We’re going to miss everyone like crazy

Well, we had our final Halloween party in Toronto. For Dara and me, the Halloween party has become somewhat of a tradition. We dress up like asses, invite more people than we have seats for and provide some finger food. Somewhere in there, we have some games, so all in all, the event is usually a pretty G-rated affair. We generally save the black-tar heroin and orgies for our Christmas/Chanukah parties, instead. Even so, people seemed to have a good time.

Most creative costume award goes to Tom and Ang for being Avian Flu. Sexiest costume goes to Ryan, going as Family Guy’s Quagmire. I wasn’t able to make it around to speak to everyone, so this is me apologizing for that. Even though I wasn’t able to speak with everyone, I was glad everyone came and I appreciate the fact that so many people made it out. This morning I noticed the following note on our fridge: Everyone's going to miss you like crazy. I don't know who wrote that, but it was very sweet. Thank you everyone for making it a good night, and a great farewell. Much love, Toronto!

A rolling stone gathers no respect

Although I sympathize with its leftist leanings, Rolling Stone Magazine often argues its democratic message simply by slamming the political right. The left has many more important things to say, none of which have anything to do with how poorly the right is or isn’t acting. Rolling Stone recovers some lost ground with this article which reiterates what the right has been saying for a long time: a petty, divided left, is a weak left.

Ah Lindsay Lohan

In a recent interview about her rapid weight-loss, Lindsay Lohan (aka ‘Mephistopheles’) said, “I was going through a lot of stuff and overworking… I was going through that phase that everyone goes through. I lost, like, 20-25 lbs. I was on IV drips. I nearly died!” Oh, yeah, I remember my lost-25-lbs-IV-drips-nearly-died phase fondly.

NT Wright is right

I enjoy the lectures of scholar and theologian NT Wright, including this lecture of his which included the following, a telling synopsis of postmodernism:

“…who doesn’t know what a traumatic time the twentieth century has been[?] Nietzsche, Freud, and Marx were quite right. We had a war to end wars, and we’ve had nothing but wars since. We had a sexual revolution, and now we have AIDS and more family-less people than ever before. We pursued wealth, but we had inexplicable recessions and ended up with half the world in crippling debt. We can do what we like, but we’ve all forgotten why we liked it. Our dreams have gone sour, and we don’t even know who ‘we’ are any more. And now even the church has let us down, corrupting its spiritual message with talk of cosmic and political liberation.”

Wright would most assuredly object at my inclusion of this paragraph, as it is outside of its context, but I found this encapsulated the struggle of postmodernism in its continued response to modernism. This is a reaction to Matthew Arnold’s famous poem, “Dover Beach,” which you would find more adroitly articulated if you visit the link.

Why is this man smiling?

The Da Vinci Code

It seems like my posts are long streaks of pessimism and venom. I’m looking over the mini essays and missives I’ve written and I see naught but a string of criticism and denigration. Continuing in this vein, I bring before you the best-selling turkey to fall on bookstores since the Left Behind series left its trail of intellectual devastation: Dan Brown’s controversial The Da Vinci Code.

I will admit to you now that this book was a struggle to get through, not because of its depth but because of its lack thereof. I don’t understand reviews that call his book “blockbuster perfection” or “an exhilarating, brainy thriller.” This is not an intelligent book, it’s not smartly written, it’s not thrilling and it is certainly not a masterpiece by any stretch. Put quite simply, Dan Brown’s book is a pile of Mona Lisa’s excrement.

I don’t want to sound off on the controversy surrounding the book. Quite frankly, I don’t trust the research of anyone who writes with such a sophomoric pen. Dan Brown says Jesus got married and had children I say, Dan Brown got far too much money for this book.

The Da Vinci Code sold 40 million copies at 454 pages each, which equals about 18 billion clichés, 18 billion empty modifiers and 18 billion expository lumps where three hours of back story are dumped on the world like rain in a Florida hurricane. How can a book this bad get published, let alone sell 40 million copies, let alone receive praise from the New York Times?

The biggest blunder in Brown’s arsenal of blunders is his exploitation of italics vis-à-vis his characters’ thought-process: Was I dreaming? Or Was I followed? Or No! Here's my thought-process: terrible! This book is about codes and riddles, secret societies and conspiracies. One would think that Mr. Brown would include at least a subtle, if not challenging puzzle for the readers to figure out. Rather, he puts the pieces rapidly together for us. Reading this book feels like watching someone solve a crossword, and it’s about as much fun.

An open letter to Patrick Yap: Trader, Jameson International

Patrick,

Our professional affiliation has never been very friendly. I dislike you and you dislike everyone (or, so one would presume, given the way you treat the world). I generally try to find an equilibrium with the people around me. Even those I dislike, I treat with all the respect they afford me, so I guess it should come as no surprise to you that I have never respected you, though you still seem to scratch your head over that one.
You’ve gotten it in your head that I have some vendetta against you, in spite of last week’s explanation: it’s not that I’m the only person against you, it’s just that I’m the only person willing to speak up about it.

That Jameson has kept you on staff this long is a marvel to me and to my colleagues. I say my colleagues because you forfeited your association with your fellow workers years ago. Back when you were promoted to trader (read: traitor) and you promised your soon-to-be-subordinates that your relationship would remain the same, you started raising walls. The deal became the almighty aim and your personal relationships fell by the wayside.

You service your clients with a hasty incivility approaching insolence and you stress yourself out trying to meet your quota, all the while using employees as dishrags; you’re far too important to say thank you or please. I appreciate the challenges you face and the competition you fear but I don’t see any other trader acting with such disrespect for his fellow coworkers. A standalone incident I can accept, but I approached you at the end of a long line of transgressions to simply say to you: Patrick, I refuse to be stepped on any longer. And what did you do? You blame-shifted; you forwarded my letter to the President of the company, my Manager (and your friend) who still sided with me. I expect such childishness from you because I’ve come to realize, you are not a man; there’s actually a child lurking under that fetid pot-belly exterior of yours. And while you whine and taddle your way out of episode upon episode, the sword of Pericles dangles over your head. You can’t expect to build up such walls around yourself without them collapsing. Your time is coming.

Regrettably, I made this a personal conflict when you attacked my Christianity. I did so because I vehemently abhor condemnatory remarks like yours which implied that I’m not a Christian because of the letter I sent you. Christians get angry and say ugly things to ugly people; that’s what I am, and that’s what I did. As I said before, if you were the standard bearer of Christianity, I would run the other way, so I Thank God that you are not. You have no right to question my faith, and the hypocrisy of your deed boggles the mind. It’s also the reason for my fury, despite my best efforts to keep this personal and professional.

Patrick, I will not miss one second of my association with you. Indeed, my mind is now busy purging the filth of your memory from my banks. My world will be a better place without you.

PM Says U.S. partly to blame for gun crime proliferating in Canadian communities

Canadian Prime Minister, Paul Martin, suggested to U.S. Secretary of State Condy Rice that America needs to take responsibility for the illegal American guns being smuggled into Canada every day; Illegal guns which are responsible for half of the gun-related deaths in Canada. Toronto alone has had a spate of gun crime this summer as any Canadian newspaper will tell. As a Torontonian, I sympathize with the plight of this gun-plagued city, but I can’t figure out if Paul Martin is a genius or an absolute moron.

To suggest that having U.S. authorities help stem the tide of smuggled weapons into Canada is a naïve proposal, would be like saying the UN is kinda malfunctioning right now. It’s ludicrous! For starters, the weapons are pointed at our borders, meaning it’s our border guards, not the Americans’, who are supposed to catch incoming contraband. How on earth are the Americans supposed to help? Besides that, the various U.S. law enforcement agencies are busy with problems in their own yard, thank you very much.

Just as I was about to write fellow Liberal Paul Martin off as an idiot, I caught this little jab: “The Americans ask us to protect the borders. The Americans say there are things they do not like that come from Canada. Well, there are things that come from the Unites States that we don’t like. And if we have a responsibility to then, they have a responsibility to us.” Softwood lumber and other trade disputes aside, I remember being Canada being chided (post 9/11) for its lack of border security, which of course raises the same question: “Um, aren’t your border agents watching who’s crossing your border?” That’s when it donned on me: both sides are stupid. Canada can’t watch for terrorists coming into the States any more than America can watch for guns coming into Canada, so everyone let’s quit being petty and start doing our own damn jobs!

Stag and D'oh!

Last night I was hit with a pleasant surprise. My friends Tom and Zok decided to throw me an ad-hoc stag party. Two buildings over, Dara was ambushed by her own stagette, organized by Tom’s wife Ang. I was expecting a quiet evening of Indian food with Tom while Dara and Ang hung out and did whatever it is they do. Instead, Tom and Zok show up at my door with Phantom Planet’s California playing behind them and a California survival manual in tow (the contents of which will remain a secret; suffice it to say, it’s everything I need to survive the perils of the Southwest.)

On Dara’s end, the girls had a Hawaii theme going, which was perfect. Dara and the girls wore their hula wear, while the boys watched me don my California-themed getup (Pictures to follow). With a nice meal, some Corona and a little Merlot in our bellies, we met up with the Dara’s entourage and went out to Milestone’s—a favorite of Dara’s—where there was much merrymaking until the wee hours of the morning.

It was a great evening and a wonderful surprise. To the event organizers, Ang and Tom, I say thank you for a wonderful evening. Don’t bewail the evening’s diminutive size; that’s exactly how we liked it. Also appreciated is the fact that there was no vomit, no golf balls and no gnashing of teeth. A perfect success! Thank you to my friends.

The Surreal Life

Last night Dara and I attended the launch party for The Fight Network which is a 24-hour specialty fight channel which shows—you guessed it—all fights, all the time. We’re friends with the President of the network, so when he offered us V.I.P. tickets to the party, we gladly accepted. Boy were we out of our reckoning. This event, which was held in Toronto’s hot-spot Koolhaus, was a no-holds-barred flesh-fest, with hoochie-mamas in outfits so skimpy, they would put the Hooters girls to shame.

I’m getting ahead of myself. First we’re in a line-up, hundreds of people long. We saw Mike (the owner of the network) going in, so we hitched a ride (literally, by grabbing the coat of the person in front of us) inside. Once inside, we were able to go to the V.I.P. lounge which provided free drinks and hors d’oeuvres, all served by ½ naked women. Actually, they were more like ¾ naked. While there were many friends at the event, Dara and I felt out of our element. Photographers were taking pictures of two muscle-bound near-nude alleged women; there were two fighting-rings in the centre of the building for the fights to be held later in the evening and the DJ played your favorite tunes from the 1990s. We were trapped like sardines in the V.I.P. lounge, so we decided to go.

It was an interesting event, to be sure. Mike, you put on a good show, buddy. Not our kind of show, but it’ll give us something to talk about for a while.

The Beauty of Grey (or anal people suck)

The Beauty of Grey (or anal people suck)

I don’t understand people who blindly obey the rules without question. These people manifest their utter devotion to procedure by obeying every minor traffic law, which includes staying at least 5 clicks below the posted speed limit. These are the kinds of people who follow every catch-all rule at work, who file their tax on the first day permissible by law and who never, ever jaywalk.

These black-and-white people trouble me for several reasons, mostly because they’re annoying. Obviously, there are certain situations where you must strictly adhere to law, especially when someone’s safety is involved. But people who blindly obey every rule around are doing themselves a great disservice.

To begin with, when you look at something in a legalistic way, you begin to become close-minded. If everyone adhered strictly to the rules like, say, that really anal guy at work who reads the manual every month, we’d have a society of automatons incapable of making their own decisions; content to let the government or the boss or the mother think for them.

A very simple illustration occurred today. I was driving in Burlington, heading south on Walker’s Line when I noticed an ambulance heading northwards towards me. Like a good citizen, I pulled to the side of the road but I noticed that the northbound traffic had created a barricade against the ambulance. In their enthusiasm to follow the rules of the road, four cars had individually stopped at one lane each, thus blocking the paramedics from getting through. Ignoring the fact that the rules of the road actually instruct drivers to get out of the way of first-response vehicles any way possible, these drivers were so hung up on the red light in front of them, they didn’t move. I was so frustrated as I watched the seconds click by and these drivers shimmied their cars to and fro in a futile attempt to let the huge ambulance by. If it were me, I’d pull up to the curb, I’d run the red, I’d turn onto the perpendicular street—anything to let that ambulance go save a life. This dim-witted woman just sat there, unable to bring herself to run the red light. Eventually the paramedic had to talk her through it on his intercom: “Just drive through the light, Ma’am.” She was so programmed against running a red light, that she cost precious seconds to whatever victim the driver was trying to help.

That situation is merely a microcosm of a bigger world in which people try desperately to see things in a black-and-white way. I’m an idealist and I’m trying to become more of a realist (minus the cynicism, which I have in spades). In conversation with my Brother-in-law, I started to realize that sometimes it’s not possible to attain the ideals we set for ourselves, and to hold our politicians to those goals is unrealistic. I think certain standards of human rights should be met worldwide, of course, but if we keep looking at things as night and day, black and white, we won’t get anywhere. To quote the band Live, “It’s not a black and white world/ to be alive, the colors [sic] must swirl/ and I believe that maybe today/ we will all begin to appreciate the beauty of gray [sic].”

Now I’ve gone way off topic. To summarize, anal people suck.

Yappety yap

There's a man at my work who I simply can't stand. He's the guy in the office. Y'know, that guy everyone hates. The selfish jerk who gets everyone else to pick up his slack, who microwaves fish on high at 9:00 in the morning (thereby stinking up the whole office). He's the archtypical kind of guy who orders lunch on the company credit card and then tries to sell it back to the company and pocket the money. You know, that guy. This man has been getting on my nerves for a long time and I have no problem vocalizing my issues with him.

Today he wrote a letter to a client saying he'd send his customer service agent (that's me) in due time. I promptly wrote him back and informed him that I'm not his customer service agent, that I serve the company and that such language implies a hierarchy where none exists. My letter was reasonable, and yet he cc'd it to the President of the company as well as my Manager. Excuse me Pat--, uh Mr. anonymous, can we deal with this like adults or do you need to run and tell the President? Did I mention this man is in his 40s? I will not miss that guy when I leave the company.
_______
In other news, I think celebrities are cruel when they give their babies stupid monikers. My personal favorite, besides "Apple" is "Pilot Inspector", the name of Jason Lee's son. Just rediculous.

Welcome Clinton

I'm sitting at my work desk, about 100 meters from former US President Bill Clinton and Toronto's downtown core is full of energy. As much, or more, energy than the last U2 concert to hit town. Bill Clinton is the modern day rock-star-politician. Say what you will about the man, he has charisma (which, in Republican language would be roughly translated as "machismo.") I understand the points of view of his detractors, but his magnetism is hard to deny, despite his past lifestyle choices.

Clinton himself put it best when he explained on Larry King, in response to a question about George W Bush, that it's easy to demonize someone in a position of authority. I respect that Clinton was president (as I respect that GWB is president). I admire Bill's charm and his media savvy and if I had the requisite dollars to see the man speak, I'd be interested to hear what the future first first-gentleman/lady of the US has to say.

Every man for himself.

Maybe I’m a grumpy guy—okay, I’m definitely a grumpy guy, but I’m really irritated with the culture of entitlement that’s moving stealthily on our society. Today I was waiting for the subway. I was clearly the first person on the platform but as the rush-hour bodies started to fill in around me, one woman stepped directly in front of me to get on the train. She so blatantly violated the rules of subway-queue etiquette that I was compelled to sarcastically comment on her rudeness. “By all means: after you!” Of course she shot back a nasty look; what right did I have to say anything, after all?

While the world prepares for an imminent flu epidemic, there’s a different pandemic currently circulating (in Western society anyway) and nothing is being done to stem the tide. I’m talking about the crop of people who are motivated by self-interest and nothing else. An epidemic of selfishness. These days, it’s every man, woman and child for him/herself. When did apologies go out of style (and I’m not talking about my blog or my album, which has never been in style)? When did we stop holding the door open for each other? Why am I a social outcast if I want to save something for the next guy in line?

Today I visited a client who screwed up a deal not once, not twice but three times. While a typical visit to a client takes 30 seconds to three minutes, this guy’s error cost me an hour of my time. No big deal; we all make mistakes and I know how busy life can be, so I cut him some slack. But once error number three popped up, I couldn’t afford to wait another 30 minutes for him to rectify it. Did he apologize to me for all the time he consumed, you ask? No. In fact, he was upset with me because I pushed the deal for another day. The man, who cost me my lunch and compromised my arrival times for other clients, couldn’t see past himself. Selfish.

Life is a pond and we’re all going to make ripples around us, but why is it so hard to be aware of the ripples you make? To the guy in the apartment below me I say, Hey dude: your music sucks. The 80s are over, and I don’t remember them ever being that loud. To the guy in the office who likes to microwave his morning fish (huh?) on high for ten minutes I say, Hey, you stink and now, thanks to your selfishness, so does the whole office!

My theory is this: previous generations were forced to go without, both technologically and economically. Our parents had tighter belts. We have more of everything today; this is the age of Wal-Mart! So new parents dote on their children and want to provide for them a so-called better life. Children get everything they want without asking for it or earning it and all of a sudden, they expect it. They grow a sense of entitlement. Add to that a leftist idea that discipline is some draconian pastime and you get kids who run amok. You wouldn’t find parents on Dr. Phil 30 years ago asking how to control their kids. (Hint: when you “punish” him by sending him to his room, take the Playstation away!) Now that completely ignores many other sociological contributions to the problem including urban crowding, cultural conflict and an increasingly isolationist lifestyle fed by HDTV and high-speed internet, but I think it’s a start.

My friend once asked me (rightly) why I love living in the city so much when I can’t stand people. It’s not that I can’t stand people; I love people. I love seeing others helping out. It makes me smile when I see the Salvation Army volunteers feeding the hungry. That’s a beautiful thing. What does bother me is the me-ism that’s consuming people today. Why does everyone have to be so damn selfish? In the city where there’s such a concentrated group of people, it’s hard to avoid looking after number one, but I promise you that the world would be a better place if you stopped pretending you’re the only person in it.

Movie Scores

My friend Zok and I were having a friendly discussion about who should have scored the upcoming Chronicles of Narnia movie, after we both agreed that Harry Gregson-Williams and Co. was a horrible choice. So we debated who would be the best choice to score the film instead.

Zok's choice was with Danny Elfman, a formidable composer with almost 200 films to his credit. I still enjoy his orchestrations in movies like Batman, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and the instrumental parts in Corpse Bride (especially the piano bits, which are beautiful). Even so, there's something easily identifiable with Elfman's songs; they're beautiful, sometimes dissonant, but always Elfman. The thing is, I'm not sure he has a diverse enough palette to colour a movie like Narnia, epic as it is.

My choice was somewhat less mainstream. I'd like to see Jon Brion score a movie like Narnia. Now I know Jon Brion is highly choosy in his film scripts and a movie like Narnia would probably not even enter into his consideration. But hypothetically speaking, I think Brion could bring something interesting to a movie like that. Zok thinks that Jon Brion's scores are too "quirky" and "poppy" and he may be right, but I merely argue that he would be capable of meeting the challenge. Whether or not he would actually do it or not is another issue. Jon has a talent for melody and harmony; his arrangements are fresh. How could he not do a good job?

All I'm saying is that it would be interesting to try someone different like Yann Tiersen or even Danny Elfman, as opposed to a Howard Shore-type composer, or worse--a John Williams. Maybe that's why I don't work in Hollywood.

Beautiful Day

Today was gorgeous! The sun was out and it was raining at the same time, which is one of my favorite things. I also had the windows open today, which was the first time because the Air Conditioners have been in there. So I took 'em out (goodbye guilt!) and now I can enjoy the fresh autumn air- my last Canadian autumn for I don't know how long.

Random apologies

Last night I went to my friend Noah's gig and it was great. I hadn't really seen him play before so I didn't know what to expect but he played a really great show. His voice was especially nice, which is always a great surprise. Some freaky exhibitionist across the street was trying to upstage Noah by undressing, dressing and walking around his weird loft, but Noah held the course. Way to go, Noah!

Whenever I go to a gig (a good gig, at least), I feel inspired and creative and I want to write. Since we got home so late, I stayed up late working on Reason software. If you haven't heard of Reason, it's amazing music software which allows you to orchestrate full songs of any kind. Last night I was working on melancholy piano piece, but since I was in a good mood, it probably came out more like muted dejection. Maybe a little light gloominess.

In other news, I shaved my beard off to freak out Dara. In retaliation, she shaved hers off, so I guess we're even. (But boy is she pissed right now!)

Many apologies to Dara, and to all a great night, er, morning. Shalom.

Why Christian Music Sucks. Or, Why I hate Christian Music. Or, I hate Christian Music because it sucks.

Yesterday I read an article about the upcoming Chronicles of Narnia movie, which will feature a Christian inspired-by soundtrack CD, and a secular version. Can Disney think of a more obvious way to pander to its audiences? Why can’t the movie marketing machine let the story speak for itself without supplementing the message with preachy, crappy music? C.S. Lewis’s story is, after all, an allegory to Christ’s Crucifixion and resurrection. Why include bands like Jars of Clay and Steven Curtis Chapman, whose music is beyond bad? Let the story speak for itself! To amplify my point, I’ve included the following essay, composed one night in the heat of anger, over my frustration with a lifeless industry.


It occurred to me recently how inane the Christian music scene has become. What started out as a hobby for well-meaning kids in church basements across the globe has become a pasted-together collection of imitation music forged by dishonest prima donnas longing for that fame they can't quite seem to find as they beg for entrance into MTV-land. So these artists polish the freshness and originality right out of their songs, pick their lyrics clean and what we get is a stale, regurgitated song.

2004 saw gospel music sales top 42.4 million units, and with crossover artists like Switchfoot, I finally have the answer to my question: where are all the Creed fans hiding?
I confess, I've played in Christian bands through most of my formative years which is probably the source of my hostility against this sanitized music. For our purposes, I’ve split the music into three methods of writing lyrics through a "Pop-Christian" lens:

The classic model relies on anthemic jingoism of the sort you'd see at an American baseball game (no offence to my American friends). This God-Bless-America type of song features lyrics whose intent is explicit and parochial. I call this the proselytizing song. A proselytizing song makes use of archaic, religious language often juxtaposed against impotent guitar arrangements and wanna-be-cool drum loops. Though these types of songs come across as didactic, if anything, I respect the proselytizing song for its sincerity, if not its outdated attempts at converting the young. I dislike this type of song because it is a song with an agenda. No matter what shape it takes, art should have no agenda other than to create. *Side note: I exclude corporate-worship style songs from this attack, as they are clearly for a different purpose and, although sometimes clumsy, these songs actually benefit from biblical vernacular.

The second prototypical song variation is one which finds its antithesis in the classic, proselytizing song. It is the whip that drives my anger. Vague and intentionally ambiguous, this second type of song illustrates the duplicity of many young wanna-be rock stars. The language of these songs, which I will call simply the disingenuous song, is an artistic analogue to the archetype of the Teenager who pulls up in the station wagon and slumps down in his seat, embarrassed that his friends will see him with Daddy. The disingenuous song is one whose language is noncommittal, neither religiously zealous nor profane. It is the detached lexicon of the would-be crossover artist; that band or solo performer who thinks, If I can just skirt the line, here, maybe I won't offend any of my loyal Christian fan base, while attracting a larger audience. Words like love and positivety are wrapped like bacon around limp clichés and powerless phrases designed to inspire; designs which fall flat nearly every time. The disingenuous song plays the ambiguous love-song game: Is this a song about God or a girlfriend? Such treachery is instantly dislikeable and the sad irony is that, in trying to please everyone, the artist comes up flat and lifeless, with a song that no one cares about.

The third variation of song is somewhat of a curiosity in the Christian music industry: altruism with artistic cachet. This kind of song or artist is not very common these days at all, found in rare artists like Wes Cunningham or Lovedrug. This is a song which avoids the pitfalls of cliché, of mind-numbing banality and self-important pretense. Rather, this variation (which I will call a good song) rings with trueness, applicability and, dare I say it: irony. *Ghasp* Yes, there are some on the front lines, battling for artistic integrity over moralizing self-righteousness. Hard to conceive that God, creator of the Heavens and the Earth, might actually enjoy some effort on our part; something intelligently wrought with insight and applicability. What we often get are flaccid platitudes; pure sentimental pap.

I’m not arguing for the dismantling of the entire Christian recording industry. I’m calling for a new breed of artists who write intelligent lyrics and music they can be proud of. I’m for good music with a modicum of self-respect. I’m in favor of bands who advocate a cause without making music their soapbox, who write catchy songs on a par with our best artists today. Parents want music that's been cleansed; lyrics they can trust. Kids want to listen to music they enjoy while preserving their self-respect, but it's getting harder these days.
____

I'm a cynical, cynical man. Sorry.

Better to burn out or fade away? You tell me.

Fade Away Artists:

Like I’ve said before, I don’t like clichés. This post is me making good on a promise to start a comprehensive list of bands that have fallen into the trap of using the age-old cliché, “fade away.” Everyone does it. My old band is on this list, too. People like Bob Dylan have used it before (although it was less of a cliché in his time, I’m sure). Even bands I love like Jellyfish and Radiohead have succumbed to the lure of “Fade Away.” Bands like Staind have popularized and oversaturated us with the phrase, and I assure you the police are out on the lookout for them, even as we speak. This is far from a comprehensive list (even this took a very long time). It’s a mere toe-dip in the cesspool of acrid lyrics which all contain the phrase “fade away”, in some manifestation or other. Enjoy!
Oasis “Fade Away”
Seether “Fade Away”
Blur “Fade Away”
Rolling Stones “Not Fade Away”
Chris Isaak “Fade Away”
Noisegate “Fade Away”
Bruce Springstein “Fade Away”
Bad Company “Fade Away”
12 Stones “Fade Away”
Buddy Holly “Fade Away”
Allison Crowe “Fade Away”
Counting Crowes “The Ghost in you”
Ben Folds “Time”
Quorthon “Fade Away”
30 Seconds to Mars “Zero”
Gandalf “Fade Away”
Distant Warning “Fade Away”
Cast No Shadow “Fade Away”
Che Fu “Fade Away”
Pearl Jam “Elderly Woman behind the Counter….”
Scars of Life “Fade Away”
Texas “Fade Away”
Zwan “Fade Away”
Pat Green “All the Good Things Fade Away”
Ben Moody “Everything Burns”
Dead Can Dance “Don’t Fade Away”
Aaron Bentley “Fade Away”
Mariah Carey “Everything Fades Away”
Mob Rules “Fade Away”
Eric Clapton “Fade Away”
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band “Not Fade Away”
System of a Down “Chop Suey”
Grateful Dead “Not Fade Away”
Stone Called Crazy “Fade Away”
U2 “Bad”
Guns N’ Roses “Not Fade Away”
Suicide Machines “Fade Away”
James Taylor “Not Fade Away”
S Club 7 “Crawler”
Orgy “Make up your Mind”
Mudhoney “Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge”
Bob Dylan “Recently” & “Something’s burnin’ Baby”
Sugar Ray “Someday”
Eagles “Earlybird”
Hawthorne Heights “Angels with even filthier Souls”
Jack Johnson “The Horizon has been defeated”
Metallica “Fade to Black”
Elvis Costello “Abandoned Masquerade”
Finger 11 “Tip”
Avril Lavigne “Happy Ending”
Tool “ænima”
Neil Young “Time Fades Away”
Sheryl Crow “I know why”
Radiohead “Street Spirit (Fade Out)”… kinda doesn’t count
The Who “My Generation”
Staind “Fade”
The Tea Party “Psychopomp”
Madonna “Just a dream”
Whitesnake “Don’t Fade Away”
Jellyfish “The Man I used to be”

Etiquette for your, um, brella

Today I was poked rather viciously by a man brandishing a large umbrella. In a moment of distraction, my assailant let his umbrella slip and, like a jouster’s lance, thrust his unassuming weapon into my chest. It wasn’t a crippling blow, but it wasn’t quite gentle either. So you must be wondering if he stopped and asked me if I was okay, or if he had time to because he was apologizing profusely, right? Wrong. Apparently I was in the poor umbrella’s way and the man could offer me no more than a terse, insincere, “sorry.” Excuse me? I’ve given better apologies to people who have stepped on my feet (as a proper Canadian should). If I had an umbrella handy at that moment, I could have quickly found a convenient place to put it. And then I’d open it, of course.

The ABCs of Pollywood: Commander in Chief

I read an article today by cantankerous conservative JB Williams (http://www.nationalledger.com/artman/publish/article_2726923.shtml) about ABC’s new hit show Commander in Chief. Mr. Williams charges that the show, about a female Vice President promoted to Commander in Chief after the death of the President, is meant as a salve for “hardened socialist liberals” in need of a fix after years spent under a Bush regime. More importantly, he stresses that the show is merely a platform concerned with prepping the American public for a Hillary Clinton Presidency in 2008.

Last time I checked, JB, Hollywood was interested in Hollywood and not much else. That’s not to say that tinsel-town doesn’t supplement hit scripts with its own political philosophy. Indeed, just watch one episode of Law & Order or West Wing and you’ll see that writers are shrewdly political. But “a nefarious plot to advance the notion of a Hillary Clinton Presidency”? C’mon JB, that’s a bit of a stretch, even for this paranoid, hardened socialist liberal.

For starters, Geena Davis’s President is a Republican-turned-Independent; hardly a Democrat-friendly character. And for those who claim that Donald Sutherland is portraying Republicans in a negative light in his role as Republican speaker of the House, you should take into account that the fictional chief of staff—a man of upstanding character—is also a Republican.

Finally, I’d like to state rather subjectively, that prepping America for a woman president is not a bad thing. Granted, I’m all for Hillary ’08, but that wouldn’t keep me from celebrating a Condoleeza victory instead (well, at least in principal). We should put partisan politics aside and celebrate the progress of Women’s Rights’ champions like Hillary who, despite the abuse of her detractors, would make a strong, capable President.

Irony is literally a cliché

There’s a guy I know who always says, “ironically…” and what follows is a sentence that is completely void of irony. Perhaps augmenting my parents’ belief that I’m a bit of a grammatical elitist, I’ve drafted the following essay on three often-misused words. I would like to point out, however, that I am so far behind where I need to be grammatically. I am no authority on the subject, but the following three words are in need of a little defense. Sorry.

Ironic ≠ Interestingly
Literally ≠ Figuratively
Cliché ≠ Unoriginal

Ironic, Literally and Cliché. These three words are constantly misused and misunderstood. First, irony:

Alanis Morrisette showed her knack for a melodic song, but not the words behind it, when her hit song Ironic failed to show even one example of irony. Now that's ironic! Why, you ask? Well, irony is the art of juxtaposing incongruous parts; the opposite result of what was intended or expected, and as Alanis intended to write a song about irony, it is ironic indeed that her lyrics contain no irony. Mission accomplished (if inadvertently).

Speaking of opposite, it isn't irony but a sad twist of human understanding and overuse that led to the demise of the word, literally,(which died, sadly, sometime last decade). Literally was born to safeguard readers and listeners of exaggerated stories everywhere. Most storytellers, even great ones, tend to drift into hyperbole. So when your storyteller gets to the part where he approaches the beautiful girl in the bar and the next part becomes unbelievable, the storyteller might need to pop out this beauty: "I literally jumped through the roof."

Now let's stop right there.

If Don Juan means the club ceiling was only six feet high and he was atop the bar when he jumped then, yes, he literally jumped through the roof. Or, more appropriately, the ceiling. But in past days when Don would merely have had to say, "I literally jumped through the roof," and people would understand that he meant it, he now has to provide details of his claim, telling that the ceiling was only six feet tall and so on. We would have the plaster in his hair as proof. In days gone by, no further context was required, provided that the magical word, literally, was inserted. The hearer of a given story could provide his own context knowing safely that, as bizarre as it sounds, that little bugger actually jumped through the ceiling somehow. Nowadays when someone says, "I literally jumped through the ceiling," they usually mean, "I (figuratively) jumped through the ceiling," which is sad because, in their haste to puff up a story with exaggerated statements, they make for a bland story and take the poor word, literally, down with them. Figuratively speaking, of course. The word is now being used for the complete opposite meaning for which it was intended. This is through overuse, which is a cliché.

See, many people think the word cliché means boring or unoriginal, but why would we have words like boring or unoriginal in the first place, if they were never going to be used? Nope. Boring and unoriginal are just fine on their own, thankyouverymuch. A cliché is a word or an idea that has lost its meaning through overuse. People say it so often and in so many ways that we forget what it means. Like our friend, the good adverb literally, many words are dying through misappropriation and, once again, overuse. The funny thing is, people misuse cliché all the time, thinking it a synonym for—you guessed it—boring or unoriginal. So, in essence, cliché has become its own name: a cliché . And that's ironic.

Chapter 11? But I haven't even finished Chapter 10 yet!

So Delphi Auto Parts has filed for Chapter 11 protection and I think the situation is interesting because it illustrates several defining issues of our day. The relationship between Delphi and GM is obviously an important one. For those who don’t know, Delphi is the largest US auto parts supplier, providing General Motors with most of its automotive systems, components and parts and GM is Delphi’s largest customer. (Correct me if I’m wrong, here).

One of the first issues that came to mind is the matter of fuel efficiency and the competition between America’s Big-Three automakers and the imports (mostly Japan). It took forever for Detroit to fall in line with the C.A.F.E. (fuel economy) standards while import car makers were, and remain, way ahead of the game. Once the industry-wide fuel standards were met in the late 1980s, Detroit auto-makers became complacent and continued making the gluttonous, over-thirsty vehicles they’re still known for. Showing constant insight (or perhaps hindsight, considering Japan’s own oil crisis, circa WWII), import auto makers have been making high-quality, fuel economic vehicles which have sold consistently well throughout the SUV craze of the 90s and are selling even more units as they spearhead the hybrid vehicle craze that appears to be comin’-round-the-mountain. Case in point: GM’s largest auto parts supplier is on its last legs, GM stock dropped 10%, and GM is poised to be the first of the Big Three to file for Chapter 11. Meanwhile, Honda and Toyota are primed to build new plants in Ontario. Reason: they can barely keep up with consumer demand. Does that tell you something?
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Now I realize the issue goes deeper than this. GM spun Delphi into an independent company in 1999, with an agreement that GM would assume Delphi’s benefit obligations, should Delphi file for Chapter 11. Well, now that Delphi is sitting on the edge of financial ruin, GM may have to take up the cause of paying annuities for the pensions of a growing number of people who—God bless ‘em—are lingering on into their 90s and higher. With life expectancy escalating, pensions are becoming overhanging burdens and the only chance of escape for companies like GM (with its once generous benefits program that set the bar for other industries) is to declare Chapter 11. It’s not so surprising that GM is at the front of the queue to establish national pension programs and bail its ass out.

While private corporations are different than World Governments, I think this is but one consequence of a growing trend towards short-term policy to appease voters and satisfy immediate, temporary financial needs. Like our major governments, GM is thinking about shareholders today, instead of the benefits of long-term strategies for tomorrow. And my point to all this: one of the weaknesses inherent to democracy is its parochial outlook; a consequence of serving 6 billion people who are waiting for an answer to tomorrow’s problems, today.

This was supposed to be a short post. Maybe you thought today’s topic was boring. If so, sorry.

Macca: The New Adjective

Paul McCartney is not a name, it's an adjective. PM is synonymous with quality and creativity, a great show and consummate professionalism, through and through. In the future, when children hand in essays to their teachers, their teachers will respond by saying, "well done, Bobby. That was a Paul McCartney essay!" What a compliment!

As you can guess, I attended the Paul McCartney show tonight. I missed his last round of tours (circa "Driving Rain" era) because I was on tour myself, but tonight everything was rectified (literally and figuratively, if you count the amps). What an incredible show; pure Macca throughout. The only questionable selection of the night was Mull of Kintyre, which is not my favorite Wings song. All the classics were there: Hey Jude, Long and Winding..., She Came In Through the Bathroom Window, Maybe I'm Amazed, Live and Let Die (oh those percussions!)... I was impressed with their rendition of Helter Skelter, which I found even more aggressive and edgy than on the original. Also, I've been enjoying the new album. The new songs dovetail perfectly with the old ones (particularly Jenny Wren). Oh, and I could have sworn I saw Jason Falkner. Or not. All in all, a great night.

*Side note: for those of you who like to smoke pot and dance like a prick, sing at the top of your lungs (and out of key, I might add) or yell with frathouse enthusiasm for a man in his 60s, I appreciate your zeal, but please remember there are other people at the concert. Sorry.

Customer Service Week: Eulogy

Last week was worldwide customer service week and I just want to take this time to observe the moment and express my sympathies. I know the world stands with me as we unite to memorialize what a great and upstanding citizen of the world Customer Service was. He was always there to ask me if I needed help finding something in a store or listen to complaints about my faulty VCR. My fondest memory of CS was back in our college days, when he promised me he was going to do something once and he actually delivered. Those were the good ol' days.

Mom wanted to be here, but she was too upset. Besides, she's been busy on hold for 4 days now because of high call volume, but they promise that her total wait time should not exceed three minutes. For anyone wanting to make a donation, we've created a fund in Customer Service's name: please leave your name and contact info, along with a cheque. We reserve the right to use Individual Information to provide promotional offers to individuals by means of email advertising, telephone marketing, direct mail marketing, online banner advertising, and package stuffers, among other possible uses. Sorry.

Extraordinary Machine is... extraordinary!

Greetings to all, and happy Thanksgiving to those in Canadia-land. I hope you're all enjoying your turkey leftovers, or at least the thought of a turkey dinner to come.

This is just a warm-up post; a little calesthenics before the work-out starts:

I picked up the new Fiona Apple CD last week, Extraordinary Machine and the title says it all: that little girl is so amazing! It blows my mind that such a small thing is capable of producing such a huge sound. I was fortunate enough to see Fiona play some of the songs of this record with musical maharishi, Jon Brion, and the performance was stellar. Although I disagree with Fiona's choice to re-produce her CD sans-Brion (after she'd completed the album under his producership), I still think the end result is brilliant. The album was produced by Mike Elizondo, known for his hip-hop work, and while only two Jon Brion-produced songs survived, the album is remarkably uniform: the whole thing is challenging and catchy and beautiful.

Now I've never been a big hip-hop fan, save the odd artist like The Roots or Kanye West, but I must say I love producers like Brion and Elizondo who aren't afraid to crossing musical boundaries and push the borders. I think both sides of the musical fence will benefit from such openmindedness.

So this post is more like a light meal. Perhaps yogurt for breakfast, or a bran muffin. Eventually I'll get into lunchtime pasta and perhaps a 16-oz steak. Sorry.

This is where we're getting married! 

Joining the club

Well, it seems the whole world is blogging so I guess I'd better throw my hat into the ring, too. Apologies will be a no-holds-barred commentary on all things personal, political, practical and alliterative. Although I tend to apologize for many things (as a proper Canadian should), I also promise to send along scathing, honest reports on any given subject at any given time. Sorry.