Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Zombies
Friday, October 26, 2007
False Advertising
Editor's note: I'm at Dan's
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Once Upon A Time In Mexico
Monday, October 22, 2007
In With The Old, Out With The New
I feel like I’m spinning my wheels again. Do you ever find yourself thinking you’re doing everything differently, with an entirely different perspective, only to find every aspect of your life is exactly the way it always was? If so, does it take the wind out of your sails? It does me. It’s like sailing headlong into the doldrums, without any horses to throw overboard. When that happens, motivation and inspiration take a major hit. I stop caring about the things I’m unhappy with. I let them slide. I lose all pride in my job, I live in squalor and disarray, I don’t shave for weeks at a time…actually I’m quite happy with that one. I have a sweet ass Fu Manchu. The lower I get though, the more likely I am to shut my brain down and shuffle through life like a zombie, forgetting about the things that make me happy. I stop watching soccer, stop reading, and I stop writing.
So how do I stay on top of my game? The solutions are pretty simple. I can’t let every day life grind on me so much, and I can’t forget to do those things that make me happy, like building alka seltzer bottle rockets, shattering my land speed record (currently 72.4 km/h, I’m gunning for you Jess), buying a McGill sweatshirt at Value Village to feel scholarly while I’m up all night playing video games, and writing, even if it’s rubbish, to keep my mind nimble. Well at least I have the last three down.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
65.3 Ways to Die
I received a gift a few days ago. It was the gift of Speed. Well, it was more like the gift of the Knowledge of Speed. I got a speedometer for my bike. It’s like a little bike computer. It records my trip/overall mileage, RPM, and most importantly, Speed, Average Speed, and Maximum Speed. I don’t think it will come as a surprise to anybody that the first thing I did was ride to the top of the nearest hill to see how fast I could go down it. I did a couple of runs before dark and got up to 54.8 km/h, but I wasn’t quite satisfied with that result. I knew there was more in me. The next day I went to a bigger, longer hill, and by the time I reached bottom I had achieved a blistering 62.6 km/h, but that still wasn’t quite enough. I knew there was still more speed in me, so this morning, on the way to work, I bombed that same hill again. For much of it I rested, reserving energy for the final burst at the end, where the gradient is greatest, but I had a time to beat, so as I rounded the last corner I ignored the fact that there is a crosswalk at the bottom, and that the last time I careened down that hill some guy thought it was a good idea to cross in front of me. I forgot about the evasive maneuvers required not to cut him in two as he mimicked the proverbial chicken. I was going for speed. To Hell with consequences. Ducking down to reduce wind resistance, I let the harnessed adrenaline shoot through my veins like anabolic cobra venom. The wind whistled deafeningly in my ears, tears streamed from my eyes, my fingers went numb with cold, locked in a deathgrip on the handlebars, all while my legs pumped the pedals like a steam locomotive out of control. If anybody had decided to cross that walk today I probably couldn’t have grabbed the brakes if I’d wanted to, and at the speed I was going they wouldn't have done any good anyway.
Once I’d done darting in and out of downtown traffic I cycled through the many options on my new bike computer to find my Max Speed, and discovered that I had beat my personal best by almost 3 km/h. My new record is 65.3 km/h, and now that I’m in the top half of the 60’s, I’m gunning for 70. There’s a hill, known around these parts as the Big Dipper, that just might be steep enough for me to break the 70 km/h mark. Of course then I’ll have to beat that record, but there are always steeper hills, and an endless supply of harnessed adrenaline. Besides, if I don’t one up myself, who will?
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Autumn Of My Love
The magic is fading, and now my eyes wander elsewhere. It was fun for a while, a love affair really, but now the love is drying up. Have you ever had a lover who, after the initial torrent of affection, began to let themselves go? This is happening with Karkharoth. In the beginning he was all ferocity, all viciousness, all powerful. He ran down and devoured those in his path without fatigue, without pain, without injury. He was invincible. But he has started to slip; gears, handlebars, brakes, they all slip. Every second day I have to take things apart, rebuild them. I wonder, is it like this with every bike named after a fictional wolf of Evil Infamy? He still darts in front of speeding cars, still chases backhoes, but when he does these things now it is always with groans of protest. He doesn’t have the same vigour he once had, he’s old beyond his years, and can’t be trusted in traffic, so I look elsewhere. I should have known this would happen when I christened Karkharoth such. Just as the real (fictional) Karkharoth was eventually destroyed by that which empowered him (the Silmaril in his belly), so is my Karkharoth being destroyed by the power that makes it run, namely, my monstrous thighs. Its frame has proven too frail for the power that flows through me, so I look elsewhere.
I’m in the market for a superior steed. I need something that can match the might of Odin himself, and not crack under the rigours of battle. I need a Valkyrie, in touring bike format, that can carry me to my own
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
What Once Was Shall Once More Be
I was bitter for a while. Unable to come to terms with the fact that my Best shirt had left me. One day though, in a moment of clarity, I suddenly understood. It wasn’t the shirt’s fault. I was no longer The Best. I thought back to the weeks surrounding the loss of my t-shirt and realized I had definitely not been at my Best. I was sad, unproductive, a shadow of my recent self, much more like my former. I had let myself go in a sense, and lost my The
Later that week I was explaining to Catfish my theories of why the shirt was gone, of why I was no longer The Best, and that somebody out there who is more deserving must now be wearing it. He agreed with my synopsis and told me that some day perhaps it would come back to me. I smiled at that. Maybe it would. That night I was in the studio and I noticed something dark sticking out from under my drum kit. I reached down, pulled out a handful of fabric, and as I unfolded it those unmistakable glittery rainbow letters jumped out at me, virtually screaming "I’m The Best." It was back, again of its own volition, with its rightful owner.
Some of you might say, “Obviously you threw your shirt off in a fit of joy while playing drums!” and some of you might even be right in a technical sense, but you would be ignoring the deeper meaning. You’d be disregarding the power of the Cosmos, and its ability to bend Fate to its will. I choose to look at it from a far more philosophical, perhaps even fantastic angle. I believe the t-shirt really was gone and then re-appeared, much like it appeared to me the day I first found it, as if out of thin air. I believe the realization that indeed it is possible for me to become less than Best was enough to restore my errant Best-itude. I just needed that gentle reminder that I am not the Pope. I am fallible, and bound to slip up every once in a while. The key is to recognize when I’m slipping and grab hold of something before I end up back at the bottom of the slope, clawing with bloody fingernails to regain my rank, because by then it could be too late. Usurpers are ever lurking, looking to exploit weakness, and I shan't show them any more if I can help it.
It’s good to be King.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Martyrbation
“Keep the layman laid.” That is the policy of big corporation. Don’t let the little guy get bigger than his britches. But this time they’ve failed. They think they’ve halted my ascension by taking Brain Challenge out of the equation, but they’re mistaken. I will not allow my mind to be a martyr. I will soldier on, because if I learned anything from Brain Challenge it is that I really do have a Good Memory, and I remember now. I remember I have a thirst that can only be slaked by a quest for knowledge. It’s too late for those who sit around in cummerbunds plotting to keep the masses downtrodden. It’s too late, because they’ve already created a mental monster, and this monster remembers a time before his astuteness was dulled by daily drudgery. Brain Challenge was my Whetstone of Wits, and I have honed them back into a formidable weapon.
So I may not have Brain Challenge any longer, but it was long worn out from its task of sharpening my Katana of Kanowledge. So I may not have their “Brain Capacity” percentages to mark my progress, but I have transcended mainstream cerebral parameters. I have awoken from The Matrix if you will. I am no longer playing their game.