| Song of the Week |

I think it's time to announce the song of the week.

As this is week one for this award, the following are all first time nominees.

And they are...

1) The Bleeding Hearts Show by The New Pornographers (Album: Twin Cinema)

2) Wake Up by Arcade Fire (A: Funeral and Where The Wild Things Are OST)

3) Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes (A: Elephant)

4) Acoustic Guitar by The Magnetic Fields (A: 69 Love Songs)

and our winner...

I Feel it All by Fiest (A: The Reminder)

You know, one of these days I'm going to win an award for Handing Out Awards That Are Not Really Awards and are Also for Things That Nobody Really Cares About. Reminds me of the Best Facial Hair in a Supporting Role blog. (See past blogs)

x's and o's

Remy

| Bedtime Love Letter To Nobody |

" What do you want? Do you want things to go back to how they were?"

"Yes," I said. "Go back to how they were. Only better."

_____

Last night, I began searching for a finite cure to this emotional downpour.

___

Dear Self,

Time to get creative. You were always creative. Why don't you build something?

Love,

Self

___

So, in my backyard I began to build something, crazy as that something is. I made it from paper mache and carefully sculpted chicken wire. And you will be happy to know that I only poked myself through the finger with that wire once.

Would you like to know what I built?

Sit, sit. I'll tell you.

I built a time machine.

A wonderful contraption it was, too. The gas tank is made from discarded copies of Paranormal Activity (See, as horrid as that film was, it makes a surprisingly stable fuel canister. Also, discarded copies were in surplus, and therefore cheap. And you always want to stick to
a budget while building such a device.).

I reached way down inside me. And I filled that tank up with a thousand ways to say I Love You.

And then, a journey.

I arrived back with just enough time to kill my old self and stuff him down the toilet. Hence the reason they clog so very often (Sorry). I imagine I was on my last flush when you walked through the door.

A thousand straight hours in a office could not make you look like any less of an angel.

It was after I hugged you, I did something unusual. Something that made it important for me to make this voyage in the first place.

I talked to you. Not about the day, or how many times I burned myself at work. I started talking about me. My past, the things that shaped me, the things that hurt me.

I told you that I was never the best son. In fact, I doubt I would even make an honourable mentions list. There wouldn't be enough time to go back in time to right all the wrongs I did unto my family. I was absent, I choose that path. I could have been there, but I felt outcast. And why? I just don't have an answer. God help me, I wish I did.

I remembered how the first time I picked up a cigarette I was scared to touch it to my lips. This came after years of nagging my father to stop smoking, a feat he accomplished with honors. He would smoke in the car driving us back to Mother's. DeMaurier Special Mild 100s. Silver pack. Like smoking air. But damn do I remember the nagging. And here I sit. Can't quit. Belmont Mild. Nobody nags me. I wish they did.

I shared that most of the troubles of my life, I made. Nobody else. I made my life seem dismal. I wish I had not done that.

___

"I traced the cord back to the wall. No wonder. It was never plugged in at all."

-Blink 182
___

I spoke of the first time I cut myself. Not at work. But took a razor blade from a disposal razor and sliced into my arm. I knew a girl, I said. Her name was Laura. And Laura would cut herself. Deeply. She used to wear sweatbands and hoodies a lot. I looked at those wounds, and somehow decided that was a good way to express pain. Or at least redirect it. And it became addictive. A release. I never showed them off, in fact, I was very embarrassed about them. The few times fresh cuts were found out landed me in the hospital. My Nanny called the police on me once. She was cities away. That was the first and only time I've been in the back of a police car. At the hospital, I lied. I lied to the social worker who asked me if I was okay. I said I had no interest in ending my life. They let me go. Truth is, if Nanny had not called the police, I would not be here today. I had every intention of taking my own life that night. That one night is the only time I would have ever acted upon that notion. Another truth? I don't remember what was even wrong. I blocked it out, and lost it. It's only been the last year that I have stopped wearing hoodies and sweatbands everywhere. Laura was nice, when she was happy. But sometimes, I wish I never knew her.

___

"I don't know what I knew before. But know I know I want to win the war"

-Feist
___

Then I said I was tired. And we fell asleep on the couch watching Hell's Kitchen. But happy for once. Both of us, that a question you asked finally got answered. And that you knew there were more answers for whatever you wanted to know.

When I woke up...

___

"What would you do... if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me? Lend me ears, and I'll sing you a song. I'll try not to sing out of key."

-The Beatles
___

For all the things we have accomplished in this life time, and how those things have benefited mankind, we are missing something.

In 1969, Neil Armstrong took a one and a half foot step sideways and forever changed the way humans looked at this world. As he stood on the moon, billions watched. United. It gave them hope.

Advances in modern medicine that can cure the sick, or at least give them enough time to reach out to a loving hand and say goodbye.

We figured out that pigs taste really, really great. And made happy a legion of burly weekend BBQers.

Most importantly, we evolved into creatures that can love and be love. Which is the cause of and solution to most of life's problems.

We can drive across countries, and fly across nations.

And I hear them say: "Well, kid. We've come this far."

Yeah, we sure did. Just not far enough to back up and fix ourselves. Make our mistakes right. You'd think with every mistake that is made everyday by every person, somebody would have sought to make someway to fix them. Especially when those repair jobs mean the differene between happy and sad.

I wouldn't go back to relive that moon landing. I wouldn't go back to see the Jays win the world series, witness the building of The Great Wall of China or stand in a field of Dinosaurs (mainly, because that would be dangerous as hell, but I think you understand the point).

But in a heart beat, with a word, I would travel this world, the universe, time to lay down next to you and kiss you goodnight. For all the days of my life.

___

"If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do. Is to save everyday to eternity passes away, just to spend it with you.... I've looked around enough to know that you're the one I want to go through time with. "

- Jim Croce (but best sung by a Muppet. No joke, look it up)
___

With my all

Jeremy
___




x's and o's

Remy

| The Strength - The Pepper Potts Anomaly |

I was, over the next little bit, going to examine strength. What it is, at least to me. Where it comes from, etc.

I decided to start with an interesting anomaly.

To sum up my thoughts on said subject before writing the actual blogs about them, I roughly, and without much hard evidence came to the conclusion that no one person is strong alone.

Then, I wrote this:

I look at Iron Man. Seemingly indestructible. Brilliant, rich and always gets the girl.

But who is Iron Man really? Tony Stark, right? A perpetual juvenile, always tinkering aimlessly. Hiding behind a heavily armored suit to hide or mask his on inadequacies.

Cue Pepper Potts. The strong, level headed female presence. Always there to take out the trash, lend guidance and most importantly support for her man.

Without Ms. Potts, Tony Stark is stuck in the basement. Albeit a very nice basement with all the latest toys. Toys that have the rest of us boys salivating over the pages of GQ's annual Christmas Gadgets article. What I wouldn't give for a keyboard that reflects numbers and letters onto a glass panel. The things I'd type.

But who is there for Pepper. She is fully dedicated to Tony. Even though Tony never wished this for her. Of course he is extremely grateful and appreciative, he'll just never tell.

And that, my friends, is the Pepper Potts anomaly.

Yes, yes. I know. Pepper has been in trouble and relayed on others to get her out of deep-water. But said water was always made deep by Tony in the first place. Does it really count if the savior caused the problem to begin with?

Ms. Potts is the true definition of strength. A pillar on which even the most respected and indestructible of Super Heroes leans. A woman who always has the foresight to pack the Suitcase Suit, knowing that Tony will end up in trouble or being chased by a large Russian with whips for arms.

The point here, is that there is no shame in needing a pillar to lean on. There is no issue with drawing your own strength from somebody else. Needed them for you, even if they don't lean back on you the same way for theirs. A woman like that gives you the power you did not realize was there. Gives you the hope to move on, get up, fight crime.

The problem is: When Pepper leaves, so does the strength. Then we are all doomed to stay in the basement, tinkering away forever.


This will make more sense with the next few posts.

x's and o's
-Remy

| Cut and Sew |

Getting ones ears, which were pierced and spaced, cut open with a scalpel and sewn back together to fix the holes that one intentional put into them is not fun.

But Six at Exotics, Thank you.

He did an amazing job, and everybody should go and see him to get something pierced.

In other news, only 8 days until my Canadian departure. I am not looking forward to it.

| You Goin' My Way?

I respect cab drivers. I do. It must be a horrid job to have. To chauffeur the drunk and tired all over this huge city has it's burdens. I'm sure they have some fun, and interesting stories to tell.
Assuming you could understand what they were actually saying.

I know that I am not the only one that has bad luck with cab drivers. I have also heard my share of stories from friends. Martin, for example, after work one night was asked in a thick Middle Eastern accent 'You like to party?'

That's not a question you want to be asked by an immigrant stranger, who's cab you have just got into, alone, at 4 a.m.


Last nights / this morning's ride home was so bad, that it inspired this post. We will call the driver Omar, for lack of another racially stereotypical name. Also, that was his name as indicated by the large, laminated licence that I think is handed out automatically to anybody entering this country from that area of the world.

Customs Agent: "Welcome to Canada, where are you from?"
Omar: "Pakistan."
Customs Agent: "Here's your cab licence."

It's the same reason why Asian people are instantly given the deed to an Asian restaurant, or convenience store.

I'm sorry, but sometimes, stereotypes are true.

Back to the cab:


Now, many of you, I'm sure, are familiar with the 'Cab Etiquette' bylaws. The laminated sign posted on the back of the passenger seat of all Taxis in the city. The ones that indicated how the Taxi and it's driver should operate. This, as many of you know, is very rarely the case.


We can go over exactly how Omar broke most of those rules. (I am paraphrasing the rules, slightly).



"A knowledgeable driver, who speaks English and knows city geography."

I would gather, since he asked me where Broadview and Danforth was 13 times, his geography is slightly off. Made more evident when finally he said he knew where it was, and then turned the car around and proceeded East from Danforth and Dawes. The complete wrong direction.

Needless to say that speaking English was not one of Omars skills and talents. But then, neither is listening, driving, or personal hygene.


"A safe driver, who obeys traffic laws"


Excellent rule. Very important if you choice, as a passenger, to arrive at your intended destination alive.

Omar was much more concerned with answering his cell phone, and talking very loudly into it then actually paying attention to lights, other cars, and the two people he almost hit at the corner of Pape and Danforth. Even after the near miss, he was oblivious. Happily chatting away while the two people moved to the sidewalk and tried to re-start their hearts.

Omar also seemed to have a problem staying in one lane. Or, at least the RIGHT lane. He was in a hurry, this much I gathered. So much so that Omar would continuioisly vear into on-coming traffic in an effort to get around the cars in front of him. Cars that were, for all intensive purposes, driving safely. Omar, however, needed to maintain his speed of approximatly 234 MPH down the Danforth. It's the best speed to drive when you are talking on your phone.



"Driver uses Cell phone only in an Emergency

I can say this: In the cabbie world, Omar is a really popular guy. He may be the Brad Pitt of Taxi drivers. Despite his body odour that rivals the smell of the indoor Rhino exhibit at the zoo, and his lack of any intelligence whatsoever.



"A quiet ride, if you request it"

Besides the aformentioned cell phone use, Omar was rocking out to some music.

In fact, he had found the best station possible. It was playing Mohammed G - Kenny G's not quite as talented Middle Eastern equivelent. And it was LOUD.

I asked him to turn it off, and he was nice enough to reply: "What?"

After I sharaded my way through an explaining of what I wanted him to do before I threw myself from the cab, he obliged, and I was treated to the shreiks of another ethnic music. It made for lovely ambient noise, perfectly underlying Omar's phone converstaion.



"A clean taxi interior"

Omar liked to smoke, that was apperent from the cigarette buts that filled the ashtry, and the floor of the front seat. I'm a smoker, so I can't judge.

But whoever was in the back, really liked chips. And had eaten at least 13 bags, all of which were scattered across the floor.

____________________________________

And why did I not just get out? Some things are so aggrivating, and beyond beliefe that you just need to stick with them.

Now, I'm going to get some chicken balls and a soda.

talk soon

x's and o's

-Remy

| Brava, Remy. Brava! |

Guess who put his brand new passport that he needs to move to Florida through the washing machine today?

Guess.

Yah, me. HIGH FIVE!

I'm praying that it drys and has minimal damage, so I don't have to pay the $100 plus rush service to make sure I have it in time.

If anybody knows how to properly dry a Government document, please tell me.

| Tick, Tick, Tock... |

2 hours.

2 hours, I've been sitting in front of this blank text box, where I now write, making it less blank.

I occasionally checked Twitter to see what Kevin Smith was doing. But he is probably in bed, like a normal person. I filled the rest of my daily dose of Silent Bob by going through some old message boards on ViewAskew.com.

And then, back to the empty box. And my empty head.

Maybe it's just late, but I have nothing to say tonight.

I felt the urge to write something witty, and had an idea, but couldn't seem to get it out properly. I'm hoping it's because I'm tired, not because I'm out of ideas. Which I'm not. Urr..

Instead you get another pointless blog about nothing. Literally nothing. Something steamed from my insistence to not leave the box empty.

I will tell you this. I am happy. Not regular happy. But actually happy.

Talk soon
x's and o's
-Remy