and I think to myself, what a wonderful world
The final day of August 2005 brings with it quite a day in world news. As I look out over a gloomy Ontario forecast complete with annoying rain and despite lack of sun rather humid weather, I soak in the daily BBC headlines to what has been one of hell of a pisspoor global news day.
As southern state russian mothers quickly rename their first born daughters Katie, CNN is consumed with the happenings of that which hurricane
Katrina brought about over the past day. A few hundred dead, New Orleans is the next lost city of Atlantis and the American people are finally up for their turn as mother natures whipping boy as over 20,000 people are currently stuffed in the local NFL stadium sitting amongst the fecal matter of their closest neighbours anticipating a group convoy to Houston only to set up home in another major league sporting complex, the Astrodome. What a day for the dirty south, maybe Nelly will come out with a clever Nike ad to raise money for the victims of this superstorm:
"Y'all be Drowning in my Air Force Ones".
Yet another reason to hate American news broadcasting surfaced for me this morning, waking up wanting to hear about what this horrible storm had done last night, I sat through twenty minutes of correspondence telling how the levy's weren't running dry, and that if from Louisiana you should be saying bye bye to your American pie. Again, after twenty minutes, I get a story from
Baghdad discussing the over ONE THOUSAND people that died in man made chaos over the threat of a suicide bomber being yelled out on a bridge that created a devasting human stampede during a Shia ceremony, in which the ensuing chaos threw mainly women and children over the bridge killing ONE THOUSAND people. Just when I thought mother nature was going to take the "watch out for me" headline for the day, man is somehow able to overshadow a storm that wipes out entire cities.
If the tale of Sodom and Gomorrah ever re-invents itself its going to have to get fairly creative, because Im pretty sure man can out shock and awe fire and brimstone from the heavens on random Tuesdays in the new millennium. I mean a thousand people over a false bomb threat...eek for us...eek for us!!
So after re-establishing my hate for CNN's priorities I start surfing more news, and find out that
Burundi (a nation which has seen 300,000 die in a civil war driven by similar motives between Tutsi and Hutu citizens as you may have seen in a movie like Hotel Rwanda or any of the stories to have surfaced from that nation) has secured a new parliament balancing a representative body of both Tutsi, Hutu, men, and woman representatives. A positive political sign ending an epoch of death on a day where death stinks up the news.
Its awkwardly funny though, it seems as though everyday, news of American affiliated global or local efforts are always incredibly negative revolving around loss of life, destruction of environment and culture, or plain and simple material ignorance. While in the past month or so, nations untouched by American involvement are making huge historically charged changes to horror that has run for years. I am talking mainly here about the
IRA laying down their guns, and the Burundi discussion held above.
Its too bad the global media scope is how it is, because I wonder if the dominant forces of the planet had nothing to do with the states that the global mindset of the people would be a little less scared of the future of their own shadows and realize some of the positive moves lesser recognized nations are making towards peace and understanding.
Can I borrow your suspenders?
Last night my brother got all up in my grill over a stoned conversation with the twins who hang out with him. They had caught wind of
the post I wrote a while back which insinuated that they were nerds because they engaged in video games. My brother being the incredibly difficult to communicate with guy that he is said that I am a fault of society because I label people as nerds and perpetuate stereotypes that if it were not for people like me, would not exist.
Now, I am not going to get into the many ways in which my brother is wrong, but for him to say that I, a liberal minded social who gives a shit kinda guy is perpetuating a what he perceives fault of the people, itches me to the point where he was way off, and more importantly he was way off over a slight of slander which revolved around the term "nerd". First and foremost being a nerd is cool, and before I explain the need to embrace stereotypical definitions of the self, I would here and now like to defend to term nerd as it implies in the year 2005.
I am not talking about the revenge of the nerd stereotype. I am talking blogs, video games, books, crafts, cars, art, science, and really everything and anything else taught in a Canadian University setting, outside of social science because well social science types are a whole different breed.
Embracing your nerd traits is important to defining who you are. I will defend my biggest of nerd traits, that of writting this blog, until I die or stop being able to garble out nonsense on a whim. Having a blog is the nerdiest thing you can do. A self created world of commune brought together by one phrase comments and spewed happenings of the everyday. A self righteous need to express; it says so in my title blurb. But you know what, I am so happy with having this journal, sharing with new virtual relationships which spawn up out of the blue from far off reaches like the UK, Taiwan, Korea, Australia, where have you that there is truly no negative in possessing this journal in my eyes; despite the amount of slander I get from a group of guys that work at banks in toronto but whatever. Francisco
If anyone were to bash the nerdity that exists within keeping a blog you are a closed minded fool who is wasting their time lurking and perking your inssessent nothings into an otherwise utopic sense of community; huh? Right, so what this rambly rant leads to is that one should embrace their nerd traits until the end, the be all, as a righteous description of something that makes your life uniquely better to the conformed collective.
That is all a nerdy trait is. Something that others bash in order to prop themselves up as a immediate social circle symbol of status. Its how it started on the playground. The bully dubbed you a nerd because you could read faster than him, do math quicker than him, pick up french quicker than him, and in turn what did that classic bully/nerd dichotomy result in. Well ten years later the latter has a University degree, while the former STILL works at a Jiffy Lube where his dad got him the job checking tire pressure when he was 15. Good on ya cool guy, I embrace my nerdity.
Just as an FYI, I really wasnt picked on as a kid, I just can paint a mean tale.
So to my brother, who was offended by the comment of being a nerd, all I am implying by my compliment is that the traditional concept of the nerd has died in the wake of the benefits and social well being that so many nerdy traits bring about. The modern video game is one of the most intellectually engaging and motor skilled past times available to human kind. Your hand to eye, eye to mind reaction time is by far faster than any non gamer and as a nerd I am overjoyed at mentioning that I could kick your ass at Goldeneye any day of the week.
Embrace your nerdity, for it is your nerd traits that define your worth over the common, make you unique and more talented in the realms that really matter, networking and thought creation.
On a sidenote to that which my brother tried to falsely slam me for. I am not perpetuating social stereotypes, I merely recognize that which is understood by the masses as a stereotype as a defining characteristic of the individual. Be it nerd, jock, artist, new bohemian, or playa, you cannot deny the existence of the communal elements of self that run through the traits of so many on the planet. There simply is not enough stylistic nor social variation in that which you can choose to do to ignore the presence of stereotypes. Yes we live in a somewhat free weilding world, but it is a free wielding global world that is defined by the groups you are a part of.
It gets back to the ultimate stoner conversation where you trace everything back to the hunter and the gatherer. Thats right I said it: hunter fukin gatherer. In the world everyone is part of a primal pack, and in the modern definition of these packs it is not family, it is not fur colour, it is the social choices and image creating items you choose to define and enjoy yourself with that define yourself as an individual.
Straight up we need stereotypes because it lets us define who we are in relation to another, giving us a greater sense of autonomy as we can then as an individual say why or why not we are like something else. We are a world of comparison and commodity, and to deny the fact that those choices and purchases and social pass times that we engage do not categorically define us is taking the left too far as an ignorant action of self righteous better thans, where you think not being a part of something is better than realizing that a part of something will always regardless of outlook will revolve around you.
end rant. end point. i dont know if one was made. stop wasting your time here. kiddin i love you. come back soon.
Embrace the nerd within you. That is all I am saying
A self-endulgent pEEReridocal appreciation of the self and other
I like to listen. Its rare that in a circle of two that the dominant conversation revolves around that which I am doing. Sure of late with the thankful successes that the last month as brought me I have had to endure the tell me about speeches to counterparts and close friends, but to a large degree I hate talking about it.
Now this could be a figment of my imagination, and a guy like Risco the Fran (get a new face already) might say that the above statement was utter bullshit as he frequently has to endure my nonsense rants about myself and my own happenings.
This is more a comment towards the girlfriends I keep, cause straight up, girls like to talk, and more than anything they like to talk about themselves. Case in point, my very close Nicole. This girl can talk more than any human being or robotical program designed only to talk that I have ever been introduced to in my life. And let me tell you, I have been introduced to a lot of conversational robots.
Maybe thats why I keep so many girls as friends and why this gino twat gave me the compliment of a lifetime by asking if I was gay a couple weeks ago based on the facts that I showed up to the party with 6 girls only, according to him had unique style and a fancy knit hat (ascott actually). Now this was a compliment to me solely because it came from this particular person named DANO. No shit, this whop gelled beamer to cool for school typical Whitby fuktwit was named DANO. fukin Dano. Regardless I received many lucious hugs and kisses by the girls I rolled with that night following the inquisitive misnomer that ole Dano cooked up so thanks buddy, your next can of hair gel is on me.
Where was I (fuking Dano), right, so I keep girlfriends because I enjoy listening and they enjoy talking about themselves. This friday however, I was hanging out with Nicole at like 3am on the back porch and for her a mystical revelation of sorts happened. She stopped telling me for two minutes how I have to understand how she's in love right now and what that means though it wont be forever, because she doesnt know if she loves him, and she wants to live and run free, lets go to europe, what do ya say, teachers college will be scary, I go on thursday, should be fun, come up and visit, my boyfriend, oh i love him, can I call him, do you mind, okay I wont, can we have a smoke, how bout another one, wheres the wine, have we drank two bottles, have I told you about my boyfriend, I miss him, I love you, your the greatest jason, wanna go to europe, can you believe I go to Windsor, tell me about you, wait did I mention my boyfriend *and breathe*. riight, so thats actually how it goes with her but she is SOOOO attractive thats it worth it, but anyways she stops for two minutes and says tell me about you, whats going on.
Now understand that I hate that because unless direct questions are asked I feel worthless in answering those questions, mainly because everyone else talks about would be love interests in this time, and I get dupped into talking about business, and my easy going nature, blah blah boring. I think I need a girlfriend, eep, whose game? Where the point of this whole post stems from is at this moment where Nicole cuts me off and starts telling me why she thinks Im great.
Its such a weird yet rewarding feeling when someone tells you why they appreciate you and what it is that amazes them about you. You get this warm bubble of self recognition inside you which makes you both appreciate yourself and moreso value the person across from you that much more. Needless to say after a lengthy tribute to jason, we had a big hug and drank more wine, hit more bowls, and went inside to fall asleep to the exciting sounds of Harold and Kumar going to white castle, embraced on the couch: dont tell the boy about this please she says....hahah I love it, her boyfriend is so boring, I want to throw it out there just to see if it peeks his mundane.
So the point of this is to appreciate the silence of your friends and take the time sometimes to recognize how much their understanding and action as a vent means to you. I found out this weekend how important it is, and it makes your closest and closest feel great inside...especially with a few pints of homemade red in the system. everyone likes cuddles.
I just realized how self righteous this post is, and if you sat threw it, yardiyaryar....im great yeh yeah, love me love me...hahaha get back to what you were doing already.
now lets talk about you
september calm - for veritas and utilitas
I guess the inspiration to write these words comes out of the wake of Paige's Toronto exodus on her way back to London for her fourth year at Western. That combined with my driving Francisco home last night laden with farewell parting gifts (emphasis on party) that he got from his workers, starts to bring out the odd feeling that not preparing for some form of school brings about in a new graduate begin a working career.
My father called me the other day and asked how that felt, if there was a miss, a sadness or what have you to not being able to go back to that which I was so addicted to for the past four years. Oddly enough, I thought to myself, searched for sorrow and was left empty handed, with only an odd sense of relief and comfort in where I am at and at what stage I now have to present myself in life.
I saw my step sister studying last night and I almost couldnt help but laugh at her. I felt bad, not because she was studying, not because she is going to teachers college in Buffalo (which certainly could justify mockery) but because I saw the ball of stress that weighted down her backside. The nicest thing about being done is that any veil of stress that the educational world puts on its oh so important deadlines, test dates, and exam periods, will never exist for me again. Not that it ever really did exist, but at least the 72 hour essay marathons are over.
From here on out, yes there will be stresses, but the worst thing that could happen is being fired. And in these, what appear to be the potentially most entertaining years of my life, as I accumulate dispensible income, move out on my own for real, have a car, and a geographically broad social circle I have no worry, no need to be anywhere in particular, and most fortunately no choreographed schedule as to what and where my experiences have to occur.
The aspect of University life of which I was awakened to most recently, and in turn eased my parting most comfortably was that as unique and crazy and fun and sexy and wild and happy and sad and uplifting and personally expanding that the post secondary life provides, it is a life cookie cuttered by similarity to everyone else at your school. Yes you have different opinions and happenings to detail your tale but everyones memories from Western will fall into the same geography the same frosh weeks, the same bars, the same clubs, the same buildings, the same girls, the same classes, only with different faces of friends to change to the story a tad for each.
Now I have no social dopplegangers, I am my own choices my own experiences, incredibly unique to the world at large. The greatest thing about graduating is that once and for all, despite the pressures of modern capitalist make ups you are unique and the concept of a numbered registration and assimilated experience is for the most part extinct. Yes you may have an employee number, but if you still do in 5 years you are counting your degree short and arnt where you should be.
I spent four years in an intellectual training ground playing by the rules of those who have analyzed, criticized, and improved upon the rules outside the walls of schooling. I paid 35 grand to learn how it works, and to make the moves necessary to be in control of my own unique experience....Im like Kanye baby, with less walking jesus.
getting the small talk out of the way.
I cant seem to find a solid string of coherent thoughts to put a post together in these past few days. It has been chaotic in the life that is mine, and so, though I am personally not a big fan of the "write what happened to me" post and picture I am going to buckle and cave to the art of literary representation of recalled representation. There at least I prefaced with what on the skim over may appear as an intellectual anecdote.
Anyways, so Tuesday I teamed up with spanish brederen Francisco, whom together voyaged into the city to pick up
Paige and make our way to the Rivoli for a riot of a time. It was sketch comedy night, and for about two hours I was thrown into that which I picture the experience to be if I were in a SNL studio watching Chris Farley in a small suit.
The acts were really funny, and some of Mister Rivas' familia perform in one of the troops called Frenzi. They are very entertaining, and after watching SOCK RIOT (a game played on stage, where five male cast strip down to boxers and wrestle for one another's socks until there is a proclaimed winner all to the sound of soft adult contemporary love songs: summation, funny), I have decided that I like sketch comedy live and for a whoping price of FREE, may end up showing my face at the Rivoli on tuesday's again.
On the business front tuesday prooved to be very beneficial as well. I received a call from a major foundation in Metro Toronto who would like to have me in for an interview for the role of events coordinator for their charitable initiatives. The interview is later today, wish a cat well.
Yesterday was the event day for the charity golf tournament I have been attending organizing committee meetings for over the past three months. My 7 am thursday morning wake up calls proved to be worth it all, as I got to smoozche and swing with my local communities industrial elite. The event raised one hundred and twenty thousand dollars for a regional cancer centre, featured amazing weather, great golf, abnormal amounts of food, deliciously catered, and my free reign of a golf cart all day to boot around and assume the role of organizer by just asking if everything was ok with everyone. I have a tan, a ballooned stomach, and a strong pat on the back. Oh free golf shirt and some bluejays/redsox tickets for september too, lycra and liquor mmmmmm!.
On the ballooned stomach note. Why is there so much food in my world.
BBC reported today that the American obesity crisis is growing. No shit, its spreading to Canada. In a month combining a wedding, camping weekend, numerous drunk escapades, stoned nights and home cooking, I feel like a balloon, a balloon whale, a balloon whale pignata that if attacked could result in my covering your party with jolly ranchers and skittles because of the food overload spreading through my body. I feel grosse and unworldly ignorant as I have both added pounds and further hypocrized my green awareness for Sudan bracelet. Its hot out side, I think somehow in this eat fest I have developed hate for anything edible...shoot me....kiddin, its not that bad, but as you can see in Paige's most recent post...chubby needs less beer.
There we go, that sums up of the week thus far. I guess to a degree these kind of posts are worthwhile. I was telling Francisco on the drive to see the comedy show that the reason I value blog culture so much, especially due to the large amount of personal peers I have sharing and reading these online journals, is because when social happenings of the real kind occur, all that pesky what are you up to conversation that bothers me so much when you go back to the bar and run into people from HighSchool is out of the way.
Camping was a blast last weekend because not once did I hear a conversation of "so, what are you up to's" for more than ten minutes. Sure there was the odd "so hows it going" but it was always in reference to a known life occurence that everyone knew about because of the blog.
Yet another reason to waste your time on here when alone, so that you can enjoy your time further when you meet up with people outside of this online jungle. Value the small talk that blogs kill off, its the small talk that suks anyways.
cheers.
so what are you up to nowadays?
oh to receit that which once was.
I am sensitive to smells, I truly am, and it is most likely, of all the senses the one that I draw most attention to, and most likely bitch about on frequent.
How many times have you heard the camping phrase, "theres nothing like the smell of the campire". Oh the relaxing tendencies and stomach churning memories that this little staple of human escape brings to the historical party.
If you are reading this you have no doubt already learned about my weekend, seeing as the blogosphere is fortunate enough to be blessed with, oh a bigillion or so of my peers, and all of them went on the knights beach mit exodus this weekend. What they won't have shared with you however, is the fact that the smell of the campfire is both the best and worst smell to the human psyche depending on the moment you are noticing it in your trip.
The best time is clearly when its first lit, bologne sticks are skewered, marshamellow's prepped, and bebe guns cocked and pointed at bacon's naked body. Okay, the last moment is unique to this weekend, but you should of seen him, laughter never smelt so good.
The worst time however, occurs seventy two hours later, the monday after the day you got home, and couldnt keep your party weathered eyes open long enough to shower on the sunday. I tried washing my hair three times this morning only to still reek of the smell of burnt wood, mustard over hot dog, ashes, and car freshener (I camp in a metal palace called honda). Its now a smell medly complete with some papaya flavoured shampoo, a pineapple whiffed hair gel, and my now natural camp site odour that eminates from my head.
Needless to say, Im an irritated bugger, moreso than when brown stumbled upon us hot boxing his tent...sorry pappa brown, but paige said it was cool.
Anyways, here are my highlights from the weekend, but be sure to scroll down the first 10 names in the phresh phaces section of this journal, as you will be bombarded with memories from this weekends permanent smellapalooza.
highlights for me:
- the trip was supposed to take an hour and a half from Toronto. On friday our geography fell victim to a tornado watch, incredible rain volume, and a flooded highway at times, due to the weather condition. It took me two and half hours just to get Paige at Yorkdale, usually a twenty minute drive. From there Paige and I, as Paige and I do in our typical fashion, we are able to make our way to the supposedly 1 hour away campsite, with no directions, excessive mind numbing activities, and a detour into Hamilton to search out a unsearchable liquor store, in a quaint and comfortable 5 and a 1/2 hours. At one point we realized we were twenty minutes from London and somehow had gotten back on the 401. Our incredible miscommunication was bonded solely by our both believing that if we got directly under the moon we would find our campsite. Which after many wrong turns was a correct assumption as we pulled up to the fire at 11 pm, after leaving at quarter after 3 that afternoon in the direct moonlight over head. The gods wanted us to find it, oh yes. Paige I love you, lets ship ourselves to China.
- Bacon naked is incredibly comfortable. He is the epidome of a Porn Villain, and will be able for hire as either, Varsity Rapist, Dominatrix mace weilder, naked lion, or any other characters you can think up.
- Guns are weapons not play things. But playing with weapons can be funny.
- Five guys should never swim naked alone, its weird for the people on the beach.
- the blossoming of a threesome should not be interupted by a race to see who can pound a tall boy of max ice brew. i lost, and my chest hurt....it was filling with emotional hurrah two minutes prior. alex and paige are pretty:P
- wedding photographers who feel that an action shot of a wedding party in the midst of our football game are lame photographers. All right natural action people....riiiiight
- i am sick and dirty at football, and no one west of yonge will ever beat down the EAST. whitby/scarborough whaaat? like seriously though, i had sick moves...
that is all, check the links, dunn it in dunnville is not funny more than half of once.
baby, ill buy you a house
well the job hunt for future work is over. My contract with Cancer Care Ontario and the ministry of health was supposed to end on september 2nd, but after a rave rewiew by two guys that make way too much money within the organization happened this morning over the work I have done to date, I was sat down and offered consultant work within the health care system both in Ontario and Trinidad for a whoping amount.
Needless to say I will be making exactly
double what as a new grad I would expect to make working in say Korea. Korea would have paid 2500 a month, you do the math! eano be blinging! ok ill do the math, that 5 grand a month..sweet fuk, i graduated in april.
Regardless, I am overjoyed and about to go celebrate for one of the most fun weekends of the summer, the mit camping weekend. I will be establishing myself as the old balls alumna with brown and jax, team creep, but hopefully I'll inspire a couple of them to push for the gold and everyone else to realize the value in obtaining a degree from MIT over copious amounts of brew and other indulgences I find myself able to still consume while producing in the "real" world.
hurfukingrah ladies gentleman, as of today Atypical Industries has been hired for its first real contract and I as an individual am a competitive brand in the ontario market of project and event management.
hurfukinrah indeed.
I love it when you call me big poppa; actually I just love it when you call me. please keep calling me. please!!!
In watching the Daily Show the other night, I was exposed to a pop cultural story on which John Stewart bled sarcastic humour. So much so, I had to tend to my own laughter wounds and celebrity culture pity which after hearing the story, had me leaking culture sorrow out my brain. What? Anyways, so P Diddy, Puff Daddy, Shawn Combs, producer, marketer, da band maker extraordinaire has gone through yet another name change.
The alphabetical equivalent to Madonna has decided to drop the P from Diddy and simply go by the much cooler, more socially acceptable and less controversial Diddy. Now normally I wouldnt even waste my time with mentioning this goof balls expired PR schlock but it was the comment clip that the Daily Show producers chose to play that made me want to stand up and shout, WHY DIDNT YOU DIE INSTEAD OF BIGGIE SMALLS??? WHY GOD WHY. Though your police remix of "ill be missing you", is engrained as most likely one of my most memory associated tracks, Diddy has become a self-engulfed ignorant piece of moldable pop clay, stuck in a mystified image of himself which has him thinking he is somehow still on top of the rap game, as opposed to the realists understanding of his current status of hip hop equivalent to Weird Al. His tracks are jokes, he is a joke, his label is a joke, and now his reasoning for a name change is a joke.
What, you ask, is the statement which warranted my long winded preamble before actually stating what it is that he said that made me larph so? Well Shawn Comb's reasoning for removing the P from his Diddy was that "he felt it was getting in the way from connecting him with his fans". Seriously! No like really, thats what he said. Im not lying, don't look at me like that. The self contrived reasoning for Diddy's stumble down the celebriladder is the letter P which has jaded BadBoy lovers since the big change from Puff Daddy.
This just in Mister Diddy: Puff Daddy was your best alias, along with the time you stood behind the camera, or in Wallace's overly large shadow. Yes P Diddy was a stupid name, but trying to make the same stupid alias somehow more stupid is not going to rekindle your once was's. Frankly you should of pulled a Jay Z and returned to your actual name, but then Diddy wouldnt be as cutting edge as his 35 year old plus frame could imagines he is.
What is nice about Mister Combs most recent press tour is that it plays in nicely with this weeks edition of Seeds and Applesauce's bi-weekly beats. Now this week I am cheating a little, because I havnt actually bought the albums as of yet, but moreso picked them out not having had the chance to run into the city and pick up my hold order (you may all damn
Paige for this, as yesterday she was too busy to meet up with my fashionably late running self). I must also give credit to the writers at
Violence of the Blog, because this week is heavily inspired by them.
I was able to lock down the BlueEyes, Bed Stuy mixtape, as well as a long debated Sufjan Stevens purchase. In addition to that I threw an old choice into my Civic Royce and supported Interpol by picking up the Antics album which has remained as a MP3 bedroom jam fest for some time.
Isnt it nice when real world happenings like an epic cultural name change weaves perfectly into a culturally significant happening like my buying of bi-weekly muzak. I think so, and now you do too.
From here on in, I have dropped the E in my last name and will go by Ano!
Oh to be a fortunate elitist with a debt of thirty five grand.
I'm sitting at my desk on Tuesday and up comes the real life version of Wario from the Marios Bros saga who is overseeing my project. Yes that's right I work with a short stalkey Italian man who laughs with a weasely tone only after making belligerent comments towards women and what either of us could and would do to them; he's quite awesome really. So he walks up to me and asks if I wouldn't mind holding a meeting with the director of development for the health care system in Trinidad and Tobago. Since my natural element is presentation, and talking with people, I obliged without a problem.
Two o'clock roles around and in comes one of the nicest trinidadians I have ever met. Keep in mind I have only really met Canadian-Trinidadians, mostly attractive women my age, whom I went to school with, so he kind of had the nicest trinidadian competition locked down anyways. Regardless, I sit down for about an hour with him and tell him all about my project. How we are establishing phase 1 of a regional cancer program in the attempt to decrease service wait times in Ontario with the ultimate goal to centralize hospital funding as a cohesive unit across the central east region. I showed him my data collection methods, the means by which I go about holding interviews, the means by which I collect and present data, and so on and so forth.
This guy's mind is blown by the work I have done this summer, saying that he has hired consultants for the past 8 months back home who haven't even broken the mold of what I have completed in the past four with no previous health care experience. Now this entry is not intended to toot my own horn, though I am glad I just got to use that expression, its more of a comment of awe at the fact that this guy was so impressed with my basic research method tactics that I pulled out of an introductory text book from a required class that I took in my last term at Western.
The educational gap between the millennium baby (born from 81-85) is mind blowing compared to the generation before us. This guy could not believe my technical ability with base programs that have been sitting on his desktop since 1997 (im using excel) and he was a bucket of slander for those who he had hired back home doing the same work at a much smaller success rate than that which I am pulling off.
I am blessed to have been educated in a Canadian university during a technological boom, and it really shone through yesterday when the global hierarchy of knowledge unveiled itself in the conference room behind my desk. The best part of the whole thing is that he insisted he take my contact information and inquired as to whether or not I would like to be living in Trinidad for some winter months if any more consultant work were to arise.
I (swallowing a gigantic grin) was very professional, passed him my card, said keep in touch, and that Im sure I would love Trinidad for some work. Who knows where this will go, but its fun to know that someone in Trinidad is sporting a business card with my name on it, touting my research contract abilities to a bunch of islanders who have probably been doing this for twenty years.
Even more funny is the fact that I hate research methods, loathed the class, went like 4 times throughout the year, skimmed through the text book on the lawn outside the exam room before the test, and thanks to presentation skills somehow managed a low B from the course, even though the professor clearly knew I put in no effort towards the lessons she had planned.
Bless the gift of gab people, talk to yourself in the mirror, it'll help in the long run.
----
On a very cool note, once I got home yesterday, what awaited my arrival, but a small litter of baby raccoons hanging out under our front porch. Apparently the neighbours saw the mother trying to move the liter but once all the human activity started up she left three of the five babies in our front garden to await a later move date. They were the damn near cutest things I have ever seen and wished I had a camera. Especially when the overly aggressive pup (is that what you call a baby Raccoon) came out from the shrubs and circled all the humans watching the little trio.
I thought raccoons were nocturnal unless rabid, so who knows how gentle of a creature these things were, but their foamy little mouths were adorable.
Blinded by the Light
I was introduced to the most unique form of new television programming last night, so much so that I will rid my usual veil of disgust that I throw out for television in order to talk about the promise that television has for the future. Last night between episodes of the Sopranos and Entourage, I surfed on over to ABC's westcoast affiliate around 11 eastern time just in time to catch ABC's self touted "groundbreaking" game, variety, reality, community show called
My Kinda Town. I have to say that in the world that is television, ABC has created a very entertaining british hosted and influenced televisual experience.
The basis behind the show is that the network choses a small American town, flies two hundred of their residents to a New York studio, sits them town, hypes them up, and offers them prizes through entertaining little interactions via satellite and in studio affecting their lives back home. Last night the town featured was Greensville, Alabama, a typical southern home that when put on screen appeared as though that this was definitly the best thing to ever happen to the whole community.
The show had great gags and a lot of laughs, which when combined, gave the third party viewer (me) an odd sense of community, local tradition, family, entertainment, fun, and all in all a very very unique globally watched local experience.
- The major events included the tallest man in the town watching a giant fire breathing dinorobot destroying his old tractor on the main strip of the town, only to be rewarded his dream tractor immediately after.
- A trailer park resident watching her overly large trailer dissapear on screen, only to follow a then fictional news report about a runaway home in greensville, finally ending in the reward of her home being placed in the dream neighbourhood she always wanted to live in, and a since the scene included the destruction of her television, the show also rewarded her a brand new plasma screen.
- There was also the first ever naked Greensville calendar, featuring the quirkiest members of the town, nude on screen posing for different months.
- And finally one local fireman was quized on the names of six random townspeople featured throughout the show and when he got them all right, all two hundred residents in studio won brand new Vespa's making Greensville, Alambama now the most unusual commute in all of America.
This show gave me the most unique television experience I have had in a while. Combining variety programming of old, with an odd makeover reality based game show of present. What was so unique was the concept of focusing fame on a small town that would otherwise never be put on the primetime map. The energy in the crowd was so unique and warm, for everyone somewhat knew each other, and so when nude photos of the locals flashed on screen, the laughter in the studio was so genuine and warm out of famialiarty and relatability it was warming to watch. It made the novelty of a hometown a global experience, and for one night Greensville, Alabama as a place was the star, and not only a star but a benefactor of many prizes and changes. No doubt when everyone returns home now, this will be one of the most welcoming localities in the states, as everyone will now have a mutual bond, mutual friends, and mutual blue Vespa scooters.
I really appreciate what ABC is trying to do with
My Kinda Town, and it made me think a lot of where I think television is heading.
The show brought back a conversation I had in an overly influenced Saturday late night this weekend. The last four of the party were chilling out and as all conversations go at 5am, anything and everything came up as a topic; including television. One excessively boring and disgruntled dude (*cough*nicolesboyfriendsisboring*cough*) brought up his disgust for reality shows and his feverous worry about the future of television and the potential for the all programming to be reality based.
Being the media driven loudmouth once influenced guy that I am, I naturally went off. Reality television and HBO styled programming is the future of television. The sitcom is dead, sorry Arrested Development lovers, and the future of the tube will lie in the viewer being more and more engaged in the programming. Already you can log online and buy products that you see on television or aid in the production as participants via calling or voting to be involved in the programming. Soon everyone will have the opportunity to be an American Idol via performance, simple random selection, or by clicking the remote, and in my eyes, this is the best means for this medium of obedience and guilty pleasure.
Ridding oneself materialistic critique, if one realizes the constant presence and purpose of a medium like television is to sell product, then why not combine the advertising efforts with the nature of fame. Make the everyguy a star, give the awkward seven footer a new tractor, and move the poor trailer park resident to her dream location, all the while offering the viewers at home the opportunity to play along, apply to be on, or simply win via watching some form of prize, be it fame, good, or service.
We should embrace reality programming for it is the stepping stone to an interactive televisual community, similar to the internet without the freedom or the access (*larph). Yes television is a controlled medium, where few can decide what is said to millions, and fewer will ever influence the message. But if I can watch a whole town become overjoyed with how and where they live amongst all the horrors and control mechanisms that the television otherwises promotes, then cool.
Fictional programming will remain, but it will become filmic in its production. The world of
24, Sopranos, Huff, Entourage, and now
Rome will take television to a new level where every night you get 1 hour of a four month long movie. From here on you will be able to choose excessive escapism or personal interaction from your bubetube, and after last night, I am finally once again intrigued as to the future of one of the worlds most unique and powerful mediums.
*you are now safe to change the channel.
To 1055 Brough St. As of today, a global unit.
So as I write this two of my closest boys, brothers of sorts if you will, are boarding ?AirKorea? to make the big move for a year to Kwangju South Korea. The city of art, food, and the morning calm will be a welcomed change for Nomi and Aaron, as aaron likes to eat like no man I have ever seen before, and nomi is as artsey a brown man I've ever met.
The sight of a man's knees boarding a plane for a year to a country he has never even set foot in would be hilarious to me. I can picture Nomi at this very moment making a musical percussion with his legs shaking side to side wondering why he didnt take my advice and pop a perkaset or morphine drip before he entered the terminal.
My personal urge to follow them to Korea in a few months has subsided a little in the wake of good potential here in Toronto working my first year out of school. There is a good chance I buckle, flop, or fear the rat race that is establishing yourself in Toronto and escape to a far away land just as these two white boys are doing today. Apologies Nomi, but if you consistently consider yourself a white guy, your stop over in Chicago should be much more lucid and unbothered. Perception is half inner perspective.
So here and now I propose a virtual cheers to Nomi and Aaron for venturing to as foreign a place I can fathom for these two, with many wishes on both a successful flight, and proper welcome once in Kwangju.
On that note, I want to add some advice for both these guys and anyone else that is going to a far away land for a trip in the near future. The difference between good and bad documentation of one's foreign adventures lies in the ability to remove the need for the self to be represented in the pictures you take while you are away. In my eyes there is a good and a bad way to document your trips via photo. The good way lies in the realization that the pictures you take will be known to everyone you show them that they are indeed your pictures and so a snap shot of you thumbs up in front of every unique piece of geography you cross is completely unnecessary and rather lame at that.
Acceptable scenarios where you snap a self portrait are:
- drunk as hell at a bar
- drunk as hell with a Korean girl whose into it
- when possible legal actions may be necessary in the future (*note this is also a good reason not to include yourself)
- action shots. When the person being represented doesn't appear to notice the camera going off. Dallas has taken amazing self shots like this while in Mwanza, Tanzania and if you haven't, check out her adventures.
- occasional cheesy monument shots for the parents who don't yet should appreciate the fact that the camera is a better documentation of where you are than a picture of you in it. But I guess its nice to see how your little boy as grown or shrunk while in Asia.
The above list is the only acceptable reasoning for big smiles, and high fives in pictures. Otherwise realize that the camera is your eye, and that you cant look at yourself normally so use the camera as normal and shoot only that which is in front of you.
Besides think of how many asian tourists jokes you have overheard in the last while. Nomi/Aaron, you don't want to flip hemispheres and give the locals an equal opportunity to slam you and your wondering ass.
All in all, any pictures are cool because it gives us a weird virtual way of knowing what each other are up to. And I do promise that if shit goes sour, or if girls like Carrie, Jane,
Cid, Nicole, all of Sunset somehow turn Unattractive and my social circle depletes into a sorrow filled self loathe while I work event planning for some oncology auxiliary out of Toronto, Im going to bail ship and meet you for rice and beer by the next Monday. Ming ho brubrahs, ming how!
안전을 있거든 술취하는 여행, 환호는 빨리 돌아온다
*the above means "cheers to a safe and drunken trip. Come back soon".
**alex your famous
***1055 Brough st. was the address where we all shared space for the best years of our lives to date. ain't that sweet.
question: will I have the opportunity to "do" a green chick?
After taking a look at the
2005 brand rankings in july's business week edition, I was shocked and awed not to find Sir Richard Branson's Virgin enterprise amongst the top 100 financially worthy brands on the globe.
My brother and his friends are cool guys, but they have nerdy traits. They smoke like champs, enjoy a good larph, and within the posse maintain a funny guy, a tough guy, two good looking black twins and a six foot seven goof whom I enjoy most of all. Amongst their nerdy traits maintain a love for startrek, an obsession with playing halo 2 on xbox, and often discussion of space, the final frontier, and all the majesty and awe that comes with space exploration. Nevertheless they are always over at our place so needless to say I often get sucked in to the nerdity amongst their late night events.
Recently, the funny guy and I were talking about commercial space exploration and he pointed out how feasible it is supposed to become in the next 3 to 7 years. So I wanted to look further. The reason I am so in awe of Virgin's missing name on the brand power elite is because outside of conquering the
commericial jet,
telecommunication, reality television (the rebel billionaire does not deserve a link),
wine, and
knighted CEO's realms of the world, comes the most recent news from Branson's newest company
Virgin Galactic.
For those unaware, Virgin Galactic is one of two global companies engaging
in the market for commercial sub orbital space tours to be readily available for the private citizen somewhere between 2007 and 2012. I mean where the shit was I when they announced that sooner than later than I thought it would have been, that for only 100 grand or so, johnny whoever, could take a leap through space. I mean thats some sweet shit, no?
What is a larph and a half however, is that once you get over the awe that is the idea of commercial space travel, is when you read about the branding that is going into these space adventure companies. I mean this isnt surprising, its just funny that we've naturally moved advertising and brand placement out of this world. Further examples that branding is an embedded necessity in our material culture as a representative self for the corporate identity comes out of Virgin's possible plan for that the final frontier. Take a read
here just to see how Virgin lays out that which they are planning for Virgin Galactic.
So many virgin's, such a small web page. So to sum up where this was all going, I think business week missed a major player in their report, that or they are waiting until the fiction becomes reality, but with the
latest news report to come out of Virgin Galactic's website it may not be too long before Virgin takes over Coke, Microsoft as the most dominant brand name to advertise on this planet or the next.
* but honey you can't fit in space, now eat what Ronald told you to!
You're lucky I like this song; you fukin wanky protege!
I am considered by many to be fairly laid back.
Alex pointed out very graciously this weekend that she was surprised by the fact that I was insulting someone over the local web the other day, because I tend to like everyone, never really get rilled by people, and frankly don't give a shit whether someone chooses or chooses not to befriend me.
However, this weekend I passed 8000 km on my new car, and yes I have only had it for under two months, and yes I am aware that due to lease I am only permitted a certain amount of kilometers a year, and yes I realize that said total will be reached sometime in october probably, but yes I have friends, and yes they need eano time, and who am I to limit their experience because Honda Canada says so. The previous sentence was long; this one is short.
In passing eight thousand clicks I have now taken some time to reflect on what has changed inside me in the course of so many travelled miles. For I feel a great burn, and a growing unease that is turning me, shifting me, eating away at my very soul which is in turn birthing some form of new rage, and very unlike eano tendencies. I have dubbed this souleater that which is most commonly known as road rage.
Fuk do motorists piss me off. No really, like Im mad, and while those who know me, will understand that this will result in a fist shake and laugh off, its different this time, because when Im driving I feel it growing. An urge to run a dude off the road, get out, and scream in his usually asian, female, old and or guy on a cell phone (no offense, its not racist its a scenario) face and say:
"DUDE>>> DUUUUUUUUUDE If you are going to ride in the far left lane at 110 (clicks not miles), for christ sakes do not break when four cars going 140 who know what the fuk they are doing come cruising up behind you, anticipating a move to the right lane."
Theres something fuking awry about how few people use the far right lane to move in. This is the lane for cruisers. Don't try and live the image of a fast driver if you suck ass and move so damn slowly". AND BREATHE.
-----break-----
okay so now I need to mellow out and to do so I want to make reference to music. More particularly, my favorite part of music. From here on out, when you listen to your favorite bands pay attention for that moment when the chords are hit just right and a particular part of your soul just expands and soaks in all the life that is around you at that very moment. Ill give you an example
Take out the
Bloc Party cd. Put said cd in your player of choice. Players to be used here can range from cd, to dvd, to ipod, to computer, to some form of new technology that you may have that I have not seen before. Go to track 8 on the album entitled
Pioneers. Begin listening to the song. Right before the final verse when Kele says breathe in, breathe in, breathe out, breathe out, pay special attention for your soul is about to lift up out out of the world, skip along the atmosphere, check out china, eat some rice, and cruise back into your body right before the overly appropriate summer 2005 themed song Price of Gas starts up.
so yum, so fun, thats it im leaving work early to go listen. Get off the road; Im on a musical move.!
*note* all of your favorite albums will have said moment, and it is up to you to find it...there are so many others I could talk about and it usually only happens once a year, but when it does, hug someone.
Who Wants to RingRing up on ma DingDing?
Twice this week lady friends of mine have asked me what it really means when a guy calls them at 3am asking how they are doing. Well, for those who are not a fan of observing the obvious, today I am going to highlight what exactly it means when a gentleman caller chooses 3am as his beck and call time.
Plain and simply, he wants to sleep with you. Yes I am now aware that hearts are shattered, breath's have been lost, and the girl world is stuck in utter dismay. However, though these girls asked inquisitively as to the true meaning of their late night calls, I refuse to believe that you ladies dont actually know whats up when a guy you may or may not be interested in, gives you a ring in the 'oui' hours just to see whats going on.
Now, before the men of the world strike me down for making an accute observation about our natural need to late night party I will throw some masculine defense into the mix. Calling a girl late at night, possibly drunk, high, or what have you, does not necessarily mean that the guy only wants a horizontal dance party (wow that was lame). There is a chance, though be it a unique one, that said guy simply wants to talk to you, see whats up, how your night was and then both of you can driftily fall off to sleep to the sound of each others breathe across the telecommunication love roller coaster that is the phone system.
That above paragraph is however, a blantent load of shit; to a degree. Now I know people, hell its clear that I am a good psychologist based on all the rise I got out of people bitch slapping the psychology profession a couple days ago. So I feel I know the human psyche, and I feel as though I know what guys are really thinking: Its not just sex, and its not just love, but it is a sad state somewhere in between.
What it means when a guy calls you a 3am is that he is lonely. Straight up. And that he feels you might be lonely and better yet that you are both lonely with an offshoot chance that you both are sitting in a lonely place thinking of one another. Now yes, the ultimate prize of that phone call is that you two are fucking by five, but truthfully, the guy just wants to meet up, hang out, and if push comes to NO shove, sleep beside each other so that you have a sexy someone to go out to breakfast with the next morning.
We're not all dog ladies, and there is some genuine to us. However, and this is a big HOWEVER. Don't ever pretend that when you ask a second guy what it means when another guy called at 3am, that you dont know what is going on. And better yet, dont pretend like you dont want to be snogging him anyways. Your just pissed that he chose 3am as the romance hour and you caved, got er dun, and woke up hoping you wernt just victim to the sweet sultry sounds of the Y chromozone.
*who wants to make out
"Let 'em riot. We're Sonic-fuckin'-Death Monkey."
So the bi-weekly beats phenomena thats sweeping the personal nation has ventured outward for vol 4. of the purchase cycle. Bored as hell with the mundane cookie cutter chain stores that bleed solely through the burban paradise that is where I am, I decided that I needed to find a new sanctuary for musical tasty treats. Not to mention I finally figured out the driver that was missing from my laptop at home to allow me to burn cd's and so now rarities and liner notes come heavy into play for my selection.
On wednesday I was down in the city at a scrumptious little restaurant called Utopia with darling Carrie for a fantastic mid afternoon, four hour lunch break; cancer cure can wait for any good sandwich and a salad with portebello mushrooms. Anyways, on the way out we stumbled across this store about a block into little italy on college called
Soundscapes.
Now if you are from Toronto this may be incredibly familiar to you, but if it is not, make it familiar because last night I ventured back with my musical macedonian and shopped for an hour and a half for great music.
Soundscapes was a great store for the following few reasons.
Firstly, it reminded me very much of an empire records, high fidelity staff, who love being there, know every album in the store, and have hand picked their favorites to sit a top a fifty or so album shelved local near the front.
Dosely, the prices were incredibly reasonsable and cheaper than any HMV or Sunrise.
Tricely, not nearly as many flashy lights, and no way in hell the black eyed peas album was ever going to play on loop in here.
Apres tout, the selection of rare finds and incredibly diverse break up of sections in the store is remarkable. You can go from a whole section on canadian indie music, to americana and folk, to hard hip hop, melodic hip hop, funk, soul, a huge new/indie rock database and a whack of listening stations all over the place that will let you sample before you buy.
All in all it was an ingenious set up, a delicious find, and a secure statement can be made that I will be frequenting this store frequently over the next long while. It was so perfect, that even two forty year old guys were in there appreciating every country jazz and bluegrass album they could find. I saw a eerie glimpse into the future where I am forty, jewish, and obsessed with bluegrass at a store that is overly familiar with my face.
good times a
nd it resulted in the purchase of the albums you now see listed under bi-weekly beats.
Just by the by, the bands I am burning and not buying at the moment lie in the popular following three:LunaMarjorie FairM.I.A
Could the Terrorists have moved the runway?
Leave it to Canada to finally get some global coverage on the twentyfour seven news channels only to have the disaster flop, leave everyone unharmed thanks to an incredibly efficient rescue system to make sure all involved were safe and home in the their beds by sometime that evening.
Why is it that as the world slowly crumbles due to the plethora of disastrous reason that spread across the globe, Canada only get hits with the most annoying of occurence. "Its so cold", "Gosh its Hot", "Oh no, now im late for Paris and get a free flight". The Gods are trying to tell us something, that being, that Canada really hasnt hurt anyone on the global scale and so to get back at us, while others are hit with war, tsunami, hurricane, poverty, hunger, over consumption, we just sit up here in our occasionally annoying climate with occasional brow raising occurences to keep us in line and remind us not to step to far out of whack before it gets worse.
Air France is in pieces but everyone on board is fine and dandy, with no reason to believe that terrorists were involved in the disaster, oh thank the heavens. But wait, is it not the heavens that tried to shock and awe us this time. I mean the plane was most likely hit by lighting and frankly, no American government could of funded Al Qaeda in lightning training.
Yet another reason that the least of our problems on the global scale revolve around the pety examples provided by war, economics, and general malaise towards other would be empirical actions of malicious intent. It is those same Gods that are annoying Canada's slow demise that will be the eternal equalizer.
This was an inconsiderate, satirical, and nonsensical rant, so please before you comment realize that sarcasm bleeds through all ignorant well brought up Canadians with a critical theory degree in global media and happenings...Geez people I sit in an Ivory tower of Innocence.
p.s. Air France was hit by terrorists, they moved the runway.
The final day of August 2005 brings with it quite a day in world news. As I look out over a gloomy Ontario forecast complete with annoying rain and despite lack of sun rather humid weather, I soak in the daily BBC headlines to what has been one of hell of a pisspoor global news day.
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