A Wake

My Rights Versus Yours - The New Pornographers

I've never been to a funeral where it didn't rain. Maybe that's just how I remember them. My uncle's mother passed away a few days ago, resulting in a Tuesday night viewing and a trip to London, Ontario for the burial. I had a lot of time to think.

*****

Attending the funeral of someone you didn't know well can be an odd experience. I actually did see my grand-aunt (I think that's right) about once a month, but like most of my elder relatives, I didn't speak her native tongue. So we exchanged smiles and tea and that was it. These events always go the same way. You enter the funeral home, pay your respects and then you spend the next couple of hours socializing with assorted friends and family. It's amazing how quickly people go from somber to jocular, making the event like any other gathering. It's comforting, but I always keep in mind where I am out of respect to those closest to the departed.

I have to confess to being excited the first time I was chosen to be a pallbearer. I believe I reached sufficient size when my father's mother passed away, but I could be mistaken. It was a peculiar thrill, but as you know I am eager for any kind of validation.

It rained a little as we pulled in to the cemetery, but it was an otherwise peaceful ceremony. I hate the last bit where they lower the coffin in slowly with that pully mechanism. For some reason, I imagine it would be better if done manually, though I'm not sure why. Regardless, it's just this last, cryptic image for the family to dwell on. Hate it.

By the way, when I die, I want it to be a party. And you better believe my iPod will be prepared with an "I'm Dead" playlist. To be played IN ORDER.

*****

Let's be honest here, one of the reasons it's been so long since my last post is because some shit has gone down with Annia and it's all I really want to write about, but out of respect to her and the fact that she might visit this site for whatever reason, I'm holding back. There's a lot that needs to be said and I'm not going to express it all here. When it's said, it will be said in person. Here's what everyone needs to know if you don't already:

I told her that we should be together. She does not feel the same way.

That's pretty much it.

*****

Softball update: 2 wins, 1 loss so far. We're off to a decent start, but I'm not that excited. We won our first game 10-9, which sounds exciting and it was but it didn't have to be that way. Allow me to explain. We were up 8-4 in the last inning and since I hadn't sat out an inning yet they decided I could miss this one. Big mistake. A couple of outfield mistakes (that's my house!) lead to the other team coming back to lead the game 9-8. Luckily, some clutch hitting allowed us to come back at the bottom of the inning but still, we should have sealed the deal way earlier.

Our second game was defaulted, which was good because it was one of the two games that William would be missing and even though in most aspects of life he is a useless configuration of flesh and bones, he is a decent starting shortstop and he would be missed both offensively and defensively. We decided to play a friendly game anyway and as usual, Derek and I defected to the other side so that we could spite our own team. Unfortunately, the other team defaulted for a reason and we were soundly humbled.

On a side note, my alcohol-free streak is over as I decided to drink at my cousin Julie's house afterwards. I said I would drink one beer for every two wins, so even though I hate the very taste of it, I took my ale like a man. Julie also owns a Magic Bullet, which she uses to blend these weird drinks that are diluted with Gatorade powder so that you can barely taste the alcohol. That's great for a little bitch like me, except for the fact that you feel like you're not drinking at all so you wouldn't realize that you're drunk until you're puking your guts all over your cousin's floor. I utilize great discretion at these times.

As for Game 3, we definitely could have used William's bat. Caesar did a great job of filling in for William at shortstop, but offensively we just couldn't get anything going. We lost 4-3. Yes, we only scored three runs in SELF-PITCH SOFTBALL. The less said about this the better.

*****

My Rights Versus Yours has officially claimed the title of "Best Song of 2007 So Far", knocking off the reigning champ, I Am John by Loney, Dear. That is not to say that I Am John can't come back, but right now The New Pornographers are hot like the fire. It's a free download on their site, so indulge yourself.

*****

Derek got me into this new show called Flight Of The Conchords. They're a comedy duo from New Zealand. Here's one of their songs, called The Humans Are Dead. They also have a show on HBO that I recommend. I would describe their style as Tenacious D meets Napoleon Dynamite. Jump right in if that's your bag, baby.

*****

Max sent me this link to an unaired Will Ferrell as Neil Diamond video. Completely random, somewhat unfunny during the actual viewing, full of phrases you'll find yourself repeating for weeks afterwards.

*****

I went to the driving range with my dad on Saturday morning. Not only was I weaseling out of soccer practice (we really suck), but I wanted to spend some time with him on his terms. Every now and then I get a wild hair up my ass and want to try something new, so I decided golf could work. The last couple of times I went I was terrible, but that was years ago and it was time for another shot. I did much better than before, which isn't saying much but I think my dad appreciated the effort. My hands were getting blisters, my newly shaved head was roasting and my pride was taking a beating, but it was worth it to meet the old man on his level for once. Now I can challenge him to a game of one-on-one basketball and watch him keel over from a heart attack.

*****

When we were coming home I kept thinking that I had a cool way to end this post, but it escapes me now. Instead, I'll tell you about my lunch with Filgen. It was her birthday on Sunday so I met her during her lunch break the next day and we ate at Avenue Bistro. I had a mushroom sandwich, which was delicious. The whole lunch took about an hour and it was just this perfectly packaged social encounter. I struggle with the most basic human interactions, so when I hang out with someone and nobody gets dismembered it's always an achievement. For me, talking to someone is like performing a musical piece. You've got to hit all the right notes and keep a certain rhythm and add your own personal flourishes as appropriate and if it all works out, you've got yourself a good tune. I played perfectly on Monday. I was attentive, funny, I remembered things that I usually forget like her boyfriend's name (Andrew) and what school she goes to (Laurier) and I even timed my bites in a way that was most conducive to conversation. When we parted, I knew I'd genuinely made someone happy and that makes me feel good about myself. That's a feeling I've been having a lot lately.

You know, in some ways, back in the war, it was better. Back in that newsreel, you know? Everything was black and white. In that fighting we had no time to think. But now. Now all the noise has stopped, and it is quiet. Now we can hear our hearts again. What now?

7/25/2007 08:47:00 PM | Comments (0)

In God's Country

Ooh Child - The Five Stairsteps

I stayed over at Caroline's cottage the other night and it was a good time all around. The place is north of Bobcaygeon, a humble abode. Her parents told me not to expect much, but since it was only the second cottage that I can recall staying at I'm not in any position to judge anything. It was fine.

The ride up was uneventful, just the way I like it. Her dog Susie sat between us and even though I hate canines, she made for a decent arm rest (that is, if you like arm rests that occasionally lick your arm). For the most part, I spent the two hour drive enjoying the countryside but I eventually decided to listen to some music. I asked Caroline if she wanted to share (I brought the headphones just for this occasion) to be friendly and to avoid having to talk to her about the latest Oprah's Book Club novel that she was touting. Unfortunately, my iPod is only about 5% hip-hop/R&B, which happens to be her preferred genre, so I was running out of songs fast. We stopped at an Amish market, which is good because I was this close to having to play I Want Pussy. My iPod is not for public consumption. I asked her if offering to play some music for them would be offensive and she mentioned that my very presence there was probably offensive to them.

There were six people in total. Caroline's parents, her aunt and uncle who we met there and Caroline and myself. I was on my best behaviour. I'm not trying to get with Caroline or anything, but I wanted to make a good impression so her family knows that she keeps good company. Also, I was the only Chinese guy in a 100 mile radius so I had to represent. At dinner, I scraped and clawed to keep up with her family, a bunch of intellectual types. Her uncle has a Masters in English. Great. I held my own, by making sure not to say too much, but saying just enough to seem intelligent. Then again, they were probably just amazed that this "ying-yang" could scrape together two consecutive coherent sentences. I even drank my wine and said my Amens after grace and everything went smoothly.

After dinner, Mr. Walker drove Caroline and I down to the nearby theatre so we could watch Knocked Up. She hadn't seen it and I definitely didn't mind catching it again. The theatre itself was incredible. It was like a museum and theatre combined. The halls were decorated with old projectors and photos and other memorabilia. I could have walked around there for hours. We wanted to make sure to catch the flick and it was late by the time it ended so there was no time to hang around, but I'll definitely go back there some day. My father would love it.

Here's where things get kind of weird. It's almost midnight and Caroline gets it into her head to go paddle boating. Okay. We can't find the flashlight, so we decide to take two candles with us instead. After clumsily emptying out the boat, we climbed in and we were on our way. I've always heard that one shouldn't go swimming late at night so I was praying that I wouldn't fall in. It was a profoundly beautiful experience though, I must say. We left one candle on the dock and we took one with us and it was so cool. We were just floating out in the middle of this lake with this dim light between us. The night sky was breathtakingly clear. I asked her if she knew any constellations, but she didn't so we just kept staring until we got bored. It's not like we were skinny dipping or anything, but there was something about the experience that felt young and taboo.

Caroline became addicted to the candlelight so she took some candles with us to the bunkhouse and we stayed up late talking about whatever. At one point I attempted to read some of Alan Ginsberg's Howl to her, but after realizing how long it was we gave that up. I enjoy talking to Caroline because we argue about a lot of things. She reads a lot and takes pride in being informed so dealing with a free thinker (read: insane and/or ignorant) person like me can be frustrating for her. For example, I'm an advocate of tolerating intolerance; that is to say, that I don't mind if people have certain prejudices. It is unavoidable, but not untreatable. She has no tolerance for racism or homophobia whatsoever. When we talk about these things, she has no chance because issues like this actually stress her out while I find it easy to not give a fuck.

Shamefully, I woke up the next day around 1:00, which is about the same time I would have if I'd just stayed home. That sucked. After a bowl of cereal, we sat down for some reading. Yeah, just reading. She had the irritating habit of keeping me up to date with what has happening with her book while I was just trying to read Jack McCallum's :07 Seconds Or Less (a fascinating study of the '05-'06 Phoenix Suns) in peace. I got restless, so I checked out her family's CD collection. Having never had the chance to really listen to Miles Davis' Kind Of Blue (I'm embarrassed), I decided to put that on. I don't think I need to tell anyone that it's friggin' brilliant. As that was going on, I challenged Caroline to a game of Battleship. Caroline played half-heartedly, trying to read a home design magazine while occasionally taking her turn, and as I systematically demolished her fleet (I swear I only missed, like, eight times) I found myself basking in a moment that could only be described as...uncommon. I'm at a cottage, listening to Miles Davis and playing Battleship. I couldn't imagine a more satisfying scenario.

Caroline and I went for some more paddle boating and swimming, but honestly, it wasn't that fun. I haven't swam anywhere in a while and though I enjoyed it, I forgot how exhausting it can be. Those were some deep waters and I realized that if I was ever on a sinking ship in the middle of the ocean, I might last ten minutes in open water. It was much more relaxing to just chill out on the dock and watch the sun slowly set. I booted up the iPod and I proceeded to listen to the most cliché, atmospheric music imaginable. Live. Imogen Heap. Arcade Fire. And of course, Peter Gabriel and Solsbury Hill. The clouds parted strategically and there was a unique jetstream in the air that looked like a conveyor belt in the sky. For what seemed like forever, but couldn't have been more than five or six minutes, the sun hit the lake just right and it was like some enormous, golden eye looking down upon me. I told Caroline (who was busily writing in her diary about, of all things, potential salaries and mortgage payments) that I could literally die there sitting in a plastic chair on that rickety, old dock. Truly, this was peace.

At the same time, there was a sense of relief when it was all over and I'm glad that I only stayed for one night. There are amenities at home that I miss, the feel of my own bed being the most notable. Also, I don't feel like I'm at that point in my life where I deserve to rest, to just whittle my days away by the lake. I have renewed faith in these things that fulfill me, confident that they are worth fighting for. All that's left is the earning.

A knight and a monk were traveling together silently for quite some time, until finally the knight says, "You live a life of poverty, never knowing the touch of a woman, denying yourself all manner of delights - all because you believe there is a God. I do not share your faith, so I tear the marrow from the bones of Life, indulging myself at every opportunity. I've broken every law created by man and church, and I fear no consequence, because I do not believe in your God. My question, however, is this: What if life ends in the ground, and man is nothing more than meat for worms? You will have wasted your entire life denying yourself for nothing. What if you die and learn there is no God?"

The Monk thought about this and shrugged his shoulders, offering, "Then I suppose I will be sad. But tell me this, sir: What happens when you die - and find out there is?"

7/09/2007 12:37:00 AM | Comments (0)

Sympathy For The Devil

Son Of Sam - Elliott Smith

Firstly, let me begin by saying that I have apparently been spelling Elliott Smith's name wrong since forever. I didn't know there were two "t"s. If you search the archives, you'll see that I've made the appropriate changes. Again, my gravest apologies.

Secondly, I was actually going to make this a really long post about the whole Chris Benoit situation. For anyone who doesn't know, Benoit is this professional wrestler who was recently involved in a horrific murder-suicide case. As some of you may have heard, I've been a big pro wrestling fan all my life. Yes, I know it's fake and know I do not care. I would go off into my usual treatise about how it's an art form that has more in common with figure skating than actual combat, but this is neither the time nor the place.

Chris Benoit was one of the greatest wrestlers who ever lived and I was a fan of his. The best wrestlers make a match look realistic while at the same time protecting themselves and their opponent. A guy like Benoit could drop you right on your neck and you wouldn't even feel it. Well, not that much anyway. He was a true artist inside the ring and someone who lived for telling a story through physical combat, fake as it was. When you consider that he was considered one of the greatest ever despite not being blessed with the height and look normally associated with a professional wrestler (think Hulk Hogan), his accomplishments are all the more extraordinary.

Well, it turns out that this idol of mine was a psychopath, a steroid freak and a coward. You can imagine how disturbing this is for me. I don't want to condemn the man, even though I should. My own biases are clouding my judgment. I mean, imagine if Paris Hilton was involved in a murder-suicide? I wouldn't give two shits about it, but just because the involved personality is someone who I respected I find myself making excuses for him. I'm almost relieved that all these steroid allegations are coming to light because it allows people to jump to a quick conclusion without contemplating all the terrible angles of this story (like I am). "Oh, he just had a bad chemical reaction that caused him to lash out." That's what a lot of people are saying. But it's too easy. Clearly, there was something dark, something unholy in this man's heart and I pray to God that He will forgive him and that he and his family can find some peace.

I know, that was a lot considering I didn't intend for this post to become about him but once I start thinking about it...*sigh* I'll never understand, but I want to badly. I'll stop now.

Thirdly, I've started playing soccer on Tuesday nights. We were horrible in our first game. We showed a lack of coordination, preparation and conditioning. I felt so bad because I suffered muscle spasms early in the second half and I was cursing myself for being in such bad shape. Worse, there's this girl on the team named Aprile (not a typo) who I think is kind of cute and she saw me go down like a little bitch. To further kill any possible game I had left, my mom interrupted the team's post-match chill out session by calling Derek to find out when I was coming home. That one hurt.

Fourthly, the Benoit thing and some Annia stuff (that I may or may not post about) has left me in kind of a funk, which explains my lack of posts (not that anybody really noticed). I think William has been on a decent roll. I'm just dropping in to pick up the slack.

Fifthly, Max sent me this hilarious link for the Movie Basketball Players Mock Draft. If you don't like basketball or crappy sports movies, this probably isn't for you.

Sixthly...Weezer news! Didn't we all love Pig? Well, there are no guarantees that it's going to be on the new album but...who cares, there's going to be a new album! Ah, I can breathe again.

Sev...okay, enough. Here's a funny article that David Cross wrote for Pitchfork Media. If you don't like irony or you take Pitchfork too seriously, this probably isn't for you.

Lastly, I've been hearing good things about Transformers, so I might be forced to give it a look. I mean, I can be stubborn and I can be an asshole, but I hate to be a stubborn asshole. Besides, even if I end up not liking it I should be making that judgment firsthand, shouldn't I? This little Soundwave documentary whet my appetite too.

I am going to be your new boss. Ha ha ha. It's my greatest dream come true. Welcome to the Hotel Hell. Check-in time is now. Check out-time is never.
Does my room have cable?
No. And the sheets are made of fire.
Can I change rooms?
Sorry. We're all booked up. Hell convention in town!
Can I have a late check-out?
I'll have to talk to the manager.
You're not...the manager? Even in your own fantasy?
I'm the owner. Co-owner. With Satan!
Okay, just so I understand it, in your wildest fantasy you are in Hell and you are co-running a bed and breakfast with the Devil.
Yeah, but I haven't told you my salary yet.
Go.
Eighty-THOUSAND dollars a year.

7/06/2007 03:37:00 AM | Comments (0)

I think I'm going to take a break for a while.

In the meantime, I think The Tool Shed Scene from Commando will be a more than satisfactory replacement for me.

I felt like I was watching a dream that I would never awaken from.

Before I knew, it the dream was all over.

7/03/2007 10:31:00 PM | Comments (0)