Friday, August 18, 2017

Let Me Show You What the Heart Looks Like When It's Hot

I'm in a weird spot where I need to write something, but also feel like I have nothing to say. My stomach is tied up in knots and I feel uneasy; it feels like an intense pressure building under my diaphragm or a blister that needs to be popped. From my own experience, the best way to relieve this pressure is put pen to page or fingertips to keys and work something out, but my mind is all over the place and I'm not sure where to start or what I even want to say.

When I haven't written a story, blog post, or song in a while, I get uneasy and anxious. For better or for worse, I think that the concern of "not writing enough" is constant in the back of my mind. On good days it inspires me to work through something; on bad days it makes me uncomfortable and nervous. Writing something, let alone something good, is much harder in the second scenario, so you get something misguided and full of semi-colons like this.

I also feel very uneasy because of how disappointed in the world I am, which has been a consistent downward spiral over the last five or so years. Like clockwork, something happens every three weeks that reminds how stupid and fucked up almost all of the world is. So stupid and fucked up that I'm very sceptical about how fixable any of it is.

The events in Charlottesville were awful and I don't really know how to broach the topic. When things like this happen, the absolute last thing that anybody needs to hear is another thinkpiece by a cis-white male. Any opinion I would give wouldn't be anywhere nearly as important as those given by people of colour, the left involved in protests, or those who live in the community. So even though I'm livid and frustrated and my anger doesn't seem to have a place to go, I believe that it's better for me to limit my takes, because all they would really do is pile more dirt onto more important opinions. For the sake of brevity, I will leave it to this:
  • If you think that violence against the far right will only provoke them further, I am interested as to what you think further than marching with torches, running over people with cars, and gang-beatings is.
  • If you even try to play devil's advocate on this issue at all, you are incredibly stupid. As much as political issues can be painted gray by the media, this one is cut and dry. One side is wrong, stupid and bad.
  • While I don't go out of my way to discuss my politics, I also don't make any big effort to hide them. Regardless, this still does leave my thoughts up in the air sometimes, as I'm aware that I can be pretty quiet. Just to put it out in the open, as socialist as you think I may be, I assure you that it's even further in actuality.
Being depressed about the state of the world and anxious about my much more minor personal feelings was a weird negative combination and it was making get really angry at almost everything. As much as it isn't mentally healthy to be in a constant state of ire, I think it's also important to really sit in your anger sometimes and work through what's pissing you off. You can't just shove anger away when very bad things are happening. Fascism and disgusting bigotry doesn't get solved by looking on the bright side.

In the eye of this anger storm, I was reminded of a few things I love: Rebecca, Pierre and Florence, my friends, pro wrestling (yes), and socially-conscious punk music. Jesse Michaels has been a constant source of inspiration and strength to me through my life and I was very pleased to find that his second band Common Rider put out an EP I didn't know about that was even better than all of their other stellar output. On top of that, the lyrics hit me in the exact right spot after the events last week.

While reading a (albeit very positive) review of the lyrics, someone described the lyrics as "overly ideal" and I thought that was so stupid. If advocating for resiliency in the face of oppression is stupid to you, you never really got what punk was about in the first place pal.

Always grow and learn, but never forget what made you mad to begin with. Stay pissed because the second you give up that, they'll fucking march all over you.

Thursday, August 3, 2017

Mary Devoured By Horses

Something unique to my generation, the first that grew up with the internet, is that we are the first to experience all of life's "milestones" in their open, digital form. It's strange to be the first generation of people that has its entire existence documented in a form that is more or less permanent.

One way that I am often reminded of this is when someone who I've completely lost touch with pops up on my Facebook feed. I guess the fact that we are still friends on Facebook sort of implies that we haven't completely lost touch. The world is weird. Whereas before you would maybe have some pictures of an old flame or roommate kicking around and would actually need to phone them or something to contact them, now you can just sort of creepily keep tabs on people and stay somewhat up-to-date on their life even though you never speak.

The person (really two people, they're a couple) who came up was someone who I went to art school with. I hung out with them pretty regularly during the last year of my undergrad and we got along pretty well, though we didn't have tonnes in common.

The last time that I saw this person was a chance encounter at a bar in Guelph while I was there with other friends. We were both happy to see each other and made the cursory small talk about our lives. She was there with her boyfriend, who she had started dating during our last year of school. She then told me that a house show the two of them had attended at my place had been their first date, which I didn't know. That made me happy. I thought that the show had been amazing to begin with, but was happy to realize that other people had important memories tied to the evening as well. And important enough that it was one of the things she told me within 5 minutes of speaking to me.

"That's what I was really trying to do. It's not about the music, it's about the love." I joked.

As I said, the couple came up in my Facebook feed today and they mentioned that they are only a few months out from getting married. It's crazy to think that I, who neither have spoken to in a few years now, played a role in their partnership, albeit a very, very small one.

It's also crazy to think about how many other times this has happened and we don't even know about.

It feels dumb to end this post with such an open-ended and vague statement, so I'll say that I saw Big Nothing at D-Beatstro this week and loved their set. I urge you to support both the band and the space they played at.

Monday, July 31, 2017

Skate and Destroy

From the I, Musical Genius Draft Files,

On Things Changing

I thought of the nugget at the centre of this post a few weeks ago and have been kicking it around since. Bear with me as I try to dig through my brain to find the idea that spurred this by writing through it, as is my custom.

I find that one of the most frustrating things in life is when things change and you have no control over it. Something that was once ~important~ and then, through no effort on your behalf, it becomes the opposite. Human beings are kind of obsessed with controlling things and classifying things. People get terrified and irate when something happens to them and there's nothing they can do about it. They get equally mad when something is easy to pin down as "this, this, and this". Saves the Day has to be "emo" and "pop-punk" and you have to mention that they were sort of a hardcore before discussing any of their current music which doesn't resemble any of those things.

This desire to classify things is a weird quirk of humanity and I think about it a lot. I'm fully aware of it and I still try to stick things into their proper place more than almost everyone else. Maybe it's due to how we're educated in public school systems? That is a meandering thought for another time.

Back to writing about the amorphous topic of "things changing".

The thing that spurred me to write about is the current fad of young teenagers wearing Thrasher Magazine merchandise. You may scoff at this being what inspired this, but I really do think it's an excellent example of it.

I've been very familiar with Thrasher for most of my life because skateboarding and punk are basically the first two things I got into while I was shaping my identity in the crucial pre-teen, pre-high school years. The tie between those two subcultures is almost as old as either of them are and makes perfect sense. Skateboarders have been into punk forever and nothing exemplifies this relationship better than Thrasher Magazine. I was drawn to Thrasher magazine because the style of skating they featured in the mag was punk. Even if it wasn't a punk guy skating, the ethos was there. It was anti-corporate and praised just skating over everything else. As simple as that sounds, it's fucking huge.

This is why I was so proud to wear my Thrasher shirt and hoodie while I was out and, especially, while I was skating.

Over the last year or so, Thrasher shirts (especially the "Flame Logo") have BLOWN up as popular clothing choices for hip teens, which was, to me, very surprising. It's to the point now where most people think of Thrasher as a streetwear brand like Supreme or Crooks and Castles, which kind of sucks. Are the shirts not made to express your endorsement of the mag and its ethos?

There was one day I was coming home from work and there was a group of freshmen university students on the streetcar near me. All of them were very excited because their OSAP student loans had all just gone through and they had just spent the surplus on some new Thrasher shirts, despite non of them being skateboarders. It was sad to see. That is pretty silly to say, but IMU only exists for me to be frank, so I'm not going pretend I wasn't bummed out by this to save face.

I've thought about whether it's dumb and shitty for Thrasher gear to have gotten so popular a lot for the last little while and I think I've mostly settled on what I think about.

A big part of this was listening to an episode of the excellent skateboarding podcast The Bunt on which Thrasher Editor-in-Cheif Jake Phelps was a guest. The hosts asked Phelps about the phenomenon and how he felt about Thrasher shirts somehow becoming a fashion trend. Phelps, who is well-known in skateboarding as its foremost cantankerous gatekeeper, said that he didn't care at all about celebrities like Bieber and Rihanna wearing the brand because all it did was drive up sales and give the magazine more money, which in turn allowed them to send even more skaters on more skate trips and put out even more videos. I thought that was a great way to look at this trend.

I still think it's pretty silly to buy and wear a shirt that says "Thrasher Magazine" when you don't read or care about the mag though.

I know that this is going to be a short-lived thing and I'm sure that those damn teens will have moved on to something else clothes-wise next year, but part of me is still a little sour that something that I really love got picked up to be a trend so divorced from what it means. There was one day where I skateboarded to work in my Thrasher hoodie and when my co-workers (who are all insular studio art kids) saw me they said "Oh aren't you just the broiest bro!" because they clearly understood Thrasher as "Thing That "Hip Teens" Wear" and not "Skateboarding Magazine".

I think my obsessive on this is mostly due to the fact that now when I wear my Thrasher t-shirt, people will think "that is a popular brand" and not "he loves to skateboard". I liked it better when a Thrasher shirt was a signifier for somebody who fucking loves to skate. I love skateboarding and I hate brands. I hate that this small thing that was important to me changed drastically and there was nothing I could do about it. I also hate that I care so much about what people think about t-shirts.

I guess that from now on, I'll just have to make sure to be skateboarding whenever I wear my hoodie to remove all doubt and that's not the worst thing in the world because any excuse to get outside and skate is a good one.

Friday, July 28, 2017

A Lot Like a Loser Who's No Good at Losing at All

I am no stranger to waxing poetic about ethereal connection between the game of baseball and those who watch it. There's a lot of different ways that one person trying to hit a ball thrown by another person into spots where eight other people aren't standing manages to seize hold of my emotions every year and there's an equal mix of emotions that come along with that.

The one emotion that is absolutely crucial to baseball and that fans must never forget about, no matter how "out of it" things may seem is hope. Even when you're at your most sour and can only think about having to return to yet another season of sub-.500 baseball, baseball will pick you up by the hips and toss you in the air to remind exactly how fun all of this is. The greatest quote in all of sports, former Baltimore Orioles Manager Earl Weaver, summed it up better than I ever could:

"You can't sit on a lead and run a few plays into the line and just kill the clock. You've got to throw the ball over the damn plate and give the other man his chance. That's why baseball is the greatest game of them all."

With this all being said, I would like to proffer a piece by Stacey May Fowles, who is a phenomenal author from Toronto. She does the whole "my emotional state is dictated by baseball" thing much better than I do and is way better at explaining the weird emotional bond you make with men you don't know while they play baseball in Toronto than I as well.

Give this read and remember why it's much more fun to cheer the good parts than complain about the bad parts.

Stay in the fight, boys.

Thursday, July 27, 2017

Maybe I'd Rather Leave That Rotten Apple Where it Ought to Be

I spent a decent chunk of the spring of 2016 listen to Oliver Houston's EP The Dork Ages. I discovered the band through hearing their name on a podcast I liked and then found them to be one of the better "Emo Revival" bands I had heard in a while.

Once bands like The World is a Beautiful Place and I Am No Longer Afraid to Die and Into It. Over It. started to gain a little bit of mainstream musical traction, the label "Emo Revival" got thrown around a lot and it seemed like a new band with a pedal board a meter wide formed every day. Suddenly American Football was the inspiration for every band? I'm not complaining, but I found it pretty surprising. With that rise in emo bands though, I felt like some of the minor things that made the genre cool got a little lost in translation, which is bound to happen when that many similar bands form.

That being said, I think that Oliver Houston is a cut above almost every other "twinkly" emo band right now, especially with You Blew It!'s last album being pretty boring. There's a load of cool rhythms and grooves on the album and I really appreciate that the guitar work is built around riffs instead of excessive open-tuning shredding, which is pretty common place now. Not everyone can be Algernon.

I somehow missed that Oliver Houston put out a full-length in 2017 until yesterday. It's excellent and, with The Dork Ages, makes for a very impressive start to a discography.

Great stuff!

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Saturday, July 15, 2017

Jacky Boy

It’s extremely strange when a day you knew would occur in the future finally arrives. Sometimes it’s an odd mix of anxiety and disbelief, like when you’re a young child and your birthday finally comes. Sometimes it’s open-faced awe because it arrives unexpectedly.

Today, June 22nd, 2017, is the day that Jack Chandler the Border Collie died. I knew that Jack would die when we picked him up, but I didn’t think about it because I was too filled with love to consider it. I didn’t have to consider it for a long time, because he was so active and healthy late into his life.

The countdown to Jack’s death began in earnest when some tumours on his leg ruptured and he hemorrhaged blood while laying on the kitchen floor. He had surgery and recovered, but now he had a clock on his life, ticking down his remaining hours. He was no longer just “Jack”; he was now “Jack, the old, sick dog.” Every time I spoke about Jack, I now had to mention how he was doing.

Now, I don’t get to talk about how he’s doing anymore.

Death brings out a complex and surprising mix of feelings. It’s kind of nice in a way, because it makes it easier to understand what those around you are going through. It’s suddenly enough to just give someone a hug to empathize with them. That’s so rare.

It makes me so angry too. I don’t know what I’m angry about. I want someone to make fun of me for crying in public so that I can hit them with my skateboard. I want to relieve the tension I feel in my chest and I want to do it in a dumb way.

I just want the anger to go somewhere because I don’t know why it exists.
While waiting for the train to my parents’ house, I saw a high school student wearing a shirt that just said “Courage,” and it immediately struck me how stupid it was to mass-produce a product like that. I hate the world.

I called my mom at work. That was when I found out. I had a meeting with my department after. They complained about the usual things. It felt silly and stupid to listen to them. Not a single thing was said that mattered. I had a thousand-mile stare at the bookcase.

When I got home, my mom came to hug my brother and I and then I saw Jack’s dead body on the couch.

He was so dead.

We had periods of on and off sadness throughout the whole day. 20 minutes of extreme sadness followed by 40 of jovial conversation.

My dad was hit the hardest. At one point when I was the only other person home, he faced Jack’s body and said, “Wake up Jack.”

It killed me.

It makes me wonder about whether I’ll divide my life into “Before Jack” and “After Jack”. Maybe I’ll only think that way today.

Walking through my home and I pick out all the small places that I used to know.

Gave my Dad a hug to comfort him. It didn’t do shit for either of us. Jack’s still dead on the couch.

Kathleen took a bus back from Ottawa right away. She immediately broke down when she got through the door. We all gathered around him to have a final moment with his body. We laid him on the patio table and wrapped him in the blanket from the couch in our kitchen. When my dad picked Jack up, his tail hung out of the side of the wrapping. It really made him look like a dead animal and I didn’t like that.

Everyone else was a lot more outward in their emotions. I got mad at myself because I didn’t feel like I was crying enough. Got mad at myself for thinking about that in the first place. Wish I could act the way everyone expects you to. Don’t be so fucking cold to the people you love, asshole.

Jack’s in the ground now, under a big groundstone in our backyard. In the afternoon, my brother, dad, and I dug a small hole for Jack to go in. We waited for my sister to arrive. We put him there.
All of us cried. Trixie wondered what was going on. She circled the hole with Jack at the bottom a few times. My dad and I covered him with dirt. I will never think of the word “buried” in the same way again.

It started raining during dinner. I mostly thought about the rain seeping down through the dirt and making Jack wet.

My dad said that when he used to leave for work in the morning with Jack, he would turn to his dog and say, “You and me against the world.”

I will only have Jack once and that’s done now.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Em, D, and C

At first, I thought that the dumbest I would see on the trip was the teenager on the boat tour who lifted up her fidget spinner in front of the Eiffel Tower for a picture. It was quite stupid, but it pales in comparison to meeting one the biggest blowhards in the world at our hostel the next night.

His greeting, "Hey, you guys speak English?... Great. Finally some nice people." should have been a dead giveaway. At first, I was ready to engage him on an informal level, but that dissipated quickly. He was obviously very stupid, evidenced by him asking us about, in order, Drake, Justin Bieber, and cold weather. He must developed an ulcer holding in questions about maple syrup.

He said that he liked the city, but found the people rude.

"You have to ask for the cheque four times."

He revealed his final douchebag form when he asked if we minded if he played some guitar. He pulled an acoustic guitar out from under a bed, told his friend that he had "written another verse" that day, and performed some "Dave"-esque bro-folk nonsense that didn't seem to be about anything in particular. He asked Rebecca and I what our favourite songs are so that he could play them, but we didn't give him an answer.

"Do you like The Strokes?"
"Do you like The Shins?"
"Do you like Vampire Weekend?"


"Oh, you don't haven't heard of them?"

(For the record, I like The Strokes)

He tried to play another song, but did a really bad job.

"I apologize, I'm a little drunk."

He was hoping that we would say "No, you're great." We didn't.

He complemented Rebecca's leg tattoo and he had one of his own.

"It's the word 'five', but we won't get into that now."

No, we won't.

His friend thought him having a tattoo was really cool. We figured that he only got it because he was 20 years old and away from his parents.

His friend could also play the song that was too hard for him to play.

"Do you like the Toronto Raptors?"

I said I did, but that I'm more of a Blue Jays fan. He said he liked hockey and it was a big part of his family.

I asked if he liked the Los Angeles Kings and he didn't know how they were. He thought the Jays were a hockey team. "They're baseball", his friend corrected him. The Maple Leafs are our hockey team, I said.

"Oh, The Maples..."

His friend asked if I liked Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.

"I love that movie."

"What a random question to ask."

"It's set in Toronto."

"Oh. I need to see that one again."

He started to talk at his friend about their band, Five Points. They were going to "take the next step" with it.

"What's your favourite Five Points song?"

"I don't know. It's hard to choose."

"Just pick your top three."

His friend to noodle while finger-picking. He told his friend that it would be good for a verse maybe.

"You always gotta put in a hook. I always put in a hook."
"I'm going to top the Billboard 100 one day."

We said that we were going to bed.

"No problem. We'll be up another 10, 20 minutes."
"I'm pretty blitzed. Just enough to sleep."

Becks and I got into one of the bunks and tried to make two people fitting into a single be work.

He started telling his friend about "his plan", about how they were about to take the next step with their band.

They were going to move to Los Angles to make it with their band. Them and Van. If they followed his plan, they would have no problem.

He knew they were bros for life. They would be the best man at each other's wedding . That's why he got his words tatted on his chest.

He had to know if his friend wanted to be the face of the band.

"Are you going to be the face or the songwriter?"

In the long run, he knew that he would be the face and would carry them to success.

With Five Points, he wanted to start a movement. They would headline festivals and people would know them.

"Can you imagine us walking out to a crowd of 10000 people?"

He started razzing his friend about his fashion sense, asking if, when they got famous, he would walk the red carpet in a baseball hat and hoodie.

"Like Odd Future and Tyler the Creator, say what you want, but they had a look."

I don't think that he knew that Odd Future all wore baseball caps and hoodies.

He wanted to give the band a logo and symbols, so that at festivals everyone would know them already.

They were both breaking up with their girlfriends to move to Los Angeles. It sounded like his friend did not want to break up with his, but was letting his friend force him to.

He kept bringing up that he would always speak his mind to his friend, even if he didn't like it. He wanted him to know that he still loved, but he would be honest about their music. He mostly meant that he would shit on his friend's ideas.

"You always have to have a plan. Like when we made a plan, we went on a wine tour and saw Notre Dame. When we didn't, we did nothing."

In their conversation, it came out that had not yet jammed together as a band. I found it funny that they were moving to one of the most expensive cities in the world with no jobs to make it as a band, not to mention the tattoo.

He spoke at his friend for about an hour after we went to bed. Eventually, his friend got up and said he was going to bed, but he actually just went next store and we could hear him on the next balcony talking to his roommates.


For the last three years or so, I've carried around a small notebook that I use to journal and jot down stray thoughts. About month ago, I wrote, in the journal, that I thought it would be a good idea to start journaling on I, Musical Genius as a way to spur myself into a better spell of writing. It's been a long time since I've tried any sort of daily journaling, so I thought that this would be a cool new exercise for me to try out.

My plan was to force an entry out of myself every day, while also not worrying about forming a full post. If I started with short entries that were mostly a few thoughts connected by string, pieces that were more filled-out would surely follow. Coincidentally, I also got this idea about a month before the date that Becks and I will be leaving for a two-week trip to Europe, which could make for an interesting theme to the posts. I didn't want to make it a sort of "travel blog", which I've seen pop a lot among friends on social media, because I find those pretty tired and cliche. Instead, I hope that our upcoming trip, my first real international trip, would inform the subject matter indirectly and make it interesting. But a few days slipping by turned into a week and that turned into another week and I think it would be silly to start that sort of exercise just a week before I leave.

Even worse was when my laziness and writer's block took hold and this post, which was started on June 17th, was only re-visited today, on July 12th.

Bad. Very bad.

I didn't even end writing very much in Europe. Only a few things here and there. A short, choppy story, a daily journal, and a few ideas for other stories.

Things have been percolating long enough now. I've finished one story, have parts of two others, and have plans for a few more. Planning is over and I think the only thing left to do is nail my hands to the keyboard and actually make something.

I need to remember that I have the skills to do this and convince myself that "this guy fucks".

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Your Ugly Human Heart

Full disclosure: I actually started writing this post a week and a half ago, after thinking about writing it for a week, before promptly leaving in my "drafts" (pulling back the curtain for you a little there). Anways, I badly need to write something and finishing this seems like the best way to accomplish that. Here you go:

Something that really, for real, happens to me is that after I’ve put up a bunch of longer posts in a row, I begin to think that every post has to be that way. I convince myself that only long posts are worthwhile and that if I’m not making some profound examinations about life, then it’s not worth doing any writing at all.

The reality, of course, is that I can write whatever I want, about whatever I want and put it up here because I am the “auteur”.

I was thinking about all of this on my lunch today because I was having trouble coming up a topic that would be suitably "big" to explore for a log post. The reality is that I can really talk about any topic I want. Putting a healthy amount of pressure on myself to write things "long" and "big" is good, because that I will write better things more often and it keeps my critical thinking active, but I also need to be wary of killing my writing drive by placing my expectations too high. It's a delicate balance.

After realizing that I am in fact the author of this blog, I decided to focus on a simple topic and write about music.

Every year, for the first six months of the year, I am convinced that I am not checking out enough new music and am so behind on what's going on in punk. I worry that I am losing touch and am in the process of losing my interest in music. Do I spend too much time listening to podcasts? Is that curtailing my music intake? AM I LOSING MY IDENTITY!?

But then, every single year, a whole tonne of new music comes out in the summer and it clicks with me really well and the problem is averted.

This year, I worried about the absolutely phenomenal Yunahon Mixtape by Oso Oso (Get it! It's free!) and Nightmare Logic by Power Trip being the only two releases of the year that were really sticking with me. How could my year-end list be two releases long?! Come on!

And then I got Vision by Pet Symmetry and Modern Pressure by Daniel Romano on the same day. Everything is okay. Flashing red light and blaring horn alarm have been turned off.

I loved Pet Hounds by Pet Symmetry so much; it was one of my favourite releases of 2015; so I was eager to see how the band would follow it up. Pet Hounds was a tight and compact power-pop album that was just banger after banger. Vision changes that up by adding some more experimental elements (keyboards, noise, a lot of different effects), a few longer, softer, and slower songs, a hardcore-ish number, and a WAY different and more distorted bass tone. This may just be me speculating, but I feel like Evan Weiss wrote this album on bass, as it figures a lot more into the backbone of the songs, whereas I feel like that last album was written on guitar. Cool stuff.

I am a pretty big Daniel Romano homer. I LOVE Attack in Black. His country albums range from "I like this" to "I listen to this with the lights off while I'm sad". Mosey was a wonderful departure in his style and sound and it made me wonder what type of 60's music he was going to pastiche next. Modern Pressure follows Mosey and is, somehow, even better. Romano moves into a mix of roots rock, country, and folk that, to me, sounds a lot like Music From Big Pink filtered through Romano's musical past. The bass playing is insane, the lyrics are wonderful, and the arrangements are sublime. Also, the various artworks are wonderful. Though I don't know if anything will touch Yunahon, this is making a pretty serious run at it. Amazing album.

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

So It's Come to This: A Baseball Post

I haven’t written a baseball post in what seems like forever. I can discern two reasons for this:

1.    I have been pretty busy at work during MLB’s off-season. Whereas I would obsess over rosters and trades and prospects and lineups in years past, I do that to a lesser extent now. School had a lot of downtime. Fitting your whole life into the eight waking hours you aren’t chained to a desk does not.

2.    The Jays resembled a very large, very hot dog turd at the start of the 2017 season.

But regardless of how much work I have to do, baseball is still never very far away from my attention, so I still have some thoughts which only feel at home on the warm, lime green confines of IMU, so here we go.

The Blue Jays started this season extremely badly. Almost everything that could go wrong went wrong. Josh, Troy, Russ, Sanch, and Happ all got hurt and Jose started looking a lot more like Josh Phelps than Jose Bautista. When a team loses all of its good players in the first two weeks, it typically does not follow that by winning games.

Note: When I was a kid, I LOVED Josh Phelps and was convinced he would be around forever.

It’s funny how quick baseball fans’ expectations and temperaments can change. From 1994-2014, the Jays ranged from “yep, they’re bad” to “two or three pieces away” with nothing to show for it. Then I was spoiled with a magical 2015 season in which everything went right and was the most fun baseball could be, and a 2016 season where the Jays substituted magic with “just playing well the whole year”. I had waited my whole life to see the Toronto Blue Jays in the playoffs and both of those years absolutely met the unreasonably high expectations that I had set.

I, along with many others, had mixed feelings about 2017 though. It seemed like the team was increasingly leaning on the “if this, this, and this work out, we’ll be good” crutch which is always the sign of a middling baseball team. Then, in the space of two weeks at the start of April, the beautiful “playoff team” image of the Jays had been shattered. Josh Donaldson was hurt and Chris Caughlan was playing third base. Aaron Sanchez was hurt and Mat Latos was starting. Edwin Encarnacion was playing for the Cleveland Indians. Jose Bautista was swinging through letter-high fastballs.

Baseball is unlike any other sport because of how long its season is. Playing 162 games over the course of 6 months means that you have to be patient during bad stretches because they always come and are something every team (and more importantly fans) must endure. But the Jays started 1-9 and it got pretty hard to imagine them playing the first place team for the rest of the season. But because it was only the second week of April, you had to say "it's early", instead of "burn it to the ground".

The team’s recent success brought in loads of new fans, which is to be expected when a traditionally bad team suddenly wins a lot in a huge city (see: Raptors, 2013-14 season). However, those fans also don’t know what it’s like to suffer through a bad baseball season (they also *shudders* do the wave), because not only do you have to watch a shitty version of something you love, but you have to watch it every day for six months.

But even though watching Ryan Goins take everyday at-bats for a whole month can be tiring, it is much better than the alternative, which is no baseball at all. The fact that every MLB team plays almost every day (there are 21 days during the season in which I am not blessed with Blue Jays baseball) is a huge part of what makes me love baseball so much. Once you get into the habit of watching the team every night, the team takes a special significance and becomes an integral part of your routine. They are always there. If I have a shitty day at work, the game becomes a nice thing to unwind to when I get home. It’s something I do friends and it’s something I do alone. It’s there when I feel good and when I feel bad. Baseball never stops and I love that so much. Once you are sucked in, watching your favourite team becomes a very meditative experience. It becomes an automatic process in the best way. It’s at once something you can have on behind on you while you cook dinner and something that keeps you on the edge of your seat with your friends. Few things in the universe can exist with a duality like that, but baseball can because it is unique and it is the best.

Sidebar: The fact that the long games and season drive away people who would otherwise be casual fans makes me love it even more. Get the fuck out of here.

Baseball’s meditative nature has turned it into something essential to me: A time to reflect on my thoughts, feelings, and life. Baseball has space, which lets your mind breathe during the game and consider other things. I could conjure up hundreds of examples of this happening in my life, but I will choose the following:

One summer, I lived alone in Guelph after I had finished my undergraduate degree at the city's university. At 23, it was my first time ever living alone and I was very sad and unsuccessful in lots of ways for the entire summer. I spent most of my time alone and it was a very trying time for me. One thing that I had was no-name stereo receiver that I bought at a weird odds and ends store downtown to use with my record player, which also had a radio built-in. Every night that summer, I listened to the Blue Jays game on radio with Jerry Howarth and Alan Ashby doing the call. I had a few friends in the city that summer, but I like to think that Jerry and Alan were my best friends. Listening to the Blue Jays on the radio gave me at least one thing that I loved every day. I would feel pretty bad most days, but that would subside when Jerry's calming voices would proclaim "the Blue Jays are in flight" after an Edwin Encarnacion home run. The team was terrible (4 out 5 starters got hurt in a week and a half in June), but the season was punctuated with small victories that felt like everything when they happened, like Edwin's great coming-out season or Colby Rasmus going 5-5 after moving to the 2-hole.

Another sidebar: Listening to a whole season on the radio was a significant moment in me being a shitty baseball hipster, as baseball on the radio was the main medium by which the sport was consumed for about 50 years. This is unique to baseball because of how old the professional leagues are.

Baseball is so important to me for all of these reasons. It does the amazing task of distracting me just enough to not focus solely on things that are bad while still allowing me to process them.

But this post isn't just a lengthy diatribe on why baseball is just the best. It just mostly is.

I said all of this to give context to the fact that the Blue Jays 2017 season felt a little bit weird to me for the first month. It felt very different. After two years of amazing success, this was such a quick, crushing return to the reality that your favourite baseball team is kind of bad for most of its existence. Unless, you are this guy. The last few years, I've grown a lot more skeptical about the state of the world and find myself continually angered by some of the things that happen and the rationale behind them. It's nice to be able to escape that by watching Brett Cecil's curveball at night. Now they are not doing so hot, but the funny thing is that they can still be that escape,

It's strange because when the team rattled off seven losses in a row, it almost felt like I was returning to a comfortable world I had been away from. I had watched the Blue Jays lose forever. This was just more of what I loved! But it also felt shitty because it was definitely the end of the murderer's row Jay's lineup that had led them to the ALCS the two years prior. It was nice and bad at the same time.

It's an ethereal thing, but the 2017 Jays team feels a lot more like the teams of the 00's than the phenomenal ones of the last two years. Things like Chris Caughlin diving over Yadier Molina are the sorts of small victories that I would pull out the ticker tape for in 2014. The infield tonight, which is currently losing to the Braves, is Smoak-Travis-Goins-Barney. Maybe they'll turn it around. Maybe they'll turn it around in two years. Maybe it will be another two decades. There's no way that I can know.

But thinking about all of these differences, I forgot the most crucial fact of all:

Baseball is always there, every day. They played yesterday, they played today, and they'll play tomorrow.

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

Knowing I Don't Think About You, Even Though I Said I Do

After that last post, I thought that something I would like to add is the soundtrack to that time in my life.

These three albums always remind me of the early days volunteering at KWAG:

Those sure are three sad albums about being alone!

Also these two songs, oddly enough, were just constantly repeated:

Monday, May 8, 2017

Out of Order Signs on Things That Work

In May 2013 I was very confused about what I was going to do with my life going forward. There were many different things going on in my life and almost all of them seemed like they weren’t long-term things. I had the worst job I had ever had and was looking for the fastest possible way out of it. I seeing a girl mostly out of convenience and was planning to break it off with her at any moment. My future was pretty hazy and I had no idea at all about what I would be doing even in 6 months.

Amidst all of this, there were three constants in my life. One was my wonderful friends and family, who have steadfastly supported me, even when I was kind of stupid and not concretely aiming at anything. Another was Beat Noir, which was always important to me and always something that I valued being a part of. The last was my involvement at Kitchener-Waterloo Art Gallery (KWAG).

Up to this point in my life, I had been volunteering at KWAG as much as possible. Of particular importance was a week I had spent working with their March Break Camp earlier in the year. I think the gallery was kind of taken aback that I volunteered every single day of the camp, as most people wouldn’t come in for that much time, but I had nothing else going on at the time, so I really threw myself into. As cliché as it is to say this about working with kids, that week profoundly touched me and was something that I really needed in my life at that point. A 10 year-old kid doesn’t care that you work overnight shifts stocking grocery shelves and can barely afford to take the bus to the art gallery; they just think you’re cool and funny. The great part about being adored like that is that it makes you try harder to become the person that those people see you as.

I took literally every volunteer shift available at the gallery and told the people there that I was going to keep volunteering that much until they gave me a job. I came to everything. Family Sunday, Open Houses before concerts, an art show put on by all of the elementary schools in the area, I did it all.

The next opportunity coming up was KWAG’s Annual General Meeting, in which the board of directors would discuss the gallery funding, how much they made, attendance, the shows, etc.  In order to keep up my routine of giving them as much facetime with me as possible and to learn about some of the inner workings of the gallery, I decided that I would attend the meeting.

In the week prior to the meeting, I received an email from someone with whom I worked with at the gallery saying that they had a few positions open at the gallery for the upcoming summer, with the one caveat being that they must be a student returning to school in the fall. Upon reading the email, I knew that this was something I absolutely had to pursue, regardless of how much work it was.

Sometimes it can be easy to quickly dismiss something because you don’t think that you will qualify for it or deserve, but that is also what the bastards want you to think. My parents had asked me about grad school, but I always quickly dismissed it, thinking that I was far too stupid to ever continue my education.

My thoughts process went as follows:

“Okay, so it is only open to returning students. I am not one of those.”
“Yes, but how can I become one?”
“By applying to grad school?”
“Maybe I will qualify for this job if I tell them that I have applied to Master’s programs.”
“Okay, then let’s email Sally. She’s always had your back and even sent you that really nice email after that presentation.”

Then I did all of that, which was a small start down the path towards me applying for my master’s program. It was a sunny afternoon and I was sitting on my bed in my bedroom at the Shanley house.

My new plan was to attend the Annual General Meeting, which I figured would surprise the people at the gallery in a good way. They would be very impressed. Then I would run into Nicole and tell her that I applied to the position and ask if it was okay that I had my applications out (there was only one application, in reality), but hadn’t heard back yet. This would put me in a good position to get the job, which would help me out a lot in my life.

The Annual General Meeting was on a hot night in late-May. I went through my clothes and tried to pick out something to wear. I ended up picking my pair of “nice shorts” and a short-sleeved button-down plaid shirt because I am very stupid sometimes. I thought I looked pretty good though.

When I got to the meeting, I quickly realized that most people there from a different tax bracket, as they were in nice suits and I stuck out like a sore thumb. I didn’t even have socks on for Christ’s sake.

I sat through the whole meeting, despite none of the material pertaining to me even slightly. Upon entry, I received a copy of KWAG’s Annual Report, which was sort of a published version of the meeting. Most galleries make them because they’re an easy way to present everything that the gallery does over the course of a year to potential business partners. I scoured the report throughout the entire meeting, flipping through all of the pages many times over while suits talked about the need for more funding.

It was thrilling and new for me to experience all of this. At the time, KWAG was a paragon of achievement to me and it seemed like everything would be okay if I could work my way into the place somehow. If volunteering at the camp did that much for me, how much would working there do? I still wasn’t part of the gallery, but I was now more than a visitor and that was exciting.

After the meeting, my plan went off without a hitch. I talked to Nicole, mentioned the job and my plans for grad school and she responded enthusiastically that that would be fine. It was all very exciting. I still didn’t know what was going to happen in the near future, but now there were some very positive possible outcomes for the first time in a long time and that felt really good.

This night has been one of those times that sticks to your memory since it happened. For a few different reasons, that I’m sure I could parse through if I took the time, it has taken on a certain significance and I still think about it often.

It’s been especially present in my mind lately because preparing the Annual Report for the gallery I currently work at has been one of the main tasks in my employment here. Last week while I was editing the text for it, that hot night in May popped into my mind and I had a moment where I had to stop and collect myself. I never would have thought that a glossy magazine would be such a crucial link to the past for me, but here we are. What was once this interesting key to my future is now something that I actually make. It seemed so exotic and important to me at the time, but now it’s a bullet point on my weekly “To Do” list. When I was at KWAG’s meeting, I really wanted to know how a gallery works on the inside and insert myself into that. It used to be this ideal situation that I could maybe one day attain, but now it’s just work.

The purpose of this post is not for me to draw attention to any successes I have had or for me to smile encouragingly upon my past self while he was going through a hard time, but to draw attention to how much I have changed over the four years since that night. I think it’s important to reflect upon who you used to be, who you are, and the space that exists between those two people. If you look back to the things you used to make and the person you were and think “Yes, that was awesome”, I think it’s more than likely that you are ignoring a few flaws and are probably doomed to make the same mistakes you always do. If you can look back and separate the good from the bad and appreciate both, then it can give you good grounding to continue growing as a person and be somebody that people like to talk to.

And hell, maybe I do need to draw upon a little more of the doe-eyed optimism that I had towards the art world back then, because I’m sure it would help.

Friday, April 28, 2017

Blow It Away and Wish for More

I’ve gone through a pretty big period of writer’s block recently and haven’t been particularly inspired to write lately, so you’ll have to forgive me if the rust on my writing is especially evident right now.

My daily responsibilities, things like making dinner, walking the dog, doing laundry, etc., have started to take over my free time and I find it hard to make time for writing a blog or work on short stories and songs. All of those have to be done and when you combine the time and effort that they take up, in addition to the 9ish hours I spend on the way to, at, and coming home from work, I find that I’m just too tired to even put five words beside each other. This makes for a silly ultimatum though: Either quit my job and write full-time, pass off all household responsibilities to Becks and spend all my free time writing, or just do it all and be tired.

I hope that you can tell I’m just being silly and that I’m going to try to commit to the last one.

I find it troubling that I haven’t been motivated to write lately and have gotten much stuff up here or into the “Short Stories” folder on my computer. Work has been relatively tame lately and hasn’t been driving me crazy the way that it sometimes does, so should I not be directing this energy towards writing? I know that there are some busy weeks on the horizon that will no doubt suck up almost all of my energy, so I’m worried that the last two months will turn into a batch of wasted time and a big missed opportunity.

I think that something else that has contributed to me letting my motivation slip away has been the upcoming trip to Europe that I’m taking with Becks. I think that I subconsciously put things off because I plan to write like a fiend while I’m there. This is not a healthy way to approach a large project. While I do plan to write as much as I can while we travel through Paris, Italy, and Germany (this no doubt a result of my infatuation with the Lost Generation), I think that the trip has developed into something unrealistic in my mind. I’ll try to write as much as I can, but I will not have endless free time to develop my creative pursuits. I can’t allow my whole writing project to hinge on a two-week trip.

God, I hate the way this text looks. It feels like recalling the way I write casually and the words I like to use is the hardest thing in the world. I don’t want all of this to sound like a professional email I’m sending to someone I don’t know.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Ass. There we go.

I have an especially hard time writing lyrics, which is not a new development. I used to use writing songs as a primary outlet for my feelings, but that has really waned wince I joined Beat Noir. I think a big part of it was that I knew that any lyrics I wrote would not be as good as Duff’s, so I gradually stopped bothering, though by no conscious effort of my own. It weirdly started to feel like I didn’t have things to write songs about and no proper way to say them. Then I had things to write about, but found I couldn’t force a word out of my head. Song-wise I’ve got at least a sketch of everything on guitar (which is actually good!), but everything else is nowhere close. I try to write about work and politics, but find it just comes out as hackneyed and juvenile. Things make a lot of sense in my mind, but for some reason any genuine thoughts and emotion don’t translate when I try to write them in a notebook. It’s frustrating.

For now, this is my plan:

Take a deep breath and think about the plan for the year. It’s perfectly reasonable and attainable. Don’t forget that you’re talented and smart enough to do this. Have confidence in what you’re doing and don’t stop working on stories on songs, no matter how trivial aspects of it may seem.

And please, ask me how this is all going when I see you, because that will surely motivate me to do more.

Friday, March 31, 2017

Don't Want to Lose What All Those Words Meant

The summer of 2015 was the last time that Beat Noir played shows regularly. During that summer, I bought a disposable camera with the intention of continuing that trend for the foreseeable future. I kind of always considered myself the archivist of the band and tried to make sure that I would have a lot of stuff to remember each thing we did.

I recently got these pictures developed and my friend Erik posted a few recently as well. I figured that posting a few of them here will serve as a proper memorial to one of my favourite things ever and putting film pictures on a blogspot will also be the strongest pledge I can make to my dedication to dead media.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

I'm Remembering Those Times Too

Lately I've been thinking a lot about my identity and the various pots I've got my spoons in in my life. I do think that I crossover a lot of subcultures, but I wonder if a particular one wins out over the others in terms of the perception of me by others. How do others see me?

We don't live in a world of absolutes, so I guess the easy answer to this issue would be that your identity depends on the person you're talking to. Each person you interact with approaches you with a wide range of experiences, preconceptions, and biases which all affect how they consider you. To my co-workers, my love of baseball and music stick out a lot more than my interest in art because we all already share an interest in the latter. As a result of that, they probably see me as more of a punk dude or a "bro", because let me tell ya, the artworld knows fuck-all about sports.

Also, as a sidenote, I am consistently surprised by how little people know about punk music and the subculture. I guess I spent a lot of time hanging out with mostly punk people, which explains it, but it still surprises me when I mention a band like Against Me! and get blank stares.

By the same token, I'm sure that I'm the "art" person to my punk friends.

But with this in mind, can I control my identity? If I try hard enough, will one identity win out over the other ones? What the fuck is my identity now, anyways?

I guess that I've been thinking about this a lot because for a long time I could be pigeonholed as a punk. This was especially true when I was in Beat Noir, as BN was always my main pursuit artistically. Being a band guy was an integral part of my personality and I can't tell you how many times I've been asked "Are you an artist?" since starting my job. Since I'm not a practicing artist, at least in the "makes tangible artworks for the purpose of showing them in a show" sense of the term, my response was always "I'm a musician", which usually led to some haughty art fuck being slightly condescending about my elision of "artist" and "punk band".

Now I am sort of not a musician because Beat Noir isn't a band anymore. I'm still (half-assedly) working on songs, but not seriously enough that I would label it as my main pursuit. I've also had a lot of trouble doing any creative writing lately, as I'm sure you can tell if you frequent this blog with anything resembling regularity. For a time I would have maybe self-identified as a writer, but I've been kind of doubting that lately too. I am still less than a year removed from finishing Engineering Failure, undoubtedly the biggest writing project I've ever finished, so I might be being a little hard on myself, but the aforementioned doubt does carry a lot of validity with it. Maybe I'm not a writer.

Do I become a "Museum Educator" now? This is definitely not how I want to be known. I need to avoid that, for the sake of my sanity.

I feel like I'm using a lot of big words in this post to make myself feel better about not writing so much,

The project that I outlined late last year has slowed to a trickle lately. I initially was very gung-ho about it and outlined a whole schedule to keep myself on-track, but I can assure you that I am very behind schedule now. I think I'm still in fine shape, but I do really need to stay on it.

In thinking about my identity, I came to the conclusion that calling myself a writer would probably be what would make me feel most comfortable about myself. I also don't want to ever let go of the part of myself that's a competent musician in a punk band.

The path to both of those labels lies in working on stories and working on songs and writing on this fuckin' blog. It's important to remember what inspires you, hold onto the feeling it gives you like it's rope ladder, and never look away from it. As easy as it can be to let yourself grow stagnant and sink into watching TV, you can never let that happen, because nobody ever changed the world by sitting on their couch.

Thursday, March 2, 2017

Entry #100 on the "Songs That Make Me Think About Jack and Cry" List.

Wednesday, March 1, 2017

Through Troubled Times

It is fair to say that most people's opinion of the world in the recent past has been a negative one and this is mostly due to American politics. The results of the most recently general election and the ensuing results has been divisive to say the least and the kickback online from everything not far-right on the political spectrum has been pronounced online. With an event as significant as the election of President Trump, the trend on social media has been that you must saying something about it, or risk being seen as "un-political", which, in a US election, is next to evilness. Seemingly every person in North America had something they did to express their opinions on the new President of the United States.

One such instance was Josh Caterer, the frontman of the great Smoking Popes posting a video of himself playing an acoustic cover of Elvis Costello's cover of "(What's so Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding?"

I had never heard the song before, immediately checked it out, and found that it really resonated with me. Since then it's gotten a lot of plays and has sort of become my personal anthem for navigating the world right now.

I find that the phrase "Peace and Love" can be irritating because, for me, it's come to mean that the person is naïve in matters of politics. Though I recognize the importance of the hippie counter-culture in terms of 1960's resistance movements, most people that adhere to that lifestyle now are morons. To say "We just need peace and love!" is to dramatically simplify global politics to the point that it is clear you do not understand the state of the world. It's the equivalent of saying "People need to be good." Of course they do, but that doesn't mean that most will do the opposite. No shit we need peace and love. How about you add free food to that too?

That type of statement really bothers me. To the point that I always skip the Fountains of Wayne song linked above. It's on a favourite album of mine. And I always have to skip a song in the middle!

But this whole context is part of what makes the Elvis Costello song so fucking good. The lyrics to the song accept that the world is completely irreparably fucked. It's not about saying "We must do this" in a short-sighted way, it's about asking why humanity won't do that, which absolutely must be asked. Rather than blindly looking up to a vague ideal, it presents you with a darker reality.

As I've been compulsively listening to songs every day, the chorus has played in the back of my mind while I think about ways to be better and to help. It's impossible to be good all of the time, but it's important to try to do it a lot.

It's okay to be cynical about the state of the world. It's kind of impossible not to, actually. But it's also important to remember to not be cynical about how to fix the world.

Saturday, February 18, 2017

Out For a Rip

I wouldn't say that I am a super fan of the TV show Girls. I really enjoyed the first season and a half or so of the show, but feel like it fell off a little bit and have since only watched sparingly. Something I feel kind of strongly about though, is that the show gets far more shit than it deserves. A lot of this is due to showrunner/star Lena Dunham, which is understandable, as she can be intolerable sometimes.

I feel like that's undue, because the show is almost entirely Dunham critiquing herself. The show isn't about the petty problems that millenials have, it's about dealing with those problems so that you can become a better person.

I say this because I just watched the first episode and thought that it was really good. The episode follows a fairly well-worn theme, in which Hannah realizes that she can be too cynical and judgmental and seems to vow to take pleasure in the little things and enjoy the moment. She is thrust into an environment she feels uncomfortable in, responds by trying to run away, but eventually comes to appreciate the small-scale beauty and perfection in what she's around. It was a pleasant take on the world.

I say all this because I've run through the same gamut of emotions today. This weekend, Rebecca is visiting friends and family out of town and has taken the dog with her. I was originally a little anxious about making plans to have friends over and bro out, because I couldn't think of what to do and ultimately didn't end up making any plans. I felt a lot of pressure to fill up the whole weekend, like it wouldn't be "worthy" or something if I didn't.

I watched the episode of Girls this morning while I was eating breakfast and made me start to think about lightening up a little bit. Then I went to enjoy some nice weather, skateboard, and eat a donair. While enjoying my sandwich, I couldn't help but think that I was more or less completely content and couldn't really ask for more. As horrendously cliché as it is to say, some times life seems to be about enjoying the little things.

I mean, it's unfair to say that just looking on the bright side or keeping a sunny disposition will fix all of the seemingly insurmountable problems in the world right now, but it can make one day absolutely great and sometimes one day away from the madness that is global politics right now can make a big difference.

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Oh, We Can Beat Them, Forever and Ever

On January 16th, 2017, Regular Show aired its final three episodes, ending the show's broadcast run. Given that I can comfortably call Regular Show one of my all-timers, and really one of my favourite pieces of media ever, I feel it's important that I give it a eulogy here on IMU. I originally meant for this post to be much more timely, so that it would better reflect my initial emotional response to the finale, but here we are.

When J.G. Quintel announced that Regular Show's 8th season would be its last, I actually felt relief. The show hadn't settled into the repetitious routine that many cartoons do, but it did seem like it was on a fast track to that point. Instead, they decided to end the show and turned the central conceit, two slackers working in a park, on its head by sending everyone to space. I loved this, because I would much rather see my favourite evolve and go out in a crazy way than lose interest.

I discovered Regular Show by watching Adventure Time, as the two shows form a sort of almost-prime time partnership on Cartoon Network. At first, I thought it was a nifty partner to AT that was broadcast in the same timeslot, but soon realized that Regular Show was much closer to many of my main interests (re: buddy comedies, rom-coms, lowbrow humour, constant references to 80's pop culture).

Though ostensibly a kids' cartoon, Regular Show is rife with references to more mature things. I mean, if they just switched the pop cans and wings enjoyed by the characters to beer, which the audience clearly understands them to be, it would have been shown on Adult Swim instead of weeknights. I feel like the show tried a lot harder to appeal to kids in its first season, but soon afterwards settled into its "Okay, we're just making a 'kids show' for adults" tone and I LOVED that tone.

Almost right away, I recognized the series' two protagonists, lovelorn slacker and art school grad Mordecai and slacker shit-disturber Rigby, as mirrors of myself. The way I can best explain it is that Rigby is the person I am around my friends, while Mordecai is the person I am while I'm alone. I recognized every exchange the two had as one I had had with my own friends. That was what made me love it immediately. I saw myself in what was happening. That is how a show makes you feel real feelings. Mordecai doing things he doesn't want to, just to please Margaret, hits home because I've been in that situation myself.

A quick aside because typing that up made me feel things: The romantic comedy episodes of Regular Show are so so so underrated. Nobody ever talks about them while discussing the show and I never understood that. It's something that I've never seen a cartoon do before and it's done so well. They perfectly capture the awkward nervousness of dating in your early 20's. Amazing TV.

I was not in a very good headspace when I started watching the show. I had just graduated university and was at a loss in terms of finding out what I was going to do. I felt very alone, very stupid, and very bad. Mordecai's life hit pretty close to home. The mundanity of Modecai and Rigby's life, supernatural phenomena aside, and the fact that their friendship with each other was usually the only thing that saved them from their minds melting out of their ears, was right on the nose. That was exactly where I was at in my life and what I was doing. Though I stumbled upon Regular Show and Adventure Time at the same time, the former quickly eclipsed the latter  in my own hierarchy.

One of the great things about Regular Show is that the story grew and the characters developed a lot, which I find is pretty uncommon for surreal comedies featuring lactating coffee bean. What solidified my bond with the show was that I found myself growing with it. As the show went on, and Mordo and Rigbone learned lessons about being responsible and becoming adults, I found myself doing the same. I made it through university just fine, but came out on the other end with no idea about being an adult and being a man. To be clear, I do not mean that as a slight against my parents at all, these were lessons I had to experience and learn myself, and that happened in a hurry when I was thrust out of my comfortable university bubble and into the real world. Through all of that, it was nice to have an accompaniment in Regular Show.

The show stayed with me while I moved from a bad place to good place and that made me feel a sense of ownership over it. There were plenty of episodes that I didn't think were great, but even when the show wasn't at its best (which was pretty rare), it still achieved a huge importance just by being there in my life. Regular Show was something very solid for me.

Leading up to the finale, I was expecting that I would have a strong reaction to it. The show always delivered with a strong episode to end a season, and I was confident that they would make sure to continue that into the finale. TV finales can be an intensely emotional thing, depending on how much you have invested in the show and Regular Show figured to be something I would remember.

Given the amount of reviews that already exist on the internet, there's no need for me to recap Regular Show's finale a month after the fact (can't compete with the AV Club, can I?), but it's probably enough to say that the last few episodes consisted of a classic Regular Show blow-off battle blown up to accommodate the significance of the episode. I was enjoying the show, but then a few characters started to die, which really took me by surprise. While Regular Show has certainly ramped up the emotional gravity of events in the past, nothing close to this had happened before. A break in action brought the show back exactly where it started, leading to some amazing meta-commentary on the reception of the show since its inception.

I was really happy with how things are going, but I guess it would be fair to say I expected it because of the high opinion I have of the show. Then a closing montage started with "Heroes" by David Bowie playing over it and I was immediately a wreck. The song, coupled with visuals showing you the fate of the characters immediately brought up all of the emotions that I had tied up in the show and reminded me that, even though I'll still be able to watch Regular Show as long as I like and it will still mean the same thing, it's also kind of done now and the chapter of my life in which the show served as an accompaniment to me sorting out my priorities and moving and being a goof with no responsibility and being sad and meeting a really nice girl and growing up a lot is now closed.

Thanks Regular Show.

Garbage Clowns Inc.

One of the most prominent narratives in sports journalism over the last decade has been between the "established" sports media, meaning large newspapers and television sports networks, and "bloggers", which at the time meant freelance sportswriters who owned their own smaller websites or blogs. There were obvious power dynamics that played into the divide, as the more established journalists were funded by huge private companies and corporations, which granted them opportunities and benefits the bloggers did not have. Bloggers were much quicker to jump on the rapidly expanding field of advanced statistics, now a cornerstone of baseball analysis, and they also weren't shy about letting major sports media know how behind the times they were, were didn't really ingratiate them.

For people who live and breathe baseball, advanced stats and sports blogging was an easy sell. It was a completely new way to look at something that had been around for more than 100 years. It was smart and better than anything else that was being said and everyone who write it knew that.

In Toronto, there were a few exemplary bogs who typified the "blogger" trend, with the two most well-known ones being Drunk Jays Fans and Ghostrunner on First. I started reading DJF, as it was affectionately known, the day after Roy Halladay threw a complete game against A.J. Burnett, who was returning to Toronto for the first time since leaving for New York. The Jays won 5-1.

DJF quickly replaced the newspaper in terms of what I turned to for my Blue Jays news and became an integral part of my daily routine.

In what I considered a coup, Canadian sports network The Score hired all of the cities best young bloggers and writers to publish their online content for them. This meant that DJF got bigger and more resources, while Ghostrunner on First sort of (longer story that I won't elaborate on) turned into the excellent blog Getting Blanked, which focused on all of MLB, as opposed to just the Blue Jays. Everything that The Score made at the time was a perfect mixture of young, smart, engaging, and creative writers being given full reign to make whatever they wanted. Or at least, that's how it seemed to me at the time. It was the best sports journalism that I've ever read and profoundly shaped my identity as a sports fan.

Recently, DJF creator Andrew Stoeten posted a link, through the Wayback Machine archive, to an old post and it immediately sent me down a hole reading posts. One in particular was from Getting Blanked at the start of the 2013 season, which was a very significant time to be a Blue Jays fan. During the preceding off-season, the team had made what is probably the biggest trade in franchise history and unloaded a tonne of young prospects for many established veterans. They also traded one of the current best pitchers in baseball for R.A. Dickey, who is not one of the current best pitchers in baseball, but is still okay!

The trades made in that time turned out to be a flop, as Jose Reyes never lived up to his previous success and turned out to be a piece of hit, Josh Johnson was hot garbage, and Dickey never regained the form that won him the Cy Young award in 2012. Mark Buerhle was really great though! Papa Buerhle!

Still, 2013 was a time of unbridled optimism, as it seemed like the Toronto Blue Jays were destined for the World Series. They didn't get near sniffing the playoffs and it's funny to think that that team, which didn't exist all that long ago, didn't feature Josh, or Russell, or Stroman, or Tulo. Osuna was still way down in the minors and all Jays fans thought Kevin Pillar was bad.

I think it would be fun to re-visit this post and answer the questions posed about the then-upcoming 2013 Toronto Blue Jays season:

The Questions:

Can Ricky Romero rebound after a horrendous season?


Can Brandon Morrow remain healthy for an entire season?


How will R.A. Dickey’s different knuckleballs perform in a different environment after a season in which his approach wasn’t yet known by opposing hitters?

Not great.

Is Mark Buehrle in the American League East really going to be anything more than a back of the rotation starter?

No. Still good though!

Will Josh Johnson’s fastball ever be as good as it once was? Will he be able to throw breaking pitches for strikes?

No. No.

Can J.P. Arencibia actually manage to avoid getting out in more than  70% of his plate appearances?


Can Edwin Encarnacion carry on with his success from last year?


Can Adam Lind actually hit left handed pitching? Will he actually be worth an entire win above what a replacement player might offer?

No. Yes.

Who will emerge as the starting second baseman?

No one.

Will Brett Lawrie emerge as anything other than an adrenaline fuelled swing machine with little power?


How will Jose Reyes adapt his game and hamstrings to the turf at Rogers Centre?

By getting hurt in the first month.

What on earth can we expect from Melky Cabrera coming off his embarrassing drug suspension?

A half a season of sub-par play.

Can Colby Rasmus exhibit the least bit of plate discipline in terms of both strike zone knowledge and swing mechanics?


How will Jose Bautista adapt his swing – one so dependent on maximizing leverage through body weight transfer – after a serious wrist injury?

He's getting hurt again.

Who is going to emerge as the team’s closer? Both options – Casey Janssen (currently the first choice) and Sergio Santos – are coming off surgery that can’t merely be shrugged off.

Casey Janssen will be good!

Tuesday, February 7, 2017


Once more, I've fallen out of practice of writing in my free time. The 40-hour week will do that to you. 9-5 in front of a computer every day has a way of melting your brain and spending more time on a computer is generally the last thing that I want to do when I get home.

This all being said, it has afforded me to listen to a lot of music, so I'll you this post to talk about a few things I'm really into.

During my golden years of Ontario punk, !ATTENTION! quickly became my favourite of all the bands I was seeing at every show. They moved from "Hey, that band was pretty good." to "I can't wait to see !ATTENTION!" to "!ATTENTION! is THE BEST." I placed a lot of importance on collecting everything they put out and listened to Another Year constantly while living on Dublin St. in Guelph. Towards of when they were still playing shows regularly in Southern Ontario, they had started putting new songs into their set that were going to be on their upcoming full-length. I couldn't wait for it. I would listen to Four or Five Ways to Play These Chords, the demo, Another Year, and their blink-182 cover all in row to pretend it was a full-length. Time started to pass and I figured that it was never going to come out.

Then, apropos of nothing, they announced in 2016 and put it out in October. Though I didn't listen to it tonnes when it came out, for some reason, it is absolutely great. I love the band and am so so proud that they are a product of the scene that I'm a part of. Please support this band however you can, because if there was ever a band that deserves it, it's !ATTENTION!

Oso Oso put out an album called Real Stories of True People Who Kind of Looked Like Monsters in 2015 that was one of my favourites from that year. It's really good!

When I saw them play in October, they played a few "joints" and it was that perfect type of live experience where it makes you so eager to listen to their stuff as soon as you get home. The new songs sounded really good and I was really excited to hear them when they came out.

In a nice turn of events, they announced on twitter that were going to do a surprise release of their album the next morning, so I made sure to download it as soon as I woke up. The album, The Yunahon Mixtape, proved to be AMAZING and has stayed in constant rotation since then. It's a great progression in their sound that subtly adds complexity to the compositions while retaining everything that made them awesome in the first place (re: extremely catchy hooks and riffs). Oso Oso has now put out two very strong albums and that is something rare and is much harder to do than it sounds. The band seems to be on an upward trajectory and is getting more attention. I'm really happy for them, as their music deserves any and all attention it gets. I may expand on why I think this album is really special in the near future, but for now, all I can do is recommend jamming this.


Monday, January 23, 2017

I Refuse to Run and Will Die Before I Kneel in This Life

Donald Trump's inauguration as President of the United States this past Friday has proved to be one of the more significant political moments that I have been alive for.

More significant are the protest marches by women that took place all over the world the next day in response. There was a huge version of the march in Toronto which started at Queen's Park and moved towards City Hall. I thought about attending the march to show solidarity, but ultimately decided not to, though I did turn the issue over a few times in my head. The following are a few of the points that I went over.

The march is not for me. Even though I support the sentiment behind it 100%, I am a man and as a result am partly what they are marching against. Though I consider myself an ally of the cause, I think it also important to acknowledge when it is your time to step back and allow others to speak. I think that this was one of those times.

The inverse of that also seemed logical though, as if there was ever a time to stand and show support, it has to be now. It was hard to reconcile these two points of view, but ultimately I decided on the former.

The march was also very white. The Toronto one was nowhere near as whitewashed as others (the problems explained excellently here), but it did still weird me out a little. Me being a white male, I didn't think the march needed my presence there for extra support!

Though there may be problems in the composition of the crowd, I think that a left momentarily putting aside its differences would do a lot more harm than good in the face a fucking white nationalist running a superpower. Let's not stop here. Don't forget how mad you are and don't let that stop inspiring you. Don't stop punching fucking nazis.


Saturday, January 14, 2017

Everybody Wants Some!!

A recent trend on Facebook has been users posting statuses which list "10 Albums I Loved During My High School Years", with the focus appearing to be that the albums listed were no only enjoyed at the time, but also instrumental in leading you to find later music that you loved. This isn't the first time a trend like this has popped up on the website, as I remember a version called "10 Albums That Have Stuck with Me Through the Years" being pretty popular maybe two or three years ago, but this is the most recent and I think that the high school stipulation has made this one the most popular, as more or less everyone I know is posting their own version, as opposed to just my punk friends, which is the crowd that the old ones appealed to. So popular that even Pitchfork posted a version!

My first reaction to trends like this on social media is to reject them and think that I am above them and that posting them is lame and that's exactly what I thought when this one started to catch fire. But then I caught myself reading ever single version posted and, to be honest, I found that I enjoyed reading the versions by the, for lack of a better term, normies than those by my punk friends, as the latter were mostly the same (blink album, Taking Back Sunday album, Lawrence Arms album, bad hardcore album).

Once I realized this, I came to the conclusion that me hating this trend, or even devoting any energy towards thinking of reasons why I hate it or think it's lame, is dumb and a waste of my brain. It's fine! Why should I care what benign things people do on social media? People are just talking about music they enjoy. I do that almost constantly on here, so why judge people for doing it on a different website.

It's silly, but I caught myself before I ranted about it to anybody. I've tried to be less jaded and less of a hater lately and I guess this is a small sign that I've been succeeding to a small degree.

Anyways, here's my ten.

Operation Ivy- Energy
The Arrogant Sons of Bitches- Three Cheers for Disappointment
The Suicide Machines- Destruction by Definition
Bomb the Music Industry!- To Leave or Die in Long Island
Big D and the Kids Table- How It Goes
Less Than Jake- Losing Streak
The Flatliners- Destroy to Create
Catch 22- Keasbey Nights
NoFX- Punk in Drublic
blink-182- Dude Ranch

You could also make a case for albums by The Specials and, more embarrassingly, Sublime and Reel Big Fish. Probably also a greatest hits collection by Mötley Crüe and Iron Maiden.

A thought I've had all morning, while learning early Van Halen songs, is that I wish I could say that Van Halen II was listened to enough for it to qualify for the above list, but it wasn't. My hot take for the day is either of the two following songs are the best songs in Van Halen's oeuvre:

You would think that David Lee Roth being maybe the world's worst live singer would lower my opinion of the band, but it actually does the opposite. Van Halen is so good.

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

My Best Pieces of Fiction

Actually my fucking national anthem.