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:

• 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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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)

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.