Impostors and Impostor syndrome

As I enter midlife, I'm pursuing creativity more in my life. And not just as a hobby or pastime, but as something that defines me and as the foundation I want to set my career and life on. I've always been creative, but my creativity was never properly encouraged growing up. For a long time, I thought that meant I didn't have as much creativity as others. As I've matured, I recognize my creativity is very different from others, and they didn't know how to process that. 

But especially when you're young, it's not easy to see that. So it's made it hard for me to enter the creative realm, and like many people in my position, I've really struggled with impostor syndrome. Struggled to the point where co-workers have had to actively tell me I am worthy of what I have. It's a hard thing to work through. 

Which is why I'm floored when I come across stories of real impostors. I don't encounter a lot of real impostors in my life (or at least they're really good at imposting, so I don't recognize them). But every so often, you hear stories of them.

For example, I've really been into police bodycam and dashcam videos lately. I don't know why. I bear witness to enough violence and vehicular carnage in my neighbourhood to satiate that urge. One of the videos I watched recently was of a group of officers investigating a guy who was pretending to be a cop. It's pretty cringey to watch since you know from the very start that the guy isn't a cop. For someone who feels like an impostor in a place I've been asked and encouraged to be, it makes my skin positively CRAWL to watch this guy try and squirm his way through this. I just don't know how he does it. 

Or maybe one of the more famous and egregious impostors is the story of Tania Head (or so she called herself). Tania claimed to have escaped from the impact zone of the South Tower during 9/11. But, as this blog is likely leading you to see, she wasn't. She wasn't even in the US. The whole story is told in some depth in the documentary, The Woman Who Wasn't There. And she didn't just claim to be a 9/11 survivor. No no no. She actually took control of a couple of 9/11 survivor support groups, led tours of the WTC area and was a very visible face in the survivor community. Until the New York Times started meddling in her past.

Watching impostors like that gives me much the same gross feeling inside as watching urban explorers in places they shouldn't be. It all seems very fun right up until you're going to get caught. Then there's no way out. 

I sometimes have an urge to create a different personality. Or create a second me that's maybe a little wilder, more daring. I'm not even talking about being an impostor as much as just having a second personality that amplifies certain parts of my own persona. Maybe that's the kind of place where impostors come from. Maybe the cop dude watched body cam videos like me and just pursued that interest in the wrong direction. They say Tania Head suffered from some lack of empathy in her own life and maybe saw the 9/11 survivors as a place where she could find love. 

I don't know where it comes from, but it's fascinating to watch people who have dug themselves so deeply into a lie. And it always makes me wonder where it started. 

Leave me a comment as an impostor below! 

The Return of Rush

Back in our radio days, The Navigator and I had a "Trilogy of Rock". Rush, Clutch and Motorhead. 

Unfortunately, neither of us would ever see Motorhead, but we've both been able to see Clutch and Rush together over the years. We saw Clutch a couple of years ago in Saskatoon and saw Rush in Calgary in 2015 on their final tour. 

Or so we thought. 

It was to my great delight yesterday that I opened up YouTube and saw a video that was only a few minutes old from Rush called "Geddy and Alex Send a Message to Rush Fans". Rush is back, baby.

They're reuniting with German-stickswoman Anika Nilles, who, per the video, recently played with the late Jeff Beck's band. I admit, I hadn't heard of her before yesterday, but the videos I've seen have been promising. She certainly has the chops. And if Ged and the other guy think she's good enough, then I trust she is. 

I'm glad to see the guys back at it. It always bugs me when talented folks aren't playing. I know it's selfish as a fan to say that, but there's always a pretty good reason for musicians to stop playing together. It makes me sad that bands like Rage Against the Machine don't play together. There is too much talent in the surviving members of Rush to leave them in a retirement home. 

Tickets go up for sale next week, and I expect I can't afford to go to Toronto for the show. But boy, it's tempting to see them again. 

One more time. 

Dogs! (Oh heck and why not cats too?)

 I've wanted to do a post about my dogs since coming back to the blogiverse, and since I've caught the curse that's befallen my siblings, today is the day for that lazier path. 

Long-time readers will know about my first dog, Bootsy, and Rhonda's pupper, Shadow. Bootsy left us in 2013 after a short and kinda disturbing set of illnesses. That was a pretty tough one for me, and I still miss her from time to time. 

Bootsy wasn't gone for long before Rhonda dragged me to the Humane Society, and we dragged home an adult Husky I named Leika after the first dog in space. 

Leika was a pretty challenging dog. She had a drive to run - especially away, and she was never easy to walk despite practicing every single day. But she did have a lot of love in her heart and was unflinchingly protective of the kids. Like Bootsy, she had a very short but extreme decline at the end of her life in late 2020, and we said goodbye to her while we were in lockdown.

In 2013, we started to notice that there were an awful lot of mice around the 100-year-old house we moved into that year. So we decided to get a cat. And so we adopted Chopstick from a farm. He was a famous scrapper on the farm, and the family there thought he might do best if he was taken away from the other cats in the area. 

Chop really was an excellent family cat. He was patient with the young kids who would drag him around, knew how to keep our big dogs in check and kept the mouse population in the house at zero. But he never lost his scrapper attitude or his wanderlust, and he paid the price for it over and over. More than a few times, he came home with severe fight-related injuries to his face, eyes and ears. 

Most famously, Chopstick was a victim of violence at the hands of an unknown assailant in the neighbourhood. One evening in late June 2017, Chop came home dragging his rear hind leg behind him. We couldn't figure out what had happened, and when we took him to the vet, it was quickly determined that he had been shot in the butt by a BB gun. The pellet shattered his rear hip, and unfortunately, it led to an amputation of his hind leg. 

Chop would spend the remaining five years of his life as a tripod who still loved to go out and scrap, catch mice and keep the dogs in check. While Chop got along famously with all of the dogs, when Liberty showed up, he no longer had patience for dealing with dogs. Chop moved himself outside permanently when Lib moved in, and he stopped coming by the house for visits in late 2022. We don't know what happened to him, but I suspect someone will find a kitty skeleton under the deck someday. 

Like when we lost Leika, it didn't take long for the thought of another dog to start making the rounds in late 2020. So it was in November 2020 that I got my first real puppy - though she wouldn't stay small for long. We got my first purebred dog from a breeder, the Newfoundlander dog, Ahsoka. The new Star Wars series of the same name debuted that week, and Ahsoka is one of my favourite Star Wars characters. So it was an easy one to do. 

Ahsoka has been the most successful dog I've had so far. Maybe it's the breed, maybe it's because she was the first dog I raised from a puppy, but she's been easier to walk, train and communicate with. She is absolutely the big teddy bear that everyone thinks she is, and is just a pleasure to have around. But she's unfortunately enormous, and I've not got the body I need to have for such a big dog. Because she's still a dog and they need to dash at squirrels and cats, even if I'd rather she doesn't.

Ahsoka is also my first pet with a social media account. But we basically never update it anymore. I wonder if people think she's gone? 

As mentioned earlier in June 2022, Liberty, the Great Pyreneese/Border Collie cross, joined the family. His owner, Gary, passed away, and we agreed to adopt Liberty and give him a good home. This made the family a three-dog family for a short while (tragic foreshadowing). 

Liberty is a pretty good dog, but he's also quite anxious. We've never been sure if it was some of the stuff that happened when his owner passed, or just his nature, or both. But he's always been quite reactive and headstrong. And he's obsessively protective of Rhonda. He reminds me a lot of Leika a lot of the time, especially when I walk him. He's got his own path that he wants to take at all times. 

And so we come to late 2022 with our last welcome and our last farewell. 

During Christmas break in 2022, we welcomed a new mouse management officer to our home in the form of a tiny little grey/gold tabby named Baba. For my own reasons, I rarely call her that and have just nicknamed her an altered version of "Chop" to "Chip". She's a very small cat compared to Chopstick, but she's extremely fast and very bold. Despite living in a home with two large dogs, she rules the roost. And she might be even better than Chopstick was at mousing. Because there has been ZERO sign of mice since she took over the job. I think she's just able to fit into spots he wasn't. 

She's a troublemaker, but she's cute and clearly thinks she's a dog that weighs over 120lbs. No one's bothered to correct her. 

And I've hinted enough, but we said goodbye to Shadow just as 2022 turned into 2023. He was nearly 18 years old, and the last year of his life was not very high-quality. Shadow was a fierce protector, despite his diminutive size, and I don't think he ever needed a leash in his whole life. 

And so our family has been filled out with two big dogs and one tiny cat ever since. We fostered a beautiful reddish golden retriever, whom we nicknamed "Honey" because her name was also Liberty. The owner wanted us to adopt her, but with my gout and two dogs we already needed to care for, it wasn't to be. She stayed with us for a few weeks and was definitely part of our pet story. I miss having a fish tank, but I don't think the cat would leave them alone. Her killer instinct is too strong. We tried to have a few guinea pigs, but Leika made a snack of one, and that experiment ended prematurely. 

And now, I'm finally caught up on my pet story here on Pilot's World. My pets really are important to me, and in looking at my Instagram to put this together, I'm realizing how much I love animals in general. Maybe someday, Rhonda will let me get a highland cow. 

Two in a year

Last week, just after walking off stage after performing at O’Hanlon’s I learned that my grandfather, Remo Forer had passed away at 97 years old. I carry his name with me; my middle name is Remo after him.

I’m sad about it, but at the same time, I never had a deep relationship with grandpa. We would talk politely at family events, and I always loved passing out the gum he gave me to my cousins, but he never really shared wisdom with me or guided me through much of life.

We always lived in a different town, so that’s a part of it. I know many of my cousins who lived around Avonlea had much closer relationships.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t have an appreciation and respect for the man. 97 good years of life is in itself respectable. But I also share his passion for hats, and I admire his entrepreneurial spirit. In fact, if there’s one thing I wish I’d learned more from him, it’s how to be a businessman. He may have been a farmer and later a gravel-baron, but at his core, he was a shrewd businessman.

I also admire his longevity. And not just living to 97. Up until two or three years ago, he was still extremely active. Famously, he did a James Bond-style dive out of his bulldozer as it slipped off a cliff. On his 90^th birthday! I don’t know that I could make that dive now at 44.

And so, we said farewell to grandpa on Saturday. I always find the graveside part of the mourning process to be the most impactful. Church is important to a lot of my family, but it always feels like the priest is spending more time delivering a guilt trip than helping us remember or mourn. But at the graveside, we say goodbye, and it’s very emotional. And twice in the last month, I’ve shovelled dirt on the remains of a grandparent. I was an honourary pallbearer for the first time; I’m sure it won’t be my last.

And so, I’m left with one grandparent. Luckily/unlucky, I dunno. But I know it’s fleetingly rare to reach my age with any grandparents. And grandma is not doing great. She was too sick to attend the funeral, and I do worry if we’ll be saying goodbye to her before long.

I suppose that’s just part of growing up and growing older. 

Danks Coach!

It’s been a weird year for me.

On one hand, I’ve launched a music project that’s growing at a really comfortable rate and giving me the confidence – and permission – to really stretch out creatively.

On the other hand, nearly 18 years at the same company and struggles to get ahead there have really started to chafe me, and I question why I’ve let myself get stuck there.

Over the past few months, in particular since I was unsuccessful in earning the promotion I was going for, I’ve been looking at changing paths. Maybe find a new job or at least look at some different possibilities. But the job boards don’t really have anything that piques my interest.

In a few months, my current job contract will expire, and I’ve already made a goal to try and make up the shortfall that will come by playing music. I don’t know if I’ll make it in time, but BOY am I gonna try!

It's with that frustration at looking at other jobs, and this maybe a bit insane try at something completely different that I decided to start using a career coach. My work has an FSEAP (Family Services Employee Assistance Program) that provides it as a benefit, so why not?

So it was that last Friday, I spent over an hour on a Zoom call with a wonderful woman named Susan as we started to discuss my goals, look at what I wanted to make happen and explore some ways to make that happen. It was shocking to me how encouraging she was; there was no “no you can’t do that,” and very little negative language. In fact, the only negative language was coming out of me, and she was very quick to correct it and put me back on a better trajectory.

It was also interesting how I’m really already on the path. I’ve set some deadlines, making some hard work happen and making some hard choices. I’m looking at my options, and even though I perceived my use of the resources my job gives me to my own ends as parasitic, she helped me to reframe that as just realizing the possibilities of my resources. It’s less about being selfish as much as it’s about self-care. We have benefits at work – so let them benefit me!

In the short term, I’ve reignited my use of my daily journal (basically every counsellor and coach I’ve ever had harps on it; it’s time I get more consistent), and I’m making plans to start doing a bit more every day. I already practice and write every day, but I also need to set time aside to “do paperwork”. And that’s one I’m well behind on. I’m actually a bit slow at work lately, so I’m going to use some of that capacity in the short term to catch up on that and get myself set up for future success.

And then there’s the books.

While I do like the idea of journaling, self-help books are a bit grating to me and a few were recommended. They just seem to go on and on, and then you get one good nugget of info. I’ve put a few on my reading list per Susan’s suggestion, but I’m not sure how deep I’ll delve into them. But I will try.

Oh, and – the encouragement. I’ve gotta say there was nothing more valuable than having someone who understood my frustration and my dreams just yelling “YES” at me across an internet connection. Don’t get me wrong, Rhonda is supportive, and Mom tries to be enthusiastic. But there’s something about someone who’s also pursued a life in the arts telling me that YES, I CAN DO THIS, that is just the bee’s knees. I think I needed someone to give me more than permission.

I think it’s gonna be a really interesting winter. There are lots of cool things ahead. 

Is summer really going to end?

Rhonda and I were discussing recently how once the kids were gone, we were going to start taking our holidays in the fall when the weather is a bit more moderate, there are fewer people at campgrounds, and it's just easier to get time off. 

I've always hated how so many people just give up on the outdoors as soon as Labour Day is behind us. Sure, for the kids, summer necessarily ends when they go back to school. But for me, little has changed beyond the month I write at the top of my journal every morning. 

This past weekend really reinforced that for me. I went to my first Doylefest, a little folk festival at Eagle Creek Regional Park near Asquith. In true folk-festival form, it was a camping-only festival with a great group of musicians and music lovers. I'm not exactly the biggest folk-nerd, but these were my people, and it was a really great weekend outside! 

Wasn't it cold at night? You bet your damn bippy it was. But when has that ever been a hindrance for me? I had a good tent, lots of blankets and clothes, and I was ready and happy to be out there enjoying myself. If I'd attended with a few other people, I would have had a big fire and brought the camper along just to further my comforts. As I sat at the main stage on Sunday morning, basking in the sun, buzzing from my own recent performance and sipping my delicious coffee, it occurred to me that this weekend could go on forever. Maybe I wouldn't go home. 

But then again, so much of this is about letting seasons affect our behaviour. Obviously, when it rains, you need an umbrella, and when it's cold, you need a jacket, but why do we decide to hibernate the second it gets less than ideal? I've always wished that I had taken up snowmobiling or another outdoor winter sport. Something to get me out in the sun so I can stave off the seasonal affective disorder a bit. 

I did get some snowshoes for Christmas a few years ago, but I've only really had a couple of opportunities to use them. And with my endlessly encroaching gout, I don't know how many more opportunities I'll get to use them. But I heard that the Farmer's Almanac is predicting lots of snow this year, so who knows? Maybe this is the year. 

I don't exactly know what I've got planned for the next few weeks, but I'm going to find things. Football games, maybe some walking in the parks, and I'll hopefully find myself a way to enjoy as much of 2025 as I have left. 

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. 

Lazy Deck Day

As I sit here on my deck on a beautiful Canada Day and consider that "fuck I have to blog." But the good news is it's 2025 and not 2005 anymore so I don't even need to type. I can dictate this. So I am. 

I mean really I could just make AI write this blog post and just smoke another bowl and enjoy Canada Day like I should. But I'm not. I'll just voice to text it. 

The Pilot that wrote this blog back in the early 2000s probably would have been pretty amazed by this. I do remember trying to blog using my cell phone and t9 typing and that just took a lot of work. 

So what do I have to say on this gorgeous Canada Day in 2025? Not a lot. Like every Canada Day I think a lot about my place as a Canadian and what the history of my people means to the people who lived here before me. But I also feel under threat from the people south of us who really could give two shits about the people that came before them or the people that come after cuz all they can think of is now.

I'm also enjoying Canada today in the other way I usually do: by listening to Canadian music. And not the cliche stuff. This isn't April Wine and Bachman-Turner Overdrive. No, I'm listening to some newer stuff. Some Burning Hell. Maybe a little July Talk. Who knows what could be next. Maybe even Beaches. Canada has some great music.

Wait.  July Talk? April Wine? There's a theme idea for The Cockpit! Canadian month bands. Like Leonard "June" Cohen.

I'm playing my first paid gig in over a decade in Thursday in Moose Jaw. I'm pretty stoked. I've been going out busking at the Farmer's Market to practice up so I suppose those are my first paid gigs. In any case. 

Slow week,.I suppose not much to say. And those burgers aren't about to grill themselves. Lazy hamburgers. 

Why you do me so dirty Strombo?

I recently watched a video essay by one of my generation’s spokespersons, George Stroumboulopoulos. It’s an essay about aging, about our moments as a generation, and he focuses on the legendary soundtrack for the movie “Singles”.

Now, I admit, this wasn’t a soundtrack I was actually that into at the time. I had plenty of others. The soundtrack to Cable Guy, Godzilla, Empire Records – even my first CD: the Wayne’s World soundtrack. But the songs on this soundtrack are the bands that defined my younger years and are the foundation of what we were into during that 1990-1996 era.

He talks about the legendary years of 1965-1969, and I realize that not only did we have a similar movement of music and culture, but a lot of what happened in the late 60s helped define the early 90s. Jimi Hendrix and The Beatles were as essential listening as Nirvana or Soundgarden. And it makes me feel very old to realize that there is more time between Nirvana and now than there was between Hendrix and Nirvana.

Sigh.

Maybe the essay shouldn’t have made me feel sad, but it did. It’s as though the cycle didn’t come around again. That time of youth coalescing to create something new and expose the excess and abuse of the music industry. Or maybe I just don’t see it because it’s not rock and roll. Because the cycle didn't come back around and pick me up. It was for someone else.

And then again, maybe it’ll come in the next couple of years. The world really is in a bad way, and people are standing up around the world. Something I’ve learned in developing Jeremy and his Kazoo is that the kazoo is an instrument of protest. Maybe I’m the one on the cusp of the next cultural movement. Not that I have the energy or, frankly, the knees for it.

I mentioned to The Navigator when he was over a couple of weeks ago that I’d been watching a lot of JHS Pedals content on YouTube. One of the most fascinating things I’ve learned through that was how the intersection of rock music and technology created so much of that late 60s sound. Jimi Hendrix with the wah and fuzz. Clapton with overdrive. The Beatles and flanger.

All this to say, these changes come with the innovations of the time. And I think our time is defined by the innovations of social media and the internet. Hank Green talks a lot about this and how similar uprisings happened after the printing press. Maybe the movement happening now will be easier to see in a decade or two.

So what of it all? Nothing really. Just an old man bellyaching about how good we had it while I sit here and listen to the Singles soundtrack streaming on Spotify.

But George also talks about all of the people on that soundtrack who died too young. And about one who they wanted on the soundtrack that also didn’t make it to 30. And that just doubles down on the feeling of being old, of being fragile and finite.

And it makes me want to make music. To connect. To make a zine, copy a tape, hang posters and just do all of those things that social media has taken. To be human and connected in person again. 

Time to get moving along

 I've mentioned my frustration with work and life a couple of times over the last year. It's such a weird position to be in because in the same breath that I'm fed up with my place in life, it's a nice enough rut that it's hard to get out of. I don't feel particularly motivated to apply on jobs or run off to the woods. 

Yet another modern Catch-22 of my own making. 

The Navigator visited this weekend, and we had a chance to talk about work. We talked about his recent job move and what he's doing to find himself in the right position. It was inspiring to me. Being at the same company for 18 years makes switching jobs an anxiety-filled proposition. But here he is, looking at his options mere weeks after starting a new job. Far out. 

Photo of me with handsome nephew Capone for context. 

Coming into work yesterday, I felt stuck between a rock and a hard place and frankly lacking the motivation to find my way out. Granted, trying to launch a music project is part of that. As is raising a family and trying to keep up with the Joneses. 

So I decided to leave it for this week. Just relax. I start a long stretch of holidays on the 24th, and I'll focus more on job applications and work stuff at that time. 

I'm considering using the career counselling services I can get through my work employee assistance program as well. It's not just wanting to change companies or managers - I think it's time I looked at a new path or challenge. If I knew I stood a chance in hell, I'd just dump every ounce of energy into music. But there doesn't seem to be much of a future there. It's gonna be more of a part-time gig. 

And maybe I should just forgive myself for being burnt out on life. 

Who knows. 

No, for real...

 ...this is probably not a world we should be bringing children into. 

I've always had this lingering memory from a movie or TV show I watched when I was a kid. It depicted a future world of pollution and filth. The sky was orange, there was smoke everywhere, and everyone was wearing a mask. I'm not totally sure what the movie is; it could be the 1981 film Heavy Metal, but I wasn't able to find the imagery in my mind during a cursory search online. 

In any case, the world depicted in this poorly remembered media has become the world I see outside lately. We've all been wearing masks on and off for the past half decade (oh did I mention that there was a goddamn PANDEMIC during the quiet time on this blog?). The past three or four summers have seen the skies get very orange due to wildfires all over the place. Just last week, La Ronge, the birthplace of this blog, was badly damaged due to wildfire. A lot of history was lost when the former Robertson's trading post burned to the ground. 

And beyond the environmental and the epidemiologic, there is also a fentanyl and meth epidemic going on that seems to be touching everyone lately. A co-worker had to give someone in distress Narcan a couple of weeks ago, and this Sunday, Rhonda and I took our turn. While walking the dogs on Sunday afternoon, we came upon someone giving a woman chest compressions in the alley. We stopped and lent aid until emergency services showed up. At which point, she jumped up and ran away! 

And then there is what's happening south of the border. I would say all of us have seen this coming, and for the first time, I'm hearing the whispers that the second American Civil War is starting to develop. I don't know what a modern civil war will look like, but I can't see this ending without the need to make some new maps. As if Las Angeles hasn't been through enough this year. 

Things are ugly, and they only look like they're going to get uglier. 

And it's hard to know what to do as an individual. I've been recycling my pop bottles and walking to work, but that hasn't done anything for the pollution. I voted, but authoritarianism is in full swing. I've engaged in Truth and Reconciliation, but indigenous people are still being ravaged by drugs and poverty. 

So maybe that's the whole thing. Maybe all I can do is encourage everyone to stop having kids and just relax. After all the musicians played while the Titanic sank because there was nothing else to be done. Guess I'll go strum my guitar and wait for the air to become unbreathable. 

Faith and Begorrah

A few weeks ago I stumbled on an episode of the “WithinReason” podcast hosted by Alex O’Connor where he spoke to Good Mythical Morning host Rhett McLaughlin about his break from the “White Southern Evangelical Christian Church”. Specifically, I think he broke away from a form of Baptist church, but the discussion is about the strong evangelical aspect of churches from the American south.

I’ve known about Good Mythical Morning for a decade or more, Kayah and I would watch it when she was little. It’s basically a morning talk show on YouTube – with millennial trappings. So think less Regis Philbin, more Tom Green.

Rhett wasn’t alone in what he calls his “spiritual deconstruction,” his co-host Link Neal also embarked on the journey. They both grew up in the Baptist church and were even heavily involved in recruitment and evangelicalism during college. They had fully consumed the grape flavour-aid.

The deconstruction started for Rhett when he started exploring what he was being told about evolution in the church and what science and the rest of the world were saying. For Link, it was around the way gay people were treated by the church. Of course, that’s a major oversimplification of their journeys but it gives you an idea of what started their journey.

It’s led me into quite the deep dive about their journey because it so connected with the journey I’ve had leaving the Catholic Church.

Now, my journey is not the same as theirs. Mine was a lot quieter and I wasn’t nearly as entrenched in it as they were. While I know there are members of my family who would feel better if I went to mass every week, for the most part I’ve been allowed to follow my path where it takes me.

I think the part that I most identified with was the identification of the hypocrisy I was being fed and how pulling that thread started unravelling everything.

For me, like Link, it was how gay people were being treated that didn’t make sense. Especially when combined with the endless allegations of abuse and rumours of gay activity within the clergy. And to be clear, I’m not judgmental that there are gay people expressing themselves in the clergy. I’m critical of the hypocrisy of saying no one else can be gay. And I find the abuse of minors and others to be abhorrent not only to God but to humans as well.

But there were things that came up earlier that pushed me over the edge once I started questioning things.

I may not have been as entrenched in my church as Rhett and Link were, but I was still very involved at a time. I was deeply involved in youth ministry and summer camps from about grade 6 until sometime in high school. I went on retreats, jamborees and did a lot of things that in retrospect were pretty weird. Anyone who attended one of the SEARCH weekends can attest to that.

One of my strongest influences at the time was a priest who served at my church in town right out of seminary and was the camp priest at the summer camp I went to. He’s a very good man so I’m not going to out him here – but in looking back, conversations with him contributed to my departure from the church as well.

He was always great at making Jesus and the bible compelling and fun. And he thought outside of the box. He told me something once that always stuck with me, “I know atheists who do a better job of living the word of Jesus than most Christians.” It made it clear to me that living a good life and being good to people doesn’t require faith.

But my view of this particular gentleman was shaken the day I asked him his thoughts on the Robin William’s movie, What Dreams May Come. In the film, Robin Williams’ character loses his wife who dies by suicide. He finds a way to go to hell and saver her to bring her back. It’s a movie that really explores the spiritual and everything that goes on outside of the human experience. But my priest friend was having none of it. He insisted that only God could rescue us from hell and that was the end of the conversation.

I tried to engage him more but for the first time in my friendship with him, he got mad. This was not to be discussed. Which brings to mind one of the most powerful observations that has come out of learning about Link and Rhett’s deconstruction – the difference between being curious and being right.

During one of the podcasts I consumed, it was noted that the difference between the religious right and the rest of us is that the religious right are obsessed with being correct. While the rest are more curious and want to grow. And that speaks to my core. Most of the time, I don’t really care about being right – especially if it’s not about the safety and wellbeing of others. I’d rather ask questions or event better – listen than be right about everything in the world. But most religious people I know are obsessed with being right.

So as I entered high school and moved to college, I got curious. I looked at other Christian denominations but they all seemed like just different flavours of kool-aid. Muslims were interesting for a while and I’m glad I got curious about them when everyone else was trying to have an opinion about them after 9/11. Buddhism was very interesting for me for a while but at the end of the day, it still felt like a human translating the divine.

In the end I concluded that if there is a God, he’d be more concerned with me living a good life and loving my neighbours than if I was going to church every week or trying to convince others to drink the same kool-aid. And for the most part, until a couple of months ago, that’s pretty much where the story ended. I don’t wear it on my sleeve, I try not to attack people with faith. Just live and let live.

But boy hearing about religious deconstruction shook me up. It’s made me realize the core of some of my self-doubt, my constant guilt and even why I can get so deeply judgemental at times. It makes me think that maybe I need to find some support or counselling about that. I do feel sad about the loss of community that comes with leaving a church. And I think I crave a sense of ritual or spirituality to ground myself and put my negative energy into. I don’t know what that is per se, but I know it’s something missing.

And there is something divine about the world. I don’t know if it’s a god, or many gods. But there is something spiritual about the feeling you get when that first layer or lacquer is wiped on to a fresh piece of wood. Something out there is ensuring that Elvis is on the radio when you’re heading out of town to say goodbye to your grandma.

It sure feels like something’s out there. And maybe it’s time I started looking for it again. 

Annum Horriblis

Defying all odds, tomorrow will be one year since I (and The Navigator) got back into blogging. And I don't think either of us has missed an assigned day, although we both enjoy being late. 

In terms of our original goal of just keeping in touch with each other, I'd say mission accomplished. I'm very glad that The Navigator insisted on this being a blog and not a video. First, I would have given up on video a few times during this experiment. Plus, it's been very rewarding to dust off old Pilot's World and bring it back to life. I'd forgotten how fun blogging is. 

I'd also forgotten the original motivation to journal my life a bit that Pilot's World offered. It's a regret I've developed over the year - that I didn't keep it up so I have some stories from the last ten years or so recorded. Some of that is in other places on social media, but the blog is such a nice long-form medium. 

And there's so much more to do in the future! 

Looking back on what I've written this year, I've noticed that I have barely talked about the dogs, even though I hang out with them constantly. I've got a handful of posts drafted out for the next few weeks, including returning to the Bronco Game, talking a bit about spirituality and an update about how it is, in fact, gout. 

I'd also like to freshen things up around here a bit, maybe make the place look better. I made a very weak attempt at a new banner logo (up top there) last week, but it's not great. It's just something. 

Overall, very proud to have reached a year, happy that the Navigator has been along for the ride and maybe, just maybe, we can inspire some other old-timers from the heady blogging days of the early 2000's to join us this year! (I'm looking at YOU STEVE). 

Say it Frenchie!

Over the past month, I've taken on a new challenge: I'm learning French. Oui, Je parle en francais.

It actually started as part of the job competition I talked about last week. I thought I could bring some new value to the team by interacting with the French-speaking media when needed. It might not have helped me land that job, but that failure has redoubled my commitment to learn this. Maybe someone else will see the value in having a bilingual communicator. 

So, how am I doing it?

It started off in the way that I think most people would start something like this in 2025, I downloaded an app. I started with CBC's app "Mauril." I started up a few levels since, as I mentioned at the start, I do have some foundation in French. I'm not sure how good it would be for a completely new learner. It's a great "5 minutes a day" type app, but it doesn't do much teaching things like grammar or proper speaking. 

For that, I turned to my library. I was delighted to find that my local library provides free subscriptions to a few paid language learning services. I've started with a service called "Mango". I like how it teaches French, but it's teaching Parisienne French, which sounds very high-society to me. It's very refined and snooty. 

Of course, if you read anything about learning languages, they'll tell you that immersion is the best way to learn. Get all the exposure you can. Well, that's easy to say. Not so easy to execute. I can't exactly drop my life for six months to move to Trois-Rivieres. Or even to Gravelbourg - even if they have excellent mustard. 

But we live so much of our lives on our digital devices, and I CAN change my languages there. It started by changing the language on a few of my favourite games like Balatro and Minecraft. Then I updated the language on my phone, followed by my laptop. Updating your device language is a bit of a shock and has been the hardest to adjust to so far. The option to switch back is always there, and the temptation is strong when you're trying to find something in settings. But I've muddled through for a couple of weeks now. 

One of the more subtle benefits of Mauril isn't in the exercises they do but in the suggestions they make at the end of your lesson. After you've passed your little quiz, it gives you a little daily challenge like, "read out your directions to work in French", "make a recipe in French," or "listen to a podcast in French." It gives you these little daily tasks that you can translate further, immersing yourself without annoying everyone around you. Unless you share your daily calendar with your wife. Then you get snarky questions about who "porter vert" is. 

One of the places I feel most successful in my learning journey is listening to podcasts and the news. It always starts off pretty rough, and I'm only picking up a word or two. But by the end of the podcast, I'm pretty engrossed and understanding most of what's being said. I could have also been listening to the Maple Leafs lose in French - I could probably catch a few games where the Riders play the Alouettes in French this summer, too. 

Back to the resources available at my local library, I downloaded "The Three Musketeers" by Alexandre Dumas, or as I've downloaded it, "Les trois mousquetaires". The book was originally written in French and I've always wanted to read it as written. I've read the translation a few times. 

And there are many resources I haven't tackled yet either. Duolingo is still out there, as are the other couple of language platforms that the library offers. I've considered finding a pen pal or even a discussion partner online to chat with in French. I'd also like to take on some creative projects in French, maybe write a song or do a Minecraft "let's play." Or maybe yet another blog, but this time in French? I want to find more French music that I like. I'm just dipping my toes in that as well. 

And finally, once my accounts started to realize that I was consuming a lot of French media and making a lot of French searches, my advertising followed. So now I get about 50% of my advertising pushed to me in French as well. 

Overall, I'll say this. I don't think there's been a better time in history to learn a new language on your own. Our connection with devices and technology is so strong that gradually moving all of those systems over to your goal language will begin immersing you. While there are many paid services out there, I've been able to access everything for free so far, with the exception of about $10 I spent at Value Village to buy a French/English dictionary and a grammar book. I don't think I'll need to take on any paid stuff unless I choose to take a French university class or something to legitimize my learning. But that's a goal for 2026, I think. And maybe I'll buy a French rhyming dictionary if I choose to write a song, but there's gonna be a website that does that as well. 

Have you considered learning a new language or strengthening one you know? Do you have resources I didn't list here? What would you do different if the language is a computer language? Do these ideas help you apply any other kind of learning?

Not Into It?

Suppose it's my day to blog but I'm not really in the mood for the fun I had planned. 

Was unsuccessful in the job I was applying on. I got a reasonable consolation gig but it still stings. 

Have a couple weeks off work, had some holiday to use up. Dug into fixing the camper today only to find the cable I'd ordered last summer for it was too small. Shrinkflation indeed. 

I'm mostly just trying to think about how I have time, some gumption and a few resources. I need to keep going and something interesting will happen. 

I have weird ideas for fun things. But I also gotta spend a day fixing a camper only to end up a square one. 

Oh and what was with that Conclave? Leo?  Fourteen no less. Pope Denis would have been one of a kind. Makes a guy wonder when the last year with three Popes was. 

Pilon for Pope - 2025

 The news arrived about two weeks ago: Pope Francis passed away at the ripe old age of 88. After much mourning and chest-beating, the Catholic Church is now finally in a position to pick a new pope. 

I come to you today, as I did about 20 years ago, to share why I think my father, Denis, should be elected to the highest office in the Church when the Cardinals enter the conclave tomorrow. 

Now, we had a lot of fun with the papal election back in 2005, and things got pretty silly. There were Photoshopped photos of Dad with a big ol' Pope hat on, and we all had a good laugh. Even a couple of weeks ago, I put together a song to start the campaign. But I was informed this weekend that it was so unfunny that it didn't even merit comment. 

Ouch. 

But you know what? Maybe there's some truth to that. After all, the Vatican, and the Church in general, are pretty serious institutions. They deal with the very word of God and have influence over the entire planet. Maybe if I took this a little more seriously, the Cardinals would actually pay attention. So we're going to take a more serious and measured approach to this campaign. I present to you, Pilon: Papacy with Panache. 

With a rich, dark green background and golden text in a classic Gothic font, the campaign can't help but grab the attention of even the most serious and devout Catholics. And the promise of a pope with some panache will grab the attention of the progressives in the Church who are looking for someone with some personality. 

So, what changes and promises will Pope Denis bring to the table? I'm glad you asked. 

Here for your review are some of the changes and new rules that Pope Denis will bring to the Catholic Church. 

• The announcement of the new Pope will continue to be done via smoke signal, but it will now involve the Cardinals smoking many fine cigars. 
• The Popemobile will be upgraded to include a humidor and a scotch cabinet. 
• Wherever possible, stonework will be removed from Vatican City and replaced with fine woodworking of teak and walnut. This will make it more environmentally friendly somehow.
• Strict "no losers" rule in the Swiss Guard will be enforced.
• We're moving the immovable ladder. Just over one window. We'll act like we have no idea. 
• Upgrading communion hosts to personal pan pizzas to align better with the Italian roots of the church. 
• Blood of Christ upgrading to Mountain Dew: Code Red. 
• We're going to laminate the Shroud of Turin. Scientists keep showing up trying to do tests, and frankly, they've done enough. 
• Weekly "prophecy parties". We'll bring the Holy Bong of St. Peter out of retirement. 

The Cardinals head into the Conclave tomorrow, so call your Church offices today and make sure the message gets through that the only proper pope is a pontiff with panache. Let's make sure they know who we really want for Pope!