Red Box

So I am reminded of this little trip I took to The National Art Gallery which is unsurprisingly located in Ottawa. I took my amazing class of grade 8's across the country, and this was one of the many stops on our journey. As we entered the gallery, the first thing to be noticed was space. And a lot of it. Groups of people were staring intently at splatters of paint on huge canvases. One canvas sort of reminded me of the last time my cat ate too many ferns and puked up gametophytes all over the carpet. The only difference was this masterpiece covered an entire wall. After studying my student's (justified) confusion over the intense attention paid by the gallery goers, and the increased security presence around us, I decided to take them exploring. To be truthful, with the amazing tradition of art in this country, I thought there just had to be something more thought provoking in this place. That, and I was pretty sure the secret service had already infiltrated my class. This small detail will make more sense in a little while. As we ventured upstairs, we were greeted with huge rooms containing very odd and confusing pieces of minimalist expression. A little red box, a row of bricks, and florescent lights in a corner were all that decorated a gymnasium-size room. Or there was the room with what looked like a pile of carpet strips randomly plopped down on a hardwood floor. As I walked out of these rooms something began to pull at me. "Why" was the question I kept asking myself aloud. Why does this little red box haunt my brain? The abstract nature and uncertainty in its meaning began to intrigue me. Maybe this is what art really is. Pure unfettered subjective interpretation. This was ambiguity at its absolute best. Perhaps the unknown is what is so interesting to our human minds. Sort of like looking up at the night sky and trying to picture the whole universe with all its possibilities. And that weird little feeling that comes with it. The famous "back-lit canopy with holes punched in it" so to speak. I think we could probably apply this abstract reasoning to any form of art, and perhaps this is why art is so universal. Anyways, as we walked further we saw more inspiring creations, some so complex it took an investment of time to make sense of the visual stimulation. It was also evident we were being watched from balconies, stairways, and every room we had just entered. I forgot to mention that it had become increasingly busy, with suits and gowns slowly invading the gallery. As I led my class to another room, a very concentrated crowd watched a jazz player tickle the ivories. This was a HUGE event. And we were unintentionally crashing it. Why we were even allowed to be in there blows my mind, but it was an amazing experience to be a part of. I gathered the class, and we piled on the big bus for our trip back to Kingston. As we sat listening to the radio on the drive home, the news added an interesting little tidbit. The art sales from the gallery we were just at had just broke a national record. Yes, you guessed it. We literally crashed a multi-million dollar art party. And it's all about that red box

Kathleen Edwards and ferries (the boat kind)

If you have not heard Kathleen Edwards, you should pause reading this for a second, and press play on this little gem. Let's backpedal a little bit here. I discovered her first record "Failer" in 2002 or early 2003, and since then, it has been the soundtrack to every emotion that I have ever felt. I have been lost in her songs on cold winter nights walking down freshly snow covered streets in Armstrong, at the top of breathtaking Alpine passes, running through old growth forests, and countless driving adventures - singing at the top of my lungs with my amazing partner. Being deeply connected to songs, and also sharing that connection with others can be the most powerful of emotions. I have many favorite artists, but her songs really get me. I have tried to see her live in concert many times over the years, and unexpected circumstances have somehow prevented this from happening. I have even had the tickets in my hands. Finally I got the chance to see her perform at the Squamish music fest, but I had a job interview far away… early the next morning. In the end, the songs called me. I took the ferry over from Vancouver Island to Squamish, stood and sang mesmerized for an hour, and then quickly caught the ferry back, arriving home at a decent 8:30pm. A quick blast for sure, but worth every minute. If I could write songs one hundredth as good as her, I'd die happy. Perhaps I will post some if I can ever get these new songs on tape. But that is a whole different blog. Later homies

Summah Heat

Ladies and germs, I hope the last few days of summer heat have treated you well. Ever had a dream where Martha Stewart was a zombie, and was chasing you with a delicious tray of Bavarian cream cupcakes? No? Well I have, and let me tell you, it puts a person in a real pickle... To run, or go back and ask her for the recipe, because they look absolutely delectable. I really never should have watched "The Walking Dead." And before you get your hate on for Martha, try cooking her recipes - her legion of genetically cloned super elf-chefs come up with just wonderful flavor combinations. Alright, lets get on with it. The weekend descended upon us, and my traveling crew left the crib feeling a little Jazzy. Sooo, we threw on some classic Ella Fitzgerald to start the day off. That lasted exactly until the caffeine kicked in, and she was promptly ejected in favor of the infectious and talented Am Taxi. Somewhat disheveled, yet footloose and fancy free, we went to the mountains. Mt. Washington to be exact, and this popular Island destination was really something else. There is an almost paradoxical contrast between the overly welcoming Banff-like boardwalks, and the alpine mountain ranges reminiscent of the Monashees. Along its trails, you will see severely out of breath "hikers" conveniently and fashionably decorated in the latest Arcteryx and MEC costumes, reminiscing unnecessarily loud about the latest "Epic" hike they did. However, you will also find your fair share of inspirational figures. Like the group of seniors in their 70's and 80's that are loving every minute of the scenery and the burn. To me, that is what it's all about. Mountain air shared among close friends and partners, it simply can't get much better than that. The scenery here was gorgeous, but I am used to walking through sub-alpine meadows and hoping the grizzly that is watching (or at the very least smelling) does what most grizzleys do - devour non-humans. But remarkably, the feared Ursus horribilus has somehow not established itself on the island as the apex predator that many regions in BC know it as. Regardless, a beautiful hike with a ridiculous canyon view ensued. From low tide to alpine passes, this place keeps amazing me.

Well homies, another day another dollar. Except I don't have a job at the moment, so I guess that isn't exactly true. For those of you that are just tuning in, I am a teacher, not a lawn bowling champion past his prime, or a horse whisperer who simply ran out of horses. I know those were your first assumptions. Ok back to life... another great few days of Island Time, which basically means you aren't allowed to look at your watch or ask what time it is, unless of course, you are meeting other creatures who are also on Island Time. On this beautiful Friday evening, my travelling partners and I decided to tighten the belts, double-knot our laces, and hit the ground running Westward. We managed to eventually stumble upon the incorporated township of Tahsis, which billed itself most modestly as the "Birthplace of BC." I'm interested what the First Nations think about that proclamation. What looked like a once booming town in the heart of the Nootka Sound, now stands an aching combination of 1980's architecture, waning tourism, and a significant population decrease. I mean no disrespect to the town itself - but it is always a little depressing seeing communities with forgotten schools, dilapidated buildings, and deserted houses. Thus is the life of a blue collar town run by multinational resource companies. I hope all these hardworking people found work, but I fear they did not. Moving on, our adventure led us to Gold River, a town that has managed to keep on truckin,' as the mill was still functioning, and ridiculously ginormous boats infested the beautiful estuary inlet. The next day saw us wander out to the Canadian Maui, also known as Tofino. This place has its own beautiful mystique with its scenic ocean beaches, carefree living, and an interesting contrast between tourists dressed in Hawaiian t-shirts and the non-conformist offspring of once dedicated flower children. Anyways, we headed off the beaten path a little bit, in search of the arcane forest creatures that I am still 83% sure reside here. After a little hike, we arrived at a place that I can only describe as... it. "It" had to have no-contact tribes and dragons inhabiting its dense foliage. For a brief second I thought I heard a Joffrey Baratheon battle cry, but it was merely a toddler having a temper tantrum in the distance. Alas, no mythical creatures found, but some amazing landscape was explored. Instead of heading home, we decided to search for some secret caves we heard some undercover tourists whispering about. By undercover tourists, I mean Lannisters dressed as tourists. These caves did not disappoint, and the network of underground tunnels was awe-inspiring. The small pocket light I was so proud to find almost ended up killing me as it did not illuminate the ground enough to reveal a straight drop off of about 50 feet. Seriously folks, another inch and I was a goner. My travelling companions would not have been impressed. This prompted an immediate exit, and I now know why those "tourists" were whispering. They should have whispered a little louder. Or quieter? I don't know. What I do know is that my neurons are overwhelmed from over-stimulation. Stay tuned folks, the journey is just beginning...

More Betterness

August 13, 1998 Legion Hall Kamloops BC On this sweltering Kamloops evening, I was lucky of to attend what would become for me, a very influential punk rock show. The bands Choke, Limp, and the legendary No Use For A Name graced the stage of the small yet perfect venue known as the Legion Hall. Kamloops was lucky enough to have an amazing Punk Radio show at the time called Listen Up Punk, and the hosts introduced me to the bands Choke and Limp, both of which I was extremely stoked to see. Not as excited as I was to see NUFAN however, as the albums The Daily Grind and Leche Con Carne got me through early high school mornings throwing print at doorsteps for what seemed like spare change. Anyways, as my friends and I waited outside the venue, the lead singer Tony Sly walked across the busy street wearing a green shirt with two different colored hands shaking - in a show of anti-racist unity. It was this EXACT moment that I realized this entire punk rock scene was much more than just an amazing sound. It was an outlet for change, diversity, and freedom of thought. I was already (and still am) into more politically minded bands such as Propagandhi, Good Riddance, Pennywise, and Bad Religion, but this moment made me realize there wasn't just a few outspoken bands pushing for change. This was a movement. It has been a few days since the passing of one of punk rock's great songwriters. Tony Sly of No Use for a Name had a knack for writing diverse songs, from the furious "Feeding the Fire" and "Until It's Gone" to the ridiculously catchy "On the Outside," "Soulmate," and countless others. He also had the rare ability to write heart-wrenching, melancholy songs who's lyrical content, melody, and even chord progressions could put you into a temporary depression. To be honest I could go on and on, but if you know the band, you know the songs. I recently watched him play a solo show at the small venue "Amigos" in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. I was going to tell him this little story, and thank him for the punk rock epiphany, but the timing wasn't right. Now he is gone, and no one can tell him little stories such as this. If there is a lesson embedded in here somewhere, I guess it is that you should always tell people how you feel, because you never know when that opportunity will be lost forever. "Let it fall, let it rise Let it be and let it slide Let tomorrow come and take my time away" - Let it Slide from the album More Betterness!

Hello fellow Earthlings. Where to even begin? This week has seen its fair share of discovery and exploration worthy of the history books. Well maybe more like journals. Written by me. Anyways, with a few good friends and a mysterious man I call Catfish Billy by my side, I ventured to the mainland and left no rock unturned. Kicking off the expedition was an unbelievable concert by the almighty band Strung Out, and a trek through the metropolitan concrete jungle known as Vancouver. The diversity and unique character of this place is a beautiful and precious thing, but that doesn't tell the whole story. Taking the elevated sky train reveals a vastly sprawled out city layered with old rusted factories, abandoned and decaying buildings drowning in stained walls, and new high rises reaching for the stars. Each building with a story, and if you search hard enough, a person to tell it. Good food though. Next, with a unanimous vote and wind in our sails, we headed for the hills of Squamish, bicyclettes in hand. The hard tail bike was a bad choice for these parts... a jarring of the rear brake mechanism apparatus catapulting system caused a puncture wound into the muscle. Oddly enough, muscles don't like to be touched on the inside. We then found a place to set up camp and play guitars by a campfire, but not before passing what must have been an Ed Hardy jamboree where all v-necks and flip-flops were half price. We elected to drive a few clicks down the road from that dog and pony show. Escaping with (our) dignity intact, we cooked a great late night meal and barked at the moon until the sun scared it away. Good friends, a few guitars, and a campfire are the only ingredients needed for a perfect night. That is what I call True and Livin'

Bike Face

Well friends and fiends, I woke today to notice there was no Zombie Apocalypse. This was good news, as my "Walking Dead" inspired dreams had manipulated my synapses into thinking otherwise. Appreciating my newly found human features and non-appetite for flesh, I decided to hop on the old mountain bicyclette, set the Ipod to "Bicycle Race" by Queen and give er up some very well-built trails surrounding the community of Cumberland. The novelty of this song literally wears off after about 14 seconds, but if the lyrics "I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike" are not stuck in your head right now, there may be something wrong with you. Anyways, it felt good to destroy my leg meat on the grind up the surprisingly technical ascent, and I am still in awe of anything with even a modest incline. It felt even better blasting through the charmingly named trails "Butchered Pig" and "Entrails." The latter could have been a perfect homage to my Zombie dreams, but alas this was not the case. I did not die. I cannot wait to dive further into the depths of these enchanted forests - of which I am positive serve as dwellings for Fairies, Trolls, Gnomes, and maybe even Tyrion Lannister. Let's hope not.