Gumbo and fun ... yo.

I used to believe that Matt and Margaret could not achieve any higher status in my mind. They're just that awesome. BUT! Everything changed at Friday night's show.

I had a little outburst from the stage – wearing my heart on my sleeve is justifiably expected by most – because I realized that it was the most fun I'd ever had playing this acoustic, folk-rock, pop stuff that I can remember. Just when I assume that I've esteemed Matt and Marge just as highly as I possibly could, they go and blow me away ... again. Great musicians, and genuinely beautiful people.

It's not unlike having a second child. After the first, it feels like all your love is maxed out on that one kid. You start to worry: What if I have another one? Will I split my love between the two? Then, the second child is born, and somehow you overflow with more than enough love for both offspring ... or, at least, that's what I've heard it can be like.

Either way, the 'Bougie Down to Bourbon St.' FUNdraiser was a huge success in my books. A gumbo eating, acoustic rocking, childish dancing, fiddle playing, silent auctioning, hot sauce drinking, good time. 

Thanks to the organizers and to the kind people who came out to support their friends, specifically Andrew P. and my mom.

Hammerlogue

There's nothing like a brisk jog to start a crisp winter morning! A warm sun, friends at my side (Scott and Chuck), and, after a few kilometers, the threat of vomit. I've been swimming almost weekly since September, but this was my first run for something other than the bus, and after 3k I didn't feel like the champ that had trotted onto the street a few minutes earlier.

I've learned from reading Steve (my new hero in the blogosphere) that the compared measurements of time/distance are called 'splits' AND that 'negative splits' mean you're doing each lap faster than the one before it – which is apparently a good thing.

That said, here are my splits:

• K 1: 4.39
  
• K 2: 4.37
• K 3: 4.42
• K 0.5: 2.42

TOTAL: 3.5k and intense nausea in only 16.45!

To assist with this process I've started a manifestation of nerdiness (a spreadsheet) to keep track of my training progress for this year's competitive season. I've dubbed our training the Hammer Program, because we're hammering it out ... and we'll be hard as nails come summertime? Either way, the Hammerlogue will help keep track of the ensuing adventure. With 70 laps at the pool last night, a run this morning, and a blog to keep me honest ... we're off!

I Say, You Say*

I say … I’m developing a cheap and bottleless perfume.
You say … you’ll help me name it.
I say … it’s been done before.
You say … worth is contained in the bottle
I say … dispensed, it finds its value
You say … let me know how that works for you


*Inspired by an odd, one-sided conversation on the bus. The names and content have been generalized to maintain anonymity and to decrease the chances of the reader identifying with the characters "I" and/or "You".

Buns of Awesome

After two weeks off to accommodate certain academic pressures, Chuck and I were back in the water last night for our longest swim yet. It's still not that great, but we're getting better! We paddled to this rhythm:

Warmup – 500m (20 lengths)
Workout – Pyramid Swim
50m in 1:15
100m in 2:30
200m in 4:30
100m in 2:30
50m in 1:15
(Repeat)
Cooldown – 350m (then we got kicked out by lifeguards who were eager to go home after ignoring the swimmers and talking to each other for an hour)
That's 1.85k total.

I've never felt so good about a swim. It was great. Why? Well, I'm going to pretend that you care and tell you – I think I've found the perfect breathing/stroke rhythm! I know, right?! It's significantly sweet because it makes everything else a lot easier, hence the "never felt so good."

Buns of Awesome
Originally uploaded by the fod.

After this incredible feat of physical prowess, Chuck and I reached for a whole new level of awesome and stayed up till 2am to make and eat cinnamon buns.

Until next time, keep fit, and have fun!

A Writing Day at The Last Resort

It was one of those days where you say to yourself, "What the heck! I'll throw caution to the weak Toronto wind and just run, careless and carefree, to where my heart takes me. I'm going to break free from these desk and chair-shaped shackles that have monopolized my time for far too long. I'm off! Off to the cottage to ... uh, ... to do homework, but! not before I ... um, well, right after I move some furniture."

My dad and I left in the rented truck at 6-something in the morning. The pre-dawn chill was invigorating! (I wrote that sarcastically, but it really wasn't all that bad.) I fell into a death-sleep as we drifted through Barrie. It was one of those heavy sleeps where someone could have side-swiped our car, thrown a chainsaw-wielding bear into the cab, and my weighted eyelids would still have remained shut regardless of whether I wanted them open or not. It was nice. Sleep like that doesn't happen to me too often. Before I regained consciousness, we were (t)here.



After pops got things going inside, I packed some snow into a pot to melt for tea ...



... and we sat down to devour these huge, gravylicious roast-beef sandwiches. Our lunch steamed like it was made with molten meat and lava bread, which suggests that we're a) spirit-beings who remain unaffected by the physical realm 2) robots made of indestructible metal, or d) it was really cold and dry in there.

After lugging a beastly, wooden shelf thing upstairs with my indestructible robot dad, he left to check on a friend's place and I hunkered down by the stove for a bit of writing. Dad got a shot of the riveting action on his return.



It was a good trip. Dad's great like that – I guess it's called 'being content,' but even if we encountered the worst of circumstances and everything went horribly wrong, it would have still been good to spend time together. Thankfully, in addition to being fun and worthwhile, it was also a productive day.

Saving the World with Flour 'Staches

Flour 'Staches
Originally uploaded by the fod.

I'm busting my buttons with pride over a certain crew called Route 68. We had a Bake Sale last week and the Jr. Highs at King Street church baked their way to almost $300 dollars to help other people have a better Christmas. It was controlled chaos in our kitchen and an adjacent room, with enough icing to completely cover a small child. Thankfully, the multi-colored icing ended up covering cupcakes, well ... most of it, anyway. Of course, none of this would have been possible without the incredible generosity of the good people of King Street – which makes the whole experience a testament to a very sweet (toothed) community.

The funds will join other donations raised to feed, clothe, and buy gifts for people who need such things in Durham Region and in a village we've adopted in Bwacha, Zambia.

Apparently this economic slowdown has had a negative effect on Food Banks and charitable organizations in general. Let me take this chance to encourage you to keep on giving as you have been, or even start giving like never before. To feel the economic squeeze is to know that people need our help now more than ever.

Peace, love, and cookies!

An Ordinary, Lanoish, Quantumy kind-of Night

Lanois – Grit Rock
Originally uploaded by the fod.

The night began for me at the Bloor St. Cinema. High Fives for some dear friends before the film started, and I was off – walking, jogging, then walking again across Bloor and down Yonge to meet my ticket-holding brohim. I really wanted to see Ordinary Radicals, but I figure I made the right decision, since I can always see the film another time, whereas Daniel Lanois! ... well ...

The show was sweetly engaging. Lanois was like a shy person inviting new friends to enter his most favorite room in his home. He was charming, and somewhat awkward as he thanked specific people, including his mother, for being present. Not that it's awkward to thank your mother, it's just that he was awkward ... and he also thanked his mother.

The only other time he had been in the venue was when he was front row for Miles Davis in 1969, and he spoke more than once to honor the 'ghosts' of the great musicians that had played there before him. Brian Blade finessed those drums like a thunderstorm and I could feel the bass in my chest all the way up in the balcony. Bassist Marcus Blake and guitarist Jim Wilson from Mother Superior really added to the rock of the show singing gritty, yet clearly grand harmonies.

Apres le show we took a short trip to the basement to check out the merch, (along with all the balding, middle-aged men and their post-hippie wives) then Chuck and I stalked north, hunting for any restaurant with free refills. THEN! I am resorting to point form for the rest of this post because it's already too long.

– Meet up with Margaret (Who came straight from her own show)
– Decide to see Quantum of Solace – it's a Bond flick alright.
– Wendy's! – three Jr. bacon cheeseburgers and a water
– Call out some losers who were making fun of brohim (I don't CARE if he looks 'disoriented' when he eats potatoes, he's my brother and if you don't like that, well there's some good ol' fashioned Irish beatings for you ... metaphorically speaking, of course)
– TTC – I really do enjoy me a good transit ride home when there's good company to be had.

Goooooood night!