Disposable Forgettable Music (Robin Thicke, I'm talking to you)

While cleaning the house yesterday, I turned on Songza (great free streaming music app) and switched on the Pitchfork 500 playlist for 1977-1979. I wasn't specifically writing a list of the artists, but I noted the following musicians: Iggy Pop, Elvis Costello and the Attractions, David Bowie, Patti Smyth, Lou Reed, The Ramones, Kraftwerk, Throbbing Gristle, Talking Heads, The Cure, Cheap Trick, and Joy Division. Every track was memorable, even the stuff that wasn't on my like list. For example, when the playlist descended into disco, I heard "I Feel Love" by Donna Summer. Now, I know that the late 1970's were musically magical, but I couldn't help running a comparison against popular music today.

I'm not being the classical old guy thinking his times were better when I say that today's music is falling short. Don't believe me? Listen to Iggy Pop's "The Passenger", then the Elvis Costello and the Attractions' "Radio Radio". Brilliant tracks! Iggy Pop is singing about the outsider nomadic punk lifestyle and Elvis Costello is singing a protest song against the commercialization of radio. Both of these tracks were charted singles, so I'm not pulling out anything that people at that time would think were obscure. Now listen to Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines". It probably started looping through your cranium as soon as you read the name of the song. I apologize for that. Catchy? Sure. Message? Distinctively rapey. Memorability? It should be wiped from your consciousness soon, but Playlist has awarded "Blurred Lines" the title of song of the year. If I told you how many copies "Blurred Lines" has sold, you'd get terribly angry. "Blurred Lines" defines the state of music in 2013.

I think I just puked in my mouth. Just a little bit, but it still happened. Where has all the talent gone? I believe the talent is still out there. The next generation's Lou Reed is tuning a guitar in some dive bar, and the next David Bowie is dressing up in his sister's clothes. This isn't a rant about today's kids and their terrible taste in music. We all know that people consume whatever they are given to eat up. This rant is about the music industry that is pushing this drivel onto society.

Music shouldn't be disposable and forgettable. Past years gave us anthems and memories because the guys in the industry sought out David Bowie, The Ramones, and Queen. Stop being lazy and following the easy path. The industry is making it hard for me to continue loving current music. I shouldn't have to delve back decades to find icons and superstars. Give the public good music and good music will become profitable.

Havin' a time, but a piece is missing.

We are having an awesome time down in Jamaica. We are freshly married and are splitting our time between laying on the beach and eating amazing food. We are together in paradise and everything is almost perfect.

This has been a rough year for us.

Several of our family members (including one of my favourite extended family members - a "Wazzzzzzup!" goes out to him) are battling cancer. I really hate cancer. The treatment is as bad as the disease and there are no guarantees. I'm pulling hard for everyone to pull through. I only recently met these people and would love the opportunity to come to know them better.

The worst of it this year was the death of my father. He had a massive stroke in September and died about a week later. His absence still doesn't seem right to me. I still reference my dad as though he was still around.

To go out on a high note (like George Costanza), lots of good things have happened this year. Karen and I got married, of course. Most importantly, my little niece Isobel popped into the world. That little bundle of smiles means the world to us, and that wee bairn has helped my mom cope more than that little girl will ever understand.

My dad would have loved it here. I can almost see a tall shadow sitting at the swim-up bar, rye and coke in hand, goofy smile on his face, chest and back lobster red (the man didn't get the concept of sunscreen). That image makes me smile. Here's to you, Dad. :)

Everyt'ing's irie, mon!

It's been a while since last I wrote, but I've been a little busy planning and packing for my marriage in Jamaica. Everything went off perfectly well and my bride K and I are happily snoozing off all of the lobster that we ate tonight. If you haven't been to Jamaica yet, get on the plane tomorrow. This place is paradise!

Because we love words so much, we wrote our own vows and I'd like to share them with y'all.

My Vows

You put me at ease. You take me at face value and accept my quirks and peculiarities (as annoying as they can sometimes be). You are unerringly kind and help me to be a better person. You make me feel as though I belong here with you.

I promise to love you.

I promise that I will always try to understand you and empathize with you. I may not always succeed, but I will try.

I promise to support you, even if I don't always agree with you.

I promise to lend you my strength and resolve when you need them.

I promise to scrape the car windows when it's cold and mow the lawn when it's hot.

I promise to lift heavy things for you and reach the things that are on the top shelf.

We'll have a long happy life together. I see us sitting on a porch, watching dogs play and palm trees sway. While we will have to work, our down time will be filled with plays and concerts. Foreign lands will call to us and we will answer the call bravely! It won't always be easy, but it'll always be worthwhile. I'm happy and proud to call you my wife, Karen.

K's Vows

You wooed me with websites on William Shakespeare and Dr. Seuss...then held me with your gentle heart and open mind.

You listen to me and remind me that life is way more fun when I don't take myself too seriously. You lend me your strength when I need it.

I promise to always laugh like a loon when you do that goofy dance just for me.

I promise to always hold your hand even when you don't realize you need it.

My own brand of superhero; your mind thrills me, your heart warms me and your arms...well, we hang onto each other. I will always love you, Spencely-Man.

With you, I fit.

That's it for this evening, gentle readers. Hope you are gearing up for the holidays and enjoying your family. If you need me, I'll be floating in the Caribbean Sea, full of seafood and rum.

Bullying, or why our kids need to learn to stand up without consequences

I am awaiting the triumphant emergence of K from the mysterious back of a hair salon/aesthetics studio. While surfing the Intertubes, I read a story in Alberta HuffPo about a kid who got suspended from school for defending himself from a group of bullies. Really? Is this where we're heading?

Back in the day, I used to get bullied. I was a cute slight little blonde kid with glasses. There was name-calling and fighting. It didn't take me long to figure out that these kids would not stop until I stopped them.

I started fighting back. The next kid that shoved me got kicked in the groin. The next one that pushed me got hit in the face. It didn't take long for the bullies to figure out that I wouldn't take their abuse and they wisely moved on to kids who were easier marks.

Part of me wishes that I had never had to resort to violence and that everything could be resolved with level-headed words. The rest of me knows that the little pacifist part of me is living in a fantasy land. There are times when words fail, and if all you have in your own defence is a vocabulary, then you're going to have trouble with some people.

If you act like a victim, you are a victim. People will read it on your face and will continue bullying you. In my professional life, I ran into a few characters in management that were essentially schoolyard bullies raised to power. I watched one of these dudes act like a total ass and the victim just took it. No response, no defence, nothing. That bully never tried anything like that with me. Bullies know when they come up against someone who will not take the abuse. Barrooms or boardrooms, it's all the same thing. If you are a victim, someone will treat you like one.

Back to my point... If we penalize people for standing up, all we're teaching them to do is lay down.

On Winter (and briefly escaping from it)

Winter in Edmonton. The sun sleeps in every morning like a hormonal teen and turns in early every day like a grouchy oldster. Even when the sun decides to show up and stay social, its efforts aren't enough to warm the dry cold air. On really cold days, the first breath is an icy shock, the frozen air catches in your lungs and brings on something close to pain. The frigid touch of the wind seems like it could freeze the moisture on the surface of your eyeballs. When you're out in its killing grip, part of you wants to lie down and just let the cold wash over you, to gently fall asleep in winter's frigid embrace. The snow falls and covers the earth like a heavy blanket, burying everything in virginal white. As the snow falls, we all rush out with shovels, scoops, and blowers to try to keep parts of our walkways free and clear of the oppressive white substance. After we shovel the refuse away, we sprinkle salt as though performing an arcane ritual to keep more of the snow from landing on our sidewalks. It's always a hard fought battle, but winter always wins in the end.

Give me some palm trees and mojitos! Eight days until K and I hit Jamaica! :)

Psyching up to return to the gym. Pledging to write more often.

In an attempt to become a better writer, I am going to attempt to write something new every day. It won't always be a long rant or essay, but I will practice with the written word as I have practiced with other skills. Practice makes perfect, right?

So for today, I'm writing about lifting weights. Part of the reason I'm writing about this subject is to remind myself of what exercise means to me. I've been away from the gym since September (school and personal stuff interfered - check previous entries to see why) and am gearing up to go back.

He ritualistically loads the plates onto the bar. He stands staring at himself in the mirror, music blasting in his headphones, hyping himself up. His heart rate speeds up just a little and he starts to breathe a little faster. He steps forward and shrugs under the bar, driving his neck backwards against the cold steel. He takes a second to pull everything together tightly. He grabs the bar with a death grip, pulling his hands downwards, trying to bend the bar over his shoulders.

He takes a deep breath and stands up. The bar leaves the safety of the hooks and he lets the weight settle onto his body. Gravity, normally a friend, has just become a bitter enemy. He steels himself under the weight, takes a deep breath, and starts his descent. Keeping his head up, he breaks at the hips as if sitting far back onto a chair. He descends further than most observers think that he should, pressing his hamstrings against his calves. He is in the hole.

Momentum briefly stops and he screams internally at himself to stand. Driving through his heels, he starts grinding upwards, head up, chest up. Coming out of the hole is always tough. He feels the knurling on the bar digging into his traps as he keeps trying to bend the bar over his shoulders while he explodes upwards. He moves his body carefully but forcefully through the reverse of the motion that got him to the bottom. The last couple of inches to lockout are tough. His body is complaining, but he isn't listening. "Body, shut up!", he says internally. He finishes the squat and stands there for a second.

All is right in the world at that instant. That feeling is what Zen is about. The gym is a temple, and the preparation and the lift are meditation serving to keep him balanced and even when the world goes wonky. The iron gives him a mental focus and spiritual strength that many lack. It takes more than muscle to lift.

Paul Walker, R.I.P.

I don't know if you've heard this, but Paul Walker died in a car crash. Of course, the Internet is divided between people who are sad about Paul Walker's death and people who say, "Why should I care? Because he's a celebrity? Good people die everyday and no one makes a fuss about them!". This short post will address why one should research an issue a little before leaking verbal diarrhea all over the Intertubes.

I did a little research into the man after reading some scathing posts about his death on Facebook. Here is a snippet of what I found.

Paul Walker, aside from starring in many blockbuster movies, was a humanitarian. He had his own charity, Reaching Out World Wide (www.roww.org) that provided fast aid to victims of natural disasters. He donated his time, fame, and money to help those who were affected in Haiti, the USA (massive tornadoes - it doesn't just happen in the third world), and the Philippines. In short, he was man who used his gifts to help those who needed help. By every account I read, Paul Walker was a standup guy trying to make a difference in the world. His family vows to continue supporting people that need help around the world.

Here's some perspective. A young girl lost her father. Millions of fans around the world lost a man who could momentarily divert their attention from a world that can be a harsh and terrible place. An organization that does good on a global scale lost its founder and its main spokesman.

He didn't wear a uniform. He wasn't a police officer, firefighter, EMT, or veteran, but he set out to make a difference and make the world a better place. Before you tell me why we should be lauding local emergency services workers instead of Paul Walker, tell me what gives you the right to decide what contributions matter and which ones don't.

RIP Paul. Your contributions to the world of cinema and to disaster relief will be missed.