Cable TV.

It's been a very long time since I've had cable TV. There is a show I stumbled upon called Man vs Food. This "man" goes around to restaurants and eats until he gets the sweats or even pukes! It makes for some really good television, and it gets me to wondering about who comes up with these ideas. I want that job. Then I will have to wait no longer for my reality TV show starring retards. And I'm not talking Jersey Shore retards, but actual bon-a-fide retards starring in their very own show. Fascinating! Maybe throw in a couple midgets too and an indian. Seriously, I should be a TV exec.

NOFX

Hello, tonight I will be attending a soiree at The Fabulous Commodore Ballroom where a loutish fellow called Plump Mike will strum a bass, sing nasally, and act like a drunken ass. There will also be a stinky dread head named Melvin, no relation to the Melvins, and an even more hefty chap called El Heferoni. They will play music of the punkish variety and people will crash into each other. Yes, it sounds quite awful and scary, but I must go for research reasons, and research reasons alone.

...and I'll never get to say goodbye.

My friend Mike Woods committed suicide recently. It's the first person that I've been somewhat close to that has ever done such a thing. I'm not sure how to deal with it, so I've taken to writing a blog in his memory. I think he would have liked that. He never would have told me this, but I think deep down it would have made him smile.

Mike Woods seemed like a very misunderstood character. People saw him and thought he was a psycho or crazy, and I think this was all simply based on how he looked. He was a hard looking dude, and I think seeing him around at shows may have intimidated me a bit before I actually met him. But once you got to know him you soon realized that there was a lot more to this guy than his tough looking exterior. He was really smart, and like me, he had a very dark sense of humour. Because we both housed anti social tendencies it was funny to me that the two of us could get together and talk for hours. Every time I saw him in the grocery store I would stop and talk to him until he told me to fuck off, and that was the kind of guy Mike was. Never sugar coating a thing, and just straight up telling it like it is. He was one blunt dude. After we had finished talking about this and that and bands in the scene he would say, 'OK, fuck off, I've got to go get some groceries.' And I would laugh and walk away. I'm going to miss those chats we'd have outside of Safeway.

Mike Woods was also an avid supporter of the local music scene. After we had become friends he was someone I could always count on to be at the show. He would sometimes call me up on a Thursday night and we would compare our preferences for shows we wanted to go to on the weekend. On weekends with lots going on we'd usually never be able to agree on which were the best shows to attend, and even after he'd tell me he didn't want to go to certain gigs that I'd recommended I'd still bump into him at the show, and when I'd say things like, 'oh, but I thought you hated this band?' or 'I thought you were staying in tonight?' He would nonchalantly shrug it off and that would be the end of it.

Mike's writing was insanely creative. He would always ask me questions about my writing, and I think in a way we kind of competitively fed off of one another in this category. He would tell me the basis to many of his stories and ask my thoughts, which were always, 'sounds heavy Mike, you know me, I just write about bands and fart jokes.'

At one point Mike called me up and said he was setting up a show and wanted me to perform. No big deal. Then he explained that it was not a show for bands, but a show for writers to get up in front of people and do some spoken word. He also said that he wasn't going to take no for an answer. I reluctantly told him that I would do it, but instantly became nervous about what I was going to say. He said 'just tell some stories.' It's a shame that the show never came together, because I was most interested in what Mike was going to get up there and say. But him pushing me to do it was going to broaden my horizons and make me a stronger person. It's funny to think that Mike Woods made me a better person, but I believe he did.

Playing with Mike's band was always a blast. He had some of the best stage banter I've ever heard. One night when The Winston Campaign played the last ever show at the El Dorado all the regular rednecks showed up to bid their favourite watering hole adieu and were rudely awakened to the fact that the punks had taken over to play some loud music in the corner. During their set some guy came up to fuck with Mike while he was trying to play, and Mike kept his cool even though his microphone had fallen off the stand. He calmly finished the song, put the microphone back into its stand, and then went on a verbal tirade. I wish I could remember what he said because we were all laughing so hard. He called out the redneck saying he probably couldn't even do 20 pushups. Then he went off about how everyone came here to have a good time if they liked the music or not, and simply finishing with, 'if you touch my mic again I will rip your head off.' Amazingly it was this moment that brought both sides of the crowd together and had the rednecks respecting the rest of the show for what it was. There was a great clip of it on youtube at one point, but I have since searched for it and unfortunately it looks like the user has taken it down. Maybe Hugh the bassist can get it back up, as I think it was one of his friends that uploaded it in the first place.

My favourite memory of Mike was when I invited him and Dan over to my place to do an interview about The Winston Campaign's epic journey down to Mexico to "play" with NOFX. His humour shined through all night long as him and Dan reminisced about their travels, and I sat back and laughed. We enjoyed a few beverages, and ran over 2 hours of tape. I'm posting an unedited version of what I transcribed from the interview on my other blog, as it had to be seriously cut down to fit in the pages of the magazine. Part 1 is up right now: http://www.undergroundvancouver.blogspot.com

Later that night we went to Dan's girlfriends house as she was having some people over, and in these situations it was always good to have Mike around. Sometimes I feel uncomfortable in social situations where I don't know many of the people around me, but I could always count on Mike to make me feel less awkward. Not because he was more awkward than me, but mainly because, OK yeah, because he was more awkward than me.

I remember another party at my house that I invited him to, and he had no excuse to not come as he lived only two blocks away, and I think he felt out of place. I saw him trying to sneak away and I ran up to him to stop him. He said he didn't know anybody here and couldn't relate to the ones he did try to strike up a conversation with. I told him that he knew me, and that was enough. I don't know what it was, but I wanted to see Mike have a good time and I wanted him to conquer awkward social situations. Then Dan, Juli, and Zoe arrived at that very minute, and he quickly changed his mind about leaving. And he always came back too. Every time we had a party at our place Mike was there to support whichever one of my bands was playing. He was good like that. Even after Jones Bones stopped playing gigs he'd still come out and see Real Problems perform, even though it was obvious that he preferred The JB by a lot.

I think Mike was angry about a lot of things in this world, and I really wish he hadn't felt that he needed to kill himself. I don't know if going back to Cranbrook was a bad idea, and of course I'll always be left with wondering if we had stayed good friends would he be dead now? If I made more of an effort to not drift apart would he have felt he needed to commit suicide?

Part of me hates myself for writing this. Why am I spending all this time on Mike now that he is gone, but over this last year I spent barely any time on him at all. All of a sudden I feel I can be his friend again when it's way too late. The last few times I saw Mike was at shows, and he was hanging out with a really attractive girl. We didn't get a chance to talk much like we used to when we bumped into each other at shows, but he didn't seem to have changed much as he told me to not stand so close to him, a joke of course. A couple days later I wrote him an email to say he needed to come to our next party. He never did reply, or come by, and I never saw him again.

On more than a few occasions Mike would tell me that Jones Bones was one of his favourite local bands, and I always got a kick out of that. And I also remember a time when I bought him a couple beers at a show and before he took them from me he said, 'you know what Denis, you're a really fuckin' nice guy. You mean well and I like that.' I also got a kick out of that. The things he did to boost my ego meant more to me than he could ever know, and as mean as people might have thought Mike looked, he wasn't. I think he was a really fuckin' nice guy that meant well too, and now I wish I could tell him that.

88

About a year ago I met a guy who swore up and down that 88 Fingers Louie (the punk band) were Canadian. I told him he was wrong and he wouldn't shut up until I bet him $10 over it. After we shook on it he drunkenly mumbled something about how a fool and his money were soon parted and I just smirked. I saw him the other night and told him he owed me $10 because 88 Fingers Louie were from Chicago and he still swore up and down that they were a Canadian band. He is dead wrong, but I never assumed that I was going to see that money anyway. I guess he ain't no fool.

Circle The Wagons.

I used to sing in a band called Jones Bones, and on a hot evening in August some 5 years ago we played at The Lamplighter with a band from Nelson called Circle The Wagons. Our friends in Wantmonster, who were also on the bill, got us hooked up with the show, and it turned into a memorable evening. Not because they had cans of Pabst for $2.75, or because Chad would later go on to piss in his bed, but because of the sheer ripping talent that hit the stage.

When these two long haired dudes, and their bald headed drummer took to the stage and fired up their instruments my jaw dropped. This was the most shredding punk rock I had heard in ages. The guitarist was doing solos behind his head, and they were both screaming out vocals from behind all the hair. These dudes looked like metalheads, they played like metalheads, but it all sounded punk rock! You usually can't ask for much more.

And like many good bands, they disbanded. Disappearing in a sea of fast drums and sick riffs. Over 4 years goes by, and my friend, the singer from Wantmonster tells me they are putting the band back together, with him on vocals! So the stage show will become more intense, if it was even possible, and many new tunes are in the works as you read this. This was big news! Bigger news is that they're touring with the Dayglo Abortions, and my band is lucky enough to open up the festivities at the Vancouver stop on April 14th. It's gonna be so rad to see both of those bands again, let alone share a stage with them. If you like punk music and live in the Vancouver area, this show is not to be missed!

And stay tuned to my other blog Underground Vancouver to read a giant interview that I did with the new singer from Circle The Wagons.

Skateboarding.

I saw a guy fall on his skateboard today, and was quickly reminded why I had to give it up.

There was a time when I was pretty OK at skateboarding. I could do some tricks and ollie up curbs and go down hills with speed. But one day while I was doing the latter I hit a rock and flew from my board. I didn't even have time to get my arms up to take some of the brunt of the fall, and my face was the first thing that hit the pavement. Biggest faceplant I've ever done in my life, and I've had my fair share of faceplants. So I scraped myself off the road and realized I was bleeding from the face. I cursed that stupid piece of wood on wheels and swore that when I got home, after scrubbing my wounds, I was going to snap that stupid thing in half. After scrubbing my wounds I got very woozy, had to lay down on the couch and never did end up stomping that fucker.

I'll admit I looked pretty badass with road rash on my face, and I didn't quit skateboarding then and there, but I was never good at skateboarding again. I never tried anymore tricks, I rarely bombed hills, and basically just used my board as transportation to get to and from work. My skateboarding career was over with one really hard fall.

It would have been different if I didn't do any damage to my face, but this is my money maker. When I get a bit older and can no longer rely on my body to work a labour job I'm going to need to turn to my good looks to get me a lavish modeling career. Nobody in their right mind is going to hire a model with road rash on their face, or big scars on their chin where little rocks used to be embedded. So because of this modeling career that I will be relying on to pay the bills (and the modeling career alone) is why I quit skateboarding. It had nothing to do with the pain of scrubbing dirt out of cuts on my face or the feeling faint while I tried to go through menial tasks, no, I simply quit because of the modeling career that I would be putting in jeopardy if I continued to ride a little board with wheels affixed to it.

The Cheese Ball Ending.

Why does every movie insist on having a cheese-ball ending? The good guys always win, the guy and the girl get passed their fight and kiss, and the fat kid finally ends up being accepted by his peers. Fuck it, that's not what life is like. I know, a movie is emblazoned to make you forget about your problems, to lift you into a fantasy world and leave you feeling happy and care free, but just once I'd love to see the bad guys win. I'd love to see the guy pick the wrong girl, and I'd love to see the fat kid get tormented until the end of the movie. Boom, credits.

I suppose this is why I prefer documentaries. They sometimes try to give their story a happy ending, but it's a lot tougher when you're dealing with the real world.

Fake Shopping.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who does this...

So you're at the grocery store, looking at food and you see a guy who is so obviously not there to shop, but more so to fake shop and try and bust shop lifters. No big deal, that's his job, but for some reason these guys always have two things in their basket. Paper plates and a bag of Doritos. Come on now, nobody eats Doritos off a paper plate. So he starts lurking you like you're gonna steal something, and all I can think to myself is, 'damn, am I the shadiest looking dude in the entire store?' And then I quickly get over it and decide to fuck with the guy, therein becoming the shadiest dude in the store.

First you start looking over your shoulder a lot, trying to see who's watching you. Then you stand really close to the shelves and act like you might be putting something in your coat. His interest is sparked and he thinks he's caught someone in the act. Then you look over your shoulder twice more and quickly take off right by him and to the next aisle. Once you're out of eye shot you quickly turn around, standing at the very end of the aisle and wait for his head to slowly emerge around the corner. And this is about the time I would point and laugh while saying, 'you suck at your job!' The closer you are to him the funnier it is. And for about the four times I have pulled this off flawlessly not one of the dudes has said a word to me. Most of them just put their head down and slink away quietly being all secretive about getting back to their fake shopping. So I guess it kind of sucks being the shadiest looking dude in the grocery store, but it would be worse if I sucked that bad at my job. People are stupid.

If I was one of these dudes I'd be lurking around the self checkout stand. Who's going to steal something from a grocery store when you can just pretend to pay for it? An idiot that's who. And at least if you get busted there you can plead ignorance and say you didn't know how to work one of those damn things and no one was around to help. I don't know who came up with the idea of self checkout but poor people owe him a big thank you.