My Ambrosia

I sit in my dimly lit room, the day's sun already expired. Winter is upon us now; the first snow happened last night as we stood freezing on a balcony getting air. Like a glove it slapped our faces, and funneling between the surrounding buildings, it whipped at our coats mercilessly. The winter is a time of profound coldness-- a feeling I personally abhor-- but paradoxically, also of warmth. In a battle against the elements, people don sweaters and they light fireplaces. Even metaphorically they are warm; season's greetings abound, and cheeriness permeates even the most frigid of hearts. Seasonal drinks become popular too, from hot chocolate to pumpkin spice lattes to hot toddies of all sorts. I'm enjoying a beverage as I write, but it isn't anything special like those. Or perhaps in a way, it is the most special of drinks.

Minute Maid is a company that makes juice. Maybe you've heard of them? Right now I am drinking their patented Fruit Punch blend, a concoction that the manufacturers claim is comprised of grape, pineapple and apple. I honestly couldn't parse out the individual flavours myself; maybe at one point it was possible, but to me now, I only taste one flavour: Fruit Punch. Remember in The Matrix when we learn how the crew of the Nebuchadnezzar sees lines of code on a monitor as a vivid image that the code is actually describing? I guess that's sort of like me with Minute Maid Fruit Punch; I've been drinking this shit so long that I can't see the inner workings of it anymore.

They Say Rap's Changed, They Wanna Know How I Feel About It

One look at me is enough for most people to assume that I'm a wealth of knowledge about the "rap game." After all, I'm white, I dress like an upstanding citizen, and I drive a van. Now if I don't belong in a rap video, I don't know who does.

Alright fine, I'm no expert when it comes to hip-hop (when did they start calling it hip-hop instead of rap, anyway?), but since I enjoy a variety of musical styles in my leisure time, I am occasionally involved in the pastime of listening to rap music. It just so happens that I've been listening to quite a bit of it lately, and I've got some random thoughts to write about. Maybe they will form some sort of cohesive blog post in the end? Let's find out.

Item 1: Dr. Dre has released a single off of his long-awaited new record, Detox. Outside of a few featuring credits in songs, this is the first new Dr. Dre song that I've heard since his 1999 LP, 2001. Eleven years! Dr. Dre has always been my favourite rap artist, and I consider 2001 his best work, so I've literally been waiting almost half my life for a follow-up to it. Can it possibly appease his fans after that long a time? The closest comparison I can think of is when George Lucas brought out the new Star Wars trilogy-- and we all know how those were received. If the single is any indication though, it seems like Dre hasn't lost the magic. "I Need a Doctor" is a solid track to be sure, featuring a catchy beat and inspired lyrics by Eminem, that culminates in a grand return by Dre wherein he calls out "fairweather" friends and professes his love to Eminem. It gets borderline bromantic between the two of them, and it's not the best song Dre's ever produced, but it's not a bad start; I can't wait to hear more. Supposedly Detox is finally coming in February, but I've been citing release dates for it since grade nine, so we'll see.

The Christmas in November

Have you ever been involved in a well-executed surprise party? It's rare. Have you ever been the subject of a well-executed surprise party? Rarer still. This past weekend, I had the wool pulled over my eyes like you wouldn't believe.

It was Saturday night, and my bandmates Lana and Stefan had just picked me up because we were going out to dinner to celebrate my birthday. I admittedly was fine with a low-key weekend because I had been busy all week with assignments, and I needed the weekend to study for a critical Monday exam. I didn't plan anything big for my birthday because of this (and also because it seemed like a bunch of my friends were going to be out of town or otherwise occupied this weekend...), so I was fine enjoying dinner with my favourite guitarist and drummer. At least I thought I was fine with it; I later had a couple different people tell me that I had been mopey during the days leading up to my birthday. Truth told, I had a small compunction about the dinner, feeling like I was a little bit of a charity case for Lana and Stefan.

As we rounded the bend onto the main street that would take us to the new Chinese joint Blue Rice (a terrible name by any measure), Lana informed us that she had forgotten her wallet, and that we would have to stop by her place to pick it up first. This was not unbefitting of Lana's usual character, so I didn't bat an eye at our detour. To sweeten the pot for us, she claimed she had just set up her drum kit in the basement, and naturally we would want to see that shit.

So we all went inside the condo to see the drums. Except the drum kit was very much unassembled, and in its place was a surprise party waiting for yours truly.

My Obsession of the Moment

As I hastened through the chilly moonlit campus this evening after class (thanks to daylight savings, it's officially pitch black outside when I head home), my thoughts drifted from those of Personality Theory to something more gratifying. In actuality, to say my thoughts "drifted" isn't quite accurate. No, ever since Saturday when I embarked on this new adventure, the machinery of my mind has been dominated in one form or another by it. The schema of the person known as John has fundamentally shifted, and where there was once resolute calmness in my mind, now there dances unrelenting thoughts of tactical skirmishes and square grids that cover all terrain.

I'm talking about Final Fantasy Tactics, people.

How many readers did I just lose? Yes, I'm blogging about a video game. But it's not lame! Alright, I guess it is about as nerdy a game as they come, but it's addicting as hell. I downloaded it on my Playstation a few days ago, and I've become pretty taken by it! Which isn't great, considering it's a busy time of year school-wise...

Innocence Found

Every so often, in a completely pedestrian and non-creepy way, I watch the neighbourhood kids playing on the street that my house is on. The people who live across the road have three children, all of which I remember seeing as babies. The youngest (whom I had a very one-sided conversation with the other day) isn't speaking yet, but she is certainly up and walking around. It feels like it wasn't long ago that their oldest was just a baby himself. I can't help but reflect on time and how its flow is both speedy and unstoppable.

Sometimes I feel like I'm still a kid myself-- that is, until reality's cold hand slaps me in the face.

My younger sister and her friend came to watch my buddies and I play baseball a few months ago. It's the same pastime we've been engaging in for years: just the neighbourhood kids playing America's favourite sport. That's how it read in my mind at least, until my sister's friend commented that she wasn't expecting to see a bunch of grown men on the field in the park. It was then that I stepped back and noticed the beards, the selectively aging physiques, and the beers in hand… no, she was right; these people were a far cry from being children.

My Favourite Sitcoms That Aren't Seinfeld

I received a lot of feedback from people about my last blog post. While everyone seemed to like it, there were some complaints about it being a little too sad. Well, here is news for you people: life can be sad sometimes. Sometimes you are the better half of a set, and you just get pulled down because your partner is holding you back. Off the top of my head, it occurs to me that it's the plot of that new Marky Mark/Christian Bale joint, so don't pretend like it doesn't happen.

Despite this blog's commitment to bringing you the Hard Facts of Life, I figured I'd lighten things up around here anyway! And what better way to do that than by talking about sitcoms?

Once upon a time, I wrote for an independent gaming publication, and I wanted to do a "Top 10" feature. I was told by our editor that doing Top 10 features are shameful and pander only to the lowest common denominator. But guess what, this is my blog, and we're doing one!

That editor was sort of a douche anyway.

So without further ado, my favourite classic sitcoms! (To keep things interesting, let's leave my obvious favourite-- Seinfeld-- out of the mix this time. It would take the top spot naturally otherwise.)

The Swift Hand of Injustice

I bought a pair of mitts today. Mainly because I heard it might snow by the end of the week. I like them-- they have little tips on the thumbs that fold back so you can text with them on and everything-- but I'll be returning them tomorrow.

You see, I discovered when I got home that the lining on the inside of one of them wasn't properly sewn on, and as a result, it bunches up when I put my hand in there.

Now, this strikes me as sort of a tragic thing. Here we have a pair of mitts, one perfect in its purpose, and its counterpart, marred and hopeless. In this age of disposability, there's no chance the store will take the bad mitt in and fix it. They'll just toss it. That's life, I guess… there's no room for the weak in this world, right?

But what about the other mitt?

For no fault of its own, that perfect mitt has been given a life sentence in a landfill. It'll never keep a hand warm. It'll never enjoy that simple pleasure derived from just doing its job.

It is saddening. Tragic? Maybe I've convinced you so.

Maybe I will wear the mitts on my way to the mall tomorrow so the good one can experience a taste of life before its flame is extinguished. Or would that be cruel on my part?

Yes, ignorance is bliss. Better to not let it know what it will be losing forever.