20 Years Already? I Neverminded...: or how an album that came out one day before my 18th birthday changed things...

Is it significant that my iPod froze the moment I found a copy of “Nevermind”?

It seems like a good point for jumping onto the 20th anniversary of an album that we only half-remember now. I knew that this particular date was coming up, but I was hoping that it would be much quieter than it was in the press. And then I realized that in a hemisphere where there are still people who think that Elvis Presley is still alive, this would not happen.

Spin Magazine has reminded us that a guy who was not even from Seattle and his two buddies changed everything on September 24th, 1991, with the release of an album with a baby bobbing for money on its cover, and songs about rape and drugging inside. It was a record that let the indie kids feel that they did matter, that there was someone else out there who did feel as fucked up as they felt and that they were no longer going to be just stuck trawling alone through secondhand clothing and record stores in vain. It was a real triumph of its time and we are still dealing with its many aftershocks.

I do remember the first time I heard that song: I was at home, in our front room, and the video was played on a national video channel (insert whatever name you want here). There was that guy screaming about being entertained in the dark after loading up on drugs (or was that guns?) and I liked it. I really did. And along with that reaction was one where I thought that no one else would care about these guys. I had already listened to Husker Du, the Pixies, Bad Religion and the best years of the late, great R.E.M. all by my lonesome. How could I possibly believe that things were going to change now?

No one ever said, “I told you so”. They would not have said it to me, and the people who deserved to hear it would have beaten you up. The few other friends I had who were indie fans were in – okay, I’ll say it – their own particular Nirvana. In a sea of people devoted to Bon Jovi, Poison, Def Leppard and Samantha Fox, this mattered. I lived down so many interests for so long that I forgot it was possible to like something popular.

Oh, wait, I forgot why I started this: my iPod. Never saw it coming in ’91. I did not even have a Discman. My own Walkman played only tapes and that was the copy of the album I kept in my collection. But it took me a long time to get to it. Over a year, actually. Remember: I was an indie kid. I was not supposed to listen to the same music fans of Depeche Mode and New Kids on the Block. I was not supposed to see our hallways filled up with plaid and polyester on our free civvies day (we had uniforms in high school). We were few and I thought that it would stay that way. And suddenly we were it. I never bought a Nirvana t-shirt, but people knew I was a fan. For us, the looking glass had turned inside out. It was a moment that seemed to be ours. And, of course, it was not meant to last.

Yeah, my iPod froze. I was looking for a CD of the album to get me in the mood. And they actually had it. Not even a scratch on the under surface and all the memories kept flooding back. And then my music device became useless for the first time. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, but it seemed like an appropriate omen. Listening to my old Husker Du or Replacements favorites on an expensive toy is an almost out-of-body thing to do. It really makes no sense..at all. And that stayed with me as I made more notes for this piece and wondered where I would begin.

I had rebelled against the rebels. I had had enough of being right while the world thought I was so wrong about the music I listened to and I never really accepted that the Northwest’s best threesome could be so big in a world that considered Pearl Jam and Soundgarden punk or even that word (which I refuse to use here).

So, they came and went. Kurt is gone… Krist is an activist of some sort (should look into this). And Dave is a lead singer for a group that rarely held my interest after their first album These things happen. And here we are, living in an age where spandex and hair metal have no hold on the charts anymore, Blink-182 is considered punk rock and Green Day can work with U2 and not be called sellouts. I just wonder sometimes.

Oh, and my iPod is just fine now. Off to ruin my ears again.

What, Me Scribble?

There are certain moments when I know that I should just stick my big nose into it and see what happens. 

A friend of mine - a freelance writer, playwright, mother and fellow scribbler - send me a link over Facebook about the demise of the writing profession.  This time we can blame it on technology (too much free stuff out there).  After reading the piece, I was accused by the same friend of not actually reading it carefully.  Then I sent back a quote from the article which I will share with you here:

I ask you to take the long view, to look a generation beyond where we are now, and to express concern for the future of the book. I ask you to vote that the end of "the book" as written by professional writers, is imminent; and not to be placated with short-term projections and enthusiasms intended to reduce fear in a confused market. I ask you to leave this place troubled, and to ask yourself and as many others as you can, what you can do if you truly value the work of the people formerly known as writers.

I figured it would look better larger and bolder than my own thoughts.  And I have just gotten over the sense of deja vu which has haunted me since I have read it.

Yes, I understand.  Being a writer is very hard work that does not always pay well.  But when has that not been the case?  Ancient Rome or Greece?  Elizabethan or Victorian England?  The simple answer is always.  And some of the greatest books and articles ever written were created without the promise of any type of financial reward.  John Milton only received five pounds for "Paradise Lost".  Samuel Johnson, creator of one of the first great English dictionaries  - a decade of labour with very little help - did not receive a pension for his work until he was much older and frailer.  And history is full of such people who did great things with less to show for it (see William Blake or John Keats).

Now, the issue of technology.  This much I do understand.  But I will not become a Luddite just because there is a way to put words in front of a reader that is not the same method used by the greats of the past.  And would somebody please pose the question as to whether or not it is in a company's best interest to create a computer device that can carry books on it in a very portable and convenient method?  Why would they even think about books when they could be selling music or video games?  I am no fan of the Ereaders I have seen (yet), but if I hear that kids are now trading illegal downloads of Shakespeare and Dickens, I will cry happy tears.

So, keep writing if you want to write; keep reading if you want to read.  I have barely made a single penny from this blog, but I cannot stop. 

A sign that I am a true writer?  Anyone?

What to do with what they did...

“A Terrible Beauty is Born” – W.B. Yeats (“Easter 1916”)

I have been watching the payback over the riots in England and wondering to myself if the British understand the concept of real justice.  Yes, I know, people want to punish the ones who have burned and destroyed whole sections of their towns and cities.  I would not be too happy if I had to clean up the site that used to be the store I spent a lifetime creating and operating because it is now an ash heap of burnt timber and broken bricks and glass.  But I am becoming more and more disturbed by the reaction of the current government to the uprising.

Yes, I have personal reasons for caring about what happens in Merrie Olde: I visited the country when I was about 14 and spent six weeks visiting family, seeing the sights that I saw, but also traveling on my own.  The best moments were the ones where I did get lost and found things that I never expected to see.  And I am not surprised that rioting could take place in such a country.  There was plenty of racist graffiti, ugly scenes of conflict on the street and in the general mood of certain people, and I did stay for part of the vacation in the East End of London (Plaistow): I was enough of a city kid to know that I did not want to leave the apartment after a certain level of darkness hit those streets and blind corners.

I just received an email from a relative who works on one of the city’s fine councils as an advisor, and she told me that the conflict was no surprise to her.   She had plenty of time to see what the cuts made by the government would lead to and that any incident could have sparked the anger she felt from young people who really believed they had no future and nowhere to go.  I know that there was a shooting, but it could have been any type of friction between the police and the faceless youth they were outflanked and outfought by over a long and violent week.

Final notes: I went to work yesterday and had to listen to people share their delight in seeing Will and Kate in the flesh and how wonderful things are now that they are married and seem to be such a delightful couple.  Not a word about the riots or what that delightful couple cost the country in financial and emotional costs. I made a point of leaving the office without saying a word.

 

England will have to reconsider their own ironies…                                                                                

What a life...

Dear people who still bother to read this:

Another summer is about to end and I am exactly where I was almost four years ago and moved into this place and thought that it would just be a temporary stop between things.  Still on my own, except for a relationship I developed through Alikewise.  Still dehydrating in this room as I type and it is an endless struggle to get things printed up on my laptop when ever the mood to put something on my blog strikes me.  Only real news is the fact that the summer semester is almost over and I will have fewer classes for the fall.  Not complaining...  Just more time to write (I think that I am sensing a theme)...

The guitar is still a partner in crime, and I have had some inspiration this past week.  I went to see a free show in the local park  (Montreal's own So-Called - look him ), and I then noticed someone walking up the side stairwell.  Not making much of this, I kept sitting down and finished my drink...and then he returned.  He was Win Butler of Arcade Fire.  I really did not want to disturb him - I let an overeager fan sitting next to me do that- but I did shake his hand, get that autograph, and left the place floating.  I also remembered that the group practiced in Parc LaFontaine when getting started and that there will be a free show on the 22nd of September for Pop Montreal.

So, I guess the summer is not an entire loss...

Heat Wave!

What's the big deal?

I am here in Montreal, dealing with another weekend of heat and humidity and trying to figure out why there is so much negativity.  The possibility of sunstroke, skin cancer and death are very serious and very real, but there is so much about the present weather condition in most of Canada that I love.

First, I can go out without a heavy coat, wool cap and boots.  I have a very keen and long memory of the winter period (due to return in just a few months), and I do not like the idea that soon it will be too cold to go out and enjoy myself.  Shorts and a shirt with sandals?  You are all set.

Second, the women.  Always beautiful here, and with the heat they are not shy about showing some skin.  That may be the real cause for a loss of life (too distracting).

Third, my work.  The college is laid back with the weather and the idea that they can come to school and leave before the sun sets and the day is done.  With my own writing, I have finished two stories in rough and have entered several contests and plan on entering even more.

Finally, my appetite.  I have always had issues with the way I look - thanks to a very vocal community and family, this is not an issue that is going away - and I now can walk about without a shirt.  No heavy eating and less self-conscious behaviour around myself is a great combination.

So, enjoy the sun and the heat.  We deserve it!

Sucking in the Summer

Hot town, summer in the city
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Been down, isn't it a pity
Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city

Ah, the Lovin' Spoonful... A lot of truth in that song, except for one part that is much on my mind tonight.

But at night it's a different world
Go out and find a girl
Come-on come-on and dance all night
Despite the heat it'll be alright 

I so wish this was true.  I just came back from a free outdoor show of modern dance and ended up walking to my place very near the stage all on my lonesome.  And this laptop just beckoned...

Should I be annoyed?  Well, I am sure that I have lost at least one "friend" (ahem) because of my inability to get out of a world-record rut of not dating or even meeting someone that I would like to date.  I am no hermit - too many festivals, movies, and concerts under my belt this summer for that too be true (Black Keys at Bell Centre in Montreal last night was amazing) - and I try to make myself open to the possibility of having a lady actually speak to me first (has to be that way in a city where bilingualism is encouraged but has not yet infected my tongue).  

Maybe I do need a new place.  Or a new life.  Any thoughts? 

In case you need to know: Squawk Back

I have been lucky enough to discover a web site called Squawk Back (see link above) and I wonder how much I owe to my own stubborn nature.  You see, this is another page devoted to literary scribblers who just want to get their name and work recognized in the web community.  What intrigues me most is that they have published all of the work that I have handed in.  According to what I have learned from the editor's own comments, if the work intrigues the person in charge, it gets in.  If not, get back to the keyboard and rethink your thoughts.

Just thought some of you would like to know...

There is something missing here...

Some days are harder than others, and sometimes you are not even sure why until things are put into a painful perspective.

Let's look at me, shall we?  In case you don't know, I am living in Montreal, in my thirties, single, teaching at a college, writing when I can, and lonely as fuck.  I did not really care about the latter point until this morning when I felt that something was knawing at my thoughts and would not let me rest.  I thought I knew what it was, but I see that this is different...

Ahh, yes. Father's day, or in some circles, Baby Daddy day.  I should also mention that I am West Indian in background and grew up, for the most part without a father.  Before he died of a heart attack when I was ten years old - and it was on the eve of Christmas, too - I knew him as a violent and dangerous figure of authority who did not understand how his own pain could not be erased by abusing me.  I know that I felt cheated and angry when he died and that I am still dealing with this today. 
He should have been my role model.  He had that chances, and now I know that his verbal and physical abuse masked a little boy who never grew out of his own pain to become a real man.  And this is why I feel very cheated an angry this particular Sunday in June.

Truth in Fake Advertising

Okay, I am no longer looking for what I will call steady work.  The college has me going part-time with the teaching through the summer and it feels like they want me to stay (no break to think about things).  I should be happy.  But it is not enough, so, I took a chance on an interview with another group.  And this is when things went strange...

 I thought that I was going to find a job with a video/media company that needed freelance writing. Instead, I had a sit-down with a man who worked for a group promoting anti-drug education.  Interesting how this is hitting me just at the moment when they have finally declared that the - ahem - the "War on Drugs" has failed.  Now, I don't mind helping him and his team out.  Don't even mind being paid for it.  But something about all of this bothers me.

Let me explain: This is not the first time that the prospect of writing as a career has been dangled in front of my dreams.  I have had enough experiences with too many fly-by-night publishers, magazine idiot-editors, and general misfits and scribblers with more fantasies than common sense.  I am not going to hold out much hope for this one.  Especially with how the interview went.  We met at a café.  He was ten minutes late, badly dressed (why am I always better dressed than all these sartorially-challenged people) and then he wanted to move.  Café was too noisy, so we went to an outdoor bistro, which was again too noisy, then we went inside, and had to contend with a very upset baby and her overly-considerate parents.  And I now have a stack of papers to read and an article (sample) to write (still not sure what the topic is, besides trying to stroke the ego of the group - name withheld until I think things are clear).

Just let this one work out for me this once.  I need to have something to wake up to when I think that there is only teaching on my horizon.

The New Popularity

Well, well...
It seems now that I have no choice but to continue with these blogs.  Summer is coming and my work hours are not as dense as before, so I will have more time to talk about the things that are boiling away between my ears.  There has been interest from people I will call my co-workers in what I do here and I cannot disappoint them by keeping this page unfulfilled. 
So, I am back!

Gone

So, they got him...

I was up pretty late on Sunday night when I heard from a friend that Osama bin Laden was killed at his compound in Pakistan by Navy Seals.  And I am sure that future generations will wonder how we all felt at this moment.  Well, they have the videos.  I mean, the crowds at the White House; crowds I have not seen since Obama won the office.  And guess who I think has just won the 2012 election (Trump, get a haircut and go home)?

And  how do I feel?  I have family in New York and I wondered about them the day of the attack (an aunt worked in a hospital - that was as close as it got for my family).  I also have a travel story about 9/11 that I should share: I bought a ticket from Tokyo to Toronto in August of 2001; September changed my plans, meaning that the travel agent who sold me the ticket contacted me to tell me that the plane route would no longer be passing through New York (I had to take a longer flight through Atlanta).  On that flight back - over twelve hours one-way - the plane was almost empty.  And that was when I felt fear.  If one man could be in charge of such a panic, then he had to be taken out.

Wave a flag, have a drink, and smile...

An Interesting Experiment...

Hello everyone!

Yeah, I have been busy enough to pretend that I do not have time to add an entry to this blog.  Work is picking up and I have to make sure everything is well-planned well ahead of time for my classes.  But there is a reason why I chose to put an entry here tonight: I have given up TV.

Yes, no more boob tube, idiot box, cathode-ray death trap for me for a little while at least.  No time with the work that I do and I was not playing my guitar or doing my own writing anymore.  Strange thing is that I do not miss it.  The web is there, and I am doing my best to keep track of the news and all the new music that I can finally concentrate on and listen to for the lack of AutoTune.  I said to myself that I would not last a weekend; it has been more than a full week of televisual denial.

But why don't I miss it?  I think that I can say now that I have never really liked television; not as much as I like putting my thoughts on paper or playing the newest lick on my guitar.  And I say this as someone who just bought their first camcorder: I am not a visually-inclined person.  I would rather put a picture in my head while reading a new book or listening to music. 

All right, enough philosophy.  I will let you know how this experiment works out.    But for now, I have a lot of unfinished work that I am eager to do.

Out.

Ahem...and Amen

Image via Wikipedia

I can see how things work out for me.

I did speak to the woman I mentioned in the last blog.  Last Saturday was a free day for both of us, so I called her on a cellphone from a cafe in the middle of the snow and cold.  It was a nice chat, and she sounded friendly enough, but I can see now how it will end up. 

Cynical?  Me?  Sure, like any of the friends I have who think that they have wasted their time with chasing dreams and other people's ideas of success.  But that is not the issue this time...

I should mention one key thing: religion.  For the second time, she has sent me messages asking about my feelings in relation to that issue.  And now I await her response to my very honest reply.  I said that I am Canadian, meaning that I think of that issue only when I have to, which means very rarely.  I said that I worshipped art, literature, good food, life, having a body and being able to explore the world I know. 

I think that I have said too much, but I cannot change who I am for anyone (tried that once - long story for another blog).

Just waiting on her response now.  I will keep posting the pain.

Dating by the book

It is now 2:39 EST and I am about to call someone that I met through a web site called Alikewise.  This web site is devoted to booklovers who want to meet other booklovers.  And I have been met and have met someone that intrigues.

I have to call her at 3 pm and I am wondering what the call will be like.  Should be Twittering this info...

Stay linked!

Making this new...

Image via Wikipedia

Back in Montreal for the start of another year... Hate how things are repeating themselves: still on my own; still have my many bad habits; still wondering what happened with my life.  I have begun to clean up my space and I realize that it is very easy to fall into a habit of collecting without any sense of why this stuff matters...
Keep clicking and reading...