I had originally started this last batch of blog posts under the theme of 'Getting Old'. My intention being that I would give my thoughts on a new trend, lament about how I didn't relate to it, and eventually come to the sad realization that this was definitive proof that I had, in fact, gotten old. I thought the idea behind this would be an endless well of ideas and would have enough legs to fill this blog with content for months to come.
As it turns out, I was wrong.
Not in a bad way. It's not that I've run out of things to say. Rather, the topics that I came up with to discuss, no longer have any direct correlation with my advancing age. I'm hoping that this means that maybe I'm not that old after all, but either way, the topics are now more like random musings than they are any sort of comparison between me and the younger generation. And therefore, they don't really fit under the heading of 'Am I Getting Old?'
Depending on how you felt about the last few posts, this may be a good thing. More of the same. Although, if you weren't digging them, and you're longing for the days of Top 10 lists and dunk contest critiques, then perhaps this is not the good news that I was hoping it would be. Regardless, the initial brainstorm for ideas yielded at least 16 topics for discussion, two of which have already been covered, and of the remaining ones, I would say at least half are of a usable, discussable nature. And, although it often pains me to give him his ever-coveted shout outs on this here blog, I would be remiss if I didn't offer full credit to one Randy Sneep, for not only getting the ball rolling on the brainstorm in question, but also for providing ten of the initial ideas.
Even if his are the ones of such low quality that they are considered completely unusable.
Basically, that whole intro was just a really long way of saying that none of this ties in with age, so I've dropped that from the title of each post. Which brings us to:
YouTube Recommendation Selectivity (or lack thereof).
This is one that I've struggled with for a while. Randy can attest. And I also feel the need to tread softly here, less the individuals that I'm singling out in my mind, happen to stumble across this.
I get shown a lot of YouTube videos that I could care less about. And often, I can tell right away that I'm not going to like them. But how do you say that to the person standing next to you that told you to come watch this with such excitement in their voice. Sure, if they just send a link via email, it's easy to do a quick "nah" and skip over it. But if they're actually there in person, what do you do?
Well, from my vast experience in the field, it always boils down to one thing: length. Yes, that's what she said. Very good. But more to the point, if a video is two minutes or under, unless it's completely uncomfortable (horrible sports injuries, puppies being tortured, your parent's sex tape, etc…) chances are that two minutes of anything is something you can suffer through. Two to five minutes is sort of a grey area, depending on your level of patience. And anything over five minutes is when you have to start thinking of ways to get out of it.
But my point is, why should you need to 'get out of it' in the first place? How can someone be so blind to the complete lack of entertainment value in their recommendation. And more so, how could they take so little pride in that which they are recommending. Again, a ten second clip is different from a tedious ten minute student film, so a certain amount of leniency can be given before you start to judge too harshly. I'll also give a moderate pass to something that might be near and dear to someones heart, that I just don't have the same emotional attachment to.
But some things fall decidedly outside of that window of grace, and I simply just can't understand the mindset behind it. Personally, I'm always very hesitant to recommend anything unless I stand fully and completely behind it. I mean, how hard is it to take a good and objective look at something, and then determine whether someone else might enjoy it or not? It's pretty much common sense that just because you liked something, that doesn't mean everyone else will, right?
Sure, there's a whole other breed of people that get off on showing people stuff that they'll hate. Like tricking an innocent, church-going, choir boy into watching The Human Centipede, and then laughing as they watch him squirm. But I'm not talking about those people. I'm talking about the oblivious. The people that honestly think you'll enjoy something, and then you sit there the whole time wondering "does this person even know me?"
I like to think that I'm pretty good at making recommendations with this basic courtesy in mind. If I have even the slightest bit of doubt, I'm probably not sticking my neck out. And if I am, then your ass is getting a lengthy disclaimer and ample opportunity to politely decline at any point. I also like to think that I have enough awareness that I can tell, pretty quickly, whether or not the person is getting any enjoyment out of the recommendation. And if they're not, I don't hesitate to pull the plug.
So, how is it then, that I've sat stone-faced through entire fifteen minute long videos, unable to come up with a decent excuse to leave without insulting the person, purposely giving off the "I'm not enjoying this at all" vibe, and yet have still not felt even a hint of regret from the other person when it's all said and done? Are they really that oblivious? I guess so, because a few days later, there's another video queued up, and this time, they're going to take it up a notch. Not only am I going to watch the video, but they are going to watch me, watch the video. Yes, this has happened. Yes, it is as awkward as it sounds. There's nothing worse than knowing that your every reaction is being observed and judged by another person. Even if it's something that you're actually enjoying, it's still a very hard way to watch anything. But doubly so if it's something that you're not enjoying at all.
Then there's that moment of dread, when you look down and catch a glimpse at how much time is left in the video, and realize that it's only just started and yet there's still another ten minutes of this crap to go. Combine that with the feeling of awkwardness as the person is watching your face, rather than the screen, taking in every reaction and emotion that you display, and chances are, you just want it to end.
So, you're left with a choice:
Choice one: try to fake enjoyment. Laugh at the jokes, even if they're not funny (especially if they're not funny), force a smile, and, if you're feeling particularly low on pride, you can even applaud a little bit - take that pandering up a notch, son. I've done it (not the applauding part, but close enough) and it's rough. You feel shame. You hate yourself for being such a phony. And worst of all, occasionally you get caught having the wrong 'fake' reaction to a scene. Let me tell you, there are few things worse than laughing at something that wasn't meant to be funny.
Choice two: watch the video honestly. If it's not funny, don't laugh. If it doesn't make you feel good, don't smile. This is as awkward as it gets, but you're banking on the hope that it's just as awkward for the other person, and maybe they'll be more selective with the types of things that they choose to share with you in the future. I've tried this one a few times... with minimal success.
Choice three: grow a pair. Just say what you're thinking. If you know it's not up your alley, let your voice be heard. You'll save yourself the trouble of having to actually see the video in question, but you will undoubtedly hurt the other person's feelings in the process. I have nothing but respect and jealousy for those that do this, but alas, I simply don't have the heart to do it myself.
Before I leave it at that, I must of course, address my natural paranoia: that perhaps I have been too cavalier with video recommendations myself. That right now, you're practically spitting out your coffee and yelling "Are you kidding me? You show me the worst videos all the time!" So, it is with this in mind, that I offer a heartfelt apology to anyone that has sat through a video recommendation of mine and thought "I would rather have done anything with those last seven minutes then watch that…" My hope, especially with videos posted to this blog, is that if you're not digging it, you'll turn it off. But if not, know that I am sorry, and that I understand your pain more than you could ever know.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Am I Getting Old? (Part 2: Internet Memes)
In my last post, I ended with a sentiment along the lines of 'I never thought I would be the old guy that didn't understand what the kids were into at the time.' And that's true. I always thought I would be able to keep up with the trends. Even if I didn't like them, I would still understand them, and accept their existence.
Sure, there will always be a generational gap. I understand why my grandmother has literally never even touched the keyboard on a computer before. She was 80 by the time computers became common in most homes. And fifteen years later, she still has no use for eBay or YouTube or even Email. And I understand that when I'm 80, I too may have no interest in what ever the latest technology du jour happens to be.
But not having an interest in something is different than not understanding it. I'm sure my grandmother understands and accepts that computers make life easier for most people, even if she has no interest in them herself. That said, I doubt very much that she understands the appeal of techno music. To her, I can only imagine she thinks it's some kind of joke that people actually claim to enjoy that kind of… noise.
That's why I always thought I would be immune to the condition that seems to come with age, wherein people seem to simply stop understanding the new trends. Even though I don't care for techno music - at all - I can still see how it might appeal to those that do. My lack of interest doesn't affect my ability to understand and accept it. And since I've always been able to separate the two, I thought maybe this would carry on throughout my entire life. That maybe I would be the exception. That I would never utter something like "that's not rap music, that's crap music…"
But that dream might be dead. I may have crossed that threshold. I might be through the looking glass here, and there might be no turning back. And it's all because I don't understand planking.
Or owling.
Or coning.
And I'm not sure if that makes me old or not. Is it true, do you just reach a certain age, or point in your life when the stuff that the younger generation does just confuses you? Or is planking just inherently stupid, and as a sane human being I have every right to not understand it?
Did 65 year old people in the 70's simply not understand bell bottoms, the same way 65 year old people in the 80's didn't understand rap music, the same way 65 year old people in 90's didn't understand Beavis and Butt-head? Or did they understand it, and just chose not to participate in it?
Actually, I think that might be what it is. The more I think about it, it's not so much that I don't understand planking, as it is that I just have no desire to participate in it.
If I may give an example, from my youth: As teenagers (and maybe even into our early 20's) my friends and I invented a new activity that we called 'carting'. And basically, all it was, was getting a pick up truck, driving to a grocery store, throwing a shopping cart in the box, waiting until it was dark, and then tying a rope from the bumper of the truck to the handle of the cart and dragging it down the highway. I know. There's no need to make that face at me. I know. It was pretty redneck, small town Alberta, and not exactly the exploits of future Nobel Prize winners. But we had a blast doing it.
I guess, the appeal was in the stupidity. The childlike sense of watching a shower of sparks flying off of a shopping cart was in much the same way a kid might be fascinated by putting one end of a stick in camp fire and then pulling it out and waving it around. Or maybe it was the small dose of excitement we got knowing we could get in trouble if we were seen by the police, or really any other cars at all. The danger of getting away with something, if you will.
I don't know what it was that made us think that it was so fun, but when you're having fun, you don't often stop to question why.
And I guess, if I had never done it, and heard about carting for the first time today, as the latest internet meme, I would regard it in the same way I currently regard planking. I would shake my head and weep for the future. But, if I took such pleasure at some point in my life, by doing something just as stupid as planking, then I can't really say I don't understand it. Perhaps it has the same appeal to today's youth that a bunch of sparks on a highway once had for me. Maybe the stupidity of the whole thing is the appeal.
But that doesn't change the fact that my old ass still wants nothing to do with it.
Sure, there will always be a generational gap. I understand why my grandmother has literally never even touched the keyboard on a computer before. She was 80 by the time computers became common in most homes. And fifteen years later, she still has no use for eBay or YouTube or even Email. And I understand that when I'm 80, I too may have no interest in what ever the latest technology du jour happens to be.
But not having an interest in something is different than not understanding it. I'm sure my grandmother understands and accepts that computers make life easier for most people, even if she has no interest in them herself. That said, I doubt very much that she understands the appeal of techno music. To her, I can only imagine she thinks it's some kind of joke that people actually claim to enjoy that kind of… noise.
That's why I always thought I would be immune to the condition that seems to come with age, wherein people seem to simply stop understanding the new trends. Even though I don't care for techno music - at all - I can still see how it might appeal to those that do. My lack of interest doesn't affect my ability to understand and accept it. And since I've always been able to separate the two, I thought maybe this would carry on throughout my entire life. That maybe I would be the exception. That I would never utter something like "that's not rap music, that's crap music…"
But that dream might be dead. I may have crossed that threshold. I might be through the looking glass here, and there might be no turning back. And it's all because I don't understand planking.
Or owling.
Or coning.
And I'm not sure if that makes me old or not. Is it true, do you just reach a certain age, or point in your life when the stuff that the younger generation does just confuses you? Or is planking just inherently stupid, and as a sane human being I have every right to not understand it?
Did 65 year old people in the 70's simply not understand bell bottoms, the same way 65 year old people in the 80's didn't understand rap music, the same way 65 year old people in 90's didn't understand Beavis and Butt-head? Or did they understand it, and just chose not to participate in it?
Actually, I think that might be what it is. The more I think about it, it's not so much that I don't understand planking, as it is that I just have no desire to participate in it.
If I may give an example, from my youth: As teenagers (and maybe even into our early 20's) my friends and I invented a new activity that we called 'carting'. And basically, all it was, was getting a pick up truck, driving to a grocery store, throwing a shopping cart in the box, waiting until it was dark, and then tying a rope from the bumper of the truck to the handle of the cart and dragging it down the highway. I know. There's no need to make that face at me. I know. It was pretty redneck, small town Alberta, and not exactly the exploits of future Nobel Prize winners. But we had a blast doing it.
I guess, the appeal was in the stupidity. The childlike sense of watching a shower of sparks flying off of a shopping cart was in much the same way a kid might be fascinated by putting one end of a stick in camp fire and then pulling it out and waving it around. Or maybe it was the small dose of excitement we got knowing we could get in trouble if we were seen by the police, or really any other cars at all. The danger of getting away with something, if you will.
I don't know what it was that made us think that it was so fun, but when you're having fun, you don't often stop to question why.
And I guess, if I had never done it, and heard about carting for the first time today, as the latest internet meme, I would regard it in the same way I currently regard planking. I would shake my head and weep for the future. But, if I took such pleasure at some point in my life, by doing something just as stupid as planking, then I can't really say I don't understand it. Perhaps it has the same appeal to today's youth that a bunch of sparks on a highway once had for me. Maybe the stupidity of the whole thing is the appeal.
But that doesn't change the fact that my old ass still wants nothing to do with it.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Am I Getting Old? (Part 1: Texting)
I used to be very anti-cell phone. All I ever heard for years is how I needed one, and how I was inconveniencing my friends by refusing to get one.
If my friends wanted to call me when I wasn't home, they could either leave a voice mail on my land line, or they could call me at work. Not exactly the grave injustice they made it out to be, as I was still very much reachable.
But, as much as they lamented it, I loved having the feeling that I couldn't be reached every second of every day. And thus, I remained without a cell phone for the first 28 years of my life.
Then the iPhone hit, and - as the tag line suggested - it changed everything. I bought an iPod Touch in early 2008, and although it had most of what I needed, when the iPhone finally made it's long-awaited debut in Canada five months later, I couldn't help but think 'man, I could have all the functions of the Touch, without needing a wi-fi connection all the time to do it...' Plus, back then the Phone had features that the Touch didn't. Like Bluetooth, and GPS, and a camera. I was able to resist for a year, but eventually I gave in to temptation.
This is how I was introduced into the world of texting.
Prior to this, my lone experience with texting people had been the one time that I had tried on my buddy's phone around 2003. This was long before the days of touch screens or even full QWERTY keyboards. Three letters were assigned to each number on the keypad, and you slowly cycled through them until you got to the one that you wanted. It was taking me about 30 seconds to complete a single word, and by the time I had finished my message, I knew I was dealing with the stupidest thing in the entire universe. This was not progress. This was a step backwards in terms of technology. And I swore a blood oath to myself that day that I would never touch another text message again, as long as I lived and breathed.
I stood by, as in the subsequent years, it's popularity only grew. I watched as my good friend Art went from condemning the technology with the same disdain as I did, to becoming the biggest texter in the world overnight. I shrugged it off, assuming that it had to do with the teenage women with whom he was cavorting with at the time more than anything else. But he wasn't the only one. Texting was taking over, and I still didn't understand it.
Then I got my hands on the iPhone. If Art had done a 180ยบ on texting overnight, then I did mine in the span of one hour. Quickly forgotten was the old, tedious methods of entering text - replaced now with a simple and intuitive touch screen - and since I was always much better at writing than I was at talking (especially on the phone), suddenly I had a whole new means in which to communicate with people. I was ashamed to admit it, but I was converted almost instantly.
But that's not what this is about. No, this is about etiquette. Because if there's one thing that I struggled with, early on, it was how to not become the one thing that I hated more than anything else. How to avoid turning into the one person that I knew I could easily become. The darkness I knew lurked just beneath the surface that had kept me scared of the cell phone for all those years.
The person that paid more attention to their cell phone than to the people that they were actually with.
I had watched it happen to Art. One day we'd be standing there talking, engrossed in our conversation with one another, when suddenly, next thing I knew, I'd be talking to him, and his face was glued to the screen of his cell phone. I called him on it a few times, to which his response was always the same: "I'm listening. I can do more than one thing at the same time, you know." Which to me, was him completely missing the point. I wasn't questioning whether or not he could, but rather whether or not he should.
I don't doubt that my dentist could talk on the phone while filling a cavity for me either. But it's nice to sit in that chair and feel like you have his complete and undivided attention. Art and I weren't talking about anything important, sure, but it still made me feel like I was less important to him at that moment, than the $100 piece of electronics in his hand. And I felt, that if his text conversation was so much more important than the one he was having with me, then why wasn't he calling this person and having the conversation over the phone? How could it be that important if both sides were willing to wait the extra 20 seconds that it would take to type a response?
(Before I go on, I think it's only fair to mention that this is Art circa 2007-08, he has since changed greatly in how he balances typing on his cell phone and dealing with someone in person at the same time.)
Which makes me wonder: what is the priority for different social situations? And how long have they been in place? For example, I would consider the order as such (from highest priority, to least): in person, on the phone, via text, via email, via letter. I'm not saying a letter is less important than an email - not at all, I consider a letter much more personal - but rather that a person doesn't expect a response right away if they wrote you a letter, so you don't have to rush out and answer it that very second. With an email, the person might expect an answer right away, but obviously not that quickly otherwise it would have required a phone call to make sure they got the answer right then and there. See what I'm saying?
That said, as much as I consider an in-person encounter to take precedence over everything, that's not really true, is it? I mean, if you're talking with someone in their living room, and the phone rings, chances are that the person will answer it, and chances are that you won't be offended if they do. But was this always the case? Did a ringing phone always make it ok to pause a conversation and answer it, or was it considered rude at first too, much like I consider stopping a conversation to answer a text rude right now. Did it slowly become more and more acceptable over time, much like it seems that texting is today, or was it always such a cool technology (especially when it was first introduced) that a phone call has always taken precedence? With the way texting is going, could a day come when a person is talking on the phone, feels the vibration of an incoming text, and actually puts the person on hold in order to answer it? I know I've seen people use speaker phone to text while they talk on the phone, so really, it can't be that far off.
I guess what I'm getting at is, am I the old guy sitting on his rocking chair, yelling at the kids to get off my lawn? Talking about how 'back when I was your age…' or 'I had respect for…'? Or am I right, and people are just losing their sense of social grace the easier that it becomes to do so. I mean, was Art right to text and talk at the same time, because that's the way society is heading, or is Randy right, when he gives me an evil eye for even glancing at my phone when the two of us hang out together. I'm obviously not as uptight about it as Randy, but I'm definitely closer to his way of thinking than I am to Art's. (Again… Art's former way of thinking).
I don't want to be the old guy that doesn't accept change. I always thought that I was the young, hip, open-minded guy, that was cool with whatever trends came and went over the years. I never want to be the old dinosaur that 'doesn't understand the kids these days.' That said, I also don't want people texting the whole time that I'm trying to have a conversation with them either.
If my friends wanted to call me when I wasn't home, they could either leave a voice mail on my land line, or they could call me at work. Not exactly the grave injustice they made it out to be, as I was still very much reachable.
But, as much as they lamented it, I loved having the feeling that I couldn't be reached every second of every day. And thus, I remained without a cell phone for the first 28 years of my life.
Then the iPhone hit, and - as the tag line suggested - it changed everything. I bought an iPod Touch in early 2008, and although it had most of what I needed, when the iPhone finally made it's long-awaited debut in Canada five months later, I couldn't help but think 'man, I could have all the functions of the Touch, without needing a wi-fi connection all the time to do it...' Plus, back then the Phone had features that the Touch didn't. Like Bluetooth, and GPS, and a camera. I was able to resist for a year, but eventually I gave in to temptation.
This is how I was introduced into the world of texting.
Prior to this, my lone experience with texting people had been the one time that I had tried on my buddy's phone around 2003. This was long before the days of touch screens or even full QWERTY keyboards. Three letters were assigned to each number on the keypad, and you slowly cycled through them until you got to the one that you wanted. It was taking me about 30 seconds to complete a single word, and by the time I had finished my message, I knew I was dealing with the stupidest thing in the entire universe. This was not progress. This was a step backwards in terms of technology. And I swore a blood oath to myself that day that I would never touch another text message again, as long as I lived and breathed.
I stood by, as in the subsequent years, it's popularity only grew. I watched as my good friend Art went from condemning the technology with the same disdain as I did, to becoming the biggest texter in the world overnight. I shrugged it off, assuming that it had to do with the teenage women with whom he was cavorting with at the time more than anything else. But he wasn't the only one. Texting was taking over, and I still didn't understand it.
Then I got my hands on the iPhone. If Art had done a 180ยบ on texting overnight, then I did mine in the span of one hour. Quickly forgotten was the old, tedious methods of entering text - replaced now with a simple and intuitive touch screen - and since I was always much better at writing than I was at talking (especially on the phone), suddenly I had a whole new means in which to communicate with people. I was ashamed to admit it, but I was converted almost instantly.
But that's not what this is about. No, this is about etiquette. Because if there's one thing that I struggled with, early on, it was how to not become the one thing that I hated more than anything else. How to avoid turning into the one person that I knew I could easily become. The darkness I knew lurked just beneath the surface that had kept me scared of the cell phone for all those years.
The person that paid more attention to their cell phone than to the people that they were actually with.
I had watched it happen to Art. One day we'd be standing there talking, engrossed in our conversation with one another, when suddenly, next thing I knew, I'd be talking to him, and his face was glued to the screen of his cell phone. I called him on it a few times, to which his response was always the same: "I'm listening. I can do more than one thing at the same time, you know." Which to me, was him completely missing the point. I wasn't questioning whether or not he could, but rather whether or not he should.
I don't doubt that my dentist could talk on the phone while filling a cavity for me either. But it's nice to sit in that chair and feel like you have his complete and undivided attention. Art and I weren't talking about anything important, sure, but it still made me feel like I was less important to him at that moment, than the $100 piece of electronics in his hand. And I felt, that if his text conversation was so much more important than the one he was having with me, then why wasn't he calling this person and having the conversation over the phone? How could it be that important if both sides were willing to wait the extra 20 seconds that it would take to type a response?
(Before I go on, I think it's only fair to mention that this is Art circa 2007-08, he has since changed greatly in how he balances typing on his cell phone and dealing with someone in person at the same time.)
Which makes me wonder: what is the priority for different social situations? And how long have they been in place? For example, I would consider the order as such (from highest priority, to least): in person, on the phone, via text, via email, via letter. I'm not saying a letter is less important than an email - not at all, I consider a letter much more personal - but rather that a person doesn't expect a response right away if they wrote you a letter, so you don't have to rush out and answer it that very second. With an email, the person might expect an answer right away, but obviously not that quickly otherwise it would have required a phone call to make sure they got the answer right then and there. See what I'm saying?
That said, as much as I consider an in-person encounter to take precedence over everything, that's not really true, is it? I mean, if you're talking with someone in their living room, and the phone rings, chances are that the person will answer it, and chances are that you won't be offended if they do. But was this always the case? Did a ringing phone always make it ok to pause a conversation and answer it, or was it considered rude at first too, much like I consider stopping a conversation to answer a text rude right now. Did it slowly become more and more acceptable over time, much like it seems that texting is today, or was it always such a cool technology (especially when it was first introduced) that a phone call has always taken precedence? With the way texting is going, could a day come when a person is talking on the phone, feels the vibration of an incoming text, and actually puts the person on hold in order to answer it? I know I've seen people use speaker phone to text while they talk on the phone, so really, it can't be that far off.
I guess what I'm getting at is, am I the old guy sitting on his rocking chair, yelling at the kids to get off my lawn? Talking about how 'back when I was your age…' or 'I had respect for…'? Or am I right, and people are just losing their sense of social grace the easier that it becomes to do so. I mean, was Art right to text and talk at the same time, because that's the way society is heading, or is Randy right, when he gives me an evil eye for even glancing at my phone when the two of us hang out together. I'm obviously not as uptight about it as Randy, but I'm definitely closer to his way of thinking than I am to Art's. (Again… Art's former way of thinking).
I don't want to be the old guy that doesn't accept change. I always thought that I was the young, hip, open-minded guy, that was cool with whatever trends came and went over the years. I never want to be the old dinosaur that 'doesn't understand the kids these days.' That said, I also don't want people texting the whole time that I'm trying to have a conversation with them either.
Friday, September 23, 2011
My Summer of B-List Celebrity Encounters, Part 5
There's no easy way to put this, so I'm just going to say it: This video is going to make me look a little… crazy. It's going to make Randy look a little crazy too. But I'm not crazy, I swear. The jury is still out on Randy, but I can only speak for myself, and I'm pretty sure that I'm mostly sane.
I know that the internet is quick to judge - and judge harshly - and as such, if something is less than flattering, perhaps one should not post it. But here it is anyways. My hope is that you will have some understanding that we were partially hamming up the crazy a little bit for the camera. There is some genuine crazy in there as well, for sure, but I'm going to chalk most of it up to either a late night after a long drive, or an early morning after very little sleep (depending on which moment of craziness you are judging at the time).
Either way, here it is, so please… be gentle.
I know that the internet is quick to judge - and judge harshly - and as such, if something is less than flattering, perhaps one should not post it. But here it is anyways. My hope is that you will have some understanding that we were partially hamming up the crazy a little bit for the camera. There is some genuine crazy in there as well, for sure, but I'm going to chalk most of it up to either a late night after a long drive, or an early morning after very little sleep (depending on which moment of craziness you are judging at the time).
Either way, here it is, so please… be gentle.
Friday, September 16, 2011
My Summer of B-List Celebrity Encounters, Part 5 (Prologue)
I'm not going to lie. This post was supposed to be much better than this. You see, this week's celebrity encounter doesn't just exist as a few poorly strung together sentences describing the lacklustre memories of a man that obviously doesn't get out very much. No, this week's encounter was captured on video. Glorious high definition video.
It was my full intention to have that footage edited together into a riveting narrative, and posted here, without so much as a single word to describe it. Just the title of the post, and the video embedded within to do all the talking. I even purposefully saved this entry until last in order to make sure I had the necessary time to do so.
But the problem is that I do not possess this footage. It is currently stored under the watchful eye of one Randal Tiberius Sneep. And I wanted it to be a surprise. So, rather than say 'hey, I have a bunch of week nights with nothing better to do coming up, why don't you give me that footage and I'll edit it together' I instead tried to drop more subtle hints like 'man, I'd really like to see that footage some time and see how lame we were.' In hopes that I could get the footage from him, without tipping my hat to the fact that I was editing it as well.
The problem is, I was blinded by my desire to have this post be a surprise. I mean, obviously he knew I would be writing about this encounter, having been along for the ride with me. But I was hoping to completely blindside him with a finished video rather than the usual write up. What I did not consider, was that having something - anything - was better than nothing at all. And if I had just taken the time to really try to get the footage from him, I would have something to post today, even if it was less of a surprise than originally planned. Instead I still have the full benefit of a surprise, but nothing to show for it.
I made one last ditch attempt to get the footage last night, dropping the ruse, and basically asking flat out to get my hands on it, in hopes that if I plugged away late into the night and perhaps even this morning, it would still be a complete surprise that I was able to put something together so quickly and have it posted today. But that fell through, and now, instead, I'm left with this. The written word.
Sorry.
But, I am not going to give up hope. I think after reading this, Randy will be very proactive in trying to get the footage into my hands, and I will make it my pledge to you fine people, that this time next week, I will have that video piece edited together, and posted right here. So, I won't spoil the story of this celebrity encounter now, with a half-assed, heart-not-fully-in-it write up, when hopefully* the footage we shot is good enough to tell the story. The surprise may be completely spoiled, but the tale… well, as you can probably already tell from this epic tease, that is a story for another day.
*I say hopefully, because for all I know the footage is completely unusable. In which case, I ain't posting a second of it...
It was my full intention to have that footage edited together into a riveting narrative, and posted here, without so much as a single word to describe it. Just the title of the post, and the video embedded within to do all the talking. I even purposefully saved this entry until last in order to make sure I had the necessary time to do so.
But the problem is that I do not possess this footage. It is currently stored under the watchful eye of one Randal Tiberius Sneep. And I wanted it to be a surprise. So, rather than say 'hey, I have a bunch of week nights with nothing better to do coming up, why don't you give me that footage and I'll edit it together' I instead tried to drop more subtle hints like 'man, I'd really like to see that footage some time and see how lame we were.' In hopes that I could get the footage from him, without tipping my hat to the fact that I was editing it as well.
The problem is, I was blinded by my desire to have this post be a surprise. I mean, obviously he knew I would be writing about this encounter, having been along for the ride with me. But I was hoping to completely blindside him with a finished video rather than the usual write up. What I did not consider, was that having something - anything - was better than nothing at all. And if I had just taken the time to really try to get the footage from him, I would have something to post today, even if it was less of a surprise than originally planned. Instead I still have the full benefit of a surprise, but nothing to show for it.
I made one last ditch attempt to get the footage last night, dropping the ruse, and basically asking flat out to get my hands on it, in hopes that if I plugged away late into the night and perhaps even this morning, it would still be a complete surprise that I was able to put something together so quickly and have it posted today. But that fell through, and now, instead, I'm left with this. The written word.
Sorry.
But, I am not going to give up hope. I think after reading this, Randy will be very proactive in trying to get the footage into my hands, and I will make it my pledge to you fine people, that this time next week, I will have that video piece edited together, and posted right here. So, I won't spoil the story of this celebrity encounter now, with a half-assed, heart-not-fully-in-it write up, when hopefully* the footage we shot is good enough to tell the story. The surprise may be completely spoiled, but the tale… well, as you can probably already tell from this epic tease, that is a story for another day.
*I say hopefully, because for all I know the footage is completely unusable. In which case, I ain't posting a second of it...
Friday, September 9, 2011
My Summer of B-List* Celebrity Encounters, Part 4
I'd like to think that I don't get caught up in all the allure of celebrity. That I don't really get starstruck. That everyone is just another human being, no more or less special than the rest of us.
I'd like to think that.
Obviously this latest series of blog entries has you undoubtedly saying to yourself "Ya, right, this dude is practically a celebrity stalker…"
And I guess I can't deny it. Because I was pretty excited to meet Russell Crowe.
Russell Crowe? Surely you jest… But let me assure you, my dear, blog-reading faithful: I never joke about Russell Crowe. Ok, that was a joke… but I'm not joking about having had a chance to meet him. That said, before we get into that, I've gone and gotten a head of myself already. Let's take this back a few steps first.
I'm not a huge Russell Crowe fan. I loved Gladiator (what red-blooded man didn't?) and L.A. Confidential. And he's always solid in the many great movies that he has been in (The Insider, A Beautiful Mind, Cinderella Man, etc…) and even the 'lesser' fare (like The Quick and the Dead, which I am actually very fond of) . So, I can't deny that he's a very good actor. But good actors aren't always great people. I'm not saying he kicks puppies or laughs at the elderly when they fall down or anything, but he still doesn't really strike me as first ballot Man Crush Hall of Fame material.
So, while I like to think that I am impervious to the phenomenon that is celebrity culture - tabloids, paparazzi, TMZ, Entertainment Tonight… all that stuff - I still found myself as giddy as a fan boy at the Skywalker Ranch at the prospect of meeting this actor that I really had very little actual interest in.
Ok, I'll spare you the suspense. I didn't actually meet him. In case you don't know the back story, the television show that my sister works on was having him on as a guest star during the week that I was in town visiting her, so I figured that crossing paths with Maximus Decimus Meridius was an outside possibility. I didn't get my hopes up, and I really wasn't that disappointed when it didn't happen. But still, when I thought about how cool of a picture it might be to post on Facebook, I was a little excited.
And that's what I'm conflicted about. What is the allure of celebrity? If I don't really have an interest in Russell Crowe, shouldn't I care less whether I shake his hand or stand next to him while he fakes a smile and someone takes our picture? I can't figure out what the actual draw is, but it's undeniably there.
I guess it doesn't matter, at the end of the day, because I didn't meet him anyways. That said, if I was semi-excited to get a picture with a guy that I didn't have any vested interest in, then you would imagine the thrill I would feel to get my picture with a genuine Man Crush. But of course, that is a story for another day.
(*Yes, I know Russell Crowe is a true A-List Celebrity, and therefore the title of this blog is misleading, but I didn't actually meet him, so I decided to stick with my already established convention.)
I'd like to think that.
Obviously this latest series of blog entries has you undoubtedly saying to yourself "Ya, right, this dude is practically a celebrity stalker…"
And I guess I can't deny it. Because I was pretty excited to meet Russell Crowe.
Russell Crowe? Surely you jest… But let me assure you, my dear, blog-reading faithful: I never joke about Russell Crowe. Ok, that was a joke… but I'm not joking about having had a chance to meet him. That said, before we get into that, I've gone and gotten a head of myself already. Let's take this back a few steps first.
I'm not a huge Russell Crowe fan. I loved Gladiator (what red-blooded man didn't?) and L.A. Confidential. And he's always solid in the many great movies that he has been in (The Insider, A Beautiful Mind, Cinderella Man, etc…) and even the 'lesser' fare (like The Quick and the Dead, which I am actually very fond of) . So, I can't deny that he's a very good actor. But good actors aren't always great people. I'm not saying he kicks puppies or laughs at the elderly when they fall down or anything, but he still doesn't really strike me as first ballot Man Crush Hall of Fame material.
So, while I like to think that I am impervious to the phenomenon that is celebrity culture - tabloids, paparazzi, TMZ, Entertainment Tonight… all that stuff - I still found myself as giddy as a fan boy at the Skywalker Ranch at the prospect of meeting this actor that I really had very little actual interest in.
Ok, I'll spare you the suspense. I didn't actually meet him. In case you don't know the back story, the television show that my sister works on was having him on as a guest star during the week that I was in town visiting her, so I figured that crossing paths with Maximus Decimus Meridius was an outside possibility. I didn't get my hopes up, and I really wasn't that disappointed when it didn't happen. But still, when I thought about how cool of a picture it might be to post on Facebook, I was a little excited.
And that's what I'm conflicted about. What is the allure of celebrity? If I don't really have an interest in Russell Crowe, shouldn't I care less whether I shake his hand or stand next to him while he fakes a smile and someone takes our picture? I can't figure out what the actual draw is, but it's undeniably there.
I guess it doesn't matter, at the end of the day, because I didn't meet him anyways. That said, if I was semi-excited to get a picture with a guy that I didn't have any vested interest in, then you would imagine the thrill I would feel to get my picture with a genuine Man Crush. But of course, that is a story for another day.
(*Yes, I know Russell Crowe is a true A-List Celebrity, and therefore the title of this blog is misleading, but I didn't actually meet him, so I decided to stick with my already established convention.)
Friday, August 26, 2011
My Summer of B-List Celebrity Encounters, Part 3
They say that you should never meet your heroes. That they'll only disappoint you. Which makes sense, when you think about it. I mean, how could someone ever live up to the person that you've made them out to be in your mind? Nobody is perfect, especially for every second of every day. It's just impossible. Everyone has a bad day, or says something that they regret. It's human nature. When it comes to the people that we admire, we rarely see these moments, because we only ever see their public persona. The person that they want us to see. They are aware that they are being viewed and judged, so they try to be the best that they can be.
We never see them in the seconds right after someone swoops in and steals the spot that they had patiently waited for with their blinker on in a crowded mall parking lot, or after being woken at dawn from a hard night of drinking, when the guy next door decides to start up his chainsaw and do some yard work at 6 o'clock in the morning. We see them on the red carpet or in interviews, and we see them happy and smiling and witty and charming. This is how they became the people that we admire. It might be different if we saw them send back their food for the fifth time at a restaurant, screaming "I said medium-well done! Don't you know who I am?!"
Which is why maybe you shouldn't meet your heroes. Because what if you happen to meet them on one of these off days?
On a side note, when you see a person that is a complete douche, even in their public persona, is that because they just don't care? Or are they such big douches, that this is them at their best, and it's still deplorable? Should I be applauding them for not trying to be something they're not, or should I do a bit of mental math and assume that in normal life, they're at least 30 to 60% douchier? I mean, if that's how they act when the cameras are on, you have to imagine that in the privacy of their own home, they crank the dick meter up to eleven, right?
Regardless, it was now three days since I had narrowly missed out on crossing paths with Sara Quin in Saskatchewan, and I was once again in the same room with her. This time we were back in Edmonton, and her sister Tegan was in tow. Although the term 'hero' feels like a bit much, I would be lying if I said I didn't have a slight infatuation with them. In fact, I would be down-right devastated to find out that in real life it turned out that they weren't very nice people. Basically, I was the perfect candidate for the 'never meet your heroes' philosophy to smack me right in the face.
But I didn't care.
For one, I was pretty sure that they're awesomeness was genuine. But, even if it wasn't, despite the devastation, I honestly think that I would have wanted to know anyways. And so I stood, patiently waiting my turn. I had shelled out a few extra ducats for the VIP tickets to their Edmonton show that night, and in this case, it included the chance to sit in on the sound check, receive an autographed poster, and of course, have a brief meet and greet. I quickly staked out a spot at the end of the line, knowing that if there were people waiting behind me that I would likely feel some sort of self-imposed pressure to 'move it along' and let the next person have their turn, and I was pleased to discover that no one else seemed to have shared this same strategy, and therefore, I was not required to fight anyone for the spot.
And, although I did feel this was a solid strategy for squeezing as much time as I could out of the meet and greet, it also meant that I had to wait as everyone else got their time with the girls first. Which meant that I was left alone with my thoughts and insecurities. Particularly, the blunder that I had made in Saskatchewan that was now playing through my mind, wherein I had unintentionally been a dick to Hannah Georgas. What if I made a similar mistake this time, when it truly mattered? But I had to shake it off and not think about such things… because it was time.
And it went well. Granted this would probably still fall under the guise of 'public persona', but they were as awesome as I could have hoped or dreamed. We even parted ways with hugs all around, which, as you can imagine, warmed the very cockles of my heart.
Then they asked me if I had a song request, and having not really thought about it in advance, that's when I made my blunder. You see, they released a small four track EP back in 2008, and the song that Sara contributed to it, the criminally under appreciated "I Take All The Blame", is one of my favourite songs in the entire T&S back-catalogue. That said, apparently not many other fans share this enthusiasm for it and I've never been able to find any evidence that they have ever performed it live.
So, in that moment, when asked if I had a song to request, that was the only thing that came to my mind. Sure, I could have requested a song that I like more than it - there are 3 or 4 that would easily qualify - but, I had seen them all performed live at previous shows already. Besides, seeing that these were popular songs, what was the point of a song request, if they might already be playing it that night anyways? I wasn't trying to be unique for the sake of it or anything, but I guess I should have known that there was a reason why they had never played that song live before.
Sure, the argument could be made that because it's not as popular as their 'hits' then they would be doing a disservice to their fans by playing a song that only a few people in the audience might enjoy, when they could play a different song that everybody would like instead. But, based upon the look on Sara's face when the title of that song left my lips (I'm still undecided as to whether I would describe the look as 'disgust' or 'horror') I think it's safe to say that there might be other reasons why she might not want to perform it. Which is fair. But that expression on her face might haunt me for the rest of my life.
I'm still trying to decide if she doesn't like the song, or if she loves the song, but is too emotionally attached to it to perform it. You see, Tegan and Sara often cater to their fans. If the fans don't respond well to a song as much as they do another, then they often drop that song from the set list and play the one that everyone will clap in unison over their heads and sing along with. Which leaves some of the songs that they personally love, often never being played. So you might think me foolish and deserving of the reaction that I got, for straying from the path and not requesting a 'sure thing', but I would argue that had it turned out that Sara had always wanted to play that song, but it just wasn't popular enough with the fans for her to do so, then the look of joy and appreciation on her face would have easily been worth the gamble. Obviously it didn't turn out that way, but I swung for the fences, and regret nothing.
Besides, if that was the biggest faux pas I made, then I should consider myself lucky. She didn't seem mad at me for requesting it, she just obviously had no desire to play that particular song, and we still parted with a hug (did I mention that already? Well too bad… it won't be the last time). So, as it stood, my summer of meeting B-List celebrities had come and gone rather successfully.
Or had it?
Perhaps there was some unexpected encounters that had yet to present themselves in the coming days. But that, of course, is a story for another day.
We never see them in the seconds right after someone swoops in and steals the spot that they had patiently waited for with their blinker on in a crowded mall parking lot, or after being woken at dawn from a hard night of drinking, when the guy next door decides to start up his chainsaw and do some yard work at 6 o'clock in the morning. We see them on the red carpet or in interviews, and we see them happy and smiling and witty and charming. This is how they became the people that we admire. It might be different if we saw them send back their food for the fifth time at a restaurant, screaming "I said medium-well done! Don't you know who I am?!"
Which is why maybe you shouldn't meet your heroes. Because what if you happen to meet them on one of these off days?
On a side note, when you see a person that is a complete douche, even in their public persona, is that because they just don't care? Or are they such big douches, that this is them at their best, and it's still deplorable? Should I be applauding them for not trying to be something they're not, or should I do a bit of mental math and assume that in normal life, they're at least 30 to 60% douchier? I mean, if that's how they act when the cameras are on, you have to imagine that in the privacy of their own home, they crank the dick meter up to eleven, right?
Regardless, it was now three days since I had narrowly missed out on crossing paths with Sara Quin in Saskatchewan, and I was once again in the same room with her. This time we were back in Edmonton, and her sister Tegan was in tow. Although the term 'hero' feels like a bit much, I would be lying if I said I didn't have a slight infatuation with them. In fact, I would be down-right devastated to find out that in real life it turned out that they weren't very nice people. Basically, I was the perfect candidate for the 'never meet your heroes' philosophy to smack me right in the face.
But I didn't care.
For one, I was pretty sure that they're awesomeness was genuine. But, even if it wasn't, despite the devastation, I honestly think that I would have wanted to know anyways. And so I stood, patiently waiting my turn. I had shelled out a few extra ducats for the VIP tickets to their Edmonton show that night, and in this case, it included the chance to sit in on the sound check, receive an autographed poster, and of course, have a brief meet and greet. I quickly staked out a spot at the end of the line, knowing that if there were people waiting behind me that I would likely feel some sort of self-imposed pressure to 'move it along' and let the next person have their turn, and I was pleased to discover that no one else seemed to have shared this same strategy, and therefore, I was not required to fight anyone for the spot.
And, although I did feel this was a solid strategy for squeezing as much time as I could out of the meet and greet, it also meant that I had to wait as everyone else got their time with the girls first. Which meant that I was left alone with my thoughts and insecurities. Particularly, the blunder that I had made in Saskatchewan that was now playing through my mind, wherein I had unintentionally been a dick to Hannah Georgas. What if I made a similar mistake this time, when it truly mattered? But I had to shake it off and not think about such things… because it was time.
And it went well. Granted this would probably still fall under the guise of 'public persona', but they were as awesome as I could have hoped or dreamed. We even parted ways with hugs all around, which, as you can imagine, warmed the very cockles of my heart.
Then they asked me if I had a song request, and having not really thought about it in advance, that's when I made my blunder. You see, they released a small four track EP back in 2008, and the song that Sara contributed to it, the criminally under appreciated "I Take All The Blame", is one of my favourite songs in the entire T&S back-catalogue. That said, apparently not many other fans share this enthusiasm for it and I've never been able to find any evidence that they have ever performed it live.
So, in that moment, when asked if I had a song to request, that was the only thing that came to my mind. Sure, I could have requested a song that I like more than it - there are 3 or 4 that would easily qualify - but, I had seen them all performed live at previous shows already. Besides, seeing that these were popular songs, what was the point of a song request, if they might already be playing it that night anyways? I wasn't trying to be unique for the sake of it or anything, but I guess I should have known that there was a reason why they had never played that song live before.
Sure, the argument could be made that because it's not as popular as their 'hits' then they would be doing a disservice to their fans by playing a song that only a few people in the audience might enjoy, when they could play a different song that everybody would like instead. But, based upon the look on Sara's face when the title of that song left my lips (I'm still undecided as to whether I would describe the look as 'disgust' or 'horror') I think it's safe to say that there might be other reasons why she might not want to perform it. Which is fair. But that expression on her face might haunt me for the rest of my life.
I'm still trying to decide if she doesn't like the song, or if she loves the song, but is too emotionally attached to it to perform it. You see, Tegan and Sara often cater to their fans. If the fans don't respond well to a song as much as they do another, then they often drop that song from the set list and play the one that everyone will clap in unison over their heads and sing along with. Which leaves some of the songs that they personally love, often never being played. So you might think me foolish and deserving of the reaction that I got, for straying from the path and not requesting a 'sure thing', but I would argue that had it turned out that Sara had always wanted to play that song, but it just wasn't popular enough with the fans for her to do so, then the look of joy and appreciation on her face would have easily been worth the gamble. Obviously it didn't turn out that way, but I swung for the fences, and regret nothing.
Besides, if that was the biggest faux pas I made, then I should consider myself lucky. She didn't seem mad at me for requesting it, she just obviously had no desire to play that particular song, and we still parted with a hug (did I mention that already? Well too bad… it won't be the last time). So, as it stood, my summer of meeting B-List celebrities had come and gone rather successfully.
Or had it?
Perhaps there was some unexpected encounters that had yet to present themselves in the coming days. But that, of course, is a story for another day.
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