Well, I guess it's time to unleash the news...
For the past few weeks I have found myself writing very cryptic blogs, and intense ones over at http://www.cmagnet.blogspot.com/ for the equivalent of writers training. I knew that keeping up the pace words would keep me sharp for any kind of career as writer. I have to learn how to get the little ones some food and throw on Dora the Explorer, but still have the concentration to pen a few lines. The excitement has been building to this...
I have been accepted into the writing program at Vancouver Film School starting May 2nd. This was an opportunity that I had no choice but to take. All the factors became talking points in my house, but ultimately the smartest person in my household, said that I had to go. (you're welcome!) My lovely partner in crime and passion knows how important this is for me, and what a wonderful show of support. Of course this is not without it's challenges. First lets look at the upside...
1)- I'm going home. As many of you know, I love Vancouver and have missed it's sunsets, and spring rainfall for many years. When I first moved to Toronto, I thought I'd never leave. It was late night parties, night club bartending, and beautiful babies everywhere. Sunday afternoon Blue Jays games, drinking beers on the Black Bull patio...then you have a few kids, move to the burbs, and the luster starts to fade. When the Maple Leafs fired Pat Quinn things changed. I went back to my first and true love(The Vancouver Canucks) A few years back I went back to Van for a friends wedding and it was affair rekindled. I was quickly reminded of the times when I was young. It was beautiful
2) Going to a program that has had success with it's graduates in Film\TV is exciting. It's been a long time since I've been in school, but I think these previous years can only be an asset when you are writing. After all, you need the stories to be authentic, and I can talk the shit out most people! That's years of bartending put to practical use. It's also the right path for someone to pay me to ramble on (hopefully!)
3) the Canucks are the number one team in the NHL, and I'll be standing on the parade route that I missed last year during the Olympics. The hockey gods are gonna make it up to me
4) change is good
The downside is shorter, but way scarier
1)I'm going to have to leave for May 2nd, T and the kids won't be able to come out until mid-June. That's a lot of time away from my little babies. I'm stressed just thinking about it. I need to man-up, I know that true heroic people go away to a bomb riddled Afghanistan away from there kids! I've got SKYPE and all the Starbucks I can ingest. It'll be fine. Right? RIGHT?!
2) They're coming out for summer vacation, but are coming back in September. Leaving me in BC to finish the program. Mornings with the little man....playing MarioKart with Elizabeth, all put on hold. (I'm starting to sweat) Its for a better opportunity in life...right?
3)T's support. I know it sounds cheesy, but few understand the idiosyncratic, neuritic, fucked-up behavior I display on a day to day basis. We always support each other, and without that person within reach, I'm afraid my craziness might reach extended beard, Mohawk, sparkly nail polish level.
Overall I'm very excited. I've been keeping this secret for a few weeks, and it's been really hard, but today it's become real. I've put my notice in at a job full of wonderful people. They're a little mad I'm leaving, but encourage my decision. It's always hard when you have to leave people that you truly like. In a transient business like restaurants and bars, it's tough. Good people come and go, but I hope that my memories will always be there. It' been 13 years that I've lived in Ontario, and some of the most important parts of my life began and flourished here. Originally, I left because I was unable to handle the death of my mother and the reaction around me. Yesterday, on what would've been her 60th birthday, I put my house up for sale to fund school and my move. I hope that I'm making her proud.
I know that I wrote before a mock thank you to everyone that ever supported my writing, suggesting that I would become a Hollywood prick, and forget everyone. It's simply not true. I was blessed with a wonderful memory, and one that recalls specific situations of flattery. If my life takes a course in which I am bestowed an honor in any way, I hope to honor all you that have supported me, with a personal thank you.
Over the next few weeks I'm going to be very busy, and may not have the time to make post, but they will continue. Especially once I get back West. I'm also disabling my Facebook security in order to curb any misinformation about the coming changes, but you can still leave me messages, or comments on the blog.(I already heard that T and I were getting a divorce)
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Some mornings just feel different than others. Today, it was weird to awake to hear the news of a massive earthquake off Japan. It puts things in perspective quickly. You start to think about the force of mother nature. It's raw power and how we go through our lives without thinking about whether it will affect us or not. It's devastating to watch. People not knowing about the gigantic tsunami heading their way, strolling down the street. The image of huge fishing vessels over turned in a parking lot. It freaks me out. I start to think about my kids, my reaction. The belief that I'm some sort of super hero may only be a fantasy. How disappointing.
My first thoughts were of people that I know with ties to the devastated region. A friend teaching in Taiwan, another who just moved from Tokyo, but has plenty of friends still abroad. Earthquakes are confusing. When you're in one you don't really understand what's happening. If it's long enough, you eventually figure it out, but smaller ones you just assume that you're hungover. It's like that feeling of falling in a dream, but you actually think your falling and your body reacts as such.(shit I shouldn't have watched Inception last night) I've been through smaller quakes, but none that stick out. The last was when I was in L.A. working on a production and there was one overnight. I had a long day on set, grabbed a sixer of rolling rock and 3 pack of Camels and retired to my room. I watched a high speed chase(that ended up going right past the hotel) and passed out. In the morning the crew was all excited that I was there for a 4-pointer, but I didn't recall. I thought I had knocked the shit off the night stand in my sleep. What a let down.
The first one was in Hawaii about 27 years ago. It was a vacation that was scheduled for the entire month of December. There was short period of time that my Mom and step-dad got along, and we rented a villa in Maui. It was the greatest part of my childhood. I was about 12yrs old and could come and go as pleased. In the olden days nobody worried about their kids running off. We knew when lunch and dinner was, but it was optional. I spent everyday in ocean. Bogey-boarding, surfing, and roaming through the wooded areas around the beach. I went days without wearing a shirt, or showering with soap. I had turned such a shade of dark brown that my family could barely recognize me, and all the locals accepted me. It was one of the only times I could tell people that I was half black and they didn't question it.
I loved Maui. I wanted to live there and surf the rest of my life. I still do, but I'm pretty fat to be surfing. The lifestyle was easy to fall in love with, after all I wasn't in school. No one ever supervised me. I remember one time the elevator got stuck between floors and me and some other kids just pryed open the doors and went on our way. There were these bullfrogs that were the size of small puppies. If one jumped and hit you, you'd fall down. We captured about eight of them and put them in this third kids bathroom, and waited until his Mom screamed. Then we ran to the beach and dazed at the stars. The final week, we stayed in Waikiki. It wasn't the same. It was touristy, and packed. The beaches were over crowded, and the waves weren't very big. Nobody knew what a Hawaiian pizza was, and the hot dog vendors specialize in Canadian Wieners, weird. I think that there was life lesson somewhere wrapped in that trip about seeing the true Hawaii compared to the one they dress up for you. Since then, I've been to all-inclusive resorts, and although nice, they lack the pizazz of the natural country. Outside of the 5 star Dominican resort is a country devastated with poverty, and corruption. On the other side of the island is Haiti still trying to recover from it's own crushing earthquake. We fly to these places and see the paradise that has been gathered, primped and preened, but underneath can be some serious scars.
We tend to think that Japan will be okay. We know that they have emergency response for such occasions, and that they are prepared for the idea of a massive earthquake, but reality isn't always as reasonable as the projections. They have the worlds 3rd largest economy, and have suffered devastating circumstances in the past, but it doesn't mean they won't need our support. The friends and family that live here, that have friends and family there. It's not about politics, or who gave more, it's about people. I know it eases some people's vacation to bring clothes or extra money to all-inclusive resorts, so that they can help the staff while getting a drunk, and massages. Somewhere on a beach was a twelve year old boy that was playing in the ocean, and catching frogs.I want him to be okay, so I can read is ramblings one day. I'm sure there will be fundraisers, blood banks, and charitable donations available to aid those less fortunate than us today. There is always something we can give to help, even if all we can afford is time.
My first thoughts were of people that I know with ties to the devastated region. A friend teaching in Taiwan, another who just moved from Tokyo, but has plenty of friends still abroad. Earthquakes are confusing. When you're in one you don't really understand what's happening. If it's long enough, you eventually figure it out, but smaller ones you just assume that you're hungover. It's like that feeling of falling in a dream, but you actually think your falling and your body reacts as such.(shit I shouldn't have watched Inception last night) I've been through smaller quakes, but none that stick out. The last was when I was in L.A. working on a production and there was one overnight. I had a long day on set, grabbed a sixer of rolling rock and 3 pack of Camels and retired to my room. I watched a high speed chase(that ended up going right past the hotel) and passed out. In the morning the crew was all excited that I was there for a 4-pointer, but I didn't recall. I thought I had knocked the shit off the night stand in my sleep. What a let down.
The first one was in Hawaii about 27 years ago. It was a vacation that was scheduled for the entire month of December. There was short period of time that my Mom and step-dad got along, and we rented a villa in Maui. It was the greatest part of my childhood. I was about 12yrs old and could come and go as pleased. In the olden days nobody worried about their kids running off. We knew when lunch and dinner was, but it was optional. I spent everyday in ocean. Bogey-boarding, surfing, and roaming through the wooded areas around the beach. I went days without wearing a shirt, or showering with soap. I had turned such a shade of dark brown that my family could barely recognize me, and all the locals accepted me. It was one of the only times I could tell people that I was half black and they didn't question it.
I loved Maui. I wanted to live there and surf the rest of my life. I still do, but I'm pretty fat to be surfing. The lifestyle was easy to fall in love with, after all I wasn't in school. No one ever supervised me. I remember one time the elevator got stuck between floors and me and some other kids just pryed open the doors and went on our way. There were these bullfrogs that were the size of small puppies. If one jumped and hit you, you'd fall down. We captured about eight of them and put them in this third kids bathroom, and waited until his Mom screamed. Then we ran to the beach and dazed at the stars. The final week, we stayed in Waikiki. It wasn't the same. It was touristy, and packed. The beaches were over crowded, and the waves weren't very big. Nobody knew what a Hawaiian pizza was, and the hot dog vendors specialize in Canadian Wieners, weird. I think that there was life lesson somewhere wrapped in that trip about seeing the true Hawaii compared to the one they dress up for you. Since then, I've been to all-inclusive resorts, and although nice, they lack the pizazz of the natural country. Outside of the 5 star Dominican resort is a country devastated with poverty, and corruption. On the other side of the island is Haiti still trying to recover from it's own crushing earthquake. We fly to these places and see the paradise that has been gathered, primped and preened, but underneath can be some serious scars.
We tend to think that Japan will be okay. We know that they have emergency response for such occasions, and that they are prepared for the idea of a massive earthquake, but reality isn't always as reasonable as the projections. They have the worlds 3rd largest economy, and have suffered devastating circumstances in the past, but it doesn't mean they won't need our support. The friends and family that live here, that have friends and family there. It's not about politics, or who gave more, it's about people. I know it eases some people's vacation to bring clothes or extra money to all-inclusive resorts, so that they can help the staff while getting a drunk, and massages. Somewhere on a beach was a twelve year old boy that was playing in the ocean, and catching frogs.I want him to be okay, so I can read is ramblings one day. I'm sure there will be fundraisers, blood banks, and charitable donations available to aid those less fortunate than us today. There is always something we can give to help, even if all we can afford is time.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
loved and lost
I admit that I have a lot of stories, and that I use them in order to compare, ease, amuse or comfort people. I've never been one of those one uppers that wait for you to say something then tells a story that betters them over you. In fact I don't like those people. They usually think that they have a lot of stories, and that you are some how interested, but you're probably not. I've also encountered these types under tragic situations and they still try to out do you. It's kind a crazy. Sometimes they even create a hypothetical that includes themselves, "Wow, I can't believe how well you're handling your Mom dying...I would be crushed." Thankfully for that guy, his Mom was at his house doing his laundry, and mine was in a decorative box in the back seat.
The other night I found myself talking about a friend of mine that passed away years ago. It made me think long and hard about these days that we deem as milestones, because it happened on my birthday. A friend said to me how hard it would be considering that I would remember his passing on a day I'm supposed to be celebrating. At first I agreed. Then a few scotches in, I thought about the fact that my birthday isn't really my milestones as much as it is my parents. They're the ones that should honor the day more than I, after all I had nothing to with the particulars of the day. Truth be told I've probably ruined the beauty of the day by getting drunk, puking and forgetting many of it's events. I'm not responsible enough to respect my own birthday. But what I do remember, and what I do honor is Greg Moore. Greg was special not only to me, but to a entire community. He died during the final race of the 1999 of the CART racing season. We all felt like he was our boy, and that he'd escaped the grips of a small town. And then it was over. After all that has happened, I'm honored to share the remembrance of a fine individual on the day I showed up. A year hasn't passed that I haven't raised a glass to him, and that will continue for the rest of my life. It is literally the least I can do.
It's hard for us to think of death as a celebration of life. I'm sure it's how we deal with something that we can't make sense of. I fear leaving my kids without a father. The thought can bring me to cold sweats, so I have to take the kind of precautions that give me the best chance of seeing parts of my kids life that my Mother missed of mine. No heroin...starting tomorrow. (It always starts tomorrow!) I remember telling T about Greg and her comment, like many others, surrounded how terrible it was that something so meaningful happened on My Day. Then the unthinkable happened. Our friend Lenny died. T and I had just returned from her birthday dinner when the phone rang. We let it go the first few times, but eventually got the bad news. Lenny was this amazing man. He truly affected everyone he met. Our circle of friends had felt inpenetrable for years, and our strongest member fell. We all spent long periods of time looking at the mirror. In a twisted way Lenworth aided turning all of us into adults. And for the birthday's that have followed for T, she has gladly shared with his honor.
So why am I rambling on about such things. A friend has suffered a loss on her birthday, and I don't know how to explain my sympathies except for sharing. I can only hope that during this dark period, she knows that she is surrounded by loving friends and family. That through loss we learn about ourselves, we reflect from our hearts, and we're able to be vulnerable. But it's how we get through is what defines us. When we celebrate our lives, our birthday's and our losses with the same introspection, I believe it creates true milestones. When my sister's boyfriend lost his brother to an accident, I learned that listening is better than talking. When my singing teacher lost a battle with cancer, I learned that everyone deals with death differently. After my Mother passed away I felt like I didn't learn anything, mostly because I was pissed off, but when my best friend's Father suddenly died, I knew that my experience would help. All I could offer were the choices that I made in my darkest moments, and hoped that he would do better.
I have no idea how she and her husband will handle such a situation. She's strong, smart and very astute to her emotions, and he's supportive, and loving. They are also deeply loved by their friends and family, and that support is where it will start. I do hope that they get to the point where I am with my birthday. Where I not only look at life that lead, but also honor the ones that have passed. There is no better day, and maybe no better way to truly mark the day of your own birth, then by a tribute to those aren't there to share it.
The other night I found myself talking about a friend of mine that passed away years ago. It made me think long and hard about these days that we deem as milestones, because it happened on my birthday. A friend said to me how hard it would be considering that I would remember his passing on a day I'm supposed to be celebrating. At first I agreed. Then a few scotches in, I thought about the fact that my birthday isn't really my milestones as much as it is my parents. They're the ones that should honor the day more than I, after all I had nothing to with the particulars of the day. Truth be told I've probably ruined the beauty of the day by getting drunk, puking and forgetting many of it's events. I'm not responsible enough to respect my own birthday. But what I do remember, and what I do honor is Greg Moore. Greg was special not only to me, but to a entire community. He died during the final race of the 1999 of the CART racing season. We all felt like he was our boy, and that he'd escaped the grips of a small town. And then it was over. After all that has happened, I'm honored to share the remembrance of a fine individual on the day I showed up. A year hasn't passed that I haven't raised a glass to him, and that will continue for the rest of my life. It is literally the least I can do.
It's hard for us to think of death as a celebration of life. I'm sure it's how we deal with something that we can't make sense of. I fear leaving my kids without a father. The thought can bring me to cold sweats, so I have to take the kind of precautions that give me the best chance of seeing parts of my kids life that my Mother missed of mine. No heroin...starting tomorrow. (It always starts tomorrow!) I remember telling T about Greg and her comment, like many others, surrounded how terrible it was that something so meaningful happened on My Day. Then the unthinkable happened. Our friend Lenny died. T and I had just returned from her birthday dinner when the phone rang. We let it go the first few times, but eventually got the bad news. Lenny was this amazing man. He truly affected everyone he met. Our circle of friends had felt inpenetrable for years, and our strongest member fell. We all spent long periods of time looking at the mirror. In a twisted way Lenworth aided turning all of us into adults. And for the birthday's that have followed for T, she has gladly shared with his honor.
So why am I rambling on about such things. A friend has suffered a loss on her birthday, and I don't know how to explain my sympathies except for sharing. I can only hope that during this dark period, she knows that she is surrounded by loving friends and family. That through loss we learn about ourselves, we reflect from our hearts, and we're able to be vulnerable. But it's how we get through is what defines us. When we celebrate our lives, our birthday's and our losses with the same introspection, I believe it creates true milestones. When my sister's boyfriend lost his brother to an accident, I learned that listening is better than talking. When my singing teacher lost a battle with cancer, I learned that everyone deals with death differently. After my Mother passed away I felt like I didn't learn anything, mostly because I was pissed off, but when my best friend's Father suddenly died, I knew that my experience would help. All I could offer were the choices that I made in my darkest moments, and hoped that he would do better.
I have no idea how she and her husband will handle such a situation. She's strong, smart and very astute to her emotions, and he's supportive, and loving. They are also deeply loved by their friends and family, and that support is where it will start. I do hope that they get to the point where I am with my birthday. Where I not only look at life that lead, but also honor the ones that have passed. There is no better day, and maybe no better way to truly mark the day of your own birth, then by a tribute to those aren't there to share it.
between rut and wrong
I always find it funny when I can recognize something wrong with my own life. You know, you get those moments and say to yourself, "well this is going to suck". Early in the year I was walking the kids to school and noticed the tree with the broken branch had grown. The shredded remnants of wood were almost gone and a new branch was emerging from the fracture. I was quickly reminded of the Inconvenient Truth I spewed to a handful of grade one's about saving the environment. How braking a branch was akin to braking the tree's arm. Blah, blah, blah, they're 6 and don't give a shit. Meanwhile, I'm going over in my head the kind of suburban douche bag I'm becoming, trying to investigate the foliage crime. As we got closer to the school, the kids were up ahead, and I was wondering by myself. I said good morning to the crazy bubble Mom driving her kids to school even though they live a solid four minute walk, I waved to Hot Asian , and shared a smile with aggressive power walking lady. It was a typical morning. Although I usual don't see Hot Asian, I'm usually "guy nodding" to her husband, who I like. One of the biggest pet peeves being a guy is when you think a girl is hot, then you meet her boyfriend\husband and you like him. It ruins the fantasy of saving her, and then sleeping with her.
The walk back from the school is my time. It's the few minutes between dropping off one kid and then looking after the other. I talk to myself about life, think about things to write. I ponder why the people of a small, yuppie hamlet have to activate their car alarms when stopped for forty seconds in front of a Catholic Elementary School. It must be the roaming gangs of car thieving hoodlums....It's then when I get all fired up with something I feel like sharing. As I kicked the frozen sidewalk, I realized how much everything was the same. It was the same as before. The people I see every morning, are the people I see every morning. Was it a rut? When you're in a rut, are you even aware that you're in a rut. I can't help but wonder about the people that start to settle with the life they've found themselves in. No enjoyment, no spark, just American Idol and taco Thursday.
It easy for us to see these things in other people and judge them on it, but rarely can we see the reflection and be honest. The restaurant business can bring a great spectrum of personalities, and relationships. We sometimes can view a true cross section of society. The other night a family of five came in and one of their kids was having a meltdown. All parents know what these are, and there is no question they suck, but they happen. You move on. No one else that has kids is judging the situation, and if they don't have kids, fuck 'em. Eventually it will happen to them and they'll feel like shit too. Sometimes, however, the parents become so embarrassed about the meltdown, they start to act out too. They start saying threats, gritting their teeth together while quietly yelling. There's bargaining, bribing, and bartering. Parenting is hard, I find that lying works(while they're young anyway) During the freak out the father of the family says, "I work all day, and have to come home to this"(I shit you not!!) Boo-fucking-Hoo....way to demean your wife as stay at home mom. Way to insult your kids and the idea that you love them unconditionally. I guarantee this asshole wouldn't last two days at home with these little drunken midgets, then he has the balls to compare his children to some shitty, 9 to5 desk job with two smoke breaks, and a one hour lunch. What bothered me the most is the way he alienated his wife\partner. It isn't a coincidence that the word partner and Parent are so similar. It's not about single parents, cause I know first hand the job they have. And it's not about same-sex adoption, because I'm all for spreading all the love that's possible to spread. But ask anybody, having two parents, no matter who they are, is not important....it's easier. You need to be able to look across the table while the kid is drinking tiger blood and know that you have support. Maybe trade off dealing with the mini-Sheen-like spaz, together.
It all starts with the rut. We all know people that got together and cured all the problems with their relationship by upping the level it was at whenever it reached total boredom. Rather than being honest with one another, or themselves, they continued to perpetuate something that made them miserable. Moving in together, to getting engaged, to getting married, to having kids, to getting a divorce and then asking you why you didn't do anything to stop them. I'm concerned that, by some karmic kick to the balls, being in a rut is the same as being in Love, you don't know you're in one until you're walking home alone. Are you thinking about your future, or what shows to PVR tonight. Grey's Anatomy is on Thursday, right? But it was the morning and I was sober(ish). Was I reading flyers about snow blowers on sale for next winter? Did we start a vacation jar, did I ever say, "that mini-van is a good price"? Mostly, was I happy? As kids get older, you as a parent start to regain little bits about your life back. You give so much when they're young, but learn more about yourself everyday. Before you know it they're in high school and you an wifey have to spend actual time together. If you've masked your rut for fifteen years, you might be in for a bit of surprise when you realize the person that you're with now is someone you don't like. That can't be worth it. I'm always thankful that T and I have a good partnership, and a decent relationship. We at least like each other during those silent moments, which in this household isn't very often. As I've alluded to before though, I worry about the fact that our family is happy and strong, but have we dug a rut? Do we know how deep the hole is yet, if we have? As fun as scratch and win tickets are, they aren't the answer. Neither is lying down. It's Fat Tuesday, so I think that I'll get drunk....but for Lent I'm not giving anything up, instead I'm going to search for a clue. I try and fight the suburbs as if I'm different, as I'm sure all my neighbors think they are too.
Maybe in 40 days I'll be able to have an answer. Or I'll forget about this entire thing be the time I get home from picking the kids up from school. Oh, Rachel Ray is on...
The walk back from the school is my time. It's the few minutes between dropping off one kid and then looking after the other. I talk to myself about life, think about things to write. I ponder why the people of a small, yuppie hamlet have to activate their car alarms when stopped for forty seconds in front of a Catholic Elementary School. It must be the roaming gangs of car thieving hoodlums....It's then when I get all fired up with something I feel like sharing. As I kicked the frozen sidewalk, I realized how much everything was the same. It was the same as before. The people I see every morning, are the people I see every morning. Was it a rut? When you're in a rut, are you even aware that you're in a rut. I can't help but wonder about the people that start to settle with the life they've found themselves in. No enjoyment, no spark, just American Idol and taco Thursday.
It easy for us to see these things in other people and judge them on it, but rarely can we see the reflection and be honest. The restaurant business can bring a great spectrum of personalities, and relationships. We sometimes can view a true cross section of society. The other night a family of five came in and one of their kids was having a meltdown. All parents know what these are, and there is no question they suck, but they happen. You move on. No one else that has kids is judging the situation, and if they don't have kids, fuck 'em. Eventually it will happen to them and they'll feel like shit too. Sometimes, however, the parents become so embarrassed about the meltdown, they start to act out too. They start saying threats, gritting their teeth together while quietly yelling. There's bargaining, bribing, and bartering. Parenting is hard, I find that lying works(while they're young anyway) During the freak out the father of the family says, "I work all day, and have to come home to this"(I shit you not!!) Boo-fucking-Hoo....way to demean your wife as stay at home mom. Way to insult your kids and the idea that you love them unconditionally. I guarantee this asshole wouldn't last two days at home with these little drunken midgets, then he has the balls to compare his children to some shitty, 9 to5 desk job with two smoke breaks, and a one hour lunch. What bothered me the most is the way he alienated his wife\partner. It isn't a coincidence that the word partner and Parent are so similar. It's not about single parents, cause I know first hand the job they have. And it's not about same-sex adoption, because I'm all for spreading all the love that's possible to spread. But ask anybody, having two parents, no matter who they are, is not important....it's easier. You need to be able to look across the table while the kid is drinking tiger blood and know that you have support. Maybe trade off dealing with the mini-Sheen-like spaz, together.
It all starts with the rut. We all know people that got together and cured all the problems with their relationship by upping the level it was at whenever it reached total boredom. Rather than being honest with one another, or themselves, they continued to perpetuate something that made them miserable. Moving in together, to getting engaged, to getting married, to having kids, to getting a divorce and then asking you why you didn't do anything to stop them. I'm concerned that, by some karmic kick to the balls, being in a rut is the same as being in Love, you don't know you're in one until you're walking home alone. Are you thinking about your future, or what shows to PVR tonight. Grey's Anatomy is on Thursday, right? But it was the morning and I was sober(ish). Was I reading flyers about snow blowers on sale for next winter? Did we start a vacation jar, did I ever say, "that mini-van is a good price"? Mostly, was I happy? As kids get older, you as a parent start to regain little bits about your life back. You give so much when they're young, but learn more about yourself everyday. Before you know it they're in high school and you an wifey have to spend actual time together. If you've masked your rut for fifteen years, you might be in for a bit of surprise when you realize the person that you're with now is someone you don't like. That can't be worth it. I'm always thankful that T and I have a good partnership, and a decent relationship. We at least like each other during those silent moments, which in this household isn't very often. As I've alluded to before though, I worry about the fact that our family is happy and strong, but have we dug a rut? Do we know how deep the hole is yet, if we have? As fun as scratch and win tickets are, they aren't the answer. Neither is lying down. It's Fat Tuesday, so I think that I'll get drunk....but for Lent I'm not giving anything up, instead I'm going to search for a clue. I try and fight the suburbs as if I'm different, as I'm sure all my neighbors think they are too.
Maybe in 40 days I'll be able to have an answer. Or I'll forget about this entire thing be the time I get home from picking the kids up from school. Oh, Rachel Ray is on...
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
the sides of March
Years ago the first week of March seemed like any other month. It was slightly overcast weather in Vancouver and Casey Butcher and I were playing a pretty serious tournament of Sega NHL. We still chanted "Blades of Steel" whenever the game started, because anyone that knows hockey video games, know where it all started. It was the late 90's and life was alright. It wasn't great but it was alright. I was in great shape, smoked and was in a casual relationship with three different girls. Alright.
That night something happened. The phone rang. Back in the day nobody had call display, so you answered the call no matter what. It didn't have the luxury of today where you can see that it's a collection agency and you just don't answer.(no Mr.Johnson, I don't have any good faith money to put on my VISA) When I picked up the phone it was my sister. She'd moved back to Vancouver from....well somewhere because she was worried about my mother's health. Sure enough this was the call we'd all been waiting for. A suitable donor had been found for the double lung transplant my mother had been waiting for. A sense of panic, relief, and caution filled my voice. Casey and I threw down the half empty beers and headed off the to hospital.
Now, we'd gotten a few calls before about donors, but all had failed to make it past a preliminary test. It as going to be difficult regardless of the usual complications. My mother, Gerry, was 5'7" and under 100 lbs. The frail, petite body type was going to make matches hard. Not to mention that her illness was going to make the surgery extremely risky. Her body was weak. A1AD deteriorates the lungs and liver, and as the years passed, the option of transplant was becoming increasingly more dangerous. Of course, she had no faith in the process working out. In fact when I got to the hospital she was positive that we'd be leaving within the hour after being told it was false alarm. She was almost embarrassed that I made it there. She didn't want me to travel downtown if nothing was going to happen. We mulled around the halls and made predictions about the outcome. We joked around the way a normal family might around the mall.
About an hour into waiting a good looking older man entered out little room and started going over the process and procedures. The longer he talked the more nervous I became, sure enough this was happening. Gerry took a little bit longer than the rest of us to clue in, because she was skeptical about her health improving. She may have even said, "do you really need to tell me all this if you're just going to send me home?" When more nurses entered our room, clicked. Then came her turn to panic. She stared intently at me and my sister P, and cracked the slightest smile. We took off her nail polish, and her make up, she got prepped and we all went to the surgery floor. Gerry infamously broke us all into laughter when she asked the surgeon for a pair of big boobs as well as lungs. She figured that it would be a nice touch, then at least she could point them out when she told people she had a lung transplant.
It's hard to imagine that for someone to live another has to die. I didn't even put the two together until we were leaving the ICU prep area and there was a room on the left where doctors were telling a family that their loved one didn't make it. It dawned on me later, when I was in that same room, that their loved one gave my mother those few extra months. In prep there were other transplant recipients waiting. One lady was getting a liver, the other kidneys. One life was going to give another shot to all three. I almost wish that we'd gotten to know them, and even he transplantee's family. We were bound together forever whether we knew it or not.
After the most flattering, and favourable conversation my mother and I ever had they wheeled her away to surgery. Paula, Casey and I decided that alcohol would calm our nerves. We drank a few beers then slept on the floor of the ICU waiting room. Confident and sore, we awoke to find out the details of the surgery. It took just over 6 hours and after all our family had been through we were sure that this was the break we deserved. Unfortunately being a wonderful mother, a caring human, and loving friend, sister and daughter, isn' the criteria for success in this world. That's hope, and hope doesn't count towards anything. The complications came as huge surprise. I never even thought about things not working out, if we'd ever made it this far.It seemed as if all the hurdles til this point were enough. I felt that if she endured this much pain and suffering that we'd come to the easy part. Only I was wrong. Double lung transplants are one of the most complicated surgeries to begin with, but I still believed her strength to this point was much more impressive. I believed that the love we all had for her, and the idea that she earned the opportunity to live a normal life would out weigh the medical odds, fact and possibilities. It was the 5th of March and I was about to embark on two months of extreme ups and downs, surrounded by drunken benders, tattoos, piercings, hair-dos and the closest to rock bottom I'd ever been. Sometimes I'm not sure whether I've ever climbed out fully, or if I keep one foot in that hole as an excuse for my fucked up behavior. Spring is the season of new life, of beginnings. This is mine, and it came at the expense of losing the most important person in my life.
That night something happened. The phone rang. Back in the day nobody had call display, so you answered the call no matter what. It didn't have the luxury of today where you can see that it's a collection agency and you just don't answer.(no Mr.Johnson, I don't have any good faith money to put on my VISA) When I picked up the phone it was my sister. She'd moved back to Vancouver from....well somewhere because she was worried about my mother's health. Sure enough this was the call we'd all been waiting for. A suitable donor had been found for the double lung transplant my mother had been waiting for. A sense of panic, relief, and caution filled my voice. Casey and I threw down the half empty beers and headed off the to hospital.
Now, we'd gotten a few calls before about donors, but all had failed to make it past a preliminary test. It as going to be difficult regardless of the usual complications. My mother, Gerry, was 5'7" and under 100 lbs. The frail, petite body type was going to make matches hard. Not to mention that her illness was going to make the surgery extremely risky. Her body was weak. A1AD deteriorates the lungs and liver, and as the years passed, the option of transplant was becoming increasingly more dangerous. Of course, she had no faith in the process working out. In fact when I got to the hospital she was positive that we'd be leaving within the hour after being told it was false alarm. She was almost embarrassed that I made it there. She didn't want me to travel downtown if nothing was going to happen. We mulled around the halls and made predictions about the outcome. We joked around the way a normal family might around the mall.
About an hour into waiting a good looking older man entered out little room and started going over the process and procedures. The longer he talked the more nervous I became, sure enough this was happening. Gerry took a little bit longer than the rest of us to clue in, because she was skeptical about her health improving. She may have even said, "do you really need to tell me all this if you're just going to send me home?" When more nurses entered our room, clicked. Then came her turn to panic. She stared intently at me and my sister P, and cracked the slightest smile. We took off her nail polish, and her make up, she got prepped and we all went to the surgery floor. Gerry infamously broke us all into laughter when she asked the surgeon for a pair of big boobs as well as lungs. She figured that it would be a nice touch, then at least she could point them out when she told people she had a lung transplant.
It's hard to imagine that for someone to live another has to die. I didn't even put the two together until we were leaving the ICU prep area and there was a room on the left where doctors were telling a family that their loved one didn't make it. It dawned on me later, when I was in that same room, that their loved one gave my mother those few extra months. In prep there were other transplant recipients waiting. One lady was getting a liver, the other kidneys. One life was going to give another shot to all three. I almost wish that we'd gotten to know them, and even he transplantee's family. We were bound together forever whether we knew it or not.
After the most flattering, and favourable conversation my mother and I ever had they wheeled her away to surgery. Paula, Casey and I decided that alcohol would calm our nerves. We drank a few beers then slept on the floor of the ICU waiting room. Confident and sore, we awoke to find out the details of the surgery. It took just over 6 hours and after all our family had been through we were sure that this was the break we deserved. Unfortunately being a wonderful mother, a caring human, and loving friend, sister and daughter, isn' the criteria for success in this world. That's hope, and hope doesn't count towards anything. The complications came as huge surprise. I never even thought about things not working out, if we'd ever made it this far.It seemed as if all the hurdles til this point were enough. I felt that if she endured this much pain and suffering that we'd come to the easy part. Only I was wrong. Double lung transplants are one of the most complicated surgeries to begin with, but I still believed her strength to this point was much more impressive. I believed that the love we all had for her, and the idea that she earned the opportunity to live a normal life would out weigh the medical odds, fact and possibilities. It was the 5th of March and I was about to embark on two months of extreme ups and downs, surrounded by drunken benders, tattoos, piercings, hair-dos and the closest to rock bottom I'd ever been. Sometimes I'm not sure whether I've ever climbed out fully, or if I keep one foot in that hole as an excuse for my fucked up behavior. Spring is the season of new life, of beginnings. This is mine, and it came at the expense of losing the most important person in my life.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
And the Oscar goes to...
Another year of award shows and another glaring mistake by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. I refer to finding a suitable host, not leaving out Canadian born Corey Haim from the memoriam segment. I've been a regular viewer since I was kid and it's hard to think of another great host other than Billy Crystal. Mr Saturday Night would start the show with a bang. There would be well thought out skits, slight jabs at the rich and famous and singing and dancing. The Grammys have been going south for years, but at least now they have show filled with performances rather than 35 awards for best new artist in the category of pop\country, spoken word(dialect) and\or salsa. These host have about 30 seconds before we've all decide it's not working out. I know that it was a school night, and when you're enrolled and NYU and Yale you have pretty heavy work load, but James Franco seemed a little disinterested in being there. Anne Hathaway just seemed like Anne Hathaway, gorgeous, but...
You'd think that they'd hire somebody who is used to being in front of live audiences and was spontaneously funny. Comedians do well as host, but the Hollywood elite don't like being insulted the same day they're being crowned the best at something. My suggestion(if anyone is asking) is the cast of Saturday Night Live, with Tina Fey as the head writer. She is easily one of the funniest people in Television, her reign on 30 rock is proof of that. The cast of SNL do this kind of crap for a living, so nerves wouldn't be problem. Most of them have met and worked with the Hollywood people on the show so it wouldn't be too weird. When they make fun of people on SNL, they do it tastefully, and respectfully. The best part of the intro on Sunday, was Morgan Freeman and Alec Baldwin.
To the winners...
Admittedly I didn't watch the entire show because getting drunk and going to the casino seemed like more fun, and certainly more unpredictable. The whole Colin Firth-The Kings speech was such an inevitability it was hard to be optimistic about the Social Network winning best picture. I haven't seen The King's Speech so I was against it winning(it's all about me). I was pulling for the girl from True Grit to usurp the award from Melissa Leo, because I haven't finished watching the fighter and her speech at the SAG awards was confusing. At least she said "Fucking" on live internationally broadcast television. I think that it's strange that they let her continue for as long as she did. Sure she was nervous and a little weird, but it was starting to become embarrassing to watch. Is there anyone that in her immediate family that she didn't thank personally. And I'm a huge fan of the word Fuck in all conjugations so it doesn't bother me, but the rest kinda did. Her speech bordered on 3 min, and they started the music on Aaron Sorkin after about 40seconds. And he's good with words, he's a writer. The guy who wrote the King's Speech had a very good speech as well. It's funny that Melissa Leo mentioned that the Academy is to be thanked because the "Respect the work" but she disrespected the award and it's showcase. The 50 yr old might want to re-watch the tape and see the way that Natalie Portman conducted herself. It was easily the most endearing speech. It was poignant, and specific. When it comes to respect, you have give a nod to a girl that thanks her hair and make-up ladies, as well as the camera operator. That's RESPECT. I think Melissa Leo was referring to herself, and other actors, but it's important to remember that a lot goes into making a movie. It's curious that the actors sometimes have trouble speaking, but the gentleman that won for visual effects was calm and collected, and didn't leave out anyone from the speech.
I'm sure that ABC was pleased with the F-bomb, these are the kind of things that increase viewership. From what I understand, the land of the free didn't even get to hear the actual word, unlike our socialized country. Whenever I watch the Oscars, I can't help but think about that question that everyone gets asked their first time around, "What were you doing last year?" I was in a Hotel in Niagara Falls drinking sparkling wine from a hot tub. Next year I plan to be grumbling one more time, but then the year after....2013 I plan on being there. I hope I'm not working as waiter, but I'll be there! And I'll be at my respectfully clapping self. I don't plan on winning, I plan on being there.
The awards go to...
Best Presenter - Kirk Douglas
Mr Douglas is Hollywood royalty and he's not letting a little stroke get in the way of his wonderful sense of humour. When he threw the envelope on the ground, then read the card, then told another story was fantastic. Not to mention that he brought up the fact that he didn't win three times. He's 94 and had more energy than anybody. He should've hosted.
Best Dressed - I don't know...Scarlett Johanson?
Best Speech - Christian Bale. The sweep from Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang is unusually humble for someone with such a bad reputation. When he made eye contact with his wife and started to cry,he really revealed the true Bale. A sensitive and committed actor.
Best preshow host - Tim Gunn. He's the best.
Worst Joke (presenter)- Mila Kunis and Justin Timberlake are both pretty funny people, but a Banksy joke? Really? It was award for animation and she's Meg from Family Guy....come on!!
Worst Joke(host) - Franco dressed as Marilyn Monroe
Best Picture -
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