Within the last two weeks, Vincent Lecavalier and the Tampa Bay Lightning visited Toronto and Montreal in a Northeast road trip, and the media had a field day. Sportsnet's Nick Kypreos and Daren Millard began speculating that due to the probable situation where the Lightning will have to move one of their big three, Lecavalier will be moved, and Montreal is a likely candidate. Kypreos even went so far as to say "I think Vinnie will end up in Montreal". I think Kypper has suffered three too many concussions.
I could talk for days on trade scenarios where it might be doable for Bob Gainey, but let's take a look at why the media jumped to so many conclusions in first place. Simply put, it would look good, and the Montreal Canadiens marketing team would have their jobs done for them by having a talented french-canadian leading the way. For years, Montreal fans and the organization have been looking for someone to fill the shoes of Patrick Roy, Guy Lafleur, Jean Beliveau, Maurice Richard, Boom-Boom Geoffrion and the list goes on and on. Saku Koivu has never been enough, despite being a phenominal leader and one of the NHL's true warriors. The Quebec media made it quite apparent earlier this year that no matter what Saku does for the team, it will not be enough because he is from Finland, not Quebec. That is an absolute joke, but that's the way it goes in Quebec. Even if Lecavalier did end up playing for the Canadiens, if Saku was still there, it should still be Saku's team.
Lets, for one moment, entertain the idea of Lecavalier playing for the Habs. Expectations would be so astronomical for Vincent that meeting them would be almost impossible. Today's NHL is not set up for dynasties, and that is exactly what people would want out of him, because Lafleur brought a dynasty, Beliveau, Boom Boom and Maurice brought a dynasty, and Patrick Roy brought two Stanley Cups, so that's what they would want out of Number 4 (he'd have to change his number of course). In today's NHL, it's difficult enough to win one, let alone two or three. And if they did get Vinnie, he'd command about 8 million plus dollars a year, leaving little room for a supporting cast, considering keeping Saku would be a priority and Carey Price is most likely going to deserve in the 5 million dollar a year range within the next few years. Resigning Michael Ryder might prove to be difficult, and if they had to let guys like Mike Komisarek and Chris Higgins go to obtain Vinnie, then they're losing some of their core, placing even more pressure on Lecavalier.
The fact is that having Vincent Lecavalier play for the Montreal Canadiens would be amazing, from a fans perspective and from a PR stand point. Frankly, they've been waiting for a similar opportunity for years, and Daniel Briere didn't quite pan out in the off-season. But even if Bob Gainey somehow could work something out with Tampa Bay, or with Vinnie himself when he becomes a free agent in a couple of years, I am not going to be holding my breath that he will be "the next one". I have all the faith in the world that he would continue his brilliant individual efforts recording 90-plus points year in and year out, but I do not have faith that he can fill the shoes of some of the great Habs. To do that, he'd have to bring some Cups to town, and in today's NHL, more than one is just getting greedy. Plus, we all know that Gary Bettman would much rather see an imaginative talent like Lecavalier playing in an empty arena in sunny Florida on a Saturday night, than in a jam-packed Bell Centre on a Monday night with the crowd going nuts. Heck, that would make sense. Let's just expand the league some more, have it more watered down, so even less teams have a shot at having a superstar like Lecavalier play on their club. Oh Gary, you're just downright nutty.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Jimmy Eat World's Chase This Light
Jimmy Eat World’s new record, Chase This Light, may have alienated those fans who just aren’t prepared to make the plunge towards full-blown pop-rock, but one thing is for sure: It is definitely a Jimmy Eat World album. It is, for the most part, much more accessible to the mainstream than it’s predecessor, Futures. Although Futures spawned two successful singles, “Pain” and “Work”, Chase This Light offers up the possibility of at least four radio-friendly singles.
Even the album’s cover art is an accurate preview of the content on the CD. The cover of Futures featured a wonderful photo by Christopher Wray-McCann of a man standing alone in front of an out-of-order payphone. This was a fitting introduction to such songs as “Drugs or Me” or “Polaris”; very dark and lonely tunes appropriate for a rainy Sunday afternoon. The brightly coloured peacock feathers on the Chase This Light cover let the listener know that they are in for a much lighter ride this time around.
The album blasts out of your stereo with “Big Casino”, already a heavily-spun hit on influential radio stations such as Los Angeles’ KROQ and Toronto’s The Edge. Similar to the opening track “Futures”, “Big Casino” is loud and in your face, with each instrument not letting up from beginning to end. Clarity enthusiasts might cringe at the thought that the band has given up on opening albums with slower tunes like “Table for Glasses”. They may also snicker at their perceived irony of the line “There’s still something left when your prime comes and goes”, but regardless, “Big Casino” does it’s job.
If there was any doubt Jimmy Eat World have lost their touch, that thought is erased by the wildly emotional “Let it Happen”. A definite highlight on the album, it captures all the powerful possibility of vocalist Jim Adkins’ voice and explodes with a terrific chorus. For anyone questioning Zach Lind’s role in the band, the chorus of “Let it Happen” displays how his drumming can add intensity and energy to already great moments.
“Electable (Give it Up)” is the closest thing the album has to offer to fans in love with 1996’s Static Prevails. In order to imagine “Electable” sitting beside “Claire” and “Call it in the Air” however, one would have to imagine Adkins’ vocals being much screechier, and the production of the song taken down several notches. “Electable” is fast and energetic, and may be the only tune on the album that wouldn’t get the band bottled to death at a Vans Warped tour concert.
Completely out of place on the record, “Gotta Be Somebody’s Blues” is slow, sad and experimental, and requires a lot of patience and loyalty to appreciate. It does, however, feature a fantastic string arrangement by Canadian conductor David Campbell, who also conducted the string section on Green Day’s “Time of Your Life”.
Chase moves ahead, and the final four songs are a major payoff. As of October 19, “Here it Goes” was rated as the second best song on the album in a poll at jimmyeatworld.com. A high-pitched, piercing guitar riff carries the song, unlike any other Jimmy tune thus far. “Here it Goes” takes the poppiness of tracks like “Carry You” and “Always Be”, and offers a certain originality. Practically screaming at Interscope records to be released as a single, the song stands on its own, while still fitting in with the other ten tunes.
The title track, “Chase This Light”, is three minutes and twenty six seconds of Adkins showing the world what he does best: blend simple, yet, well-crafted music, with phenomenal vocal melody. Whether you’re clutching to the brilliance that was Clarity, or you’re happily along for the post-Bleed American mainstream ride, “Chase This Light” is one of the best songs the band has released.
Any fan of music should take a listen to the madly passionate “Firefight”. After a verse that keeps you listening, the song explodes with a loud, emotional chorus reminiscent of “Kill”. With a wonderful melody and perfect bridge, this song is a sigh of relief to fans who were worried about them completely abandoning the style that so many associate them with. If you can only hear one song from Chase This Light, “Firefight” should be at the top of your list, as it contains instant gratification lacking on most of the record. Chase is closed out with “Dizzy”, which doesn’t have the same impact as Futures “23”, but is still a solid track. At the very least, “Dizzy” is a good song, but could easily grow into a favourite upon many listens.
A blend of Bleed American and Futures, it has definite highlights and possible skippers. There is a lack of spine-tingling moments; moments where you feel shivers, and must re-listen immediately to understand what you just heard. In the past, thirst for such moments have been quenched by the bridges of “Kill” and “Hear You Me”, the climactic ending of “Polaris”, or the ‘Merry Christmas’ moment of “12.23.95”. Referring to Zach Lind’s comment on their message board, Chase might not be one of the best albums in the last twenty years, but it’s closer than anything Angels and Airwaves are capable of writing.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Humber's video game programming is tougher than it sounds
“They’re going to have to do hardcore programming. We have a whole set of classes that were disguised so as to not turn people off,” said Information Technology professor Scott Fielder. “We have a class called ‘game dynamics’, which is code for physics. We have ‘numerical computing’, which is code for math.”
Students might be interested in storytelling and graphics, but Fielder wants them to realize the magnitude in which sciences and math play in developing a video game.
“If you really want to write video games, if you’re sincere, you have to be educated,” he said. “And then I’m smiling about the whole thing, thinking the skills they’re learning here are applicable to almost anything other than video gaming, but my hook to try to drag these guys in is gaming. I wish I could call it ‘Really hardcore programming for hyper-intelligent people’ but then no one would come.”
Game programming is in its first year at
“I went in there very arrogantly and just said, ‘
The heart of it lies in its focus on the essentials.
“One of the things we’re separating ourselves here at
As for competing with other established programs in the gaming realm, such as the International Academy of Design and Technology, Fielder is not worried about setting his students up for employability upon graduation.
“I don’t want to compete with them at all. That school is focusing on the art of the game, the storytelling of the game. We’re the geeks and geeks get paid well,” said Fielder. “There are a few companies here in town, there are a whole bunch in places like
Students of game programming may be worried about being trapped in a “guinea-pig” year, but seem confident about the skills they will have learned after receiving their diplomas.
“For a student coming out of a brand new program that doesn’t have a reputation, we’re going to be setting a reputation and, also, we’re going to have to go against other schools that have really good reputations for this kind of course,” said John Borthiry, first-year game programming student. “As for beating them when we’re done, that’s really up to us.”
Borthiry, 25, heard about the program through his mother, who works at the Ontario College Application Service. Borthiry, who was in the general arts and sciences program last semester, has no regrets about choosing
“I’ve talked to one student that went to (International Academy of Design and Technology), and he was very impressed with it. But hearing what he’s going through, by reading the course outline over the next three years, it sounds like a lot of the same stuff,” said Borthiry. “I know
Game Programming is six semesters and graduates receive an advanced diploma. Domestic tuition fees for 2007/2008 are $2,877.16 with additional fees for computer labs. For more information, contact Muthana Zouri at 416-675-6622, extension 4422.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Yuk Yuk's Amateur Night
With another school year in full swing,
Yuk Yuk’s is the home of Amateur Night, a two-hour spot on Tuesday nights where students from the comedy writing and performance program get to strut their stuff in front of peers and strangers alike. It’s an opportunity that is great not only for the comics, but for students interested in checking out amateur comedy.
“This place is the best open mic for people in my opinion. It’s always full in here, and the more people you have, the more you can gauge your response,” said second-year comedy student Richard Steudle, 23.
Despite rainy weather in downtown
Although Steudle’s set was well-received, his work ethic won’t allow him to sit on any positive reaction for too long.
“In this program, as much as you want to put into it is what you’re going to get out of it. If you put a lot into it, you’re going to be the funniest guy out there. But if you want to just go to class every day, hand in your homework and do the bare minimum, you’re not going to do anything,” he said.
Earlier in the night, second-year comedy student Bobby Knauff from
Dressed in plaid pants and a full red beard, Knauff, 19, used the microphone as a prop in order to tell the audience about his long-distance relationship with his girlfriend. Conscious of the importance of leaving the crowd wanting more, Knauff ended his set abruptly by declaring “Yes! I ended with a laugh!” right after the crowd erupted at one of his punch lines.
As the drinks flowed and the peer support was evident, the
All the comedians performed original material, with the first female performer of the evening cracking jokes about men rejecting women based on ridiculous criteria. The flow to the night took a complete twist when second-year student Alan Mason performed his satirical tune “I Watched You Sleep Last Night”. The acoustic country song about sneaking into a girl’s bedroom to watch her sleep got the entire crowd clapping along.
Success at one of these amateur nights is great, but as Knauff explains, a comedian needs a lot of dedication to pursue a career in comedy.
“If you think that just by going to the Humber Comedy program, you’re ‘in’, you’re sadly, sadly mistaken,” he says. “If you’re pro, but never work on it and you’re like, ‘I’m awesome’, there’s so many people that want your spot. But if you’re professional about it, you’ll get it eventually.”
Although a portion of the crowd was students from the comedy program, many were not. As the night went on, it became clear that the students were performing for more than just their friends.
“Being a fan of comedy, I definitely found it interesting. I’d definitely go back and check it out again,” says Michael Vlasveld, first-year radio broadcasting student at
Vlasveld, 20, is a huge fan of comedy and found the experience to be interesting, as well as entertaining.
“At first, I thought it would be just comedy students sitting there watching each other. I thought, ‘oh great’,” says Vlasveld.
“It really filled up by the end. It was a way better atmosphere than at the start. It didn’t feel like it was amateur, it was like you were at an actual comedy show. I’ve never gone to see stand-up comedy, and even though it was amateur, it was good. You get to watch decent stand up. I’m really passionate about comedy, and it’s cheap, so that’s sweet.”
Yuk Yuk’s is located at 224 Richmond St. W. and amateur night begins every Tuesday at 7:30 p.m. (except for Dec. 26 and Jan. 2). Admission is $3. For more information, call 416-967-6425.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
To Be A Woman (A Short Story)
Christy laughs just like her mother. It’s a giggly, bubbly laugh which exudes the type of femininity boys can’t help but be attracted to. Sometimes it seems like she hasn’t laughed like that since my ex-wife and I split, but I know that she has. Where there once was conversation enveloped in laughter, there are now frustrating series of my questions and her one-word answers. Everyone has walls, I suppose.
It’s difficult to pinpoint a moment when our relationship began to transition to no access, but I know it was around the time that Janet and I divorced. This could be because we decided never to tell Christy the true reason for the divorce. Perhaps Christy knew what we told her was a lie.
I’ve never told Christy that I spent over a year saving up enough money to replace a gold necklace Janet had lost at the beach. It was a gift her mother had given her when she had graduated from university, certainly one of Janet’s most cherished items. For over a year, I spent every janitorial shift at Laurentian High School sweeping hallways and scrubbing toilets knowing that a significant portion of my paycheck was going towards the necklace. When I went to put the necklace and card in Janet’s jewelry box, I found the note that ended our marriage. It was a note from our family doctor describing intimate sexual moments he had had with my wife. The way he fondled her breasts, the way he loved her scent, the electricity he was overcome by when his lips met hers. It even described a trip to
I was sitting in the main room of our two-bedroom apartment listening to Tim McGraw when Christy came home, providing me with a welcomed distraction from my thoughts. She had gone on a date with a boy from school and that was the extent of what she had told me. The music was playing pretty loudly and I almost didn’t hear the door open, in part because she was trying to be as discreet as possible.
“Christy? How was your night?” I asked.
She mumbled “fine” and went straight to her room. Although this was a normal answer, her voice had a faint tremble that worried me. Her shoulder-length blonde hair and petite physique make her appear young, but for a fifteen year-old girl, she’s quite mature. I questioned whether or not I should pursue a conversation, so I gave it a few minutes. Finally, the awkwardness in her voice was too much for me to handle, so I got up off the tattered rocking chair and went to her room.
“Don’t you knock?” she asked angrily.
I laughed and said
“Sorry darlin’, but I was just wonderin’ how your date went.”
Christy stared at me as though I had asked a perfect stranger the most intimate of questions. She folded her arms and rolled her eyes.
“I said fine, didn’t I? I’m waiting for Mom to call me back. She was just busy for a few seconds. You can go back to
I took a couple of extra seconds to look at the posters of Justin Timberlake and Leonardo DiCaprio which adorned her wall before turning around and going to my room. It was funny going from Christy’s room to mine because the size difference was laughable. After the divorce, I knew that it would be hard on Christy to get used to living in a cramped apartment after spending years living in a nice suburban home. Yet without Janet’s nursing wages, I simply couldn’t afford anything bigger than this apartment. I understood that with the change of housing and Christy being a teenage girl, she deserved the privacy the big room could afford. It still hurts to think about how she had pushed so hard to live with Janet during the whole ordeal. I knew how important her mother was to her, so I had offered every weekend to Janet, but she had said that two weekends a month was plenty of time for mother-daughter bonding. An uncomfortable smile still creeps onto my face when I think of the selfishness of her reply.
I slowly undressed and climbed into bed. The sheets felt frigid, but I’ve always enjoyed the feeling you get when you bring warmth to something cold. As I lay there knowing a good sleep was necessary to tolerate work the next day, I thought of Christy’s make-up. Christy had refused to let me help her with it before she went on the date. Instead, she had called her mother to see if Janet could drive over to our apartment to help her with it. Apparently Janet was pretty busy. She and her boyfriend-of-the-day were going to a musical, and she needed that time to find a babysitter for his daughter. Christy had spent a couple of hours in the bathroom trying to teach herself how to do it, and came out asking me if she looked all right. She was wearing far too much eyeliner, blush and mascara, but I told her she looked beautiful. I really thought she did, but whoever was taking her out probably would not agree. That same independent girl was sleeping, or on the phone, in the room right next to me, refusing to tell her own father how her night had gone. As tired as I was, that thought prevented me from sleeping, so I got up, grabbed the robe Janet bought me for my thirty-second birthday and went to Christy’s room.
She was sitting there on her bed with her legs crossed, squeezing her teddy bear as hard as she did the first day I bought it for her. The mascara was running down her cheeks, and she didn’t even look up when I entered the room. My initial instinct was to hug her, but if I had, it would have risked any chance of her opening up. She probably would have told me where the door was. I went over to her bed, and sat next to her.
“If you squeeze that bear any harder, it’s gonna stop breathin’,” I said.
She didn’t respond, but I could swear I heard a giggle under the sniffling and crying, so I smiled.
“Your mom didn’t call you back, did she?” I asked.
Again, there was no response. I didn’t need one. I made no attempts to hug her, but I ruffled her blonde hair. She dropped the teddy bear on the floor, and walked over to her full-size mirror. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, which was useless, as they were pouring from her eyes uncontrollably. She ran her fingers through her hair, preening. She adjusted her skirt, her top, and her bracelets as though she was going on another date. I sat there watching her fidget over the tiniest things, obsessing over a few out-of-place hairs, wondering what it was that she saw. As I looked at her, I could have told her all the things that I saw, things I admired in her, all that father-daughter kind of stuff that no kid wants to hear, but it wouldn’t have mattered to her.
“You know, I’m not your little girl anymore,” Christy said as clearly as she’s ever said anything to me before.
I took a moment to ponder what she just said, and thought she was just telling me to leave the room in her own way. I said “I know” and was about to leave when she spoke again.
“No, you don’t. After tonight, I’m really not your little girl anymore,” she repeated, but this time she laughed one of her bubbly laughs underneath the tears.
That same laugh that is the sweetest sound to me in the entire world, at that moment, was alarming. She stopped adjusting her outfit, and she even stopped looking at herself in the mirror. Her head dropped, she folded her arms, and her eyes were glued to the floor while the tears continued. I felt an ugliness in her body language. My heart was racing, my anger was becoming too much to handle, and I was starting to grind my teeth as I looked at her. I handled the situation in a manner I never would have before. I got up, walked over to my daughter’s side, and spoke.
“Never pretend to laugh when you’re trying to say something serious. Just say it,” I said convincingly, while looking at myself in the mirror.
She nodded her head a few times, and I took that as a sign that she understood what I meant. I glanced over at the pink, heart-shaped clock I had bought Christy for her tenth birthday. I was shocked at how awake I was considering it was 2:00 a.m.
“Why did you do it?” I asked in as soothing a voice as I could muster.
She took close to a minute to respond, but I would have waited an eternity for the answer.
“I don’t know. He took me to the movies and dinner, paid for it all. We were talking in his car afterwards. It just happened,” she said. “It felt good to be wanted.”
She didn’t move her body or her eyes. I didn’t move either. We both stood there letting our short bursts of conversation sink into our minds. I, however, looked at her reflection in the mirror the entire time. Nearly another minute passed, and she spoke again.
“If I don’t let myself be happy now…then when?” she said in almost a whisper.
My heart stopped racing. My anger evaporated. I stopped grinding my teeth. I didn’t hesitate. For the first time since I had become a father, I didn’t hesitate. I put my hand on her shoulder, and I looked at her. Her tears were pouring with more and more consistency, but I didn’t care. I waited. I wasn’t waiting for anything in particular, I just stood there next to my daughter, with my hand on her shoulder, waiting. She finally faced me, and our eyes met. Mine, dry and anxious. Hers, red and drenched in pain. She wrapped her arms around me. It wasn’t uncomfortably tight, but she hugged me tightly enough that I knew we hadn’t hugged in a while. We hugged for several minutes, and said absolutely nothing. Then we shifted positions. I was behind her with my arms wrapped around her chest, and her hands gripped my forearms sternly. We both looked at our reflection in the mirror.
I noticed something I hadn’t ever noticed before or, perhaps more accurately, taken the time to notice before. I noticed the lines on her face. It was challenging to see them because of the makeup which had run down her cheeks, but I noticed lines. Lines around the edges of her lips, lines by the sides of her eyes, and one very faint line on the top part of her forehead. As I looked at every aspect of her face, I couldn’t decide if I saw a girl, or a woman.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Running (A Short Story)
One week ago I boarded a bus at the Anaheim station, and with every mile driven, I was taken further and further from being a man.
Six televisions hanging from the roof and spacious seats with footrests made this bus seem like a pristine home that a lawyer would retire to. I was undeserving of it all.
I spotted two seats in the back corner immediately. I could sit there in silence for the entirety of the ride, but seconds after I slouched down into the corner seat, a tall man approached me.
“Excuse me, would it be all right with you if my son and I sat in those seats? It’s just that they’re the only two empty seats together,” he asked.
I craved the silence that these back seats promised, but when I saw the boy, I couldn’t refuse. His nervousness prevented him from making eye contact with me, so he stared at the floor while he squeezed his father’s hand tightly. It was clear to me that all
the boy wanted was the security of his father. I was familiar with that yearning. I complied.
I chose a seat right next to a man resembling Jesus. The stench of stale cigarette smoke surrounded him, and it was clear that he hadn’t shaved in weeks. He shuffled cards and I sat there thinking about the time I had taught myself to shave before my first real date.
Soon my mind wandered and was handcuffed by thoughts of Kelly. I was consumed with the thought of her giving birth to our child with no one’s hand to squeeze tightly. No husband or boyfriend to provide security, just an overwhelming sensation of loneliness she didn’t deserve. What bothered me the most was that no one would be there to tell her she didn’t deserve it.
I reached into my backpack and pulled out the photograph that was etched in my mind from hundreds of looks. It was a picture of Kelly and me at the beach, and I was instantly drawn to her jet black hair. I remember how her face lit up when she said “You’re going to be a father.” The words paralyzed me. And there I was one week later, running from the responsibility that was her womb.
“Pretty girl,” said the man sitting next to me. I was so involved with Kelly’s beauty that I hadn’t noticed him staring at the very same thing. “That your girlfriend?”
His voice was much smoother than his appearance would predict, but I was still reluctant to speak.
“She was,” I responded.
“Ya don’t get too many like that in your life, boy,” he said.
I peeled my eyes from the photograph and stared into his. They had a glowing hazel tint, and they were inviting and protective at the same time. He extended his hand and introduced himself as Richard.
“What happened?” he asked.
Participating in a conversation about Kelly was the last thing I wanted, but I had taught myself to be polite.
“It got complicated,” I muttered.
He laughed and continued shuffling his cards.
“Well, that’s a typical response. It’s not complicated, boy. You two in love or not?” he asked.
I felt an anger boil inside of me, not so much because of his simplistic view of my situation, but because that was the second time he called me boy. I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m not anyone’s boy. I’ve never been anyone’s boy.
“You sure love questions, Richie. “What about you? What are you doing on this bus?” I asked.
“My daughter graduated and doesn’t know what to do now, so I’m going to try and teach her a little bit about making decisions,” he responded with concern. At this point, my anger was replaced with jealousy.
“Well, I’ve never had anyone teach me about life and I turned out just fine,” I said. He stopped shuffling his cards, and as we stared at each other for several seconds, he knew not to question that.
When I was seven, my dad joined the Army and never came back, so I never got to ask him how to kiss a girl. In the tenth grade when beautiful Julie McVernon kissed me at a party, I pulled away and stared at her while a few people laughed at us. The tear streaming down her cheek told me that she thought I had rejected her. Frustrated and drunk, I ran to my house, grabbed a baseball bat, and smashed rear view mirrors off a few cars in my neighborhood. I also never got a chance to ask him how to fight. When a thief approached Kelly and me on our way home from our fourth date, I just stood there and let him take her purse. No matter how many times she told me that she didn’t care about the purse, that she was just glad we were safe, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the purse.
Fifteen minutes passed while I stared at the seat in front of me. As the last hint of sunlight was swallowed by darkness, silence fell over the bus. Just as I closed my eyes in hopes of some rest, I heard Richard clear his throat.
“Since you can’t answer my question, why don’t we let the cards decide?” he asked without a trace of a smile.
I turned to him and laughed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He continued to shuffle his cards and stare at me. “I asked you if you two are in love and you said it was complicated. Well, let’s simplify it. Let’s flip one card. If it’s red, you call that girl and see if you two can’t work out whatever the problem is. If it’s black, you burn that picture and never think twice about her. If you can’t make your own decisions, the cards can do it for you.”
I smiled and shook my head, wondering if he was joking. When I looked back at him, he gave me the same look I had given him when I told him that no one had taught me about life. I didn’t question him.
“Flip the card,” I said in a low voice.
He shuffled the cards slowly, and I thought of how I should have placed my hands on Julie McVernon’s waist. I should have run my hands through her lacey brown hair, leaned in confidently, and felt what it would been like to place my lips on hers. I thought about how I should have thrown everything I had at that thief, regardless of the beating I would surely have gotten. At least Kelly would have known that I can be her strength when she needs it.
Richard stopped shuffling. I watched him cut the deck in half, and place his index and middle finger, which had a scar right next to the nail, on a card. I felt my temperature rise as I turned my head. He withdrew it from the deck and flipped it over. I slowly turned my head back and stared at it. Black eight of clubs.
As the bus pulled into the Los Angeles bus station, I thanked Richard for his help. I gathered my things and pushed past a few people to the front of the bus. Just before opening the door of the station, I glanced to my left and saw the young boy and his father who I had given my seat up to. The bitter three a.m. cold prevented me from watching them for any longer than a second. I walked up to a woman working at the station and smiled at her.
“I need the next available bus going to Anaheim,” I said with more confidence than I’d ever had.
Six televisions hanging from the roof and spacious seats with footrests made this bus seem like a pristine home that a lawyer would retire to. I was undeserving of it all.
I spotted two seats in the back corner immediately. I could sit there in silence for the entirety of the ride, but seconds after I slouched down into the corner seat, a tall man approached me.
“Excuse me, would it be all right with you if my son and I sat in those seats? It’s just that they’re the only two empty seats together,” he asked.
I craved the silence that these back seats promised, but when I saw the boy, I couldn’t refuse. His nervousness prevented him from making eye contact with me, so he stared at the floor while he squeezed his father’s hand tightly. It was clear to me that all
the boy wanted was the security of his father. I was familiar with that yearning. I complied.
I chose a seat right next to a man resembling Jesus. The stench of stale cigarette smoke surrounded him, and it was clear that he hadn’t shaved in weeks. He shuffled cards and I sat there thinking about the time I had taught myself to shave before my first real date.
Soon my mind wandered and was handcuffed by thoughts of Kelly. I was consumed with the thought of her giving birth to our child with no one’s hand to squeeze tightly. No husband or boyfriend to provide security, just an overwhelming sensation of loneliness she didn’t deserve. What bothered me the most was that no one would be there to tell her she didn’t deserve it.
I reached into my backpack and pulled out the photograph that was etched in my mind from hundreds of looks. It was a picture of Kelly and me at the beach, and I was instantly drawn to her jet black hair. I remember how her face lit up when she said “You’re going to be a father.” The words paralyzed me. And there I was one week later, running from the responsibility that was her womb.
“Pretty girl,” said the man sitting next to me. I was so involved with Kelly’s beauty that I hadn’t noticed him staring at the very same thing. “That your girlfriend?”
His voice was much smoother than his appearance would predict, but I was still reluctant to speak.
“She was,” I responded.
“Ya don’t get too many like that in your life, boy,” he said.
I peeled my eyes from the photograph and stared into his. They had a glowing hazel tint, and they were inviting and protective at the same time. He extended his hand and introduced himself as Richard.
“What happened?” he asked.
Participating in a conversation about Kelly was the last thing I wanted, but I had taught myself to be polite.
“It got complicated,” I muttered.
He laughed and continued shuffling his cards.
“Well, that’s a typical response. It’s not complicated, boy. You two in love or not?” he asked.
I felt an anger boil inside of me, not so much because of his simplistic view of my situation, but because that was the second time he called me boy. I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m not anyone’s boy. I’ve never been anyone’s boy.
“You sure love questions, Richie. “What about you? What are you doing on this bus?” I asked.
“My daughter graduated and doesn’t know what to do now, so I’m going to try and teach her a little bit about making decisions,” he responded with concern. At this point, my anger was replaced with jealousy.
“Well, I’ve never had anyone teach me about life and I turned out just fine,” I said. He stopped shuffling his cards, and as we stared at each other for several seconds, he knew not to question that.
When I was seven, my dad joined the Army and never came back, so I never got to ask him how to kiss a girl. In the tenth grade when beautiful Julie McVernon kissed me at a party, I pulled away and stared at her while a few people laughed at us. The tear streaming down her cheek told me that she thought I had rejected her. Frustrated and drunk, I ran to my house, grabbed a baseball bat, and smashed rear view mirrors off a few cars in my neighborhood. I also never got a chance to ask him how to fight. When a thief approached Kelly and me on our way home from our fourth date, I just stood there and let him take her purse. No matter how many times she told me that she didn’t care about the purse, that she was just glad we were safe, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the purse.
Fifteen minutes passed while I stared at the seat in front of me. As the last hint of sunlight was swallowed by darkness, silence fell over the bus. Just as I closed my eyes in hopes of some rest, I heard Richard clear his throat.
“Since you can’t answer my question, why don’t we let the cards decide?” he asked without a trace of a smile.
I turned to him and laughed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He continued to shuffle his cards and stare at me. “I asked you if you two are in love and you said it was complicated. Well, let’s simplify it. Let’s flip one card. If it’s red, you call that girl and see if you two can’t work out whatever the problem is. If it’s black, you burn that picture and never think twice about her. If you can’t make your own decisions, the cards can do it for you.”
I smiled and shook my head, wondering if he was joking. When I looked back at him, he gave me the same look I had given him when I told him that no one had taught me about life. I didn’t question him.
“Flip the card,” I said in a low voice.
He shuffled the cards slowly, and I thought of how I should have placed my hands on Julie McVernon’s waist. I should have run my hands through her lacey brown hair, leaned in confidently, and felt what it would been like to place my lips on hers. I thought about how I should have thrown everything I had at that thief, regardless of the beating I would surely have gotten. At least Kelly would have known that I can be her strength when she needs it.
Richard stopped shuffling. I watched him cut the deck in half, and place his index and middle finger, which had a scar right next to the nail, on a card. I felt my temperature rise as I turned my head. He withdrew it from the deck and flipped it over. I slowly turned my head back and stared at it. Black eight of clubs.
As the bus pulled into the Los Angeles bus station, I thanked Richard for his help. I gathered my things and pushed past a few people to the front of the bus. Just before opening the door of the station, I glanced to my left and saw the young boy and his father who I had given my seat up to. The bitter three a.m. cold prevented me from watching them for any longer than a second. I walked up to a woman working at the station and smiled at her.
“I need the next available bus going to Anaheim,” I said with more confidence than I’d ever had.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Love and Marriage: What's REALLY Important?
I walked into the back room of Wal-Mart, my current and temporary place of employment, and picked up a copy of Elle magazine (there weren’t any copies of Sports Illustrated or Rolling Stone, okay!) to pass the time on my hour-long break. I looked at the Table of Contents to decipher which article in this strongly female magazine would be of most interest to me, assuming I’d be lucky to find even one. I saw an article on how women over 40 shouldn’t stress if they aren’t currently married and it peaked my interest, so I flipped to the designated page.
The article was written by a woman over 40 whose opinions on love were refreshing and portrayed a sexy confidence. She said that women shouldn’t have to put their careers on the backburner in order to find a mate, how love she be something that finds you naturally and that everyone, no matter what age, has the opportunity to find love if they put themselves out there. These were opinions that I completely agreed with, and her article was unapologetically positive, an absolute breath of fresh air in my day.
Just as I was soaking in the optimism that surrounded the aforementioned article, the breath of fresh air was taken right out of my lungs by another article entitled “How to Marry a Rich Man”. I laughed and figured it would be a facetious step by step program on finding a wealthy mate. What I found instead was paragraph upon paragraph of a woman over 40, Daphne Merkin, preaching to younger women about separating men based on marriage potential. Merkin’s criteria for marriage potential in a man put his bank account at the top of the list, literally dismissing any other possible attraction as being irrelevant.
Her life story might help clear some things up. Merkin grew up with a wealthy father who always preached to her to marry a man with money. Instead, she opted to marry a financially struggling man who she now has a daughter with. The two eventually divorced (that’s a shock) and she now dreams of going back in time and doing it all over again, this time sniffing out a man who can provide her with the finer things in life.
Let’s step back a minute here. This woman is a writer for one the most popular magazines in the world, lives in an apartment in New York City, one of the most expensive cities in the world, and has a maid to clean her apartment for her. But as she says in one paragraph, she still walks down the street and looks at jewelry and large televisions in stores and wishes she had a man who could buy these things for her. Clearly this woman has never been to places like Iraq or Kenya, where children grow up with dreams of safe, secure environments and a stable supply of food and water, not Plasma televisions and Chanel handbags.
There is one part where she breaks down other possible attractions in a man and weighs them against financial freedom. She says that most wealthy men are not the most physically attractive, but being able to cuddle with someone is of less value than weekend trips to the Hamptons. She says that most wealthy men are not the best listeners or conversationalists, but being able to have a meaningful talk about, say, your childhood, is of less value than a man who can leave a large tip at an expensive restaurant.
This ridiculousness led me to begin reading the article with a search for some kind of sarcasm. As a man with a healthy sense of humour, I was sure she couldn’t be serious about this advice she was giving young women. Sadly, she was. The article closed out with the writer saying that wealthy men are attracted to young, slim and sexually promiscuous women and that if she had the time and money, she would get a tummy tuck, a boob job and work around her eyes in order to start the hunt for a rich husband. It is right around this time that I almost vomited at the thought of young women buying into this drivel.
Let’s do a little role reversal, shall we? The equivalent to this article being written by a man would be a 50 year old preaching that young men should seek out women with large breasts, pretty faces and tight butts while disregarding what’s going on upstairs or any sort of mental chemistry between the two. Would that article ever be published in a widely circulated magazine? Perhaps, but it’s not likely. And if it was, the female backlash would be deafening. I doubt Elle received too many complaints from men.
Personally, as a 22 year-old man, I want to settle down with a woman whose telephone calls brighten up my day, whose compassion for others makes me proud to be a part of her life, and whose potential for being a great mother, should I decide to have children, is extraordinary. Physical attraction is crucial of course, but without the other, divorce would be imminent.
So I put down the magazine in a sour mood, considering that it was probably a lot harder to find a woman whose opinions about love and marriage matched mine and a lot easier to find women whose opinions matched the gold-digging views of Merkin. I went back to work, stacking DVD’s in a bin, and remembered how a few days prior, I had overheard a group of women at Wal-Mart talking about how they need to marry a rich man, and discussing different occupations which pay well. I didn’t have the heart to break it to these ladies that a wealthy man probably wasn’t coming into Wal-Mart in search of a potential spouse. A few minutes after this thought vanished from my mind, in walks a girl I went to high school with looking like an absolute goddess. This beautiful girl walked by me and we exchanged the inevitable “Hey, how’s it going?” part of run-ins. Want to know my immediate thought after she walked away? 'I could never get a girl like that, I work at Wal-Mart'. Would I have had that thought had I not read the article “How to Marry a Rich Man” earlier that day? It’s possible, but not probable. I have a healthy self esteem and personally think I make a great boyfriend and will later make a great husband. But after reading such a disgusting, disrespectful and degrading article, I judged myself on my net worth.
The fact is, some women do judge men on their financial assets and some men do judge women on their physical ones. Regardless, I never want to become as jaded as this woman and think that that beautiful girl from my high school wouldn’t want to be with me because I don’t have enough money. I could offer her a lot more happiness than most rich men. That is, if she bases her happiness on loving the man she shares her life with, as opposed to being a lonely girl in a large house.
But maybe Merkin should call up every rich man who has ever cheated on his wife (does anyone have Alex Rodriguez’s phone number?) and tell them “Don’t feel bad, at least your wife has your money”.
The article was written by a woman over 40 whose opinions on love were refreshing and portrayed a sexy confidence. She said that women shouldn’t have to put their careers on the backburner in order to find a mate, how love she be something that finds you naturally and that everyone, no matter what age, has the opportunity to find love if they put themselves out there. These were opinions that I completely agreed with, and her article was unapologetically positive, an absolute breath of fresh air in my day.
Just as I was soaking in the optimism that surrounded the aforementioned article, the breath of fresh air was taken right out of my lungs by another article entitled “How to Marry a Rich Man”. I laughed and figured it would be a facetious step by step program on finding a wealthy mate. What I found instead was paragraph upon paragraph of a woman over 40, Daphne Merkin, preaching to younger women about separating men based on marriage potential. Merkin’s criteria for marriage potential in a man put his bank account at the top of the list, literally dismissing any other possible attraction as being irrelevant.
Her life story might help clear some things up. Merkin grew up with a wealthy father who always preached to her to marry a man with money. Instead, she opted to marry a financially struggling man who she now has a daughter with. The two eventually divorced (that’s a shock) and she now dreams of going back in time and doing it all over again, this time sniffing out a man who can provide her with the finer things in life.
Let’s step back a minute here. This woman is a writer for one the most popular magazines in the world, lives in an apartment in New York City, one of the most expensive cities in the world, and has a maid to clean her apartment for her. But as she says in one paragraph, she still walks down the street and looks at jewelry and large televisions in stores and wishes she had a man who could buy these things for her. Clearly this woman has never been to places like Iraq or Kenya, where children grow up with dreams of safe, secure environments and a stable supply of food and water, not Plasma televisions and Chanel handbags.
There is one part where she breaks down other possible attractions in a man and weighs them against financial freedom. She says that most wealthy men are not the most physically attractive, but being able to cuddle with someone is of less value than weekend trips to the Hamptons. She says that most wealthy men are not the best listeners or conversationalists, but being able to have a meaningful talk about, say, your childhood, is of less value than a man who can leave a large tip at an expensive restaurant.
This ridiculousness led me to begin reading the article with a search for some kind of sarcasm. As a man with a healthy sense of humour, I was sure she couldn’t be serious about this advice she was giving young women. Sadly, she was. The article closed out with the writer saying that wealthy men are attracted to young, slim and sexually promiscuous women and that if she had the time and money, she would get a tummy tuck, a boob job and work around her eyes in order to start the hunt for a rich husband. It is right around this time that I almost vomited at the thought of young women buying into this drivel.
Let’s do a little role reversal, shall we? The equivalent to this article being written by a man would be a 50 year old preaching that young men should seek out women with large breasts, pretty faces and tight butts while disregarding what’s going on upstairs or any sort of mental chemistry between the two. Would that article ever be published in a widely circulated magazine? Perhaps, but it’s not likely. And if it was, the female backlash would be deafening. I doubt Elle received too many complaints from men.
Personally, as a 22 year-old man, I want to settle down with a woman whose telephone calls brighten up my day, whose compassion for others makes me proud to be a part of her life, and whose potential for being a great mother, should I decide to have children, is extraordinary. Physical attraction is crucial of course, but without the other, divorce would be imminent.
So I put down the magazine in a sour mood, considering that it was probably a lot harder to find a woman whose opinions about love and marriage matched mine and a lot easier to find women whose opinions matched the gold-digging views of Merkin. I went back to work, stacking DVD’s in a bin, and remembered how a few days prior, I had overheard a group of women at Wal-Mart talking about how they need to marry a rich man, and discussing different occupations which pay well. I didn’t have the heart to break it to these ladies that a wealthy man probably wasn’t coming into Wal-Mart in search of a potential spouse. A few minutes after this thought vanished from my mind, in walks a girl I went to high school with looking like an absolute goddess. This beautiful girl walked by me and we exchanged the inevitable “Hey, how’s it going?” part of run-ins. Want to know my immediate thought after she walked away? 'I could never get a girl like that, I work at Wal-Mart'. Would I have had that thought had I not read the article “How to Marry a Rich Man” earlier that day? It’s possible, but not probable. I have a healthy self esteem and personally think I make a great boyfriend and will later make a great husband. But after reading such a disgusting, disrespectful and degrading article, I judged myself on my net worth.
The fact is, some women do judge men on their financial assets and some men do judge women on their physical ones. Regardless, I never want to become as jaded as this woman and think that that beautiful girl from my high school wouldn’t want to be with me because I don’t have enough money. I could offer her a lot more happiness than most rich men. That is, if she bases her happiness on loving the man she shares her life with, as opposed to being a lonely girl in a large house.
But maybe Merkin should call up every rich man who has ever cheated on his wife (does anyone have Alex Rodriguez’s phone number?) and tell them “Don’t feel bad, at least your wife has your money”.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Kingston Songwriter Dennis Clark Sits Down With Coyler About New Album "May"
You can try to take the rock out of the music, but you can’t take the rock out of the musician.
“May”, Dennis Clark’s first solo album, may be an unplugged departure from his previous band work, but at the core, it still contains the energy one would expect from the young musician, and this was no accident.
“I wanted (the album) to have balls and it does. I didn’t want to tone it down at all,” says the Gananoque, Ontario native, who relocated to Kingston at an early age.
The juxtaposition between rock and acoustic is even apparent in Clark’s apartment bedroom, where an electric Ibanez sits on a stand just underneath an acoustic guitar hanging from the wall. The absence of electric guitar found on May is replaced with bass, occasional keyboard and relentless harmonica riffs that not only drive the songs, but add needed depth. The heart of the record however, lies most definitely in Clark’s powerful vocals and candid lyrics, which he says are intentionally not as straightforward as one would imagine.
“Lyrically, I don’t hold back. Maybe I sugarcoat a little, and not say things directly. Honesty and sincerity are a big part of my lyrics. About how much I put out there, I do like to leave it up to people to interpret it in their own way. If I say everything directly, people would say ‘I can almost relate to that’,” says the 21 year-old.
The bright colours and blooming flower of the artwork, coupled with the title of the record, might suggest a light, happy vibe. The title however, is simply his favourite month, and the album deals with dark personal issues such as the yearning for change and the breakdown of relationships. Sprinkled with standout tracks like “Leather”, “The Blink of an Eye” and “Summer Scent”, it was interesting that when asked what song he would show the world if he had one opportunity, his answer came quickly.
“Outside My Shoes because it sums up the entire May title. That song and the song “May” itself are about the exact same thing: being sick of doing the same thing all the time, the routine of living here my whole life and not getting away,” he says.
Some musicians have said that the best music can be made in a state of unhappiness because that is when the emotion is so strong that it can be poured into the music unfiltered. Clark agrees, and says that May would have been much different had he been more satisfied with what was happening in his life at the time.
“The album would have been less down if I was happy about everything. At the same time, maybe if I was happy about everything, the songs might not be as personal. If you’re sick of everything and you’re down all the time, it’s probably time to make a change. I’m sick of this scene,” he divulges.
“Anything At All”, a song Clark says is the most personal on the record, is about a New Year’s party he attended a couple of years ago where the partying got out of hand. By the end of the night, the police were called in order to end a drastic verbal and physical dispute. Ashamed of the incident, Clark says he rarely plays the song live.
The opening track, “Leather”, came about after Clark saw a storm coming over a body of water at a friend’s cottage. A song originating from such simplicity might lend to basic lyrics, but the honesty of the words is a realistic look at the sadness and regret that can exist in the world. “Nobody is informed not everybody finds their door. Not everybody gets theirs.” These earnest, truthful words seem like something a 50-something with an abundance of life experience would write, as opposed to a 21 year-old with the world at his fingertips. Later in the song, Clark sings “Chemo came and killed the cancer.” A long-time friend and former band mate of Clark’s was diagnosed with cancer a year ago, but Clark says that the words were written long before the incident, and are nothing more than a metaphor for finding a solution to a problem.
The album closes with the same subject as it opened, the ending of relationships, with “Summer Scent” being a recount of the demise of his former band, Degenerate. If the words “I don’t want it back although it was so good” are any indication, he’s put the past behind him and is ready for the challenge of being a solo performer, but also doesn’t rule out adding band members in the future.
“With a band, we could go anywhere with it. Right now I’m just writing on an acoustic guitar and I play by myself live. I can’t really take that much further without other people,” he says.
The new release was recorded in his apartment and it marks the first time in Clark’s career that he has recorded entirely on his own. The experience, he says, was refreshing.
“It was way more relaxed. I recorded everything like a hundred times. In a band, it’s more rushed. You need time to get everyone together. This time, I worked at my own pace. The album definitely consumed me. If I was recording with a band in a studio, I’m pretty sure everyone would hate me,” he says with a laugh.
Having experienced both worlds, band and solo, Clark says one of the biggest differences lies in the live performance. Performing, he says, is better when there are band members to share it with. There are people to talk to, and it is more entertaining for the audience as they can see that he is having fun.
Whether it’s a live performance or recorded material, Clark’s goal is to get his music out to as many people as possible, through whatever means necessary. Although he says that he writes music for himself, it becomes apparent that affecting the listener is of equal importance to the young musician.
“If I sell all those copies that means 500 people have my CD. That’s a good portion of people, and that would feel amazing. One out of 500 people has to count for something,” he says.
“If a record executive hears it and doesn’t like it but other people do, I really don’t give a shit what the record dude has to say about it. If a kid on the street likes it, if it does anything for him and he’s in the exact same position as me, that’d feel really good. Maybe that leads to a following and that’s all I really want,” he continues.
“This music is for me, I want to put it out there. If people like it, that’s awesome. But if they don’t like it, it’s not going to stop me from writing another CD. Same with the record dude, if he doesn’t like it, then whatever. I’ll write 11 more songs.”
With May being such a personal record about struggles, one could listen to it and get a sense of Clark being a Layne Staley/Kurt Cobain-ish musician: tortured and tired of it. Spend a little time with him however, and you’ll find that having fun is right at the top of his to-do list. His DVD collection includes Beavis and Butt-Head, Saturday Night Live: Best of Mike Meyers, and seasons one through six of The Simpsons. His CD collection varies from Alexis on Fire to Radiohead to Serial Joe (to be fair, it is still undetermined if that is a joke or not). And a more thoughtful side of the musician comes out when Stephen Hawking’s book “A Brief History of Time” is noticed. Turned on to the book after seeing the movie “Donnie Darko”, Clark explains it to be about theories on the stars and gravity, and confidently suggests that time travel is not impossible.
Leaving the time travel study up to Hawking, Clark cannot definitively say what the future holds for him, but a change in geographic location would be a welcomed one (given the lyrical content on May, that’s not much of a shock).
“I’ve lived in downtown Kingston, I’ve experienced it for what it is. I’m looking forward to change. Halifax, B.C., whatever. But I might end up writing another CD about how things suck. I’ll just print 500 more copies of this,” he says facetiously.
As far as the future of the music is concerned, Clark is happy to have completed his latest disc, and is allowing himself pressure-free time to gather material for another album. In the meantime, he plans on recording a six-song EP with tunes written at the tail end of May, as well as B-sides, in order to keep people interested. He doesn’t intend on recording it independently again, and wants to add percussion and bass to give it a fuller sound. One thing he knows for certain is that he does not want to recreate a similar record.
“I don’t want it to be the same, but I don’t necessarily know what I’m going to do that’s different. I’m happier now. I don’t feel like I’m going to write the same songs. I’m happy that (this record) is out there finally. Now I can stop writing songs about wanting it to be out there,” he says.
While waiting for the next release, fans can catch Clark performing at various clubs in Kingston (for more information, contact Dennis_clark@hotmail.com). In a world where Lindsay Lohan and Ashley Simpson say their music and shows are “personal” (as I write this, I’m trying to convince myself they actually write their own music), Clark says that his live shows are as real as they come, and that offstage, he’s the same regular guy. He says it, of course, with his sarcasm intact.
“It’s just me. I try to have a sense of humour. It’s the same guy with more of a cocky attitude. After I play, I’m better than you because I just played. I just go up there in my regular clothes, whatever I was wearing that day. I don’t go up there and fake anything, I’m just up and I’m myself. Sometimes I’m a little shy, and sometimes I’m a little drunk.”
-30-
“May”, Dennis Clark’s first solo album, may be an unplugged departure from his previous band work, but at the core, it still contains the energy one would expect from the young musician, and this was no accident.
“I wanted (the album) to have balls and it does. I didn’t want to tone it down at all,” says the Gananoque, Ontario native, who relocated to Kingston at an early age.
The juxtaposition between rock and acoustic is even apparent in Clark’s apartment bedroom, where an electric Ibanez sits on a stand just underneath an acoustic guitar hanging from the wall. The absence of electric guitar found on May is replaced with bass, occasional keyboard and relentless harmonica riffs that not only drive the songs, but add needed depth. The heart of the record however, lies most definitely in Clark’s powerful vocals and candid lyrics, which he says are intentionally not as straightforward as one would imagine.
“Lyrically, I don’t hold back. Maybe I sugarcoat a little, and not say things directly. Honesty and sincerity are a big part of my lyrics. About how much I put out there, I do like to leave it up to people to interpret it in their own way. If I say everything directly, people would say ‘I can almost relate to that’,” says the 21 year-old.
The bright colours and blooming flower of the artwork, coupled with the title of the record, might suggest a light, happy vibe. The title however, is simply his favourite month, and the album deals with dark personal issues such as the yearning for change and the breakdown of relationships. Sprinkled with standout tracks like “Leather”, “The Blink of an Eye” and “Summer Scent”, it was interesting that when asked what song he would show the world if he had one opportunity, his answer came quickly.
“Outside My Shoes because it sums up the entire May title. That song and the song “May” itself are about the exact same thing: being sick of doing the same thing all the time, the routine of living here my whole life and not getting away,” he says.
Some musicians have said that the best music can be made in a state of unhappiness because that is when the emotion is so strong that it can be poured into the music unfiltered. Clark agrees, and says that May would have been much different had he been more satisfied with what was happening in his life at the time.
“The album would have been less down if I was happy about everything. At the same time, maybe if I was happy about everything, the songs might not be as personal. If you’re sick of everything and you’re down all the time, it’s probably time to make a change. I’m sick of this scene,” he divulges.
“Anything At All”, a song Clark says is the most personal on the record, is about a New Year’s party he attended a couple of years ago where the partying got out of hand. By the end of the night, the police were called in order to end a drastic verbal and physical dispute. Ashamed of the incident, Clark says he rarely plays the song live.
The opening track, “Leather”, came about after Clark saw a storm coming over a body of water at a friend’s cottage. A song originating from such simplicity might lend to basic lyrics, but the honesty of the words is a realistic look at the sadness and regret that can exist in the world. “Nobody is informed not everybody finds their door. Not everybody gets theirs.” These earnest, truthful words seem like something a 50-something with an abundance of life experience would write, as opposed to a 21 year-old with the world at his fingertips. Later in the song, Clark sings “Chemo came and killed the cancer.” A long-time friend and former band mate of Clark’s was diagnosed with cancer a year ago, but Clark says that the words were written long before the incident, and are nothing more than a metaphor for finding a solution to a problem.
The album closes with the same subject as it opened, the ending of relationships, with “Summer Scent” being a recount of the demise of his former band, Degenerate. If the words “I don’t want it back although it was so good” are any indication, he’s put the past behind him and is ready for the challenge of being a solo performer, but also doesn’t rule out adding band members in the future.
“With a band, we could go anywhere with it. Right now I’m just writing on an acoustic guitar and I play by myself live. I can’t really take that much further without other people,” he says.
The new release was recorded in his apartment and it marks the first time in Clark’s career that he has recorded entirely on his own. The experience, he says, was refreshing.
“It was way more relaxed. I recorded everything like a hundred times. In a band, it’s more rushed. You need time to get everyone together. This time, I worked at my own pace. The album definitely consumed me. If I was recording with a band in a studio, I’m pretty sure everyone would hate me,” he says with a laugh.
Having experienced both worlds, band and solo, Clark says one of the biggest differences lies in the live performance. Performing, he says, is better when there are band members to share it with. There are people to talk to, and it is more entertaining for the audience as they can see that he is having fun.
Whether it’s a live performance or recorded material, Clark’s goal is to get his music out to as many people as possible, through whatever means necessary. Although he says that he writes music for himself, it becomes apparent that affecting the listener is of equal importance to the young musician.
“If I sell all those copies that means 500 people have my CD. That’s a good portion of people, and that would feel amazing. One out of 500 people has to count for something,” he says.
“If a record executive hears it and doesn’t like it but other people do, I really don’t give a shit what the record dude has to say about it. If a kid on the street likes it, if it does anything for him and he’s in the exact same position as me, that’d feel really good. Maybe that leads to a following and that’s all I really want,” he continues.
“This music is for me, I want to put it out there. If people like it, that’s awesome. But if they don’t like it, it’s not going to stop me from writing another CD. Same with the record dude, if he doesn’t like it, then whatever. I’ll write 11 more songs.”
With May being such a personal record about struggles, one could listen to it and get a sense of Clark being a Layne Staley/Kurt Cobain-ish musician: tortured and tired of it. Spend a little time with him however, and you’ll find that having fun is right at the top of his to-do list. His DVD collection includes Beavis and Butt-Head, Saturday Night Live: Best of Mike Meyers, and seasons one through six of The Simpsons. His CD collection varies from Alexis on Fire to Radiohead to Serial Joe (to be fair, it is still undetermined if that is a joke or not). And a more thoughtful side of the musician comes out when Stephen Hawking’s book “A Brief History of Time” is noticed. Turned on to the book after seeing the movie “Donnie Darko”, Clark explains it to be about theories on the stars and gravity, and confidently suggests that time travel is not impossible.
Leaving the time travel study up to Hawking, Clark cannot definitively say what the future holds for him, but a change in geographic location would be a welcomed one (given the lyrical content on May, that’s not much of a shock).
“I’ve lived in downtown Kingston, I’ve experienced it for what it is. I’m looking forward to change. Halifax, B.C., whatever. But I might end up writing another CD about how things suck. I’ll just print 500 more copies of this,” he says facetiously.
As far as the future of the music is concerned, Clark is happy to have completed his latest disc, and is allowing himself pressure-free time to gather material for another album. In the meantime, he plans on recording a six-song EP with tunes written at the tail end of May, as well as B-sides, in order to keep people interested. He doesn’t intend on recording it independently again, and wants to add percussion and bass to give it a fuller sound. One thing he knows for certain is that he does not want to recreate a similar record.
“I don’t want it to be the same, but I don’t necessarily know what I’m going to do that’s different. I’m happier now. I don’t feel like I’m going to write the same songs. I’m happy that (this record) is out there finally. Now I can stop writing songs about wanting it to be out there,” he says.
While waiting for the next release, fans can catch Clark performing at various clubs in Kingston (for more information, contact Dennis_clark@hotmail.com). In a world where Lindsay Lohan and Ashley Simpson say their music and shows are “personal” (as I write this, I’m trying to convince myself they actually write their own music), Clark says that his live shows are as real as they come, and that offstage, he’s the same regular guy. He says it, of course, with his sarcasm intact.
“It’s just me. I try to have a sense of humour. It’s the same guy with more of a cocky attitude. After I play, I’m better than you because I just played. I just go up there in my regular clothes, whatever I was wearing that day. I don’t go up there and fake anything, I’m just up and I’m myself. Sometimes I’m a little shy, and sometimes I’m a little drunk.”
-30-
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Humber Firefighter Jeff VanDerBeek
Sometime in the near future, Jeff VanDerBeek could be putting out a fire to save lives, and the training he received at Humber College will enable him to do just that.
VanDerBeek was born in Kapuskasing, Ontario, but moved to Kitchener when he was three years old. Before reaching a decision to enroll in the Humber Fire Pre-Service Education and Training program, VanDerBeek says it was a process of far-fetched elimination.
“When I was nearing the end of high school, I was unsure, as were many of my classmates, about what they were going to do. I was trying to think about what the funnest jobs would be and off the top of my head I thought ‘NHL hockey player’, ‘poker player’. Once I got back down to reality and I actually started talking to different people, there were two main influences that lead me to firefighting,” he says.
When VanDerBeek was 12, he was playing ice hockey and got cross-checked in the throat, causing some swelling. His head coach was a firefighter and a paramedic, and he says that his coach was the only one to look objectively at the situation and do something productive. The coach calmed VanDerBeek and this, he says, was admirable.
Another hockey instructor of his used to tell stories about his firefighting profession, stories that VanDerBeek found very entertaining and exciting. But aside from these men, it was his ethics that lead him in the firefighting direction.
“What’s right and moral in regards to your day to day activity, there’s so much grey area. I didn’t want there to be any grey area in my job. I wanted it to be clear cut that what I was doing was a productive thing in society,” he says. “To believe in one thing whole heartedly is a little abstract but there’s nothing abstract about a person helping another person when they need it.”
Regardless of the reasons he chose firefighting, VanDerBeek says he is finding success and happiness in his program. In the first semester, he learned specific aspects such as ventilation and pump operations. Real fire trucks were used to teach the students regulating water pressure and setting up hoses in various manners. VanDerBeek says with the training they are doing now, there is more of a solid education on actually putting out fires.
They are trained at sites called Burn Towers, mock buildings used by fire departments for training new recruits. Humber students are trained in all positions of a fire crew: the crew going in to the building, the entry control team who look after the people going in, and another crew which is dedicated to rehab. VanDerBeek says the rehab crew is as crucial to a firefighting team’s success as any.
“When the crew comes out of a building, (the rehab team) takes vitals, blood pressure, and gives the guys water. In the real world, you can’t just keep sending people in to a long-running fire, eventually they’re going to go down. Those people go to rehab to get vitals down to an acceptable level so they can go back in and continue fighting the fire,” he says.
Humber’s firefighting program is three semesters long, and as excited as VanDerBeek is about obtaining employment at a fire hall, he has other plans for the immediate future. He hopes to go out west to work on the oil rigs before enrolling at Conestoga College for Paramedics.
“It’s all about taking care of patients, packaging, and wound care. That was one of my favourite parts of the firefighting program. Eventually I want to get in to full-time firefighting, that’s my primary goal,” he states. “But the paramedic will help me get there along the way, and I think it’d be a cool part time job. Good money there too. They’ve got benefits that’ll take care of my teeth at least.”
As for now, VanDerBeek plans on wrapping up Humber’s program, including a six-week placement in his third semester, which he hopes he can complete at a fire hall in the Kitchener area. With all he has to look forward to though, he still thinks about the little things.
“Right now, I’m excited about taking a nap,” he says with a smile.
-30-
VanDerBeek was born in Kapuskasing, Ontario, but moved to Kitchener when he was three years old. Before reaching a decision to enroll in the Humber Fire Pre-Service Education and Training program, VanDerBeek says it was a process of far-fetched elimination.
“When I was nearing the end of high school, I was unsure, as were many of my classmates, about what they were going to do. I was trying to think about what the funnest jobs would be and off the top of my head I thought ‘NHL hockey player’, ‘poker player’. Once I got back down to reality and I actually started talking to different people, there were two main influences that lead me to firefighting,” he says.
When VanDerBeek was 12, he was playing ice hockey and got cross-checked in the throat, causing some swelling. His head coach was a firefighter and a paramedic, and he says that his coach was the only one to look objectively at the situation and do something productive. The coach calmed VanDerBeek and this, he says, was admirable.
Another hockey instructor of his used to tell stories about his firefighting profession, stories that VanDerBeek found very entertaining and exciting. But aside from these men, it was his ethics that lead him in the firefighting direction.
“What’s right and moral in regards to your day to day activity, there’s so much grey area. I didn’t want there to be any grey area in my job. I wanted it to be clear cut that what I was doing was a productive thing in society,” he says. “To believe in one thing whole heartedly is a little abstract but there’s nothing abstract about a person helping another person when they need it.”
Regardless of the reasons he chose firefighting, VanDerBeek says he is finding success and happiness in his program. In the first semester, he learned specific aspects such as ventilation and pump operations. Real fire trucks were used to teach the students regulating water pressure and setting up hoses in various manners. VanDerBeek says with the training they are doing now, there is more of a solid education on actually putting out fires.
They are trained at sites called Burn Towers, mock buildings used by fire departments for training new recruits. Humber students are trained in all positions of a fire crew: the crew going in to the building, the entry control team who look after the people going in, and another crew which is dedicated to rehab. VanDerBeek says the rehab crew is as crucial to a firefighting team’s success as any.
“When the crew comes out of a building, (the rehab team) takes vitals, blood pressure, and gives the guys water. In the real world, you can’t just keep sending people in to a long-running fire, eventually they’re going to go down. Those people go to rehab to get vitals down to an acceptable level so they can go back in and continue fighting the fire,” he says.
Humber’s firefighting program is three semesters long, and as excited as VanDerBeek is about obtaining employment at a fire hall, he has other plans for the immediate future. He hopes to go out west to work on the oil rigs before enrolling at Conestoga College for Paramedics.
“It’s all about taking care of patients, packaging, and wound care. That was one of my favourite parts of the firefighting program. Eventually I want to get in to full-time firefighting, that’s my primary goal,” he states. “But the paramedic will help me get there along the way, and I think it’d be a cool part time job. Good money there too. They’ve got benefits that’ll take care of my teeth at least.”
As for now, VanDerBeek plans on wrapping up Humber’s program, including a six-week placement in his third semester, which he hopes he can complete at a fire hall in the Kitchener area. With all he has to look forward to though, he still thinks about the little things.
“Right now, I’m excited about taking a nap,” he says with a smile.
-30-
Monday, April 9, 2007
As the Shackles Hit The Ground
A short story by Greg Coyle
By the time the director yelled “Cut”, Adrianna had already dreamed of her shower at least three times. The man’s vile sweat soaked her, and the stench of hollow lust filled the room, nauseating her. The three letter word was what she had been waiting for. She hurried to her Dolce & Gabbana dress shirt and Parasuco jeans, barely responding when the male actor had informed her that her brown roots were visible and that she could use another dye job on her bright blonde hair. It was a rather normal occurrence to be given tips on how to improve her physical appearance.
“I didn’t want to overshadow your comb over,” she snapped back, staring him in the eyes.
“Same time tomorrow sweetheart,” the director interrupted.
“Yup,” she responded sternly.
“Oh and next time, try to smile more,” he suggested.
The cold wind hit her violently as she stepped outside. It only took a second before she reached into her purse, pulled out a cigarette and got into her Lexus. A cigarette was the only thing that wiped away the glazed expression she wore during filming. It was a habit she started shortly after her mother was diagnosed with brain cancer, and she hadn’t been able to quit since. As she drove past the local Adult Film store in downtown Montreal, she kept her eyes stubbornly fixated on the road, never once wondering if any of her films were sold there.
Her routine was always the same after work. She stepped over the newspaper strewn across the floor of her apartment, immediately brushed her teeth, and removed her clothes slowly, looking around to make sure no one was watching. Consciously ignoring the mirror, she stepped into the shower. She loved the way the water felt dripping down her soft skin after a day of work, but it was never enough. She always spent the last few minutes of her showers furiously rubbing soap on every inch of her body in an attempt to rejuvenate. She was rarely satisfied with her attempts.
While walking from the bathroom to the kitchen, she was entranced by the photograph that adorned her wall. She walked over and studied it like a scientist looking at D.N.A. It was a simple image of a mother, a daughter, and a son on vacation. Her mother, who had passed away six years before, smiled proudly. Adrianna never forgot the promise she had made five weeks before the cancer won. Yes, mom, we’ll both be fine. She shook her head and shifted her attention to her former self. She hardly recognized the young brown haired girl, still a second year McGill student at the time, locking her arms tightly around the chest of Bryan, her younger brother. Bryan looked so young, she thought, compared to the mature-looking 22 year old he is now. She usually spent about 10 minutes a day looking at the picture. Whenever the anger took over the sadness, she knew it was time to walk away and carry on with her day.
Just as she was about to close her eyes, she heard the jingling of keys which informed her that Bryan was home.
“How many times do I have to tell you to keep the newspaper on the table, not the floor?” she asked before he had even taken two steps inside their home.
He ignored her, grabbed a coke and turned on the 42” Plasma television as he dropped onto the leather couch.
“I’m talking to you,” she snarled. “I bet you didn’t even look at the classifieds, either.”
She stood with her arms folded waiting for an answer, then gave up. She sighed and walked over to the sink to clean the dishes that Bryan had left from earlier that day. Over the sound of the tap and her scrubbing, she barely heard him mutter “Nobody good is hiring. I don’t wanna work at McDonald’s or something.” She stopped immediately, raised her head slowly, and slammed on the tap to shut the water off.
“You don’t always work because you love it. You work because you need the money! I’m so sick of you complaining about not wanting to do shitty work,” she said.
“Easy for you to say, you work at a bank. How hard can that be?” he replied.
She had learned not to flinch when he mentioned her fictitious job.
“Yeah, it’s real fun Bryan. I can’t wait to get up every morning. It’s like all this stuff, the car, the furniture, the t.v. are all just gravy.” Bryan shut off the television instantly, and his eyes widened.
“You think I like this? Having to ask you for help all the time? Not having twenty bucks in my pocket to take my girlfriend out, having to borrow money off you to get a bag of chips? I never asked for you to take care of me!” he yelled at her. The silence was uncomfortable, and Adrianna was going to hold back, but couldn’t.
“No Bryan. YOU didn’t,” Adrianna said in a lowered voice as her eyes stayed focused on his. She poured herself a rum and coke quickly and went straight to her room, leaving the dishes undone.
Staring out the window in her cramped room, she was unable to concentrate on anything. As she brought the glass to her lips, she noticed that her hands were trembling uncontrollably and that the rest of her body was shivering. She looked at the cigarette pack on her table. Disappointed that it was inevitable, she pulled out a cigarette, licked her lips and lit the smoke as she turned her attention to the moon. The night sky was comforting to her, as though it held a serenity that the day never could. She noticed two figures walking on the sidewalk, and she squinted her eyes to examine them. A man and a woman were holding hands. The woman had a coat draped over her back while the man was obviously cold, walking with just a T-shirt on. She couldn’t help but let her mind wander, imagining their lives. Perhaps they were young lovers on one of their first dates, she thought. Maybe they both go to the same college and met through a class. Perhaps they were all each other had. When they exited Adrianna’s field of view, she turned her head and accidentally caught her reflection in the mirror on her desk. She immediately turned away, closed her eyes and downed the rest of her drink.
Adrianna walked back into the living room where Bryan was still watching television. He ignored her presence and continued staring at the box. She walked up from behind him, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed the top of his head before going to bed.
As she was trying to fall asleep that night, she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. She thought about the way the male actor’s hands would be handling her breasts the next day. She thought about the way he would peel her skirt up and aggressively massage her thighs. She thought about his tongue caressing hers. She finally closed her eyes, and rolled over on her right side, facing the wall. She pulled the covers tightly to her chin, and fell asleep.
The next day was unseasonably warm. Adrianna awoke at 7:00 a.m. and showered. Although she normally woke up at around 9:00 a.m. she was not tired at all. Before leaving the apartment that morning, she took a long glance around inspecting it to make sure it was left in a pristine state for the day. When she was satisfied, she turned the light off and tapped the wall beneath the switch a couple of times before heading down the stairs to her Lexus. The car seemed to be driving smoother than normally. When the clock hit 9:30 a.m. she smiled and imagined the director pacing over and over, checking his watch every five seconds because she was late. He hated when the actors were late, but she was not worried. As she was accelerating on to the 401, she grabbed her pack of cigarettes and without hesitation, threw it out the driver’s side window. After the seven remaining cigarettes spilled onto the highway, the next three cars crushed all of them, but she never looked back to see it.
“I didn’t want to overshadow your comb over,” she snapped back, staring him in the eyes.
“Same time tomorrow sweetheart,” the director interrupted.
“Yup,” she responded sternly.
“Oh and next time, try to smile more,” he suggested.
The cold wind hit her violently as she stepped outside. It only took a second before she reached into her purse, pulled out a cigarette and got into her Lexus. A cigarette was the only thing that wiped away the glazed expression she wore during filming. It was a habit she started shortly after her mother was diagnosed with brain cancer, and she hadn’t been able to quit since. As she drove past the local Adult Film store in downtown Montreal, she kept her eyes stubbornly fixated on the road, never once wondering if any of her films were sold there.
Her routine was always the same after work. She stepped over the newspaper strewn across the floor of her apartment, immediately brushed her teeth, and removed her clothes slowly, looking around to make sure no one was watching. Consciously ignoring the mirror, she stepped into the shower. She loved the way the water felt dripping down her soft skin after a day of work, but it was never enough. She always spent the last few minutes of her showers furiously rubbing soap on every inch of her body in an attempt to rejuvenate. She was rarely satisfied with her attempts.
While walking from the bathroom to the kitchen, she was entranced by the photograph that adorned her wall. She walked over and studied it like a scientist looking at D.N.A. It was a simple image of a mother, a daughter, and a son on vacation. Her mother, who had passed away six years before, smiled proudly. Adrianna never forgot the promise she had made five weeks before the cancer won. Yes, mom, we’ll both be fine. She shook her head and shifted her attention to her former self. She hardly recognized the young brown haired girl, still a second year McGill student at the time, locking her arms tightly around the chest of Bryan, her younger brother. Bryan looked so young, she thought, compared to the mature-looking 22 year old he is now. She usually spent about 10 minutes a day looking at the picture. Whenever the anger took over the sadness, she knew it was time to walk away and carry on with her day.
Just as she was about to close her eyes, she heard the jingling of keys which informed her that Bryan was home.
“How many times do I have to tell you to keep the newspaper on the table, not the floor?” she asked before he had even taken two steps inside their home.
He ignored her, grabbed a coke and turned on the 42” Plasma television as he dropped onto the leather couch.
“I’m talking to you,” she snarled. “I bet you didn’t even look at the classifieds, either.”
She stood with her arms folded waiting for an answer, then gave up. She sighed and walked over to the sink to clean the dishes that Bryan had left from earlier that day. Over the sound of the tap and her scrubbing, she barely heard him mutter “Nobody good is hiring. I don’t wanna work at McDonald’s or something.” She stopped immediately, raised her head slowly, and slammed on the tap to shut the water off.
“You don’t always work because you love it. You work because you need the money! I’m so sick of you complaining about not wanting to do shitty work,” she said.
“Easy for you to say, you work at a bank. How hard can that be?” he replied.
She had learned not to flinch when he mentioned her fictitious job.
“Yeah, it’s real fun Bryan. I can’t wait to get up every morning. It’s like all this stuff, the car, the furniture, the t.v. are all just gravy.” Bryan shut off the television instantly, and his eyes widened.
“You think I like this? Having to ask you for help all the time? Not having twenty bucks in my pocket to take my girlfriend out, having to borrow money off you to get a bag of chips? I never asked for you to take care of me!” he yelled at her. The silence was uncomfortable, and Adrianna was going to hold back, but couldn’t.
“No Bryan. YOU didn’t,” Adrianna said in a lowered voice as her eyes stayed focused on his. She poured herself a rum and coke quickly and went straight to her room, leaving the dishes undone.
Staring out the window in her cramped room, she was unable to concentrate on anything. As she brought the glass to her lips, she noticed that her hands were trembling uncontrollably and that the rest of her body was shivering. She looked at the cigarette pack on her table. Disappointed that it was inevitable, she pulled out a cigarette, licked her lips and lit the smoke as she turned her attention to the moon. The night sky was comforting to her, as though it held a serenity that the day never could. She noticed two figures walking on the sidewalk, and she squinted her eyes to examine them. A man and a woman were holding hands. The woman had a coat draped over her back while the man was obviously cold, walking with just a T-shirt on. She couldn’t help but let her mind wander, imagining their lives. Perhaps they were young lovers on one of their first dates, she thought. Maybe they both go to the same college and met through a class. Perhaps they were all each other had. When they exited Adrianna’s field of view, she turned her head and accidentally caught her reflection in the mirror on her desk. She immediately turned away, closed her eyes and downed the rest of her drink.
Adrianna walked back into the living room where Bryan was still watching television. He ignored her presence and continued staring at the box. She walked up from behind him, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed the top of his head before going to bed.
As she was trying to fall asleep that night, she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. She thought about the way the male actor’s hands would be handling her breasts the next day. She thought about the way he would peel her skirt up and aggressively massage her thighs. She thought about his tongue caressing hers. She finally closed her eyes, and rolled over on her right side, facing the wall. She pulled the covers tightly to her chin, and fell asleep.
The next day was unseasonably warm. Adrianna awoke at 7:00 a.m. and showered. Although she normally woke up at around 9:00 a.m. she was not tired at all. Before leaving the apartment that morning, she took a long glance around inspecting it to make sure it was left in a pristine state for the day. When she was satisfied, she turned the light off and tapped the wall beneath the switch a couple of times before heading down the stairs to her Lexus. The car seemed to be driving smoother than normally. When the clock hit 9:30 a.m. she smiled and imagined the director pacing over and over, checking his watch every five seconds because she was late. He hated when the actors were late, but she was not worried. As she was accelerating on to the 401, she grabbed her pack of cigarettes and without hesitation, threw it out the driver’s side window. After the seven remaining cigarettes spilled onto the highway, the next three cars crushed all of them, but she never looked back to see it.
*****
When Bryan got home that night, he noticed the silence immediately. He ignored it, and went about his usual routine of a coke and television. At the first commercial break, he let his eyes drift. They instantly caught the white envelope on the top of the television. Curious, he got up and walked over to it. Bryan was written on the front, so he tore the envelope open and pulled out the letter.
Bryan,
Everything is yours. It should last you a while until you figure it all out. I’ve heard things were more laid back out West and I’ve always wondered what that meant. Guess I’ll find out soon. You have my cell number, so call it when you need to. Love, Adrianna.
He pulled out the 1500 dollars in the envelope, stared at it for several minutes, then walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. He nervously smiled and shook his head, then walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. He rummaged through the newspaper until he found the Classifieds section with all the highlighter marks she had made for him.
When Bryan got home that night, he noticed the silence immediately. He ignored it, and went about his usual routine of a coke and television. At the first commercial break, he let his eyes drift. They instantly caught the white envelope on the top of the television. Curious, he got up and walked over to it. Bryan was written on the front, so he tore the envelope open and pulled out the letter.
Bryan,
Everything is yours. It should last you a while until you figure it all out. I’ve heard things were more laid back out West and I’ve always wondered what that meant. Guess I’ll find out soon. You have my cell number, so call it when you need to. Love, Adrianna.
He pulled out the 1500 dollars in the envelope, stared at it for several minutes, then walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. He nervously smiled and shook his head, then walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. He rummaged through the newspaper until he found the Classifieds section with all the highlighter marks she had made for him.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Maple Leaf Gardens
The future of the Maple Leaf Gardens is still up in the air, but after a 76 year life, the cultural relevance of the venue is still undeniable.
In 2004, Friends of Maple Leaf Gardens, a group who’s primary goal is to maintain the social and cultural significance of the Gardens, lost their battle when the city of Toronto sold the rights to food retail chain Loblaw Companies. It is reported that the deal eventually fell through.
The group, often referred to as The Friends, was created in 2004 when rumblings of the Gardens being sold began to surface. The Friends have not made any significant moves since September of 2004 after it appeared that their efforts were becoming irrelevant.
Friends member Dan Diamond met with one of David Miller’s assistants, Cara O’Hagan, to suggest that maintaining an ice rink in the building while also allowing the Loblaws development to unfold was not impossible. The Friends website claims that Mayor Miller inquired about this possibility, but the company said that through studies, they learned it would not be economically realistic.
The construction of Maple Leaf Gardens was initiated by Conn Smythe and opened on November 12th, 1931 when the Leafs lost to the Chicago Blackhawks in front of over 13,000 people.
Maple Leaf Gardens was home to several other sports teams aside from the Maple Leafs, including the N.L.L.’s Toronto Rock and the O.H.L.’s Toronto Marlboros.
Sporting events were far from the only form of entertainment that the Gardens were host to. Over the years, Winston Churchill and Pierre Trudeau gave speeches there, and universally successful musical acts such as the Beatles and Elvis Prestley held concerts at the venue.
The final Maple Leaf game was played on February 13th, 1999 when ironically, the Leafs lost to the Chicago Blackhawks. Aside from some musical acts using it to prepare for upcoming tours, the venue is generally unused.
-30-
Sources- http://www.friendsofmapleleafgardens.com/
www.tmlfever.com
www.wikipedia.org
In 2004, Friends of Maple Leaf Gardens, a group who’s primary goal is to maintain the social and cultural significance of the Gardens, lost their battle when the city of Toronto sold the rights to food retail chain Loblaw Companies. It is reported that the deal eventually fell through.
The group, often referred to as The Friends, was created in 2004 when rumblings of the Gardens being sold began to surface. The Friends have not made any significant moves since September of 2004 after it appeared that their efforts were becoming irrelevant.
Friends member Dan Diamond met with one of David Miller’s assistants, Cara O’Hagan, to suggest that maintaining an ice rink in the building while also allowing the Loblaws development to unfold was not impossible. The Friends website claims that Mayor Miller inquired about this possibility, but the company said that through studies, they learned it would not be economically realistic.
The construction of Maple Leaf Gardens was initiated by Conn Smythe and opened on November 12th, 1931 when the Leafs lost to the Chicago Blackhawks in front of over 13,000 people.
Maple Leaf Gardens was home to several other sports teams aside from the Maple Leafs, including the N.L.L.’s Toronto Rock and the O.H.L.’s Toronto Marlboros.
Sporting events were far from the only form of entertainment that the Gardens were host to. Over the years, Winston Churchill and Pierre Trudeau gave speeches there, and universally successful musical acts such as the Beatles and Elvis Prestley held concerts at the venue.
The final Maple Leaf game was played on February 13th, 1999 when ironically, the Leafs lost to the Chicago Blackhawks. Aside from some musical acts using it to prepare for upcoming tours, the venue is generally unused.
-30-
Sources- http://www.friendsofmapleleafgardens.com/
www.tmlfever.com
www.wikipedia.org
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Humber Comedy Writing and Performance
With Humber’s Comedy Writing and Performance program rising in popularity and the skyrocketing fame of comedians like Dane Cook, people seem to think that being a comedian is the new “get rich quick” scheme. But making a living in comedy can be tough, and before you embark on the comedy road, there are a few things you should know.
“To be a comedian, you have to have more ‘pull’ than other people,” says Pete Egnatoff, 1st year Comedy Writing and Performance student at Humber. “You have to be the type of person to watch comedy tapes and go see shows.”
Egnatoff, 21, realized he wanted to be involved in comedy from a young age.
“I popped out of a box in a 1st grade play and the crowd laughed. That’s when I knew comedy was good for me,” he says.
A native of Kingston, Ontario, Egnatoff had performed on an improvisational team, and although it was a valuable learning tool, he was not sold on studying comedy until he attended Humber’s comedy workshop in the summer of 2005. Although no further involvement is necessary, the workshop acts as a preview of the two-year program and is a vital tool for people interested in enrolling in Comedy Writing and Performance.
“The one-week program was definitely important. You get to visit the school, meet administration, and get a feel for what the program is like,” says Egnatoff.
If you’ve attended the workshop or done some prior performing but are still unsure about enrolling full-time, think about your goals.
“People should ask themselves what they want out of it. I was asked what I want out of comedy, and I want to change the world for the better. It’s corny, but you have to hold on to that. If all you want is attention, it’s not the best place for you,” says Egnatoff sincerely. “Be connected to your material.”
Egnatoff also suggests getting feedback from people who have been in the program before making a final choice.
“I talked to people who liked it and didn’t like it. They weighed in, and I made the final decision that it was a good environment for me,” he says.
Egnatoff is passionate about the craft of comedy, and says that if you are thinking about studying Comedy Writing and Performance at Humber, you should be too.
“I get nervous before every show. I was supposed to have a show at Yuk Yuk’s last night and I was nervous about not being ready. Then when I got there, the show had been cancelled and I was upset because I really wanted to do it. I just love it,” says Egnatoff.
If you are infatuated with comedy, have thought long and hard about studying it and aren’t deterred by over $4000 of tuition costs, Humber’s comedy program could be for you.
“It’s a different atmosphere than other programs, it’s bizarre,” says Egnatoff. “On Monday I got to wear a clown nose and act like an idiot. It’s great.”
“To be a comedian, you have to have more ‘pull’ than other people,” says Pete Egnatoff, 1st year Comedy Writing and Performance student at Humber. “You have to be the type of person to watch comedy tapes and go see shows.”
Egnatoff, 21, realized he wanted to be involved in comedy from a young age.
“I popped out of a box in a 1st grade play and the crowd laughed. That’s when I knew comedy was good for me,” he says.
A native of Kingston, Ontario, Egnatoff had performed on an improvisational team, and although it was a valuable learning tool, he was not sold on studying comedy until he attended Humber’s comedy workshop in the summer of 2005. Although no further involvement is necessary, the workshop acts as a preview of the two-year program and is a vital tool for people interested in enrolling in Comedy Writing and Performance.
“The one-week program was definitely important. You get to visit the school, meet administration, and get a feel for what the program is like,” says Egnatoff.
If you’ve attended the workshop or done some prior performing but are still unsure about enrolling full-time, think about your goals.
“People should ask themselves what they want out of it. I was asked what I want out of comedy, and I want to change the world for the better. It’s corny, but you have to hold on to that. If all you want is attention, it’s not the best place for you,” says Egnatoff sincerely. “Be connected to your material.”
Egnatoff also suggests getting feedback from people who have been in the program before making a final choice.
“I talked to people who liked it and didn’t like it. They weighed in, and I made the final decision that it was a good environment for me,” he says.
Egnatoff is passionate about the craft of comedy, and says that if you are thinking about studying Comedy Writing and Performance at Humber, you should be too.
“I get nervous before every show. I was supposed to have a show at Yuk Yuk’s last night and I was nervous about not being ready. Then when I got there, the show had been cancelled and I was upset because I really wanted to do it. I just love it,” says Egnatoff.
If you are infatuated with comedy, have thought long and hard about studying it and aren’t deterred by over $4000 of tuition costs, Humber’s comedy program could be for you.
“It’s a different atmosphere than other programs, it’s bizarre,” says Egnatoff. “On Monday I got to wear a clown nose and act like an idiot. It’s great.”
Thursday, March 1, 2007
AIDS Awareness
A new campaign, ‘Spray to Change Attitudes’, has been initiated by MTV International and The Body Shop to raise HIV and AIDS awareness among youth, but is it enough to halt the growing number of affected citizens?
With the announcement of this launch, a study done in England was released, showing the shocking ignorance of youth as it pertains to HIV and AIDS infections. For instance, “70% of young women do not believe they are at risk of contracting HIV” (CCN Matthews). This is a shockingly false assumption. There are no groups that are immune to the disease, with over half of new HIV victims being between 18-25 years old.
According to an article on HIV/AIDS in Ontario published in 2006 by faculty at the University of Toronto, 14,927 men who are infected with the disease are still seeking sex with women. There has been an increase of 39% of infection from the year 2000 to 2004, and 3,367 were infected through heterosexual experiences (these stats can be found at aidsvigil.pbwiki.com).
HIV and AIDS are on the rise in not only Canada, but the world over. Although it is ludicrous to assume that the number of youth contracting the disease will decrease due to this new launch, Spray to Change Attitudes is attempting to raise money for MTV’s Staying Alive Foundation by selling a new fragrance, Rougeberry Eau De Toilette in all Body Shop stores worldwide. The Staying Alive Foundation is a U.S. charity organization created in 2004 by MTV International to support people infected and fighting AIDS. Rougeberry will be sold across Canada for $18 CDN, and $8.70 of each bottle sold will go towards the Staying Alive Foundation.
Sources:
Ccnmatthews.com
Aidsvigil.pbwiki.com
With the announcement of this launch, a study done in England was released, showing the shocking ignorance of youth as it pertains to HIV and AIDS infections. For instance, “70% of young women do not believe they are at risk of contracting HIV” (CCN Matthews). This is a shockingly false assumption. There are no groups that are immune to the disease, with over half of new HIV victims being between 18-25 years old.
According to an article on HIV/AIDS in Ontario published in 2006 by faculty at the University of Toronto, 14,927 men who are infected with the disease are still seeking sex with women. There has been an increase of 39% of infection from the year 2000 to 2004, and 3,367 were infected through heterosexual experiences (these stats can be found at aidsvigil.pbwiki.com).
HIV and AIDS are on the rise in not only Canada, but the world over. Although it is ludicrous to assume that the number of youth contracting the disease will decrease due to this new launch, Spray to Change Attitudes is attempting to raise money for MTV’s Staying Alive Foundation by selling a new fragrance, Rougeberry Eau De Toilette in all Body Shop stores worldwide. The Staying Alive Foundation is a U.S. charity organization created in 2004 by MTV International to support people infected and fighting AIDS. Rougeberry will be sold across Canada for $18 CDN, and $8.70 of each bottle sold will go towards the Staying Alive Foundation.
Sources:
Ccnmatthews.com
Aidsvigil.pbwiki.com
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Rage Against the Machine reuniting/Coachella Festival
Chris Cornell has left Audioslave, saying there were “irresolvable personality conflicts as well as musical differences", but fans should be glad to know that the rest of the members will be reuniting with Zach de le Rocha for a one-time performance at the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival on April 29th, 2007 as Rage Against the Machine.
The festival will be held in Indio, California, which is located 26 miles east of Palm Springs and 125 miles east of Los Angeles. It draws many comparisons to Woodstock, and the first Coachella was held on October 9th and 10th, 1999, just three months after the devastating destruction of Woodstock ‘99.
A portion of proceeds from the event will go to an organization called the Indio Youth Task Force. It was created in October 1994 to connect the community with efforts to form a positive direction for youth in their area. A part of their mission statement includes the declaration “we pledge to work toward establishing a community of productive and responsible young people.” The Force holds events such as monthly youth dances, safety presentations and after-school activities for kids in five rental properties. It has also sponsored conflict resolution and motivational education “to further develop the mental well-being of our youth.” The motto of the I.Y.T.F. mimics everything else they stand for; “A commitment to the youth of our community.” To contact the Indio Youth Task Force, call 760-775-3717.
The festival will be held in Indio, California, which is located 26 miles east of Palm Springs and 125 miles east of Los Angeles. It draws many comparisons to Woodstock, and the first Coachella was held on October 9th and 10th, 1999, just three months after the devastating destruction of Woodstock ‘99.
A portion of proceeds from the event will go to an organization called the Indio Youth Task Force. It was created in October 1994 to connect the community with efforts to form a positive direction for youth in their area. A part of their mission statement includes the declaration “we pledge to work toward establishing a community of productive and responsible young people.” The Force holds events such as monthly youth dances, safety presentations and after-school activities for kids in five rental properties. It has also sponsored conflict resolution and motivational education “to further develop the mental well-being of our youth.” The motto of the I.Y.T.F. mimics everything else they stand for; “A commitment to the youth of our community.” To contact the Indio Youth Task Force, call 760-775-3717.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Intramural Sports at Humber College (Toronto)
Intramuralsports
Greg Coyle
January 15th, 2007
Jim Bard
Is going to Caps on a Thursday night the only way to meet people at Humber? Think again.
The intramural athletic opportunities available at Humber are a great way to make new friends and have fun while you’re doing it. Just ask Jennifer Maclam.
“A lot of people register just to get to know people,” says Maclam, Humber’s Campus Recreation Co-Ordinator.
Maclam, a native of Lindsay, graduated from Durham College’s Sports Administration program and has been working at Humber since August. She says that Humber’s intramural scene is a friendly atmosphere, where people can make many social connections in an “everyone knows everyone” type of environment, and that is exactly what she is striving for.
“If people aren’t meeting people, then what’s the point?” she asks.
It is not uncommon for students to join as individuals, meet people through teams that they are placed on, and stick with those same people for the duration of their time at Humber. The best news of all, there are no shortages of opportunities to do just that.
Available to students are leagues of floor hockey, indoor soccer, co-ed volleyball and new this semester, squash. There are also day tournaments of dodgeball, three-on-three basketball, badminton doubles, and five ping pong tables are set up once a week in Gym A.
The most popular intramural league is floor hockey, which has 19 teams this semester. The second, indoor soccer, has 16 teams. While participation in other sports is healthy, in order to encourage even more students to come out, more gym space is needed according to Maclam.
“In an ideal world, we’d have our own centre,” she says.
There are even instances where the gym is completely off limits for intramurals, such as during exam time.
With that said, it appears as though Humber’s athletics department is headed in a positive direction. Aside from all the intramural opportunities, Humber also has extramural ice hockey, men’s basketball, and a women’s ice hockey team, which Maclam herself participates in as a rookie forward this year.
Maclam, who in 2000 participated in the Ontario Winter Games for ringette, is proud of the athletic and social opportunities she helps bring to Humber students.
“It’s an alternative to the weight room. It’s something different, and there’s no fighting for machines,” she proclaims confidently.
Greg Coyle
January 15th, 2007
Jim Bard
Is going to Caps on a Thursday night the only way to meet people at Humber? Think again.
The intramural athletic opportunities available at Humber are a great way to make new friends and have fun while you’re doing it. Just ask Jennifer Maclam.
“A lot of people register just to get to know people,” says Maclam, Humber’s Campus Recreation Co-Ordinator.
Maclam, a native of Lindsay, graduated from Durham College’s Sports Administration program and has been working at Humber since August. She says that Humber’s intramural scene is a friendly atmosphere, where people can make many social connections in an “everyone knows everyone” type of environment, and that is exactly what she is striving for.
“If people aren’t meeting people, then what’s the point?” she asks.
It is not uncommon for students to join as individuals, meet people through teams that they are placed on, and stick with those same people for the duration of their time at Humber. The best news of all, there are no shortages of opportunities to do just that.
Available to students are leagues of floor hockey, indoor soccer, co-ed volleyball and new this semester, squash. There are also day tournaments of dodgeball, three-on-three basketball, badminton doubles, and five ping pong tables are set up once a week in Gym A.
The most popular intramural league is floor hockey, which has 19 teams this semester. The second, indoor soccer, has 16 teams. While participation in other sports is healthy, in order to encourage even more students to come out, more gym space is needed according to Maclam.
“In an ideal world, we’d have our own centre,” she says.
There are even instances where the gym is completely off limits for intramurals, such as during exam time.
With that said, it appears as though Humber’s athletics department is headed in a positive direction. Aside from all the intramural opportunities, Humber also has extramural ice hockey, men’s basketball, and a women’s ice hockey team, which Maclam herself participates in as a rookie forward this year.
Maclam, who in 2000 participated in the Ontario Winter Games for ringette, is proud of the athletic and social opportunities she helps bring to Humber students.
“It’s an alternative to the weight room. It’s something different, and there’s no fighting for machines,” she proclaims confidently.
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