Nocturnal Admissions or Conversations with a Sleeping Beauty

My girlfriend is many things. An incredible person. The ying to my yang (any definition of yang is acceptable). A formidable opponent. She is all of those things and much, much more. One of the things she happens to be is the most entertaining person to fall asleep beside. Even when she is unconcious she is still funny and brilliantly endearing. This is the reason that even with eyes closed, she's a star.
For Christmas I bought her a T.V. and because of this purchase, she tends to fall asleep before I do. She drifts away quietly while I remain transfixed by "The Walking Dead" or "Tosh.0". The real show however is when she begins to enlighten me with gems precariously tucked inside her sub-concious. This is when the fun begins and the T.V. mute button is pressed.

The following conversations were transcribed from actual dialogue exchanged during two of these sleepy talks. Please understand, I am completely awake and at some points, kinda fucking with her. For the benefit of the reader, her voice will be in bold and mine in italics.

Conversation 1:

"Jupiter"
"Huh? What"
"Jupiter, baby."
"Jupiter? What about it?"
"It's too hot. Jupiter. Hot."
"Jupiter? But it's so far from the Sun."
"No. Jupiter's hot. The Sun is hot."
"Yes I know the Sun is hot. But Earth is closer. Jupiter would be cold."
"No. Jupiter. You don't know. Jupiter's hot."
"No you're right, I don't know. So Jupiter is hot. So, what does that mean?"
"Jupiter. We can't go there. Too hot."
(pause)
"Say Jupiter again baby."
"Noooooo. Jupiter."

Conversation 2:

"The sand."
"Hmmmmmm?"
"Sand and mosquitos."
"Mosquitos? What about them?"
"And sand."
"What? Like the beach?"
"Yeah. Sand and shells."
"But the-"
"They'll cut our feet."
"The shells will."
"Yeah and mosquitos."
"They'll cut the mosquitos feet too?"
"Mosquitos."
"Well now you're just not making any sense."
"Mosquitos."
"You know what I call them? I call 'em Skeeters."
"Hmmmm. Stupid."
"Do you know where the Skeeters are born?"
"In the sand."
"Under the sand eh? Won't they bite your toes?"
"Noooooo."
"Well where do they live Skeeter Whisperer?"
"Beach Chairs."
"Of course."
"Mmm-hmm."
"They live in the beach chairs do they?"
"In the beach chairs."
"Yeah. That makes more sense."
"Biting mosquitos."

I keep my phone right beside the bed for an alarm just in case I oversleep. Now I have a new quest. To make filmings of this phenomenon. She doesn't read this anyway so I'm somewhat safe.

Stay tuned.

Sean's Book Club 2 or "ALLOW ME TO REINTRODUCE MY SELF, MY NAME IS...books"

As one gets older, and sort of more in touch with oneself, you begin to take stock of who you really are and what really matters to you. Over the course of your life to this point, you have loved certain things, liked even more things, and have been temporarily infatuated with things that come on really strong for a while but tend to fizzle out after a time. Pretty soon, you realize that after your maturing period has somewhat slowed and plateaued, you're left with a handful of things that still hold a great deal of meaning to you even after all that time. For some it's a style of dress. For others it might be a hobby or type of food. For me it's hip-hop. A love affair that began when I was 8 years old and has been with me (albeit off and on through the dark times) ever since. It is one of the things that has had my heart and mind since a genre of music could and It's never died. These feelings were completely cemented and brought back to the forefront after I read the following two books. Essential reading for the true Head.

The first book is "Can't Stop, Won't Stop" by Jeff Chang. This book is without a doubt one of the best researched books of anything I have ever read. Including those books you can't take out of the library. Seriously, if you don't know hip-hop after reading this, you'll never know. The style of writing is incredible too. It not only breaks down the inception and conception of hip-hop from it's roots in Jamaica to it's appearance and evolution on the shores of the east coast, but it also describes the political causes and effects and delves into the culture not just as a musical genre (which is what hip-hop is always mistakenly singularly viewed as) but as an exploration of what a minority class in America utilized to define themselves to those who either didn't know or didn't care.
The writing is flawless in explaining everything from the way the gangs used to function and the reasoning behind them to even describing, in vivid detail, a break-dancing routine by Crazy Legs. You can see him performing. It could be the main text book for a class in the culture. It could also be a love story for those who have been in it from jump. It's subtitled "A History of the Hip-Hop Generation" and that is exactly what it is. And that my friends is exactly what we are. Regardless of what type of entertainment you view as enjoyable (and more power to you. It's your choice.), you belong to that generation. No other culture, musical or otherwise has defined our age group more intensely, even world-wide, than hip-hop. Sorry to all the Metal-Heads out there, but you're in our time now.

I have always had an immense amount of respect for Jigga. He is unquestionably one of the best who has ever done it. He could also be the most successful MC from a business stand-point. This man has gone from hustlin' crack on the corner, to owning and operating multi-billion dollar organizations and creating platinum selling music. This book however, reaches a bit more inside the man. He tells the story of his life, from the crack game to the boardroom, but with humility and humanity. He also allows us to take apart 36 of his songs and helps us along for the true understanding of his music and his artistry. It's an amazing account of this man's journey through the music and through the demons that still torment him to this day. For those of us who have followed the music for so long, the breakdown of the lyrics were somewhat redundant, but there were things that even an all consuming Head would find surprising.
There is levity in this book also. I had my YouTube open as I read because he mentions videos from an early stage in his career that had to be viewed. The thing is, while I laughed, I realized this dude's swagger and confidence is unmistakable and that defines real. He always has a belief that his shit is the dopest and he's got the right plan. An MC always pushing the envelope and a few steps ahead. This book not only describes one MC but the art of the MC as the central figure n the culture. The spokesman of a generation and a movement. The rabble-rouser and journalist of the streets. Even if you're not down with HOV, read it anyway. Get in touch with the true nature of hip-hop genius.

These three videos were all put out before Jay-Z BECAME Jay-Z.

"Hawaiian Sophie" by Jaz. Jay's boy Jaz just got signed to EMI. After all the other songs were recorded, the label said they needed a radio-friendly song for the people. They decided for this song, flew Jaz and Jay to England to shoot the video. Jay flies in at 00:40.



Quick note: Jaz never released anything after.

"Show and Prove" by lotsa dudes. This one has a lot of MC's on it but it was Big Daddy Kane's joint and he put Jay-Z on. Oh yeah, watch for ODB after Jigga's verse. Jay starts rhyming at 02:51. 1994 son!!!



"I Can't Get Wit That" by Jay-Z. This last one is the first Roc-a-Fella video. Made for $5000 and shot in Marcy, this was Jay right at the start of the label. Minimum production, light on the imagery, hip-hop in it's rawest. The difference between this Jay and that Jay, strictly from a flow aspect is huge. We in '94 again son! Enjoy.



GEEEYYAAHH!!!

Insight. Daytime television style.

Because I am awake usually around the 10 am vicinity, I am subject to all manner of high quality television broadcasts. I like to sift through the less desirable, boring ones and also every show that begins with "Judge" or ends in "Court", and concentrate on programs that guarantee an enrichment of my life intellectually, emotionally, and most of all, spiritually.

Here now are the 10 things I've learned whilst watching a week of "Maury":

"I like golf."

1) Every woman over 400+ pounds is having way more sex than you are having. Or will ever have. Or knew was possible.

2) Maury Povich finds black people precious.

3) Fertility is based solely on a lack of brain cells. It's kind of a trade off.

4) The demographic of this show have always wanted to go to school for a week and get a degree. They just needed the phone number.

5) The most popular letters in American names are "Q" and an apostrophe.

6) Maury Povich finds black people kooky.

7) The best way to make your point in an argument is to yell at the same time as the person you're arguing with. Helpful Hint: Keep repeating phrases like "That's what's up!", "What's up now?!", and the word "Whatever."

8) There are less contraceptives in Alabama than in all of Africa.

9) Becoming a father is a horrible, horrible thing.

10) If you're a white guy in the South, you have to grow a wispy goatee. It's a law.

Until next time America.

Urinal Etiquette or "You're too close Man!!!"

I really hate to do this but sorry ladies, this post is for the guys again. I'm not saying you shouldn't read it but I'm not quite sure how helpful you will find this. I'm almost positive that no ladies use urinals (sober) so the importance of the subject might elude you all. However, if you are looking for some insight into a man's world and the intricacies therein, this will be something to behold. Alrighty, that being said, I shall begin...

Guys. Have you ever been at a urinal, whether it be in an arena, workplace, mall, restaurant, church, urinal store, etc., and as you are standing there being relieved of all those fluidy castoffs, some dude shoots in the bathroom door, makes a beeline to the wall toilets and chooses the one right beside you? Invading your personal peeing bubble and sometimes even grazing your elbow with his? Or worse, what about the slow head turn and look. You have to immediately turn your head so you can make sure he's looking you dead in your eye. And then comes the awkward smile, or nod. Any gesture at that point is creepy but you make sure his eyes don't drift downwards regardless of the uncomfortable situation. And what about the dreaded, "How's it goin'?" This is not the time to be friendly. In the bathroom it's time for business and that's all. If conversation was a priority, or even an inclination, there would be couches and a Tassimo. But it's all porcelain and paper. Get out without any friend making and rejoin the world. These guys mess that whole experience up.

"Weird. I always thought you were Jewish."

I'm not a particularly uptight guy. I'm pretty open and friendly and I enjoy all people for the most part. Just when I'm up against a wall with my John Thomas front and center, I'm not looking to share my day. The very last thing I want to do when my paws are on my pecker is to strike up a conversation with a complete male stranger. There needs to be space given and received in the bathroom. I'm not in there for fun.

If by some chance I go in and out of 3 urinals there is a guy at the middle one, it's stall time. I respect the unspoken laws that come with public urination. It was something that was taught to me a long time ago whether through words, observation, or just common courtesy. I'm finding nowadays that many men have not had these lessons verbalized to them and just cannot grasp the concept at all. I give older guys, like 65+ a break. Not because I like the senior men potentially leering at Larry, but because at that age they really don't give a fuck. Those are the guys who also like to stand about 35 feet away from the urinal without shame at let her go. They get a pass. But any guy younger than that, smarten up!

Unspoken rules and regulations are what keep society going. They are what we as humans living together govern our everyday lives by. They're the laws of the common man. They allow order when merging onto the highway. First you go, then I go, then it's the next guys turn. It's a beautiful thing to watch when it's done properly. But think how angry you get when somebody skips the line or doesn't let you in when it's your turn. It's complete heresy. And believe me, you are not the only one becoming enraged. That is a real sign of community within the human race. It's what separates us from the animals. Same goes for newspaper boxes. You could take them all if you wanted to. You could grab them, run down the street screaming, "I'm a pretty bird!" while flapping them, and then go home and wallpaper your den with them. But you don't. Somebody else might want to read the news. Considering strangers is a pure and lovely happening.

Therefore, to all the men I will unfortunately have to share public bathrooms with in the future, let's keep our distance, keep the acknowledgments to the barest of minimums, and the chatter to zero. Nobody's going in there for a laugh or a heart to heart. Go in and get out. Oh and wash your hands too. If you promise to do that at least, I'll talk to you at the sink.

Daily inspiration...

I remember when I used to write about funny, silly, somewhat comical things and tried to present them in the same manner. I plan to go back to it of course and was actually going to do something like that today. But then I picked up the Toronto Star and turned to page 2. If you get the Star I suggest you do the same. If you do not, I have the link right here to the feature I am referring to.

Today apparantly marks the 50th anniversary of JFK's inaugural speech. The speech that was written by a slew of people, at the beginning of a seemingly new era for the country. An era marked with turmoil, uncertainty, introspection, and change. Also, it addresses a country, a superpower, seeking truth, justice, unity, and hope.

Now I am definitely not a political junkie. That ship sailed when I entered my 30's. It's not that I don't care anymore, it's because I maybe care too much. Living and dying through politics is the quickest way to constant disappointment. It's the best path to pessimism and fake idealism is the adult version of your parents telling you there is no Santa Claus. I thought I was done believing that politicians could evoke any truly significant feeling in my hard heart. However, I just could not put down the paper and tried to almost physically ingest every word, idea, and statement of promise and challenge orated by this man. The article provides explanation but demands none. It is an unquestionable masterpiece. It will move you a lot or a little but you will, at least for a split second, envision what he speaks of and become excited and inspired.

I don't want to oversell (too late) or spill my bleeding heart all over your screen but sometimes, especially with MLK's birthday just passed, it's nice to believe, even for a second, that there were still some leaders out there that want better and demand more. Let's hope we have an increase of those visionaries. Men and women who look at leadership as an enhancement of people and places as opposed to just taking care of red and black ink. And let's hope we don't kill them for it.

More stupidity another time.

Sean's Book Club (eat it Oprah!!) or Reading Something about what I Read

Are you excited? Do you gots the jittery jitters? Is your heart skipping beats and lubbing when it should dub? Did you wake up this morning and say quite sanely to yourself, "Wow, my life is just way to sensationally sensational and maybe I need to take it down a notch and tuck in to some borderline stimulating dialogue about a 60 year old book." Well that's just strange. Nobody would say that. But as it happens, your odd infatuation with the mundane fits perfectly with the following. Thank you for taking the time and allowing me to take you away.

For Christmas I was very happy to receive the novella "The Old Man and the Sea." Here it is in rebus form...

This book of course is considered to be a classic. And not a classic like "Aw dude that story about you getting that giraffe to take ecstasy is classic," but more like the literary kind. Like this book was the "Avatar" of 1952. It was like crack to the book reading world which, as it turns out, was quite the demographic. I think it spanned every human to various pond life. There wasn't a bunch to entertain people back then. I guess wearing hats kept them busy. Television had one and a half channels and broadcast for approximately 14 minutes a day. Pretty slim pickins. Anyway, I digress.

This book here, of course written by the legendary Ernest Hemingway, was something I had always wanted to get my peepers to get to peeping. I've read many a classic novel before and have almost tended to gravitate towards them, so to get one that is only 127 pages and about the size of an ambitious take-out menu meant I could knock another one off in an evening. However, this story, as simple and unpretentious as you can imagine, held me tight for a good two hours. Engaging and entertaining, it explored such simple themes so simply it became elegant and engrossing. I won't go into the plot now because you should read it. It's light fare that will leave you satisfied and definitely remembering why you love to read in the first place. Just be ready, if you read it in public, for randoms to smugly ask you if you are taking a class or writing a book report. Nobody reads anymore. Just smile politely. You will own them someday.

This book, according to the back-cover, won Papa all kinds of awards. He won the Pulitzer, the Nobel, MTV's Best Kiss, and others. So maybe it's not the "Avatar" of that year but it's still essential reading. I know people have their own tastes and what not but this is what writing was. When simplicity created stories and themes were subtle but hard-hitting. Where you didn't need excitement in every sentence to create literature (I'm looking at you Dan Brown). You used your head. And it was good.

So I copped out in my first book review by picking a classic but so what. I had to start slow. I'm reading Vonnegut now so we'll see where that takes me. But either way, read this if you haven't. It's quick, painless, and entertaining. If anything you can cross it of your list. But, you don't have to take my word for it.

Maybe next year...

(This will be a blog on sports. I'm not saying that you ladies might not enjoy it, I'm just warning you is all. Read it anyway though. It's good for the eyes. And I'll throw in a picture of a sexy guy at the end.)

I am in a bad mood. A really bad, foul, rotten mood. Ornery even. I'm almost at the end of my rope and a sense of excitement and anticipation has once again been snuffed out like a mosquito who was met with deadly applause. Why this miserableness? I'm even embarrassed to say it but here goes. It is because with about 40 seconds to go, Michael Vick threw an interception in the end zone, ending the game and the Philadelphia Eagles' playoff hopes. My exterior was stoic. My demeanor calm, and very collected. I even managed a shrug and uttered the ever expressive, "Meh." Inside, however, where my soul bangs it's head against the wall of my existence, this was my true feeling:

"Mama, make it stop!"

I, like many a regular Joe, believe that sports, in it's truest essence can be an exciting, competitive, cultural community builder. It allows a release from every day drudgery and provides watershed moments in history and the never ending human endeavour. I say this without hyperbole. The way sports grips us as a species, the competition between ourselves in an athletic arena, is probably one of the strongest bonding factors around. It is both historical document and pop culture phenomenon. Don't believe me? I bet you remember where you were when Joe hit that homerun. I don't even need to go into detail. You know what I'm talking about.

I have been watching sports for over 25 years now. That's longer than my girlfriend has been alive (I thank you). In 1985, I saw the Blue Jays win the AL East. I watched my first full Superbowl at the age of 8 and saw the Bears beat the Patriots. I was hooked. It was 1986 and I scrambled to find the teams to root, root, root for. Or I should say for them to find me. Most of my picks were geographical (Toronto Blue Jays, Toronto Maple Leafs...) but some took time. Here now is my list of teams I support in all the sports I care about:

Baseball-Toronto Blue Jays
Basketball-Toronto Raptors
Hockey-Toronto Maple Leafs
Football-Philadelphia Eagles
Soccer-Toronto FC, Liverpool FC, Leeds United

Yes, most of them are Toronto teams. What can I say, I'm a homer. And when these teams are winning, Toronto is a magical place to be. However, these teams do not win very often. For the purpose of my point, I am just going to focus on my North American teams. They allow me the most happiness when things are going well.

Now over the past 25 years let's calculate how many teams have won their respective league championships and compare to the teams I support. This will illustrate how close I am to giving up completely and doing yoga on a Sunday instead.

Baseball
Number of teams that have won championships: 17
My team: 2
(not a bad start)

Hockey
Number of teams that have won championships: 14
My team: 0
(duh.)

Basketball
Number of teams that have won championships: 7
My team: 0
(My team before the Raptors came was the Orlando Magic. Championships: 0)

Football
Number of teams that have won championships: 14
My team: 0
(They did get there once though. And got beat by fucking Tom Brady. I don't like that guy.)

So you see why I get upset and frustrated. All through my sports watching life, living in one of the biggest, most profitable sports cities in North America, with the only American team I chose to follow being just as rich and powerful as it's Torontonian counterparts, my teams combined are an impressive 2-51. Only one of my teams has won any kind of ring compared to the 51 others who have held the trophies aloft. Now I feel like crying again. And don't get me started on International Soccer. I'm edging toward the balcony already.

Many people have said that I take it too seriously. I don't think so. I think I'm at a point right now where I give it the right amount of consideration and self-investment. I'm not a fanatical, crazy, face-painter, but I rock the jerseys and I watch the games and I support teams that seem to do nothing to support their fans. The problem with Toronto is that we do that. We keep supporting. We are sports enablers to those rich owners and the fucking Teacher's Pension. So I'm taking it down a notch. No more buying tickets and stuff to support people that regularly kick us in the balls. It's a different kind of release now. I'm hanging on to these teams just enough to not be so distraught when they lose and to be legitimately able to celebrate when they win. Does that make me a fair-weather fan? Perhaps. But it's they only way to survive in this city if you want to maintain your sanity and involve yourself in Toronto sports. It took me 25 years to learn that. In another 25 years, one of my teams might surprise me and win something. It sounds funny but it's a reality. Welcome to my life.

Oh, and for the ladies...

You are so welcome.