‘DouchBag’ I mean ‘@ssHat $%#k-fai_y Nob-Gob&!*?g B*%-P!rat3 *r3am-garg%^ers with a tendency towards the &easte@li^y of mentally delayed animals’. Naturally this is only my opinion. And although it may seem mildly over the top and a wee bit hostile, it is my opinion that my opinion is the opinion shared by most. And from that perspective, I assure you, I’m just scratching the surface of the revulsion that the world views Da Byes with.

Don’t get me wrong, Bubbles is great, and I have nothing against the Maritimes, their people, or that beautifully confusing parlance. I do however have something, correction, everything against this particular group of Maritimers. I hate them. And yet, despite the hate, they are my favourite member of the CMHA’s family. Yes they are giving Easterners everywhere a bad name, and true Da Byes have taken a priceless mascot in Bubbles and wasted all his ambiance, but their commitment to douchbaggery, in every aspect of life and the game of hockey, is truly worth celebrating.

Da Byes whine too much, fall too hard, lose too loud. They cry to the refs, always, fight like footballer Italianos, joust like a Ogie Oglethorpe, and act like none of this is true. They also try too hard and win too much, both in the worst way possible. Although this last pair may seem like a separate quality of douchbaggery, they are the two aspects that drive to the crux of the inner Bye, revealing their true evil. I shall elaborate. At the end of the day, the fact that they are not only good-flirting-with-great, but also use every opportunity to take things just a little too far, makes them that much harder to deal with. Combine this constant stressor with the classless winning, their extravagant persuasion of the Academy, and the behind the play little extras which they so willingly offer up, and it becomes that much more appealing to to like to hate them. Therefore, with each dive, each slash, each win they skate further away from the original theme, further away from the idea of a good old group of boys playing some puck, and slowly, they become, Da Byes. I say, let the loathing deepen.

Hypothetical: You are a Men’s Hockey League team, now, is it wrong to hold try-outs, scout oppositions, wear team track suits (to real world events), and have pre pre-game warm ups? Yes, very much yes. But, does this really justify hating a team? Yes, in fact it really does. Professional sports clubs treat their hockey team like an athletic twist on a Business-Empire/Special-Ops Military hybrid of structure, discipline, and insanity. And I’m all for it, it’s their job to dominate, so I say get serious about winning. Should Men’s League teams not do the same? Should they not take it to the same extreme? Nop. But what about Da Byes, shouldn’t they get all Special-Ops crazy? No, all kinds of No. Da Byes are not professionals. Da Byes are not going to the Show. Da Byes are not going to get scouted, draw a crowd, or push any merchandise. They don’t need to spy on other teams, have post game punishment workouts, or call a meeting with the league commissionaire every time someone scores a goal on them. Da Byes are a rec hockey team full of anger and fueled by fear. They play by their own rules, they are full time enemies with Fun, they are the evil of Men’s Hockey. If this was Tarantino’s world, the Basterds would be hunting down Da Byes, slowly and ruthlessly, Bear Jew style. But it’s not, and they’re not, therefore Da Byes go unchecked. That is until recently.

What’s the best way to deal with Da Byes and their kind, minus unleashing the Bear Jew on them? Let Da Byes loose on Da Byes. And how does one tip the scale from order and discipline towards chaos and insanity? By beating them, twice, in as many weeks. When all that seems to matter is the W, it’s interesting to see how a couple of big old L’s tend to really shake up a situation like Bubbles & Co. It was a beautiful thing; like watching a father’s eyes swell with tears as his new born reaches up and grab his pinky finger; like seeing a daughter, as a woman, in a wedding dress on her most special of days; like feeling the triumph of an Olympian’s lifelong dream turn gold when none thought it possible. It was beautiful like life itself, but it was also beautiful like Revenge (queue the evil Muhuhahahahaaaaaa cackle).

The ESPN/HBO 30-for-30 magic moment occurred with two minutes left in the game when the statement “Wanna see 20 grown men cry? Score this shift and they’ll all fall apart” was followed by the death-blow; said goal, and said tears. Did I chuckle quietly to myself when the bickering on Da Byes bench spilled over the top and the DouchBags started yelling at and shoving each other? I did, I felt it was my duty to enjoy their melt down, seeing as I had personally caused it.

I’ve played a lot of hockey, known many a rivalry, and enjoyed several big goals, but to know that thanks to my efforts, Da Byes are not only miserable, have not only cut players from their line-up, but are scheduling late-night team meetings, as we speak, to figure out what went wrong… it puts a big smug smile all over my face. I am Jack’s satisfying dénouement.

Now the fun begins. The Take-2 on Beating Da Byes was just the first step in a much bigger commitment to crushing dreams. Having single handily sent Bubbles & Co. into the post-season carrying a losing streak, our crew is looking forward to participating in this Shakespearean style down fall. As of this moment, Da Byes have squandered their round-1 bye with a loss to a 4th seeded team full of average, placing them poetically on track to receive their elimination defeat from our troop of merciless Basterds. I’m not one to harp on fate or destiny, but I know how Tarantino would write it. And in case you’re still not sold on who to root for; my team, the one that’s going to hunt down Da Byes, the one that’s going to calmly and carefully allow them to self destruct, the one that’s going to finally send them into a long and painful off season of self-loathing, introspection, and big babiness, Bear Jew style, my team, is the Bears... I’ll let you decide what’s going to happen.

Fun Fact: It was my suggestion that we change our team name from the Southern Alberta Bears to Da Bears, accomplishing both a declaration of competition to Da Byes and giving us the opportunity to sport our own classic cultural reference on the crest of our jersey. My idea was veto'd. My team is stupid. I'm over it.

I still think electing Chris Farley as our leader is a great idea. Farley on the front, SNL quotes a plenty, what more could a team want? Perhaps a team chant: Daaaaaaaaa Bears Da Bears Da Bears Da Bears Da Bears...

Righteous Ramblings

With Hi-Jacked! on the loose again, it’s pretty common place for a random flood of uninvited thoughts to show up and party on the page. Some of it finds a way to tie itself into a grander theme, the rest of it, well, sometimes themes are overrated…


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


(the following is in response to a statement about nothing-to-do-with-movies, naturally I corrected that...)

I hear ya. I hear ya like the Titanic’s going down and someone whispered ‘space for rent’… The Titanic. I sometimes wonder how I would have handled the Titanic and it’s sinking and whatnot. I’m sure most people believe that at the very least they would end up like Leo, dying a heroic death in the name of love. Not a bad way to draw out an adventure in one’s head.

The best case scenario however would be a version of James Cameron’s Jack Dawson who not only gets the girl and crushes the Billy Zane AND defeats a sinking Titanic, but also finds time to save people along the way, namely women and children, perhaps the odd cute animal. Hero 101 stuff.

Sometimes I wonder if I would be one of those faceless action points that tumble from the raised stern of the bobbing ship and after a hundred feet of free fall smash into some piece of Titanic, spinning in almost a comical way, disappearing into the water, and helping to advance some other Heart-Throb-Hero’s story. Does everyone get to be the hero in their movie? We can’t all be Leo can we?

No question on this one though; Smashed up, free falling special effect guy is a terrible role. Wow do I ever want no part of that responsibility.

Maybe the best role to have is that of James Cameron, the puppet master himself:
“You, run this way. You over there, you jump overboard. You, fall and drown. You die. You die. You, yep, definitely die. You two start fighting, then both die. You live, but your whole family dies. Leo, you and… you, what’s your name? Kate, right, yes. Leo, you and Kate, you spend two hours and forty minutes falling madly in love, frolicking around the ship, not dying, all kinds of fun stuff, then Leo you just go ahead and die… Whaaaaaat? I have no choice, this is just good film making, just good old fashion storytelling. Little girls are going to cry for years about this one. ‘Oh Jack (whimper), or poor Jack (sob), what a hero, what a beautiful, romantic hero’, and queue the crying. It’s brilliant! Any questions then? Okay, excellent, you all work on that stuff and I’m going to figure out how to convince people that 7 foot tall, no wait, let’s say NINE foot tall blue things that look like silly-putty cat-people would make for a movie that’s cool like Aliens but heartfelt like this sinking ship emotional-pornography junk. It may possibly also have a thinly veiled message about hugging trees.”

I’m pretty sure if I had the role of James Cameron World-Maker, Heart-Breaker, I’d probably come off drenched in douche-baggery. It’s not for me. Not really my thing. The Jack Dawson version 2.0, saving kittens, winning over Rose, not dying, that’s more my speed. Hero 201 stuff.

The real question that comes to mind I guess, is how best to harness the Hero.

I’m not strong enough to handle being the Smashy-Faced Sacrificial Tumbler, I need me some satisfaction, some glory, some reaped reward. My vote is to take a regular dose of the Conqueror Cocktail – 1 part Determination, 1 part Charm, equal parts Raw Happiness and Grass-is-Greener Pursuit, a pinch of Ego, a twist of Refined Eccentricity, and as much Confidence as you can mix in. Take twice daily, smile more than you think you need to, and avoid uncontrollably tumbling through life like the Smashy-Faced Titanic Extra.

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

(the following was part of a conversation about an afternoon snack I believe...)

In some cases, or many cases… most cases there’s a serious lack of question asking. In fact, it goes beyond not asking questions, beyond blindly tossing back pint after pint of The Koolaid, it starts with motivations. People can convince themselves of some pretty bold beliefs when they decide on the wrong driver – Flat-Earth, Health Benefits of Cigarettes, Easy-Bake People Ovens, I mean, Tanning Beds. Take the Walmart Phenomenon and run with that for a while; a Walmart emerges from the dust and rubble of a vacant lot and almost without exception the surrounding population packs on a little extra cushion.

The study goes something like (possibly paraphrased): Introduce a Walmart into the scene and people can’t help but load up on garbage because… ummm… “it was on sale, it was too good a deal to pass up, I love Walmart!”.

Of course. Totally. Makes the same kind of sense as drinking Diet Coke to lose weight... wait a minute. You hear the story and can’t help but mumble the words as you contemplate the state of a World full of Walmarts, “there’s no way someone would do that, no one needs to buy Cracker-Jacks in bulk”. Oh but they do. Yep, it’s one of those sales where you spend ‘X’ instead of ‘X+Y’ and suddenly all anyone talks about is how they’ve saved all that ‘Y’. What choice did they have? You gotta save the ‘Y’, you love the ‘Y’. F&$k ‘Y’, you just wasted ‘X’ and seem to think you got away with something.

All it takes is a little misdirection and suddenly, blinded by the idea of “the big Save”, one has acquired some perfectly terrible Junk at less than expensive. Brrrrrravo! Frozen Hell and Flying Pigs and whatnot should Walmart slash prices on not just the delicious but also the nutritious. (I use the word ‘delicious’ quite loosely, because implying that Cracker-Jacks are delicious and not simply a fun little idea in a good-old boy’s song and dance about a ball-game, is a little misleading). Walmart specializes in rolling back the cost on the inner-aisle, processed items, colouring up the food that has no business being consumed, and playing the expiry date game with the all natural grocery store players. Now, the study didn’t say the following per se, but I read between the lines: Walmart and Vegetables are frienemies. But “the Big Save” is good, right? Makes sense when you break it down. Because “Buy 3 get 1 Free” is always great, even if it means that you now have to deal with four boxes of Cracker-Jacks. Flawless logic.

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

(the following was prompted by nothing more than the above rant, and possible someone telling me that An Inconvenient Truth is their favourite film... a Superman reference may have also been made)

Speaking of misdirection, weight gain, and Cracker-Jacks, the only way a loony such as Gore-Al does anything other than compete with a bald man’s scared hair line* for favourite average to slightly-above-average Baddie, is to guide us by ‘the Way of the Opposite’. I can’t recall if this technique was covered in Mr. Internet’s docu-comedy “A Convenient Lie”, or “The Truth about Lying Conveniently”, or “Give me money and I’ll magically pocket it while I talk about how smart I am and how everyone else has killed all the cute animals because they are evil, and GreenHouse-Gases and Carbon-Footprint and I’m Al Gore, Me Me Me, I’m Great!”… but the basic idea of ‘the Way of the Opposite’ is to listen, watch, do nothing-even-close to what he's talking about. 3 simple steps and you’re golden. Don’t be afraid to do some ignoring too, it will only make you a stronger, better person.

Does anyone else want odds that Gore is pulling a Joaquin (pronounced Jo-keen) Phoenix, and that when the time is right for his master plan of mischief to be revealed we’re going to hear the news that he’s just pretending to be a big condescending idiot? Double or Nothing that Ashton Kutcher is producing the whole fiasco.

* I know nothing of scared hair lines, I have only heard things, a friend of a friend kind of deal. This poor guy conveyed some anxiety over ‘Thinning’, and ‘Lack of Texture’, and ‘Issues with Combs’. Supposedly it’s quite the concern for a dapper and handsome young man, considered too young to have to deal with such matters. Understandable I suppose. It is said however that it is not so much the action of hair-loss that is associated with a lowering of self-confidence, but rather the obsessive attention to the topic that is linked to a low self-esteem - typically a pre-existing low self-esteem in fact. Along the same lines, as a Man, the rule is that looks don’t play nearly the role in overall attraction that we are lead to believe. It is confidence, personality, a genuine Authenticity that results in Mojo. These are merely theories though. When it comes down to it, it’s hard not to focus on my overly widowing– I mean HIS overly widowing peak when he’s had such a history of wind-worthy hair. How does one go from long luscious locks to the Tilted Chapeau? How can I not draw attention to– HE! How can HE not draw attention to the newly introduced skin, so pale and white? The worst part is that I can no longer get the same– Ugh! HE! He can’t get the same… fine I’m the friend, it’s me, action packed with issues, whatever, I'm over it. What?!... okay, to finish my last thought and then move on quickly to something less ‘revealing’; the worst part is that I can no longer get the haircuts I’m used to, turns out I’m no longer eligible for The Bieber. How am I to go on? How Biebs?!…

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

Okay back to my point. Ahhh, you got me, who am I kidding, it’s all “the Point”. Drink it in and feel that good quality Ridiculousness wash over you…

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

(the following is in response to diet, Paleolithic living, a conversation about television, and the word Girth...)

One of the main reasons I like hearing about all these studies and theories and health platforms is that something’s wrong out there. I might be doing pretty well**, but there’s a whole truck load of truck-loads out and about that aren’t anywhere near the idea of healthy. I know that genes may account for a little Chunking here, and Big-Bones there. I know that the odd Out-of-Your-Control scenario might contribute to one’s infestation of fat. I also know that there are theories and studies and research dealing with disease platforms that explain weight gain. But the bottom line is that people aren’t supposed to end up sick, unhealthy, and all Fatty McFat Gross like the girth walking around today. This is what I know.

Can the Biggest Loser possibly be a show on TV? What would Africa think? Better yet, what would Charlie Sheen think? Probably ‘Not Winning’, he would probably think that the Biggies on The Fatties are ‘Not Winning’ (BAM! There’s a current reference that isn’t Pop Culture from 1997, ah ha see, I’ve got more than Titanic shoutouts up my sleeve). But the ‘not-winning’ is only true for the first episode or two. The truth behind the Biggest Loser is that it’s a show about Triumph, Human Spirit, Strength. Qualities that result in Life at its best. The sad part is that instead of following a warrior as he ascends the impossibility of a Peak, or tuning into the merciless quest of an Olympic Dreamer, we’re rooting for the 396 pounds of fat that swallowed up the 150 pound man to set him free. How did this happen? When did people start weighing as much as cruise ship anchors?

I know that there is a problem, and that somewhere there must be an answer. I’m in no rush to find out though – beware the quick fix and the 6-Minute Abs approach to life. I’ll test the waters and create my own hybrid systems and continue to love hearing about new discoveries and understand that there won’t be one universal solution. I’ll ask questions, I’ll look for intel from multiple sources, and I will eat cake… on occasion. Because cake is gooooood, chocolate is gooooood, sugar is goooood (it’s also death, but it’s goooooood).

As for one overall theme with respect to Finding Health, I like the idea of Simplicity. Just like the Human Solidification issue. The acknowledgment of this issue is brilliant; if you’re Stuck then you’re Fu…. you get the idea. Essentially, you want to eliminate the prolonged periods of stagnation that morph your body from a Free-Running SpiderMonkey Acrobat into that Robaxacet Puppet-Man with the voodoo needle problems. Because a little ‘just do something’ can really go a long way. Speaking of which, time for my latest walk-about; the desk is just as evil as the Gore…

** or maybe not, perhaps I’m one Mercury Discovery away from finding out I’m the exception to a SuperHero’s origin story - Bit by a spider, poisoned, die; Exposed to radiation, get cancer, die; come from Krypton, can’t fly, allergic to Air, live a terrible life, then die. SuperHeroes have it so easy…


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

Because really, what better time to breakdown the workings of Titanic than 14 or 15 years after it sank to the grossing of a Gagillion Dollars, or warn of Gore-Al’s ways decades after he began his rampage on the people of the planet, or weigh-in on the Biggest Loser world we’re growing into instead of… actually, the Fat Pandemic is pretty current and appropriate subject matter… but the fact remains, this is “what you get when you f$%k a stranger in the @ss”. Apologies, that was a tad bit too aggressive and a tab bit too Labowski*** for the tone of this post-age. But this IS however what you get when Hi-Jacked! is silenced and the flood gates are left unguarded; it’s Random, it’s Ridiculous, it’s Rude… it’s some seriously Righteous Ramblings.

*** There is no such thing as 'too Labowski'. The Dude abides...