Hi-Jacked!

Friday, July 22, 2011

How about this Heat!?!?

In the words of the great Denis the Leary “I walk around in the summertime saying ‘How about this heat?’”

I was outside at lunch, turns out it’s about “Melt Your Skin Off” degrees Celsius, which is roughly “Spontaneous Animal Combustion” Fahrenheit. I’m not so much complaining about the heat as I’m complaining about the slacks and dress shirt I’m costumed up in… that’s right, “slacks”, that’s where I’m at in my life, I own them, wear them, and am involved in slacks related activities.

Now, unlike the Leary, my weather wise commentary has nothing to do with tending towards @ssholelishness; That ‘weather-talk’, that dull filler that eats away at the soul and turns the brain to mush, that empty eye-witness rehearsal of what’s outside the window, that conversation that works so hard at stereotyping the weather as small talk… that’s not what I’m talking about. Right now, I’m throwing Big Talk at you, all kinds of Weather Big-Talking, and I’m throwing it on two levels.

This Big-Talk Weather is passionate. Passionate and whimsical, with just a shadow of belligerence. Today it’s Plus-a-Gazillion-Trillion degrees, yesterday the Heavens opened up and threw down frozen anger, earlier in the week tornado-talk themed the story of the Neighborhood-in-a-Blender drama; this weather is not your parents’ chit-chat, this is a new era of front-page excitement. It’s almost like Weather caught wind of its association with Small Talk and decided to up the ante (‘Weather catching wind’ a paradox? Perhaps, don’t worry about the word play though, just enjoy it and move on to the fun of understanding a Gazillion-Trillion as a number, which by the way is pri-ttay big).

Level 1 of Big Talk: Bad @ss Weather. Level 2… I’m not built for this stuff.

True, no one is ‘build for’ Twisters, or the Poseidon Adventure’s Land-Locked sequel, “Sink a City Atlantis-style: no time for Arcs or Snorkels, it’s Raining out here B!tch”, but I am not built for this heat. And these struggles of Perspiration, Rouging of the Cheeks, and a General Need to Complain are worthy of the Small Talk to Big Talk upgrade.

This is not a picture of me, this is a picture of a big fat guy, with a bald head, and an "I'm Special" look on his face. The only similarity between fatty here and myself is that I too need to deal with being sweaty - not this sweaty though, this is 'big fat guy' quality sweat...

So, what of all this? What does thou conclude from said weatheristic tyranny? ‘Work is Bad’. Or, alternatively ‘Pants are Bad’, hence, the Pants, and the Work must go. In head-scratching my way through this dilemma, I quote another idiot of the entertainment world, and resurrect Letterman’s 90’s slogan: “Let’s gooooo camping!”… the saying is also appropriate since the current plan for the weekend is to Go Camping.

But To-Camp is the weekender version of myself’s today version, which can’t help but utter:

Shiiiiiiiiiit, I wish I was hitting the highway today, joining the crew, tenting it up, and getting my Fire Stare on… but alas, these slacks won’t sweat through themselves. Not to worry though, I’ll do my best Mission Impossible 4 maneuver and title my escape plan “Friday, Early-Afternoon, you didn’t see anything (said with mysterious waving hands)” - is it possible, nay… not-impossible, that the MI4 movie trailer has inception’d my mind and made me believe that I believe chapter 4 of the MI series is the most important thing to have happened to the big screen since L. Ron Hubbard invented it, and life, and the Tology of Science? – regardless I choose to accepted the mission, I accept it AND want to grow my hair out like Tom Cruise.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V0LQnQSrC-g

Back to Weather, and it’s two levels of Big Talk, and the Sun, and some Fun, and Slacks…

Why was I out at lunch you might ask – other than to take a break from the one-two punch of ScreenLeft and ScreenRight on my desk, and to sweat, a lot? My search for a Ball Glove lead me out of the office and into the Summer’s sun – excuses are a favourite! My glove is a Rawlings, part of their, wait for it, Sandlot Line-up of mitts. Try not to like this glove. No one hears about a baseball glove with ‘Sandlot’ branded into its hide and thinks anything other than “I, like this glove, am awesome!” It’s a vintage looking grey leather, feels much like the Dreams people are talking about when they kick out “it feels like a dream!”, and makes me want to join Brother Webb the Younger in his pursuit of the BigLeague Chew chewing Majors.

I also bought a baseball, for throwing, and hopefully catching – if the catching part doesn’t work though, not to worry, Sportchek has a 60day return policy… BigLeague Chew here I come.

In summary: Weather is running operation “B!tch Slap”, I now wear Slacks, “to-Camp or not to-Camp” is the question matching “yes” which is my answer, Team-Tom and his band of marry Missions can count me as ‘@ss in seat’ on opening weekend of “4”, and I have reverse engineered a dream of playing in the Bigs by getting my left hand cozied up with a new Mitt. The only question that remains is: “Why is the heat on in this building?” The only possible answer: “I’m currently the Laugh at the end of some serious Tomfoolery” (not the Tom-Cruise kind from the MI4 trailer, but more the Tom-and-Jerry kind from the Cartoon by the same name)...

Thursday, July 7, 2011

the Tour, the Seine, the Moment

I have attached a pictoral of Kerry, myself, and that third-wheeling Tour da Eiffel.

The photo was taken by one of five Dudes at the table neighboring ours, while a second of said Dudes, greatly concerned for the future of our captured memory, back-seat-drove the hell out of the pic – it’s all part of the typical Romantic Dinner Cruise shtick, standard stuff… with the exception of the fun little J’rry twist.

Through my travels I have come to understand a certain truth: People, while distracted from the moment, try to capture the moment, wanting nothing but that silver-screen, model modelled, postcard idea of Perfect... and they fail. They struggle for that moment, fight for that moment, fight over that moment, but never even get the chance to lose that moment since their frustration in not being able to capture it, keeps them from ever being in it. They place all their focus on what the moment should be or could be and never spend any time letting the moment capture them.

This little marry-go-round of fun is usually the behind the scenes Cole's Notes for all those plastic faced smiles that fill the many point-and-shoot images of the traveler’s repertoire (a repertoire one tends to get the chance to suffer through when friends catch you in their “wanna see our pictures” trap). Half-Happy hiding the Misery that masks Happy’s other half. So that was this – that was what this picture was, however, instead of Kerry and I (Kerry and Jack, as in Jack and Kerry, as in J’rry…) fighting and scene-making and ruining the moment in order to try and capture it, we watched as 'Dude 1 vs Dude 2' reached eerie levels of “Like an Old Married Couple”, high-jacking our chance at baseless anger.

They went through all the stages of creating perfectly instilled drama, and weren’t even in the shot. What you do see in the shot, captured ever so subtly in our smiles, is a reflection of Dude-Drama flirting beautifully with the overwhelming atmosphere of our moment. In the end, this picture managed to climb the Best-Of Europa ladder by completely filling itself with “Moment” AND adding a plus-one to the invite in “5 Strange Dudes on a Boat”. Perfection.

We offered a return shot of their gathering but they declined. And no, they did not turn down the offer because they felt awkward being 5 Dudes on a Romantic Dinner Cruise of the Romantic Seine River in Romantic Pay-Ree. They declined the photo because they didn’t want to mess around with our amateurish abilities during this special piece of life – they had already invested 20 euro a pop in the half a dozen professionally captured moments of “5 Dudes” courtesy of the paid pro and her camera made of gold (and by ‘gold’ I mean the cold hard cash that sits between ‘Reasonably Priced’ and ‘Tulip-style inflation’ that she pockets and lines her bed with in order to answer “comfortably” to the price-tag’s companion ‘How do you sleep at night?’).

There are times when you find “Great”, times when you are lucky enough to catch “Special”, even times when the world waits and lets you get lost in “Magic”, then, there is “J’rry & Eiffel from the Seine – by the artist 5-Dudes”… Moments don’t get much better than that.

A few little extras finding their way into our photograph:

Lovin' the Illusion - notice how the man in the white shirt at the table behind ours has managed to strategically position himself in a way that makes it appear as though I am 3oo butter-ball lbs of French Cuisine stuffed mess.

A Half Hitchcock - though only a partial cameo, the arm in the foreground is actually an unnamed Dude #3 who is leaning forward and adding a Reach-and-Point to his peanut gallery commentary of Dude 1's camera work.

The 2nd Shooter - passed Kerry, passed the blurred waitress, and nuzzled up next to the left hand frame of the pic is a curious individual who at the end of the night introduced himself and participated in a brief small-talking back and forth with us. Why you might ask? Because he had taken a picture of this "Lovely couple, and wanted to know a bit of (their) story". It should be noted that this stockerazzi moment was brought to you by kindness and romance, and was in no way as creepy as it sounds now that I re-read the words.

Magic or Muscle - and finally, with most of these scratch-on-the-screen distractions only affecting the perimeter of the centre piece, I bring to you my favourite bit of photo funny business, and I bring it to you right at the focal point: a passing tower, a donnybrook of Dudes, and only one chair... as I float beside Kerry one might ask 'Is it magic or is it muscle... ?'

Monday, May 16, 2011

Cancer Killers

There are moments in history that stand taller than the rest. These moments have molded Pasts into Futures, created greatness where none could be seen, announced evil, let it thrive, then documented its destruction. There are moments that have transformed the world, others that have fought to keep it the same. There are moments that have become a page, a chapter, an entirety of a textbook. We have killed to keep moments as often as we have fought to ignore them. Whether the story finds the mainstream of a big screen, or remains a secret, hidden forever, these Best-Of moments are what shape our world.

The romance of history lies in its ability to move - amazing that something defined by time can have so little trouble ignoring its limiting structure. Whether finding itself in the eternity filed under "Before Hi-Jacked!", or taking place in the exhilarating Post-Me era, History is the poster child for accomplishment - History is the highlight reel of existence.

Order, Belief, Value, Sex, Age; History impacts us no matter how we string together the whos, the whats, and the hows. And the importance, well that type of question is all kinds of fun, you pick and choose... Agriculture, Alexander the Great, Jesus of Nazareth, Pax Romana, Muhammad, the Crusades, Genghis Khan, the Renaissance, Bubonic Plague, Gutenberg's Printing Press, Columbus, Michelangelo, Reformation, Shakespeare, Newton, Bach, American Revolution, Abolishment of Slavery, Bell's phone, Edison's Electric Light, Women Vote, the Wright Brothers Fly, Einstein's Theory of Relativity, Ford's Assembly Line, World War One, the Spanish Flu, the Big Bang Theory, Fleming's Penicillin, Hubble and the Universe, Nazis, Hitler, WW2, Pearle Harbour, The Bomb, The Wall, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, the discovery of the DNA Structure, Smallpox, AIDs, the Fall of the Wall, end of Apartheid, 9/11, Osama Bin Laden, Saddam Hussein, their deaths, North Korea, Hurricane Katrina, Stem Cell Research, oh yeah, and those old school hidden gems like Making Fire and the Wheel.

But recently, there's a new contestant looking to join the ranks of History's all-star lineup: Death of the Deadliest of Human Cancers...

http://www.dca.med.ualberta.ca/Home/Updates/2010-05-12_Update.cfm

I filled in the blank that was the post-script of this article with:

I see that this team of superheroes, who are basically driving Cancer up against the ropes and setting the stage for their Mortal Kombate "Finish Him" stratagem, was made up of not only the usual Cancer Killers (the Docs and Lab Coats), but also the EngiNerds (holla for the homies!).

This is heavy even for History. Forget Getting to the Moon, the Internet, electing a Black President, if humans can cure cancer we have a new Best-Of nominee. This Elite Task force, hunting down the terror that is Cancer is basically finding fairy tales and ignoring the make-believe ingredient - is there anything more amazing than the real pursuit of the fountain of youth? I can't wait for the ethical mess that would come from questions of immortality, from over population, from "playing God"... At this point that fun's hiding on the back burning though, because the fight still has the UofA's A-Team waiting for that Cancer KO. One thing is for sure, if History brings Cure-Cancer off the bench and puts her into the game, we will officially remove the question of whether or not the Dolphins are smarter than us. Live forever? Goooooo Humans!!!

Friday, May 13, 2011

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:

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

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.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

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!

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

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...