My apologies for not posting a little more frequently, it has been a busy few weeks.
So the last few weeks have been great for live music enthusiasts in St. John's. I had the privilege of seeing both Kris Kristofferson and Neil Young in recent weeks, two people who I never thought I would have the pleasure of seeing live. Both legends in their own right and both lived up to every expectation.
I have to say that I was a little pessimistic going in having been disappointed by the Bob Dylan show last year. Bob is also a legend I thought I would never get to see and having attended that show last year the fact that I can scratch it off my bucket list is about the only reward anyone at the show received. I went in expecting to be disappointed, knowing that he would do mostly new stuff with very few old favorites, and even those so heavily modified that they are barely recognizable; that is exactly what I got. Just being in the same room as the man was worth the ticket price and I will defend my decision to attend that show to the death.
Kris Kristofferson was similar to the Dylan show in that he is clearly a folk legend past his prime. The difference between Kris and Dylan is that Kris made no bones about it. According to emcee, Paul Raynes, he wanted no long winded introduction despite his many accomplishments and took the stage unceremoniously. The next 2 hours were among the best spent at any musical performance. Kris was truly humbled by the reception he received from the near sold out crowd at Mile One Center and played from the heart the whole time. Despite forgetting a large portion of the lyrics, singing the first minute or so of most songs before thanking the crowd and taking a sip of his Gatorade, the show was fantastically intimate. For a man who has written, arguably, thousands of songs in his lifetime and is still touring into his senior years, forgetting a few lyrics is forgivable. The experience will never be forgotten. Kristofferson connected with the 3000+ fans in attendance as if it were a small club venue; fantastic!
Neil Young was incredible for all the right reasons. I cannot say enough about the show! He mixed perfectly the old with the new and played a great cross section of tunes from his new album despite the official launch coming a day later in St. John's. His new album smacks of the same social action he has become known for since the Buffalo Springfield days. The stage was decorated beautifully reminiscent of a garage jam space with two 20ft screens suspended on either side streaming a fully produced live video of the performance. Again, for a man who has toured his ass off for over 25 years, he can still rock harder than most bands playing the festival circuit today. I truly felt throughout the entire show as if I were watching a living legend who hasn't aged a day since the 70's; another experience i shall not soon forget.
Here's hoping that Mile One Center continues to draw names like these in the future. Newfoundlanders have now proven it is economically feasible and that people will pay the money for an act that is worth it. Hats off to St. John's Sports and Entertainment and Unicorn Promotions and Sonic Concerts for the Kristofferson and Young shows, respectively.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Too Close to Home
It has been five days, if you can believe it, since Cougar Flight 491 crashed into the cold Atlantic leaving only one survivor and 17 families mourning the loss of fathers, husbands, brothers, sons and friends.
Five days later and only now can I put words to what has happened in my mind personally and in terms of how the province has responded. To this effect I must reference a great commentary in the March 17th edition of The Telegram written by Russell Wangersky titled, More Than I Can Say. In the article Mr. Wangersky sums up the general feeling of most Newfoundlanders and Labradorians at this terrible time. We are a sea-fearing people and have been since 1497 when Europeans first set foot on our shores; there has been countless unfortunate tragedies in the oil patch as well as in our fishery and many lives lost while trying to make a living on the unforgiving waters which many call a second home. None of these previous tragedies can temper the grief that is being felt at this time by Newfoundlanders home and abroad.
And what is there to say?
As Wangersky points out, details into the crash are scant and we now know all bodies have thankfully been recovered, much needed closure, no doubt, for families who have easily had the worst week of their lives. There are personal stories yet to be heard. It is important that these stories not become a means of satiating the media's appetite for the next big "scoop" stemming from this tragedy but to serve as a form of therapy for those wishing to air the personal impact this has had on them. It is in this spirit that I have decided to write my thoughts on this event that has tragically etched itself into the ever evolving story of Newfoundland and Labrador.
I was at work on Thursday morning reading the morning headlines in the paper and listening, as I always do, to Open Line on VOCM. Nothing out of the ordinary until Randy Simms' show was interrupted by a special report from the VOCM newsroom. Gerry Phelan announced that a chopper has gone down of the coast of St. John's and Search and Rescue has been dispatched to the scene.
That was it. Simple. Short. But it was the beginning of a national frenzy that continues today.
Immediately I called home to make sure that my father, who was scheduled to fly offshore that day for his three week shift aboard the Henry Goodrich drilling rig but was granted an extra day onshore to nurse his flu, had not actually gone offshore. My only concern at this point was making sure he was safe and sound. Thankfully he was. I informed my mother of the news I had just heard and added a post script that, at this point, I didn't even know if it was a Cougar helicopter. This horrific possibility was confirmed a few minutes later after a call I placed to VOCM. It was a Cougar helicopter and it was carrying workers offshore.
The flurry that followed from the news reports of only two people in the water, only one survivor, two life rafts spotted, no one in the life rafts, chopper not visible, survivor brought to hospital did absolutely nothing to comfort my mind. I could not get the image of the Cougar helicopter, one identical to the choppers I watched dad board time and time again on his way offshore, with workers just like my father on board in the familiar orange survival suits out of my mind. A world wind of what-ifs swirled in my head, "Was dad supposed to be on that flight?", "What if he wasn't sick today?", "What if there is more than one helicopter affected by this problem?", "What if dad knows these people?", and "What now?".
These questions and the details rapidly filtering through the news became too much for me shortly after lunch and I was rightfully dismissed and sent home from the office to spend time with my family, which I was more than happy to do. I spent the rest of that fateful Thursday at home with dad watching the news and periodically distracting ourselves with TSN's coverage of the Tim Horton's Brier.
The days that followed confirmed that dad was not scheduled for that particular flight and would have been scheduled to fly later in the afternoon had he not been ill, he did know most everyone on board the doomed chopper and just how many helicopters affected is yet to be determined by the Transportation and Safety Board. For my father's part he has gone through periods of extreme sadness and trepidation, as have all of us, knowing that he must return offshore eventually.
He did so yesterday via supply ship passing the make-shift memorial set up at Cougar headquarters solidifying the tragedy in his mind, making it tangible and tightening the knot in his stomach as he kissed my mother goodbye to earn a living on the water as he has done for close to 25 years.
For me, I accept the things I cannot change. I know he has to go to work to put food on my family's table and I know he loves his job and would have it no other way; I know that the men and women who work offshore are safe although they work in some of the most dangerous and unforgiving seas on earth; and I know that the families and friends of those on that flight are hurting. I have never in my life been so closely associated with a tragedy of this magnitude and I hope never to be again.
Now it is a time to stand with the families who are grieving and lend a hand and an open heart of support as only Newfoundlanders and Labradorians know how to do. The appetite for blame and the accusatory questioning from the media is to be ignored for the time being, it is a matter for the TSB and all will come to light in its time. In times of greatest tragedy there are always the birds who prey circling waiting for their opportunity to swoop in and seize on any emotional line to turn into a headline. As with any bird, make a swat at them and they will fly off.
My thoughts and prayers are with the families of victims and their colleagues who continue their work offshore. Be strong. This too shall pass and we will all be stronger and wiser for it.
Five days later and only now can I put words to what has happened in my mind personally and in terms of how the province has responded. To this effect I must reference a great commentary in the March 17th edition of The Telegram written by Russell Wangersky titled, More Than I Can Say. In the article Mr. Wangersky sums up the general feeling of most Newfoundlanders and Labradorians at this terrible time. We are a sea-fearing people and have been since 1497 when Europeans first set foot on our shores; there has been countless unfortunate tragedies in the oil patch as well as in our fishery and many lives lost while trying to make a living on the unforgiving waters which many call a second home. None of these previous tragedies can temper the grief that is being felt at this time by Newfoundlanders home and abroad.
And what is there to say?
As Wangersky points out, details into the crash are scant and we now know all bodies have thankfully been recovered, much needed closure, no doubt, for families who have easily had the worst week of their lives. There are personal stories yet to be heard. It is important that these stories not become a means of satiating the media's appetite for the next big "scoop" stemming from this tragedy but to serve as a form of therapy for those wishing to air the personal impact this has had on them. It is in this spirit that I have decided to write my thoughts on this event that has tragically etched itself into the ever evolving story of Newfoundland and Labrador.
I was at work on Thursday morning reading the morning headlines in the paper and listening, as I always do, to Open Line on VOCM. Nothing out of the ordinary until Randy Simms' show was interrupted by a special report from the VOCM newsroom. Gerry Phelan announced that a chopper has gone down of the coast of St. John's and Search and Rescue has been dispatched to the scene.
That was it. Simple. Short. But it was the beginning of a national frenzy that continues today.
Immediately I called home to make sure that my father, who was scheduled to fly offshore that day for his three week shift aboard the Henry Goodrich drilling rig but was granted an extra day onshore to nurse his flu, had not actually gone offshore. My only concern at this point was making sure he was safe and sound. Thankfully he was. I informed my mother of the news I had just heard and added a post script that, at this point, I didn't even know if it was a Cougar helicopter. This horrific possibility was confirmed a few minutes later after a call I placed to VOCM. It was a Cougar helicopter and it was carrying workers offshore.
The flurry that followed from the news reports of only two people in the water, only one survivor, two life rafts spotted, no one in the life rafts, chopper not visible, survivor brought to hospital did absolutely nothing to comfort my mind. I could not get the image of the Cougar helicopter, one identical to the choppers I watched dad board time and time again on his way offshore, with workers just like my father on board in the familiar orange survival suits out of my mind. A world wind of what-ifs swirled in my head, "Was dad supposed to be on that flight?", "What if he wasn't sick today?", "What if there is more than one helicopter affected by this problem?", "What if dad knows these people?", and "What now?".
These questions and the details rapidly filtering through the news became too much for me shortly after lunch and I was rightfully dismissed and sent home from the office to spend time with my family, which I was more than happy to do. I spent the rest of that fateful Thursday at home with dad watching the news and periodically distracting ourselves with TSN's coverage of the Tim Horton's Brier.
The days that followed confirmed that dad was not scheduled for that particular flight and would have been scheduled to fly later in the afternoon had he not been ill, he did know most everyone on board the doomed chopper and just how many helicopters affected is yet to be determined by the Transportation and Safety Board. For my father's part he has gone through periods of extreme sadness and trepidation, as have all of us, knowing that he must return offshore eventually.
He did so yesterday via supply ship passing the make-shift memorial set up at Cougar headquarters solidifying the tragedy in his mind, making it tangible and tightening the knot in his stomach as he kissed my mother goodbye to earn a living on the water as he has done for close to 25 years.
For me, I accept the things I cannot change. I know he has to go to work to put food on my family's table and I know he loves his job and would have it no other way; I know that the men and women who work offshore are safe although they work in some of the most dangerous and unforgiving seas on earth; and I know that the families and friends of those on that flight are hurting. I have never in my life been so closely associated with a tragedy of this magnitude and I hope never to be again.
Now it is a time to stand with the families who are grieving and lend a hand and an open heart of support as only Newfoundlanders and Labradorians know how to do. The appetite for blame and the accusatory questioning from the media is to be ignored for the time being, it is a matter for the TSB and all will come to light in its time. In times of greatest tragedy there are always the birds who prey circling waiting for their opportunity to swoop in and seize on any emotional line to turn into a headline. As with any bird, make a swat at them and they will fly off.
My thoughts and prayers are with the families of victims and their colleagues who continue their work offshore. Be strong. This too shall pass and we will all be stronger and wiser for it.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Hands in My Pockets
I have always marveled at what I choose to keep in my pocket and what makes its way in there through sheer accident or necessity. I can get a lot of stuff in there and my pocket's capacity amazes me most of the time.
Girls have purses, guys have pockets; we put almost the same amount of stuff in there too. Below is a list of what is in there currently, because I have nothing better to do apparently.
Blackberry
It is my office away from the office. My leash. It has become the only thing that is constantly in my pocket. It has also been dropped more than it should, I need a case.
$0.34
The leftover change from my morning coffee. Sadly the only cash I have on me.
Wallet
The days I forget this thing are the worst.
Business Cards
Because you never know when you will need them
Chap Stick
I feel surprisingly lost without this. I have "problem" lips. They are always cracking and chapping, especially this time of year. Some have said I need to drink more water, I think I just need a constant supply of Chap Stick. Words cannot describe how annoying it is to have painful lips and no means of hydration. Big thanks to Michael Venn for this obsessive compulsive habit.
Pen
I have no idea why I put that in my pocket. it'll probably bust and ruin my pants. I am taking it out of there.
Lint
The product of a clean pair of pants!
Monday, March 9, 2009
Bowling
I am somewhat of an anomaly in my family.
I realize this is a loaded statement but let me qualify it a little. There are many reasons why I am an anomaly but non more apparent than my lack of any sort of skill when it comes to the fine "sport" of bowling. My family consists entirely of professional bowlers to some degree. My sister started the trend at a very young age when she took up the past time quite seriously as a YBC bowler. It has taken her to various provinces for national competitions and has won her a national title as part of a bantam girls team in Gatineau, Quebec. My parents also participate in a rec league on Friday nights and have honed their skills through weeks of friendly practice.
I played hockey as a kid. Not so much the stand 'em up and knock 'em down sport, mostly just knock 'em down. I never really had the patience for bowling. Hockey is fast paced, action packed, you never sit on the bench for longer than about 2 minutes, at least not in minor hockey, and when you are on the ice you have little time to think between dodging bodies and flying pieces of frozen rubber. That is a SPORT! This was in the back of my mind when I ventured out last evening for a friendly game of bowling with the parents and my lovely girlfriend.
Luckily my girlfriend is as good a bowler as I so there was no need to look impressive. What was a fun evening was also one of the most frustrating sporting experiences of my life. It ranks way up there with when I attempted Curling which, I have to say, is amazingly more difficult than it looks on TV, but that is another story for another day. Of the two complete games the four of us managed in the one hour time frame allotted for our outing, I managed a score of 100 and 153. I was just happy to get into the triple digits but the process is incredibly frustrating.
The pins on the right hand side of the lane didn't stand a chance! My ball would always find its was to the two or three point pins each and every time I rolled the ball. I have no idea why it would not stay straight considering no one else had any trouble. This proved to be quite frustrating and I determined that bowling, by its very nature, is designed to be a frustrating experience:
You get three balls.
Ball One: End pin. Two points. "Shit! Why did that ball go over there? I lined up the arrows, extended the arm, pointed to where I wanted the ball to go. I know it had enough speed...I'll definitely get a spare, this one will be better."
Ball Two: Same spot, taking out one more pin. Five points total. "What the Hell? What was wrong with that one? It rolled off my fingers too early I guess. How hard can this game be?"
Ball Three: Same spot again, maybe in the gutter, nothing. Five of a possible 15 points. "OK screw this! That time it was perfect! I don't get this frigging game! The lane is crooked, that has to be it!"
Only the lane is not crooked, if it was then the next three bowlers wouldn't be scoring strike after strike like they were born to bowl. After your three balls you have to sit and brood over how embarrassing your attempt was while your bowling-mates are tearing it up. For the first few frames you chalk it up to a bad turn and decide that you can and will do better. You don't. Turn after turn of five point attempts. Suddenly you wish bowling was a little more like hockey, at least in terms of body contact.
There is an up side. It's inexpensive quality time with friends and family, the value of which is inestimable, and there is beer. I'm sure if I were to practise I would get better but I am not sure I have the patience. I am definitely joining a rec hockey league next winter.
I realize this is a loaded statement but let me qualify it a little. There are many reasons why I am an anomaly but non more apparent than my lack of any sort of skill when it comes to the fine "sport" of bowling. My family consists entirely of professional bowlers to some degree. My sister started the trend at a very young age when she took up the past time quite seriously as a YBC bowler. It has taken her to various provinces for national competitions and has won her a national title as part of a bantam girls team in Gatineau, Quebec. My parents also participate in a rec league on Friday nights and have honed their skills through weeks of friendly practice.
I played hockey as a kid. Not so much the stand 'em up and knock 'em down sport, mostly just knock 'em down. I never really had the patience for bowling. Hockey is fast paced, action packed, you never sit on the bench for longer than about 2 minutes, at least not in minor hockey, and when you are on the ice you have little time to think between dodging bodies and flying pieces of frozen rubber. That is a SPORT! This was in the back of my mind when I ventured out last evening for a friendly game of bowling with the parents and my lovely girlfriend.
Luckily my girlfriend is as good a bowler as I so there was no need to look impressive. What was a fun evening was also one of the most frustrating sporting experiences of my life. It ranks way up there with when I attempted Curling which, I have to say, is amazingly more difficult than it looks on TV, but that is another story for another day. Of the two complete games the four of us managed in the one hour time frame allotted for our outing, I managed a score of 100 and 153. I was just happy to get into the triple digits but the process is incredibly frustrating.
The pins on the right hand side of the lane didn't stand a chance! My ball would always find its was to the two or three point pins each and every time I rolled the ball. I have no idea why it would not stay straight considering no one else had any trouble. This proved to be quite frustrating and I determined that bowling, by its very nature, is designed to be a frustrating experience:
You get three balls.
Ball One: End pin. Two points. "Shit! Why did that ball go over there? I lined up the arrows, extended the arm, pointed to where I wanted the ball to go. I know it had enough speed...I'll definitely get a spare, this one will be better."
Ball Two: Same spot, taking out one more pin. Five points total. "What the Hell? What was wrong with that one? It rolled off my fingers too early I guess. How hard can this game be?"
Ball Three: Same spot again, maybe in the gutter, nothing. Five of a possible 15 points. "OK screw this! That time it was perfect! I don't get this frigging game! The lane is crooked, that has to be it!"
Only the lane is not crooked, if it was then the next three bowlers wouldn't be scoring strike after strike like they were born to bowl. After your three balls you have to sit and brood over how embarrassing your attempt was while your bowling-mates are tearing it up. For the first few frames you chalk it up to a bad turn and decide that you can and will do better. You don't. Turn after turn of five point attempts. Suddenly you wish bowling was a little more like hockey, at least in terms of body contact.
There is an up side. It's inexpensive quality time with friends and family, the value of which is inestimable, and there is beer. I'm sure if I were to practise I would get better but I am not sure I have the patience. I am definitely joining a rec hockey league next winter.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The Less Creative Approach
The last few days have been pretty crazy for me.
As a result I have not had the time nor the creativity to write anything. I apologise to anyone who is following intently and is wondering what has happened since last week. I am assuming such people exist; I have no way of knowing unless people comment on the blog. Some are commenting, and for this I thank you, to those who are not, drop me a line!
I figured today I would simply recount the events of the last few days that have lead to this creative block and open myself up to any suggestions on breaking it. This block is half the reason my blogs/journals in the past have all flopped; I get a block and, rather than try to burst through it, I just give up on the whole thing.
As my last post outlined, (http://nonpoliticallymotivated.blogspot.com) I am in the process of moving, sort of. Either way it has taken up a large proportion of my time and has turned my "cozy" little apartment into a collection of bits and pieces yet to be sorted into their proper places. That being said I am pleased that the actual "moving" part is done and now it is just a matter of cleaning things up and maintaining it. That does present another problem, though. I have a small place and have realized that the smaller the place you are living in is, the more frequently you have to clean it. It doesn't get dirty quicker, per se, it just becomes very untidy often. All it takes is a substantial cooking effort and the kitchen looks like it hasn't been touched in weeks. I have had to adjust my routine to include much more tidying than I am used to. Some call me anal because of my incessant need to keep things tidy but I cannot relax in the evening to watch TV or a movie or read a book surrounded by an untidy house. I am constantly thinking about what has to be done in the house and can't enjoy anything else until it is done.
In addition to moving I, of course, continue to go to work and it seems that when it rains it pours. It is the first week back for the boss so the pseudo-vacation in the office is over. It seems we are now making up for two weeks work as there is some catching up and filling in of the boss to be done concerning issues that have arisen since she left. That being done the whole thing was complicated further by the release of a major report on a health care scandal that has caused a stir in government. In case you have not figured it out yet I work for government and am responsible for responding to political fire storms. Needless to say I have had a busy week as a result of this report. Not much time in the midst of everything to do any writing.
So now that all this is winding down I look forward to the coming days and weeks. I am receiving a new bed today and let me say this: everyone needs and deserves a good mattress, trust me. I recently purchased tickets to the Neil Young concert in April so I am incredibly excited for that! As if that wasn't enough, one of my good friends has made it to the finals here in St. John's for the Great Canadian Laugh Off sponsored by Yuk Yuk's. Next Wednesday he will compete for a chance to fly to Toronto for the national finals. GO GOUDIE! Anyone who knows this guy will agree that he is born to do stand-up comedy or, at the very least, should share his ability with the world because he is one funny dude. Anyone in the St. John's Newfoundland should take in the show next Wednesday, March 11 at Yuk Yuk's comedy club. It is a very entertaining and inexpensive night out.
Keep reading. There are more university stories to come, always entertaining, and more new posts to come very soon. Let me know you are reading sometime by leaving a comment!
As a result I have not had the time nor the creativity to write anything. I apologise to anyone who is following intently and is wondering what has happened since last week. I am assuming such people exist; I have no way of knowing unless people comment on the blog. Some are commenting, and for this I thank you, to those who are not, drop me a line!
I figured today I would simply recount the events of the last few days that have lead to this creative block and open myself up to any suggestions on breaking it. This block is half the reason my blogs/journals in the past have all flopped; I get a block and, rather than try to burst through it, I just give up on the whole thing.
As my last post outlined, (http://nonpoliticallymotivated.blogspot.com) I am in the process of moving, sort of. Either way it has taken up a large proportion of my time and has turned my "cozy" little apartment into a collection of bits and pieces yet to be sorted into their proper places. That being said I am pleased that the actual "moving" part is done and now it is just a matter of cleaning things up and maintaining it. That does present another problem, though. I have a small place and have realized that the smaller the place you are living in is, the more frequently you have to clean it. It doesn't get dirty quicker, per se, it just becomes very untidy often. All it takes is a substantial cooking effort and the kitchen looks like it hasn't been touched in weeks. I have had to adjust my routine to include much more tidying than I am used to. Some call me anal because of my incessant need to keep things tidy but I cannot relax in the evening to watch TV or a movie or read a book surrounded by an untidy house. I am constantly thinking about what has to be done in the house and can't enjoy anything else until it is done.
In addition to moving I, of course, continue to go to work and it seems that when it rains it pours. It is the first week back for the boss so the pseudo-vacation in the office is over. It seems we are now making up for two weeks work as there is some catching up and filling in of the boss to be done concerning issues that have arisen since she left. That being done the whole thing was complicated further by the release of a major report on a health care scandal that has caused a stir in government. In case you have not figured it out yet I work for government and am responsible for responding to political fire storms. Needless to say I have had a busy week as a result of this report. Not much time in the midst of everything to do any writing.
So now that all this is winding down I look forward to the coming days and weeks. I am receiving a new bed today and let me say this: everyone needs and deserves a good mattress, trust me. I recently purchased tickets to the Neil Young concert in April so I am incredibly excited for that! As if that wasn't enough, one of my good friends has made it to the finals here in St. John's for the Great Canadian Laugh Off sponsored by Yuk Yuk's. Next Wednesday he will compete for a chance to fly to Toronto for the national finals. GO GOUDIE! Anyone who knows this guy will agree that he is born to do stand-up comedy or, at the very least, should share his ability with the world because he is one funny dude. Anyone in the St. John's Newfoundland should take in the show next Wednesday, March 11 at Yuk Yuk's comedy club. It is a very entertaining and inexpensive night out.
Keep reading. There are more university stories to come, always entertaining, and more new posts to come very soon. Let me know you are reading sometime by leaving a comment!
Friday, February 27, 2009
Moving...
When I was going to school in Corner Brook I moved at least twice a year, once to school and once home from school. Home was a different place each summer which complicated the process even further but whether it was a short jaunt or a long haul my disdain for the whole process never wavered one iota. Some I have spoken to said that moving frequently has moulded them into experts in the exercise; they can pack all their belongings into a few suitcases and can get out of one dwelling into another in less time than it would take most to find a truck. This acquired expertise has softened their hatred for moving. Not the case with me. The frequency of my moves have only served to add layers to my loathing so that a core sample displays years of toil and torment surrounding the whole process.
I must clarify that I do not hate moving with regards to the end result. I love the idea of a fresh start in a new place and the feeling you get when that new house/apartment/dorm room is set up just the way you want it and you say to yourself, "Yeah, this feels like home." In fact, this is something everyone must experience. It has a way of rebooting your mind and body, it motivates you to change what isn't working in your life and gives you a fresh canvas to turn into a dwelling that is truly yours. Perhaps it is fitting that in order to taste this fruit of victory you have to spend days and sometimes weeks pulling out your back and every other muscle on your skeleton associated with lifting as a sort a penance; a cross to bear, so to speak.
"What has sparked this rant about moving?" you ask.
I am in the process of moving the last odds and ends from one apartment to another. The new apartment is significantly smaller than the old and, what's more, the new apartment now has the combined bulk of two dwellings worth of belongings. I have some tips for anyone who is currently in the process of moving or plans to do so in the near future:
I must clarify that I do not hate moving with regards to the end result. I love the idea of a fresh start in a new place and the feeling you get when that new house/apartment/dorm room is set up just the way you want it and you say to yourself, "Yeah, this feels like home." In fact, this is something everyone must experience. It has a way of rebooting your mind and body, it motivates you to change what isn't working in your life and gives you a fresh canvas to turn into a dwelling that is truly yours. Perhaps it is fitting that in order to taste this fruit of victory you have to spend days and sometimes weeks pulling out your back and every other muscle on your skeleton associated with lifting as a sort a penance; a cross to bear, so to speak.
"What has sparked this rant about moving?" you ask.
I am in the process of moving the last odds and ends from one apartment to another. The new apartment is significantly smaller than the old and, what's more, the new apartment now has the combined bulk of two dwellings worth of belongings. I have some tips for anyone who is currently in the process of moving or plans to do so in the near future:
- When combining two apartments into one some serious widdling down of extraneous possessions must take place. This is a time when you can do your soul some good and give the extra everythings to the Salvation Army, Goodwill, local shelter or what have you. Let's face it, you don't need two waffle makers or toasters nor do you need those birthday cards from your first girlfriend/boyfriend that you received in grade six. Streamlining is the name of the game which brings me to my next tip...
- Do not be afraid of throwing things out (ie those birthday cards). If it can be recycled, fine, recycle away but you surely do not need to keep these things. Sure, they hold some sentimental attachment but when you weigh them against all the other sentimental things you own some emerge as more important than others. The hold that nostalgia can have on some belongings is not lost on me but, again, streamlining is what you want to achieve. Birthday cards from a pre-pubescent courtship are trumped by birthday cards from your pre-pubescent siblings for instance. Also if you haven't seen it in years, it can probably go (ie those one-piece jumpsuits that were popular circa 1993...why would you keep those things). This is also a cathartic exercise, trust me.
- Packing is key. This is a tip I have learned from the professional movers in my circle of friends. If you are like me and think that you can just fire it all into the back of a truck without organizing things into boxes, you are wrong. It can be done, mind you, but it will end up costing you more time and torment in the process. What will inevitably happen is that you will have all the big things moved and be left with an endless collection of odds and ends that are a serious pain in the ass to keep track of in the transportation process. This is how the truly valuable trinkets get lost or broken never to be enjoyed again, plus it is much faster to move a few boxes full of trinkets than hundreds of individual ones, obviously.
- Make sure you have a reliable vehicle to transport your things and if it is winter make sure it has snow tires. If not you will have a vehicle full of stuff stuck in a snowbank before you even leave the driveway and have to push it out putting added stress on your already dilapidated back and joints. Take it from me, not fun...I hurt today.
Hopefully these tips will help you get through the annoying process of moving as quickly as possible with minimal cursing a swearing allowing you to enjoy the, "Ahh this feels like home!" moment sooner.
If it still drives you nuts, I have some friends who are really good at moving...
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
American Idol or School Choir?
I don't watch American Idol. I just want to get that out there right off the bat. I stopped after the first couple of seasons for reasons that will become apparent below.
This year the struggling economy has claimed the show's Canadian counterpart. I know.... I know... Whatever will we do this season with no Sass Jordan, Farley Flex, Zach Wilde and that other nerdy Drew Carey looking guy? Perhaps a better question is what will they do without the show? Surely there has to be more work out there for the dregs of the Canadian music industry, plenty of mall autograph signings and what not I am sure. Despite this lame knock-off of the multi-million dollar American enterprise being in the tank, American Idol is still garnering a significant audience base.
My question today is why?
The novelty of the show, no doubt, originally brought in a huge audience starving for a bit of reality TV in whichever flavour it was served. From Survivor, to Big Brother to completely ridiculous The Bachelor/Bachelorette, North America was eating up reality TV. So when the show debuted giving ordinary people the chance at a massive recording contract and a ticket to stardom people were understandably interested. The first season gave us the incredibly talented Kelly Clarkson and a french poodle with a toothy grin named Justin Guarini who promptly disappeared off the face of the earth shortly after the first season ended. These days the only novel draw to the show is a fresh batch of horrible singers exploited in the first few episodes of each season which never seems to grow old. Does this make me a bad person? I am convinced the only reason they select these disasters to perform is to make the pseudo-talented bimbos they do select look a little more gifted. Oh, and to pump up the first few weeks of ratings so it appears to the network they are kicking ass thus avoiding being cancelled or getting less funding, of course. Clearly after eight seasons it's the same old song and dance, no pun intended.
Ok, so the novelty has worn off, perhaps it is the incredible talent that keeps people tuning in week after week. Not likely.
Since Kelly Clarkson became the first successful winner of the "Idol" title in the first season the talent has become less and less of a priority in the selection process. It is clear they are going for marketability in their contestants and not musical ability. This transition is noted in the extreme makeover of Clay Aiken from lunchroom punching bag to a soft-spoken crooner who could easily pass for the spawn of Barry Manilow. Seriously, check that out, it's freaky. Further evidence of silicone in the talent pool came just last week when the top 36 performed a rendition of Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours" that reminded me of my elementary school glee club. Anyone who has read my first post knows that I am a huge fan of Jason Mraz, and his blog, at least in part, inspired this one. Needless to say that was the straw that broke the camel's back for me, and so, the following rant.
The whole show has become some plastic affair featuring starry-eyed youngsters, who couldn't hold a note in a basket, with inflated egos and inflated boobs all competing for camera time while some producer in the front row gleams back a mouth full of piano keys mouthing the words "Smile" to give the appearance they are all having a blast on stage. All for what? To become another name to fade into obscurity with Ruban Studdard, Fantasia Barrino, and Taylor Hicks?
The fact of the matter is that the true "idols" can be found every single weekend slaving away in some run down bar being heckled by a drunk in the corner who is starting to grow into his seat. These artists have no professional wardrobe or makeup personnel, no vocal coaches, and no publicists and still manage to eke out a living doing what they love to do week after week. It is these people who really deserve the break.
So when you are itching for a fix of good music without the pageantry, head downtown to some hole-in-the-wall. There is a rock star who will appreciate your presence far more than the "American Idols" ever could in a bar near you.
This year the struggling economy has claimed the show's Canadian counterpart. I know.... I know... Whatever will we do this season with no Sass Jordan, Farley Flex, Zach Wilde and that other nerdy Drew Carey looking guy? Perhaps a better question is what will they do without the show? Surely there has to be more work out there for the dregs of the Canadian music industry, plenty of mall autograph signings and what not I am sure. Despite this lame knock-off of the multi-million dollar American enterprise being in the tank, American Idol is still garnering a significant audience base.
My question today is why?
The novelty of the show, no doubt, originally brought in a huge audience starving for a bit of reality TV in whichever flavour it was served. From Survivor, to Big Brother to completely ridiculous The Bachelor/Bachelorette, North America was eating up reality TV. So when the show debuted giving ordinary people the chance at a massive recording contract and a ticket to stardom people were understandably interested. The first season gave us the incredibly talented Kelly Clarkson and a french poodle with a toothy grin named Justin Guarini who promptly disappeared off the face of the earth shortly after the first season ended. These days the only novel draw to the show is a fresh batch of horrible singers exploited in the first few episodes of each season which never seems to grow old. Does this make me a bad person? I am convinced the only reason they select these disasters to perform is to make the pseudo-talented bimbos they do select look a little more gifted. Oh, and to pump up the first few weeks of ratings so it appears to the network they are kicking ass thus avoiding being cancelled or getting less funding, of course. Clearly after eight seasons it's the same old song and dance, no pun intended.
Ok, so the novelty has worn off, perhaps it is the incredible talent that keeps people tuning in week after week. Not likely.
Since Kelly Clarkson became the first successful winner of the "Idol" title in the first season the talent has become less and less of a priority in the selection process. It is clear they are going for marketability in their contestants and not musical ability. This transition is noted in the extreme makeover of Clay Aiken from lunchroom punching bag to a soft-spoken crooner who could easily pass for the spawn of Barry Manilow. Seriously, check that out, it's freaky. Further evidence of silicone in the talent pool came just last week when the top 36 performed a rendition of Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours" that reminded me of my elementary school glee club. Anyone who has read my first post knows that I am a huge fan of Jason Mraz, and his blog, at least in part, inspired this one. Needless to say that was the straw that broke the camel's back for me, and so, the following rant.
The whole show has become some plastic affair featuring starry-eyed youngsters, who couldn't hold a note in a basket, with inflated egos and inflated boobs all competing for camera time while some producer in the front row gleams back a mouth full of piano keys mouthing the words "Smile" to give the appearance they are all having a blast on stage. All for what? To become another name to fade into obscurity with Ruban Studdard, Fantasia Barrino, and Taylor Hicks?
The fact of the matter is that the true "idols" can be found every single weekend slaving away in some run down bar being heckled by a drunk in the corner who is starting to grow into his seat. These artists have no professional wardrobe or makeup personnel, no vocal coaches, and no publicists and still manage to eke out a living doing what they love to do week after week. It is these people who really deserve the break.
So when you are itching for a fix of good music without the pageantry, head downtown to some hole-in-the-wall. There is a rock star who will appreciate your presence far more than the "American Idols" ever could in a bar near you.
Monday, February 23, 2009
No-Snow Days
At the risk of sounding like an old codger, 'When I was your age...etc." I have to say that the school board is either really trying for that obligatory holiday in February or is being run by the same overly cautious individuals with stockpiles of canned food in a bomb shelter waiting for the apocalypse.
Today there is a forecast for 10cms of snow with high winds resulting in a blowing snow warning. No doubt it may be a nasty afternoon, I get that. But anyone who went to school as recently as 5 years ago will remember being in school with windows rattling, snow often sifting underneath the drafty ledges not being able to see the flagpole in the parking lot for blowing snow. All the while Mrs. Whats-Her-Face is still trying to pound pre-calculus into the heads of students who couldn't care less.
Not the case today.
Most schools are already closed on the South Coast in preparation for the storm, no sorry, blowing snow. Ten centimeters can hardly be considered a storm right? Like I said it will be messy at best, that is if it happens at all.
Perhaps I am just bitter that I am now of an age where storm or no storm I still have to go to work. Gone are the days where I could wake up in the morning turn on the radio and cross my fingers for a school closure. If the schools were closed I could drift back to sleep without ever becoming fully conscious. Gone also is the joy of being in school with the weather worsening outside listening intently to every PA announcement hoping it would be "the one". These days the best I can hope for from a storm is a favorable wind to spare my driveway the brunt of the accumulations.
Kids these days have it so easy.
Today there is a forecast for 10cms of snow with high winds resulting in a blowing snow warning. No doubt it may be a nasty afternoon, I get that. But anyone who went to school as recently as 5 years ago will remember being in school with windows rattling, snow often sifting underneath the drafty ledges not being able to see the flagpole in the parking lot for blowing snow. All the while Mrs. Whats-Her-Face is still trying to pound pre-calculus into the heads of students who couldn't care less.
Not the case today.
Most schools are already closed on the South Coast in preparation for the storm, no sorry, blowing snow. Ten centimeters can hardly be considered a storm right? Like I said it will be messy at best, that is if it happens at all.
Perhaps I am just bitter that I am now of an age where storm or no storm I still have to go to work. Gone are the days where I could wake up in the morning turn on the radio and cross my fingers for a school closure. If the schools were closed I could drift back to sleep without ever becoming fully conscious. Gone also is the joy of being in school with the weather worsening outside listening intently to every PA announcement hoping it would be "the one". These days the best I can hope for from a storm is a favorable wind to spare my driveway the brunt of the accumulations.
Kids these days have it so easy.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
A Sunny Day in February
Let me start by thanking everyone for reading a responding to my last post. I am glad you are enjoying my ramblings and hopefully you continue to read and comment.
Right now I am sitting at my kitchen table looking out at the smoky winter sky through the window of my basement apartment. I am looking at the sky not because it is particularly interesting but because from this angle it is all I can see over the snow. I haven't been outside yet, however I can almost guarantee that it is nowhere near as warm and wonderful as it looks but it is no doubt a nice day regardless.
Have you ever awakened in the morning with this feeling like you have something to do that day only to discover, after shaking the grogginess off and wiping that crusty goo from the corner of your eyes, that you actually have nothing to do? I had such and experience this morning. Perhaps it comes from having an overly busy schedule 99% of the time but it is strange to have absolutly nothing to do. Most would revel in this and probably spend the day in front of the TV or with a good book, not I.
Ever since I was a kid I could never sit still, ask mom she still affectionately curses on my childhood. I am constantly looking for something new to experience or discover and it is for this reason that I have had so many jobs over the years and, even now when I am completely happy with my station, I am constantly looking for the next big thing. This relates back to my first post which can be found at http://nonpoliticallymotivated.blogspot.com/2009/02/here-we-go-again.html .
Days like today make me think about all my friends living in various parts of the world and I wonder where I will eventually end up. As comfortable as I am in Newfoundalnd and as much as I love this place, something keeps telling me I am not destined to stay here. I wonder what the b'ys are doing in Vancouver, what the various friends in Ontario are up to, and how life is for the people still plugging away at Sir Wilfred Grenfell College. I wish I had the means to take off and visit some of these people or to follow the whispers that lure me elsewhere in the world to find where I am intended put down roots, if such a place exists. Perhaps I am nomadic.
"All in time," I tell myself. The last 6-8 months have changed my life, I have made a complete 180 degree turn and things are moving fast. Be patient and the Universe will grant me everything I need and everything I desire. In the meantime I will accomplish some things today I have been putting off for a while: return a broken cajon I received for Christmas, contact people I have been meaning to contact for some time, carpe diem and all that. I guess I did have things to do today.
After all it is a beautiful day.
Right now I am sitting at my kitchen table looking out at the smoky winter sky through the window of my basement apartment. I am looking at the sky not because it is particularly interesting but because from this angle it is all I can see over the snow. I haven't been outside yet, however I can almost guarantee that it is nowhere near as warm and wonderful as it looks but it is no doubt a nice day regardless.
Have you ever awakened in the morning with this feeling like you have something to do that day only to discover, after shaking the grogginess off and wiping that crusty goo from the corner of your eyes, that you actually have nothing to do? I had such and experience this morning. Perhaps it comes from having an overly busy schedule 99% of the time but it is strange to have absolutly nothing to do. Most would revel in this and probably spend the day in front of the TV or with a good book, not I.
Ever since I was a kid I could never sit still, ask mom she still affectionately curses on my childhood. I am constantly looking for something new to experience or discover and it is for this reason that I have had so many jobs over the years and, even now when I am completely happy with my station, I am constantly looking for the next big thing. This relates back to my first post which can be found at http://nonpoliticallymotivated.blogspot.com/2009/02/here-we-go-again.html .
Days like today make me think about all my friends living in various parts of the world and I wonder where I will eventually end up. As comfortable as I am in Newfoundalnd and as much as I love this place, something keeps telling me I am not destined to stay here. I wonder what the b'ys are doing in Vancouver, what the various friends in Ontario are up to, and how life is for the people still plugging away at Sir Wilfred Grenfell College. I wish I had the means to take off and visit some of these people or to follow the whispers that lure me elsewhere in the world to find where I am intended put down roots, if such a place exists. Perhaps I am nomadic.
"All in time," I tell myself. The last 6-8 months have changed my life, I have made a complete 180 degree turn and things are moving fast. Be patient and the Universe will grant me everything I need and everything I desire. In the meantime I will accomplish some things today I have been putting off for a while: return a broken cajon I received for Christmas, contact people I have been meaning to contact for some time, carpe diem and all that. I guess I did have things to do today.
After all it is a beautiful day.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Concert on a Student Budget...The Finale
Thanks for coming back...
If you missed the first installment find it here- http://nonpoliticallymotivated.blogspot.com/2009/02/concert-on-student-budget.html
Hands sweating and hearts pounding the b'ys kept a solid pace walking toward the ski lodge where the concert was to take place. Halfway up the boardwalk leading to the main entrance we realized that we had no idea where we were supposed to enter the building. This was very important. We needed to get into this concert to avoid wasting another $15 on a cab back from this fruitless venture. And in order to do that we needed to deftly sweep into the chalet like we owned the place or, at least, like we worked there since or fake passes stated that we did.
Just as we were about to abort mission and head back to the parking lot to regroup and form a new plan: a cosmic gift. From across the boardwalk a voice shouting in the night, "No guys, staff come in over here!"
A fellow "co-worker" was waving us into a backdoor for staff only having spotted our highlighter yellow staff passes pelting our jackets in the wind as they dangled from our neck. Quickly we headed straight for the door and thanked the gentleman for saving us the wait in the long line up. We checked our coats at the staff coat check and headed up the stairs to see the last two songs of the opening act.
We were in!
Flabbergasted that this plan we hatched and implemented in just under four hours worked, and not wanting to risk being put to work, we tucked our counterfeit passes into our pockets and attempted to hide our excitement and blend with the crowd. The elation of eluding security was punctuated when our classmate who gave us the original staff pass, skeptical of our plan from the outset, smiled and shook her head in silent admiration from her post on the second floor as she saw us proceed past the gates.
Rarely does the trip to a concert wind up overshadowing the concert itself, but on this night such was the case. Don't get me wrong it WAS a great show. We drank, danced, sang out all the lyrics we could remember with wild abandon from the front of the stage garnering acknowledgement from Sam Roberts himself. We even got to meet and chat with the Trailer Park Boys who were there as emcees. But, like Christmas morning, the preparation was the best part.
The whole night was magic. After the show we worked our way onto a VIP bus headed back to Corner Brook thanks to a member of the party's resemblance to Sam Roberts in the eyes of a drunken organiser. The whole ride back he kept telling us what a great job we had done and welcomed us to Newfoundland over and over. He believed we were all members of the Sam Roberts band and, since we needed a ride back home and drank our cab money at the concert, we didn't tell him the difference.
The bus dropped us off at a bar in Corner Brook at an after-party we didn't know we were attending until Sam Roberts walked in the room. The b'ys couldn't resist taking the opportunity to meet the man and spill the beans about our evening. We got just this opportunity on the back steps of the former 709 bar in Corner Brook among the local beer and cigarette smoke.
One would assume that an artist would take exception to a group of university-aged delinquents forging their way into his show and impersonating he and his band purely for personal gain and to save a few bucks, not Sam Roberts. He was just as amazed as we were that it worked and said that he would have done the same thing given the chance. It was the sweetest icing on a perfect evening.
We arrived home at approximately 5am that night charged on what a night it had been. I don't think we slept until well after breakfast and after we shared the story with many disbelieving classmates.
The "Sam Roberts Night", as it became known, will never be forgotten and may serve as a lesson in how to get into a concert without spending a cent for my future university aged children. The whole night from beginning to end cost our posse a grand total of $15 in cab fare. More important than that is the memory of one of the first true friendship building experiences of my life. I wouldn't take it back for the world and came away with friends for life.
By's, I miss ya.
If you missed the first installment find it here- http://nonpoliticallymotivated.blogspot.com/2009/02/concert-on-student-budget.html
Hands sweating and hearts pounding the b'ys kept a solid pace walking toward the ski lodge where the concert was to take place. Halfway up the boardwalk leading to the main entrance we realized that we had no idea where we were supposed to enter the building. This was very important. We needed to get into this concert to avoid wasting another $15 on a cab back from this fruitless venture. And in order to do that we needed to deftly sweep into the chalet like we owned the place or, at least, like we worked there since or fake passes stated that we did.
Just as we were about to abort mission and head back to the parking lot to regroup and form a new plan: a cosmic gift. From across the boardwalk a voice shouting in the night, "No guys, staff come in over here!"
A fellow "co-worker" was waving us into a backdoor for staff only having spotted our highlighter yellow staff passes pelting our jackets in the wind as they dangled from our neck. Quickly we headed straight for the door and thanked the gentleman for saving us the wait in the long line up. We checked our coats at the staff coat check and headed up the stairs to see the last two songs of the opening act.
We were in!
Flabbergasted that this plan we hatched and implemented in just under four hours worked, and not wanting to risk being put to work, we tucked our counterfeit passes into our pockets and attempted to hide our excitement and blend with the crowd. The elation of eluding security was punctuated when our classmate who gave us the original staff pass, skeptical of our plan from the outset, smiled and shook her head in silent admiration from her post on the second floor as she saw us proceed past the gates.
Rarely does the trip to a concert wind up overshadowing the concert itself, but on this night such was the case. Don't get me wrong it WAS a great show. We drank, danced, sang out all the lyrics we could remember with wild abandon from the front of the stage garnering acknowledgement from Sam Roberts himself. We even got to meet and chat with the Trailer Park Boys who were there as emcees. But, like Christmas morning, the preparation was the best part.
The whole night was magic. After the show we worked our way onto a VIP bus headed back to Corner Brook thanks to a member of the party's resemblance to Sam Roberts in the eyes of a drunken organiser. The whole ride back he kept telling us what a great job we had done and welcomed us to Newfoundland over and over. He believed we were all members of the Sam Roberts band and, since we needed a ride back home and drank our cab money at the concert, we didn't tell him the difference.
The bus dropped us off at a bar in Corner Brook at an after-party we didn't know we were attending until Sam Roberts walked in the room. The b'ys couldn't resist taking the opportunity to meet the man and spill the beans about our evening. We got just this opportunity on the back steps of the former 709 bar in Corner Brook among the local beer and cigarette smoke.
One would assume that an artist would take exception to a group of university-aged delinquents forging their way into his show and impersonating he and his band purely for personal gain and to save a few bucks, not Sam Roberts. He was just as amazed as we were that it worked and said that he would have done the same thing given the chance. It was the sweetest icing on a perfect evening.
We arrived home at approximately 5am that night charged on what a night it had been. I don't think we slept until well after breakfast and after we shared the story with many disbelieving classmates.
The "Sam Roberts Night", as it became known, will never be forgotten and may serve as a lesson in how to get into a concert without spending a cent for my future university aged children. The whole night from beginning to end cost our posse a grand total of $15 in cab fare. More important than that is the memory of one of the first true friendship building experiences of my life. I wouldn't take it back for the world and came away with friends for life.
By's, I miss ya.
Concert on a Student Budget
Today I shall recount a story of yesteryear. A story that has been told and retold many times since it happened to a group of budding thespians in their first year of University in sleepy Corner Brook Newfoundland.
It is one of my first memories from my four years at Sir Wilfred Grenfell College, I had just met a group of guys from my class who would become known as "the b'ys" to the entire Theatre class and "the best friends a guy could ask for" to me. I doubt I will ever forget the night because at the time it stood out as the riskiest thing I had ever attempted.
Sam Roberts was coming to town to play a show at Marble Mountain and tickets went on sale, I believe, for about $25 a piece. Not bad in retrospect but on a student budget factoring in transportation to Steady Brook at $30 it was significantly more expensive than a night at the campus bar. We didn't purchase tickets.
The night of the concert came and the b'ys discovered they were amongst the few students at the university with no tickets and, what's more, there were no tickets left. Not good on a Friday night. The b'ys set to task on, what would become, one of their trademark missions to accomplish the impossible by any means necessary and find a way to this show. They would MAKE tickets!
It was about 5pm and the show started at 8pm, they would have to move fast. The b'ys knew a fellow classmate was on ski patrol at Marble Mountain and had a staff pass to the event that evening. This would be a great starting point. They were elated to discover that someone thought it would suffice to make staff passes simple: a yellow piece of paper with "STAFF" clearly printed in regular typeface and no extravagant graphics to duplicate. Staff were to supply their own lanyards to affix the pass so each one would naturally vary. The b'ys would capitalize on this careless oversight.
Had we gotten caught I am convinced someone surely would have been fired over the design of staff tickets.
It all started to fall into place. A quick color photocopy on white paper, later colored with a yellow highlighter, and a do-it-yourself laminating job from a kit that magically appeared from a little man known to readers only as "nugget" to avoid incrimination. The b'ys were now in possession of perfectly duplicated staff passes. And only about a half hour to spare.
Quickly into a cab pooling change to make up the $15 fare to Marble Mountain, a complete gamble. What if the passes don't work? Do we have enough money to get a cab home? Will they call the cops and charge us with fraud? Will Sam Roberts be worth the hassle? All questions swimming in the b'y's minds as they exited the cab at the base of Marble Mountain.
Interested? The story continues in the next post. (I have learned much from the media about cliffhangers)
It is one of my first memories from my four years at Sir Wilfred Grenfell College, I had just met a group of guys from my class who would become known as "the b'ys" to the entire Theatre class and "the best friends a guy could ask for" to me. I doubt I will ever forget the night because at the time it stood out as the riskiest thing I had ever attempted.
Sam Roberts was coming to town to play a show at Marble Mountain and tickets went on sale, I believe, for about $25 a piece. Not bad in retrospect but on a student budget factoring in transportation to Steady Brook at $30 it was significantly more expensive than a night at the campus bar. We didn't purchase tickets.
The night of the concert came and the b'ys discovered they were amongst the few students at the university with no tickets and, what's more, there were no tickets left. Not good on a Friday night. The b'ys set to task on, what would become, one of their trademark missions to accomplish the impossible by any means necessary and find a way to this show. They would MAKE tickets!
It was about 5pm and the show started at 8pm, they would have to move fast. The b'ys knew a fellow classmate was on ski patrol at Marble Mountain and had a staff pass to the event that evening. This would be a great starting point. They were elated to discover that someone thought it would suffice to make staff passes simple: a yellow piece of paper with "STAFF" clearly printed in regular typeface and no extravagant graphics to duplicate. Staff were to supply their own lanyards to affix the pass so each one would naturally vary. The b'ys would capitalize on this careless oversight.
Had we gotten caught I am convinced someone surely would have been fired over the design of staff tickets.
It all started to fall into place. A quick color photocopy on white paper, later colored with a yellow highlighter, and a do-it-yourself laminating job from a kit that magically appeared from a little man known to readers only as "nugget" to avoid incrimination. The b'ys were now in possession of perfectly duplicated staff passes. And only about a half hour to spare.
Quickly into a cab pooling change to make up the $15 fare to Marble Mountain, a complete gamble. What if the passes don't work? Do we have enough money to get a cab home? Will they call the cops and charge us with fraud? Will Sam Roberts be worth the hassle? All questions swimming in the b'y's minds as they exited the cab at the base of Marble Mountain.
Interested? The story continues in the next post. (I have learned much from the media about cliffhangers)
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Here we go again..
Well here I am once again doing my best to start a blog that will last longer than a day, or in the case of my longest lasting journal, one week.
I am not quite sure what drives me to create a public journal for all to see, albeit, as it occurs to me now, on a site less popular in some respects than Facebook. If I truly wanted to publish something that would capture the attention of a significant audience I could have chosen to publish on a more popular medium such as Facebook.
Perhaps subconsciously I don't want a huge audience.
Perhaps it is more of an exercise in self-exploration.
Perhaps I am just working on my written skills as my job requires a large amount of writing.
This last point is particularly curious. I have never, and I mean never, in a million years pictured myself a writer in any sense of the word. I have only ever written out of sheer necessity; for a school paper, a press release for work, emails and even those are as short as possible to avoid a long winded and boring document. All these things considered how did I end up in this position writing some fairly important document viewed directly by hundreds of people with the documents message sometimes reaching thousands? When I put it into perspective like that it suddenly becomes more daunting than I have previously considered.
This being said I trust in the Universe's plan for me and see this job merely as a stepping stone while many, especially others my age, would see it as resting place. it is a fantastic job, great co-workers, low stress, at least for now, and it pays well. Why then is it a stepping stone?
Because life is about moving forward. We only get so much time and to not use every second of it to further myself and my life as it relates to the people I care about would be a gross under appreciation of the blessings I have been given.
As you read that last statement you are thinking, "Great, another sermon." Let me be clear that i am not a religious person, although I have been raised in a religious household. I am what i like to call a believer. I believe in the power of the mind, spirit and the world around us. The fact that we all exist on this planet at this point in time is proof of the awesome power of the Universe, do we not owe it the courtesy of appreciating what we have been given? We must always be thankful and work towards making it better....always. Enough spirituality for a debut post methinks...
It is important for me to explain my motives for any patient reader who may choose to follow my thoughts an observations for however long this may last. I am not ruling out growing tired of this blog as I have with many others.
It started today when I read Jason Mraz's blog at freshnessfactorfivethousand.blogspot.com. Check it out! I have become easily one of his biggest fans over the past few months and with the release of his latest album We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things I have become enamoured that much more by his music and spirit. And, yes, I am completely comfortable with admitting that. If you are a fan you know what i am talking about.
This latest discovery combined with my inexplicable need to spill my brain onto a computer screen has spawned this blog.
To anyone who is interested already and anyone who happens to jump into this diatribe down the road I wish you luck in exploring my mind and piecing though my muddled gibberish. I am sure there will be a few gems from time to time.
I am not quite sure what drives me to create a public journal for all to see, albeit, as it occurs to me now, on a site less popular in some respects than Facebook. If I truly wanted to publish something that would capture the attention of a significant audience I could have chosen to publish on a more popular medium such as Facebook.
Perhaps subconsciously I don't want a huge audience.
Perhaps it is more of an exercise in self-exploration.
Perhaps I am just working on my written skills as my job requires a large amount of writing.
This last point is particularly curious. I have never, and I mean never, in a million years pictured myself a writer in any sense of the word. I have only ever written out of sheer necessity; for a school paper, a press release for work, emails and even those are as short as possible to avoid a long winded and boring document. All these things considered how did I end up in this position writing some fairly important document viewed directly by hundreds of people with the documents message sometimes reaching thousands? When I put it into perspective like that it suddenly becomes more daunting than I have previously considered.
This being said I trust in the Universe's plan for me and see this job merely as a stepping stone while many, especially others my age, would see it as resting place. it is a fantastic job, great co-workers, low stress, at least for now, and it pays well. Why then is it a stepping stone?
Because life is about moving forward. We only get so much time and to not use every second of it to further myself and my life as it relates to the people I care about would be a gross under appreciation of the blessings I have been given.
As you read that last statement you are thinking, "Great, another sermon." Let me be clear that i am not a religious person, although I have been raised in a religious household. I am what i like to call a believer. I believe in the power of the mind, spirit and the world around us. The fact that we all exist on this planet at this point in time is proof of the awesome power of the Universe, do we not owe it the courtesy of appreciating what we have been given? We must always be thankful and work towards making it better....always. Enough spirituality for a debut post methinks...
It is important for me to explain my motives for any patient reader who may choose to follow my thoughts an observations for however long this may last. I am not ruling out growing tired of this blog as I have with many others.
It started today when I read Jason Mraz's blog at freshnessfactorfivethousand.blogspot.com. Check it out! I have become easily one of his biggest fans over the past few months and with the release of his latest album We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things I have become enamoured that much more by his music and spirit. And, yes, I am completely comfortable with admitting that. If you are a fan you know what i am talking about.
This latest discovery combined with my inexplicable need to spill my brain onto a computer screen has spawned this blog.
To anyone who is interested already and anyone who happens to jump into this diatribe down the road I wish you luck in exploring my mind and piecing though my muddled gibberish. I am sure there will be a few gems from time to time.
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