Yippee!

I was quite disappointed last Friday, when I arrived home from The Pub, pumped to get ready to go and see Serena Ryder with Saviabella, and was told that it had been cancelled. Cancelled! That is the second time I have missed seeing her when she was in town.

But tonight, in 3 hours to be exact, I'll be rockin' and bopping about to Modest Mouse. The last time they were in town, was when I was in Scotland, and I thought I had missed my chance of seeing them altogether.

It's nice to feel excited about something!

Daddy Dearest

I've been thinking about my dad quite a bit lately. More than usual, which is a lot, because he enters my thoughts every single day. Everyday, something catches my eye, or my ear, and makes me think of him. The last few weeks, it has been just more obvious to me.

I was watching "All in the Family" the other day, the episode where Gloria finds out that she is pregnant, and Meat Head freaks out and runs away. She's sitting there in the middle of the night, talking to Edith, when Archie comes down, and tells Edith to beat it. He makes Gloria get out of 'his chair', so he can sit and talk to her. (Soooo, like my dad.) He tells her the story of the day she was born, again, and in his own awkward way, makes her feel like everything will be okay. My dad used to call me on my birthday, every year, and tell me the story of the day I was born. I would roll my eyes, and sigh, and say " Not again!", but I would listen, and by the end of it, my eyes would be full of tears. We would tell each other "I love you", and he'd either hang up abruptly, or quickly pass the phone to my mom.

It hit me, that I don't get one of those moments. My dad will never see my kids, if I ever have any. He may not always have been the best dad, but I bet he would have been one hell of a grandpa.

After that, it seemed that my days became flooded with reminders.

I saw a documentary about the Galapagos Islands, and remembered the time he told me that when he was a little boy, he read about them, and ever since, he wanted to go there.

Listening to Smyrish talk about his dumpster finds, always reminds me of the crap that my dad would proudly bring home after a day of "shopping" at the dump.

Whenever I play Scrabble, I think about my mom and dad when they were young. My mom once told me the story of how they were playing Scrabble and drinking tea, and realized they were out of smokes. My dad had remembered dropping some under the house, and crawled down there to get them. It may sound strange, as I see that as quite romantic.

When I see GQ, his hot Italian girlfriend and her little guy together, I just wish that Dad could see how far GQ has come in the past couple years. He's no longer an Eeyore, he's a man, and a dad himself. He reminds me so much of Bob, in some good ways and some bad.

Every time I think of running away, which I do a lot this time of year, I remember the conversation we had before I left for Scotland. He told me, that I was the most like him, and I inherited some traits that he wished I hadn't, but he was happy that I inherited his fearlessness. He told me to never settle for " it'll do", and to always seek adventure in life, even if I knew I might fuck up.

The older I get, the more my memories of him change. All of the not-so-good memories are pushed to the back burner, and all the good moments become clearer. Which is just the way I want it to be.

The Lost Journals of Abigail Road

I used to have a book full of poems, random thoughts, songs I had written, quotes I liked, etc. I have been looking for this book for a few months now, ever since Das Piper moved back, and started encouraging me to write songs again.

There is some good material in that book, wherever it is. I'm sure there is some angsty teenage bullshit in it as well, but even that, I would like to read again.

I started writing in it in 1997. My Auntie Kathy bought the journal for me, when I was staying with her and her family in Winnipeg, on my way back from Halifax. It had been my first big adventure on my own, and I had alot to say. As soon as we got back to her house, I went to my room, and started writing.

A few months later, I ran away to Vancouver, and I had even more to write about then.

I forgot about the book, until I had a big dose of heartache thrown my way a few years later, and I took it to Montreal with me.

I wrote a lot of good one-liners in it, in my twenty-fifth year, when I was having the worst year of my life, and wanted to just end it all.

I vaguely remember having it in my possession when I moved to the House of Pain, but apparently had no use for it, and now, it is missing in action.

I am sure, that it is hiding around here, somewhere. But where? It kind of bothers me to think that it is just out there, alone, without my watchful eye upon it. I am very protective of my journals and the like, and hate the thought of someone finding it, and sitting down to read it.

I have been thinking about this journal for months. But last night, around 3am, it really started to bother me. The more I thought of it, the more of its content came back to me. It felt good to remember some of those poems.

I remembered what I had written on the second last page of the book. A list of adjectives, describing what I thought of myself, in 1997. It flashed like a photograph in my mind.

Sister.

Writer.
Singer.

Lover.

Loser.

BITCH.

Tom-boy.

Liar.

Musician.

Friend?

Fighter.

Coward.

Leader.

Innocent?
Traveller.

Drunk.
Smoker.
Creator.
Weird-o.

Motivated.
Funny?
Pretty.
Punk.
Poser.
Boring.
Fun.

And it goes on and on. I wish I could remember more of the list. I wish I knew if anything should be added or removed from the list.

I've got to find that journal.

Musicology Meme

I "borrowed" this meme from Madame Diva, because I find it incredibly hard not to put my two cents in about anything related to music, and answering some questions on the subject is right up my alley.

The Questions:

What is the first music album you remember owning? If not the same, what is the first music album you purchased for yourself?

There was so much music in my house, I don't really remember the first album that was actually mine. However, I can remember having to make the gruelling decision as to either purchase DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince's first album, or Guns 'n' Roses, Appetite for Destruction. My mom gave me the money to pick out one cassette. I think that in the end I chose Guns 'n' Roses, but made sure to get the other soon after. Or maybe it was the other way around. Hey people, it was 20 years ago, and I don't have much of a memory.

What artist currently occupies the most space either in terms of shelf space or megabytes on your hard drive?

In terms of shelf space, it's a tie between Beck, and The Tragically Hip. Hard drive? That's hard to say. At the moment, it's probably a 3-way tie between Serena Ryder, Cat Power and AC/DC.

How many different types of music media (vinyl, cassette, CD, etc) have you owned in your lifetime?

All of them. I have 8-tracks, cassettes, LP's, 45's and compact discs.

Who or what has had the biggest effect on your music taste?

Growing up with no FM radio or MuchMusic/MTV, I basically had to go out and experiment with what I purchased. I'd usually pick whatever seemed "alternative" in the Columbia House Record and Tape catalogue. Friends suggestions were always given a listen. Mom and Dad's record collection has always had a big influence, as with the Oldies station that doesn't exist anymore, that we had to listen to as we drove around as teenagers.

How do you currently prefer to listen to music?

Ummmm...on a stereo? My car stereo definitely rocks the casbah.

In terms of music memorabilia, what is your most prized possession?

I like to keep all my concert T-shirts, whether I wear them or not, as well as my concert tickets.

Have you ever "swapped headsets" with a complete stranger (meaning have you ever unplugged the earphones from your listening device and plugged them into someone else's player and had them do the same)? If yes, what did they play for you?

This usually happens while travelling, on the train/bus or in a hostel. The only person that sticks out in my mind, is a hippie named James, who I met on a train on the way back from Halifax. He got me into The Grateful Dead and The Roots, and I got him into Blind Melon and Morrissey.

Have you ever been completely obsessed with a particular artist? Who and to what level did your fandom go?

Not yet, but if Morrissey ever comes near here, I'll do anything to see him. Anything.

What is the farthest you've ever traveled for a concert?

When I lived in SmallTown, five hours. Living here in The City, no more than 2-3 hours.

Who have you seen in concert the most?

Hmmmm. The Hip, 4 times. Sam Roberts Band, 4 times. Hawksley Workman, 4 or 5. I think Hawksley wins it.

'Tis the Season?

Blah. Blech. Meh.

That's how I've been feeling lately. I have this horrible feeling that my December blues have hit early this year. For what reason, I don't have a clue. Nothing is really wrong, nothing out of the ordinary that doesn't bug me regularily, anyways. It takes alot to get myself excited about things that normally would have me bouncing off the walls, such as Halloween, upcoming concerts, and the like. I've been utterly exhausted all the live long day for over a week now, even though I have been getting more sleep that usual. I feel like crying, out of the blue, for no reason, about 10 times a day, but I've been holding back, and holding it in. I am bored outta my tree, but don't feel like actually doing anything to change that, and really don't have anything particular in mind of what I would like to do to spice life up a bit.

I have a few moments in my day, where I do feel quite content, like right now, and I pray that they'll stick around for more than an hour, but they usually don't.

Then again, maybe I'm just worn down. Maybe it's not the winter blues.

Maybe I'm just catching a cold.

Whatever it is, I hope it just runs its course, and gets the fuck outta here.

Civil War

You know Axl, it's really too bad you went completely nutters, because there was a time, when you were one hell of a songwriter. Seriously people, just listen to these lyrics. They are gold, solid heart-wrenching gold.