Buyer beware

I'm fuming mad, pushing a bike across College St. in the hot afternoon sun. Sweat is pouring down my forehead and I can feel it pooling under the shoulder strap of my bag. Plus every third or fourth step I catch my foot on the bike pedal and trip a little, exacerbating my white-hot rage.

This was the scene the other day as my cheap, Canadian Tire Supercycle mountain bike came apart underneath me like Hilary Clinton's presidential bid, peddling furiously but going nowhere.

Looking down I notice the rear gear housing wobbling uselessly and in a way that made it clear I would be spending the next 45 minutes pushing this useless green frame home (uphill no less). The funniest part is that I had only purchased it a month and a half ago…hilarious right?

So as I made my way home in the heat (did I mention how hot it was?), my mind turned over a number of different scenarios featuring me, a lead pipe and the bike's designer – all of them bloody…all of them satisfying.

The point is I am still continually shocked with the outrageously poor and shitty way most things are constructed nowadays. I say nowadays as if I have some 50-year benchmark to measure against, but the fact remains most products these days are absolute shit.

When I opt for the cheaper model of something, I naively imagine that it's cheaper because it has less features or is painted an embarrassing green colour. I don't naturally assume that cheaper means it has an expiration date attached to it like eggs or Chad Kroeger's haircut.

I realize that getting worked up and acting surprised is as pointless as…well as that shitty bike, but it's my blog so fuck it…did I mention how hot it was?

Hip to be square

To take full advantage of the gorgeous weather this weekend, me and the missus headed down to Kensington Market for a spot of shopping and culture.

Also, I needed a reason to put pants on and stop playing Grand Theft Auto for a few hours and the promise of rubbing shoulders with the elite hipster crowd was enough motivation for me. And God knows if there was ever a bastion for the uber-cool it's Kensington.

A strange bunch these hipsters, what with their irony and tight pants. They're not defined by a style of music or even a trend in clothing but more by their complete dismissal for everything you like and think is cool. They are an enigma wrapped in a riddle - except they hate riddles and think enigmas are super-lame.

They're into bands you've never heard of, and – usually because they're complete shit – never will hear about. Everything they do is based around irony, but with an over-arching air of apathy and superiority. Basically they try really, really hard to seem like everything they do is effortless and end up coming across as total dickweeds.

Now I'm often described as "opinionated" and "disagreeable" by a small, minority of people, but if I hate something you like it's probably because it's stupid. Meanwhile, a hipster hates something you like purely because you like it – hate is their natural posture.

Also, any trend that you now partake in or came in contact with – they started. Like the second-hand thrift store t-shirt fad from a few years ago? Well man, they got there first and their t-shirt was funnier and more ironic than yours.

I'm actually wondering at what point this latest round of Walmart brand ironic tees will become so painfully uncool to hipsters that they'll actually be considered cool again. My God – that's more irony than anyone can stand. I fear the world would simply collapse in on itself leaving an over sized scarf and bits of beard where a hipster once stood.

I also wonder how one becomes a hipster. Like Fight Club, it seems like the first rule is – you do not talk about being a hipster. In fact, if you asked them, they would even tell you they hate hipsters.

But overall I think my favourite thing about them is how much work they put into their identities. Frankly, you almost have to commend them, because being that smug is a 24 hour job.

When they're not searching blogs and websites for the next trend (don't bother looking for these sites, you've never heard of them…only hipsters have), they're researching bands and haircuts and finding ways to make themselves look as disheveled and unkempt as possible. Because more than anything, they want you to believe that everything they do takes no effort.

The truth is, that mullet was no happy accident...it was groomed and honed to perfection. And the stinky looking dude with the mustache? He didn't just wake up with that on his lip - he's been developing it for a while.

The point being that they work doubly hard to look like they gave their entire persona no thought...which is kind of ironic...don't you think?

Wedding bells are ringing

With a wedding fast approaching I'm finding time is a commodity I'm sorely lacking. So that - coupled with the fact that I'm feeling sort of lazy and uninspired - has left me with just a few random thoughts rolling around in my head.

***

Is Madonna still in any way relevant? She's not putting out particularly inspired or life altering music, she's about as controversial as a pre-school and at the age of 63 still insists on parading around in her underpants like someone’s confused grandmother at a nursing home. Not to mention the super creepy flirting she does in her new video/commercial, with a guy who could easily be her son.

Now, I know what you're thinking, she's actually 50 and she looks really good for her age. But when you have to justify how great she looks with a caveat, then it shouldn't count. Like this food tastes great compared to garbage or my kid is really smart compared to the sidewalk. Either way I don’t want to see it, no matter how much yoga she does.

***

Some mysterious illness is killing all the sting rays at the Calgary zoo. Maybe it's the ghost of Steve Irwin. This has all the making of a classic Scooby Doo episode.

***

A Buffalo news feed cut into my television program the other night to bring breaking news of a stand-off. I know everyone loves a good high speed car chase, and who doesn’t enjoy a spot of police brutality every now and then – but by it’s very definition a stand-off with police infers that NOTHING IS HAPPENING!

Seriously, the point is that neither side is doing anything – they’re just standing…until the other person backs off…I hate missing my television stories!

***

Austrian’s are a crazy bunch, aren’t they? As if their tourism board wasn’t already having a rough time – this happens.

***

And lastly – kudos to the homeless guy I saw blow his nose into his bare hand the other day. Way to show the big tissue companies that you don’t need them.

To Clever By Half

As someone with an interest in politics the current Democratic race in the US offers up some good old timey drama. American politics has always been a little flashier and sexier then it’s Canadian brethren. This is mostly because Canadian politicians tend to talk about really boring things like policies and governance. They don’t touch on fundamental issues like who can answer a phone at 3 a.m. and who has the crazier pastor.

As so often happens south of our border, Americans miss the point. Sure their political races are much more enticing but usually for all the wrong reasons. So it shouldn’t come as any great surprise that story after story keeps harping on the same stupid thing: Barack Obama just doesn’t relate to the everyday man.

He’s too hoity-toity and too upper-class to comprehend people from the country’s heartland. Obama just isn’t the “common man.”

Well to put it bluntly, thank fuck for that.

You’re electing the leader of a nation not class president; by rights he should be smarter, more capable and generally superior to you in every way (like the $6 Million Man without the sound effects). And after eight years, while I’m sure a lot of Americans might think otherwise, the leader of any nation should be the most intelligent person in the room. In fact he should make the “common man” look like a mouth breathing sloth in a wife-beater and trucker hat.

Okay so apologies to all…the man is smart, but what else is wrong with him? He’s got money…he’s affluent? You mean he doesn’t blow all his money at the Casino? He doesn’t consider the lottery a legitimate retirement savings plan? What a douche! I mean God forbid you have someone with some financial savvy taking the reigns of one of the world’s super-powers.

Once you sift through the B.S. on this, it basically reads like Middle America feels threatened that an extremely smart, well educated man will be watching over them. They don’t trust him and don’t think he’ll have their best interests at heart when he makes major executive decisions.

The idea is pretty ridiculous, but why do Clinton and McCain instil such confidence? What is it about these two that somehow has people believing they would sit and have a beer with them? Hilary looks as wooden and stern as a history teacher – like someone’s mom trying way too hard to seem cool by using phrases like “jiggy.”

And McCain is about as “everyman” and “common” as someone worth $40 million can be.

I don’t think it’s a secret that to be president you need two basic things: money and smarts – unless you’re a Republican, then you just need Dick Cheney. Thankfully Obama has both and also has something lacking from so many modern politicians – charisma.

And yet because he writes his own speeches, is eloquent and uses big words, there’s a chance he may lose his bid to be the next US president. All because a portion of the US thinks Obama doesn’t understand your basic, God-fearing American. But trust me, he understands them, only too well…and after the last eight years watching a functionally retarded President, so does the rest of world.

When I grow up...

I’ve been feeling a little uninspired with work lately. It seems to go in these 6 – 8 month cycles where I go from disinterested and unmotivated to mildly interested and slightly more motivated.

My latest low came the other day while I was sitting in a rather ornate conference hall in a swanky downtown hotel listening (and I use that term loosely) to the finer details of real estate law.

I was trying to imagine under what circumstances this could possibly be considered interesting? I came to the conclusion that unless Batman and Jesus were having a light saber duel on the stage there’s just no way any sane person could have enjoyed it.

Editors note: I like Batman’s chances in that fight.

And yet from the first day I joined the working world I have been sitting in meetings and conferences just like this one, drifting in and out of consciousness. I show up with the best of intentions – I try so hard to pay attention – but the topics are usually so painfully boring that within minutes my brain is asking questions like – "How much pen ink could I drink before I got sick" and "how much would my life really change if I had a prehensile tail and wings?"

But such is the life of an adult it would seem. We all sit around these tables pretending like we care and acting as though we’re really very interested in what the other people are saying when in reality all we can think about is “has anyone noticed that I have no idea what’s going on here?”

Years ago I imagined there would be a day when a switch would go off and I would suddenly care – as if I found out that all this time I was actually a robot (*cough – cylon*) and not a human. I imagined that one day I would wake as an adult.

So far this hasn't happened and God willing it never will.

It’s safe to say I don’t “act” like and adult. I mean, at 31 – as my soon-to-be-wife will attest to – I still think the word poo is hilarious. I still think ninja stars are awesome, I play video games a fair bit and if there’s something more fun than a bouncy-castle, I don’t want to know about it.

I still party with the same group of friends, and we still make the same jokes (usually at Rob’s expense) and it’s still as much fun now as it was then.

That’s another thing, I don’t know anyone who “acts” like an adult, and frankly why would you want to. The stigma of being a grown up is something that no one truly looks forward to. It’s like some kind of untreatable disease that upon the mere mention makes peoples’ faces recoil in horror. “An adult? Damn-it, he was so young.”

So if we’re all just pretending to be grown ups and going through the motions, then why pretend any longer? Just about every male (and some females) I know plays video games on a regular basis but that doesn’t make them juvenile – maybe a little anti-social – but surely not juvenile. I’m also convinced the friends I know who have kids, had them so they could start to play with toys again.

Clearly none of use us wants to act like grown ups, so then why do we all feel so guilty about acting like kids? The only difference between me as a kid and me now, is that now I have the money to buy the toys I want. And mom – I hate to say this – but yes, sometimes I have ice cream for dinner – simply because I can.

What's that burning smell?

It’s no secret that I’m a relatively massive Toronto Maple Leafs fan. But I can assure you I never had designs on using this spot as a soap box to wax on and on about how great “my” team is and how bad other teams and their fans are. I certainly didn’t envision this blog as grounds to inform everyone what complete and absolute turds Montreal Canadiens fans are. But then this happened.

Let me see if I can wrap the old cranium around this one – try and break down this complicated and tumultuous situation.

Montreal wins their first round series by beating Boston in the seventh game (for those of you that don’t follow the game, there are 3 more series before any big trophies get handed out). Their fans - so elated and overjoyed with the outcome - proceed to burn down half of the city in celebration. Oh well – never really liked the town of Boston anyway.

Wait – what’s that you say? They were playing in Montreal? They burned and looted their own town? That doesn’t make any sense.

Or does it?

It does if you factor in one rather large cause – Montreal Canadiens fans are enormous douche bags of near epic proportions.

Now, to be fair, this sweeping generalization doesn’t apply to everyone (namely my father-in-law…Go-Habs-Go eh?). God knows there are cringe-worthy Leaf fans that inspire me to become a Blue Jays follower (just kidding). But Canadiens supporters elevate asshole fandom to new and despicable levels.

Take for instance their treatment of Habs captain Saku Koivu. A recent cancer survivor, Koivu turned in a rather heroic battle with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma back in 2000 - 01. He’s bled for the team and led them through both good and bad years and as the captain is a lightning rod should the team fail. So taking criticism from fans and the media is part of the job….except when you rag on the guy because he doesn’t speak French.

That’s right – separatists railed against Canadiens players – Kiovu specifically – because they don’t speak the official language of the province. I’m sorry – I was toiling under the impression that these were professional athletes and not members of the provincial parliament – je suis the asshole apparently.

This is a small taste of the ‘loyalty’ Habs fans show for their team. They will cheer on their heroes until their voices are hoarse – but will turn on them faster than Corey Feldman turned on Corey Haim.

This brings us to Monday’s high jinks. Now as a one off that sort of thing can be chalked up to a small group who got out-of-hand – and by out-of-hand I mean burned up 16 police cars 10 businesses. But this is a town that ranks riots just below poutine and right above sketchy facial hair. You only need to go back to 1993 when – after their team won the Stanley Cup – Habs fans celebrated by burning major portions of their city down. At least that time they waited until they had won something significant before they indulged their pyro fetishes.

Is it just me or is rioting after winning a sporting event akin to wrapping up your wedding ceremony by repeatedly punching our new spouse in the face? It makes about as much sense as a recovering alcoholic rewarding sobriety with binge drinking.

I love the city of Montreal -truly. Its got some of the greatest shops, restaurants and sites to be found anywhere in this country. I got my first tattoo there and also got engaged there. So I implore you Canadiens fans – stop trying to burn it down.

What happens when the music goes silent?

I was recently confronted with a tragedy that shook me to my very foundation - something so overwhelming and soul-crushing that I questioned whether I had the wherewithal to overcome it.

My ipod broke.

If this sounds dramatic and over-the-top then you are clearly not a denizen of the fine metropolitan that is Toronto. Ipod’s – or MP3 players to be fair – are as required for commuting through the city as legs. If you see someone on the TTC who doesn’t have wires extending from their ears – be suspicious, they’re not to be trusted and are probably terrorists.

So there I was ready to make my journey home the other night, about to tuck into a track by The Bravery (a very underrated band, but I digress), when I was struck with the realization – sound was only coming out of one ear.

I did what every audiophile does in situation like this – I jiggled the cord. I took the plug out and blew into the opening as if my breath would some how give it life. And as frustration grew I even gave it a few hearty smacks. But the reality was beginning to set in…this problem was beyond even my technical savvy.

As I realized I would have to complete my journey home without a soundtrack I became panicked. I looked at the useless dead weight in my hands and contemplated throwing it on to the subway tracks – a fitting outcome for its horrid betrayal – but better judgment won the day.

The rest of the journey was a test, as my ears were bombarded by all manner of new noises and sounds. There was the presaging voice – which I can only assume to be that of God – announcing every subway stop before we even arrived. There was the hub and chatter of the people on the subway and once above ground birds chirped in the trees and children’s laughter could be heard all around as the first days of spring blossomed everywhere.

It was horrible – I’ve never needed my ipod more. With all due respect to the unwashed masses, I’ve constructed a tidy little world in my head, and I like it that way. In all seriousness it does help pass the time when faced with the same journey day in and day out and the right song can change your spirits on a dime. There have been a few occasions when the right song has kept me from going shit-fit crazy on a cramped morning subway.

So now I’m faced with a grim truth, I’ll have to take it to the Apple store to get it fixed. Finding it shouldn’t be a problem – I’ll just follow the first Emo-looking super-douche with tight pants – as he’s surely on his way to ogle the new Macbook Air. And I’ll have to talk to one of their over-eager “Geniuses” (pretentious much?)…but that’s not the point. The point is my ipod is that important to me – more accurately my music is that important to me.

It’s fuel for my head on par with coffee in the mornings, as well as the calming voice in my ear that tames the rage. Like Richard Ashcroft said, music is power. And that’s one to grow on!