Let's go for a swim

I had a weird liminal space dream about a week ago. I was in a vast area underground of stacked halls with tall columns, all in pale white marble or limestone. It was located underneath a city, and I remember wondering which level I'd go through that would pop up to the surface - though it never came. At one point, I really wanted my flashlight, and somehow I knew - I'd have to wake up to go get it. 

So with that unsettled, offness that can follow a nocturnal liminal adventure, it was quite stunning to stumble across YouTuber, TangoTek, playing a game called "Pools." So I stopped for a bit and watched what he was playing. Another escape into the liminal.

I started with the demo, which features Level 1, a complex of interconnected, waist-deep pools. The facility is dotted with the occasional waterslide, bottomless pit diving boards, deck chair, rubber ducky and a couple of very unsettling environmental occurrences. While occasionally unsettling, I would actually very much like to be able to wander through a place like this myself. Especially if the water was very warm, it would be sort of a sauna wander. Some areas in Level 1 are very dark and secluded. Places like grottos and tunnels are the kind of place you could cop a feel - or lose an arm, 

For all of its minimalist simplicity, the game is stunning both in the visual and audio spaces. It's actually why I tried the demo first, I wasn't sure if my Costco laptop was gonna handle it. It does, but it sags a bit from the heat. 

This one is better with headphones for sure, each room sounds and echoes differently. But it's in the audio space that the simplicity of going for a stroll gets amped up into the horror genre. Or at least high anxiety. You can hear machinery moaning, the building creaking and occasionally footsteps and voices where there shouldn't be. My biggest complaint about the whole game is that your footsteps sound like you're wearing army boots. I feel like it should sound barefoot. You encounter statues throughout the playthrough and they're all naked. 

To be sure, it reflects tense feelings visually as well. The facility switches from brightly lit and maybe sharing a wall with the outside to dark, with only pool lights to guide your way forward. 

The game also seems to read your mind at times. In one of the middle levels, I got to thinking how weird it was that there weren't any doors. And shortly thereafter, doors begin to appear. And just as you're thinking that the tile everywhere is so repetitive that you can't tell which way is up and which way is down, the game takes a turn into movement that can only happen in a dream. 

And this is where this game really sticks to the feelings of the dream I mentioned at the start. It's an enormous place, like the underground labyrinth my dream took place in. It's lonely, and the only instinct that serves you is curiosity and exploration. As a regular player of games like Zelda, I was always looking for clues or a puzzle to solve, but it was never there. Just as the Steam description promises, there are no enemies, no antagonist, no story and no jump scares. It gets tense, but there's never anything to kill you. 

The game does have a death mechanic, but instead of starting you over at the start of the level, it just rewinds your progress about 30 seconds or so to the point before you died. For the most part, you die by falling or drowning - but you are still asked to take a few leaps of faith in the game to progress. 

Overall, the game captures that backrooms/liminal space well. There are parts that are reminiscent of Silent Hill, especially in the odd constructions that don't make sense. And there are parts towards the end of the game that elicit the imagery at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey, when Dave has gone through the technicolour wormhole and is walking around in his spacesuit before becoming an old man. 

Pools is a good deal for the $13 or so you pay for the game. If you have someone in your house who might play through it as well, it's a steal. If you're looking for a few hours of distraction with a game that isn't really a game at all, I encourage you to check it out! 

I saw the Navigator this weekend

I even poked him in the back.

This weekend was the not-so-exciting but emotional sequel to our grandma's funeral from this past January. We gathered in Melville to inter her and meet as a family. 

The gathering was much more intimate than the funeral, with only the direct descendants gathering. While there was some focus on keeping the family together and united, I never feel like I get enough time at these things to meet with everyone. When I say I poked the Navigator in the back, I think that's about the extent of the interaction I got with him. I talked with a few of my aunts and uncles, but again no real catching up. 

I always somewhat dreaded family reunions in the past, but coming out of this, I do hope we have one for this slice of the family sometime soon. I'd like to spend more time catching up with cousins, aunts and uncles soon. It seems the only time I've seen any of them in the last few years has been to help grandma move or mourn her loss.

It was a bit of a low weekend overall. Rhonda was out of town, which meant I had a lot more on my plate. In addition to the funeral, Jonas's team suffered a pretty humiliating defeat on Sunday night that was capped by a season-ending injury to their slotback. It was so bad that they called the game 4 minutes early to bring an ambulance onto the field. And that was the second player they've lost for the season already. But Jonas made his first reception, so I guess there was a bit of a silver lining. 

Beyond that -a bad rental car, a depressed dog and our water being shut off for 3 days because of the construction out front made for a pretty frustrating and depressing weekend. 

But I think I'm getting it turned around. I played on the Bushwakker stage for the first time last night and had a great time meeting some other musicians and singing songs for people. Between playing at the funeral and the 'Wakk - it's been a busy week of rehearsing. And I've got more coming right away with a little performance at the library for Nuit Blanche on Saturday and another gig in Asquith SK on the 6th. They're all little gigs but they give me a chance to network and spread some more stickers around! 

You're both right

In a time of conflict and fighting among the friends of the world, I come to you today with an olive branch. A realization that sometimes - we're all correct. 

That's right, I'd like to talk about our favourite man-made system to argue about, our units of measurement. 

Now, before we start, it's been pretty clear to me that a lot of this is really about experience and perception. I was playing a game online recently, and one of the guys was insistent that Celsius could never work because, in Fahrenheit, you know that anything over 70 is hot. Like, yeah, but metric people just know that anything over 30 is hot for us. I feel the same way about miles and kilometres. They're interchangeable; you just need to get used to the one that's used on the signs. 

But at the same time, each system does have its strengths and weaknesses. Like in the example above, I think that Celsius does have strength in its anchor around boiling and freezing. It conceptualizes a wide range of temperatures well. I've also thought that the inch is a better size for measurement, and I really like how the foot divides into 12 instead of 10. 

And let's talk about that. 

Metric advocates will talk about how multiplying by 10 makes everything easier. They're right in many respects. Its strength is especially evident when you move between different types of measurement, like from length to volumes to pressures and beyond. They're all very elegantly interconnected, and I find that really satisfying. 

But I've done a lot of work in feet and inches, and I'm telling you, there's something magical about the number 12 and how you can divide it evenly. With 10's you can only divide by 1, 2, 5 and 10 evenly. But 12? Well, 12 you can divide by 1, 2, 3, 4, 6 and 12. Double that to 24, and shit just gets bananas. For the tradesperson, this is really useful. 16 has some of these advantages too. Honestly, I think had we invented the Imperial system after the computer, we would use 24 as our base. 

Nationalism would tell me that Canada is officially metric, and in these trying times, I should be arguing for the home team. 

Oh please. 

First of all, yes, the US uses the Imperial system, but it's not like they invented it. Where do you think the word "Imperial" comes from? The British Empire friend. It's as much a part of Canada's history as it is for any other country. In my area of the country, the gravel road grid is still measured in miles. 

Not to mention, this country has never fully converted to metric, and at this point, I don't think we ever will. I could go into some detail about this, but I think this video describes it best. (Note, it took me a few views to get the screw joke - this was written by an outsider, but one that did his homework!)

All this to say, I will never know how many kilograms I weigh, I'll always buy a gallon of milk and a litre of pop, and I have no idea what to wear when it's 30°F out. And I don't think it's worth arguing about if it works. 

Until it doesn't.

What are your favourite units of measurement? Have you ever thought about inventing a unit? 

A Sticky Situation

Almost 18 years ago, I awoke on the day following my wedding with a seriously sore ankle. Looking at the comments on that post nearly 2 decades later, I wish I'd taken the Navigator's advice and cut the damn thing off. And to the anonymous poster - yes, I do wear those brown orthopedic shoes. 

And I'm walking with my cane again. 

Yeah, I'm back on the stick. Rhonda and I took a lovely walk through Wascana Trails on Sunday. And by walk, I mean stumble and climb and hope we can get back up the hill. It didn't hit me then, but I certainly woke up yesterday feeling it. 

Contrary to the conclusions of my doctor at the time, the ensuing 20 years have revealed that it most certainly is gout - and probably a nice healthy dose of arthritis too. I've got medications for the gout, but I do need to be a bit more careful about going off-road with this 80-year-old body. Have I mentioned I also have glaucoma, and I take drops every day to treat that? Peachy. 

Walking with a cane isn't the classic, stylish endeavour I'd always imagined it would be. It's a lot less Victorian gentleman and more cranky, wobbly Dr. House. Sometimes I like to pretend I'm House because I feel that grumpy. But my medical diagnosis skills aren't there. I'm 3 for 68.

And it seems I use that damn thing more and more all the time. 

I recently re-read "The Hound of the Baskervilles", the Sherlock Holmes book by Arthur Conan Doyle. The book opens with Holmes and his ever-present assistant, Watson, inspecting the walking stick of one Dr. James Mortimer. They deduce that he worked at Charing Cross Hospital, had a dog and had moved his medical practice into the country.  

Sometimes I look at my own walking stick with that same eye. Like Dr. Mortimer, I have a dog who has picked up my stick a time or two. Her teeth marks are pretty evident. And it's my right foot that bothers me the most, you can tell by the way the handle and rubber tip have worn. And I imagine you could come to some conclusion about how I spend my money based on the fact that this is clearly a lower-cost handmade item and not some mass-produced aluminum and rubber deal you get at the drugstore. Although I have one of those, too. Maybe I need to get it engraved or bound with brass to give more clues about me. Or maybe I stay a bit mysterious. Or maybe I don't forget my cane at the private residence of England's greatest private detective. 

But as fun as it is to play detective and look like I took a dumdum bullet in the Boer War, being on a stick is uncomfortable, inconvenient and generally a pain in the ass. Not only is there the pain of my foot, but having to adjust to walking on a stick causes soreness all over the body after a while. You don't just lose a foot, you generally lose a hand since you're always holding the damn cane. Not to mention, every time you lean it up against something to take a pee or grab something, it inevitably falls to the ground.

But I am thankful for ramps, automatic doors and buses that can lower their decks. As much as I've always tried to avoid misusing accessibility infrastructure so that those who need it have it, I'm glad it's there now when I need it. 

And then there's the motivation-draining aspect of this whole thing. Like I don't wanna do ANYTHING right now. I could be forgiven for wanting to avoid building a barn or cleaning house, but I don't even want to sit and play video games or play guitar - like non-standing things. I just want to lie around. 

Ah well. Hopefully, it fades off by the end of the week, and I can start to feel like a normal person again soon. 

The world needs more than stories

 Back at the beginning of July, I played my first "real gig" at Moose Jaw's Sidewalk Days festival. From almost the first moment I was there, I noticed that there were a bunch of people walking around with nice big walking sticks. I mean - wooden broom handles. But walking sticks nonetheless. 

I asked around and was always given the friendly note that you could get one at the south end of Main Street. No one said how much they were or how I was to get one. 

So it was that after my performance and before I had a busking shift to start that I mosied my way down to the south end of Main Street to see if I could obtain my own walking stick. But as I approached the booth with a barrel full of broomsticks, I knew I'd been duped. This was no hippie selling recycled broom handles to gullible festival goers. No, this was an evangelical church, and they'd be happy to give you a walking stick and a string of beads. If you listen to a story. 

I established earlier this summer that I'm probably not going to be swayed to the Lord by some story, but I did kinda want a walking stick, and I do try and approach life with an open mind. Plus, I kinda wanted to hear this story if nothing else. Boy, was I in for a letdown. 

A letdown because there were no stories. Just some old white dude giving me a list of rules I needed to follow - all with "in a Christian church" appended to them. Like 10 minutes standing with this man and he couldn't tell me a single story.

What a waste. I may no longer be a Christian, but I was once, and I know that the Bible is positively PACKED with stories. And Jesus did a lot of work spreading his message using stories. Does anyone remember the good Samaritan or the prodigal son? Like stories abound. But this dude couldn't find one of them to tell me. I wanted a piece of wood, but he wanted my soul - and that's gonna cost more than $7. 

So it was that as he reached the end of his checklist of rules and pivoted to "can we pray together?" that I stopped him. I explained to him that there was no story told in the last five minutes. I explained that I had been raised in a Christian church, and the things I had seen had been what drove me away from faith. And that couldn't be bought back with a broomstick and some dollar store beads. 

Fast forward to this Saturday afternoon, as I was walking the dogs and thinking about this interaction again. I don't know if I saw a broomstick or a flyer for a local church, or what had me thinking about that. And I was thinking about how badly churches are failing themselves and humanity these days. How these institutions that are supposed to be built on a foundation of charity and love are spending more time trying to control and manipulate. 

And in that moment, I stumbled across a man lying on the ground next to the old abandoned church near my house, unresponsive. 

I did what the churches aren't doing. I stopped and offered aid. 

It's a bit more convoluted than that, to be sure. I tried to rouse him and couldn't. I had to run my giant Newfie home because she was very concerned with this person and was getting loud and belligerent. I didn't have a phone to call 911. I was not in a position to offer easy help. So I ran home, dropped off the dog, grabbed my phone and ran back. 

I was able to get the man up, but he was in terrible shape, and I called an ambulance to come offer assistance. The story doesn't have much from there. I kept him safe and gave him instructions, monitored him until the paramedics arrived, then I was left on my own to ponder what had just happened. 

And that pondering led me to the place of - could this man have been helped to a healthier place if that church had spent less time trying to con people into faith and more time trying to help the poor? Could the money spent on wooden dowels have been spent on food, education or drug treatment? 

I've been thinking a lot about this over the weekend. Whenever I am tempted to volunteer to help others, it's never through a religious organization. And after nearly 2 decades in "the hood" I've never even seen a Christian church lending help. I do see the Sikhs feeding people every weekend. So if I were going to consider a faith, it's more likely to be Sikh or Buddhist. Because those are the people I see actually helping. Faith for the sake of faith isn't enough. 

And so ends another tirade about religion. But at least in my anti-religion tirade, I told a story. Actually, I told two. 

Checkmate. 

The myth of myths

"Better start writing about Ozzy ☹️"

It wasn't the first I'd heard, but it was how The Navigator chose to tell me that The Price of Darkness had left the mortal coil last Tuesday. 

But I wasn't quite ready to share my thoughts then. I'm not really sure I am now. 

I don't know that I remember "discovering" Ozzy Osbourne, or for that matter, Black Sabbath. They've always just been there. I'm not sure I ever adored Ozzy as a singer, but more as an icon or as a character. He never made me cry like Gord Downey or brought me euphoria like Maynard James Keenan, but he was always there. 

Ozzy's celebrity was unavoidable in the 1990s, but at the same time, something was missing. You never heard Sabbath songs on the oldies station - only on the rock stations. My parents listened to 1970s music, but they never had Sabbath records. I never saw Sabbath or Ozzy records when I bought old records at garage sales. 

All that to say, I certainly knew Ozzy, many of my favourite bands are disciples of Sabbath, but I wasn't exactly a nut about him. 

So why have I felt so weird about Ozzy's death? 

I saw a video the other day talking about how music just isn't special anymore. It's perfect and overproduced. Some of that makes sense, I suppose, but it doesn't quite hit the mark. I think it's more about how everything around music has changed. 

How we get the music has changed. Outside of an algorithm or a YouTube video, what was the last thing you discovered that really grabbed you? We never get our music from our friends, from the music shop or from someone on the street anymore. 

And with that, we've lost the myths of our music. I mentioned it in my comment on The Navigator's post from last Friday, but there are no real legends anymore. Like, we don't pass these stories down orally anymore. No one whispers stories about Lemmy bedding 100 women or Alice Cooper dining on bats. There's always a website with fact-checking backing up everything being said. 

In a "post-truth" world, I suppose looking for the facts is a good thing. But the only way a singer becomes a legend or a myth is if legendary stories or mythical events surround them. Not to mention, sharing what they're up to is how bands (or anyone in media) promote themselves these days. There's a statement I hear repeated often when I'm looking for how to promote my music project: "Document the process." So everything is videotaped. 

There are no more myths. Only evidence. 

Maybe that's the way it needs to be. But it sure takes the fun out of rock n' roll.

Rest easy Oz. I hope you're having a blast with Randy and Lemmy and all the rest of your rock n' roll buddies who left us with the last true myths humanity may ever know. 

I turned 44

 I know, it feels like I already tackled this subject. But this is more about my impressions and behaviour in the week since my birthday. 

I noticed the shift not long after last week's post. Because of the rain we'd had the week before, our firewood and tinder were damp, and I was struggling to start the fire. Normally, I'd just persist until I had fire but - I was 44. I didn't want to persist. I just wanted fire. So I grabbed a firestarter cube from my pizza oven kit and got the fire started in no time. 

I'm not sure why I'm like this, but given the option between the easy way to do something or the hard way, I am inclined to select the hard way. Especially if I have time and resources to do it. Maybe it's being culturally Catholic. Maybe it's just a belief that becoming fully dependent on tech and shortcuts will erode my ability to do stuff. 

But I really am in my midlife now, and it's really become apparent over the last couple of years that I'm not going to live forever. Today we learned that the Prince of Darkness himself, Ozzy Osbourne, died. I mean, if Ozzy can die, I sure can too. Even if he's got 30 years on me. (Side note: I'm sad about Ozzy dying. We all knew it was coming sooner than later, but it's tragic to see the end of the beginning for so many of us of a heavy-music persuasion. I'm so glad he got to do one last show with Sabbath. I had hoped he would end it all by having a bat bite off his head as the finale of the show. No luck. RIP Ozzy.)

And this willingness to take help has continued. This weekend, after a decade of harassment, I finally bought a licence for Reaper to help me record an EP. I could do it with Audacity. But it's so much easier with Reaper. 

It's a debate I've always had with myself. What is the balance between building skills and knowledge through hard work and practice, or making life manageable through the conveniences of the modern world? I think that the Amish have perhaps gone too far in the wrong direction, but at the same time, I'm glad I held off on TikTok to wait and see what happens. I'm grateful to have a car to drive to get groceries, but at the same time, I'd love to eat at a restaurant or bar without 100 screens in my face. 

But now, I'm 44. So that's going to help my decisions for the next bit. Maybe the easy way is the way. And if I'm wrong, I've made it this far without knowing how to tie a proper Clove Hitch. Probably I can make it another 44 years without that knowledge. 

Happy Birthday - to me?

I'm damp, slightly cold and my kidneys hurt. That's right, it's my 44th birthday!

As is typical, we are spending the week camping. We got the same site we booked last year at Buffalo Pound. 

The camper was out of commission all last summer but, with great effort, I got it back up working this year. The cable that is used to lift it was broken and there was no grease in half of the camper. So I spent the last 3 weeks greasy and angry but repairing the camper. It now lifts quickly and perfectly silently and I couldn't be happier. 

It rained pretty hard all day yesterday so everything is just a little bit wet and I think we're all just a little bit sore and frustrated from it. But today looks like it's going to be gorgeous and we can get things dried out and back to enjoying camping. 

Jonas brought a bunch of his friends out camping this year so there's less entertaining, the kids for us at least. And Kayah is working all week. So we only get to see her a couple times. 

I made pizzas in the rain last night which was kind of funny. We have an awning so I was able to stay dry and the pizza oven was so hot that it was actually kind of warm. 

Really the worst part was for the boys because we forgot to bring a ground sheet for the tent. I think they were a little moist in there but I think they're going to be just fine once we get them dried out. 

I don't have any huge plans for the day or even for the week. I might try and write a few songs and I do want to practice a bit because next week. I'm heading into the studio to record a few of my songs. The music thing is finally starting to take off a little bit. I've got a few gigs ahead and a few projects that I want to do. 

But really my needs are simple. Today I need a shower.

Well looky here.

The Search

 Last week's post was openly lazy, but there was a reason I had become so lethargic by the time I sat down to write (dictate) the post. 

You see, Rhonda and I had spent most of the afternoon on a crusade to find a most unusual thing - Co-Op Gold Ginger Ale. 

Ginger Ale? I know. I thought much the same at first. 

It started when we stopped at the Co-Op to fill the car with gas. Rhonda commented that she'd had a Co-Op ginger ale on her trip home from Winnipeg the week before, and we should grab some. Alas, the cooler had none left. 

After the gas station, we needed to stop for some groceries (namely the hamburgers I needed to grill up in last week's post). But again, the coolers were empty and the shelves had been wiped clean. Well, that was a bit unusual. 

We had some time before we needed to pick up Jonas from a friend's house, so we decided - what the heck, let's see if we can find some at the Co-op grocery near his friend's house. Again, no ale in sight. So we tried the gas station next door. Empty. 

Things were starting to get weird. 

The next day, I was in the south end and needed a Slurpee, so I stopped by the South Albert Co-op. No ginger ale. 

At this point, it turned from fun curiosity into an obsession. I don't even care to drink the beverage. I just need to know it exists. It has become my holy grail. 

On Friday, I dragged Jonas all the way to North Winnipeg Ave. Co-op only to leave empty-handed again. 

And so this story continues to progress without a resolution. As recently as last night, Rhonda stopped at the Co-op grocery store and left with another ale fail. I have some holidays next week, and while we'd planned to go to Buffalo Pound for some camping, I'm prepared to cancel and spend the week scouring Western Canada for this soda. 

I've made a police-artist sketch of the soda, if you see some, please let me know. Take pictures because it might be gone once "they" figure out we're on to them. 

After all of this - it better not taste like shit.