...EXILE IN BLOGVILLE.

...Resolved.

2011-12-31T17:24:00.000-08:00

And just like that...the supernatural takes over.
Maybe it's the poor man's champagne...
Maybe it's the blog about ...essentially...nothing, and everything.
I don't know.
Things happening for a reason?
The universe, reaching out?

How is this for ending on a weird note:
I walk downstairs, after hitting "post" on my last blog - minutes ago - and I decide to crack open a left over fortune cookie from this afternoon's New Year's Eve feast.

It made me smile. In a "but it is real, Dan" kind of way.

Cheers, to 2011. And to glasses being FOREVER half full, even if they're only filled with cheap white wine and ginger ale.

White Wine and Ginger Ale.

2011-12-31T16:34:00.000-08:00

It's not champagne, but it works for me tonight.
Half a can of Canada Dry. Half a glass of cheap white wine. Mixed.
Poor man's champagne.
But like I said, it works for me. Tonight.

We're on the cusp of another year, and I've been spending this most lazy Saturday reading Facebook statuses and twitter updates about New Year Resolutions, failures and successes and how they are ultimately "pointless".
One post said: "Fuck resolutions. If you want to change your life, then change it. Don't set a date. Just do it."
Like Nike.
I agree. And I disagree.

There is a certain "clean slate" feel to a new year. Even if it's man-made, it is the end of a 12 month cycle.
It's a way to mark things...a check point, I guess, and it never hurts to take inventory, check for damages, see where we could have improved, see where we got the gold star. Put band-aids on if we need to, brag about the beautifully healed scars, remnants of our wounds.
I've had a hit and miss year. Lots of highs.
A great year, because every year is great.

It was a year jam packed full of opportunity to learn.
I just have to decide if I've learned...and what I've learned.
*sigh*
More on that in a bit.
While I was skimming through all the New Year's eve quotes and songs and all that end-of-the-year wrap-up stuff that one expects (and always get me a bit nostalgic) - I chanced upon an interesting thread.
Someone today - a friend - on Facebook was saying "people who wish and hope and pray, are wasting their time".
He argued that those who spend time "praying" and "putting it out into the universe" - he said those people need to get up off their asses, claim responsibility for themselves and for their own desires - and do right by their own accord, for their own advancement.
It's realistic.
He got some flack, people calling him negative, but in truth - I think it's actually very positive.
No more living in La La Land.

Does it hurt to pray? Of course not. I mean, think about what prayer is...really.
It's an examination of what you have - acknowledging the good in life and being thankful, not taking it for granted.
It's also a way of taking inventory, going over what you need, the things you require to better your situation. That's the logical take on prayer. The "practical" side. And it ends there.
And as it stands - There's nothing wrong with that.
If you want to have a conversation in your own head, a conversation with an invisible man, a conversation with "a god, any god" - well - what hurt is their in that?

It's when people start thinking "prayer" is some kind of genie in a magic lantern - whose sole purpose is to full fill your deepest, most wildest desires.

Wishin' and hopin' and prayin' does not mean it's going to happen. Ever.
In truth - you are physically doing nothing. Those are all invisible - wishing and hoping and praying - it's like "pretending" - and really, unless you employ the ever famous and hip "thoughts become things" - all of those mental somersaults have no REAL impact on the world around us.

It reminded me of a story my boss told me.
It was about a young couple - a Christian couple - they had a child who was not doing well. The baby was born with some kind of severe birth defect and the doctors said it was only a matter of days.
They were heart broken. And they prayed. Their whole church prayed.
The baby died.
And someone from that church said: "You must not have prayed hard enough."
Can you imagine?

Now I'm not against praying. I am not.
But here's the thing: If praying was the answer to everything and worked that way - there'd be no need for ...ANYTHING.
Cancer? Just pray.
AIDS? Pray.
Poverty? Pray.
A gigantic porn start cock that looks erect but is still the perfect combo of "rock hard and rubbery in a flexible way"? Prayer would be the answer.
But - it is not.
That's the reality of it.
When "wishing" and "praying" become "let downs" - it means we are simply doing it wrong.

It's liberating to take the power back. To know that YOU are in control. That the whole "everything happens for a reason" - is just about perspective.
It's about how YOU look at things.
Do you look at a disaster as doom and gloom?
Or do you look at is as a chance to grow? As something to embrace with open arms and become stronger?
An open door - an opportunity - it is not "luck", nor is it "fate".
You find yourself able to CLAIM an opportunity because you worked your way to get there.
When you accomplish something, when you succeed in something - it is because you put the time and effort and thought into it. It is because you have confidence in yourself.
Sure, there is always fluke. And it's fluke. That's gravy.
But when you work at something, when you make your goals clear, and map out a path on how to get there - and then start building that ladder and then start climing it (jesus CHRIST I sound like Susan Fucking Powter) - that's ALL you.
It's far more powerful than wishing. And hoping. And praying.

It just got me thinking.
That whole threat.
About me. About resolutions. Ones I've made. Ones I've failed at.
I have no excuses. The ones that have happened, happened because I really wanted them to happen and worked for them to happen.
The ones that haven't...?
It's not that I didn't hope hard enough. It isn't that I didn't pray long enough. It is most certainly not that I didn't wish on every single star in the sky for six pack abs and and ass you could bounce an entire locker room full of hot hockey players off of.
No.
Accountability.
Resolutions.
Consider me resolved.

Ultimately I am responsible for everything in my life.
The good and the bad. And there is more good right now.
There is some questionable behaviour as well, and I can spend all year beating myself up about it...or I can learn.

And that's what I'm trying to figure out right now.
New Year's Eve, 2011.
8:03pm.

I'm thinking of what I have learned this year as I sip my poor man's champagne and wait for the left side of Dick Clark's face to drop.

xx,
dan

BLOG ME! BLOG ME! HARDER! FASTER! MORE! MORE! BLOG ME! YES! YES! ...part 8.

2011-12-28T08:29:00.000-08:00

Before I start - I want to quote something a friend of mine once said to me, about me.
Oprah calls this a "light bulb moment", and I am SOOOOO not the kind of guy to quote or reference Oprah, but - by Christ, it is what it is.
My friend said to me, in an email:
"I have never met someone who has so much of what he needs to succeed."
I froze. I re-read the sentence. Several times. And I sat in silence.
I guess that was the light bulb going off.

Today marks the 8th Anniversary of this little bloggity blog.
Eight years.
So I was...let's see...how old was I...?
Thirty-four minus eight...So, I was 26 years old.
You wanna know something sad? I actually had to pull up my "accessories" under my "all programs" on the computer and use the calculator to figure that out.
Not because I couldn't figure it out in my own head. Because I just didn't want to, because I hate math so much.
I always told my dad - as we'd sweat and cry over my math homework: "Trust me, when I grow up, I will never, EVER need math."
I stuck to my word.
When I sat down in front of my computer to start this blog, December 28th 2004, I was 26 and a server at a shitty restaurant, writing part-time for a shitty magazine that paid "not so bad" (why did I use quotes for that?) for a fresh-out-of-college-writer and...well, I thought I was the shit.
Kind of.
I guess this was a bit of a defense mechanism: Me thinking I was super cool and "indie".
In truth, I was hopelessly lost in what I wanted to do. With what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Being a server is a great job for someone in their twenties who is looking to pursue other things. You never take your work home with you. The hours aren't too bad - especially at the dive I was working in (I worked at "that sports bar inside the mall")- and the cash was bloody fantastic.
I was rolling in tips.
I could write and be artsy and fabulous and live like I didn't work at all.
And buy rounds of shots.
If I was hung over, there was always a "responsible server" - usually older - who would gladly take a shift.
Afterall, she wasn't there to make friends. The bitch was there to make money.
And that's why all the irresponsible "not-so-serious" (geesh! again with the quotes) servers loved her.
Anyway, that morning, 11am December 28th, 2004 - I was listening to an album by the band Luna. Rendezvous. I was hung over. I was contemplating everything.
I had a weekly show on CJAM (then it was 91.5fm) as well. It was volunteer.
But I wanted an "office job"...because I thought it would make me "professional". Yet knew it would never, could never be me.
I wouldn't be able to do the work because I wouldn't be able to figure out how to re-load the stapler. And that would be the end of me.
I wanted to do theatre, but had no training.
I wanted to be a little bit famous.
I wanted...to do...something. Just...something more.
But I wanted substance too. I did. I wanted to be creative somehow and be recognized for it. And I could not put my finger on what kind of job that would be.
I didn't realize I was already doing it. Writing for a magazine. Volunteering on the radio. Socializing like a mad mother fucker every night at my serving job.
Eight years later - Here I am.
I sit typing from my office desk, working at a radio station in the creative department.
I sit behind a microphone at a DJ booth on a much bigger radio station than the one I volunteered at 8 years ago.
I'm recognized as a "radio personality" in the Windsor - Detroit area.
A little bit famous.
I got everything I wanted.
But this blog isn't about that.
In fact, I don't know what this blog is about.
I promised myself in the very first post that this blog would have no rules.
It was about...just being, I guess. And that is my lesson I learned this year, after reading the first post and re-evaluating who I was and where I am.
Just be.
I don't read it often, but occaisionally I find myself flipping through the pages, and I am brought back to "that day". Immediately.
It's kind of like meditating. At times I don't recognize the person I am reading about. It might be me. It might be a friend. It might be something I completely forgot about.
Othertimes, I think nothing has changed at all.
I can't help but see evolution, in myself, in others.
I have old friends. Lost friends. Best friends. Dead friends.
And they are all in this blog.
I'm being a touch dramatic at the moment, but humour me.
It's my 8th fucking anniversary.
Like I said, I had no idea what I wanted to be.
And I still don't.
Somehow, and I do mean that - I stumbled into a job doing voice work for 4 of the biggest stations in the Windsor Detroit area, for a VERY major company that is known all over the world.
They are the big wigs of radio, and I say that without ego. It's just how it is.
And I got in.
And here I am.
I found a way to start doing theatre. Which I love.
It's quirky. It's "indie". It's very gay. It's "the cool theatre".
I have a home and a cat that I love.
I share it with someone I love more than anything...who, well...gives me everything I need to do what I want or need to do.
Yet, still that searching feeling in my stomach.
Still that lost feeling I had when I was 26.
I'm not saying it's a bad thing.
At all. It's not.
It's not comfortable.
Uncertainty is not supposed to be comfortable.
It keeps me hungry. It keeps me doing it. It could stem from low self-confidence.
The need for validation through attention, but I think it would be lazy to say that.
I've always had something I want to say inside of me. Something I want to express.
It's probably something lame, like a missed calling into the priesthood or some shit, and now I'm left with this empty, unfillable hole in the pit of my nearly non-existent, sold out soul.
But it's not like that because life is good.
Like my friend said - I have so much of what I need to succeed - so much opportunity and connection.
And I "do it", for the most part.
The radio. The stage. The poetry readings. The book. The articles. The copywriting.
I get to interview all the musicians I listened to back in the day.
I get to announce fantastic bands to a crowd of screaming fans and soak up the energy.
I get to curl up every night in a stable house with a good book and a cat and a Life Partner who loves me despite my very shakey glitches.
I have ...everything.
And I want more.
Not in a greedy way.
More in a..."I just don't know"...way.
I feel like I have this steam, this churning, this building momentum in my stomach...and it's just...going, going, going...but I lost control of the steering wheel.
I know I'll gain control again.
I'm not off track.
I'm just...in a very fast cruise control. I need to stop and smell the flowers and I need to PLANT more of them as well.
Look at me, with the garden analogies and shit.
I'm rambling right now. But I'm allowed to. It's my blog. And it's been 8 years.

Long story short: I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up or how to use all the wonderful things I've been gifted with to help me "get there".

And I'm not saying that's necessarily a bad thing.
Like that Oprah Winfrey light bulb moment...I guess it simply is...what it is.
At least for today.

I'm going to JUST BE.
Me.
And I'll see what happens.

hearts and farts,
dan

A Punch in the Heart.

2011-12-27T09:57:00.000-08:00

I've never been one for doctors.
I mean, one never really "needs" one...until they...well...need one.
And by then, usually - it's not all that pretty. Or - it's just fine and all is well. Who am I to be so negative?
I guess a little bit scared, that's all.
For about 1 year or so I've felt these strange chest/arm pains, sporadically.
I know, not a good sign.
Center and left chest down to my left arm. Sharp, shooting pain accompanied by a delightful drumming sensation right around where my heart is.
And a shortness of breath. Nice, eh?
Incredibly - I just shrugged this off.
"It's nothing."
I am, after all, Superman.
In my own head anyway.
Hell - as a child, I used to prance around in a pair of boxer briefs and a cape - with my mother's pumps on while my father looked on in horror, probably thinking to himself: "What in God's name have I Created."
See? I am Superman.
Sorry. I need to get back on topic.
My heart.
Yes. The drumming. The shooting "pins and needles" arm pain. The shortness of breath.
I brushed it off because it only happens here and there and I am in decent shape. I am a vegetarian. I don't eat a lot of bad fat. I exercise on a regular basis. I'm not over-weight, save for an inch I'd like to shave off my waist.
Heart attack people look like John Candy. Red faced - like a big round tomato ready to explode. That's not me, nor would it be a very flattering look for me.
Anyway, this pain and sensation in my chest and arm - it started happening last week - but quite a bit. About 5 times in one week. Before it was once every 2 or 3 months.
So, I decided it was time to go to the E.R. - since I don't have a family doctor.
Six hours, 2 EKG's and 1 blood test later, I sat in front of the doctor as he scratched his head and said: "I really don't know what to tell you. You seem fine. But you should get a family doctor."
Yes. I should.
See - these little "spells" (I like calling them spells, because it reminds me of happiness, fairy tales and magic) come on at weird times.
I could by vegging on the couch - watching a documentary - say - The Eyes of Tammy Faye, for example, and I'll feel it. All of a sudden and out of nowhere.
One day I was leisurely window shopping at the mall when it came on.
Another time I was simply sitting at my desk doing exactly what I am doing right now.
The tests said I did not and was not having a heart attack.
But the doctor left it at that. Emergency was averted, no need to bust out the defibrillator. He sent me on my merry way.
Seeing as it was just days before Christmas - it really was merry.
However, nothing is solved.
I have had this sensation several times. My heart rate IS accelerated. Not overly so...but it's fast - it's on the cusp of "too high" - 97 beats per minute, and that's just sitting there. If it's over 100 - they consider that "no longer normal".
I don't get it.
I am in the process of getting a family doctor. I was referred by a friend, but most likely will not get in until sometime in the new year.
It does make me think of a few things...a quote from Warren Zevon (yes, "Werewolves of London guy") - who passed away and found out his time was up and it was too late to treat his condition.
He said on David Letterman: "I might have made a tactical error in not going to a physician for 20 years."
That scared me. Because I know deep down it's important for regular check ups.
I'll be 35 in May. Not old. But I have not been to a family doctor for a check up since I was 16.
And in that time I had a few kidney stones. Broke my pelvis. Became a vegetarian. Gained 30 pounds. Lost 30 pounds and dropped an organ: My gall bladder.
Not horrible.
But - not fantastic either. Not squeaky clean.
So here I am - part of me saying "it's nothing" - the other part wondering about all those years of bad diet, no vitamins, no check ups.
No doctor to ever stick his finger up my ass or cup my balls or listen to my heart or breathing.
I think about every Red Bull and "5 hour energy" drink I sucked back.
I remember once, before going on stage in a show at Kordazone theatre - it was a performance of Drag Too - my good buddy (who worked the lights) saw me chugging back a 5 Hour Energy drink and said: "Those get you going don't they?" and I replied: "Yup. Makes me wanna prance around the stage."
He looked at me and said simply: "Kind of like getting a punch in the heart."
That made me think. Because that was exactly what it felt like.
A jolt. A little shake and tremor in my chest. Not a wonderful sensation.
I think about my boot camps and coffees and double shots of espresso.
Then...that pain.
My arm going numb.
I think of scary things like blood clots and embolisms and strokes and brain damage.
I can't help but think these things. But mostly, I'm calm. It's true.
I just wonder...did I make a "tactical error"?
Sure it might not have been a heart attack..but it's something.
So...what?
Like the doctor in E.R., I scratch my head and say: "I don't know."
But I guess I have to find out. And I will.
I'm not a fan of Warren Zevon...I'm really not. Not his music.
I mean, I "get" his music. But I don't like it.
Yet, I'm reminded of another quote from him, one I think I'll end this little note on, fellow blog-a-teers.
When asked by David Letterman if he knew something more about life and death now that he had been diagnosed as terminal, Warren Zevon offered up a small and very healthy little serving of insight.
It's simple really, what he said...and it's probably the easiest thing to do and so few of us do it.
Why?
Again - I don't know.
But I'm gonna give it a lot more thought as we wind down this wonderful year of 2011.
He said, simply: "Enjoy every sandwich."

I Have No Idea What I'm Doing at the Gym.

2011-12-21T09:55:00.000-08:00

When people go to the gym, what do they do?
I know I go to the gym. But I have people tell me what to do.
It's boot camp.
So it's a class.
A rigorous, hard, strenuous class, but I know when I walk in the gym doors, I have someone to meet and tell me EXACTLY what I must do before I can walk out.
And when I do walk out the door - I know I have been worked out "properly".
After boot camp, when I leave, lower lip quivering, legs like two pieces of chewed up licorice and basted in my own juices like a big fat thanksgiving sow (minus the apple stuffed in my mouth) - I am confident that I have been pushed much further than I would ever push myself if left to my own devices in the big, grown-up playground we call 'the gym'.
I have no problem going to the gym and being told what to do.
But left to my own devices? With no one to meet? No one to boss me around? No appointment to keep?
I feel...well - I feel the way I always felt every single time I stepped out into the recess yard back in grade school.
It was as if I somehow missed the first class on recess etiquette.
All the other kids knew what to do - almost automatically.
Kids running about, this way and that way - games of tag and hide and seek were well in progress.
Girls swung from monkey bars with gymnast precision. They jumped rope. They "hopped scotch". Something I had only ever seen in movies.
I didn't think real kids actually did this.
I remember standing on the pavement at my grade school watching the guys play soccer. Organized onto teams, each player - my classmates - had their own important role in the game.
Even the nerdy dandelion weavers somehow found each other and were doing their own thing out in the field amongst the weeds and dog shit.
And there I was: Alone. Standing and staring in awe at all the kids at play.
Did I just join in with the soccer players?
Did I hop up on the monkey bars and try to hang upside down from my knees?
I had no idea.
I had no idea what to do.
How the FUCK did everyone know where to go and how to play?
Did I have to wait for an invite?
And if I did...why was I the only one not invited?
I eventually found out how to play with others.
It was with the weeds and dog shit, weaving dandelion bracelets with the fat girls and soon-to-be-homosexual-boys.
By grade 3 - recess was no problem.
The gym, however - I am still utterly clueless.
I'm the kind of gym member who will buy a 1 year membership - paid in full, I will go once and never go again.
When my membership expires, I repeat the process.
Without a class to attend - I walk into the gym as if lost.
I'm always afraid to ask the front desk hottie for a towel, or I forget to ask for a towel until I need one.
By then - I'm already on the treadmill, sweating like a fatso at a bake-off, red-faced and knowing I simply "missed the boat" as far as my chances of getting a towel, and I have to just suck it up and sweat it out.
But I watch all the other...big kids - doing their thing at the gym.
I call them the "big kids" simply because they intimidate me.
I'm probably older than half of these hot little 20-something bastards, all muscled and lean and fit with proper posture and impossibly fitted athletic wear.
But to me - they are the big kids.
The ones who know what to do.
The ones who do squats without shame, without being self-conscious about their posture - because it goes without saying it is perfect.
The ones who have no fear of the free-weights section, usually inhabited by the permanent residents who are pumped up on roids, ready to snap any outsider's neck the second they take a step within their inner circle.
I glare from my spot on the awkward elliptical machine as the big kids work in astonishing synchronicity with each other, all doing reps on machines, never having to wait in line.
I know the second I tried my shot at a machine, someone would approach and ask: "How much longer are you going to be?"
I would give a bullshit answer like: "I have 5 more reps".
Then I'd do my reps and head directly to the locker room, pack up my shit and leave.
Yes, I'm that guy.
Hopelessly afraid of the big kids. Eternally awkward without any idea how to play.
And that's weird.
I'm not a hard-to-talk-to person. At all. I'm really not.
I get along great with other people.
If we're drinking. Listening to music. Or going out to lunch.
Social settings: I'm your man.
Add the daunting ambiance of a testosterone filled gym and I am reduced to a gelatinous lump of uselessness, incapable of speaking proper English, never mind motivating myself to actually get any benefit from my time spent in that god awful hell hole known as 'the gym'.
The locker room is even worse.
By nature, it is a sexual play ground.
Especially for a gay man.
My gym is not a "gay gym" - but - I'm there.
And there are others like me.
You hear rumours. Stories, some legendary - about the things that go on in the locker room.
An entire franchise of porno is created specifically about locker room shenanigans.
Straight up - there are naked, athletic men - sauntering and swaggering about with their dicks swinging in front of them - the way one might non-nonchalantly swing a key-chain or a towel.
It's like a bath house episode of Queer as Folk. The North American version.
One man was blow drying his hair - bare ass naked.
Yes, I granted myself a very generous peek at his wang - but good god - who the FUCK stands there blow drying their hair with their cock flying in the wind, without a care in the world?
Put some fucking underwear on, for Christ's sake - you're turning me on and making me FURIOUS that I don't have a body like yours, I wanted to scream in his perfectly chiseled face.
But I didn't.
Instead I simply grabbed my coat and put it on over my own sweat drenched t-shirt and left.
And that is basically it. My trip to the gym without an agenda.
I spent 25 minutes on some stupid machine that barely did anything.
I get to see one hot body and a penis - and that's it.
That's it.
Why?
Because I was afraid of the other big kids? Because no one was there to tell me what to do?
What DOES one do at the gym? How do all these people know the routines? The proper blend of excercises?
Do I simply re-enact my boot camp classes?
I'd look awfully stupid doing 15 burpees in a row without anyone else around me.
I know, I know - it's all ego, it's all self-centered ego.
I am the center of my own asshole-like universe and all eyes are on me, right?
But listen - I stare at people. I eye people up. I watch them. I won't say I judge them, but if someone misses a step or farts when they are doing a jumping jack - I notice and I snicker to myself, like an asshole.
I know. I'm horrible.
But I know I'm not the only one doing this.
I could be the kid who joins the other kids on the monkey bars, couldn't I?
But they might laugh.
Because they'll probably see right through me.
They'll see that I really have no idea what I'm doing at all.
Absolutely zero clue of what to do in a gym. Ignorant as to what kind of etiquette I am to adopt when interacting with people in this big, scary, grown-up recess yard.
But all the other kids, as if by magic - know.
So until I learn how to play properly with the others, I'm doomed to re-newing unused memberships - and I'm resigned to spending less than half an hour on my solitary elliptical machine - watching and observing the other kids at play, seething with envy, jealousy and an almost unbearable hope that one of them will ask me to come play too.

Quick! Be Creative! Say Something Funny! Now! (No pressure).

2011-12-20T12:40:00.000-08:00

I have a weird job.
I write for a living. I guess I could technically say - "I'm a writer."
I'm a writer.
There, I said it.
Or, I wrote it.
But much like, well - everything.... being and becoming something one dreams of being or becoming...it just never happens the way it happens in your dreams.
I have always wanted to be a writer. Dreamed of it.
And here I am.
I write. Every day. And it is published. Every day.
And I am paid for this.
I write - but not necessarily stuff I *want* to write.
I write...
Sell-out-ish stuff.
Commercial stuff.
Corporate stuff.
Trickery. Illusion. La La Land.
Advertisements.
There is a place for it, I guess - commercial writing...
There is money in it. Well, some.
But soul?
Not a whole abundance of that.
Has it sucked my creative juices from me, robbing me of my blogging mojo and rendering me a bore in blogville?
No.
To suggest that would be lazy.
And I am. I am lazy.
Which is why I may have been boring as of late.
While writing about "25 percent off storewide sales" and how it's "never been a better time than now" to buy "said product" isn't exactly me diving into my vast pool of infinite imagination - nor is it dipping both hands into the cool and steady stream of creativity - it DOES keep me thinking.
Thinking...about things I might not normally think of.
I'm getting off topic. Kind of.
I meant to be bitchy and negative, so - on with it!
Business people, for the most part, don't have much imagination when it comes to marketing their product.
This is sad.
This is where I SHOULD be stepping in, to add a unique and quirky flare - something that will stand out. Something that will say "Hey! Look at me everyone! Want some of this? You want a taste? Five dollah sucky sucky!"
Of course - the consumers are supposed to come in droves, flocking to buy Said Product all because of little old me.
But - the people who approve the copy are not that brave. Not that creative. Not that imaginative.
They want the basic who/what/where/when/why.
And THAT can be mind-numbing.
It can be stiffling.
It can make my job...kind of boring. And it can make Said Product sound...well - much the same.
Don't get me wrong - I love what I do.
I love the people I work with.
Essentially, I make a living off of stuff inside my head.
I type it out on paper - tweak it and cap it and shape it into something that vaguely resembles the client's vision...even more vaguely resembles my own...and I release it to the unsuspecting public.
It's a weird job.
Writing for the number one station in my city...and the number one station in another city...and then writing for two other fairly known stations in both cities...well, it's not something the average Joe gets to do.
But never have I been the average Joe, have I?
Thousands and thousands of people hear my work every single day.
That's kind of cool.
What isn't cool - is that it's commercials that no one really listens to.
And that's okay with me.
This blog...is going on 7 years old.
And I never know who I am speaking to. Possibly no one at all.
At one time, when I started - I had a few dedicated readers.
Whether they have faded away into the blurry fog of facebook and twitter and google + - or they just thought: "This fucker is boring as shit," I have no idea.
But I can't see them any more.
Yet here I am.
Talking...well, writing.... at ...you.You.
This collective "you".
I have written with specific people in mind.
People I don't know.
I have written for gays. For girls. For straights.
I have written to myself and I have written for others.
I have written in hopes of impressing and making friends, I have written so people will think I am cool and I have written to infuriate or I have written in the hopes of igniting action.
I still have no clue what this blog is supposed to be, save for a semi-linear autobiography - which is as honest as I let it be, but not really all that revealing at all.
I write. And I speak.
For a living.
I write in containers of 10, 30 and 60 second "spots".
I speak in containers of 20 seconds to a minute and a half.
With a timer on.
And in that time I am told to engage. To inspire. To be creative and funny.
It's so weird when you fuse the technical, the logical, the limited - with what is supposed to be infinite and expressive.
But it can be done.
Or can it?
Is it real?
Is anything I write real?

Is anything anyone writes...real?

Seasons Greetings...

2011-12-19T04:24:00.000-08:00

That's me. And my good friend. Dolly. She sings. And acts. And has a wonderful set of honkers. Together - we make a SMASHING Xmas greeting. Notice we don't say Merry Christmas. Or Happy Chanukah. Or Happy Quanza. Or "Have a Magical Diwali". Nope. This festive message transcends all those invisible lines which are supposed to trick us into thinking we are divided and is simply about celebrating good times with a good pair of tits. Nothing more. Nothing less. Simply universal.

Hexmas Greetings, 2011. XX, DAN.

2011-12-17T13:49:00.000-08:00

The Man in the Video Store at Christmas Time.

2011-12-10T06:15:00.000-08:00

I don't know why I think of this every year...but I do.
Every year mid-December, I often think back to the days when I worked in a 24 hour video store -Jumbo Video - so maybe that leads to it.
Either way - a Sunday story I thought I'd share with you...or with myself.
I just felt like writing down some memories today. Tis the season, I guess.

All kinds of people came into Jumbo Video at all hours of the day and night.
We were the only 24 hour video shop in town.
Customers at a video store - especially in the mid-90s - ranged in every demographic of people - because movies truly are universal. Everyone loves movies.
Every colour. Every age. Rich. Poor. Snotty. Trashy. Geeky. Stoner. Conservative. Hippy.
You never knew who was going to walk through the door and it was always different.
Everyone loves movies.
Around the holidays - like any store - it got pretty crazy. Keep in mind this was before internet-shopping. There was no "Amazon.com". There was no Ebay. There was no downloading and burning DVDs. In fact, there were hardly any DVDs!
It was crazy and busy and hectic and stressful and loud and non-stop.
Always a total blast though, working there at Christmas.
We'd throw on Frosty or Rudolph or National Lampoons Christmas Vacation. We'd blast some holiday music - and we'd just immerse ourselves in the insanity of hundreds of shoppers pouring in, asking for this movie or that movie, making and picking up special orders, making recommendations.
People would come in with movie quotes from films - films they remembered loving, but could not recall the title - they'd test our knowledge, and we'd always know - and they'd thank us!
"I love that you all know so much about movies here."
We loved being surrounded by films and even more so - being surrounded by people who loved films.
Customers would order the most random movies! I would often be reminded of a great movie from the past that I forgot about and would order a copy for myself.
We laughed. With everyone. With the shoppers, at the shoppers. Mostly - with each other.
It was just a big festive mess. Holiday haze hanging in the air. The twinkling lights from the new release wall. The smell of popcorn. Stacks of movies everywhere.
If it didn't close, I often say I would still be working there today.
The building just had a really great energy - it was a special place to work.
I'll never forget this one Monday afternoon - right around the holidays, a man walked in.
I was alone. About 2pm. The rush didn't usually start until after 3.
He was late 30s, possibly early 40s, unshaven, and drunk.
I could smell a huge waft of fresh booze on him as he came in from the freezing cold.
He looked around, eyes blurry and started to make his way towards the previously viewed section.
"Anything I can help you with?" I called after him.
He stopped for a moment, almost as if he was trying to determine if he really heard someone talking to him or not and he half turned to me.
Hammered.
"I'm...shopping for my kids...for Christmas..." he slurred.
He seemed harmless enough. Not violent or aggressive. He didn't look homeless...he just looked really tanked, drunk in a "give the guy a break because he hasn't had one in a long time" kind of way, so I let him browse. Even though we were supposed to ask intoxicated people to leave, there was no way I could ask him to go. For whatever reason, I just felt for this guy.
"Let me know if you need anything..." I said, but he mumbled something and turned down an aisle.
I went back to the counter and watched him on the surveillance camera.
I often try to peg people when I first see them. I don't know how accurate I am, but I've always done it. I don't know if it's the same as being judgemental, but I make up a story about them in my head based on what they look like. I try to imagine where they came from...what their story is.
I don't think I was too far off with this guy.
I imagined he was a machine shop worker...maybe an auto worker...maybe a truck driver...
It's what he looked like. He looked "Windsor Blue Collar".
And newly divorced. And not taking it well.
He was shopping for his kids. Seeing as he couldn't have been much older than 40 - probably a rough early to mid 30s - I didn't imagine his kids could be very old.
It was probably his first holiday divorced and separated from his family and he was feeling sad about it. Maybe he was divorced because of his drinking.
Either way - he was sad, going home to his quiet bachelor apartment, which probably didn't have much in the way of decoration. I imagined a small table. A bed. A couch. A TV.
It can be liberating to start with a clean slate, but in this man's situation, that was not the case. It was heart-breaking.
His story flew through my mind: Monday afternoon. Off work - perhaps suspended. So he got drunk again, early afternoon at a bar. Beer and shots of whiskey served to him by a waitress who knows him and the other small handful of regulars by name. But she mostly calls them "hon".
He started to feel guilty about not "being there".
He started to feel sad. He wanted to connect with his kids so he did the only thing he could do. He decided to stagger down the street to the video store and buy them something, because he hadn't yet. He wanted to buy them something for Christmas to show how much he loves them and that even though he is gone, and no longer living with them at the house, with mom, like a happy family - he wanted a way to show them that he has not forgotten them.
And here he was.
After about 20 minutes, he approached the counter, bloodshot eyes and 2 VHS tapes in hand. This was before the advent of the DVD.
"All set?" I asked.
He slurred something incoherent, and asked me if he thought the tapes he picked out were popular with kids.
New Kids on the Block: Step By Step. It was a collection of their videos.
The second tape was an old worn out copy of Sesame Street. Not a whole episode, more like a special. It might have been Thanksgiving or even Halloween.
Not Christmas.
$2.99 each. Out-dated. New Kids on the Block were not retro yet, back in 1995.
They were just..."over". It was sad, his selection.
It said "I don't know my kids, and somehow, I have become completely out of touch with them and who they are."
How does that happen? I guess it just does, right? How does anything happen?
A pointless question, I guess. It's kind of like asking "Where does the time go?"
We'll never know. But one thing is for certain: It goes. And once it goes - it is gone. For good.
"Well, how old are your kids?" I asked.
His son was 8 and his daughter 10.
"If they like the New Kids on the Block and Sesame Street, I'm sure they'll love them," I smiled, trying to be reassuring. In truth, I had no idea what to do or say to this man. I was 18 years old at the time myself - I didn't think it then, but I was still a kid too.
He looked at the movies he picked out with sadness and maybe...confusion.
"I think they'll like them," he said, unfocused, slurring.
I rang the movies in and gave him his total.
He didn't have any cash on him. And his debit card was declined.
He continued staring at the films, as I told him his card was declined.
It was as if he was processing. Or as if he didn't hear me.
Or, maybe - it was a brief realization of where he was because he heard this too many times before.
I could smell booze, strong off of him. Was this his rock bottom? The silence filled the entire store and despite the festive twinkly lights, comforting smell of popcorn and all that hollywood magic surrounding us on those shelves, the whole place suddenly seemed quiet, empty and sad.
So I tried my best.
"I can hold these for you, okay? Behind the counter... And you can come back before Christmas and pick them up whenever it works out best for you, okay?"
He nodded.
"That sounds okay," he said.
I had to swallow back the lump in my throat and try my hardest to not let my voice crack because I wanted to cry for this guy.
That sounds okay.
He said it...in a tone that said "thank you" ...like I did him some favour.
Like all was well. Like everything would now be "okay".
"Alright then," I said.
I took his name - so help me after 15 years I can no longer remember it, even though I remember everything else in vivid detail about this whole transaction.
I elastic banded the tapes together and put them with the other films, on hold, waiting to be picked up and wrapped and put under someones Christmas tree.
He was shuffling out, looking sadder than ever.
He walked out the door and I watched him staggering through the parking lot.
To...where? The bus stop?
Back to the tavern where he had a tab?
Maybe walking home?
That day...that gray late December day...filled with slush and ice and wind..it must have been a hell of a walk home - or wherever he was headed.
Who knows what was going through his head as he walked away from the video store and back to his life...movies on hold and tucked away in the "reserved" drawer, like everything was going to be okay.
But it wouldn't be. I knew it wouldn't be.
I never saw him again. The movies sat in that drawer for a long time after Christmas.
I think it was February or mid-March by the time I finally decided I could no longer look at them. I took off the elastic bands, ripped off the posted note with his name scratched on it and threw it in the garbage and placed the movies back on the shelf.
Movies that would never be bought - because they were just forgotten, out of date, no longer valid or relevant...to anyone.
I think of that guy - for whatever reason - every single Christmas...and this was 15 years ago.
I wonder why that is?

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2011-11-14T10:37:00.001-08:00

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Hmmm...

2011-11-13T19:13:00.001-08:00

Psycho Struggle.

2011-11-07T05:06:00.000-08:00

I had a crazy psychological struggle this morning, and I came out on top, but barely.
I woke up for Boot camp, without an alarm. The clock said 5:40am.
Perfect.
I could shower, eat something small, have a glass of water and chill until boot camp started at 6:30am.
Got up, headed downstairs to feed the cat...and glanced at the microwave clock.
4:40am. Not even 5am yet.
I forgot to "fall back" on the bedroom clock. Daylight savings.
I decided I should get the extra hour of sleep, so I went back to bed, closed my eyes.
Opened them and the clock said 6:28am.
FUCK!!!
Slept in. There'd be no chance I could make it on time now.
I was furious.
Then I realized...STILL didn't set that clock back - and it was only 5:28am.
Plenty of time.
I was now wide awake and I started to think.
I started to think about how I didn't want to get up.
I didn't want to jump in the bath tub.
I didn't want to put on my gym clothes, get in the car and enter the gym.
I didn't want to work out.
I didn't want to.
I started thinking of excuses.
I'm too tired.
I'm worn out.
I'm still sick.
Excuses.
I remember, back in April or May, having a similar morning.
I was arguing with myself in my head, fighting over why I should NOT go to boot camp.
I forced myself.
And after I forced myself, I realized - the most difficult part of going to Boot camp...is getting in the car and driving there.
Once I'm in through the doors...it's just a matter of doing what I'm told.
I am stubborn in many ways, and once I am doing something, I want to finish it.
And I always do.
It was just getting there. That was my struggle. The part where I have to motivate myself to get up. Walk outside. Put my key in the ignition. Park the car. And walk in the gym.
It's a 3 minute car ride away.
THREE minutes.
I looked at the clock.
5:55am.
I struggled again. Dreading it. Not wanting to go.
Part of me was telling myself how great it would feel to roll over and sleep for another hour.
The other part was telling me how great I feel after a workout is complete.
Part of me wanted to sleep. Give in to the bulge in my waist that so desperately wants to be seen and just accept it as my physique.
I've never had a torso that I liked.
It's always been flabbier. Not "fat"...but flabby.
Soft.
The reason I don't take my shirt off at the beach and never have.
Then I thought about how this bothers me. And why it bothers me.
And what I can do to make it stop bothering.
I could only do one thing.
Get up and go.
One day at a time.
Otherwise, why complain? I have no right to complain about my body if I am NOT doing everything in my power to change what I can, right?
And I have the power to do any single thing I want - especially with my own body.
I have the power and the capability, which is more than many have.
And it's something I take for granted. Something I do not utilize.
And what does that make me?
A spoiled fucking brat, I told myself.
I sighed and looked at that fucking alarm clock.
6:03am.
Screw it, I thought to myself.
I got up and got in the bath tub.
I'll go.
It was a kickboxing style class today, something I'd never done.
Fight moves. Go figure.
Fitting, though.
And challenging.
Co-ordination and balance were both involved - two things I'm not exactly stellar at.
But I did it. Because it's what one does when one is at the gym.
I punched. I jabbed. I hooked. I kicked. I kneed. I slammed. I squatted. I thrusted.
Sweat pouring from me.
And just like I knew it would - It felt great.
Sure, I may have looked like the fat boy at recess, unsuccessfully defending himself from his imaginary friend while the others watched with fascination, but it didn't matter, because I was there.
I was there and I was working out - the way I was supposed to.
No excuses.
Just me.
6:30AM.
At the gym.
Throwing punches.
Kicking my own ass.

OH - And winning.
At least today.

dm.

Boot Camp: The Return. The Saga Continues. The Revenge. Version 2.0. Boot Camp, Too! etc., etc., etc.,

2011-11-02T07:40:00.000-07:00

I did it.
6:30am - I was on the floor of Refine Fitness, doing jumping jacks, squats, push-ups, kettle bell swings, TRX pull-ups and dreaded mountain climbers.
I returned to Bootcamp.
Signed up for 1 month. The month of November.
Three days every week - Monday, Wednesday, Friday from 6:30am - 6:55am.
25 minutes.
But don't let that fool you.
It's 25 minutes of sheer agony and muscle-stimulation.
I was beaten and sweat-drenched, out of breath and destroyed on my drive home.
But, I felt great.
I took one month off from Boot Camp...for whatever reason.
I am not going to make excuses or complain about it.
I just didn't feel like going.
I love Bootcamp. It's difficult to get motivated to go -but I love it, when I go.
And I'm in for the month of November.
I didn't fall too far.
I probably put on a few pounds. How could I not?
I enjoyed myself.
I drank copious amounts of beer. Ate whatever I wanted without a care in the world and did very little physical activity.
So what?
Such is life.
I have one month to reverse it. And I will.
Because I have before. It's just how it's gonna be.

Bootcamp: It's good to be back.
dm.

A Clockwork Orange - A Play with Music - in Windsor!

2011-11-01T08:58:00.000-07:00

I love Korda. They are my favourite theatre group in the city...and I know I'm biased, because I am in plenty of their shows - but in truth: I see the love and the work and the spirit of just...having fun and entertaining...and I can't help but be madly in love.
There is no ego at Korda.
Just...people who love to play.

Make sure you check out their latest show - I'm excited to be an audience member at this one.

Some nifty posters too. Be sure to scroll to the bottom!

KORDA ARTISTIC PRODUCTIONS PROUDLY PRESENTS:
A CLOCKWORK ORANGE - A PLAY WITH MUSIC
NOTE: Mature Content

Directed by: Jeff Marontate
Orchestrated by: James Atin-Godden
Vocal Direction: Bob Godden
Choreographed by: Brian Bishop
Produced by: Tracy Atin

Show Dates:
Friday November 11 - 8:00pm
Saturday November12 - 8:00pm
Sunday November 13 - 2:00pm *matinee show

Thursday November 17 - 8:00pm * Pay-what-you-can preformance
Friday November 18 - 8:00pm
Saturday November 19 - 8:00pm

Tickets:
$15 for adults, $10 for students/seniors

Tickets available at the door; Juniper Books: 1990 Ottawa St; Motions 1: 3898 Walker Rd; Nancy Johns Gallery & Framing: 4755 Wyandotte St E; Cardinal Music: 2573 Jefferson Rd or by calling 519-562-3394.

Halloween, 2011.

2011-10-31T08:55:00.000-07:00

I went as "The Santa who Got Screw..ged."
Get it? Screwed? Scrooged?
It seemed like a fun idea at the time.
Shocking how many hootchies wanna get photographed on your lap, even at Halloween.
I advise every straight boy to get a Santa suit and go get laid.

Girls love it.
Ho, ho, ho.
dan.

Incredible song...

2011-09-23T05:14:00.000-07:00

Things I'm Liking...

2011-09-21T09:32:00.000-07:00

Totally addicted to this album right now. I'm a late bloomer! I've only ever been familiar with a few Groove Armada songs and maybe a couple Madonna remixes...but this record: Killer album! Very sexy beats and some great guest vocalists!

New Bangles album next week! Finally! First since 2003!!

Vintage movie posters!! With the death of Blockbuster Video (thank god!) - I say it's time for a video revolution! Return of the indie video store - complete with freshly popped popcorn and vintage movies - like this classic from the 80s.

Adventures as of Late

2011-09-19T18:14:00.001-07:00

I keep coming back to blogville.
I can't stay away.
This year marks the 7th anniversary of this little place.
Seven years. That's the better part of a decade.
I think the cover of the VHS for the Bette Midler/Barbara Hershey film BEACHES said something like "Friends come and go, others you're stuck with for life."
It's that kinda relationship we have.
"We".
Who is "we"?
I started this blog as a little diary to myself and anyone else who was listening.
Readers have come and gone...never intended to become some kind of "blog sensation" or internet celebrity, and I certainly haven't.
I don't know who I write this for.
Myself? My friends?
Do I self-censor? Of course I do.
People I know read this. I can never be fully honest on here.
Does that defeat the entire purpose?
I don't know. Maybe.
I'll lay down some honestly.
The gym: I haven't gone in a while. Not since early September.
Why?
Fuck. I don't know.
I'm going to start going to a different gym. A cheaper gym.
Boot camp was great.
I love it.
Loved it.
It whipped me into shape.
Today I went shopping for some clothes and was delighted to see that a 34" waist is now a tad too big.
This is from someone who was squeezing his gut into a 38"...and BARELY.
It's been a while since I've been that hefty...but it's been far longer since a size 34 inch waist was too big for me.
This is a first in at least a decade and I have bootcamp to thank.
I have not lost the excercise bug. I am all set up to start new classes (not boot camp) at another gym.
I'll post more on that when I start, which will hopefully be this week.
Summer is nearly gone.
Was stranded on Pelee Island for a few nights in August, which was lovely.
Been rehearsing with a new play.
A big role for me. A 2.5 hour play - Joe Orton's Entertaining Mr. Sloane...and only 4people in the entire cast!
I've never had so many lines and I have to admit, I was terrified.
I still get the whole insecurity thing...I'm a very insecure person, which is probably why I find myself constantly trying to get in front of the microphone.
"Tell me you love me, tell me I'm great, tell me I'm good at something."
Self-indulgent? Maybe?
Grasping for compliments...probably.
Although it is fused with a need and a desire to create something that resonates with someone.
I want to make something that will make someone else think.
I want to write something or act out something or become active and speak loudly about something I believe in...and hopefully - it will inspire someone.
But I also do it for praise.
I do.
The selfish non-artist part of me loves to be told he is good.
And not to play the victim, but even when I am told I am good at something, I can't help but think "Wow...fooled ya."
Not healthy. But I acknowlege it. I can work through it - and in the meantime, hopefully make some interesting art, or a cheap imitation of it.
See the circle?
I had a heck of a week. Broadcasting live at Arts Beats & Eats in Royal Oak.
Hosting an acoustic lounge in Michigan with a few wonderful bands - The Wall Clocks and Robin Horlock.
I hosted a walk for the Windsor Essex Humane Society...I guess it's a new form of animal activism. Not as "in your face"...but still active.
And Entertaining Mr. Sloane.
Here's the poster:

We're in the middle of the run right now. It is ...wonderful.
That's the only thing I can think of.
It's therapeutic to get up on stage and be someone else.
A character.
A repulsive person.
I get to explore the dark and evil side of myself and present it to people.
It's a great feeling...very freeing, once you get through the whole ugly process of learning and memorizing lines.
It feels free. Like walking on stage and releasing yourself.
I have a great cast too. A wonderful group. Four of us. And a great director.
Joe Orton wrote the play, a guy who was 34 years old when he was killed by his boyfriend.
My age.
He was cheating. And he kept a diary. A very graphic, descriptive diary.
His boyfriend clubbed him on the head with a hammer and then downed some pain pills to off himself.
The note he left behind said simply: "If you want to know why...read the diary."
Sad, really. But honest.
I am non-stop busy with work.
9 to 5 office job. My on air DJ work in the evening and on weekends. Sitting on the Board of Directors with Windsor Pride. Working with the theatre.
I lose a bit of myself. "Me Time".
And I lose home time too.
I want to spend more time with Life Partner and Pluto.
Time with myself. In my own head. I haven't written in a long time and that's not good.
Even this blog...it feels great, it feels like stretching an old, stiff muscle.
It's a weird thing.
I mean, my time is now. that's all I have.
Now.
that's all any of us have.
And the stuff I fill it with...it's all wonderful.
All of it. It's fantastic.
It doesn't feel like work.
But there's just not enough time.
Where do I draw the line?
Do I? Or is this just my life?
I sometimes feel I'm not being fair to the people in my life. My friends, my family, Life Partner.
I'm not either.
I'm selfish with a lot of things and that kills me.
Look at me - sounding like some kind of trainwreck mess.
In truth - I know nothing. I really do take each day. I make great decisions and I make horrible decisions. I try to do it all with the best intentions, but motives...motives...what are my motives...?
It's all self-discovery. every day. we think we know who we are and maybe some of us do.
I have no idea who I am. And I don't know if that's necessarily a bad thing.
Just gotta work at it the best way I know how...
and that's to keep on going...so here we go...

still in exile...at least in blogville.
But what is blogville anyway?

dm.

Beaten, Battered, Bewildered. But, Better.

2011-08-15T10:00:00.000-07:00

Gym this morning. It was a new trainer.
And it was ONLY her today. It was nice not having a small audience watching while I sweat my dignity away before their very eyes - the way I've been doing my last few times.
The new trainer is psychotic. In a good way, I guess.
During boot camp - I hit that "half way point" where I made the mistake of glancing at the clock.
I'll be honest - I nearly shat myself with the sad realization that I still had 35 minutes to go.
I contemplated making something up... "oooh...wow...6:30 already, eh? I have a meeting...! I gotta run!"
The thought also flashed in my head that I would get all thespian on her ass and 'fake collapse'.
You know, stop the mountain climbers, place the back of my hand against my forehead, say something random and unintelligable - and then fall to the ground dramatically.
Fake a faint.
"Whoa..must have...gotten...light headed," I'd say. "Must ...go home..." - but then I thought that the gym would want to call an ambulance, and that just wouldn't end well.
So, I sucked it up.
I suffered through it.
And suffer I did.
Jump squats. Kettle bells. TRX contraptions were involved.
We did walking lunges with weights. Insane push ups that Satan himself couldn't design any better (if the goal in mind is to torture).
I was cursing her.
In my head, I was already writing the letter I would submit to the gym - saying how she is an unfit trainer and shouldn't be allowed to even SPEAK to clients.
Clearly she was trying to kill me by sending me straight into cardiac arrest.
I might make that Ambulance ride after all, I remember thinking.
However the second it ended, amidst an endorphin rush and post-climactic sweats (not as dirty or glamorous as it sounds) - I thanked her because it truly was a kick ass work out that pushed me, tested me, challenged me - yet I was able to complete it.
NEVER would I push myself that hard on my own.
What can I say? Another day...another session of brutality.
I also walked there and back and walked to work this morning (a 35 minute walk)...
So yeah...I think I did it up, athlete-style this morning.
"Athlete."
Who the FUCK am I kidding?!?!?

*sigh*
dan.

No Ride...But Still Made It!

2011-08-12T09:19:00.000-07:00

Our car caught fire last night.
This would be the "cute little blue Neon" Life Partner and I bought back in '06.
Okay, it didn't FULLY explode into flames, but it was smoking, burning, just all around being a complete fucking brat.
Horrible.
"Fuck it," I said. "Just leave it in the fuckin' driveway and we'll worry about it tomorrow."
Tomorrow arrived very quickly. Except, it arrived in the form of "today".
5:15am on the alarm clock.
I opened my eyes and immediately closed them again out of frustration.
I would have to walk to the gym today.
"Or...," The Little Man in My Head whispered, "You could just say fuck-it, and go to 9am Boot Camp tomorrow!"
"Really? Really, Little Man? I could do that?" I asked, the idea of closing my eyes and rolling over sounded pretty damn appealing.
"Sure you could," he continued, lisping slightly. "You know you'd be up and at 'em bright and early tomorrow morning...take today off..your car is broken for crying out loud! Just go tomorrow morning!"
I frowned. Something was "off".
"Fuck you, Little Man," I shouted from deep in my brain. "This is a trick!"
"NO! No, it isn't!" he said, desperation in his voice.
"Yes, yes it is," I said, and in my mind's eye, I tore his throat out.
I killed him.
Content to get on with my day, I ran a quick bath, rinsed off, jumped into my gym shorts and t-shirt, grabbed the iPhone and was on my way.
5:45am is pretty in my neighbourhood. It's dark. I was a smidge worried about skunks - but it's peaceful nonetheless.
I made it to the gym with 5 minutes to spare.
"Dan, you're a die hard, I love it!" said one trainer.
It hit me then - their morning bootcamp...I'm the only one who goes.
The only one.
Is that weird?
I hung out alone upstairs...
By myself. In the Boot Camp area.
Just kinda...stood there. Looked out the window.
Waited.
The three trainers were back.
Yes, that's right.
One participant - (aka: me!) - and THREE (3) trainers!
The main instructor and the two in training.
I like them. All of them.
Still a tad awkward to be the only one working out while 3 others watch...but hey - what the fuck do I care at this point, right?
They kicked my ass.
Hard.
The warm up was jumping jacks, jogging on the spot and butt kicks - meant to stretch out your quads.
We dove into lunges, squat walks, so many different push-up variations, squat jumps, TRX lifts, planks, core excercises...
It was intense.
I poured sweat, and I started to feel that whole "you can't do this, you can't finish this" feeling.
And then: Something in my head clicked.
I started to TEAR through it. Rip through it.
I lifted. I pulled. I breathed in sync with my movements.
I found that rhythm.
"You look strong, you're doing AMAZING!" one of the instructors said.
"You're KILLING, Dan!"
It felt good.
To nail it.
Yes I was a slobbering, sweating, jelly-like puddle until the end - but it felt great today to finish it.
Completely soaked. Completely worked.
And it was a struggle to go today. To not have a car. To have to walk there - leave 10 minutes early and walk in the dark to the gym to be the only one.
I know it's cheesey to feel "pride", but I was kind of proud of myself.
I walked home and felt the breeze on my face and sipped my water from my pretentious little water bottle thingie.
It's incredible how excercise can make you feel so awful one minute - and the very next second: Incredible.
This morning - I felt FANTASTIC.
I'm so glad I told The Little Man in my Head to go fuck himself.
It was a trick after all.

dan.

Kickin' it at the Gym, (not so) Gangsta Style!!! ...biaaatch!

2011-08-10T09:11:00.000-07:00

Gym today.
I was scared.
Remember on Monday how I was the only one and I had a personal training session basically? And I loved it?
Remember?
Do ya?
Well - I was alone again.
So I was pumped.
Except this time, I didn't have just ONE trainer with a sole focus on me...
Oh no.
No I didn't.
I had three trainers.
THREE.
1, 2, 3.
2 of them in training themselves.
Not sure what you call a trainer who is in training...
Regardless - do the math:
That's six eyes on ...yours truly: Me.
I went through the excercises, sweating, heavy breathing while this intimate but attentive audience looked on, scribbling notes down, watching my form - staring at me from their cozy box seat view on the hard wood floors.
One of them may have sipped from a glass of lemonade, though I am not sure.
I felt like some kind of freak show...perhaps a physical miracle, being studied by doctors, experts, scientists...
"What is it doctor...? Why does it move in such ways?"
"Pay close attention students! We're going to test his stamina...we've never seen anything like it...must find a way to break him..."
That's what it felt like.
Have you ever been alone in a room while three people watch you work out?
If ever I worried about people looking at me at a gym...I can confidentally say: I'm over it now.
Oh shit - Who am I kidding? I love an audience.
I could care less if I'm in my gym shorts and t-shirt doing burpees in front of people.
1 pair of eyes...or 3 pairs of eyes, does it matter?
Abandon dignity and fuck what the world thinks.
That's the way I roll. Kinda.
At one point I was terrified I was going to fart.
That would have been awkward.
I am positive my squats were a bit off during that time, but I certainly tightened up those bum cheeks, which counts for something, right?
There's gotta be a muscle activation when you hold back a hum dinger of a fart.
Push ups. Burpees. Kettle bell swings. Bar bell lifts.
It was fun.
I mean, I like it when others can play too...but being the only kid as three instructers stood around me...even the queerest of spandex wearing gym bunnies would have to admit: That's not a situation one finds himself in everyday.
Of course, that's what makes my life extra special.
Things like this DO happen.
They happen to people like me, everyday.

dan

Chill Out Summer Salad

2011-08-09T10:44:00.001-07:00

This is one of those UBER simple, laid back summer recipes...
I named it the "chill out" salad because it takes VERY little effort - and there are cucumbers in it.
Cucumbers are supposed to be cool, right?
...RIGHT!?!?!?
It doesn't matter anyway.
Don't let the name fool you - this little salad packs a bit of punch in the ole spice department.
"Ole Spice."
*giggle*
Like the cologne.
*sigh*
Moving on.

All you need:

2 cucumbers
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 tablespoon chopped fresh cilantro
1/2 table spoon pepper (or to taste)
1/4 teaspoon salt (or to taste)

Peel cucumbers, slice 'em up into quarters (so mean! poor cucumbers!!) - little 1 inch pieces work well - toss them in a bowl.
Squirt them with lime juice (mmm...soooo dirty!), sprinkle them with the chili powder (mmm...so yummy!) - salt is optional, personally I'm not huge on salt...but it does go great with cucumbers.
Pepper however, I'm a lover of all things pepper related.
In fact, if I were a woman, I believe my name might very well be "Pepper".
Pepper MacDonald. Oui? Oui.
After everything (and when I say "everything" I mean...um...the cucumbers) is spiced and juiced up - Toss with cilantro!
Then...Refrigerate until chilled!

Get it... "Chilled"..?
Hence...the name: "Chill Out" Summer Salad.

Clever, aren't I?

I prefer the term "genius", but that's merely my opinion.
Then...simply chill out and enjoy.
Pretty dang easy.
And pretty frickin' delicious.

Hey!!! Wait a minute!!!
It's vegan too!!!

Who knew??

Enjoy,

daniel.

Monday @ the Gym.

2011-08-08T04:47:00.001-07:00

Up bright and early at 5:15am and I hit bootcamp.
Normally - there is anywhere from 3 to 8 people in any bootcamp.
Today...there was one.
Moi.
(insert high and mighty face here)
I have to be honest - I find the idea of being the only one... kind of intimidating.
I was worried, anxious even, waiting at 5:55am - hoping someone else would show so I wouldn't be alone.
If I was the only one...what would they do to me?
And then - I can't help but feel bad for the instructor.
It's like they threw a party and no one showed.
So sad.
However, it worked out in my benefit.
The trainer showed up and decided to take me out of the boot camp studio and into the main gym area - and basically, I got a personal training session out of it!
Five minute warm up on the rowing machine...starting out slow - then going in 30 second intervals at a SUPER FAST speed then - back to regular pace...then - SUPER FAST...regular pace... 30 seconds on, 30 seconds off.
We moved on to walking lunges, across the floor and back again.
Walking lunges are a super easy and EXTREMELY effective way to kick your ass, I've learned that. 15 one way. 15 the other. Do that 3 times and you'll feel it.
On to a weight machine - pushing with the arms and chest.
On to this pull up slide machine, almost like doing a chin up, but with tension removed because you are on your stomach, on a glider.
Then - discs on the feet - moving in a V plank position up and down.
Killer.
Then to the Jacob's Ladder - ie - Torture Device.
Then more walking lunges across the floor. Legs like wet spaghetti noodles by this point.
More chest presses.
More planks with discs.
Jacob's ladder.
Bicep curls with free weights.
More bicep excercises with a machine.
Then - cardio jump excercises with another ladder - it lays out on the floor and you basically hopscotch it.
Then - findally, mercifully: Stretches.
It was fantastic, the one on one experience.
NOt intimidating at all. Out of my comfort zone - the idea of it is - absolutely.
Believe it or not - I like to blend in as much as possible - especially when it comes to doing anything remotely athletic. I'm not the most athletic person in the world.
But this experience: Positive.
It really made me think about personal training.
The boot camp classes are small for the most part, so it's pretty decent as far as attention goes - we're allowed to work out our own pace and the instructor is great at giving out modifications to make it easier or more difficult, depending on what we are capable of.
But - it is a class - everyone does the same excercises.
It was nice being able to tell this guy where my "problem areas" are and we focused on those.
It was a great class, it kicked my ass - he pushed me and I walked out of that gym with legs like jelly, basting in my own sweat.
Gross. But - I guess that means a job well done.

Crazy weekend - a mix of fun and work.
Drinks IMMEDIATELY after work at a friend's house ("Hi Sarah...! I know you're reading this!"), followed by a movie (Rise of the Planet of the Apes - the late show), Saturday I worked all day 1pm -7pm then Immediately went down to Windsor Pride at the River to work the front admissions gate until 10:30pm.
Hung out there and partied until 1pm. Then went to Legends of 2012, the gay bar, until 2am.
Then went out for some delicious Lebanese food at El Mayor until 3am.
Sunday - woke up at 9am.
At the Windsor Pride Parade for 10:30am.
I got to ride in a convertible and throw candy at parade watchers in the Pride Parade.
I wore a rainbow boa. I know, very gay.
Got to the festival, grabbed lunch and worked the admissions gate from 2 - 4:30.
Then had a beer - and worked the OK2BME support group booth from 5 - 6.
OK2BME is a gay/lesbian Support group I co-facilitate.
Got home around 7 and crashed.

And so far - a great start to my day. Cool work out.
I'm ready...gotta bring it HARD if I wanna be in shape for Pelee Island at the end of the month!

dm.

Windsor Pride 2011.

2011-08-05T10:50:00.000-07:00

There's something about Windsor Pride...
I think about the rainbow explosion in Toronto - and there's no denying how awe-inspiring it is to see the never-ending sea of people and the three hour parade...the action, the excitement...it's over-whelming.
The people watching, the oogling, the fact that so many hundreds of thousands of people come together - it's empowering, it's validation that we are not alone no matter how lonely we once felt in our own skin.
But I get a different feeling when I watch the Pride Flag as it's raised at City Hall, surrounded by a small group of people.
A small group of people - all faces I recognize.
I feel something even more gigantic in my stomach, because this is the city I grew up in.
When I look around at the other people who stand and watch the Pride Flag as it's raised in front of Windsor's City Hall...I see pioneers, heroes of mine who have fought long and hard to get to where we are today.
I see a group of activists I once watched from afar, people I once read about in the early nineties when I was a kid struggling with what I thought were "demons" floating around my head.
I see people I never thought I would have the courage to speak to or approach.
I remember seeing Windsor Pride in its early days, and I would read about it in amazement - wondering how on EARTH it was even possible for these people to talk openly about being gay.
I wondered how they found each other. How they connected.
The idea of admitting out loud: "I'm gay" - that blew my mind, for sure.
But the act of marching, of standing up in the City of Windsor and being visible...that was a different language to me.
Back then - seeing those people live their lives...it seemed so dangerous, so...impossible.
It made me feel all the more lonely - because they stood out. They stood out in a way I was far too afraid to stand out.
Especially in this city.
Brave...sure. But I thought they were crazy.
It was like something out of a freakshow, to me. That' s how I percieved it.
It was so "out there", the idea of being "openly gay" - it was something I only ever saw on talk shows - and here they were: "Those people" - in my own city!
And the part that frightened me the most - was that I knew deep down I was just like them ...but thought NEVER in a million years would I have the courage to stand up like them.
I knew I'd never make a very good (or convincing) heterosexual - and it looked like I wasn't going to be a very good homosexual either. I'd just wallow in a weird limbo of insecurity and feel like a complete failure.
It's how I felt. It was my reality and I was resigned to it.
It blows my mind what can change. How much our perception of things controls us and restrains us.
And how much we can change if we simply change our perspective. Let it evolve. Let it become.
Today - I see these people and I can say with Pride: I see friends.
Even though I didn't know them personally, and they didn't know me - I know now - they were fighting for me.
For me.
People have come and gone - some moved away, some passed away, new faces sprung up as new triumphs were achieved, new heroes born, new faces added to the group - but the core spirit of Windsor Pride is more alive than ever...and the core group of people who fought so many years ago at the FIRST Windsor Pride (which really wasn't that long ago at all) are still at the front lines, fighting, being visible - there for each other.
I forget that I belong to a "minority" group because the sense of acceptance I feel in this city is over-whelming.
I know this city isn't perfect, I know there is homophobia - but there is also an infinite amount of support and love if we can find it within ourselves to be who we are.
It's there. Windsor Pride.
I'm so proud to be from Windsor - and so proud of all the people who have fought to get to where we are today.
And when I think back to myself, as a 14 year old kid watching the very first Windsor Pride march from a cozy spot in my closet...I can't help but be proud of myself for finding a way to stand in this circle of people and watch as city officials raise the flag.
I get to stand alongside these people.
It's something that seemed unattainable at one time. Impossible. A universe away.
But it wasn't.
I see all these familiar faces and I think "I'm with them..."
I'm one of "those people" and there is no other way I'd ever want to be.
I couldn't be more proud standing alongside these fantastic fighters.
True heroes of mine.
Friends.
People who not only stand out - but SHINE.
It amazes me.

My hat is off...

Happy Pride, Windsor!

Dan.

The Fear...the pain...the anticip..ation.

2011-08-04T11:20:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to channel Richard Simmons.
There's a gay aerobics man in me somewhere, I know there is.
I'll find him. I'll incarnate him. I will sweat much like Richard Simmons and his fabulous gang of fat burning housewives did, minus the oldies music.
But there's a problem.
"I'm frightened."
Wednesday - for whatever reason, the trainer just swiffered the shiny hardwood gym floor with my ass, chewed me up like a big wad of Popeye bubble gum (the shredded up kind that looked like spinache, remember that?) - blew me up like a bubble and then popped me - leaving me a slick-with-sweat slug, slathered across the floor like a shit stain, begging to be wiped away into oblivion.
Destroyed.
And today - I am feeling it.
My legs...(quads?) feel like two wobbly sticks of puddy.
If I sit for two long, I become stiff and have to psyche myself up to get out of my chair.
"1, 2, 3...and up!!"
I walk - no - I hobble like a 92 year old man to the water cooler.
I know, a sign of a good work out, but I fear tomorrow will be worse.
And the thing is - tomorrow at 6am I am back at the gym.
And I'm frightened, Auntie Em.
I'm frightened.
I can do it, right?
Shirtless picture.
Fine.
I'll do that too.
Setting the alarm for 5:15 so I have time to massage my muscles out of petrification.

Day One - Success.

2011-08-03T12:30:00.000-07:00

So, like I promised myself in the previous blog - I went to the gym this morning - 6am.
It was a boot camp class, and I have to admit - I felt a smidge rusty.
Lunges. Jump squats. Kettle bells. TRX pull-ups. Push ups. Mountain climbers. Rolling planks. Dead lifts.
It was hell.
I had a moment where I felt like backing out. Making something up.
Shitting my pants just so I could go home.
Giving up.
It felt like too much for a minute!
What the fuck is up with that?!?!?
I've done boot camp before!
I sucked it up and staggered through it. Finished it. Felt great.
I don't know how great my form was...but I finished it, that's all I can say.

I have one simple goal: Go to this class 3 times/week until October 31st.

So far - on track.

Question: A shirtless "before" pic of myself, taken in the bathroom mirror, myspace-style: Should I take one?
If I do...the pressure is on. I HAVE to work out to change, right?
...Or face ridicule on the internet.
Self inflicted, but still - ridicule.

Shirtless pic...yay...or nay? Since ultimately, my goal is to look good...shirtless.

I don't know. I just don't. I need some kind of physical goal to aspire to - and I swore off weighing myself because scales are for people with O.C.D.

I don't know. I just don't.

dm.

Gym Motivation...

2011-08-01T12:15:00.000-07:00

So. The gym.
I have a love hate with it.
I get the importance of posture. Of alignment. Of cardio health.
Of staying in shape. Increasing flexibility. Decreasing the waste line.
I understand all of it.
It doesn't mean I have to like it though.

Thing is - I don't hate it. I always maintain the hardest part about GOING to the gym...is the physical act of GOING there. Getting on the jogging pants and t-shirt and driving there.
I have to psyche myself up for it. Once I'm there - I do what I'm told (to the best of my not-so-fantastic ability).
I'm not athletic. I never have been. I have some muscle, naturally.
But building it? That's another thing entirely.
My legs and arms - I'm actually quite happy with.
It's my torso. My fucking torso.
Spare tire and a spare pair of tits - which any woman who feels inadequate in that department is welcome to.
Really. You're welcome to my tits.
Take them. You think I'm kidding, I know.
Trust me. I'm not. They're yours.

At my ripe-ish age of 34, it's time I hit the gym on a regular basis.
As you can see in this blog - a few months back...I started.
Three times/week at Refine Fitness bootcamp.
6am in the morning - Monday, Wednesday, Friday.
I have noticed results.
I tried to go pretty much each and every week, but have slipped up here and there.
I never miss more than 2 classes in a row. Not awful. But not good.
It shows I need CONSTANT motivation to go.
The fact that it's a class works because I'm expected to be there. And I'm told what to do. Which I need.
Like a dog - or perhaps a fat Guinea pig - or maybe even a ball-gagged s&m slave with a dominatrix who charges $149/month - I need to be given orders like a bad, undisciplined boy.

All through winter and spring I put up a good fight.
Summer is here and frankly - it's the season of the beer.
The time for patios. For staying up late.
These months are meant for indulging and eating and gaining weight - packing on pounds which will surely save me from wasting away all winter long...right?

I'm losing my motivation.

Starting Wednesday - August 3rd...I am signing up for 3 months of Bootcamp.
Three times per week until October 31st.

That's not that much. It's realistic. It's do-able. I have done this before, in fact. I can do it again.

I start Wednesday (at least that's the plan) - so to celebrate (...hurrah..?!?) I decided to post a little something which actually inspired this blog...

A few tips on how to STAY motivated to hit the gym.
It helped me....it might help you.
Well, actually, I could care less.
This blog is a vanity trip. I only want to help me. Me, myself and I.

But - if helping YOU is symptomatic of this blog, well - what can I say?
Fuckin' sweet.

TIPS TO STAY FUCKING MOTIVATED WHEN IT COMES TO THE GYM:

1 - Keep A Log
This one may seem like a beginner tip to some of you advanced guys but bear with me. There is something about seeing your barrier in black and white that just drives you nuts to break it. You can train and just keep your numbers in your head for months and still be stuck.
Instead, keep a log and you will see yourself improving in a matter of a few workouts. You will get so determined to see your goal in writing that you will drive yourself harder to do it.

2. Get A Partner
If you have been training alone for a while, perhaps you need someone that has a similar goal as you or at least someone who is motivated to do big things in the gym as well. Having someone else there pushing you and encouraging you to do it will go a long way in helping you.
Knowing someone else there is watching and you could inspire them by breaking that barrier will make you work harder for both your partner and yourself. Also, having a partner you trust spotting you means you will have no fear of going heavier than usual.

3. Music
Let's face it. As great as some gyms are, most of them play typical songs that aren't very motivating. There is something about listening to your favorite tunes that just pumps your energy levels and motivation to a new high and makes you want to go smash some iron.
Whether it is hard rock, metal, hip hop, or any other genre that gets you going, get a mp3 player, add those songs and listen to them before and during your training. You will get pumped and you will get that personal record you have been striving for.

4. Make A Deadline
This is a great one for many people. Knowing that you must do something by a certain date or time makes you work harder at it. If a report has to be done by 5:00 pm and it is 3:30 now, don't you work harder to get it done? Wouldn't it make sense that this strategy would also work in the gym?
Now be realistic on this one. If you want to bench 225 by next week and you can only bench 190 this week, chances are that won't happen. But setting a realistic deadline will inspire you to take each workout more seriously.

5. Make A Bet
Now on this one I recommend not doing anything crazy. Make a bet with a loved one that you can meet your goal by a certain date. If you win, they have to buy you dinner or give a you a few bucks. If you lose, then you must do the same for the other person.
Knowing there is a bet or a reward on the line will make you work harder than ever. Any time there is a competition or a prize involved, we as humans instinctively just step the intensity and effort up.

6. Change What You Are Doing!
Your issue may be that you have been doing the same thing for a while and you are just bored with the same routine. In this case, I suggest looking around Bodybuilding.com for a new plan to follow for a while to revive your enthusiasm to train.
Something as simple as the order in which you train your muscle groups could be the difference between being stuck on your goal for another week and moving on to the next goal.

7. Change Your Mindset
Have you been telling yourself before you go train, "I hope I can get it today?" If so, this is a no no. That word hope only sets you up for failure. Get that word out of your vocabulary right now. From now on, before you leave the house or office, you tell yourself this or something similar.
"Today is my day. I am going to do this. I have been working at this for a long time and today it all becomes worth it. I am going to the gym, I am ready and today I WILL DO IT!"
It might sound arrogant or cocky, but to do what you want to do in this endeavor, confidence is key. You have to know you are able to do it in order to make it happen.

8. Talk To Someone Who Did It
Who would be better to help you reach your goal than someone who has already done it? If you know someone that can do what you want to do, ask that person to take a few minutes and talk to you to see if there is something you are missing or another way to make it happen?
Seeing that it is possible and it has been done encourages you and motivates you to do it too. As the old adage goes, if he can do it, I can do it too.

9. Visualization
The mind is a very powerful thing. If you can see yourself doing something strong enough in your mind, you will do it in real life.
Take a few minutes and sit alone. Close your eyes and imagine yourself breaking that benchmark or squatting that load of weight. See yourself pushing and straining. Watch yourself doing what you are trying so hard to do.
Also do this a few minutes before you go train. I guarantee you that you will feel stronger and more confident in your ability.

10. Take A Break
If all else fails, perhaps you need a break from the weight room to rest and re-energize. Sometimes all it takes is getting away for a couple day or even up to a week to get that motivation back up and to feel that fire and passion again.
It might be difficult for you to do, but you will be better for it. You will feel better both mentally and physically which will help you break that barrier.

Conclusion
So? did you make this far? It's Dan again. Not the writer of this article. What do you think? Bullshit? Lies? Easier said than done.

Today is Monday. My gym is closed for the Civic Holiday.
Wednesday - it's go time.

The question: Will I go?

SLAM HOMOPHOBIA!!!

2011-05-19T20:27:00.000-07:00

The 2nd Annual Slam Homophobia event was incredible. A huge success as far as turn out, readers and over-all "vibe" of the night.
It was empowering. Reading and listening, I was moved and touched by everyone involved.
There was a great connection amongst the entire audience.
The readers were as giving as the spectators, a perfectly equal exchange of creative energies, without sounding like TOO much of an artsy fartsy twit.
It was a wonderful cap to the International Day Against Homophobia and I was so proud to host it.
I'm so happy that this day falls on my birthday. It's so surreal. Such a great way to party.
And be active. And be creative. And be alive.
Click HERE to read a story written about the event.

Amazing night. Amazing group of readers. I'm so proud to be a part of this community.
It's a place we can sink our teeth into. Like throwing a big rock in the pond and watching the ripple, see the effects, see the change, see it all evolve and grow.
I love this city.

hearts and farts,
dan.

May = Busy Time.

2011-05-15T10:19:00.000-07:00

It's been a whirlwind!
I'm a member of Windsor Pride's Board of Director's this year, which is really great. It's nice to get involved with an aspect of the community which I'm a part of. But in truth, we're all a part of it.
But it's great experience, a lot of work and tons of learning.
Tons of amazing events are coming up too, which are right up my alley.
Aside from doing on-air radio stuff in the area, I also work as a copywriter in advertising.
It's not the most creative job in the world, despite working for a creative department...there are lots of restrictions.
Don't get me wrong, I'd love to create elaborate and hilarious campaigns and I constantly make up slogans - but the thing is, many companies and businesses don't like taking risks...they like to stick to what is safe...and in advertising, I don't think "safe" is necessarily the right way to go.
You want to stick out. You want to be remembered. You want to walk that fine line of "outrageous" and "controversial" - without crossing it into "inappropriate".
You want to be memorable. At least I would, if I was advertising.
But...hey...it's my job. I love it.
And there are PLENTY of avenues for me to be creative.

Tuesday May 17th is my 34th birthday and it's also the International Day Against Homophobia.
Windsor Pride is planning a series of events on that day to raise awareness about homophobia - and more importantly...to help close that gap between "gay and straight".
There is a screening of a great documentary - "Just Because I Am" - which was locally produced, and it surrounds events which took place around last year's Day Against Homophobia. Not to be missed.

Just Because I Am screens May 16th and 17th at 8pm at Walkerville Collegiate Institute.
On May 17th - my birthday - it's my little event - The Second Annual "Slam Homophobia" Poetry Night - happening at Windsor Pride Centre. I have a great line up of poets who will be reading that evening, and I'm really looking forward to it. Slam Homophobia happens May 17th at 8pm at Windsor Pride Centre - 422 Pelissier and all are welcome to attend.

And of course, the final weekend of May and the first weekend of June - just in time to welcome summer - it's the much-anticipated sequel to Korda's smash hit "DRAG"...with DRAG TOO!!!
My good friend Christopher Lawrence-Menard wrote, directed and stars in this film, and I'll be reprising my role as Marissa Reginald. It's been fantastic working with the cast - old and new - and getting to prance around in those heels.
I'm really pumped. Tickets are going fast and already a few evenings are nearly sold out, which is just wild!

So that's what I've been working on for the first half of May.
It's busy and it's non-stop, but it's all so important - and it's all so much fun.
I do feel like I've found a great niche in Windsor. Fusing activism and art - it works for me. I've never considered myself a "professional" - I'm certainly not much of a schmoozer by any means...but I love to do fun, artsy, creative things...and the fact that the energy involved is funneled towards a great cause...I'm thrilled.
It doesn't feel like work. I feels like a great life, and not a day goes by that I'm not thankful for everything and everyone I have in my life.

hearts and farts,
dan

Tofu Salad (I am in LOVE with this recipe!)

2011-04-29T09:03:00.000-07:00

Vegan recipe of the WEEK (even though such a title doesn't really exist for this blog). But seriously - if you're vegan - or just like yummy, fresh-tasting sandwiches in time for the spring/summer season - give it a shot.
This is also great if someone has an allergy to dairy or is sensitive to eggs. They can enjoy the deliciousness of an egg or tuna salad sandwich...without the egg or tuna!
While I don't push my way of eating on anyone (I live with a meat eater) - I love sharing recipes with people who wanna give something different a try. And if you convert to vegetarianism or veganism - SWEET! And if you're anything like me: The easier the recipe, the better! I'm all about convenience!
One of my favourite animals to eat back when I ate them - was tuna. I loved a good tuna salad sandwich. I also loved an egg salad sandwich, and that is also something I no longer enjoy eating.
Mayo and eggs, mixed up...I can't help but think I'm eating a mouthful of gelatanous, half-formed chickens.
Gross. Maybe it's just me.
Different strokes for different folks, says the very wise Sly & the Family Stone.
But - I'll say it - I miss tuna salad, even though I'll never eat it again.
I think Tuna is MUCH better swimming around in open water, than mashed up into a sandwich.
But I loved the texture. The taste. The crunchiness. The flavour.
I can admit that!Same goes for egg salad. Both were staples for me back in the day.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I present a most DELICIOUS alternative:
Check out this UBER easy recipe - a big thank you to Janice (from Taloola Cafe and Mimi Gardens) for passing this gem on!
Give it a shot - it's simple! If you were EVER afraid of tofu - or like me, aren't sure what to do with it - this is your BEST bet!
The entire family, including meat eaters - WILL dig it.

TOFU SALAD
1 pound of firm tofu - as firm as you can find - and make sure it is organic (It crumbles easier)

1/4 to 1/2 cup of Veganaise or "Nayonaise" - basically - a non-dairy, non-egg mayonaise.

1/4 cup pickle relish (whichever brand you like - regular ole hot dog relish)

1 small onion chopped. (I'm lazy and buy pre-diced onions!)

2 stalks celery, diced. (had to chop these by hand - the "old fashioned" way!)

1.5 tablespoons salt (I actually only used 1 tablespoon)

1 teaspoon tamari (just use soy sauce - it's practically the same thing!)

1/4 teaspoon Turmeric (worry not - sounds weird: Spice aisle of Zehrs...trust me!)

1 tablespoon dried dill weed (again - spice aisle!)

pepper to taste

In a medium bowl, break tofu with hands and add all the ingredients. Mix well. Really well. Don't be afraid to mash up that tofu.

It'll make a pretty decent sized bowl, so you and your friends and family will be eating scrumptious vegan sandwiches for an entire week! Cover it up and store in the fridge! There's no dairy or eggs - but it doesn't mean it won't go bad!
Seriously. Wayne is a meat eater, and he enjoyed it thoroughly. Absolutely delicious.

That's it - give it a shot...oh...and ENJOY!

xx,
dan

Back to the Gym.

2011-04-23T12:08:00.001-07:00

Happy long weekend everyone.
I'm happy to report my back is doing much better.
Still not fantastic, but better.
I have a lot of my range of motion back, but it's still sore.
For a while, something as simple as getting out of the car, getting up off the couch, or bending down to give Pluto a scoop of cat food - it was torture and near impossible.
The gym.
Wednesday I threw my back out...and my next boot camp was scheduled for Friday.
Luckily it was Good Friday, so the gym was closed. No class missed.
However, the make up class was scheduled today at 9am.
While I felt better, I still know there is NO WAY I would be able to do a squat (alone, nevermind with weights!) or a plank or a jumping jack. I wouldn't be able to jog on the spot for crying out loud.
I'm not as angry and bitter, but I'm annoyed.
The next class is Monday - 6am...
Will I be okay to go? I have no idea.
I'm 50 percent better as of today.
I don't want to hurt myself either, but I don't want to fall out of the habbit.
I'm also live on the air all day today, and sitting here is not helping matters, especially when it's so glorious outside.
Been trying to get up and walk around.
I don't know. I doubt I'll be able to make it to the gym at 6am on Monday.
And that annoys me. Disappoints me.
I'm trying not to think about it.
I guess I'll just try to move as much as I can, and aim for Wednesday.
That's all I can do.

*sigh*

Dan

Back and Forth.

2011-04-20T11:58:00.000-07:00

So I've been continuing on with Refine Fitness and their bootcamp program.
It's fantastic.
Three days per week. I've been rather religious about it.
And I'm noticing results. And others are noticing results too.
Unfortunately, today...I effed my back up.
It was one of those things.
We were doing kettle bell swings...
And unfortunately, I used too heavy a kettle bell.
Right near the end of class, my back just kind of...failed.
Luckily we weren't doing any more back excercises, so I was able to finish - but, I left feeling stiff and sore instead of awake and energized like usual.
All day my lower back hurt.
It hurts to stand. It hurts to sit. It hurts to be flat on my back.
I've been taking Motrin to help with the pain, but the pain is not what is bothering me.
What is bothering me is the stumbling block.
This fucking stumbling block.
Going to the gym 3 days a week to start a very intense Boot Camp class...it's not easy. I'm not a saint, I know...many people have an intense early morning workout...but I'm usually not one of them.
For the last two months, I have been.
I've forced myself to be one of them - and it's paid off.
Paying off. I still have a long way to go...but it's working.
I can say that with confidence.
For the first time in my life - seriously - I felt like I had a "handle" or was starting to get a handle on getting into better shape.
Then this.
There's no way I can work out for at least a weak. Not in the boot camp class, and that's what I paid for.
The boot camp class is squats. Lunges. Jumping jacks.
I can barely lower myself into a seated position right now, and I know it's goign to get worse.
I'm pissed.
It's a stumbling block. I'm going to miss at least 2 classes now and I'm furious at the situation, and even more pissed that there is nothing I can do at all.
I was in that "zone"...that momentum...starting to enjoy going...starting to work through that horrible muscle burn and keep going...
Perfect time for the summer...
Lose the man boobs.
Lose the love handles.
And do it the right way.
And now - a back that is a mess.
I'm angry.
Hear I am again.
Everything in my favour...and then: This.
I know, not the end of the world.
By any means.
But it's just one of those things.
It's a pisser.
I want to work out this Saturday, and I know I won't be able to.

Happy long weekend.
Sorry for such a bitchy negative blog, but sometimes it just feels like an uphill battle, my journey to a better body.
I'm eating right. I'm motivated. I was in a scheduled routine.
It was working.
And boom.
This.

Just one of those things.

Right?

*sigh*

Shakespeare Meets Star Trek

2011-04-18T11:45:00.000-07:00

The Sci-fi Shakespeare Double Bill was a fabulous run.
The cast was great. The crew was amazing.
The director - Jeff Marontate was brilliant.
Such a fun time. And a challenge too. Learning the language all over again. I haven't touched Shakespeare since high school, and getting the chance to be an Andorian version of the evil Aaron in Titus Andronicus...it was an honour to be a part of this very special show.

Again...theatre is new to me. Well...newer.
I haven't been on a stage in a play since high school.
1996.
Why I stayed away so long, I'll never know.
But I'm glad to be back.

Live long and prosper, Brothers and Sisters.

Dan.

HEADS UP! SAVE THE DATE FOR LOCAL THEATRE...!!!

2011-04-01T10:03:00.001-07:00

I've recently returned to theatre - almost 1 year ago to the day - and it's been incredible so far.
I was big into theatre in high school, writing and acting in many productions with my friends.
It was laid back. Fun.
The group of us - all friends - and ALL of us extreme theatre and music nerds and movie fans (especially David Lynch!) wrote skits we thought were funny.
That's all we did. It seemed so simple.
Stuff we thought was ridiculous and hilarious.
And it always was. It was a great flex of the creative muscle.
We chose the music. The costumes. Bought the props.
Sometimes the props and the music would inspire the skits themselves!
Our teacher saw our passion and would give us full creative control.
It was liberating. We meshed and gelled and worked as a unit.
We held lunchtime theatre and charged a 2 dollar admission with all the funds going to UNICEF.
It was fantastic because we loved doing it.
We weren't trying to be cool. We weren't trying to conquer the world and become popular. We just loved watching our ideas materialize on stage and it felt wonderful to be immersed in the imaginary worlds we'd create.
That kind of feeling can't be beat, save for the sound of thunderous applause or hysterical laughter...no pay cheque can compare with that kind of reward.
It was a wonderful atmosphere.
I'm happy to say - I get that same vibe working with Korda.
I've appeared in several Korda Productions in 2010 and this year.
They're a wonderful company...insanely talented, fantastically creative and incredibly supportive.
Not pretentious. Just fun. And the productions are BANG ON!
I'm honoured to be a part of the this theatre - and I'm extremely excited about our next production.
Korda is taking Shakespeare where no Shakespeare has gone before... the latest show is a Double Bill called "Will's Enterprise" - fusing two Shakespeare plays - The Comedy of Errors & Titus Andronicus.
But get this: Both plays are done Star Trek-style.
Seriously!
It's the same chunk of actors in both shows - which will play back to back.
In Comedy of Errors, I play an Officer. It's a smaller role...but fun!
In fact - I'm HAPPY it's a smaller role - because in Titus Andronicus, I have a pretty significant role as Aaron, the slave...who is Andorian!
Blue skin, twitching antennae...and a heart made of sulphuric acid!
Evil to the core. And I love it.
If you haven't been to a Korda show...make this one your first!
If you HAVE been to a Korda show...you know you won't be disappointed.
Expect a concept so out there, it seems ridiculous...but I guarantee - you will be entertained!
The costumes are phenomenal, the make-up is fantastic and the cast is a talented bunch!
It's going to be AWESOME!!! Far better than hitting a bar...change it up a bit and see what's going on creatively in Windsor.
Below are all the nitty gritty details...more to come...in fact, I have much to say about how my experience with Korda has affected me...but I'm saving that for another blog.

Will's Enterprise: The Comedy of Errors & Titus Andronicus

DATES:
Friday April 8, 8 pm
Saturday April 9, 8 pm
Sunday April 10. 2 pm * Matinee Preformance

Thursday April 14, 8 pm * Pay what you can
Friday April 15, 8 pm
Saturday April 16, 8 pm

TICKETS:
$15 for adults, $10 for students and seniors
Available at the door, at Motions 1 and at Nancy Johns Gallery & Framing, or by calling 519-562-3394.

Directed by Jeff Marontate. Produced by Tracey Atin. Costumes by Kelly Ridley & J.P. Watters. Set by Jeff Marontate & Daniel Nolin.

You can also visit Kordazone on their website! Just click here!

Boot Camp Day 12: Tipping the Scale...out the F***ing Window...this issue of WEIGHT.

2011-03-30T04:59:00.000-07:00

Twelve days...and yes, I see results.
When I first started boot camp, which is well documented on this blog - I made a promise that I would post my starting weight...and then my final weight.
Slacker that I am, I never did get around to weighing myself.
File that under "Whoopsie" (and I must say - that's a pretty hefty file!).
A few weeks in, I gave it some thought...the scale, my weight, being obsessed by a number.
I decided it's best to avoid it all together and instead focus on how I feel and how my clothes fit me. Screw my weight. It's just a number.
Right...?
Anyway, yesterday, getting out of my most luxurious bath, I caught a glance of myself in the mirror.
Waist not as thick. Hooters not as boobalicious.
"By golly," I said to my naked reflection, "You look like you've lost weight!"
And an evil glint appeared in my eye.
I immediately turned my attention to the bathroom linen closet, which also doubles as the long time dwelling of my good friend and sometimes bitchy enemy - The Scale.
"Couldn't hurt..."
I pulled the scale out, took a deep breath, exhaled, and hopped on.
The numbers blurred past, spinning, retracting, bouncing forward, lunging back - and finally...setting on a number:
190.
One Ninety.
Disappointment punched me in my stomach and I literally felt my lungs fill up with a heave of sorrow.
One ninety?!?!!?
How?!
HOW.
I immediately became angry.
Furious.
I thought of a million different things...
The 11 days I spent, sweating and pushing myself harder than ever at the crack of dawn on the floor of Refine Fitness.
I thought about how I've been eating...
No fast food. No pop.
Oatmeal for breakfast followed by a piece of fruit.
For lunch - a sandwich and a cup of soup.
For a snack - walnuts or carrot sticks.
For dinner - a 6 inch sub and a soy yogourt.
Do I drink? Twice I drank during this program - one night was a biggie...the other night: 2 drinks at my neighbour's home.
Two.
Two vodkas mixed with 1 small single serving bottle of 10 calorie vitamin water.
And there is that number.
One ninety.
Hell - when I was doing biggest loser at work - I got down to 182!!!
One ninety was my HIGH number.
"How?" I said aloud.
"How?"
"How the FUCK am I 190?!?!?"
Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror again.
I rubbed my hands around my waist.
Smaller.
It had to be.
I looked at my shoulders and legs and arms.
EVER so slightly more defined. Posture was better.
I thought about my jeans fitting more loosely.
I thought about my belt - the one I wear every day - which is changing in notches in the right direction.
I could see the results.
I could feel them.
But just like THAT - I put too much stake in those numbers.
190.
I exhaled that heave of sorrow and disappointment.
I was baffled, yes. But I was also seeing results. Just not in a number form.
That was the ONLY thing that stopped me from hurling the scale through the block glass window of my bathroom.
That wouldn't have been good.
I'm going to be honest here: I can't hide my slight disappointment.
I was expecting to be at a delightful 182...perhaps even warmly surprise myself by cracking the one-seventies...
I honestly haven't worked this hard or this religiously at my eating and working out in years and years.
Who am I kidding? I was disappointed. I felt defeated. A bit depressed.
A bit hopeless.
I kept asking: "Is this even worth it?"
I went to work and shared the news with some co-workers.
One co-worker said it could possibly be gaining muscle...she said - in fact - many trainers discourage people from getting on the scale when they are working out.
I am going to believe this, for now - only because I do see and feel results.
That's what I have to focus on.
I do see and feel results.
I'm okay.
I'm fine, in fact.
I'm going to once again forget the scale.
It reminded me what a slave I am to numbers.
I remember getting on the scale when I was 11 years old - the very first time I ever became aware of my weight - and I reeled with shock when I saw that I clocked in at 135 pounds.
All the other kids were 75, 80, 90 pounds.
I had a good 50-something pounds on all of them.
And I've been a slave ever since.
Why is weight an issue with some?
Why do some obsess over it?
Why is it some don't have to worry about what they eat...yet others can work at it, be tedious with it, and the first SECOND they allow themselves to indulge a tiny bit: Weight goes up.
Every glass of wine. Every beer I drink. Every handful of chips - even if it's only a handful and not the whole bag - will affect me.
It will.
And it won't affect others.
That's just who I am.
Does it suck?
Yeah. It does.
Can I change it? I have no idea.
I have no clue. Sometimes I think certain people have a genetic predisposition to being thin, to being athletic.
A better build. Better metabolism. Better genes.
And others, have to work at it - and it's an uphill climb.
And it always will be.
That's who I am.
I'm going to have to work at it.
And I have been.
And I'm seeing results, even if the scale tells me different.
So here we go:
Fuck you, scale.
I care not what you say. Far too long I've been paying attention to you - and far too long you've acted like a menacing bully.
Deflating my confidence.
Filling me with disappointment.
Making me feel like all the hard work is for nothing - when EVERYTHING ELSE tells me otherwise.
Making me want to say: "Well what's the point?!?! I'll weigh this much even if I eat what I want, and sit on my ass - so I might as well sloth it up!"
No. Wrong. So wrong. That's a trap. THAT is the trap.
I made a mistake by stepping on that scale.
I believe that now.
I'm done focusing on my weight.
In fact - I will never step on scale ever again.
So screw you, scale.
I care not what you say.
I care only how I look. And how I feel.
And I like going to Boot Camp.
I like working out.
I like that my size 34 waist jeans fit me again.
I like that my posture is improving.
I like what I see.

I lost 3.5 pounds today. Three point five pounds of plastic, springs, and a little digital screen.
My scale. It's gone. And I find it liberating to say that.

Deep breath.
April Boot Camp starts this Friday.
Twelve more classes to go.

Dan.

Boot Camp Day 11: Disc Slippin'...

2011-03-28T13:48:00.000-07:00

Day Eleven. My second last class in my first leg of boot camp.
Today we did circuit training, with 8 little stations.
Sit ups, with weights - to make them more hellish.
Squats - with kettle bells, for torture purposes.
Side lifts. Jumping lunges.
We played a round of "murder frisbee", where we pass those horrid little discs to each other while in plank position, and then we did this horrific lunge type move, standing on the discs...almost like we were skating on them. Then we did burpies with those discs on our feet. It destroyed my core, yet again.
Insane. But a fantastic work out.
Wednesday is the end of my 12 days, and I'm happy to say - I couldn't imagine NOT signing up again.
I don't want to say I am "in the habbit" of doing it...once again - left to my own devices, if I didn't pre-pay a set out schedule, I don't know if I would go - and I am positive I wouldn't push myself as hard if I didn't have someone telling me what to do...But - I look forward to working out more than I did when I started.
I'll be honest - when I joined, I assumed it would be 12 days, and I'd be done with it.
That was my escape route, anyway.
I would have a light at the end of the tunnel...something to work for...12 sessions -and done. Finished. Complete.
Not the greatest attitude, but in retrospect, realistic. I know I'm not athletic.
Physical activity - most of it anyway - has never really been my "thing".
I didn't know if I would like it. So I purchased 12 days, and figured even if it was completely awful, I could at least finish 12 and then be done with it.
But now - I'm seeing results.
Not major, but I am seeing results.
My jeans are looser. My belt has moved up a few notches in the right direction.
My energy has increased - and so help me if my arms aren't a tad bigger than they were. Just a tad. A tiny bit of definition.
Not even definition. Just a bit of a bulge that MIGHT not have been there before.
I sleep better at night.
I like the workouts. I like what they do for me.
When the warm weather gets here - if it EVER gets here, I plan on upping it by walking or biking to work again, like I did last year.
That, combined with the 3 classes/week - combined with eating properly, combined with drinking my daily intake of water, combined with those upcoming rigorous dance rehearsals for DRAG Too (yes, there is a sequel!) - I think I should be in half decent shape for summer.
And I'm looking forward to that.
I know it's not the light at the end of the tunnel, because there is no end to this tunnel for me. Being in decent shape is going to be something I have to work at for the rest of my life.
But rather than work to finish "12 sessions"...I've decide to work towards 'working at it'...long term.
Like Fiona Apple said - a better version of me.
And I know, I know...I was just fine before.
This is in now way self-deprication.

I just see room for improvement...there always is...and more importantly - I think this time, I might have a solid healthy plan to improve myself, physically.

xx,
dan.

Boot Camp Day 10: Going Hard Core.

2011-03-25T05:22:00.001-07:00

Ten days in.
Two more to go.
Been mostly off alcohol (save for an epic Saturday night binge at Caesars Windsor, which ended up migrating over to my local neighbourhood drunk stomping ground - the Rock Head) and I'm eating great.
Small frequent meals, mostly veggies, whole grains, lots of protein too like peanut butter and walnuts. Eating has never been an issue for me. I'm pretty healthy that way.
The workouts...while brutal and horrific while I'm doing them - are fantastic and paying off.
I'm signing up for another round for sure (which starts April 1st - one week from today).
Twelve more classes it is. I need this.
Especially after what I endured today.
Today was "core day". I've come to realize my core area (mid-section) has always been my weak point.
Newsflash! Newsflash! Only took me 30 years to figure that one out.
Hey - I never claimed to be the sharpest tool in the shed.
I have zero balance. None.
Ask me to stand on one foot and it's damn near impossible without swaying like a drunk hooker on Wyandotte and Glengarry.
oooh. That's not funny.
*insert small giggle here*
But ZERO balance - and I always just chalked that up to being rather clumsy...turns out - it's your core that holds you stationary and controls your balance.
The shittier your core - the shittier your balance.
And - I'm prone to "the spare tire".
Put it this way - if I were to write an autobiography, the story of my life - it would be called "Love Handles and Man Tits...Little Boy Lost".
It's the first place I gain weight and the last place I lose it.
My core - is an asshole.
And today - focusing 100% on the core section, I came to realize just how bunk my core actually is.
We did a series of core-focused excercises that went a little something like this:

Mountain Climbers 50 reps.
Rocking Elbow Plank 50 reps.
Side Plank Dips 20 per side.
Spiderman Lunges 30 reps.
Alternating Reaching Elbow Plank 10 a side with 3 second hold each.
Balance Pushups 20 reps which damn near killed me.
Cross Body Mountain Climbers 50 reps - sweat was pouring from my brow.
Up Down Plank 15 per side.
Sit Outs 20 reps.
Burpees 15 reps - my entire body nearly went into failure mode.
Fire Hydrants 30 - picture a dog pissing - not as easy as it seems.
Side Plank Reach Unders 15 per side.
and finally: Double Leg Lifts 20 reps.

Torture.
And I know tomorrow it's going to feel like Superman did a tap dance on my stomach, but I don't care.
It's the end of March...
April is on the horizon and last summer was the LAST time I'm going to wear a shirt at the beach.

Today was especially difficult for me. The aerobics, the lifting, the pulling the pushing, the squatting - I can do all that.
My arms, my legs - they're in great shape. Always have been.
But my core...
It sucks. Flat out.
And I know the core area is one of the most -if not THEE most important part of the body.
It controls posture and let's face it: It connects your limbs.
Strong core - strong body...right?
I was pushed hard today, which is a good thing. It's what I need.
But - my performance, I was shocked at how difficult I found it.
I was disappointed...and it reminded me how far I have to go.
It confirmed that I most DEFINITELY need another round of bootcamp.
Wanna join me? Click HERE for the website.

xx,
dan.

SHOVED DOWN OUR THROATS. (A response to Victoria Jackson, and the Gay Glee Kiss.)

2011-03-23T07:11:00.000-07:00

I just want to start off by saying: I don't think straight people are disgusting.
Disclaimer.
However - there is a straight person I find disgusting - and it's Victoria Jackson.
She commented on the recent episode of Glee - the one where two characters kiss each other.
Imagine that.
Two people kissing on an evening show geared to teenagers.
Never saw that before, have we?
Of course this time it was 2 boys kissing and it sent the very wise and all knowing pop culture ICON and A-lister Victoria Jackson on a homophobic rant.
But I don't want to give that has-been any more attention. It's two things she said that triggered me this morning.
Two things I've heard time and time again that annoy me to no end.
She accused Glee of - and I quote: "Shoving the gay thing down our throats."
"Shoving the gay thing down our thorats."
Since when is being YOURSELF shoving ANYTHING down anyone's throat?
(And for the record - I'd rather die than shove anything down the throat of Victoria Jackson).
But seriously - How many times have you heard that?
It makes my BLOOD BOIL and I can no longer hold it in.
Let's turn the tables here, shall we?
How many times have I watched television and seen straight people sucking face?
How many times have I flicked on the T.V. and had to endure watching the disgusting act of two heterosexuals going at it, hot and sweaty?
How many times have I had to witness - with my own eyes - the REPULSIVE and SICKENING act of a boy and a girl walking down the street holding hands in BROAD DAYLIGHT, and without shame?
Heterosexuality: Shoved. Down. My Throat.
I open up the news paper on a daily basis - and I see wedding announcements.
I see engagement pictures.
I see little babies, spawned by what COULD ONLY BE the repugnant act of heterosexual sex.
Rammed down MY throat.
Heterosexuality.
This supposed "norm". This manufactured "morality".
Sorrry to burst anyone's bubble: But there is no such thing as normal.
There is no such thing as "morality".
That's all as relative as "different strokes for different folks".
No. Such. Thing.
But it goes far beyond that.
Not only have I been BOMBARDED with nothing but heterosexual imagery and announcements and depictions and assumptions and expectations all my life - but I have also been told I'm going to burn in hell for being gay - by the SCHOOL I went to as a child!
By people who run the country for crying out loud!
For years it was trumpeted loudly and proudly that "GAY MARRIAGE IS ILLEGAL" and to make it legal would SURELY begin to unravel society as a whole and we'd all be raping and killing each other in the streets, should the dreadful day ever come to pass where it's allowed by LAW for a man and a man or a woman and a woman to have a big HOMO wedding.
For years I've had to hear people say I'm sick. I'm disgusting.
I've had to listen to straight people call me a "faggot" while I walk down the street - and I had to keep on walking, ignoring it - OUT OF FEAR that I would get my ass kicked if I simply asked the question: "What did you just call me?"
And I would.
I would get my ass kicked.
For years I've had to endure presumed heterosexuality and answer the question: "So...do you have a girlfriend?"
"Nope. A boyfriend."
(Insert awkward and shocked silence here).
How anyone could think I'm straight is another enigma, but it's just assumed that any boy - naturally - would be attracted to a woman. Anything else would be wrong.
On a DAILY BASIS I have to hear straight people saying "Ugh...that's so gay..." - when what they really mean is "That's so stupid."
You want to talk about stupid?
You want to talk about RAMMING IT DOWN MY THROAT?
There you go.
But ...a gay kiss.
One gay kiss on Glee between two guys - and all of a sudden it's a BIG GAY AGENDA CONSPIRACY and all us queers are just RAMMING it down everyone else's throat?
No. Sorry. Eff. That.
There is no gay agenda. There is no ramming it down anyone's throat - although today - this day and age: Maybe it's time we start.
The other word that irked me:
"Lifestyle."
"Alternative lifestyle."
Bull. Shit.
For years I've heard this term - sometimes even misused by the gay community itself.
"The alternative lifestyle."
Alternative to what?!
It pisses me off.
Being a vegan - is a lifestyle.
Being active and fit - is a lifestyle.
Being a Christian and practicing the teachings of whatever church you attend - is a lifestyle.
Being a couch surfer, a roaming gypsy, a school-addicted book worm, a rock and roll groupie - those are all LIFESTYLES.
Being GAY is no more a "lifestyle" than being straight.
You CHOOSE a lifestyle. Or you're put INTO a lifestyle.
Surprise surprise - NEWS FLASH: YOU ARE BORN GAY.
BORN GAY.
Argue otherwise, I won't even bother fighting back because it's just wrong to think otherwise.
It sounds ridiculous, but I sometimes think we need to start from scratch.Ask all the conservative and so-called "moral majority" to gather round for "circle time" - and we can have a little lesson:
Pre-school Teacher: "Sometimes...a man falls in love with a woman. Othertimes...a man falls in love with a man. But no matter what, when two people are in love, sometimes - they kiss each other on the lips to show how much they love each other!"
Conservative: "You mean...sometimes boys kiss...boys?"
Pre-School Teacher: "Very good! That's right! Sometimes boys kiss boys."
Not rocket science.
Not an alternative lifestyle.
Not "shoving it down anyone's throat".
It's people. Being people. That's the one thing - for whatever reason - so many of us are just unable to grasp, when in truth: It really is the most simple thing.
It should be second nature.
The only immoral thing - is the way we continue to treat each other.
That kind of immorality is universal.

Boot Camp Day 8: Skipping Out.

2011-03-21T05:02:00.000-07:00

I only have 4 more classes to go and I've completed Boot Camp at Refine Fitness.
I'm ninety percent sure I'm going to sign up for another round. I do need this.
Today was fun - we did circuits, little stations - each with a different activity.
1 minute at each station.
The first - push-ups. Pretty basic, but after 1 minute...hell. I was damn near ready to call her a day.
The next - squats - up on a balance step.
The third - pull-ups from these suspension ropes...this was a good lesson for me. The Monday boot camp trainer is Kristy - who totally reminds me of an old friend named Erin from about 14 years back.
Anyway, while doing pull-ups, she stood by...which I love and hate in equal parts.
Hate because - it feels intimidating, having someone watch you while you struggle to pull yourself up again and again for 60 solid seconds.
Love it - because: Had she not been there, I would not have pushed myself HALF as hard. Not half.
I would have taken more breaks (and there is nothing wrong with that) - but the worst part: I would not have worked hard nor would I have worked to my potential.
Yes - it sucked pushing through that wall - but the important part: I pushed through.
It reminded me that I still have a very, very long way to go - and I'm still very much a little brat who needs to be supervised and babysat while I do this.
It told me that I am not ready to do this on my own. I need another round of boot camp to really get this to sink in, to form the habbit.
I need a kick in the ass.
As rough as those pull ups and push ups and squats were - oddly enough, the most challenging station was a simple game I used to play as a kid:
Jump rope.
1 minute of jumping rope.
Now - let it be known: I haven't played jump rope since 1985, and I don't think I set the world on fire with my skills back then.Today - 33 years old, slightly grizzled and hopelessly unathletic, I was apalled at how difficult I found this.
I assumed jumping rope was like riding a bike. Like doing the hoola hoop.
Something that always stays with you.
No.
It's not.
I stumbled. I stepped on the rope. I fought with tangles. I hit myself in the face. I damn near hung myself. But maintain 60 solid seconds of skipping? No. I failed.
I got a few good stretches of it in...but I kept worrying I was going to hit someone with it, trip myself - end up with a knot somehow. It sounds ridiculous, but jumping rope and I - while we may have had a fling back in the mid-80s, we are no longer friends.
Either way - a fantastic work out today.
Switching up the stations kept it interesting, challenging. Reverse crunches suck in a very good way and once again - for every single moment my muscles burned and sweat poured from my head: I felt all the more fantastic when it was over.
I get the rewards of working out. The increase in energy. Stamina. Strength.
It's just so utterly clear that I need a set schedule, a set time, a trainer - and instruction. It's the only way I'll do it.
For now.

xx,
Dan

Boot Camp Day 7: Torture Balls.

2011-03-18T12:02:00.000-07:00

Day 7. Five more Boot Camps to go.
Day after St. Patrick's Day - and I have to say, I was worried.
Last night I was doing a live broadcast from an Irish Pub in Downtown Detroit - The Old Shillelagh.
It was insane. Folks decked out in green - loud music - packed to max capacity - and of course - beer flowing like like the frickin' River of Babylon.
I was offered green beverage after green beverage - shots of tequila, Irish whiskey -some chick even came up to me with a shot glass full of some kind of creamy, green substance and told me it was called a "Blowjob on the Green".
Riiiiight.
I abstained. Completely. It was tough. But by the grace of God - sobre and so help me, I'm not even an alcoholic. At least, I don't think.
But if I were - you better believe my will power was tested last night.
My main motivation: I knew, if I ever had one beer or one shot last night, 6am boot camp would be triple hard. Or it just might not even happen. And why ruin a good thing over a few drinks? Right?
Right.
Ugh...Boot Camp hungover? Hell to the no.
Anyway, 5:15am came and my alarm went off...and I have to admit: I was tired.
I usually try to go to bed at a decent hour when I have boot camp in the morning, and the St. Patty's Day broadcast made that impossible.
Regardless, I made it - almost late - but made it.
We did the usual warm ups. The dreaded squats. The lunges. The mountain climbers. The push-ups. Brutal. But in a good way.
Then - out came the medicine balls.
I've always been intrigued by medicine balls.
What is in them?
Medicine?
And what kind?
Are they loaded with liquid Tylenol?
Buckley's Cough Syrup?
Nyquil?
Why are they called "medicine balls"?
It doesn't matter. They shouldn't be called medicine balls anyway.
They should be called Torture Balls. Although that sounds like some kind of nasty S&M device.
But torture my core, it did.
My neighbour Chris and I teamed up.
Thank GOD he's there. Seriously.
I can show my embarassingly non-athletic side to Chris without shame.
Anyone else - I'd be the fat kid in gym class all over again.
The excercise: Do one burpee, hands on the ball, stand up - toss the bitch-of-a-ball to your partner, and repeat.
AKA: Hell.
Tricky, too. I'm blind in one eye and have ZERO depth perception.
None.
So catching a gigantic, heavy ball - flying at my face: Not as easy for me as it might be for some.
But - again - THANKFULLY - Chris is a great work out partner - I warned him about my blindness, and fortuntately: No broken windows or noses.
This time.
We did that horrendous game of catch for 3 minutes, in 3 cycles.
By the end, my arms and legs could barely function.
Burpees suck.
Burpees on a medicine ball: Torture.
Hence the name: Torture Balls.
But once again, I felt amazing leaving at 6:58am - walking out into the beautiful spring air.
Five more classes to go - and I really think I have to sign up again.
Another 12 classes.
I need to stay in this habbit. And while I am enjoying it, while I love it, while I am even starting to feel benefits...I know left to my own devices, I will not do it.
I need to pay for days or I will not use them.
I need to be told what to do, without feeling centered out.
I need to be given a schedule and a time - or else I will not show.
I know this. Sad and pathetic, but I know this.
It's what I have to work with - and I think for the time being - if I want to stay on any kind of schedule, I need to stick to this boot camp program.
Five more days to go.
And then, most likely - another 12 after that.

For more info - visit Refine Fitness - or - click here to find out about Windsor Boot Camp.

xx,
dan

Boot Camp Day 6: Murder Frisbee.

2011-03-16T07:46:00.001-07:00

Today was tough.
A great work out, but I found myself challenged. In a big way.
I really had to push and it was pretty shaky at times. But I made it through, and I was happy.
"Today, we're not using ANY weights - only our own bodies!" Colin said.
YAY! I thought to myself. No weights!!!
You better believe - 15 minutes into today's routine my ass was practically BEGGING for the kettle bells!!!
Planks. Lunges. Squats. Torture.
But the best part was the game we played.
A team game. As a group.
We all lined up our mats across the floor, got down on them and into plank position, on our elbows and toes, sweat dripping across our brows...and then, while staying in plank position - we passed these frisbee disks down to each other, having to rotate our entire plank position and body weight onto alternating elbows while we did it.
Rough.
Painful.
I don't know if this "game" has a name - but I dubbed it "Murder Frisbee". Even though it probably only lasted a few minutes - it felt like an eternity.
Once again though...as murderous as it was, I felt fantastic the SECOND it was over.
Amazing what our bodies are capable of - no weights needed. No gym needed.
Although in my case - the gym is needed. And someone telling me what to do is needed as well. Sad - but true.
I need motivation. I need someone to push me. Or else, I won't do it.
I can push myself to do a lot of things.
I can push myself to memorize lines.
Push myself to meet deadlines with writing.
Push myself to get as involved in things I am passionate as humanly possible.
But for whatever reason - working out has always been a sticking point for me.
Six days in. Six more to go.
And then...
I need to take a GOOD look at myself and make a decision.

xx,
dan

BootCamp Day 5: Manic Monday.

2011-03-14T05:10:00.000-07:00

Today, I can honestly say I am feeling the effects of BootCamp, as advertised.
Came home from Refine Fitness this morning at 7:02am, hopped in the bath tub - and now: I feel FANTASTIC. A surge of energy, better than coffee.
Seriously.
They say one of the side effects of exercising and challenging your body - is an increase in energy...
I kind of forgot about this and was instead focusing on things like inches, flab, my waist line...all important parts and goals of this little Boot Camp experience - but today, this morning - it just hit me.
I put the blinds up - looked out the window at the sun coming up and thought: "What a FUCKING FANTASTIC DAY!"
And it is.
I just sat, staring at the sun coming up - and I thought about life for a minute.
How great it is. How rich I feel, and I don't mean money.
I forget how lucky I am sometimes. I don't mean to brag - that's the last thing I want to do...really.
But - I have to acknowlege, I have exactly what I need and MORE in my life, much of it came from hard work, but some of it came by simply being in the right place at the righ time (and doing the right things to get there).
I have a writing job I love. An on air position on a radio station that plays music I'm passionate about. Tonight - I get to re-enter the world of DRAG - it's the cast's first table read of the sequel, DRAG, TOO...and after - I make my way over to Royal Oak Music Theatre to catch a set from Bright Eyes.
Manic and busy, but I feel fantastic. I feel like I'm ready to GO.
My life is full of fantastic things...I don't know what I would change...any problem I have, is fixable. I forget that sometimes. I have to remind myself.
Any situation I have - not to sound like some kind of daily affirmation - but any situation I'm given, it can be dealt with. It has to be dealt with.
What's the other option?
I have no reason to complain about life. No reason to be miserable. No reason to sit on my ass and do nothing, although there is nothing wrong with that either.
John Lennon once said - if you enjoy wasting time, then it is NOT time wasted.
Anyway, I think this energized and reflective good mood I am in this morning is thanks to Boot Camp. I really do.
I'm looking forward to the Wednesday class.
Today, I was telling Chris how during one of those dreaded sets of squats (with the cursed kettle bell) - my back suddenly felt...off.
It felt weak.
Sore.
Like something was about to "give".
I immediately stopped, grabbed a drink - made sure everything was okay back there by giving a bit of a stretch, re-adjusted my posture, and continued on with the excercise.
Better.
He mentioned how it was probably from slouching - which I can be guilty of. I constantly try to correct my slouch.
"Flex your core and your um...muscles you use when you stop yourself from peeing," he said.
TOTALLY makes sense.
Flex and activate the "don't go pee muscles".
It's a great way to look at it.
Squats are a challenge for me. The repetition. I really hate them, but I know they are good for me because of how much I hate them.
So in a round-about way, I guess I kind of like them.
Anway, enough of my complaining.
It's a new week...clocks are set forward.
The days are going to be longer and brighter later.
And I'm going to enjoy the rest of my morning - starting...NOW.

xx,
dan.

BootCamp Day 4: One Week In!

2011-03-11T05:03:00.000-08:00

Well - it's been one week since I started Boot Camp at Refine Fitness.
I feel fantastic. I don't want to jinx myself and say "I'm really starting to build the habbit" - because I know it's only one week.
It's only 4 sessions.
Eight more to go.
Today we did individual excercise stations. Four of them - and we did two different sets of four, two times each - if that makes any sense.
Kettle Bell squats, these horrific pull-ups with suspension ropes, "fire hydrant" planks (picture a dog lifting his leg to take a piss - those) and all kinds of other various positions of torture which successfully transformed me into a shaking, sweating, blubbering mess.
But - I walked out feeling great. Beaten, but great.
Near the end of the class we pulled out those dreaded bouncey "yoga balls" and did these insane balance planks.
You better believe I wiped out. Hard.
Flew off the frickin' thing and crashed into Chris.
Graceful as a swan, as always.
Again - I did push myself, harder than I ever would if I were on my own.
One thing I have noticed though - while doing the excercises - is how much I miss yoga.
Those deep stretches, they really are fantastic for breathing control and for posture - and for muscles and skeletal allignment too.
This time last year I was doing yoga 3 days every week for about 2 months at Namaste Yoga Centre for a radio endorsement, so in a way - I was paid to do it.
But I loved it.
I really "dove in" and I found it extremely relaxing and beneficial.
Last year's yoga class was also at 6am - and I'm being honest here: I would have continued on with the classes after my on air endorsement ended, if the yoga studio were a bit closer to home.
It was out on Banwell in Tecumseh - and to make it there for 6am...I know, excuses, excuses...but it was just a bit of a hike for me. I hate driving on E.C. Row.
I have ZERO problem getting up early - but speaking honestly - I'm all about convenience, and I like to support local neighbourhood businesses too.
That being said - I stand behind my endorsement and I do highly, HIGHLY recommend Namaste Yoga centre. It's a great place to practice.
Anyway - the Boot Camp work out at Refine is faaaar different than my Namaste Yoga experience...but I was thinking how much I could benefit from a yoga class - even once every week.
Chris mentioned a 5 dollar Sunday yoga class in at Breathe Pilates and Fitness - which is literally across the street from Refine.
Five bucks.
What perfect timing, really. It makes sense to me.
I'm seriously debating it.
I think 3 days/week with bootcamp - and Sunday yoga is a fine workout program, with a really great balance.
Again - I think it's important to really "drink the kool-aid" - I need to immerse myself in a routine. One I can do.
I really want to stress - SOMETHING DO-ABLE, something convenient - something that will PUSH me harder than I can push myself.
That's the key here.
It's one of those things, I've heard this said about over-coming issues like addiction: You cannot do it ALONE...you need outside help.
I'm addicted to NOT working out. All my life. I have never been "athletic".
Many attempts to do it on my own, almost all of them failures.
That's me. I need help. And I am willing to work and change up my lifestyle.
I truly am.
I just need a program to follow. I need to be told what to do.
Sit Boo-Boo, Sit. Good Dog. *BARK*
Eating isn't a problem.
Drinking - I need to pace myself at times, but I've been okay with that, minus a black out last week at an AIDS Gala. *sigh*
My goal here: I want nice legs for an upcoming show I am appearing in called DRAG, TOO - the sequel to last summer's hit - DRAG, which was written and directed by my good friend Christopher Lawrence Menard.
I also want to rip off my shirt this year in public.
And when I say "public", I mean on a private beach on Pelee Island with 5 friends.
It's March 11th today. I can do this.
One week in - I feel good.
I feel energized.
I feel like I MIGHT be starting to get it.
But as always, we shall see...won't we?

Thanks for following,
Dan.

Boot Camp Day 3: Dynamic Tension.

2011-03-09T05:01:00.000-08:00

It was a push today. A challenge. Which is good.
I had a slight bit of "I'm gonna throw up" vibe, but it passed.
New instructor today.
Not new to Refine Fitness...just new to me.
Nice guy.
Very good at "pushing" without being pushy, which is nice. So far - all the instructors there are very good at this.
I need to be pushed. I've already come to the conclusion that I am not ready to push myself this way on my own.
It won't happen.
I'm not being defeatist - I'm being realistic.
Even if I did slap on a pair of runners and hit Ford Test Track to jog - which I have done - I wouldn't push myself, I wouldn't sweat, I wouldn't WORK the way I do when someone is telling me what to do.
As far as eating goes - I more or less know what I'm doing.
Protein like peanut butter, fresh fruits, lots of veggies, healthy carbs and tons of water.
Honestly - after 3 semi-successful runs at Weight Watchers - I know what I am supposed to eat, what a portion size is - and I understand the importance of what I put in my tummy - it's possibly as - if not MORE important than working out.
My problem has always been dedication.
And that might trump everything! A program doesn't work unless one is dedicated to it.
Three sessions in, I feel good about everything.
Today we did these "trifecta" things...a series of 3 excercises, in groups of 3.
Jumping jacks, planks, push ups, and those dreaded kettle bells, which I still hate every bit as much as I did on Friday.
It's a totally different ball game - male vs. female instructor.
With a female, I feel a BIT more comfortable. Always have.
I get along far better with women, for whatever reason - most likely the main one being that I'm a homo. Homos get along great with women.
I think it might be a fact. And if it's not - it should be.
Men - I get intimidated. I can't relate as well.
That being said - I must say - today's work out was the best one yet.
I actually found myself listening to what he was saying - his passion for what he does is impressive and he actually gave some great tips and encouragement.
I found myself pushing past that horrific brink of "I can't do this, I need a break" mentality and powering on.
Also - my neighbour and friend Chris - who does this boot camp with me: I have to say - the dude has some seriously INSANE form.
He's got at least a foot and a half in height on me - which makes any work out far more difficult - and the guy keeps his back and posture and legs straight and in line.
It's actually rather amazing - and inspiring.
I know I'm a tad on the clunky side, but that's cool. I'm okay with it.
Here to improve. And I think I might.
I'm trying to absorb as much as I can, I'm trying to talk about it and think about it and get into it. I'm trying to drink the Kool-aid so to speak, and make this a part of my life.
Still haven't fully absorbed the Kool-Aid yet...as I said in the previous blog, I am honestly considering signing up for boot camp again, and doing ANOTHER 12 sessions.
Otherwise I fear I will drift away.
I really don't want to let that happen.

Feeling good.
Sore. But good.

Dan.

Windsor Pride: Call for Submissions

2011-03-08T06:23:00.000-08:00

1. WHAT: Windsor Pride Community, Windsor Police Service and the Downtown Windsor Business Improvement Area are collaborating on a new public education campaign as a result of recent incidents of gay bashing and hate crimes charges. This campaign is supported by the Trillium Foundation. This call is to concerned citizens to provide images, video and voice Public Service Announcements (PSA's) for our joint community education campaign to increase the safety of residents and visitors to the City of Windsor. Campaign components include reproducing images as posters, billboards, and Transit Windsor signage, and video and voice PSA's using social media and radio.

2. WHO: Communication Studies, Media, Film, Advertising, Marketing, Graphic Design, Journalism, Poets, Artists, students of all ages and concerned citizens from the public. We seek submissions from individuals who use creative forms to influence social change.Four Participant categories: University of Windsor, St. Clair College, High School and Community (all ages, city wide).

3. THEMES: Participants choose one theme to develop- Creating a safe city for everyone- combating homophobia in Windsor- Creating safe learning environments - combating homophobia at school, college and university.

MEDIA:
a) Images: text, photography, graphics, drawing, digital art, mixed media,b) PSA's - video, and voice for radio.

FORMAT:
a) Each image must be presented poster format for exhibition, 8.5 X 11 inch size and available as a jpeg 300dpi for enlargement/ reproduction for use in campaign posters, Windsor Transit signage, and billboards.b) Voice PSA's should be 30 seconds in length, Video PSA's max 1.5 minutes for exhibition.

4. EXHIBITION - Images will be presented in three ways:- The images and PSA's will be exhibited as part of a art gallery installation for recognition of International Anti- Homophobia Day on May 17, 2011.- One image and PSA per participant category will be chosen by jury and shortlisted for reproduced for the joint Windsor Pride/Windsor Police/DWBIA educational campaign.- Images and PSA's will be exhibited online via art and social media networks, and PSA's via radio, Youtube and podcasting.

5. PRESENTATION - Poster images and PSA's must be delivered to the Pride Office at 422 Peliessier Street on or before April 1, 2011

Send digital files to info@windsorpride.com

6. SELECTION AND PRIZES - Submissions eligible for exhibition must meet the criteria and respect the dignity of all people.See Mission and Values Statement www.windsorpride.comThe most effective image and PSA submissions in each participant category will be selected by jury for special recognition and award. Prize winners must sign a waiver of consent that their submission be used in our public education campaign.

More information:
Safe City/ Safe Schools Project
Windsor Pride Community
422 Pelissier St.Windsor, Ontario
N9A 4K9
Office 519 973 4656

Boot Camp Day Two: Big Balls

2011-03-07T07:10:00.001-08:00

Day Two of boot camp at Refine Fitness.
We were given a fitness test today.
The instructor gave us a list:
20 jumping jacks.
24 lunges.
15 push ups.
30 mountain climbers
24 bicep curls
15 crunches.

And we had to do that 5 times, while she timed us.
I was exhausted, but I made it in 14 minutes and 49 seconds.
I was happy with that.
This being a 4 week program, the idea is to do the same test in about 2 weeks and see if our timing is any better.
As far as improvements go, I do feel better about today's work out.
On Friday, I felt light-headed. Dizzy. Painfully exhausted. Not in a horribly intense way, but I felt like I was going to vomit at one point - something which is common when I return to the gym after a long hiatus.
Today - I never did get that horrible feeling. I worked, don't get me wrong.
I shook. I had to take small breaks and take it at my own pace at times, but I did it. I kept up.
On Friday, even though I felt like I was gonig to harf, I felt great when it was over.
Today - I felt even better. Fantastic. I love this.
We used that big rubber "yoga ball thingie" - tons of leg, arm and core excercises...it actually felt fantastic - but I was a sweaty, quivering mess when it was over. In a good way.
Aside from working out my body...this idea of "boot camp" is also making my brain wheels turn.
It's making me think about excercise. And my schedule.
One thing I learned - and this is over years and years of trying - I cannot depend on myself alone when it comes to working out.
I can't make my own schedule.
I need to be on a set schedule and I need to have someone telling me what to do.
And I'll do it.
I might not do it perfectly, but I'll give it my hardest push, I'll sweat, I'll shake, I'll push-push-push - and I will finish the work out.
But I need to be told what to do.
I'll never push myself that hard in the physical department, not the way a trained instructor would push me.
So after this 12 day program (which ends Wednesday, March 30th) - I need to make a decision.
Will I be in the habbit of working out by then, and can I trust myself to get a gym membership and just go and push myself?
Or do I sign up for a (more expensive) personal trainer?
Do I purchase another round of boot camp?

I know it sounds ridiculous - but give me a set schedule and a time to show up - and I will do it. I will.
But leave me to my own devices: It will all go to hell.
It really will.

So that's where I stand.

10 more sessions to go.

Dan.

Boot Camp Day One: I Hate Kettle Bells.

2011-03-04T08:18:00.000-08:00

So, Day One.
Up at 5:20am today for my first day of Boot Camp at Refine Fitness.
Getting up early was not a challenge. I'm a bit of a morning person.
No, the challenges...they come later.
I was extremely happy that my friend and neighbour Chris was there as well, it's nice to know someone else in the class so I don't feel like the new kid.
We started with simple warm ups. Some jumping jacks. Some jogging on the spot.
Some shuffles across the room.
I was panting. Breathless.
Then Boot Camp began.
Lunges. Push ups. Crunches.
And then...the Kettle Bells.

Are you familiar with these torture devices?
Oh they look innocent and harmless enough.
"Oh cool! Like dumb bells, but smaller," I thought - naively.
Oh no.
The lifting. The turning. The lunging.
And all of it with this cursed, horrible atrocity of an instrument.
A "bell" that doesn't even ring.
It brings only pain and sweats and suffering.
I made a crucial mistake, mid Boot Camp.
The instructor was pounding on us, mercilessly, and it happend.
I glanced at the clock.
6:26am.
A FULL HALF HOUR REMAINED.
I immediately stopped what I was doing and got a drink.
I stood, shaking, sweating, overwhelmed and thought - honestly: What have I gotten myself into?
Seriously.
What?
It felt, for a moment - overwhelming.
Like too much.
And I got worried.
I also startled myself.
"Are you really this out of shape, Dan?" I asked myself.
"I mean, really?"
I'm not even 34 yet. Sure I could shed a few...but...It's not like I'm a candidate for Biggest Loser or Heavy or anything.
Yet here I am, wondering if I will be able to complete this 4 week program.
Who am I kidding...there I was, wondering if I would be able to complete the last 20 minutes of class.
I looked over at my friend Chris, red-faced, sweating, powering on...and for a single moment my eyes widened as I felt the on-coming cramps which ALWAYS lead to a certain diarrhea attack...but fortunately for us all - the cramp passed as quickly as it came.
I noticed a few others taking a breather.
Stopping.
Watching the others in wonder and awe.
We were all in the same boat.
I picked up my kettle bell.
I got back on the matt.
And I worked it.
Shakey, posture not EXACTLY correct, I'm sure...but I finished it.
And I left feeling so relieved that I did it. So happy.
Day One: Conquered.
Eleven more days to go.
Tonight I'll post my weight as of today...and I'll log it as I go.

*sigh*

So this is it. No more excuses. I have 11 days to go...and being stubborn and having paid for ALL 11 days in advance one thing is certain:
This is one fitness program I will most CERTAINLY finish.

And being honest - that is a true first, for someone like me.

xx,
dan.

Countdown to Boot Camp.

2011-02-28T19:43:00.000-08:00

So...yeah...that's a boot camp banner on my blog, above these words...isn't it?
I suppose I have some explaining to do.
Where to begin...
What can I say?
The only thing I can think of - is: "Here we go again."
We've been here before, haven't we brothers and sisters?
Many, many times since I started this blog back in 2004.
I'm going to try to speak frankly and be forthcoming.
I understand that I don't have a whole lot of weight to lose.
It's borderline ridiculous that I'm even blogging about this yet again...but what can I say? I am.
My weight.
No, wait.
This is not about my weight.
It's about my body.
I haven't really been happy with it since my late twenties.
Love handles. Manboobs. A neck that merges seamlessly into my chin.
Those are the three places where I see the extra baggage I've accumulated over the years, and to be honest: It's not a lot of weight.
It's about 10-15 pounds tops.
But the truth of the matter: I struggle with it.
In a big way.
I lost triple the weight back in 2003 by doing that ridiculous no carbs diet.
What did that get me?
Kidney stones and a gallbladder that crapped out on me a few short years later.
Biggest Loser competitions. They always happened after a holiday binge. And I'd lose a lot of spare weight that I had JUST put on...and I'd always cop out when it got to this last ten pounds.
Weight Watchers.
Weight Watchers is by far the most practical way of eating. It is.
And no - I am not currently a Weight Watchers member - but I can PERSONALLY endorse their plan.
It's the smartest way to eat. It's the PROPER way to eat.
And that's just all there is to it. You cannot eat smarter than the plan Weight Watchers gives you.
It's based on your size, your height, your age, your weight - and caloric intake, types of calories, it's broken down into simple "points" so you no longer have to count calories.
It becomes second nature.
It works.
It does.
It encourages drinking the proper intake of water.
Vitamins.
Vegetable servings, protein, fibre.
It works. It's healthy and user-friendly.
Even though I am not a member at the moment, I employ the skills I learned in Weight Watchers every day, in some way.
Be it water, or portion sizes or what I choose to snack on (and what I choose not to snack on)...I have Weight Watchers to thank.
But it's only gotten me so far. And while I do eat healthy - extremely healthy in fact, I have my weak points. I like to indulge.
I like to drink. I like salty carby foods. Not part of Weight Watchers plan - at least not in the quantity I eat them - but those foods, they are most definitely my downfall.
It all comes down to 2 realizations:
1) I'm in denial thinking I can do it on my own. I need help. I need a kick in the ass. Pathetic? Nope. Reality. I need help.
2) I need to excercise. Plain and simple.
Oh, I got away with eating what I wanted all through my teenage years and early twenties.
Late night runs to Taco Bell, copious amounts of booze and carbs and sweets.
I had a hollow leg.
That changes with age, like it or not, it does - and while some of us are blessed with a turbo metabolism...others - like me - are simply not.
I'm in my last 10 pounds, and I need something more. I need some help.
Excercise.
So - that banner above? I joined.
I joined Boot Camp.
I know, I know..."Another gym Dan, really?"
Yes. Really.
Except I didn't join a gym this time.
I joined boot camp.
Different.
I signed up and paid for 12 sessions.
Just 12. Only 12. And then it's done.
6am - 6:50am, 3 days a week for 4 weeks.
Paid. Done.
Now all I have to do is show up.
Work my ass off, yes - but that's what I signed up for.
The difference, you ask?
Unlike a gym membership which leaves me to my own devices, this Boot Camp puts me on a schedule. Set times. Set days. I have to show up because I paid.
And there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Even if I absolutely hate it - and I want out - I will know - there is a light at the end of the tunnel. It's only temporary.
Four weeks, 12 sessions in those four weeks...and it's over.
I can do this. And I will do this.
Ideally, I would like to learn decent work out skills and keep them going AFTER boot camp.
But I'm not worrying about that righ tnow.
Right now - I'm just realizing that I need a kick in the ass.
P-90X...sure, I could burn the DVD.
But would I do it?
No. I wouldn't. That's just a reality.
Have I rolled out my yoga mat and done my yoga DVD?
Never.
My membership at Windsor Squash and Fitness...I've had a it for over a year.
I've been about 7 times.
No set schedule. Left to my own devices.
I always choose the couch when I have no one to hold me accountable.
I do.
I'm lazy. And my laziness has manifested itself into flab.
Not a lot of flab, but I'm just sick of it.
So I want to do something about it.
It might not work.
It might see me here in 4 weeks the exact same weight.
But I'm going to try.
It's all I can do.
I start Friday.
6am.
My friend and neighbour is doing it with me.
So yeah.
I'm nervous.
I'm afraid.
Not of failure.
Just about facing what I am capable of...and what I am not capable of.
But that being said, I have to try.
So I am.
I mean, really - what's the other option?
Just ignore it. Drink and eat all I want, restrict my excercise to a few walks to work per week and after work...and continue on in the direction I'm going?
I'm not getting any younger.
Time to up the game.
And I'm going to be honest this time.
Starting this Friday - March 4th - until Wednesday March 30th, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday - my blog entries will be a summary of my boot camp experience.
I will also take before and after pictures too.
One shirtless.
One clothed.
I am not going to promise posting the pictures, I'll have to wait and see how I feel about it - but that's what I'm doing.
I want pictures. I want to see what I look like. I want to take my shirt off for once and feel proud.
I want to change my body. And that means I have to change.

So this is it.
All together now, shall we?
"Here we go...again."

Want to learn more about Windsor Boot Camp? Click HERE.

Dan

Autorama!!!

2011-02-27T18:02:00.000-08:00

I spent the day in Detroit at Cobo Centre for Autorama 2011.
I am not really a car guy, and in all honestly - I would never go to a show like Autorama on my own. I don't know much about cars.
I don't have a proper appreciation for them, the work, the care, the craft and art of restoration - it's quite amazing.
The owners of these fantastic automobiles are obsessed with their vehicles.
Passionate.
Being around people who are passionate about anything - it's fascinating.
I was doing a live radio broadcast from the show today, for 6 hours.
Sammie "Sweetheart" from Jersey Shore was there.
Shawn Michaels - The Heartbreak Kid - the wrestling superstar, he was there too.
And the cars.
They were the true stars. And not being passionate about cars, I'll let the photos speak for themselves.
A few of my favourites from this weekend's show, snapped on my iPhone.
Enjoy, car buffs.

Vroom, Vroom!

Dan.

Winter Icebreaker.

2011-02-25T12:54:00.001-08:00

Sick of the snow? Sick of winter?
The slush. The cold. The ice.
It's awful.
Time to smash winter into oblivion, and what better way to do it than with a FANTASTIC live show?
939 the River's 4th Annual Winter Icebreaker!
It goes down tomorrow night at the Detroit Opera House and it features an acoustic evening with the one and only David Gray.
I'm very proud to be a part of the event and I absolutely LOVE the venue...the theatre itself and the acoustics are equally glorious.
But I'm especially pumped, because the event...is sold out!

Sold out show! A sold out crowd ALWAYS has the best energy.
Whether you're going or not - you can still hang with everyone after the show at the official Icebreaker After Party happening at the Hard Rock Cafe downtown Detroit.
I love live shows...and being able to be a part of them like this...I seriously have to pinch myself because at times - many times lately - my life feels more like a really fantastic dream - with a great soundtrack - than reality.
And that's the honest truth.

Saturday night - it all happens downtown Detroit.
Come on out and party with me.
Come on out and party...with the River!

xx,
dan.

Memories Gala.

2011-02-24T08:21:00.000-08:00

Sitting on the Board of Directors with Windsor Pride is really giving me some incredible insight into how non-profit organizations run.
I have to admit, I sometimes feel like a bit of a fraud, a fake – sitting on this Board.
Speaking candidly, it feels so grown up. And I’ve never been one to feel “grown up”. I keep waiting for someone to say: “Wait a minute…why were you nominated and elected again?”
And I would probably have no answer prepared!
It's my own insecurity.
It's not just with Windsor Pride...it's in everything I do, it's slightly steeped in insecurity.
"Wait a minute - who said you're okay to go live on the air?"
"Wait a minute...who said your audition was good enough for this play...?"
"Wait a minute...you're the emcee of this event....really?"
It's kind of "my thing".
All my life. Insecurity.

Forever seeking validation.
*sigh*

This Friday I’m making my first public appearance as a Board member at the 2011 “Memories” Gala – put on by the AIDS Committee of Windsor.
I’ve been fortunate enough to have NEVER been directly affected by HIV and AIDS.
However, I do have a long-time friend who is HIV positive, and I often forget that. I take it for granted because he is here, he lives life to the fullest - and is forward thinking and acting.
It's an inspiration and I do take it for granted.

It can happen to anyone, really.
I used to see people who were HIV positive, or people who had AIDS who were my age and I would callously think: Wow, how could they put themselves in that situation?
Then I thought about it.
I have put myself at risk. Several times.
It’s pure, random luck of the draw that I am NOT in their exact situation.
That’s how it happens.

I know it’s not a death sentence anymore. But that doesn’t erase those who have gone before…it doesn’t erase the frustration, the sinking feeling, the helplessness and loneliness which Positive people must feel when first diagnosed.

It must be overwhelming.
Like wishing you could turn back time and take something you did back...and knowing you can't. But still - that edging feel... "but if only I COULD...if only I COULD..."

I often think about what I would do if I suddenly found out I was Positive.
Would I keep it a secret, become a recluse and not tell anyone? Would I tell a doctor? My parents? It would crush them.
How does one "come out" with it? It has to be so difficult.
I don't know. I wonder.
Would I just let HIV turn into AIDS and let the disease take me?
Would I fight? The drug cocktails, the therapy, the pills, the muscle mass build up, the t-cell counting...
I have no idea.
I'd be backed into a corner.

And that's a perfect image.

I'm not well versed on HIV and AIDS.
But from what I gather - It’s a very human disease.
It’s human because we know how to stop it, regardless of there being no cure.
And that's part bullshit.

I don’t even need to list the ways we can be safe, because it’s almost cliché.
Yet – infection rate continues to ebb and flow.
Why?
Because we are human? Because we insist that history WILL repeat itself again and again, generation after generation?
Human. Flawed.
AIDS is ours. We own it. We cultivate it. We fear it. We are drawn to it again and again.
It’s here. We have to recognize it.

Tomorrow night I’ll be going to the Memories Gala to pay tribute, to cower in fear, to bow down, humbled to this disease which – for whatever human reasons – continues to claim us.

AIDS Committee of Windsor
511 Pelissier Street
(519) 973-0222 Ext.230
or online at
http://www.ticketscene.ca/events/3341/

Snow Day Detroit.

2011-02-21T12:48:00.000-08:00

This always happens.
Every single year
Warm weather hits, the ground begins to thaw, the birds begin to chirp - (our pesky eczema goes away) and we think with a smile "This is it! Spring has arrived!"
And then: Ka-boom.
State of Emergency.
Snowbound.
*sigh*
That being said - I say - enjoy it.
I know it's miserable getting your car stuck in a snow bank, and it sucks having to shovel it, and it's annoying to have to heave it off your car before leaving for work.
But - it's quite gorgeous.
I was in Detroit yesterday as the snow storm started, and I looked around at the city, the shell of downtown Detroit - so impressive, but so many empty buildings and neigbourhoods...and watched the snow come down...and it was peaceful.
I know, I know - freezing cold, slushy, icy, slippery, dangerous - not fun to deal with...but it looked peaceful.
And the city - gorgeous, historical, majestic...but miles and miles of abandoned neighbourhoods. We really are in denial, in many ways.
We worry about what happened in New Orleans, but look at what has been happening in Detroit for so long...
Years and years of decay. Forgotten, lost, feral houses - neighbourhoods left to their own devices, in shambles, crumbling.
Like a war zone.
I know people are starting to buy houses for cheap - and fix them up - regentrification...but that's a slow go.
Some of these neighbourhoods...wouldn't they just be better off levelled?
Bulldozed?
People don't live in those houses - and the ones that do - they need help.
It'll suck the system, yes.
It costs money to level and clean out entire neighbourhoods.
It costs even more money to round up the folks who are squatting in those houses - without windows or doors - but wouldn't the city be better for it after?
I don't know.
I really have no clue. I don't have a solution.
But buildings and houses, burned out and left alone - some of them with entire trees growing inside of them...I can't imagine what good can come of it.
I love Detroit. The people, the places...but I feel bad for Detroit.
Their former mayor is in jail.
And the people take a beating and keep getting up.
Someone with cash and decision making power needs to INVEST in this city - in a big way.
It's very much in a state of emergency. Just like New Orleans after the wave hit and made everyone homeless, forcing people to run from their homes.
The only difference: This wave hit back in 1967 and it's been cresting ever since.
It doesn't feel like an emergency because we're just used to it being the way it is.
But it needs help.
In all its wonder, it needs help.
Regardless, the snow coming down - for whatever reason - it felt like a big blanket of peace was falling over the city.
It was an illusion, but a nice one.

Return to Blogville: A Quick Update.

2011-02-20T05:25:00.001-08:00

Been far too long.
I figure, with the projects I've immersed myself in - all of it being local and relevant to Windsor and Detroit, I might as well write about it!
Spring is gearing up to be insanely busy. Insane. I'm not sure that I have a free day to myself, but it's fine because all of it is fun.
As far as concerts go - tons of incredible shows coming to town...it's almost ridiculous. I have no clue how or if I can make it to all of these, but I already have tickets to many, so we'll see.
As a side note: I feel so lucky to live within spitting distance of Detroit.
The venues, the atmosphere, the history - and the bands that come to this city...we're so lucky.
Here - I made a little Detroit concert calendar for you:

This week:
2/24--Dropkick Murphys @ Fillmore
2/26--David Gray @ Detroit Opera House
2/26--Plain White T's @ Clutch Cargos

MARCH
3/04--Pogues @ Royal Oak Music Theater
3/04--Pete Yorn @ Clutch Cargos
3/09--Marcy Playground @ the Ark
3/10--Get Up Kids @ St. Andrew's Hall
3/11--OMD @ Crofoot
3/13--Lords of Acid @ Blondies
3/13--Crystal Castles @ Royal Oak Music Theater
3/14--Bright Eyes @ Royal Oak Music Theater
3/17--Cold War Kids @ St. Andrew's Hall
3/18--Dirty Heads @ St. Andrew's Hall

APRIL
4/03--Raveonettes @ Magic Stick
4/09--Peter Murphy @ Royal Oak Music Theater
4/14--Iron & Wine @ Royal Oak Music Theater
4/16--30 Seconds to Mars @ Fillmore
4/19--Iggy & the Stooges @ Michigan Theater
4/22--the Pixies @ Fox Theater
4/22--Decemberists @ Royal Oak Music Theater
4/23--Brian Vander Ark @ the Ark
4/24--Reverend Horton Heat @ Magic Stick
4/29--Coheed & Cambria @ Royal Oak Music Theater

MAY
5/01--Deftones @ Fillmore
5/03--the Kills @ Majestic Theater
5/04--...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead @ Magic Stick
5/13--Flaming Lips @ Fillmore
5/18--Cake @ Royal Oak Music Theater
5/18--Sleigh Bells @ St. Andrew's Hall

INSANE!
Also - I'm now sitting on the Board of Directors for Windsor Pride, which is a VERY big learning experience for me.
Obviously I've always been a big supporter of Windsor Pride...and it's nice to get involved in some of the decision making regarding the direction.
We're currently re-branding the Windsor Pride Centre - looking for a new name and logo. More on this in a bit.

I've also been acting quite a bit lately.
Recently finished up shooting a FILM with some really great people. The movie is called Lies We Tell - I play a creepy dude. A stretch, right? Sure.
But keep your eyes peeled for it...probably not for a bit, but it was a great experience - so different than theatre.
Speaking of which:
Appeared in Korda's presentation of Drag last Spring, and it's been theatre-immersion ever since!
Like learning to breath again. I'm so happy. It's such an outlet, acting.
Something I've loved for so long, and I can't explain why I took a 14 year hiatus from it, but it's good to be back.
I was in Korda's holiday panto King Midas & the Golden Arches in December and am set to appear in a double feature of Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors and Titus Andronicus (in April) and then the sequel to Drag - Drag, Too - in May and June!
Busy, but good busy.
All with Korda - because I really do believe they are the coolest theatre company in the city. And I'm not saying that because I'm a Korda actor...I really do believe they have an edge, a quirk, a do-it-yourself charm that is COMPLETELY up my alley.
It's a wonderful environment - and I learn something new every day, every single time I set foot in that fantastic theatre.
But seriously - consider this advanced warning: Make plans to see these shows now! Check out their website and mark your calendars!
Here's a teaser poster for April's double feature...note the Star Trek theme...only Korda could fuse Star Trek with Shakespeare.

That's it for me. Sorry I've been away for so long, I've just been INSANELY busy.
But I'm back. Gonna blog once a day.
Hey...I've been at this thing for 6 years...this was my first hiatus. Not a bad track record...right?
RIGHT!?!?!?

Feel free to dip into the archives...it's 6 years of my life.

Hearts and farts,

DM.

Me. At Chapters.

2010-12-22T07:07:00.001-08:00

I was at Chapters yesterday, lost, no idea what I was looking for.
I was shopping for some friends, a secret santa gift exchange. Something cool. Something fun. Something "different".
Typical Chapters shopper right?
(insert gunshot to the head sound effect here)
I approached one of the employees on the floor...and the words just came out of my mouth:
"Do you guys have, like...a new age section? Like, with books about, um, like meditation and stuff?"
I felt my face burn red.
"Guys"?!?!
"New age"?!?!
"Like meditation and stuff"?!?!
What have I become?
Who am I?
I sounded like a valley girl who listens to too much Enya.
The New Age section!??! Really?
And I had to ask!?!?
Seriously. Embarassing. I glanced around, hoping no one was within earshot.
As the employee lead me through the store - everything was a blur.
I looked around at the emo kids and 30-somethings...The mothers and fathers and grandparents and more polished shoppers, rushing off, bags in hand - a definite plan mapped out in their heads...much like visions of sugar plums.
Bastards.
They selected books from the travel section, Interior Design section, the humour section, effortlessly - and rushed off ...no, no no - SKIPPED OFF to the cashier - as if the books were designed specifically for their loved ones.
They made it look so simple.
And here I was: Asking for new age books about "Um, like meditation and stuff."
Clueless. Up shit's creek without a paddle. Or a gift.
Two days before December 25th.
Dire straits.
I stood in front of the train wreck that is the New Age section and stared.
The Teachings of Buddha. Tarot Cards.
Discover Your Inner Faerie.
Interesting.
But wrong.
All of it - wrong.
I could see how this was going to pan out.
I'd be the laughing stock of our holiday get together, I was sure of it.
Everyone else at the party would have fun and funky gifts - and when it came time to play the "steal the gift you really want" game - no one would steal mine.
I'd end up with it.
It would be me taking home a book about discovering your inner animal spirit guide, disappointed that I got stuck with such a crappy gift: My own.
I sighed.
And then someone else sighed next to me.
I turned slightly.
A 30-something guy - looked like an art student, shaved head, John Lennon glasses and a turtle neck.
I first noticed he was thumbing through a copy of "Skymates: Sexual Astrology."
Then I noticed he wasn't looking at the book at all.
He was giving me the side eye.
The "once over".
I was being cruised.
Cruised.
At Chapters.
In the New Age section.By a turtle-neck wearing artsy fartsy, sexual astrology reading flake.
Then I noticed, I too looked the part.
Smelled like a combo of Lush products and Thierry Mugler.
And I was in the New Age section...without any real reason for being there.
Just looking.
Yeah, right.
If I was going to be cruised - I'd want it to be somewhere like Footlocker or Sportschek.
Mexx, RW & Co. - even HMV would be okay - so long as it was in a decent music section.
But the New Age area at Chapters? No. No no no.
I had to leave. Immediately.
I placed the copy of "Shamanism" I was flipping through back on the shelf, gathered up the shattered remains of my dignity, and left the store.
And of course, ended up at Teaopia.
Kill me.

Shark Attack!

2010-10-23T12:06:00.001-07:00

Time for a new tattoo. I got to Scott R at Advanced Tattoo in Windsor.
Last time I plastered a an elephant to my upper arm as a tribute to all kinds of different things.
Memory,the power of never forgetting, my own animal activism, the line between imagination and reality and the lesson that elephants can teach us by simply existing: Being gigantic and having the ability to crush all that is below you does not mean we have to do it.
What can I say? I like elephants. And I love everything they stand for.
I tend to think a LOT about what I choose to put on my body forever. I'm picky. But it's good to be picky.
Right now, I am toying with a new tattoo.
Something I have wanted for several years.
A shark.
And I want a shark for many of the same reasons as the elephant...and many of the opposite reasons.
Their beauty. Their majesty. Their power.
Their ability to inspire awe. Fear. Wonder.
They are hopelessly misunderstood. Best left alone.
They are victims too - victims under the hands of humans, as per usual.
A dead shark is a tragic thing. It's not right.
That being said: Sharks have made victims out of humans.
They have made meals out of men, women and children and anything else that is edible.
If evolution ever hands the Great White a pair of legs, ladies and gentlemen, the tables will turn.
Perhaps that's all we are. Sharks, with legs.
There's a raw honesty in their ability to kill.
Something about it that I appreciate because it is all about survival.
For whatever reason - it speaks to me. In a very strange way.
And no - not in a "I secretly want to kill someone" way...more like a "I fear you...and I respect you because I know you could tear me to shreds and if I was ever in the ocean or open water alone with you - I would be at your MERCY - 100 percent" -kind of way.
Sharks have power. But they are also slaves.
Slaves to their own genetic make-up.
Slaves - because perhaps their most fascinating aspect: They can't stop moving, or they begin to die.
Is that not one of the saddest, most amazing facts - ever!?!? It blows my mind.
They cannot stop. Or they die.
Drama kings, the centre of attention...a shark is the kid in the pool that all the other kids can't stop staring at, but no one wants to get near.
A hopless loner.
And violent. Hungry. Persistent.
The way an elephant, for me - emanates gentleness and introspective...and kindness...a shark - for me...is the other side.
The side all us humans have...the need to keep moving, consuming...the ability to destroy, to turn the soul off.
Eyes like ebony stone. We have that in us. Look into the eyes of an elephant...and look into the eyes of a shark.
Different. Extreme. I guess it's a balance I'm really interested in.
There is a lesson in sharks. I know there is.
I have had a strong fear of them since I can remember. Probably after seeing the film Jaws, like so many others.
To this day - I fear swimmnig at night- even in fresh water.
Even in my parent's swimming pool. Sad, but true.
It's a bit of a tick, I have. When I was a kid, swimming in my parent's pool at night, I would look down, into the water - dark like oil...and I wouldn't be able to see my feet. I had no clue of knowing if anyone...or anything was down there.My over-active imagination would act up - and I would envision the bottom of the pool opening up into some other strange dimension, and a chalk-white shark with pitch black eyes of death would slip in, and circle me...and ultimately consume me.
It freaked me out, and I would swim, frantically to the ladder - almost like I was being hunted by this imaginary shark in the pool.
Over-active imagination aside, they are a mighty creature, sharks.
They carry power, true staying power.
Elegant and gentle...but callous and violent.
Anyway, I'm in the early stages of picking out what I want my tattoo to look like...I only do black and white - no colour for me.
I want a portrait that shows the power, the might, the awe...and the fear.
I want vicious.
I want teeth.
I want the violence - because that is a big part of it for me.

Our fear and infatuation with violence of every kind. And how it is misused, misunderstood.
The same way the gentle might of the elephant needed to be shown in the tattoo I chose for my right upper arm...I need anger and violence in my shark.
Here are a few ideas...what I want the tattoo to be based on:

I like the shape of this one, pictured above. Getting the right perspectiev with the shape of the shark can be tricky. But this one - if drawn correctly - could look nice. I want it to be a big powerful looking shark...Of course, I would ask the tattoo artist to put a bit more anger into the shark's mouth. But I dig the shape of this picture.

Again...I like the shape fo this one too...I like the contrast and the lines...and there is a bit more aggression in this one. But...I see more power in the first image. I see more "quiet danger" - which could be what I am going for. Perhaps a combo of the two? This tattoo is going to represent a bit of a darker side...so it has to look the part.

I believe this shark is poorly drawn, I am not a fan on the basic drawing - BUT...interesting perspective...and to me - it instills fear. Clearly it needs work, but it looks like the tattoo I am thinking of. I like the teeth. They are prominent. This is the shark that I see slipping up from that other, scary dimension through the bottom of my parent's pool. It's aggressive. In your face. Attack mode. Defense ...or survival? No clue.

And...then there is the classic attack picture. To me - this one says it all. Even though it's only the head of the shark...it's terrifying because it's crossing a line. You think you are safe above water...but not necessarily. Ever see a shark jump? Leap into the air? Ferocious. I love the gums, the way the mouth pulls back...and the jaws expand. Ready to kill. It'd beautiful, really. Perhaps the entire body isn't needed. It could just fade away into some water-filler...it's a nice idea.

And of course, I could just quit beating around the bush and get the fricking Jaws shark. Flat out. I mean, it is a cinematic masterpiece. It has had a lasting, life-changing effect on me. To this day - as a 33 year old grown man - I still can't swim in a pool at night without fearing a random shark attack. For real. Pathetic, but true.

Safe to say: It scarred me. So why not make the scar literal?
The next question...where?
My right arm is covered. My left arm has a small moth I got about 13 years ago, for reasons entirely different. My leg? Forearm?
Not sure. I'm just formulating some ideas. Last time - I gave my EXTREMELY talented tattoo artist - Scott Robinson at AA Advanced Tattoo Clinic - a few pictures of different elephants, and told him elements I like of each one...and he whipped up a tattoo bigger and better than anything I ever could have.

Time for Pride.

2010-08-01T14:38:00.000-07:00

My first ever Pride Parade was in Toronto.
I was 20 years old, finally secure enough to be completely, 100% "out of the closet".
I spent my late teen years and my first few years of failed post secondary dragging myself through some issues and insecurity and uncertainty.
I never could get a grasp on who I was or where I was going.
It was a terrifying and thrilling time. Everything was in vivid colour. I felt wide awake.
Nothing was stable but everything was new.
And there I was. A 20 year old newbie, standing on Bloor and Yonge street surrounded by gay boys and lesbians and trans people - all ages, every colour, every orientation, every gender identity - all together, side by side.
My heart was racing.
I didn't know where to look.
Men hand-in-hand walking down the street. Women making out next to me.
No one noticing. No one pointing fingers. No one judging. No one calling names.
It was surreal to me.
"Am I really here? Am I ...a gay boy...at a gay pride parade?"
I remember standing there, waiting for everything to start and asking myself that question.
It sounds ridiculous now - but i also remember answering back: "Damn right I am!"
And then the cheering started in the distance and people stood on their toes and craned their necks to see.
The parade was coming.
And something gave way for me, I felt something move inside of me.
There we were in the heat, shoulder to shoulder, blue sky, the sun beating down...and coming up the street was a large group of people, all holding a corner of the BIGGEST pride flag I'd ever seen.
Massive. Gigantic.
Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Indigo. Violet. It was breath-taking.
So big. So gigantic. Vivid. Colour.
And I felt wide awake. Alive.
It was a "real" moment for me. A "wow" moment, seeing that flag displayed so prominently down the street.
And all of a sudden, I forgot where I was. I forgot about the eye candy all around me.
I forgot about the cute guy who was giving me the eye.
I stopped wondering if my hair was bleached too yellow or if my t-shirt was too tight - and I stared at those rainbow colours, coming down Bloor street and listened to the applause, the cheering, the CELEBRATION...and I felt my lip quiver and just like that: I started to cry.
I had no idea I would cry...I didn`t feel it coming...but hit happened. Just like that.
It was one of "THOSE" moments.
I stared at the flag and the colours and thought about all the anguish and torture I had put on myself through as a kid - feeling like the lonliest person in the world - assuming I would live the rest of my life that way.
I remember wondering what it would be like to live life and not have a single person ever know who you really are. Because that`s how I figured it was going to be.
Then I heard the cheering...and realized at one time - every single person standing on that street, celebrating that flag felt that way too.
Every single person. Many had it worse than me. Many had it easier.
But in the end - it's all the same.
I felt PROUD to belong to the same group as those people.
Proud.
Saying "I'm gay" was one thing.
Becoming okay with it - was another.
But feeling "PRIDE"...? That was the very first time I felt PROUD to be gay and
I am happy to say - it's never gone away.
That thrill will NEVER die.
I only wish EVERYONE was able to experience it and never be afraid to do something as simple as "be yourself".
On Tuesday we raise the Rainbow Flag at City Hall for Windsor Pride.
For one week - we are acknowleged - people come together and support us and celebrate the GLBTQ community in this city. And it means a lot to me. It really does.
Just like that day when I was 20 at the Toronto Parade...I have that little trembling feeling in my belly. Like something big and great is going to happen.
Windsor Pride is a big party, yes.
Sure - there are feather boas. Flashing lights. Raunchy drag queen jokes.
There are random hook-ups.
There are inappropriate outfits and eye candy galore....
There's boozing and techno music and decadence....
But - I believe there is also a universal message that runs so much deeper than club music and campy performances and dancing bears.
Pride is about celebrating the TRUE YOU - and EACH OTHER for what we are.
Diversity isn't seen as a bad thing - it's seen as a glorious thing that makes us all uniquely different.
It's an interesting lesson, if you take it as such: The ONE THING that makes us ALL THE SAME - is that we are all so uniquely, insanely different.
How can one not stand in awe of something like that?
When I realized that was what it was all about - my life changed.
That feeling of connecting and understanding and supporting...it's a humbling experience because it is so utterly awesome.
We have one life.
It's too short to spend it trying to be something we are not.
I have heard people say: "Well, why is there not a Straight Pride month...?"
They miss the point.
Every month is straight pride month. Think about it: Public displays of affection, engagement announcements with photos posted in the paper, boys and girls walking hand in hand down the street without anyone caring or judging them...and it's a great thing! A wonderful thing!
Expressing love for other people is about the most amazing thing a person can do.
But as "evolved" as we are - it's still a tricky situation for a lot of gay people to do in this city.
And that's just a fact.
So - "YES, please and thank you. I'd like a parade thrown in our honour."
However - the most important reason we need a Pride celebration is not for the openly gay folks who want to take part in public displays of affection.
It's for the ones who are too afraid to tell anyone. The ones who have no one to tell because they are paralyzed by fear. We all know - to a degree - what that is like.
If we make a big, gigantic noise...if we raise that pride flag high enough, clap and cheer hard enough and spread the love around in a BIG ENOUGH way...someone will hear who needs to hear.
And they'll know it's safe to come out and play. They'll know that it`s okay to be themselves.
They'll get a glimmer of hope that maybe their life won't be a black thunder cloud of doom and gloom.
Maybe, that spark of pride will finally be ignited in their bellies, like it was in mine only 13 years ago on Bloor street in Toronto.
And once it's ignited: It never goes away.

So - A toast to the Windsor Pride Committee and a toast to all the people who celebrate EACH OTHER and who we really are.
That is what it's all about.
For me - THAT is Windsor Pride.

Relish each moment...even the bad - and remember: Even if you're in the midst of a dark and gloomy storm - worry not because a rainbow is most definitely in store.

Happy Pride, Windsor.
Dan.

Saw Some Elephants Today.

2010-07-07T17:36:00.000-07:00

We did our demonstration against the use of animals in the Shrine Circus today.
And it was great.
It was fantastic.
It felt wonderful.
I always get a high after a demo...I feel like I did something worthwhile...something good...like I took a stand...
And then...
Then something happened, after the demo.
We were all standing in the parking lot, patting each other on the back:
"Good job!" "Great job!" "What a turn out...!"
And a few people who were involved in the demonstration drove by, and shouted from their car to us: "Hey...we just saw some elephants behind the stadium...go check it out.."
My friend and I were intrigued.
I have to be honest here:
I wanted to see the elephant.
I'm sure part of it was that curious wonder an exotic animal inspires...the same wonder and awe which drives people to the circus in the first place:
To see a real, live elephant.
A small part of me felt that excitement.
I love elephants. I have one tattooed to my arm because I think they are such wonderful and symbolic creatures...
So we walked around, behind Windsor Stadium...moved in closer - where you could see inside the back of the building...and we saw them:

Two elephants.
Huddled.
Trunks swaying.
Ears twitching.
But not right.
Cars. Trailers. Equipment.
Loud, banging music...
A city. Pavement. Housing projects...just feet away.
Tethered.
In a building.
Trapped.
The high I had accumulated all day from all the enthusiastic people who came out to give these animals a voice: Instantly deflated.
What we did - It changed nothing for those elephants.
All of us were on our way home to get on with our lives...
...and there they were:
Two Mighty Elephants.
Tethered.
My friend and I stared in silence at these two magnificent creatures.
And - as you would expect - it was indeed a moving and touching experience...seeing these massive beasts in real life, up close.
We stood in silence and neither of us spoke for a bit.
My friend put her sunglasses on - I knew it was to hide tears, but I said nothing.
I fought to stop my lips from quivering, I tried to somehow swallow back the tears that I felt burning and brimming over and blurring my vision...

I knew - without a shadow of a doubt we did the right thing today.
An animal does not belong in a building. In a city. Held captive.
I don't care if it's a custom trailer.
I don't care if the tethers aren't chains.
We were protesting the animals being there.

And there they were.
Beautiful and brilliant and just what they are: Elephants.

But...there was something defeated about them.
They were huddled together. And they looked so out of place.
They looked like lost orphans in a room full of stangers: Men and women and children in glorious flashy costumes set up props and primped themselves around them.
The elephants just stood.
Swaying their trunks.
Twitching their ears.

Loud techno music...the ringleader shouting out words of hype...the audience cheering.

And two elephants standing there. Looking so out of place.

We stood for a few minutes in awe of their magnificence...and in awe of the tremendous amount of sadness their image BURNED into our minds and hearts.

Two elephants. In a city.
That's what we saw.

That's why we were there today.

Ashley Meyer and Michelle Grenier snapped a picture...
These were the two beauties we saw...held captive, for our entertainment.
This is the reason we do what we do, but what upsets me...what is making my eyes water all over again as I write this - is that I know - no matter what - it will never, ever be enough.
Not ever.

Thank you, Ashley Meyer, for this picture.
It says more than words can ever say.

Milkshake Sparks Negativity...ONLY in Windsor.

2010-06-11T10:01:00.000-07:00

I found some...interesting words on the Windsor Star's comment section today...brutal! (but I did laugh at the "skid marks" reference) ...Windsor - I love ya...but man, we have some NEGATIVE people!!
The story was about some new, super-fattening milkshake offered at Tim Horton's.
Apparently - this can start a RIOT in the comments section. Of course, anything can.
It got political...it got ugly...and then - it got completely "Windsor".
Classic.
Here are some comments:

"Our public health care should cut people off who abuse themselves with excuses like -only live once-. Exactly. You only live once so why spend that life poisoning yourself and burdening others? WHat mark did you leave behind? Skid marks that's about it."

This one is classic:
of course it will be available in Windsor. More fat people in this city than anywhere else in Canada. Peanut butter and chocolate?? have a cigarette with that and wear your baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. Done deal...you've got the Windsor look.

Other gems I found in the comments section:
Just what Windsor needs . . . another reason for its already overweight citizens to pack on a few more pounds . . . just in time for both male and female "muffin-tops" in shorts.

And...of course:
Jean Fox has had several of these milkshakes, apparently.

We love our city, don't we?
I do. I honestly do love Windsor. It's funny...seeing the negativity...sad, but I think we have to laugh or else we become bitter. Why waste time focusing on the negative?

It says something though...about our state. The "us" and "them".
A milkshake can get us all worked up - to the point where we start insulting each other.

Self-fullfilling prophecy, Windsor. We are a FANTASTIC city.
I love this city.
Even the people who make remarks like this. You made me laugh.
Scary and sad...but - the good in it: I laughed.

And - KUDOS to whoever dropped the "skid marks" reference.
I was howling at my desk.

Amazing what a milkshake can do. Anger. Aggression. Name-calling.
It's just a milkshake, at the end of the day.
Or ...is it?
Is all the negativity...just...about...a milkshake?
Or is something else going on in Windsor?

Yup...a wacky city of clipped roses, are we. But I love EVERY minute of it.
I couldn't think of a more fascinating place to live...not in the ENTIRE world.

Click HERE to read the story.

My Life...is a Drag.

2010-06-05T10:00:00.000-07:00

So...I forgot about something.
I forgot about that buzzing, butterfly-flutter, exhilarating adrenaline jolt of acting on stage.
I don't know how...but for a long time, I forgot.
In grade school and high school - I had this ridiculous pipe dream of getting up on stage with other like-minded people and performing.
I wanted to be an actor.
I knew nothing about what being an "actor" meant...it was just something that fascinated me...everything about it...the stage, the lights, the costumes...and that energy.
That feeling.
In high school I found a clique of people and we wrote our own plays and directed them and starred in them - and we started this lunch time theatre and people actually came - packed our auditorium to watch us.
It felt amazing...feeling that way...being emersed in dreams...when la-la land becomes reality, and those pipe dreams start to materialize and start to take shape and perhaps start to become attainable...there's nothing else like it.
It's the best thing ever.
I remember having a half-assed plan - the kind of plan only a 16 year old kid can have:
I was going to do as much theatre as possible and then - immediately after high school - I was to run away to New York City or Los Angeles and start doing it big.
Let's be honest: Had that happened - we all know I would have ended up a rent boy on Sunset Blvd., or perhaps a homeless alcoholic with a permanent address in Central Park...but at the time - I was crazy and young and wild enough to believe that was how it was gonna be.
I was simply going to act.
That feeling was too good to pass up.
So high school grad came and went - and surprise, surprise: I never left.
I opted for University of Windsor.
I applied to a regular, boring program (Creative Writing and Communications) and never EVER did anything all that theatrical again. Why?
I have no idea. And why bother asking why? I'm not going to dwell on it.
I'm not going to sit and waste time thinking "If only...if only..."
It is how it happened and that's that.
Sure I found ways to stay in front of the mic and inside the circular light of that spotlight some of us crave so much ...
I found ways to get up on stage - any way I could - poetry readings, announcing some of my favourite bands to a packed house - I found jobs on various FM radio stations - hosting events...
All wonderful and fantastic...and that is my life.
Wonderful and fantastic. I don't want to sound like I'm bragging...but I know I'm lucky.
I don't take a single day of my life for granted...not a single aspect of it. I know all we have is NOW...so I savour every second - the good and the bad.
What I am - is exactly what I am going to be. No "then". No "when".
Just now.
And I decided that's how I'm going to live.
I kind of forgot about acting...and distracted myself with other WONDERFUL things...
Until Wayne forwarded me a Facebook page with an audition call for a play called Drag - and something in my head just clicked.
"I'm going to be in this play."
I remember thinking that, matter of factly.
And when I was reading at the audtiion...my heart pounding...wondering if I was any good at all...or if I was just a high school kid who never grew up - I remember the writer and director Christopher L.M. saying to me: "Dan...why don't you do this more often?"
And I felt it.
I knew I was going to be in this play.
And I am. I'm in this play.
And that feeling...that buzzing, butterfly-flutter, exhilarating adrenaline jolt of being on stage...I remember it again. I didn't even realize I forgot.
It's that feeling - like being part of something BIGGER...a show - yes - but even bigger than that....
A part of this ...collective of creative energy...a handful of people - all with insanely ridiculous - yet ridiculously attainable dreams...talent...all coming together to make something work.
That rush, seconds before walking on stage...
That feeling...I don't want to say "validation" - but that feeling of "HELLL YESSS!" when the audience reacts in a huge way - it's like being hit by a strong, warm gust of wind...you close your eyes and just let it blow right through you...
No high can compete with that feeling...it's just not possible.
The people I've met in this play - seriously blow my mind.
Listening to their back stories and looking at what they have done...hearing about their dreams...where they want to go...it's inspired me so much.
It's over-whelming, just being around them. In a fantastic way.
Performers, buskers, make-up artists, sound and lighting, the talented people who switch up the sets, design the sets, BUILD the sets, directing, organizing, writing...so many different talents all focused on making something work.
I forgot how beautiful that is. When something works.
We all live wild and weird and ridiculous lives. But real. That's the important part.
When you live in La La Land...La La Land isn't such a ridiculous place.
It's real. Because whichever way we know - whether it means hopping up on a uni-cycle, introducing a rock and roll band in front of a stadium of thousands, writing a play, picking up a guitar on open mic night, reading a few words of slam poetry...or applying fake eye lashes and hobbling around in some killer heels...we find a way to do it...to live it. To make it real.
No one ever has ANY clue where life will take them.
No idea. No way of knowing.
Dreams. Pipe Dreams. Wild and crazy. Young and reckless...I guess dreams do not exist unless you do something with them.
Dreams are just useless thoughts unless you turn them into things.
And when you turn dreams into THINGS - when you make your imagination go to work and set it free and let it materialize...you start to feel that feeling...
The kind you get when you're writing and you just can't stop because it feels so fantastic and makes so much sense...the kind you get seconds before the stage lights up - and you look around and see a blur of faces and realize they are all looking at you, or they are all just as excited as you - or for whatever reason - are brought to the same spotlight as you - even if only for a few seconds...
It's connection...it's love...a different kind of love...but it's gotta be some form of love.
That rush. That feeling.
The notion that: "This is it...it's happening...right now."
All I can say - is thank you.
Thank you, Drag - for helping me remember what that feels like.

Just Weight.

2010-05-01T14:04:00.000-07:00

Some interesting wisdom stumbled its way into my hands the other day, by accident!
From - of all people - Alanis Morissette!
I didn't meet her or anything, I was reading an interview...and she brought up some really interesting points.
I can't say I am a huge fan of her music...I certainly don't dislike her...I just like my chick rockers a bit grittier...but that being said: No complaints.
She seems like a truly kind person, who is sincere - and she carries some really solid philosophy with her, which I love.
Anyway, she was talking about a subject which I have wrongly obsessed over for far too long:
Weight.
I remember when I became aware of my weight.
In fact, I remember the exact second it happened.
I was nine.
Grade 4.
Nine year olds aren't all that concerned with looks just yet.
And they shouldn't be.
No vanity. NO judgement.
I had a monster love for Nutella and Chef Boyardee.
And I spent some time alone that year, so I made myself LOTS of lunches on my own, which I had fun doing..
I made Chef Boyardee quite often.
Sometimes - I made two cans of Chef Boyardee.
That year I also learned how to fry up eggs and bacon (wasn't born vegetarian!) and it was game over.
I was a gourmet cook as far as I was concerned.
The more butter...the better.
I wondered why EVERYONE didn't cook using OCEANS of fried butter.
Eggs. Bacon. And maybe a can of Chef Boyardee.
And a Nutella sandwich for dessert.
Yum. That was a typical meal for my nine year old self.
I was happy and in my opinion - a very well fed kid!
Until this bitchy prissy little brat of a girl one day ended my blissful state of physical unawareness and shattered my childhood, so to speak:
"Look how fat you are."
That's all she said.
And she pointed to my stomach.
And I remember - crystal clear, lowering my head down and seeing my nine year old stomach protruding, drooping over the waist of my shorts.
I was shocked. Floored!
I couldn't believe *I* was "THAT KID"!
I looked at my best friend Michael, slim and trim.
I looked at the other kids.
Their stomachs didn't look like mine.
Mine was bigger. Flabbier. Squishier.
I did exactly what that little bitch said: I looked - and I saw how "fat" I was.
And that was it.
I thought about it all day. I felt uncomfortable in my own clothes for the first time.
I started eyeing up the other kids. Noticing their size.
Critically staring at them. Horrible.
I looked at all the extra space the other kids had, while I felt like I was busting out of my desk.
I noticed how their shirts hung off their bodies, loosely...and how my shirt clung to me, stretching at the seams. I resented them.
That's what I learned that day.
Absolutely horrible.
I weighed myself that night.
And I was shocked.
The next day at school - I asked my friends how much they weighed.
75lbs. 82lbs. 89lbs.
I was 135.
One hundred and thirty-five pounds. Age 9.
Not. Good.
I was aware that I was the heavy one.
I was aware of every extra curve, every extra-love-handle.
And in a way - it has been something I have been obsessing over ever since.
I never looked at bacon and eggs the same.
Or Nutella.
Or butter.
But that's not necessarily a bad thing.
The bad thing: I never looked at myself the same way. Ever. Again.
And don't get me wrong - this isn't some "poor me" rant...not at all.
But - it is how it was.
I remember - later that year - we were doing some project where we had to calculate the ENTIRE weight of the class...and that meant we each had to be individually weighed.
And I felt my heart start to pound.
I felt my eyes grow huge and my stomach shake with a hurricane of butterflies.
One by one all the skinny kids went up to the scale, while the teacher adjusted it and took notes and called out their weights:
"Michael - 81 pounds!"
"Matthew - 83 pounds!"
"Ted - 79 pounds!"
No one even came NEAR the one hundred pound mark - never mind over it...and I was coming up. My turn to get weighed.
And I saw - in a manic blur of grade school insecurity - how the scene was about to play out:
I would walk to the front. I would step up onto the scale.
She would have to slide a bunch of weights over to balance it.
And then - when she called out "Dan's Weight: One Hundred and Thirty-Five Pounds" - the class was going to gasp in shock and make fun of me.
I couldn't do it.
I know it's dumb, but I was shaking in my seat. Thinking insecure thoughts that a kid just shouldn't be thinking. Amazing how once a wall comes down - it's hard to put it back up.
I raised my hand...
"Yes Danny?"
I swallowed. And I lied:
"I have a sore throat, may I go to the office and call my mom?"

I got out of it.
But that was how it went. Paranoid. Ruined.
I looked in the mirror and saw "fat kid".

And here's the thing: I don't look or even NOTICE anyone else's weight! I honestly, TRULY do not.
I notice hair! For sure! I always notice a new hair-do, and I can spot a dye-job a mile away...oh yeah, I notice hair...but weight: I'm immune to it. I have no clue about body image, save for my own.
I no longer size people up and guesstimate their weight.
I have no need to. It's not an issue for me.
At least not externally.
I over-think though.
I internalize.
I always have.
It has been like that since that day that little bratty chick said those words: "Look how fat you are."
I've been looking ever since.
I lost the weight when I hit puberty and sky-rocketed. I actually got pretty skinny.
In high school, I had a decent build - slim.
But the weird thing...I still saw the fat kid.
I was never "anorexic" or bulemic.
Fortunately.
But the ground work? The paranoia? The insecurity? The obsessive tendancies?
I'm not fooling myself - they are there.
My friends roll their eyes at me.
"Dan," they'd say. "You're not fucking fat! Cut it out!"
One more thing about anorexia nervosa:
While I really have no business addressing it because I do not have the disorder, I can relate with what they say about looking into the mirror and seeing "the fat person".
Imaginary weight that isn't there.
I see it. I know it's a glitch of some kind in my brain, but it's there.
I was down to 160lbs once, when I did this incredibly unhealthy "no carbs diet"...and I see pictures of myself today - I was bone thin...but I remember thinking back then: "If I can just drop ten more..."
It's always "10 more" and it will ALWAYS be "10 more".
The "just ten more" is completely psychological.
I just have to let myself be happy with how I am. That's it.
The curves. The extra pounds - I am constantly aware. I have been aware since I was made aware, when I was 9.
But I slimmed down in high school...and then came University...with all those Keg parties and late night drunken trips to Taco Bell...some weight crept up on me.
I was no longer "slim".
I had a little extra baggage around the middle.
Not over-weight...but...not ideal either.
And I've kind of fought with that ever since.
20 pounds.
I fluctuate.
I go up to 195...which is high for me.
And I drop down to 170...which is ideal.
Right now - I am about 185.
Middle of the road.
And that's about where I'm gonna stay.
I keep myself in check. I don't diet...but I catch myself.
When I see that it has been a week of french fries and pitchers of beer and pasta dinners...I slow it down.
And the weight slips away.
But...185. This is me.
Ideal? No.
It never will be. I'm too hard on myself in the weight department.
I'm too self-conscious. I'll never be the guy who tears his shirt off at the beach without a care in the world.
It won't happen.
But - Alanis said something in that interview that really struck a chord.
She said: "I used to obsess...with this 20 pound window...and then it hit me: Today - I am the perfect weight. My body will be as perfect as it is going to be."
I love this.
It's positive.
See - picking myself apart and focusing on the bad...that's not me.
The glass is ALWAYS half full for me.
Always.
I find good in everything, I really do. Even the bad stuff...it can be looked at and I have ALWAYS found good in it. A lesson in something. It's a gift.
Obsessing over an extra pound or a roll...it's ridiculous and dumb.
It's focusing on something and turning it into a negative - when in truth: It doesn't have to be negative at all!

Some of you are probably rolling your eyes right now at me, and that's fine! I'll roll them with you.
Others - you know what I'm talking about.
I know you do.
That fight. That "it's never enough" feeling.
That fear of whipping off the shirt at the beach without a care in the world.
The girl who wears the wrap with her bathing suit like a protection device.
I know. I know. I know.

So - let's try it:
Today - our body is what it is:
Perfect.
What it is cannot be modified or changed.
We can't hate ourselves for what we are or what we look like.
We are just fine.

And no one has the right to tell us to feel otherwise.

It feels good to shed all that bullshit.

It is, quite literally - like a "weight" being lifted.
And it's the best kind to have lifted.

Why torture ourselves? We are what we are.
Let's be healthy. Physically and mentally.

The two are so connected, far more than I will ever know.
The body and the mind.
The heart too.
The hurt a 9 year old feels...it's percieved differently, but it's no different than the hurt the insecure 16 year old feels. Or the 20-something who can no longer eat the same things she used to back in the day.
Thing is: I'm starting to think it's all a bunch of mind games.
Or the 40-somethings who feel awful about ...something as simple as just being themselves.
It's not right to feel bad like that.
It's good to be healthy...but feeling bad about how we look...that's not right.
That's no way to get healthy.

The stuff others do to us...the stuff we do to ourselves...the stuff we do to each other.
We internalize...and it all becomes external.
Our confidence. How we carry ourselves. Even an extra pair of love handles.
It's all connected. They are all linked.

Bitches will be bitches.
BUT: If we love ourselves and what we are - they can't touch us.
They don't matter. They don't even exist.

I forgive that little slut for insulting me when I was 9.
In fact - I'm gonna go ahead and THANK HER.

It made me sensitive to certain things I may not have been sensitive to before.
I understand what it means to be happy with your weight - and I am going to share something with you:
If you're one of those people who struggles.. PLEASE KNOW RIGHT NOW - you are PERFECT.
Our bodies are all we have. And I guess - this SECOND is all we have too.
This is our home. This is it.
It can all be gone tomorrow.
What happens in the past - is in the past. It no longer exists either.
Right now, this second: You're absolutely fine.

So whether you're the thirty-something struggling to fit into that string bikini...
or the thirty-something afraid to tear his shirt off and dive into the pool...
or...most importantly: A little kid realizing that you're different...and you're hurting about the way you look...you do not have to.
You're only noticing you're as different as each and every person around you.
And that's a good thing. It's ALL you are.
It is everything. And it's all in our heads.
Perception. Confidence.

Today - you are where you should be. Tomorrow hasn't happened.
But no matter yet - remember - for every one thing there is to be unhappy about - there are probably 20 things to celebrate.
So take the things you like from yourself...learn to love them...and then spread it around to everyone you know.

There you go! No more hating ourselves!
I think it might be that easy.

Cheers...to a perfect day...and many more just like it.
And cheers to being JUST RIGHT.

My Elephant.

2010-04-25T13:22:00.000-07:00

I only have a few tattoos, and I got each one at very different phases in my life.
But I put equal amounts of thought into each one.
My latest tattoo is an elephant.
Why?

An elephant is this big, gigantic, majestic creature.
Like some ancestor of the dinosaurs...ancient...massive...yet gentle.
It's an interesting combo.
The first "toy" that ever really captured my fascination - was a set of black carved elephants my grandmother owned.
They were beautiful, probably much too fragile to let a child play with, but I treated them with respect.
I just liked holding them. The look of them. The feel of them.
Hand carved...rough edges...and the smooth, polished surface...shiny and black...for some reason, it was comforting holding them in my hands and lining them up and just looking at them.
To this day - when I think of my grandmother's apartment - I think of those little black soap stone elephants.

Elephants themselves are strange beasts.
Seeing one up close and personal...it's a mixed bag of emotion.
They inspire this mystic wonder...they're gigantic and frightening - capable of squashing a human like a bug...yet gentle.
There's a kindness in their eyes.
They are Vegetarian.
An example to all of us that "BIGGER" does not have to mean "DOMINATION".
I now believe that even though humans may be at the top of the food chain, it does not give us the right to destroy everything beneath us.
I have not always lived by this philosophy...and I certainly don't live this way completely now, but it's something I work on and something I think about.
I think about this often.
I try to respect nature as much as possible living in a city, and keep aware that creatures feel pain just as much as I do.
The only difference: Humans have the luxury of being able to complain when it hurts.

I see elephants as a symbol of freedom.
I see them as "poster children" for animals...and that includes us humans.
I see them as a symbol of that "freedom" - maybe even as a symbol of that small, primal part of our spirit that is still very much alive within our own animal instincts.
We're all animals. The planet really is equally ours.
I firmly believe this.
Humans are just greedy.
We developed it for our survival, sure...but we treat the other creatures who came from the same place we did as our slaves.
Each year when the circus comes to town I think about this.
About the animals in the show who are lugged around like stage props across highways for hours and hours on end - only to be taken out of their cages and trailers to perform for us.
Only to be put back into their trailers for more hours in the dark, on an unknown road.
It hurts me, I have no idea how, when or why it started to hurt me - but it does - it hurts to see or even THINK about these big, beautiful creatures in chains.
Covered in glittery costumes and forced to balance on balls or dance.
It's a mockery of their majesty. It's vulgar. Ugly.
It's a human thing to do to these animals, who just want to be left alone to graze and walk and be with their family.
Isn't that what we all want?
To be left alone?
And wouldn't the world be a happier place...if we left each other alone?
Freedom.

I also think they send a universal message of love.
They form families.
A herd of elephants is an entire extended family made up of mothers, sons, brothers, daughters, sisters, grandmothers...and really good friends, who they welcome into their family.
That says something to me. It speaks to me. It says: "I have your back, no matter what."
A universal message of monsterous love - and who better to teach it than a wild animal, who knows no rules or drama or he said/she said...
They do not know "gay" or "straight".
They pick those around them who they know they can depend on to spend the rest of their lives with.
Their best friends.
Anyone in a relationship - a successful relationship will know this is key.
You've gotta be best friends.
Being best friends...you surpass all that relationship drama...which is just bullshit.
Herds of elephants and the gentle way they live with each other and have each other's backs...I see it as a universal lesson.
A message of love.

Memory. The memory of elephants. Memory and nostalgia and the power of "never forgetting"...it has always spoken to me.
I remember being 6 years old and going to the Detroit Zoo with my grade 1 class, and we went to the elephants area.
A baby elephant approached us and I was allowed to feed it a peanut from my hand and pet its trunk.
"She will never ever forget your face, you know..." the instructor told me. "They remember forever."
Whether this is true or not...I think it's an amazing idea.
Never forgettting.
Remembering forever.
"Forever".
"Infinity."
Whether or not there is such a thing - this is how people live on, right?
In our memories.
In good memories.
And sometimes not so good memories.
But - we make good memories by living good lives and being good people.
For whatever reason, I remember nothing else about that day - about my trip to the Detroit Zoo.
But I remember the elephant, and even though there is no way of ever knowing...I wonder if it really would remember me?

I did some reading and discovered that on a literal sense - elephants symbolize illusion and fantasy.
They are said to "bring gifts of creativity" - but they also represent the danger of becoming LOST in illusion or fantasy.
This is when the "dreamer", so to speak - loses touch with challenges, opportunities...learning opportunities...in exchange for the lure of fantasy and imagination.
The elephant, i guess - is a reminder to live in the present.
A reminder to use creativity to BUILD those "far-fetched" dreams into a reality.
A reminder to transform thoughts into THINGS.

I struggle with this.
It reminds me of a song by the band R.E.M. called Get Up.
The lyrics: "Dreams they complicate my life..."
It's true. I spend a lot of time in La La Land.
I daydream quite often.
I place myself in fantasy scenarios, doing fantasy things.
And I get caught up. But thinking and dreaming - while wonderful and creative - is not productive in the physical sense and that is my battle.
Thoughts vs. Things.
I see the elephant as a symbol of this battle.
Big...vs Small.
It's an internalized battle...a gentle one.
A soft revolution inside each one of our heads.
All internalized. And glorious. And playful. And all good.
So an elephant, care free and gigantic and majestic...
I see it as a reminder to us.
A reminder to us that we are forever growing and learning.
Like kids.
We can pretend to be adults, but we never really will be.
There is no such thing as "growing up".
That doesn't exist. No one EVER "grows up".
There is no highest level, not on this planet.
We are all little kids. Students.
Every single day - has never, ever happened before.
Today has NEVER in the HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE - ever happened.
No one knows how this is going to play out.
We can only take what we can from each day and learn and apply it to whatever surprises tomorrow has in store for us.
That's why I can't stand it when someone says "grow up".
Tom Robbins, one of my favourite writers once said: "When they tell you to grow up - they mean stop growing."
Adults need to keep young at heart - or we start taking ourselves too seriously...we believe our hype...we believe the fantasy - which is fine.
But we have to remember the difference between fantasy and reality. That's what keeps us grounded.
That logic is what keeps our head high in the air and our feet planted firmly on the earth to tramp us around and obtain experience.
We are here for such a short time.
We have to be free to roam, to love...and to play - just like children.

I still have to get the ears done...but I'm so happy with it.
I love everything about my elephant tattoo.

Hearts and trumpets,
Dan

The Vatican and the Rat in the Corner.

2010-04-06T09:59:00.001-07:00

I need to get something straight...no pun intended.
Why is the Catholic league - Bill Donahue - the PRESIDENT of the Catholic League and Civil and Religious Rights - blaming this recent slew of sex scandals within the walls of the Catholic church...on gay people?!?
He recently addressed the issue saying it is NOT a "pedophilia crisis" but a "homosexual crisis".
What?
Isn't the crisis the fact that the Catholic LEADERS had a protocol to cover this mess up?
How is this the fault of the gays?
I am not anti-Catholic...I was BAPTIZED a Catholic...but - being gay has absolutely NOTHING to do with the fact that the LEADERS of the church took part in a child sex abuse cover-up!
They COVERED THIS UP!!!
THEY DID!
Again - no offense to Catholics...none.
But I am offended.
I am sickened and personally offended by this.
I'm sick of this bullshit.
The Catholic Church is busted.
Not the members of the Catholic Church.
I know many members. My friends, my families - this is NOT an attack on you.
But the leaders...they are flat out busted.
Busted. Big time.
And blaming this on gays?
I know exactly what is going on here. And we have to be careful.
We have to observe very carefully the language, the deception...the behaviour they put forth - especially within the coming months.
Humour me for a moment...
This is the behaviour of a rat.
Let me explain.
For the most part - when you see a rat - and act aggressively towards it - the rat will run and hide in its safe spot.
If you back the rat against a wall - into a corner - the rat will soon realize it has nowhere left to go.
Instinct takes over. The instinct of a rat.
The instinct of a rat is to attack for the weakest part of whoever it is who has backed it into the corner.
This is usually the throat. One of the more vulnerable areas on the human body.
It's an easy target. A way to throw off the attack.
They use fear as a weapon. They recognize the weakness and go for the throat.
Gays are an easy target.
So the rat goes for the gays.
Let's be honest here - the fact that the Pope sent out documents to his Bishops on how to handle a child sex scandal has absolutely NOTHING to do with gay people.
This has to do with a very rich group of people who hide behind what they call morals - with far too much power in their hands.
And they believe themselves infallible.
A rat's nest of lies. Deception.
I decided to keep my mouth shut about this whole thing because I am no longer a practicing Catholic - but I need to speak up because now I am being dragged into to it - so let's make it clear:
This is NOT a gay issue and this will NOT be made INTO a gay issue. I am SICK AND TIRED of religions blaming queers for everything from terrorism to priests covering up sex abuse. Nope.
I 100 percent support religious freedom! If a church doesn't want to marry me because I'm gay - COOL! Guess what? I don't want to get married in a church like that!
No self-respecting, sane gay person WOULD! There are plenty of churches who will marry gay people!
But just as much as we are CONSTANTLY being told we are NOT WELCOME in said churches - we are CONSTANTLY being dragged into them! Constantly.
Through blame.
The buildings fell - and it was the fault of the gays.
A soldier dies - because of the gays.
Oceans rise in Haiti and it must be the gays.
The levee breaks in New Orleans - must be gay marriage!
The pope covers up a sex scandal - blame the gays.
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!
The only thing we might be guilty of is bringing Britney Spears to the mainstream!
And I humbly apologize for that!
But all this bullshit - all this blame - it boils down to one thing: Accountability.
Someone covered up a shit load of child abuse. And someone will be accountable.
Someone has to be.
If a CEO of any other company or the person in charge of ANY other institution - the school board for example - was caught doing what the Pope and the higher ups in the Vatican have been doing - they would be sent to prison.
This is a lesson to us all.
Let's not get angry.
Let's learn.
Let's prepare.

Let's be ready because we have a very, VERY big rat in a corner right now.
It's sweating. It feels our eyes on it and it knows we're pissed.
It knows it's been creeping around and doing dark things and it knows we know.

So let's get ready, because it's about to start jumping for our throats.
This is about our children here. This isn't about religion.

What is going on here is about as far from religion as we can possibly get.

It's time to smoke out the rat - and if that means going for the nest - so be it.

I'll be honest here: I'm not much of a church-going guy...but that being said - I believe there is a line somewhere about "thou shalt not put any false gods before me" - and we have done that, it seems.

Worse yet - we have put these "false gods" who claim to be "infallible" before our children's livelihood.
I don't know if it is ego, or stupidity or trickery or what...but this is what we have done.

Time to undo. I think it's common sense. And I think it was only a matter of time before it got to this point.
No one is perfect. I certainly don't claim to be.

But here's the bottom line:

Don't fuck with our kids. A broken system creates broken children and broken children make broken adults who continue to function as broken people and the crack gets bigger and bigger and more of the cracks appear - and soon we are a divided people - divided up by our own fractures, our own cracks - all of us broken and seperated and split in two. Us and them and it's everyone's fault.

It's sad. But it's common sense.
This is everyone's fault. Our false idols have fallen.

I will not tolerate even the slightest ENTERTAINMENT of the idea that this is because of gays.
That is a lie.

This is the fault of the powers that be. And the powers that be - should be no longer, because they are only men.
Rich white men with too much power.
And absolute power corrupts - absolutely.

That's about the only universal truth I know. Power corrupts.

What these men have done goes against every moral in the bible. I don't go to church but I paid attention in bible study.
I took what I could from it. While I disagree with lots of people who use the bible as a weapon - I remember Jesus being a pretty compassionate guy. He was a nice guy.
He was a hippy, even. Peace, love, anti-war - certainly anti-child abuse.

Follow Jesus? I might not believe the same way others do - but as a person - he wasn't a bad role model.
Pretty fair. He didn't judge. Rich or poor.

He was fair. There was no us and them. Different strokes for different folks.
I try to live like that too.

It's a good way to live. It makes the most sense.
When someone says - "What would Jesus do?" - if they are referring to all those stories - in that book called the bible - where that one guy was always super nice to people and loved everyone unconditionally no matter what...hey - I won't argue you!

But I'm pretty sure the messages and morals in the bible - all which are pretty basic - have nothing to do with child abuse cover ups.

Nothing.

Anyone else see it that way? What is your take on this disaster?

Do we have a broken system? Are we just a bunch of petty gossipers, as the Vatican has said?

Or do we just have a rat, backed into a corner...with nowhere left to run...with nothing left to do except grasp at straws...and jump for our throats?

The "Paranormal Activity Incident"

2010-03-27T12:27:00.001-07:00

I wasn't a big fan of that movie Paranormal Activity when I saw it in theatres.
It wasn't because the movie was bad...I think it had more to do with the bratty teenagers who were on their cellphones, kicking the back of my chair and giggling like meth addicts the entire time.
It wasn't a good movie theatre experience.
In fact - it was more like an endurance test.
I couldn't focus on the film.
All I could feel was the foot of some teenage whore, kicking the back of my chair.
"Should I fuckin' mace the little bitches?" I remember asking my friend Heather, who sat next to me, continuously throwing evil, dirty, scowling looks their way.
I wanted to dump my pop on them. Humiliate them somehow.
Of course, they would have kicked my ass. Teenagers are far tougher than I.
So I just sat and boiled in misery. Stewed in it.
Yup. I'm an old man.
Anyway - it killed any suspense in the film and instead of being terrifed - I sat in that theatre trying to contain my boiling, volcanic "movie theatre rage".
There's NOTHING like "movie theatre rage".
We left HATING the film because the experience sucked so bad.
That's why my friend Heather and I decided to give the film a second chance.
We watched it last night - just the two of us - in the comfort of my house - on the big 52 inch screen - while Wayne was out with Julie doing "Casino Things" at the Casino.
I turned out the lights, shut off the porch light and popped in the DVD.
What a differece.
The quietness of the house. The uneasy creeks of my hardwood floors mimicked the creeks in the film.
I kept looking over my shoulder, in the kitchen...behind my back...out the window...
"Oh my god! I can't believe how freaky this is!" I remember saying to Heather.
"Especially without the little fuckers making all that noise..."

I have to be honest - I'm a wimp when it comes to ghost stories. I really am.
Do I believe in them? I have no effing idea.
Am I freaked out by them? Yes.
I know - that makes ZERO sense - but so help me, it's the way my brain works.
Don't believe in them...but afraid of them. It's how I feel.
And - I am especially freaked out and uneasy when Wayne is not home.
Don't ask why.
When he's not here.... The house feels unstable...it feels bigger than it is.
It's as if every corner, every shadow, every room is harbouring some kind of dark and evil entity with one purpose in life: To make me shit my pants with fright.
You better believe - with just Heather and I in the house -and that creepy-as-hell movie on the big screen...I was feeling mighty tense. Mighty uneasy.
I kept looking at the clock. And pouring myself rye and cokes.
At one point - I looked out the front window,eyeing a suspicious lone figure walking by the house.
What if it's a killer?!?!
I quickly shook my head. I was being stupid. It was only 9:30 at night. It was perfectly normal to be walking down the street.
Stop scaring yourself, you asshole, I cursed to myself.
I poured another rye and whiskey and got back into the film, completely on edge.
Something in the kitchen creeked and I jumped.
*sigh*
stoppit. now.
It was during a particulariliy intense and suspenseful scene in the film - the "attic scene" - without giving anything away...when I noticed movement outside.
I paid no attention.
It's nothing Dan, stoppit!
Then I heard Heather make a sound...a gasp. She noticed something too.
"Dan!!...I think...." and then her voice changed to a long, loud horrified: "AHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
She SCREAMED!!!!! She was sitting - bolted upright in her chair - eyes wide pointing at the window...
And then immediately - with terror in her voice - she said:
"Someone is hiding and peeking in your window on your front porch!!!"
I looked and sure enough, to my fucking HORROR - saw someone crouched down, peeking in the window.
Shivers flew up and down my spine and I went COLD.
"What the FUUUUUUCK!" I heard Heather scream!
What the fuck indeed, I thought.
My sentiments - EXACTLY.
I bolted up - instantly on my feet - realizing the front door was not locked - and whoever it was who was crouching on my porch was just inches from the door.
It was like a slow motion nightmare...I ran to the door just as the person who was on my porch started to fiddle with the doorknob.
They began to open the door to my house - clearly not caring that we were there - which was testament to the sinister things they had planned.
If they were bold enough to come in while we were home - they weren't planning on robbing us.
I fucking KNEW that guy was not just walking by!
Just as the door began to open - I reached it - and pressed my weight against it:
*SLAM*
My heart was pounding...what next? Bolt and call 911? Escape out the back door? What do we do!?!?
My eyes were crazed - my adrenaline pumping...keep in mind - this all took place in about 1.5 seconds.
My mind was RACING.
Then I heard a voice through the door from the outside...
"DAN!! DAN!! It's me! It's Wayne!"
What? It CAN'T be!!
I peeked out the window on the door - and there was Wayne, a combination of guilt and HORROR on his face. Horror and guilt over our reaction.
He thought he was just gonna give us a funny little "startle".
Instead - We freaked.
"Jesus CHRIST!!" I said, slightly angry, slightly relieved - cracking the door open... still not completely sure..."You scared the FUCK out us!"
My hands were shaking, heart was pounding.
Then of course - we started laughing.
"Didn't you see me walk up to the house?" he asked. I noticed he too was ghost white.
"Well...I thought I saw something...but I wasn't paying attention because I didn't wanna work myself up and scare myself over nothing."
*sigh*
A tad late for that.
Mind you - it totally added to the ambience of the film.
After a good scare like that - I was still on edge, despite the many rye and cokes that followed.
I mean - think about it: For a split second, I thought someone was ducked down on my porch, peeking in - getting ready to do something evil.
That's not a good feeling. It's a horrifying feeling.
Fight or Flight literally took over.
My "split-second panic plan" was to bolt the door shut - grab the cat - and then run with Heather out the back door - phone in hand dialing 911.
Luckily - it didn't have to go down that way.
Wayne was visibly shaken for at least 10 minutes after the "incident" as well - amazed and distrubed at our VIOLENT and QUICK reaction to what he thought was going to be "just a little startle".
We watched the rest of the film in silence - the house still creeking, the suspense still thick - but it was all good because Wayne was there - and call me sappy - but as long as he's in the house - I know deep down that the creepy shadow men don't DARE try to pull any of that spooky bullshit.
Because Wayne would fuck 'em up.
He's just that kinda guy.

Oh - and for the record - being terrified like that sucks - but it beats teenage bitches kicking the back of your chair in a crowded movie theatre ANY DAY.

Killing is Compassionate! Give Guns to Kids! KA-BOOM!

2010-03-25T06:08:00.001-07:00

I try to live by a mantra.
A line I discovered at a very young age in a Sly and the Family Stone song - but it works and it keeps me in check when I find I'm getting "out of line".
It's simple:
Different Strokes for Different Folks.
And I struggle with this. I do.
I'm a Taurus. I'm a little bit self-centered in opinion at times and I am a VERY opinionated and stubborn person.
So - Different Strokes for Different Folks. It's a lesson in life I have yet to conquer.
But the words: They make sense to me. They can be applied to anything.
So I'm going to tread lightly here. I don't want to offend anyone.

I know there are different opinions, different cultures, different traditions.
I just want to share something.
My own personal thoughts.

I was listening to the Lynn Martin show (in case you are not familiar - she has a daily talk show on AM 800 CKLW - 9am - noon) - and the topic was hunting.
Hunting is something I never really "protested" because I know people make a living on it.
Do I like the idea? No.
I don't like the idea of eating meat either - but I never give anyone ANY shit for eating meat.
Different strokes for different folks.
It's just not for me and I'm not about to rip on ANYONE if they make a living or put food on the table by doing what they have to do.
It's a part of life, and I understand that. I get it.
But the topic of the talkshow was not "hunting to survive"...it was hunting for "fun".

Again - this isn't what disturbed me.
If you wanna go out and blow something's head off for a trophy...fine.
It's not against the law.
I don't agree with it - but I'm just an animal loving hippy.
What do I know?

It is THIS that disturbed me:
They were discussing a book by a man named Randall Eaton. A "doctor".
And he was talking about hunting as a "rite of passage" - especially for troubled kids.
Give them a gun and let them go out and become "one with nature".
He claims that game hunting is a way to converge with nature, that it shows compassion, that it teaches life lessons.

I don't want to offend any hunters.
But I'm sorry. I don't get it.

If you want to converge with nature - go on a nature hike.
If you want to get up close and personal with animals - go sit in a forest - Ojibway Park for example - and watch for deer.
Observe them. Quietly.
Watch them move.
Watch how they act.
The gentle way they step on the forest floor...the peacefulness about them.
That will teach you something about compassion. About peace.
I guarantee it. I PROMISE YOU.

Now take that same scenario and add a shot gun and the deafening sound of a bullet ringing out - and the graphic image of said bullet tearing through the neck of the peaceful deer.

One with nature?

Really?

The book is called "Why Hunting is Good for Bad Children".
It asks questions - like Is hunting good for kids? Why do they do it? Is it sport or is it instinctive? Does hunting encourage violence or does it teach empathy and compassion? Would it be a more peaceful world if more men hunted?

I don't buy this.

While I agree - when a child is troubled - perhaps they need something - an activity, a sport, a club, some guidance - something to focus on...I understand that...I even understand the sport of archery or target practice. I get it.

But I can't understand how giving a troubled child a gun and allowing them to kill defenseless animals is a good idea.
A way to show compassion? In which twisted world?

The author of the book conducted questionnaire surveys on thousands of mature hunters who described their attitude toward animals they hunt as "respect, admiration and reverence."

I respect and admire and revere David Bowie.

But I sure as hell would never think of pulling out a shot gun and blowing him away because of it.
Wouldn't that be filed under "fucked up"?

In fact - I agree with the hunters.
I respect, admire and feel MUCH reverence when in presence of the awesome display nature presents.
I also think placing a loaded gun into the equasion is the best way to FUCK IT UP.

More than 80 percent of the hunters claimed they prayed for the animals they killed or gave thanks to God.
So?

Seriously. So?
So fucking what.

You prayed. What water is that supposed to hold?

If someone pulled the trigger of a loaded gun to my head - would I give a shit if they prayed first?
No.
Because I'd be dead.
Fuck "praying".

With all due respect.
I have nothing against praying or god or religion - but I am sick of people hiding behind this.
If you killed a deer - you killed a deer.
Praying has NOTHING to do with it.

While I doubt Jesus was a vegetarian - I know he had a liking for fish - I don't know...would he be cool with blowing shit away for a fancy bear skin rug? Or a charming deer head trophy?

Who's to say?

Eaton's survey also asked hunters what life event most opened their hearts and engendered compassion in them. The choices included death of a loved one, death of a beloved pet, becoming a parent, and taking the life of an animal.

Taking the life of an animal.

"These results indicate the fundamental polarity of human life. Women are adapted to bring life into the world, but men are adapted to take life to support life," Eaton said.

Bullshit. This demoralizes men. I know this is rare - but we deserve better.
What are we, apes?

Sure - I drink beer, I laugh at fart jokes - and I have puked on my fair share of other people's rugs after making a complete CLOWN of myself - but am I a senseless killing ape with an innate force urging me to pick up a club and beat my bear skin rug to death...because it's "fun"?

Quite simply: No.

The same survey asked respondents to choose those universal virtues they learned from hunting. The top three choices were inner peace, patience and humility.

I have felt all three of those from animals.

I had the privelege of seeing a deer up close once - in its natural habitat. And I stopped and stared.
I felt all of those emotions.
Patience. Humility. Inner Peace.

I am sorry - hunters.
I mean no disrespect.

Like I said - it is something I struggle with - my little mantra:
Different Strokes for Different Folks.

But I believe there is a line.
I don't understand how - unless it's a mercy kill - killing ANYTHING can bring out inner-peace.

Live and let live.
To me, that is inner peace.

But that's just me.

Like I said - I'm an opinionated fucker.
But I mean no disrespect. And I never judge.

It's just how I feel.
Ka-boom.

One Ninety.

2010-03-18T08:47:00.001-07:00

190.

I want a tattoo.

Fuck off.

190.

I am a Violent and Rage Filled Person.

2010-03-02T05:38:00.001-08:00

"Dan, you are soooo laid back!"
"You're always so calm!"
"Are you even CAPABLE of getting mad?"

I hear this quite a bit...and it's true. I'm rather laid back. Not a whole lot really "gets to me".
I figure there are two ways of handling a shitty situation:
You can do it in hysterics...or you can do it calmly and in control.
You can't control a situation...but you CAN control how you react.
I choose to be level headed about it. Most of the time.
But...
Well...how can I say this?
Ladies and gentlemen, I have a dark side.
I have a dark side - and it reared its ugly head a few mornings ago.
I was getting ready for work - and I was having one of "those" days.
Nothing fit me.
All my shirts were somehow 19 sizes too small.
My cozy sweaters - for whatever reason - were not cozy, they were itchy and uncomfortable.
Laundry wasn't done so my choices were limited and I was running late.
I stood in the bedroom, in my underwear, trying to find something to wear.
I grabbed the fail safe option: Blue jeans and a black sweater.
I would wear a white t-shirt underneath the black sweater because, for whatever reason, I like the look of a white t-shirt sticking out.
What can I say? I'm a fan of the sloppy look.
Wayne was in the car, sitting patiently, a not-so-subtle sign that I had to haul my ass.
I tossed on the jeans and my favourite belt, then threw on the t-shirt and the black sweater over top.
I looked in the mirror.
Awful.
See - I have a thing with t-shirts.
A "tick" if you will.
I cannot stand it if the neck is stretched out. I like it on the tighter side.
This t-shirt, the neck was stretched and gigantic. It didn't fit right.
I sighed and took off the sweater and chucked the white t-shirt on the floor.
I grabbed another.
Too tight. It looked like I had breasts the size of Dolly Parton and even BIGGER love handles.
Dammit anyway, I cursed and threw that one on the floor as well.
I glanced out the window to see Wayne, sitting in the car, his eyes staring dead ahead.
The clock radio by the bed read 8:49am.
I grabbed another t-shirt, an older one this time, not EXACTLY white...a bit more beige, discoloured with age.
It fit like a baby-tee. Slightly see-thru. Not that this mattered since it was to go under a black sweater anyway, but it bothered me.
I wasn't comfortable.
I threw it in the pile, my brows clenched in a stressed out frown.
8:52am.
My heart was pounding, my hair - all but DESTROYED from all the putting on and taking off of the t-shirts.
I didn't even brush my teeth yet.
I was shirtless.
SHIRTLESS.
I tore through the closet, sweat breaking out on my forehead - in search of ANY shirt - I didn't even care which colour.
I just needed to get to work.
8:55am.
And then - like a miracle... I found it.
My old standby white t-shirt.
The one that is cut just PERFECT and can be worn by itself OR under a sweater.
"YES!" I whispered, happy, grabbing it and running to the bathroom.
I tossed it on, and looked in the mirror.
The neck was stretched out.
Stretched out, frayed and destroyed.
It looked horrible - like something a homeless person might wear.
My old standby sweater...failed me.
And just like that - I lost it.
LOST IT.
"You FUCKER!!!!" I shouted out loud.
Pluto - the cat - as if sensing my animalistic RAGE - fled the room with a terrified meow.
This pissed me off even more.
What? Was she AFRAID of me?
I'm a fucking vegetarian for crying out loud!!!
I wouldn't hurt a HAIR on her head!!! She KNOWS this. But now I'm the bad guy, I'm the big bad wolf who eats cats, right? RIGHT?!?!
I tore the shirt from my body, practically frothing out the mouth with FURY, the pressure of being late for work, of keeping Wayne waiting and making him late - the fact that my favourite, old standby t-shirt looked like pure shit on me...it all mounted up - the rage swelling from the pit of my stomach, up to my chest and my pounding heart, straight to the top of my sweating forehead, until - just like a volcano - I exploded.
I crammed the t-shirt into my mouth and BIT IT!!
Tore it with my teeth.
Like a child throwing a temper tantrum, I ate my t-shirt.
Ripped it to shreds with my teeth and hands and threw it in the pile with the others.
Breath and heart accelerated - favourite t-shirt - destroyed. In tangles and shredded strips on the floor as if a wild animal went to town on it.
But it wasn't a wild animal.
It was me - in a fit of intense, boiling rage.
I ate my t-shirt.
"I ate my t-shirt," I said out loud.
Oh Danny...cute little Danny he's so calm and nice and laid back, nothing phases him, always so happy go lucky...
The words echoed in my head like ghosts, taunting me.
Cute little Danny has HAD IT.
Nice guys don't eat their t-shirts.
Only people like me do things like that.
And then - almost as if by magic - I began giggling.
Like a mad man insane with anger, giggling, the bland taste of cotton on my tongue.
Of course - this solved NOTHING.
I still had nothing to wear.
"Fuck it!" I sad out loud - to no one - and threw on a concert t-shirt and hoodie.
"Done."
I made it out to the car, a bit more calmed down by this point, but my face still felt flushed.
"Sorry I took so long," I apologized as I got in the car.
"You didn't take long..." then he must have noticed the tone in my voice or the flush in my cheeks..."What's wrong?" Wayne asked.
"What?" I tried to sound cheery and surprised that he would think ANYTHING was wrong.
"Nothing is wrong. I'm fine!"
The radio was on and a Theory of a Deadman song chimed in.
I fucking HATE Theory of a Deadman.
I felt a twitch in my eye and I flicked the station off.
"Ahhh," I smiled, taking a deep breath. "Much better."
We drove to work in silence.
By the time we made it to my work - I was happy. The t-shirt eating incident all but forgotten.
My hoodie would do just fine.
I walked into my office and gave a quick little apology:
"Sorry I'm late," I said, taking my seat and firing up my computer. "I was having one of THOSE mornings..." and I gave a polite laugh. "NOTHING seemed to fit!"
"Oh I know!" said a co-worker. "I know exactly what you mean!"
Unless you mean you ALSO eat your undergarments when they don't fit, then - no, you have no IDEA what kind of morning I am talking about, honey... I wanted to say.
I decided against it.
All was right with the world. It was a beautiful morning.
I was happy and calm.
Ready to seize the day and do the job I love to do.

So...cut to last night - at home, Wayne was folding some laundry.
"What is this...?" he asked.
"What is what?" I asked, looking up from the book I was reading.
"This.." - He held up the shredded, destroyed remnants of my favourite, old standby t-shirt.
"Oh..." I sighed. "That."
I explained to him that I got mad.
That I got so mad...I kind of put the t-shirt in my mouth and tore it to pieces.
"You did this with your teeth?" he asked, looking at the gigantic tear marks, shock and disbelief washing over his face.
"Yeah," I said. "But I was like, really, REALLY mad."
Hey - it happens sometimes, right?

I try to live life in a calm way. Peacefully.
I honestly try to be nice to everyone.
And it's not really a challenge. I don't normally get angry.
I never snap. I never yell.
What's the point?

But make no mistake.
There is rage in me.
And it is ferocious.
Just ask my t-shirt.

My old standby t-shirt that never had a chance.

What can I say?
I miss the poor bugger.
I miss my old standby t-shirt.

*sigh*

Off to get ready for work.

Happy, HAPPY Tuesday!

Dan

A Sincere and Honest Question. About Boobs.

2010-02-25T05:13:00.001-08:00

Last night I was at a bar, sitting at a table with a bunch of heterosexual women.
Okay fine, one lesbian too.
But - all girls. I was the sole male.
About 6 of us.
Our waitress came by and leaned down to clear our table and take our order - and instantly, magnetically, uncontrollably, my eyes were drawn to her EXTREMELY gigantic, watermelon-like boobs.
I couldn't help myself! She had a captivatingly AWESOME set of hooters.
I.
WAS.
MORTIFIED!
Mortifed with myself!
There I was - eyeing up this poor woman's chest, drinking her in faster than my pint of shitty draft beer, and I knew it was wrong, but so help me GOD - at that moment in time - I didn't wanna be right!
I almost leaned in to get a closer look down what appeared to be her neverending ravine of cleavage.
"Can I get you another drink?" she asked me, smiling.
I quickly moved my eyes back up to hers, blushing in shame.
Flustered.
Busted.
"Sorry, ...pardon me?" I asked.
Her bust had a trance-like effect on me.
"Something to drink?" she repeated, smiling.
How could she NOT have noticed my stare?!?
I felt dirty and filthy and ashamed.
"Another pint please."
I was both disgusted and HORRIFIED with myself.
The waitress left the table and I moved my gaze back to the TV screen, the hockey game - Canada Vs. Russia, and tried to think wholesome thoughts, tried to make sense of what just happened.
"Well....?," one of the girls at the table chimed in, and I knew EXACTLY where she was going... "What did you think?"
"You mean...what did I think...of...her boobs...?" I asked, slightly afraid that was not what she was asking me at all.
"YES!!! Did you SEE those things!??!"
Phew!
And the table erupted in conversation.
It appears I was not alone.
Every straight woman there was eyeing up this poor woman's rack.
"There is no WAY those are real!"
"No - I think they are! They had too much jiggle to be fake!"
"Not a chance - no one has tits like that!"
"No - those puppies were real!"
Then - the BEST comment:
"Dammit - I missed them!"
The lesbian said that.
The only one who - by NATURE - MIGHT be attracted to this woman and her gazoongas, didn't even notice them!
Riddle me THAT, Batman.
And that says a LOT - because they were hard NOT to notice.
The chick was blessed in the breast if you catch my drift.
Even I was tempted to slam my face between them and give 'em a good ole motor-boating.
But that's besides the point.
The thing is: The straight chicks and the gay dude were obsessing over this chick's boobs!
I sat back in stunned silence as I witnessed everyone at our table engaging in a full on debate over our server's breasts.
"I swear, they're real!" one said.
"Not a chance! Those things are TOTALLY fake!"
"Shhh!!" another said, then lowered her voice to a whisper:
"She's coming back! Get a good loook this time!"
The waitress set my beer down in front of me and I kept my eyes dead ahead, using every fibre of my being to stay focused on the wall - ignoring her and her chest that beckoned and commanded my attention.
"Your pint," she said kindly, as if tempting me to take a look.
"Thank you," I returned, REFUSING to make eye contact, refusing to even LOOK her way for fear of my naughty wandering eyes.
After what seemed like an endurance test of will power to keep my eyes trained on the wall, the waitress left.
It was as if the entire table exhaled in relief.
"Okay, those were pretty big," the lesbian said.

So my question - dear friends.
What is it about boobs?

Because had you asked me that question yesterday - I would have said it is "a straight boy thing".
But there were 6 of us at the table, all captivated by this woman's breasts - and there was not a single straight boy among us.

Why do we obsess?
Why do we stare?
Why can a man take off his shirt in public, but not a woman?

Is a breast considered "obscene"?
Is it the size? or the nipple that makes it "taboo"?
Men have nipples.

A woman can appear on the cover of Maxim Magazine showing EVERYTHING except her nipple.
Her ENTIRE breast is shown, the size, the shape...minus the nipple.

Yet, if the same woman wore a turtle neck sweater which showed NO skin...EXCEPT it had two holes cut out for the nipple to show, they would probably have to censor it.

Can ANYONE shed any light on the enigma of the boob?

Apparently any gender and sexual orientation can appreciate them...they are the object of men's fantasies, the source of many women's insecurities, and lunch to new born babies.

Anyone? Thoughts on breasts? Because I sure as hell CANNOT explain it - but I will say this:
If this poor waitress was eyed up like a piece of meat by 5 girls and a gay boy, I can't even IMAGINE what she goes through on a daily basis, serving beer to straight boys in a sports bar.

Signed,

"Baffled by Boobies in Windsor."

A Soft Spot for Bitches.

2010-02-23T18:31:00.001-08:00

I have a soft spot for bitches. When I say "bitches" I mean, bitchy negative people.
I have a soft spot for them.
I do.
I see myself in them.
Not to say I'm a bitch - at least, I hope I don't come off that way - but...when someone is constantly spewing out negativity - I feel for them, almost instantly.
Sure, my first instinct is to get annoyed...maybe even tell them to shut the f*ck up and quit bitching...but when I think about where all the b.s. is coming from...I'm pretty sure it all comes from a place called unhappiness, and that sucks.
Any time I have ever taken a snipe at someone or been argumentative...it's usually because I feel threatened in some way.
Which is ridiculous.
If I'm wrong, I should be able to own up to it.
If I'm right...why should someone else's opinion/argument bother me?
If someone is calling me "purple"...is it REALLY worth it to get fired up and argue with them?
I'm NOT purple.
So who cares?
...right?
Anyway, I'm drifting.
Bitches.
Yes - it all goes back to the bitches.
I see no difference between a grumpy negative person who is constantly putting people down - and a quiet, shy, socially awkward and insecure person, who is petrified of even speaking.
It's all insecurity. Just different manifestations of it.
Different ways of expressing that someone just doesn't feel "good enough".
Like that constant need to bring others down, so they can feel better.
Or perhaps it's the fear of not being good enough, so they don't speak, they withdraw to avoid failure.
Or maybe - it's the desire to be liked...above and beyond anything because for whatever reason, they don't like themselves.
They want to be the star of every story, they want to be everyone's best friend.
Mean people...they have an underlying sadness.
Because no matter how many horrible things they say about other people...it can never match the horrible feelings they harbour about themselves.
Me - personally: I've always had a really rough time with one word: "No."
I can barely bring myself to say it to someone.
And there is a difference between "being nice and always doing stuff for people" and "not being able to say no".
Not being able to say "no" - is a huge fault.
This stems from the same place as bitchiness...it's just directed in a different way.
I guess I fear being disliked? I fear people not approving?
I fear being a disappointment, maybe?
Who knows?
But I can NEVER say no - and what does this result in?
Me constantly double booking myself - and eventually - having to ditch plans with someone last minute.
Lovely, eh?
Wouldn't it have been EASIER to just say "no thank you, I have plans" the first time?
But alas, I never do.
It's the one lesson life has tried to teach me again and again and again...but it's a sticking point.
I hate saying "no".
And bitches...I see the smug face, the smile, the bragging, the fierce competition and need and desire to be bigger and better than everyone else, no matter what.
That's gotta hurt.
That's gotta hurt, to always have to try to lower people down to that small, ugly place.
It must hurt to constantly feel like less a person, to not like yourself...and if you don't like yourself...it's impossible to truly like anyone else.
Sad.
Have you ever tried to be nice to a bitchy person?
I have. I've tried to compliment them...and it's frightening.
When you compliment a bitchy person, they are a sponge.
They glow. They thrive on it.
They light up like Christmas...hungry for that same approval - that acknowlegement that "yes, you are great..."
They are the eternal victim.
I imagine it's like a high or a drug..- praise - but usually...it inflates that ego even more...the same ego that is keeping them down in that ugly, lonely unhappy place.
The ego that makes them the centre of the world, where all their faults are on display and EVERYONE sees them.
Of course - this isn't true. No one is looking for faults.
Because everyone has them.
We're the centre of our own universe, I guess.
But there are a billion others around us who feel the same way.
Bitchiness is just a symptom.
Pay no attention to it.
They cannot hurt you.
They only wanna use you like a ladder, to step on you and raise themselves up.
In truth, they can't even do that - if you recognize what is going on.
It's nothing personal. It's just sad.
I might not want to be friends with a bitch because it's similiar to being friends with anyone who emanates self-destructive behaviour...
but I could never hate them.

I can only feel sorry for them.
Because that's gotta hurt.

That's gotta hurt, like a bitch.

Patti Smith: Saint Andrews Hall - Detroit.

2010-02-19T20:21:00.000-08:00

Seeing Patti Smith gets my blood pumping.
The energy she brings to the stage - every single time - blows my mind.
She's punk's priestess and poet laureate. But that's been said a million times.
She's a slice of New York spliced with undeniable grit and big city grime of Detroit.
She is Rock and Roll.
If you were at Saint Andrews Hall Friday February 19th for Patti's amazing return "home", you'll recall something very special went down.
She rallied up the ghost of her late, beloved husband, guitarist for Lincoln Park's own MC5 - Fred "Sonic" Smith in an awe-inspiring tribute - a show sprinkled with stories from their past, her eyes sparkling with the same nostalgic wonder as if not a single day had passed.
She harnessed the spirit of Detroit - filtered it through her band and spat it back into the crowd with venom and spit and feedback and power.
She felt it. The crowd felt it. The city shook.
February 19th, 2010 - Patti Smith came home.
Sold out show at Saint Andrews Hall, she gave a gratious tip of the hat to the Motor City - applauded our strength, our bravery, bowing to our endurance.
She called out tribute to another rock and roll poet - the late Jim Carroll - resurrected the lives of all his friends long since gone in a manic and joyous cover of People Who Died.
Trance-like, overcome with music - seeing Patti Smith is unlike anything I've ever experienced. The audience stayed riveted, energized, soaking up everything she gave and giving it all back.
Maybe it's because every time I see Patti Smith, she's playing in her beloved city of Detroit which harbours so many amazing memories for her...
Maybe she's just that good.
But she can do on stage - at the golden age of 62 - what most 21 year olds strive to do, but never come close.
High points included the explosive "Free Money" from her debut Horses, a psychedelic and spacey Beneath the Southern Cross, the show-stopping Gloria followed closely by the war cry to take back our dead city - People Have the Power.
Everyone's arms were in the air. It felt good to be a part of it.
It felt great to be from Detroit.
A hopefull, mighty feeling of rebellion and conquering.
All together.
That's what Rock and Roll is about.

- Dan MacDonald

Set List
Frederick
Redondo Beach
Free Money
Improvisation/My Blakean Year,
We Three,
People Who Died,
Wing,
Beneath the Southern Cross,
Ain’t it Strange,
Pissing in a River,
Because the Night,
Gloria,
People Have the Power*,
(encore):
Tracks of My Tears (Happy Birthday Smokey! Forgive us for what we are about to do!)
Rock n Roll N-----

10 Years.

2010-02-05T11:22:00.000-08:00

A milestone today.
Our ten year anniversary.

Congrats to us.
Life Partner - (whose adventures are often chronicled here in my little section of Blogville real estate) - has been nothing but a positive, upward influence in every aspect of my life.

We met February 5th, 2000.
10 years ago today.

And we have been virtually inseperable since.

"It was only a matter of time before I met you."

He said that the night we met - and the funny thing: I knew EXACTLY what he meant.

I know I can be mushy and mellow dramatic - but allow me to indulge for a minute: He truly is the greatest thing to ever happen to me.

Happy decade to me, to Life Partner...to us.

One decade.
10 years.

(That's like, 75 in gay years.)

BIGGEST LOSER - FIFTH WEIGH IN

2010-02-04T11:20:00.000-08:00

Lost 6 ounces.
Big whoop.
Gained that last time.
So - I stayed the same.
More or less.
Yoga. Water. Eat right.
Blah. Blah. Blah.

Let's see if I can gain a pound next week!

Gotta mix it up, right?

Dan

BIGGEST LOSER - FOURTH WEIGH IN

2010-01-28T11:10:00.000-08:00

Bastards.
There, I said it.
I gained 6 ounces, okay?
Six ounces.
What?
Got a problem with that?
Because... *sigh*...I don't.
I really don't.
I could go pee and lose that.
Six ounces.
I didn't REALLY gain.
I had a wedding the weekend prior to the weigh in.

I promised myself I'm not going to restrict myself. I'm going to eat and enjoy life.
We only have one.
I'm not going to abuse my body and load it up with a bunch of shit I don't need either - but hell - on occasion - if I'm at a wedding or a gala and I feel like having...oh - nineteen cocktails - SO BE IT!
Kidding. Not nineteen.
But - I had about 5. Which is a little over-indulgent.
Shoot me. I'm human.
Nope...I didn't make my goal...but - oh well.
I went to yoga 4 times this week and I'm enjoying it.
It's giving me a nice base too - teaching me self-discipline, self-respect, and everything in moderation.
That's the key.
Ups and downs.
Disappointments and huge successes.
It's what we're made up of. That's life.

So...the break down, shall we?

Weight on first weigh in January 7th: 191.4
Weight on second weigh in January 14th: 189.0
Weight on third weigh in January 21st: 187.0
Weight on fourth weigh in January 28th: 187.6

I'll get there. I promise I will.
Seven pounds.
Seven pounds and 6 ounces that is.

Yoga. Water. Eating right.
All of it.

In moderation.

Most of all - a positive attitude.
The idea of gaining after a week of work...it makes you wanna say "Fuck it!" and gorge on a big of chips.
But...why?

That only makes things worse.

Smile and onward.

Dan

BIGGEST LOSER - THIRD WEIGH IN

2010-01-21T07:07:00.001-08:00

It's week 3 of the Biggest Loser competition here at work, and I have to admit: I wasn't expecting much this week.
Oh, I ate well. I ate REALLY well.
Drank my water. Raw veggies. Nuts. Proteins. Vitamin B12.
I have returned to a 99.9% vegan diet. I believe I may have eaten bread on the weekend that COULD have been made with eggs.
That's it.
But...that's not to say I didn't have some "oopsie" moments.
Broadcasting live from the Auto Show in Detroit all weekend long...the food there is limited and I'm not allowed to bring raw vegetables across the border.
So..I had some chips.
Some yummy fried veggie sandwiches.
Some pop. Some crackers.
Then I went and saw City & Colour at the Fillmore and... I had about 4 pints of beer.
Screw it! A boy's gotta have fun!
Then - I ate Indian w/ a friend.
I went to an art show at the AGW and had a glass of white wine.
Not exactly the stuff that diets are made of.
Then again - I never said I was dieting. I was only going to make a conscious effort to get healthy.
Again..."healthy" isn't the word I would use to describe my food intake.

That being said - I did start yoga. Which I'm loving.
And - I did drink lots of water. And since Monday - I have eaten nothing but healthy, nutritious portions -a wide variety of whole grains, veggies and dairy substitutes.

Last week - after losing little over 2 pounds, I set a goal for myself:
2.5 pounds.
Sorry to say: Goal NOT achieved.
But...
I am down 2 pounds! That pesky 1/2 pound ...I'm going to say it fell victim to the good time I had with the delicious food and drink I enjoyed.

But hey - gotta focus on the positive: Two pounds!
This is a good thing!

So...the run down - here's what my journey into "Slim and Trim Land" looks like so far:

Weight on first weigh in January 7th: 191.4
Weight on second weigh in January 14th: 189.0
Weight on third weigh in January 21st: 187.0

That's a steady loss, and that's fine with me!
Goal for next week: 2.5 pounds.

And I have a plan:
More yoga. Less junk.
Lots of water.

Fail to plan, plan to fail. Slow and steady wins the race.
...at least...I think.

Here we go!
Dan

BIGGEST LOSER - SECOND WEIGH IN

2010-01-14T09:59:00.000-08:00

Week 2 of Biggest Loser at the office.
Just a recap: Last week - after weighing in at 191.4 pounds - I set a goal for myself:
Two pounds.
I wanted to get the HELL outta the one-nineties and back into the one-eighties.
Well - today - I am pleased to report: Goal - achieved!
My weight as of today:
189.0!
I've been drinking the water.
Eating throughout the day - all small portions, mostly raw vegetables, b12 vitamin every day, protein, carbs, whole grains. Doing it the right way.
I'm not eating like a pig - and I'm not eating like a rabbit either.
Got tanked on white wine last weekend - because my life goes on!
I'm not going to restrict myself anything - I'm just going to take it all in moderation.
I'm liking this though.
I'm not in it to win - and really, I don't know if anyone SHOULD be.
This time - I just want to get healthy.
I start yoga this Saturday, which I'm a tad nervous for.
I don't know much about yoga.
I know it's about breathing and stretching and relaxing.
Which sounds good to me. I know it's going to be a challenge - but I think - if I go at my own pace, it's a challenge I can handle. And of course - I could be wrong.
One thing for 2010 - I'm going in with no expectations.
Just goals. Realistic goals.
I don't EXPECT anything to happen.
I can only set goals and work as best I can to reach them.
If I give it a good fight - hell - that's reward enough.
That's all any of us can do, right?
No getting pissed if life works against me.
No gloating if I go above and beyond - because "above and beyond" - that's just gravy.
Vegan gravy, but gravy.
The coolest thing about Biggest Loser is seeing everyone in it together.
It's friendly competition, sure...but it's more than that.
It's everyone doing their own thing, independently - but together - working towards a healthier lifestyle.
That's amazing.
Congratulating on weight loss...understanding on weight gain.
It's life - and shit happens.
So...where was I?
Oh yeah!

Weight on first weigh in: 191.4
Weight on second weigh in: 189.0

Goal for next week: 2.5 pounds.

Game on.
Dan

BIGGEST LOSER: FIRST WEIGH IN.

2010-01-07T06:30:00.000-08:00

It's on, once again.
The CHUM Radio Biggest Loser competition.
Last year I dropped 12 pounds. It was great.
I was eating properly, several times a day - and all the right portions of all the right stuff.
I have not set foot on a scale since the last weigh in (back in April '09).
So, today at work, I took a deep breath - and I did it.
I set foot on that scale.
I'm 191.8 pounds.
Back in April - I was 179.
And nope - not whining.
Not this time. In fact - the opposite.
I am happy.
I'm empowered by this.
Yeah - I gained the 12 pounds back.
But hey - such is LIFE.
And that's the whole key to this.
Life.
And when I think about it - I enjoyed myself this year!
I had fun!
I had new experiences.
I excercised and dropped weight, I pigged out and gained - I went running and got into shape - I ate like a king...and gained again.
Always - my weight fluctuates within that 20 pound range.
175 - 195.
Life. It's never really been about weight as a number for me.
I live how I live and I weigh what I weigh and I don't bother myself with scales, because I am the type of person who will obsess over a number.
So - I don't.
I do however - feel like myself right now.
I feel like THIS is me.
As I am, au naturale. 191.8 pounds.
And I'm okay with that. It's not perfect - but nothing is.
I am content. I'm good to go.
I am FINE with weighing 191.8.
That's not to say it isn't good to get myself back on track - and I'll be honest: I ate like a fucking pig all through the holidays.
So I'm ready.
I'm ready for a fun and healthy challenge.
I need to dry out and get back to eating properly.
That means - watch the alcohol, cut the sweets, stop eating after midnight - and start drinking more water.
8 servings of veggies - mostly raw - per day.
Whole grains.
Milk alternatives twice a day.
Walnuts. Omega 3 flax oil.
B12 vitamins.
I need to be doing this as a vegetarian/vegan.
It's the healthy thing to do - to replace the important vitamins and fats that I no longer get from meat.
It's abotu health.
That's the other key:
I am not dieting.
I'm being healthy.
While I have no need for numbers - and I believe age is all in your attitude - the fact is: I'm not getting any younger either.
I can't be harfing down french fries and devouring entire bags of salt and vinegar chips any more.
It's about LIFE - and I want to make sure mine is a long and happy and ENJOYED life.

And shit - I'll be honest: I need to drop about 15. I like looking good in a cut black t-shirt and right now - I have small, perky boobies.

What can I say?
I've got 12 weeks and a few sweet prizes at stake, if I lose a substantial and HEALTHY percentage of weight.

So...here we go:
FIRST WEIGH IN: 191.8 pounds.
Goal weight for next week: 189 pounds.

That's two pounds.

So, yeah.
Game on.

A Night at the Pissin' Troughs.

2010-01-05T19:28:00.000-08:00

DISCLAIMER/WARNING:
This blog entry is about the horror of public bathrooms.
Just sayin'.

I've never been all that great with public washrooms.
I know this isn't a rare personality trait that makes me special and unique.
It's pretty common.
In fact - I'd be hard pressed to think of ANYONE who actually enjoys hitting a public crapper, save for a few pervs I may or may not have had a history with in the past.
Anyway, I was just thinking today - about how particularly demeaning it is to men.
When I say "it" - I mean, of course - The Public Bathroom Experience.
Urinals.
Ugh.
Think about it.
Why do we need a special machine - just to pee?
Will a toilet not suffice?
A toilet is more than adequate for a woman.
Of course - for a woman, a toilet is more a necessity than a luxury...but really - think about it.
While I consider the ability to empty my bladder while standing a definite plus - I don't think this...ability... calls for a urinal.
I mean - honestly - special treatment, just to piss?
How special do we REALLY think we are?
A toilet in a stall with a door that closes and locks will work just fine, thank you.
While it might be convenient to just unzip anywhere, anytime - say - camping or the side of the road, for example - that doesn't mean it is always the appropriate thing to do.
Urinals lack privacy.
There is "urinal conversation" that pretty much all men have had to endure - and it's just hopelessly awkward.
You're at a urinal - and someone enters the bathroom.
Someone you know.
Do you talk to them?
Or do you sit in silence, listening to the sound of each other peeing?
Or do you stop - mid-stream - and leave instantly, bladder still full and avoiding eye contact?
Perhaps you actually try to talk.
There is perhaps nothing more surreal in life than 2 grown men in a bathroom - having what appears to be a perfectly normal, everyday, average conversation, save for the fact that they are staring at a wall, ghost white faces and discomfort furrowing their brows...with their dicks in their hands.
Creepy. Seriously.
Creepy.
I can't do it.
I imagine it feels something like what dying would feel like.
But that's nothing.
A urinal is nothing like a piss trough.
I only experienced that horror once, but it made an impact.
I'll never forget my first time at a concert.
1989 - Joe Louis Arena, Detroit Michigan.
I was 12. Seeing the B-52's and Ziggy Marley.
Oh, I felt like one cool dude.
Of course, after consuming 3 gigantic slushees, nature called.
She has a way of doing that.
So, I made sure I had my ticket stub in hand, and like a grown up big kid at his first concert, I made my way from the 14th row of Joe Louis up that high, intimidating flight of stairs to the main level - towards the bathroom.
Walked into the bathroom, and blinked, assuming I couldn't possibly be seeing correctly.
What I saw - to my horror - was what looked like a trough - something you would feed pigs out of.
Low to the ground, made of stainless steel and it was a circle, donut shaped.
And men were crowded around it, elbow to elbow - no divider or barrier - pissing in it.
WHAT?!?!?
It didn't strike anyone as strange, odd or uncomfortable.
As ridiculous as the idea of a urinal is - at least you have your own personal space - minimal privacy - but privacy.
This was a whole different scenario.
It was every man for himself, in a world where bathroom etiquette and dignity flew out the window - tits to the wind - every man for himself, barbaric and filthy, elbowing their way in to any open, available space and letting it all hang out.
My heart was pounding and I knew from the pit of my soul - I would piss my pants before the B52's even sang Love Shack - because there was no WAY I was going to piss in a trough, hip to hip with other guys.
No way.
Tiiiiiiin Roof!!!
Rusted.
I gulped, and tried not to stare, mesmerized and shocked - a cocktail of nervousness and pre-pubescent insecurity nauseating me.
Horrified.
I decided to opt for a stall.
It was a longer wait - and yeah - it stunk like some B52 fan's ass just exploded, but I cared not.
When it comes down to the choice: Bathroom stench - or public humiliation that involves bodily fluids - I'll take bathroom stench every time.
Call me crazy. I'm just that kind of guy.
Oddly - I still see them around, these devices of public humiliation that are SUPPOSED to pass as "bathroom facilities" and to my horror - people still use them.
I mean - don't you have to pay some shady guy at a VERY private "members only" club to see people urinate in public? Isn't that some niche, kinky fetish?
If so - anyone who is into "watersports" will have a field day for FREE if there's a piss trough in the bathroom.
Nothing's changed either.
To this day - at the not-so-ripe/not-so-young age of 32 - I STILL wait the extra ten minutes in line for the blessed privacy of a stench infested stall, shaking my head in disbelief.
A piss trough!
So help me - a piss trough!
Pigs are given more privacy, no?
Are men really worthy of ...that? Is this what we have settled for?
Is that all we are? Pissing, burping, beer-guzzling...piss trough users!?
Does it not strike anyone else as odd?
Guys - this is one YOU can answer...
Have you ever had to endure one of these?
Are you not baffled by their existence and the complete disregard for privacy?

...or...do I just need to get over myself?

*sigh*

Forever waiting for the stall.
Yup.
I'm "that guy".

I just am.

Resolutions.

2010-01-01T15:46:00.000-08:00

Here they are, for 2010:

1) Vegan.
2) Six glasses of water per day.
3) More live shows.
4) Release ghost story book.
5) More Poetry readings.
6) Get a doctor to call my own.
7) Take 1 entire week off.
8) Read more.
9) Write more.
10) Get organized and use my day planner.

I can do this.

The Last Day of 2009.

2009-12-31T10:46:00.000-08:00

Another one goes down in a tidal wave of champagne, good eats and broken resolutions.
Why sugar coat it? I've had far too many sweets already.

Here they are - the New Year Resolutions I made this time last year - and all their glorious results:

1 - The Return to Veganism.
My grade: An "F".
"F" for "Fucked up big time". Vegetarianism has NEVER been an issue. Not for years. I'm good with eating NO meat. I don't drink milk.
But...more than several times this year I ate chocolate. Cheese. Even eggs. Or at least stuff MADE with eggs.
Fail. This will be an on-going thing. I did cut back drastically...but...fell off the wagon in a very hard way near the end of this year.

2 - The Gym.
Imagine that! Me - making a resolution to hit the gym in the new year. Gee, never heard that before. Well - I did it. I had a trainer. Had. Again - "F". Not fully on my part though. It was hard to get a good time with her. She didn't show for a few sessions. Which is why I pay someone to be there. To hold my hand. To walk me through it. Because I don't WANT to do it on my own. And I did. And I gave up.
For now. This war is still on.

3 - Another Book.
Nope. Another bomb. Not entirely my fault. I wrote a book. A book of ghost stories. Poems. Short fiction. And my computer crashed. It's called "I Used to think Shadows Were People" - technically the "follow-up" to Whine & Cheese...but...a different theme, different voice. This is still in the works. One of my goals is to get it OUT of my crashed computer and release it. Maybe for Halloween?

4 - Get fit.
I lost 15 pounds this year. Not bad. I kept MOST of it off. I did move more. I walked more. I excercised more. I need to work on this though. Did I "get fit"? Fuck No.
But - progress. Progress is important. Baby steps.

5 - Be in an indie movie or play.
Oddly...yes! I have a small part in a film called "The Arrow and the String". No idea when this is coming out, but I filmed a few scenes, and I guess we'll just wait and see. For all I know, I could end up on the cutting room floor, but it was fun. I plan to do more of this in the future.

That's it folks.
My resolutions.
Broken, but hey - that's why they were invented - right?
To break.

Enjoy the rest of the year - it was a good one.
I was on the radio nearly every single day this year. Seven days a week.
Hopped on the stage of some of my favourite venues of all time and met some really interesting people, musicians, artists, friends.

Great new friends.

It's been good. This whole decade has been great.

I'm looking forward to more.
To many, many more.

Cheers to that.

And - Good night for now, Blogville.

Oh! And ..without sounding redundant...um...happy new year.

Dan

BLOG ME! BLOG ME! HARDER! FASTER! MORE! MORE! BLOG ME! YES! YES! Part Five!

2009-12-28T07:33:00.000-08:00

Happy half a decade to us.
Five years ago - to the day - to the hour, December 28th, 2004 around 10:30am, Thailand was under water, the King of Pop was still clutching his broken crown, we were still in the first half of this new millennium and I was at home listening to a CD by a band called Luna.
And I decided to write a blog.
I didn't even have a clue what a blog was supposed to be.
This year though, I think I finally figured it out.
At least this one.
It's five years of my life.
Half a decade.
This time five years ago I still had my gallbladder.
I was still in my twenties.
The house had not caught fire.
I had a bacon sandwich for breakfast.
There was no such thing as "Pluto the Cat".
I was a server at a restaurant.
I had a 1 hour weekly indie rock radio show on CJAM called Girlie So Groovie.
I wrote for a magazine called Upfront.
I skim over this blog once in a while, and it amazes me how much can change and how much can stay the same.
It's fascinating how long a five year period is...and how it can somehow manage to slip by, light speed fast - even pick up speed.
It can do both at the same time.
I never had a reason "why" when it came to all of this.
It was just something to write on. A blank sheet of paper.
A diary for anyone to read. Or no one.
Just me.
Me - in 2004.
Me - in 2005.
Me - in 2006.
Me - in 2007.
Me - in 2008.
...and today.
I cringe when I read some of the stuff I wrote about from years ago.
I get red in the face when I read bitchy self-indulgent rants I wrote yesterday.
I roll my eyes.
I laugh. And I even get sentimental.
It's all as real or as full of shit as I want it to be.
It's just a blog.
It's just my life.
Reading over it today, it hit me:
I like it.
That's "why".

So...why not?

It's all a big blank sheet of paper.
That's all any of it is.
We can live one hundred different scenarios - all of them equally unlike anything we've ever experienced.
It's all unwritten.
It's never been tried before, and we're doing it - our first crack - no safety net.
We've got each other and ultimately - we have ourselves.

Our own stories and they're as infinite as the thoughts in our heads.

Clueless and alone in the thick of it - lost amongst each other.

Exiles.

And that was only the first five years.

Happy birthday, my fellow Exiles - both lost...and found.

Dan

Christmas Eve, 2009.

2009-12-24T12:42:00.000-08:00

Another one.
It's 3:43 in the afternoon. Christmas Eve, 2009.
It'll be a thing of the past soon too.
This time 25 years ago, I was a 7 year old, staring at the clock, listening to the radio for the Santa Update...
"Did he leave yet? Is he on his way?"
I'd watch TV for a possible sighting.
Every kid knows if you listen hard enough, you can hear bells in the distance.
We've all heard them.
Coming down our street, on top of our roof, just outside our bedroom door.
It's hard to sleep on Christmas Eve.
I'd listen for the sound of boxes being moved, being transferred under the tree.
You could hear a pin drop.
I never lasted until morning.
Not once.
I never could sleep the whole night through until the sun came up.
I'd stare in the black.
I was wide eyed, ears perked, listening.
Waiting.
After an eternity I'd make my way down our short hall (which seemed a mile long), tiptoe by my parents room, and step into the living room.
Glowing pink - the tree magically lit and presents piled underneath.
Sparkling.
A kid's dream come true.
It was. Every single Christmas.
And here we are again.
Another one.
Enjoy. Because this is what all that build up is all about.
It'll be over in just a few hours.
Just like that.

hearts and mistletoe christmas eve farts, brothers and sisters of blogville.

dan

What Brittany Taught me About Life.

2009-12-20T14:10:00.000-08:00

I was never really a fan of Brittany Murphy.
I could care less. I loved the movie Clueless.
But...I loved it because Alicia Silverstone was quirky and cool.
Brittany Murphy's character kind of got on my nerves.
And that was it. Never watched another Brittany Murphy movie.
She was just "one of those actresses" - doomed to a career of chick flicks and predictable romantic comedies. Nothing wrong with that.
Just not my cup of tea.
And today at the age of 32 - she's dead.
Born in 1977 - exact same year as me.
And...gone.
So I started reading about her - and of course - became instantly obsessed and fascinated by her life, her career, her background and upbringing and family.
It's funny, how when someone is gone, we start taking a closer look at them and realizing how unique and fascinating and special they are.
We learn their story and appreciate them in a way we couldn't..or wouldn't...or didn't before.
When they were still with us.
And it hit me:
We don't - at least I don't - do it enough with people who are here.
Whenever someone dies - I always hear the same thing from the surviving friends and family:
"If only I told them I loved them one more time. If only I called more. If only I talked more."
It's the age-old Joni Michell-ism: You don't know what you've got til it's gone.
I'm not just all wishy-washy because I'm listening to a beautiful rendition of Sinead O'Connor's Silent Night...although I must admit..it's got me a wee bit nostalgic.
I truly think now more than ever - we all have to appreciate each other.
More than ever before. Because this...right now - this is it.
This is life.
Every second is a new chance. And every second - could be our last.
I'm not saying we should live in constant fear that we could all die at any given moment...but...I think we should live in a way that when a life ends - someone else's or our own - it won't be feelings of regret.
It will be filled with an overwhelming sense of love...and memories...and of course, the inevitable sadness. But not sadness because it was a missed opportunity.
I don't know...it seems simple, but the simple things are always the most complicated and delicate in their own complex way.
Think about the way the world works.
How much time do we spend on negativity?
We have different opinions. We live different lifestyles.
In truth: So what?
Isn't this big mixed bag of opinions and races and religions and thoughts - aren't they all just tools for us to learn a little something about each other and about ourselves?
Can't we look at them that way?

I never gave a shit about Brittany Murphy - but in a round about way - today, because she died...she just made me think a little bit harder about ...life.
And death.
You can't have one without the other - but we only have ONE shot and it's right now.
This second.

I'm gonna go call someone right now...and just talk.
And laugh.
Because just as sure as I'm sitting here - there will be a day when I won't have that luxury.
Life is meant to be LIVED, right?
If you enjoy wasting time, it is not time wasted...and life...it's what happens when you're busy making plans.
John Lennon said that.

Let's go live!!

Happy holidays, everyone.

hearts and loud, explosive firecracker farts!!!

Dan.

2009 Music: The Year in Review.

2009-12-17T19:03:00.000-08:00

Metric - Fantasies
- By far my favourite Metric album. Crunchy, electronic, sugary sweet - just a super fun listen.

Neil Young - Fork in the Road
- Finger STILL on the pulse after all these years...he still rocks.

Amy Millan - Masters of the Burial
- Much slower than her first solo debut, and it was a slower grower - but when it finally sank in - GORGEOUS. A must listen for 2009. A highlight this year: She wanted to know if we could score her some weed. *sigh*. I love Amy.

Pearl Jam - Backspacer
- The most "fun" Pearl Jam album since VS.

Scarlett Johansson & Pete Yorn - Break Up
- Beautiful, shockingly great record. It's so much more than just an 'actress-turned-singer' gimmick. The chick can really sing! And the synergy between Scarlett and Pete..WOW! Great concept album!

Wilco - The Album- the beginning of a new era for the band. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot / A Ghost is Born and Sky Blue Sky made up SUCH a fantastic trilogy of albums - with a unique sound that kind of re-invented Wilco...sounds like they are going back to their roots w/ this one, which isn't a bad thing at all!

Noisettes - Wild Young Hearts- while the rest of the record isn't as "Phil Spector/Girl Group" as the lead single Never Forget You - this is one great listen - super smart pop!

Leonard Cohen - Live in London- seeing the legendary Leonard Cohen at the Fox Theatre in Detroit this year was one of the greatest concert experiences of my life! And this album...it's nearly verbatim of that show. If you missed him - grab this one to see what you missed. If you were there...re-live it again and again. Great live collection!

Them Crooked Vultures - s/t- 70's guitar rock - psychedelic, noisy and WONDERFUL. Such mighty forces uniting on one record - you'd almost think they would cancel each other out...but they ALL live up to their reputations on this brilliant debut. Hopefully it's not their last. (KILLER show at the Fillmore too!)

Green Day - 21st Century Break Down- I know, I know "what is Green Day doing on this list"? Well - I've always been a fan of these 3 punks, and they BRING IT on this one. I love the concept album idea, love that the songs bleed into each other like a rock opera - and I think Billy Joe's lyrics are EXACTLY what teenagers need to be listening to. Brainsy and ballsy. (MIND BOGGLING show at the Palace this year!)

One EskimO - The Adventures of One EskimO- This one BARELY made it on the list, because I only recently discovered it. Saw them open for Tori Amos back at the Detroit Opera House and they were good - didn't blow me away...then...heard their album (2 different versions of it) and it blew me away. Kandi is such a surprise hit. I expect AMAZING things from this band in the future.

Those are my favourites that we played on the River this year...just for fun - I thought I'd make a list of my OTHER favorites, which we might not play on the River...but were great listens and fantastic contributions to the year in music nonetheless:

Girls - Album- Picture the Beach Boys meets Jesus and Mary Chain. A true summer album, California-style.

Dan Auerbach - Keep it Hid- singer of the Black Keys DELIVERS on his solo debut (and he MORE than delivered at his SIZZLING show at the Majestic theatre!)

Devendra Banhart - What Will We Be?- I'm a big fan of this guy, and he NAILED a radio-friendly, hilariously absurd acoustic slice of purple lemonade with this record. You can't not love it!

Jason Lytle - Yours Truly, The Commuter- I was bummed when I heard Grandaddy were over. I am bummed no longer, because the heart beat of Grandaddy - Mr. Lytle - is back and his solo album is as good as anything Grandaddy has ever done. Ever hear the expression "The comfort in being sad"?
This is it - and he does it WITHOUT even being "emo".

Antony and the Johnsons - The Crying Light- certainly not for everyone, but this piano-playing gender bender has this brave, confident voice and truly deep lyrics...he's pouring with talent. I travelled to Toronto to see him/her perform this year, and it was a fascinating, touching show. His best yet.

PJ Harvey and John Parish - A Man A Woman Walked By- This one kind of just came out of the blue. I loved their duo album back in 1996 - Dance Hall at Louse Point - and this one is a bit more solemn but every bit as beautiful. Her best work in a long, long time - since the 1990s.

Raveonettes - In and Out of Control- Ronnie Spector meets the Kills! Just an AWESOME listen. Picture Metric on acid! So much fun!

Camera Obscura - My Maudlin Career- again with the Phil Spector/girl group vibe...it seems Amy Winehouse really started something with that sound. Camera Obscura take that vibe to a whole new level though, on this album. My biggest concert regret of the year is MISSING this band at the Crofoot. DANG IT! Maybe next year.

Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes- Like the Polyphonic Spree meets Arcade Fire. Awesomely fun.

Susanna Hoffs & Matthew Sweet - Under the Covers vol. 2- all covers of 70s songs - from the Raspberries to Carly Simon to Yes to Mott the Hoople to John Lennon to Big Star. And they treat each song with SUCH respect...it's a wonderful re-invention of some insanely cool classic prog rock and pop songs from almost 40 years back!

The Breeders - Fate to Fatal (EP)
- only an EP - but genius. Saw them twice this year - once at the Crofoot in Pontiac - and it was such a great show, I hopped in my car and drove 5 hours to Toronto to see them AGAIN the very next night! They DO NOT disappoint and Kim Deal is a GENIUS.

Hope Sandoval - Through the Devil Softly- It's not Mazzy Star. But the good thing: I wasn't expecting Mazzy Star. That's coming for 2010 though. Instead, we get Hope's warm, inviting, lonely voice accompanied by these beautiful, sparkling acoustic guitars.

White Denim - Fits
- psychedelic and addictive - all the songs bleed into one another...this one SHOULD have been released in the 70s, but frankly - I'm just glad it's out now! Good music NEVER goes out of style - and this band made an album that sounds like it's being beamed from outerspace from a time machine back in 1974. Except it was made in 2009.

St. Vincent - Actor- Such an addictive listen. Goldfrapp meets Imogen Heap...but of course, that's not doing it justice. It's a beautiful listen, and the song Black Rainbow was a MUST for me on many a playlist/mix cd this year.

The Warlocks - The Mirror Explodes- a little bit like Led Zeppelin, a little bit like Jesus and Mary Chain. I'm a junkie for psychedelic music, I really am. And this record - it's a great fix. A listening tip: Listen with headphones!

Muse - The Resistance- so much buzz about this band, I was worried. At times it reminds me of ...Marilyn Manson's Mechanical Animals album meets...I don't know...Orbital or Goldfrapp's Black Cherry record. Political undertones...they'd be great with Kings of Leon. Again - a VERY slick (almost tooo slick) sound...but pretty smart lyrics. I think they listened to lots of Depeche Mode back in the day.

Sunset Rubdown - Dragonslayer- This reminds me of Bowie...and I'm obsessed with Bowie. A little bit Franz Ferdinand too. And the Killers. And T Rex. Glam rock meets new wave. That's right up my alley. There's no way I couldn't NOT like this one.

William Elliot Whitmore - Animals in the Dark- he opened up for City and Colour at Riverfest last January...his voice sounds like he's been gargling whiskey and chain smoking Marlboro's, but it's husky, midnight MAGIC! A great night time listen...but it's FAR from mellow.

Patrick Watson - Wooden Arms
- reminds me of everyone from Nick Drake to Antony to Hayden. Really interesting stuff on this album. Wacky noises followed by Regina Spektor-style pianos and the quirky lyrics to match.

Dinosaur Jr. - Farm- He's Lou Barlow! this one is loud, but I've always been a fan! I was just geeked to see Dinosaur Jr. back at it!
Looking forward to his new solo record, still haven't listened to that one.

Decemberists - The Hazards of LoveI'm a late bloomer in the Decemberists department. Oddly - I am hearing lots of negative feedback about this one, but I love the concept, it's a small symphony, a story...medieval pop with insanely powerful vocals. I would KILL to see this performed somewhere like the Fox theatre.

Those are my stand-out favorite albums of 2009, although I am sure I am missing a few.
Which albums caught YOUR attention this year?

My Holiday Soundtrack

2009-12-13T09:20:00.000-08:00

Tis the season for holiday play lists!!

I usually make a holiday mix CD each year...many of the same songs end up on there, but I like to branch out too.
Nothing can movitate me more than music. It's like medicine to me.
Or an energy drink.
The right songs can inspire me to get up and clean the house or slap on a pair of running shoes and go for a run or crack open a bottle of wine and get shit faced - or get in the spirit of the holiday season.
It can bring me back in time to relive a moment almost as vividly as it was back in the day. Techni-colour through sound.
If you're one of those people where music is a constant in your life - I get it.
I understand you completely.
We listen to music constantly and it's probably been the ONLY constant thing in our lives since as far back as we can remember.

All ranting aside - here's my holiday mix CD for 2009.

1) Mahalia Jackson - Silver Bells
2) The Waitresses - Christmas Wrapping
3) Sufjan Stevens - Get Behind Me, Santa
4) Jill Sobule - Merry Christmas from the Family
5) The Pogues - Fairy Tale of New York
6) The Bird & the Bee - Carol of the Bells
7) T-Rex - Christmas Bop
8) Ramones - Merry Christmas (I don't wanna fight tonight)
9) Beach Boys - Melekalikimaka
10) Stevie Wonder - Someday at Christmas
11) The Raveonettes - The Christmas Song
12) James Brown - Santa Claus Go Straight to the Ghetto
13) The Kinks - Father Christmas
14) Liz Phair - Winter Wonderland
15) Madonna - Santa Baby
16) Cyndi Lauper - Early Christmas Morning
17) Chris Cornell w/ Eleven - Ave Maria
18) John Lennon - Happy Xmas (War is Over)
19) Sinead O'Connor - Silent Night

Shockingly - no Phil Spector made it this year, but rest assured - I'll have that one spinning on a REGULAR rotation! The songs on that one are almost all too good to seperate.
It can be a rainy day or the sun can be shining but no matter what - give me some holiday music and I'm instantly transported to a cozy winter day with big chunky snowflakes and I'm overcome by this...wonder of the holidays...the kind we had as kids.

Music = Magic. That's the truth.

Seasons greetings music lovers!

The Riley-MacDonald-Pluto Xmas Tree, 2009!

2009-12-05T10:26:00.000-08:00

We go with a different colour EVERY year.
Silver. Blue. White.
This year:
Purple.
Yeah! A purple Christmas Tree!
Cool?
Cool!
Here are some pics:

Talk about HARD to find purple lights!!

While I'm all for those new LED lights...I think they still need some tweaking. They cast a VERY bright light..and it kind of takes away from the rest of the tree. At night, when the tree is lit, you can barely make out the purple and gold ornaments we have hanging...

But...I love our tree. It's magical and dark and mysterious...

And purple.

Cheers to a purple Christmas, brothers and sisters...

Whatcha think...red next year?

hearts and purple blobs,

dan!

Gay = Stupid: A Rant.

2009-12-01T17:12:00.000-08:00

I went to a Spits game the other night and I couldn't BELIEVE the amount of kids saying: "That's so gay".
I had no idea.
No clue. No clue how much this subtle homophobia is creeping into the vocabulary of our children.
What blew me away the most: Their parents were RIGHT THERE next to them!
Now, I never used to question parents...but that was because they were all older than me. I assumed they had aquired some kind of wisdom that I was still too young to attain.
No.
I'm going to be 33 next year - and I am PRIME "parent age".
These parents are my age - and frankly: They should know better.
Don't let your kid say "That's so gay" - because it makes your kid sound like an uneducated piece of trash.
And it makes you look like a piece of uneducated trash only capable of spawning the same.
How's that for offensive?
Well - I'm not apologizing, because more and more - every time I hear someone say "that's so gay" - I'm offended. And moreso - pissed off.
It never used to bother me all that much - but it does now.
It really does.
It irks me.
I don't go around saying shit like "That is SOOO Italian!" or "That is sooo Female" or "That is so stupid and heterosexual".
I wouldn't because it would be small minded, racist and sexist of me.
Italian - does not mean stupid.
Female - does not mean dumb.
Heterosexual - does not mean trashy and small-minded.
I know this. It's common sense.
"That's so gay" is no different.
"Number 4 is my hero," I heard a kid at the game say, referring to the star Spits player.
"That's so gay," his buddy said.
"Yeah," his other friend piped in: "You fag."
The mother and father were right next to him and said nothing.
Had he said something racist, the "n" word...something that would be frowned upon by the masses, I'm sure the kid would have had his yappy little trap slapped and been removed from the game.
But...he just ripped on "gays" and dropped the "f" word: Fag.
That's okay, apparently.
These parents LOOKED like decent people.
They looked like people I could have gone to high school with, people I would hang out with, people I would go out and have a beer with.
But this accepted homophobia that is invading our vocabulary, which is passing on subtle hints to our kids that "gay is stupid"...it's dangerous. It's fucked up.
Allowing your kid to call another kid a "fag" is NO DIFFERENT than letting your kid use the "n" word.
Not to me.
I've been called a fag before - as a kid and as a teenager - and HUNG MY HEAD IN SHAME over it. Nevermind hanging my head in shame - others have had their heads bashed in for being "fags", people have been tortured and KILLED while being called "fags", belittled, shamed, made afraid because of this "F" word - so no - you do NOT have the right to use that word.
And you will NEVER have the right to use that word in front of me or any other gay person.
Never.
You will NOT turn it into some slang word which is synonomous with "stupid" because whether you know it or not: It is homophobic. It's tacky. It's outright offensive.

This being said: I'm in the wrong here too.
I'm very much in the wrong.
I should have turned around and said something, and I didn't.
Doesn't that make me the EXACT SAME as the parent?
Why was I silent? Why didn't I say anything to those kids and their parents?
Was it because part of me is still afraid?
Was it because I didn't think I had a right to tell some kid off and question some parent's parenting skills?
Was it because the dad looked like someone who would have no problem mopping the floor with my ass?
Probably. Who knows?
I certainly noticed it. I was certainly offended.
But I said nothing.
And that - is MY BAD.
But...was it my place to say anything?
Someone once said: If you're not part of the solution, you are part of the problem - and I need to take that seriously.
I should have said something.
And from now on - I am going to say something.
I think we should all say something.
No more "that's so gay".
No more "you faggot".

And no more standing by within earshot and letting it all happen.
Time to call out stupidity and make some faces turn crimson red in public, in front of other people so everyone can see that YES - "That's so gay" IS offensive.