Green Grass and High Tides

As the faithful that read this here blog might recall, I wasn't exactly the poster child for a positive outlook on life a few months back.  I was lamenting my wasted youth, or some bullshit like that.  Which, really, in the grand scheme, is akin to complaining about having to pay 10¢ a litre more to put premium gasoline in your BMW.  Sure, it's an extra $5 dollars per tank, but you drive a frickin' lazy boy on wheels.  Some people's houses aren't even that nice.  Some people don't even have houses.

I'm not a very self-important person. I'm definitely not an "I'll step over who ever I need to, to get what I feel entitled to" kind of guy (sorry, Gordon Gekko).  As such, anytime I enter into a bit of self-loathing like that, I immediately feel guilty about it.  And yes, the irony of that is not lost on me.  I have so much, therefore I feel bad when I long for more.

But the problem is that the grass is always greener.  Or at least it always seems to be.  I mean, why shouldn't I be happy with what I've got?  I should be.  But really, is anyone ever 100% satisfied with their life?  Look at Tiger Woods.  A billion dollars in the bank, a Swedish supermodel for a wife.  Arguably the greatest golfer to ever step foot on this planet.  What more could a guy like that want?  Besides a few prostitutes.

The greatest player ever.  Not the greatest speech ever.

Look at Michael Jordan.  Same thing.  Considered by many to be the greatest player to ever lace up a pair of basketball sneakers.  But he was never happy.  And you might argue that never being satisfied was the reason he was so great.  And you might be right.  Because he was great.  But never happy. When you or I look at it from the outside, we think: how can you be Michael Jordan and still not be happy?  But just look at his Hall of Fame speech.  That epic twenty minutes probably gave you more insight into who Michael Jordan really is than any footage of him bouncing a basketball ever could.  And it was not pretty.  He turned a celebration of his career and achievements into a petty roasting of all those that 'wronged' him over the years.  During the broadcast they cut to a shot of Michael's high school coach just shaking his head in disbelief as MJ was digging into him, unable to understand what was happening or why.  Did Michael really buy him a $1000 ticket to the event just to be sure he was present as he aired his grievences?   John Stockton looked like a deer in the headlights as MJ laced into his old teammate Bryon Russell.  And considering Michael got the best of Bryon every single time they faced off, it seems odd that he would still hold such ill-will against him all these years later.  And it's because even now, even as he's been crowned the greatest there ever was, and perhaps ever will be, he's not happy.  I don't know where he thinks the greener grass is, but he's still looking for it.

Michael Jordan was never happy, Tiger Woods was never satisfied (pardon the double entendre...) Bill Gates?  Probably not either.  It wouldn't surprise me if Bill wakes up every morning and fires any staff member that's eating an apple for lunch.  He has everything, yet that one little fruit is still a torn in his side.  Insignificant as it is to his mighty empire, chances are he just can't look past it.  Can you name 3 more successful people by conventional standards?  And I'm not saying they're miserable (well, except for Tiger... right now) but they're never 100% happy with their life.  So how can I ever hope to be?

But Travis you say, those people are only considered successful financially and/or athletically.  There's far more to life than those hollow pursuits, and there's far better criteria with which to judge success.  And I agree.  A happy, healthy home is worth far more in the scheme of things than a multimillion dollar pay cheque.  But the grass is still always greener.  I love my family.  I love my friends.  I love my job, and my apartment, and my hobbies.  I love my life.  I truly do.  But it's cold here in the winter.  My job gets repetitive.  I don't drive a BMW.  There's always greener grass, and it's not all unattainable pipe dreams either.  Why couldn't I live in Hawaii?  Why couldn't I be editing the latest Will Ferrel movie instead of the same Capital EX orientation video that I've done 7 times.  Why couldn't I pick up a 2001 BMW for ten grand?

For sale right now.  $8000.

Well, just because the grass is greener, doesn't mean that it's better.  Sure, I'd never be cold living in Hawaii, but I'd have to make all new friends and see my family less than twice a year.  Sure, I'd feel more important editing a Hollywood movie, but I might be working 12 hour days, 7 days a week.  Right now I do 9 to 5 Monday through Friday.  With people I like.  And sure, my Cavalier might not be the sexiest car on the road, but it doesn't cost me three times as much to change the oil or brakes.  And that money I save lets me go to Hawaii when it gets cold.  Or Europe when I get bored.

And I like it when I'm feeling this way.  I like when even though I don't feel totally satisfied with life, I'm at least thankful for what I do have, and aware of the fact that what I don't have isn't always what I really need.  And that no one ever feels totally satisfied, and even when you have everything, you still look for more.  So, even though in some ways I feel like my life's in a bit of a rut these days, in other ways I feel like so far this might be one of the best starts to a year that I can remember. 

I know.  You wish I'd just write funny stuff in this blog.  You just want to be entertained, not bored when you come here.  But all I can do is write what's on my mind, and this was on my mind.  If you don't like it, hey, the grass is always greener on someone else's blog...

A long post about a Short Way

I hate to think that this blog is just a bunch of stuff that I write for Randy, because really, that's a little gay.  According to my 'followers' though, it's 67% women, so I'll just remind myself of that...

Especially when I do something like this: and basically just ask Randy what he wants me to write about.  Yes, I cater to him that much.

So what did he want me to talk about?  Well, him.  Of course.

For those of you unfamiliar with the major bullet points of my life, a few years back Randy and I worked on a little project together called The Short Way 'Cross.  In it's essence, it was simply us taking our love of Ewan and Charley's The Long Way Round a bit too far.  We rolled cameras on it, but I think even at the time, our expectations were pretty low.  We figured it would be closer to a video travel journal than a documentary.

Then a funny thing happened.  We loved it.  Not that we didn't expect to love the actual trip, but more so that we were surprized when the resulting footage ended up being an engaging and entertaining little story.  Or so we thought. 

A funny thing happens when something that you had low expectations of exceeds them in every conceivable way.  Suddenly we had something epic on our hands.  Everyone needed to see it.  We had to share our gift with the world.  We sent it to Ewan and Charley, we submitted it to the local film festival, hell, we even threw a gala screening for our friends and family.  Granted, our friends and family responded quite favorably, but really, they had to right?  The film festival?  Not so much.  Ewan and Charley?  Not at all.

The Gala

And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little crushed.  But, having had time to come to terms with the mere possibility that I am not universally loved and adored, perspective has been gained.  You see, if the film festival had heard about us making this video, they probably would have thought: 'that's going to suck.'  Then when they saw it, they might have been like: 'wait, that didn't suck, it was actually kind of good.'  But by having no low expectation to exceed, it stands to reason that on it's own, simply 'kind of good' didn't rock their world.  Ewan and Charley however, they have no excuse.

Which brings us to the Short Way Up (and to the left).  During the height of 'this is actually pretty good' hysteria, the inevitable sequel talk arose.  Bigger?  Of course.  Better?  Naturally.  Now... I'm not so sure.  Not about a sequel.  Just not about having to do everything to one-up the original.  Perspective.  On the 2 year anniversary of our original adventure, Randy and I sat down and watched it again.  And the experience couldn't have been more enjoyable.  We remembered the good times, laughed at all the jokes we had forgotten, and, had a hidden camera been locked on us the entire time, I can imagine that both of us would have had a stupid grin plastered across our face for the entire 52 minutes.

And that to me is what Short Way is all about.  It's not about perfect sound quality, wireless microphones, 16x9 widescreen, or high definition.  And it's certainly not about the disappointment I felt when I opened the rejection letter from the film festival.  Or when I didn't receive a letter from Ewan or Charley at all.  It's not about the approval of others.  Short Way is about that stupid grin on my face for 52 minutes.  And I wouldn't have Up (and to the left) any other way.

Sorry... this isn't the feel-good post of the year

When did I get so old?

I know, I know... everybody feels that way on their birthday, right?  Well, my problem is that I feel it on days that aren't my birthday.  And almost without exception, on the days after basketball.

And I'm not old, really.  But I feel old.  And I think that's much worse.  It's nice to see someone that is old acting and feeling young.  I'm the pitiful opposite though.  My knees have always been bad, but ever since I did in both my ankles, they've been really bad.  Still though, nothing new.  Sore knees.  But in the last year or so I've gotten a bad hip.  A bad hip... at 28.  Yup, I feel old.

And as much as I've gone downhill physically, it's the effect that it's had on my psyche that gets to me more than anything.  You see, I've always heard that an athlete's prime is 27.  My problem is that 27 was one of the worst years for me from an athletic standpoint, so not only did I squander my athletic peak, but in theory it's all going to be even more downhill from here.

I guess my litmus test has always been dunking.  And, I know, dunking isn't the end-all-be-all of basketball.  But if you asked me to remember my 20th birthday, I don't think I could tell you a single detail about that evening - and not just because of the drinking.  But, if you asked me to tell you about the best dunk I ever had, I would instantly remember being on the U of A outdoor courts, heading towards the hoop with only one lone defender foolishly standing in the way.  I would remember it as if it just happened.  My mind would be instantaneously transported to that exact moment in time.  So as much as the ability to dunk doesn't matter, it still embodies everything good or bad in terms of how I'm feeling these days.

So, a little history.  Coming from a small school, being a 6'0" tall kid that could dunk a volleyball in grade 9 got me noticed.  When you're a skinny kid in junior high school, having the best players on the high school team knowing who you were felt good.

I started getting real balls to go down in grade 10, and by grade 11 I was able to do more than just basic finger tip dunks.  I could get 2 handed dunks pretty consistently, and even the occasional reverse dunk.  Sure, I was never going to win a dunk contest, but it was something kind of unique to me, being the only guy on our team that could, for all three years of high school.

(Circa 2002)

The problem is, as much as I liked being able to dunk, at the time I didn't want that to be all I was known for.  I wanted that to just be a small faucet of an overall complete game.  And as such, I kind of grew to resent dunking.  Or at least, I didn't embrace it as much as I could have.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I loved dunking - I think everyone does.  But I don't think I appreciated it as much as I could have.  Maybe because I figured I'd always be able to.

And now that I can't...

I guess I just don't know if I have anything to be proud of anymore.  And it bothers me.  Back in the day I could always say 'well, at least I'm a decent basketball player, and in terms of the world's population, one of only a few that can dunk.'  But now, I don't know.  There's just nothing that makes me feel special anymore.  Is that a product of age?  The realization that not a lot of people are that special?  I mean, being able to dunk doesn't mean a whole lot to many of the people that occupy this planet.  If I walked up to Ghandi and was like 'dude, I can dunk.'  He'd look at me like I was an idiot.  And then probably ask me to hand him some food.  Why? Because in the grand scheme of life, it didn't really make me that special.  And yet, every time I step on a basketball court, I can't help but wish that I still could.

The Proof is in the Pudding

Ok, I know I've been on a bit of a Tegan and Sara kick as of late, and I know you probably couldn't care less... But I still had to post this, because if you read my travel blog, you know that I'm a big advocate of a picture being worth a thousand words.  So, without further adieu, the holy trinity of awesomeness:

I mean, look how happy Ewan is to be there, and Tegan (who posted the pic) captioned it as 'Ewan we love you!'

'Nuff Said.

Live vs Album

So that big long post about Tegan and Sara last week wasn't just to express my undying love for them (although, until now, I always thought that the expression 'the good ones are always either gay or married' only applied to single women lamenting the lack of quality men out there...)  The whole mindset came about because they recently released a new album.  And, much like every album they've released since my sister got me hooked way back in 2002 by playing 'If It Was You' on a never ending loop in the car, I was very excited for this one.  So much so that I ripped the audio from a live performance they did in Victoria of all their new material, just so that I wouldn't get too antsy waiting for the actual album to be released.  This audio was taken from a camera in the crowd, off of a YouTube video no less.  And all things considered, the quality wasn't that bad.  So, the new stuff went into heavy rotation on my iPod, and all was right in the world again.

Or was it?

You see, I absolutely fell in love with the song Alligator from that performance.  Which, should be a good thing, right?  Well, unfortunately... the album version kind of let me down.  It's still good, don't get me wrong.  But it's not epic like I was hoping. 

And despite the poor audio quality, I still prefer the live version.

Have you ever had someone quote you a joke or something from a TV show that you've never seen, and it sounds absolutely hilarious, and then you go watch that scene, and it wasn't nearly as funny as the way the person had told it to you earlier?  That's happened to me a few times.  And, staying on the topic of music, it's happened to me many other times as well - not just on the new Tegan and Sara album.  I remember enjoying a local band live many times before I finally bought their album, only to discover that my favorite song was not only no where near as good on the album, but they also had different lyrics that were way worse too.  Same with seeing a band I sort of liked on a late night talk show one evening.  They played a song I'd never heard before, I thought it sounded awesome, so I went out and got it, only to discover that the album version wasn't as good.

I only bring this up, because historically I'm very much the other way around.  I'll have heard the album version so much that when I see the band live, the songs aren't always as good.  Is this a product of over-producing the album in the studio such that it's so polished that it could never be that good live?  Or are some bands just not as talented when they're out of the studio?  Because a lot of bands have bowled me over at live shows.  So does that mean the ones that don't, maybe aren't as talented?

I think the best and probably most famous example of this is Dream On by Aerosmith.  Since it's inception, the question has always been: 'did Steven Tyler actually sing it?'  And although he vehemently stands by his assertion that he did, the fact remains that it's probably one of the most debated recordings in the history of music for that reason alone.  And the reason it's even up for debate (besides the fact that it doesn't sound like any of their other songs...) is because they can't recreate it live.  It just doesn't stack up to the album version that won the hearts of so many fans back in the 70's.  Regardless of what side of the arguement you stand on - I lean towards thinking that he actually did record it - it does serve as the embodiment of the entire point that I'm trying to make.

Anyways, I just thought I would throw that out there.  Maybe it's just me.  Regardless, thus ends my random musing for the day.

The female equivalent of a man crush.

Ok, so there's 2 type of actresses in the world (not counting porn).  There's the Meryl Streeps and there's the Jessica Albas.  The Streeps are hired because they are good actors, and the Albas are hired because they are good to look at. I'm not trying to insult either, I'm just calling a spade a spade.  Meryl Streep can win Oscars, but her bikini pictures in Maxim magazine aren't going have issues flying off the shelf.  Alba probably couldn't win an Oscar if she created her own awards ceremony just for that sole purpose... but she can smile real pretty and flash some hurt puppy dog eyes at the camera that will make you fall in love with her (and hate Matthew McConaughey even more for only using her because she always makes the correct football predictions... or whatever passes for a rom-com plot these days).

A couple of years back, I created a list of what I considered to be the fifty hottest women in entertainment.  And while it may have set the feminist movement back 20 years, it was based, for the most part, on physical appearance.  Not that personality didn't factor into it somewhat, - a chick that seemed pretty cool in real life would often be placed higher than a notorious diva - but if I'm honest, at the end of the day it was really about looks.  Not my proudest accomplishment, but hey, I am just another typical guy when it comes down to it.  Needless to say, Meryl Streep did not make the cut.  Jessica Alba did.

Then there's the man crush.  This one is harder to explain because it has nothing to do with looks - although the term 'crush' often conjures up such an association.  But I mean, I could have a man crush on Steve Buscemi or Iggy Pop, and trust me, if I was going to switch to the other side, these would not be the men motivating the change.  It's more so that when I watch Reservoir Dogs or listen to I Wanna  Be Your Dog, I'm in awe of the awesomeness to which I'm baring witness, not thinking 'wow, check out the butt on Mr. Pink...'

So, in spite of this, and regardless of how often it's resulted in the conversation: 'so...  you're, like, gay now or something?' I've never shied away from making known my many, many man crushes.  A man crush is having the utmost respect and admiration for another dude.  It is being a fan of them because they're awesome.  But again, not necessarily because they're the best at what they do.  I can have a man crush on Jackie Chan, but he's never going to win an Oscar.  Whereas I do not, nor will I ever have a man crush on Sean Penn.  Sean Penn is a great actor, Jackie Chan is an awesome actor.  See the difference?

The whole point of this is that I'm conflicted about how to categorize women that I have a man crush on.  No, I don't have a man crush on Meryl Streep.  But what if I did?  Which list would she go on?  She can't be on a Top Fifty Hottest Ladies list.  She just can't.  If you didn't know who she was, you could put her in a room full of average looking women and not even notice her.  But it seems wrong to put her on a man crush list too. That's practically like saying she's homely, like a man.  Which, she's not either. 

So if I'm not actually talking about Ms. Streep, then who is this mysterious Platonic Lady Crush?  Err... crushes?

Well, that would be Tegan and Sara Quin.  Tegan a little bit more than Sara, but that's like saying you like Batman a little bit more than Spider-man.  They're both pretty awesome.  And, it's not to say that they're not attractive, but really, I couldn't in good conscious add them to my fifty hottest girls list.  Which is almost a compliment when you think about it.  Because I don't think I could marry Jessica Alba.  In real life she's probably insecure, in need of constant attention, and dare I say, a little vacant.  But I would marry either of the twins Quin in a heart beat.  If they weren't lesbians.

Which, always seems to lead to the assumption that this somehow has to do with any part of the reason that I adore them so.  That it must just be simple frat boy ogling because they're lesbians and identical twins.  No, it has nothing to do with that.  Simply put, they are awesome.  They write great music, have a sharp wit, and are genuinely hilarious.  I've often maintained that it's not hard for a lot of people in the business to create a persona that comes off as awesome, but is nothing more than a carefully crafted ploy by their handlers to sell records or movies, and in reality these personas probably couldn't be further from the truth.  But with Tegan and Sara, there's just no way they could fake it this well ...and for this long.

So, congratulations Tegan and Sara.  You have not only been added to, but are the inspiration for my list of Platonic Lady Crushes.

I have nothing to say... honestly

Today I'm going to put this blog to the test.

Because I am literally writing this with nothing to say. I mean, usually I'll have a topic or subject that I want to mention, or at least something to start ideas flowing. But today? Nothing.

So, I'm winging it. And, while my writing style is very stream-of-consciousness to begin with, today it's probably going to be more so than usual.

Now, how many words was that? I feel like a kid in high school, told to write a thousand word essay, counting each word, and adding in crap that doesn't even apply to the topic, just to push those 978 words over the threshold. But really, has a teacher ever actually counted the words on the page of an essay? That would add like, twice the time to the marking process. And I'm sure most teachers would just as soon get it done so that they can go watch Columbo, right? I mean, they probably just use it as a guideline to get something submitted that's an approximate length. I can't imagine they've ever failed a brilliant 958 word essay for not meeting the 1000 word criteria. That said... how many words am I at now?

198.

And that's not even counting the I'ms and I'lls as 2 words, which I'm pretty sure they technically are. Of course, this isn't high school. I can write as little or as much as I want. Or not at all. So really that was all just a giant waste of time and space. Stream-of-consciousness has failed us all.

What else? Still nothing? And I wonder why only one guy reads this...

Maybe I should get preachy. Because all this talk of Columbo has reminded me that the new season of Dexter just started up. And despite my best efforts, I have been unable to get a certain someone on board with this show. I'm not going to name names, because lord knows the last thing this giant ego needs is another shout out, but for the sake of my television sermon, let's just call him R. Sneep. No wait, that's too obvious. How about Randy S.

So, Randy S. is often looking for new shows to watch. Or 'get down on' as the kids would say. And in the past, I've introduced him/her to some of his/her now favorite shows: The Office, Chuck, and the brilliant Terminator Sarah Connor Chronicles. With a track record like that, and knowing that I have a good understanding of the 'just because I enjoy something, doesn't mean everyone else will' mindset (Example: I love Weeds. Especially the first couple of seasons. But I know that this individual would hate every minute of it. And as such, have never pushed it on him. Ditto for Californication.), you'd think he'd be more receptive to a suggestion that I have very passionately made to him on numerous occasions. And yet he/she hesitates.

And I understand the hesitation. This individual tries to pass themselves off as a wholesome person. Clean living. Morally infallible. So I understand how a show about a serial killer, as the protagonist no less, would raise some alarms. But here's where I'm rubbed a little wrong. I think if he saw a trailer for this show, as a movie, and it looked really good, he'd have no hesitation about downloading it (legally, of course...) and watching it. But because it's a tv show, for some reason it's not allowed to have cursing or questionable content. It's as though television is held to a different standard. But why do movies get a free pass on questionable content? This show has way less blood in it than 300. No worse profanity than Blood Diamond. Less nudity than... well, who doesn't like nudity?

I get the feeling that it's almost like, just because the main character, and the situations in the show, aren't the most morally sound, that somehow it makes a person less morally sound for having watched it. But I don't know. Isn't that the point of watching television? For the fantasy element of it. Just because I watch a serial killer, doesn't mean I condone serial killing. But I do like to take my mind off of the boringness of the day-to-day and watch some griping story telling. If all television was nothing but clean, wholesome situations, then it would be as boring as real life, and there'd be no point in watching it.

I guess what really bugs me is that the show has been pre-judged, without having been given a chance. I mean, I would fully understand if he watched the first 4 episodes, hated every minute of it and stopped watching. I could live with that. That would make sense. But that's barely even an Oscar-length movie. Is his time so precious that freeing up those 2 hours just can't be done? No, it could. Easily, I'm sure. Of course, with that said... even if someone told me Twilight was the best movie ever, I'd still be hard pressed to free up a couple hours to watch that vampire melodrama tripe (which I'm all-to-happy to have pre-judged). But that's all I'll say about that, because it kind of works as a valid counter-point to this whole argument.

I guess at the end of the day, I say all this assuming he still holds my opinion in high regard. The last show that I told him was a 'must-watch' was the entire run of Veronica Mars. And I know he downloaded it, but I've never heard a single word back from him on it. That means he either watched it, hated it, and lost all respect for my opinion, or else he hasn't watched it all. In which case, he really needs to get on that. Jeepers.