I'm a Cof-fiend and Why I Must Work For NHL.com

Hey! Monday post, yeah!  I'm one for one.

I've done almost absolutely nothing for the last nine days.  This is the direct result of having a lot of time, little money and no work.  Golden week just happened, and I didn't go anywhere.  I was in Nagoya.

As a result, I decided to utilize my time between sleeping and drinking to get some things that I needed.  In order of acquisition, I got a new desk, some new sunglasses, and a coffee maker.  In order of importance, I got a coffee maker and who cares what else.

I've been experimenting with my new device, and have since learned how to make a sludgy concoction as dark as the night.  I call it my home brew, and it won't  put hair on your chest, but instead sizzle it off in a dramatic display of weird science.  In a way I am a little sad that I can drink coffee at home now, as I hadn't realized what a big part of my day going to the coffee shop had become.  It was a great place to creepily people watch from behind my book.

So with all my free time at home now, I have returned my attention to the business of the Stanley Cup Playoffs.  My mourning period for the beleaguered underdogs of Ottawa has passed, and I have regrouped my wits to reassert my zealous fandom towards Washington and their struggle to defeat the very team that killed my precious Sens.

I'm not sure when it happened, but the NHL's website has officially been promoted to the status of 'out of hand'.  I've been frequenting that website for the past four years, and the steps towards ridiculousness must have been so gradual that no one could have noticed until it was too late.  And in that moment of realization, of true and utter hopelessness, I realized my true calling.  As if from trumpets on high, I knew that it is inevitable: I  must become a writer for NHL.com.

I'm talking about the puns of course.  Every single NHL article written now hides behind a title laced with bad taste.  They all follow a very simple formula too: name, hyphen and word fragment.  For example, my blogs can only be deemed Sean-sational!  Get the picture?

Now you see why I must work for them.  I've been doing bad puns since I could talk.  In university, my roommate and I sat in our kitchen and riddled off bad fish puns for a half hour on a snowy evening.  It was a halib-good time, even though I got the feeling he was pickerel-ing on me.  I even slipped one in the title

So that's it, I'm immediately going to focus all future efforts towards becoming a template writer for NHL.com.  From what I've seen, you don't even need to be good, or know stats, or have any idea who players are.  It also helps to talk about the mid-second period in the first paragraph, then transition into the late game to finally conclude with a recount of goal that had no bearing on anything during the mid-first.  Unless the title writing position is its own gig, then I'll just do that and have a coffee.

I decided to try my hand at a title pun for a front page tab.  Just imagine it is Christmas or something.  I'll also add in some annotations.

Also thanks to those that read my last post, and send me some good ideas on what to do.  You can view those challenges by click on the tab to the right of the screen.  If you have yet to give me any good ideas, then do so now.

Thanks for reading,

Much Love,

Sean
        

Let's Have Some Fun

This isn't working like I had wanted it to.  I wanted to post a lot, and I didn't want it to be simple, mindless recounts of events, though I probably haven't even done enough of that.  Let's change things up a little bit.  On this, my 50th post, I will make a decree for change!

Let's make post size smaller, but periodicity much more frequent.  Let's have more input from the people reading this, tell me what you would like me to do - send me on a task to get a certain photo, visit a certain place or meet with certain people.  I am inviting any and all suggestions, serious or otherwise.  Make a request.

Either post a comment or send me an email to my full name @gmail.com.  I will create a page of challenges, and then I will go about trying to make them happen.  Give me a little bit of purpose in my free time.  I feel like I have a lot of the latter, and too little of the former.

On my part, I'm going to try and post something every day, or as close to that as I possibly can.  Probably not full posts, although from time to time those will still occur.  Sometimes it will be really simple thoughts or maybe pieces of fiction and often just ideas.  I would like to expand the utility of my writing, and in that way perhaps make it something I can use with more versatility in the future.  Help me out and feed my addiction.  Ridiculous requests are ok, IF the goal is attainable without me breaking any major laws, or find me in a situation in which I morally will be unable to recover for many years.  No murder or prostitutes.    

Starting this Monday, the 7th of May, I will start posting frequently.  Please help me out.

Recap:

1. Give me ideas, requests and challenges for things to do.

2. I will use my blog more frequently, and if there is a single dedicated reader out there (Hello Mom and Dad!), you will find yourself with a content overload!

Peace in the East,

Much Love,

Sean



Examples:

Dear Sean, Whom I adore,  I think you should ________________.

- go here

- do this

- learn this

- meet someone like

- etcetera, etcetera, etcetera!

Hillside Is A State Of Mind

I keep making the same mistake. I make plenty of mistakes, but in this instance I'm referring to my oft repeated blunder of assuming that having more time to write will actually enable me to do so. As if my blogs were more time sensitive than content influenced. I'm no super machine that can pull something out of my hat on a whim, and I'm not a fantasy guru that can spin a tale out of the crevices of my mind in the heat of a inspirational brainwave. I am experience driven. The things I write have always been based on situational material; emotional fuel from the good and bad of my day to day.

I've had a couple ideas, even considered making an attempt at another illustrated blog, such as the one titled Guilty from all the way back in December of last year. Nothing struck me though, nothing that really made me say "woah", I can put this in words. The internet is bogged down extensively with copious tripe and superficial content that the last thing I need to do is drip into the pond as I try and write about the trivial highs and lows of my every day. I can be happy keeping things to myself every now and again. If I find the need to write another thing that no one is going to read, I need it to be for me.

So if I must be event driven, an event that has come to drive me greatly in such a short span of a couple years is the music festival of Hillside. I am sitting in the twisting early morning air of my softly humming fan, nursing a bruise from a puck to the face and listening to the intensely powerful and penetrating banjo picking of a talented artist named Old Man Luedecke; finally the words to a blog that has for so long eluded me finally begin to flood into my head.

(Obviously not from Hillside)

I'm trying to find a way to describe the feel of Hillside without sounding like I'm just emitting random psychobabble. The truth is that the title of the blog really does explain it all. Hillside is a mindset, it is the feeling you get when you are surrounded by tens of thousands of people that are all exuding positive emotions. It is a mob mentality of overwhelming goodwill. Hillside is a feeling, an emotion and definitely a state of mind. The success of the festival lies in the talented artists and its impeccable organization, but the spirit of the festival is driven by the kindness and enthusiasm of its attendees, volunteers and performers.

For the second year in a row my attendance was serendipitously made possible through the kind actions of friends with extra tickets. The truth of my existence is that I no longer have the where with all to accurately predict if I will be around for any given July in Canada, and thus lack the justification to buy a pricy weekend pass the many months ahead of time that is required in order for them to not be sold out. This years heroine was Clare, who was a last year hillside acquaintance. I don't know why she bought an extra one, but I love her for it. Hillside friends are special friends.

I always do a poor job when I attempt an exact recount of a series of events, so I guess I'll break it down into the things that I feel are worth mentioning and still try to give a sort of overall guideline. The hillside I went to last year was in many ways amazing, so it is truly incredible to say without hesitation that this years' was by far better. I feel like my first hillside was keynoted by several really good bands that were bridged by copious forgettable, if not undoubtedly talent people, such that the time between the performances that stuck was enabled more by the high of the festival than the content on stage. The contrast this year was striking; bands I had never heard of, or that were something on the peripheral of my consciousness all came to play, and play really well. The down time between sets that I wanted to attend was basically non-existant, and really troubling conflicts of interest arose when faced with a tough decision on who to see.

Much to my embarrassment, but post-festival elation, I could often be seen marching off to the merch tent post set to try and track down an album by the artist I had just seen. When I plaintively told the man at the cash register that hillside was draining my money he was quick to point to the reusable beer mugs in my hand. I think it was only after the third time that the same guy saw me passing through with more albums that he finally realized the depth of my problem. I couldn't be happier now though, as I find new music often feels like a depleteable resource. The battle to keep a play list on my computer or ipod that is fresh and new is always a harrowing task, and I think I may have just gained a multi month advantage.

The friday night of hillside has come to feel like a warm up, where you slowly ease yourself into the feel of the festival. The bands that play, with exception, are usually listed on the friday night for a reason, and the time can be used to get your feet wet and have some beers. I'll post pictures from the program and circle what I saw. If I circle two in a set it means I bailed on one to see another, or just sampled both.




The Saturday is when the festival really comes together in my mind, and I don't think that's just my opinion alone, as it was the only day of the three that was completely sold out. Maybe it is the fact that it is the busiest day that give it the feel of being really high energy, but the bands started playing at 11 in the morning and before I knew it I was slightly drunk and in the home stretch for sets.



Saturday opened up with me listening to Dala playing with Doug Paisley, and then flipping to the main stage to watch some Graveyard Train followed up by Dala again with their own set. Graveyard Train is a band all the way from Melbourne, Australia, and they came prepared to play. With a list of songs that all seemed to be about some sort of ghoul or ghostie and a group of band members that includes a harmonica/hammer and chain player, these guys put on a performance that was pretty much unforgettable. Since Hillside is so big on workshops and mashing different artists together to jam, I believe I must have seen these guys three times by weekends' end and was never disappointed. My sister Jessica, who was fortunate enough to make it out for Saturday, even went and saw them again on the Monday night in Toronto. I couldn't work up the energy after my exhausting weekend, I must be getting old.




Dala, which played right after Graveyard Train, didn't quite bring the high energy music of their predecessors, but still managed to pull off a performance no less amazing. This is a group that consist of two admittedly good looking ladies, that I actually know best through my parents having played them in their house. They have a way of harmonizing their voices that is no trick of studio magic. I would wager that after seeing them preform, they sound better live then they ever do mixed on a cd. The natural back and forth banter, and the ease with which they sing and have fun is infectious. I'm not always in the mood to listen to their kind of music, but I will admit that they have a good thing going.



Aside from the surprising Sweet Thing in the midday, the true highlight of the Saturday came at sundown. Starting with Hooded fang at 8 and finishing with Hollerado, the final acts on the island stage made the day. With the beer in hand, and the good times rolling, Saturday evening started with the catchy pop beats of the lesser known Hooded Fang, flipped to the groove infused melodies of the up and coming Sheepdogs and finally was capped off with the fun and energetic set of the ever enjoyable Hollerado. Huge numbers of people were crowded under the tent at the island stage, sweating in the sweltering summer heat and grooving in place while standing on the picnic tables, enthralled by the energy and quality of the performances.








Sunday starts fairly tame, with the highlight being the Gosspel session for two hours starting at eleven. I suppose this is supposed to be hillsides version of church, to make all the Godly feel better about missing a sermon to listen to sick beats. Understandably then it may make you raise an eyebrow and wonder why the professionally unreligious such as myself would find this to be the best thing in the morning. The truth is that even though the workshop is often orchestrated and run by one of the artists that is sufficiently Jesus-enthused, the rest of the jam is comprised of really good, often folky artists, that aren't necessarily heaven bound, but fit the sound that the session was going for. The long and short of it is that if you're willing to put up with one or two drawn out songs about Heaven and the like, you get to listen to artists like Dala and Old Man Luedecke play entirely session-unrelated tunes.



With the morning Gosspel being my first chance to have a look at the banjo playing dynamo Old Man, it was fortunate that his whole set was later on that day, and he didn't fail to disappoint. There were two Albums that I got signed at hillside, and one of them was his. The other was by a band named Paper Lions, who's CD I had actually bought on a whim hoping that they'd be amazing and actually making a really accurate prediction. While I was walking into the merch tent to track down Paper Lions to sign my CD, is when one of the more memorable moments of the festival happened for me.

If you have browsed over the schedule of Sunday that I posted, you'll notice that playing on the lake stage in the early evening was one anomaly of a performer: Fred Penner. Yes, the legend of a man from my childhood played at hillside this year, and although he didn't bring any new age guitar-shredding Freddy P to the stage, he did manage to pull of a set that was by far one of my favourites.


(This is not my video, just took it off the youtubes)


Partially by the virtue of his charisma alone, and then coupled with his energetic, funny and generational gapping music, Fred brought such an energy to the stage that the whole fenced area was alight with smiles, laughter and singing along. Furthermore, Mr. Penner wasn't afraid to collaborate either, and invited both Serena Ryder and Dan Mangan up during his set to sing along with him. When I was a kid, Ghost Riders in the Sky was by far and away my favourite song of his, and I can remember clearly lying in bed with my rewind-button-less sony walkman, flipping the tape over and fast forwarding so that I could listen to it over and over after my parents had gone to sleep. The point is that I'm not entirely sold on Serena based on her own music alone, but she definitely won some points with me after pulling out all the stops to help Fred belt out one of my favourite childhood hits. Good beer and a childhood icon was a little overwhelming.

Back to the memorable moment, as I was walking into the merch tent after Paper Lions' set to get my CD signed, completely by surprise I bumped into none other than Fred Penner himself. This, unfortunately, set off a very awesome and embarrassing series of events. I didn't want to do the cliche thing and tell the man how I grew up with his music, but as a result had no idea what to say to him and started babbling like an idiot while shaking his hand for an awkwardly long time. Eventually, sensing that I had seized in the head, he took the initiative and asked me my name and said he was happy to meet me, jump starting my facilities back to working order.

The festival concluded with a very off sounding Sloan and me losing my car. I feel bad that my only words for the prolific 90's Canadian pop sensation is that they were 'off', but that is all I can muster. I was never really a huge Sloan fan, they just happen to be one of those bands that had so many hits that I can't help but know all their music. Unfortunately their voices haven't aged well, or they were just having a bad night, but either way they failed to put on a performance that had me enthused. Don't worry about my car either, it was just the next lot over.

If there is one last thing I can say, it is that after a festival like that, I am truly proud of the state of the Canadian music industry. As a person that spends too much time on the internet, I'm not a stranger to the complaining that occurs in regards to the state of the world's music scene. I walked away with seven new albums from Hillside, and every one of them was a Canadian band or artist. The truth is that if you ever feel that there is no good music being produced anymore, you're just not listening hard enough.

A big thanks again to Claire for having that extra ticket, and to Her, Gabe, and Sarah for putting up with me all weekend. Hillside friends really are special friends.

Thanks for reading,

Much Love,

Sean

Game Face

I can clearly remember 'Christmas' in my youth essentially spanning the whole month of December. Due to a combination of childhood greed and anticipation; a birthday and Christmas double extravaganza; and a general buying into of the holiday spirit and tradition - by the time the first of the last month rolled around, I was usually out of my head with excitment.

There is a specific age range as a kid where everyone in your family, extended or otherwise, considers you young enough to still buy gifts for. Therefore I can remember clearly that in the first week of December, the parcels for me would start arriving in the mail. Even though they were days early, I would beg and plead to open them, and often got away with it. Now, the real thrill was that even as the 7th approached and past, the packages often continued to come regardless of whether it was the week prior, of, or after the day of my birth.

It was usually for some simple reason, such as trying to reduce their postage, but not infrequently my birthday presents that arrived later, from relatives further abroad, would be nonchalantly harmonized with Christmas presents also intended for my chubby, all consuming paws. Thus, the effect became that December was my month, my Birthday and Christmas were obviously deeply linked, and that the greatest alias for the twelfth month that ever should have crossed your mind was 'gift month for Sean'.

Needless to say, my perspective has changed fairly drastically. The old cliche that giving is more satisfying than receiving is certainly true - but when you couple it with my disenfranchisement in religion and a general contentment with my age current, then the reason for the season was sort of lost to me. New birthdays no longer unlock privledge and responsibility, the holiday holds little spirituality for me, and I no longer need tubs of lego to pass the time. The consequence is that I've been given a blank slate for the definiton of the holiday season:

The holidays for me are a time to be with the people you like, drinking spiked coffee, and taking that little bit of pleasure out of giving to another. No, I'm not big on corporate Christmas, or Jesus Christmas, but I am big on Christmas being a little looser in definition. Therefore, I wish you a very merry Christmas, regardless of how you spend it! The holidays are what you make of them - so I'll see what I can do.

I feel like the pressure is really on to get the most of these last few days in Canada. I am just twelve days away from leaving for Africa, and I won't say I'm scared, but I can feel a energy building in me. The scariest thing isn't that I'm going, but that it still hasn't really hit me that I am - and it probably won't until I'm on that plane at a 45 degree angle, watching the ground disappear. Packing is being finalized, and everything is falling into place - it is about time to adopt my game face.

Game Face
def. a confident swagger you bring out when you are getting ready to tackle something difficult, or when you are about to take on a challange. Or when you are getting down to buisness.

Thanks for reading and Merry Christmas,

Sean

Guilty!

One of the most annoying things in this world is guilt. I don't regret that I may have a stupidly large capacity to feel empathy and remorse - but I hate the hold that such a basic feeling can have over me.

If you're anything like me, guilt can be used like a giant hammer to smash your stalwart decisions to bits, regardless of how firmly you've made up your mind. I could be saving the world from cyborg-Nazis and all it would take is robotic Hitler shedding a tear and explaining how "stopping my regime does not compute" for me to pause and reconsider my actions. Sorry robo-Hitler, my bad!

Anyways, this was kind of put in perspective today when I was forced to cope with the magnitude of the hold guilt has on me. In preperation for our grand trip to Africa, my sister and I set out for Mountain Equipment Coop, greedily ventureing out to load up on cool gear.

The main objective of my visit was to buy new hiking boots. I had bought some boots almost a year prior that came with me to Peru - but I gave them a rough ride, and they are in paticularily rough shape (they're also ugly, uncomfortable and smell like rotting corpses).

Hiking boots fall into that exciting category of footwear, in that you usually own them just long enough that you really want to buy the right pair. As a consequence I had studied up on the selection online and firmly came to a decision on what I was going to buy - before even stepping into the store.

So, as you can imagine, I paraded into the store and gleefully marched to the boots. I plucked the demo pair of my prize from the wall and held it over my head like I had just won the heavy weight belt of professional kick assery.

Like any smart consumer, I did the obvious thing and turned to the closest sales representative to ask them what they would recommend. This was so that I could reach my quota of highfives, compliments on how awesome I am, and to watch them grab the manager so that he could beg me to work there. Everyone wants super-informed-consumer-Sean on their staff!

The sales representative, henceforth refered to as Randal, happened to be an elderly man, possibly in his late sixities, with a strong german accent and a penchant for making awkward eye contact. Randal was a soul searcher - that is to say that he reached into your eyes with his locked-in glare, until he found your soul and forcefully yanked it out. Persumably to feed on it for sustenance.

With much conviction and enthusiasm I gave Randal the quick run-down on what I needed the boots for, all the while holding up my prized jewel and leaning in for the congratulatory back pat. You can imagine then that I was a little distraught when Randal snatched it from my hand and made a quick, barely understandable quip, the sole intelligable word being "flimsy", and shoved it back into it's holder. Instead, pawing another boot from the wall that was "sturdier" and about as appealing to look at as fecal matter.

Crushed. Thanks Randal - you elderly-german-soul-crushing monster.

So inevitably I ended up trying them both on, and much to my pleasure Randal's selection was about as comfortable as wearing hollowed out bricks. Conversely, I am awesome at knowing what is great, and my selection felt like running in clouds that were lined with velvet and rainbows.


This photo by Jessica Tekenos. It is win.

However, as I was leaving the section with box in hand, I had the unfortunate task of telling Randal that I didn't want to go with his suggestion. This is where the guilt thing comes in - why do I feel so impeccably bad for not taking the advice of a random stranger?

Now, Randal probably didn't give a shit that I had chosen another boot than the one he recommended - but to me he looked like this:






Here I was on the precipice of buying something that I genuinely wanted, and froze, considering running back to Randal - begging him to let me try on the ones he had advised.


Fuck you Randal! Why do you get this control over me?! Thankfully, I bought the boots I wanted the whole time:

Guilt sucks. I do not like that it can so easily make me stop dead and reconsider sure things! As someone that usually feels pretty confident in their actions, its impact is unnerving.

Ridiculous.

Thanks for Reading,

Sean

Learn the Spectrum

I would like to dedicate this post to Christopher Luke Zweerman. Although I didn't know him as well as others, our interactions were always friendly and jovial. He liked to joke, have fun, and could stop a puck or two if you got him in equipment. RIP, Chris, you'll be missed.

The main content of this post was originally found at the very end of my previous one. However, it never really flowed with the content of that last blog and for obvious reasons seemed like a disjointed tac-on. Thus, with much deliberation, I have decided to move it here on its own. Yet, as not to completely make this a stale post, and reward those who are here that read 'essentially' this last time - I've included a limited edition, crudely drawn, photo of excellence at the bottom.

We begin,

In a very cliche way, I've recently become a little more introspective than normal. I believe it's a direct consequence of living through this 'empty' period of time before a great adventure. I don't know how to directly explain what I mean by this, so I will explain it the best I can by using an example.

About two weeks ago I went out for a walk in the rain. This was before daylights savings time had kicked in, so when I left around six, the sun was still in the sky (allbeit hovering omniously close to the horizon). As I was trudging through a muddy field in my rubber boots, I was by chance, fortunate enough to be heading west.

What I saw may have been one of the most unexpected, most beautiful things I've ever seen. As the sun was setting on that rainy evening, it was casting a crimson red back-glow to the thin grey cloud cover of the horizon, tapering to a blazing orange where the sky met the ground. The effect, in essence, was a sky on fire. It honestly looked as if someone had taken a match to a kerosene rag and stuck it to the heavens. In that moment, as I stood alone, I was left wondering if I could truly be the only one taking the time to appreciate this spectacle.

Sometimes you are left asking yourself: is this reality mine, and mine alone? Honestly, I don't think it can be. Yet, that is the problem when you are forced to examine your own mind: some of the conclusions you reach are not always what you would expect.

It is a sad thought to believe that the full glory of the moment was wasted on a single person. Therefore, instead, I will approach it with the mindset that I was lucky enough to witness it - and the honour was all mine.

Love the little things, even if they seem so inconsequential at the time; you never know when you will have the chance again.

RIP Chris.



Now as promised, here is a picture, hand drawn by me. I used all the materials at my disposal to really set the mood, and make it as realistic as possible. Furthermore, it's educational - so you can show it to your kids in the future, and they'll know... what alcohol does to your brain.




Now that's what I call shading!

Thanks for Reading,

Much Love,

Sean