Breathless in Time-Lapse

This video just left me completely breathless, and I didn't even get half-way through it:

CANARIAS TIMELAPSE from luis garcia de armas on Vimeo.

The shot of the clouds scraping the tops of the mountains at the 50 second mark put me over the edge and into chills and gasps.


I HAVE TO SEE THE ROCKIES!




Edit: After posting the above, I finished watching the video. And not only was I breathless, but I was COVERED in pins and needles. Not the slow kind that creep up on you, but the super high frequency buzzing kind that travel in waves over my whole body.

I know it's good chills when it's not just limited to the back of my neck or my arms. But ALL OVER MY BODY!


Astounding.

No Frills Sunday Morning

I just took the Vanagon to the local No Frills grocery store. I used to love their bargain basement prices. But they're lack of selection and terrible produce gave me stink face this morning. :P

Back to Loblaws next time. I'll overpay to be able to browse the Lego section of the grocery store. :^P


So last night was the BIGGEST breaks party EVER since I've moved back. And I spent the night unshaven and stinky on the couch playing Xbox 360. Yelling at young children on Halo and telling them not to use so many cuss words because they're shrill screams were distracting my old brain and making it impossible for me to concentrate on the game. LOL

Maaan I'm old.


I passed up a chance to dance to funky break beats to stay at home?


There was even an envelope of CASH waiting for me at the venue if I had just GOT there.



Long story short, my Van is un-drivable right now. And my two possible rides downtown never came through, so I used it as my excuse to be lazy and stay home. I think that speaks volumes about my desire to stay here. I think it's pretty safe to say that I'm "over it".


As much as I LOVE to dance, and I mean, LOVE to dance to breaks. I just couldn't handle the idea of writing off an entire weekend for it.

It's so FAR to get downtown from here, that if I go down on a Saturday night and have a drink, then I don't make it back until late the next day. (Once I'm downtown, there are obligatory "next day" hangouts and lunches and bla bla bla. The weekend is a write off.)


So I stayed home, like a bitter old fart. But now I'm up and at them and ready to do some work! I went out this morning and got groceries and breakfast and coffee, and now I'm here and not hungover!


I am quite concerned about the Vanagon though. I got another parking ticket to top it all off too.

The engine is very loose. Rattling against the frame, badly. The poor thing is backfiring and quitting like mad. It's loosing power at speeds, (the engine just suddenly and randomly stops responding to pedal inputs for a few seconds at a time).

I've found a local (like 5 minute drive away!) guy who supposedly does great work and knows these things well. I'm gonna call him tomorrow and take it in for an assessment. As much as I like to think I'd do the work on it myself, it clearly has not happened yet. It would be different in Stratford sitting in my Dad's drive way. We could jack it up and crawl underneath it and tinker away. But I live on a busy street in the Saug, and I've already been told I can't work on it in the underground because of the oil leak. So I'll take it to the professionals and ask them to make me a list of things I should do to it, so that I can start a bit more of a clear plan as far as the finances go.


I've never been one to save money. Rather, I figure out how much I'm going to need for a given event, and then chase it. Not knowing how much the Van repairs are going to cost, means I haven't set aside anything for it. I think if I can take it to these guys tomorrow, and chuck them 87$ bucks for an hours worth of peeking around, then hopefully they can give me a list, with priorities, and dollar figures. Then I can start to take some real steps towards making this great beautiful beast of mine road worthy.


My buddy Rob had some grand ideas for what we could do to it in the interior, to make it pimp. But I want her guts to be working correctly first. Then we'll worry about making it flashy and funky.




Speaking of which, I owe Rob a vector file of the skunkworks logo. I'm gonna get on that now!


I've gotta get back into the mindset of planning for this trip. I need to be making at least one step towards my goal every single day. It doesn't have to all happen at once, but one thing, each day, and I'll make it!


Today's steps:

Research the repair centre. Check
Create vector for Rob. going to check now!

The Pendulum Swings

And of course, and I knew it would, the pendulum continued to swing. And I hit a breathless high today after my stagnant low last night. Today I had unparalleled clarity and focus. I busted my ass and got a TON done. Despite 5 hours of sleep!


So is my pendulum building speed? Or will it slow down now after this little episode?


I have a feeling it's NOT going to calm down. Things are going to get crazier over the next two months. Did today really happen? Did all of those opportunities REALLY present themselves with such synchronous serendipity?


Ugh.


Alright, that's enough!


So You Think You Can Dance is on. And I got wordy enough last night. Or rather, early this morning.


Oh lord, the first same sex Latin ballroom couple is auditioning! They fell. Ugh! The poor Dears.

The message behind the Insomnia?

I've been making a conscious effort lately to ask for less. Less help, less handouts, less time... but mostly, less advice.


I don't know where I read it. Maybe I thought it myself! But not likely. No I think someone told me something along the lines of... NO WAIT! I remember! I remember where I heard it. It was in a "self help quotes" book on the table in a waiting room. It said "Beware those who ask for guidance". It was a business book. One of these "read all of these leader quotes and POOF, your a leader" ones. But this particular quote, struck me. I became immediately embarrassed by it when I read it. I was that guy. The guy who would slack off all morning, then go up to the boss after lunch with a bunch of questions that made it seem like I'd been real busy. I always knew the answers to these questions. Asking was nothing short of wheel spinning futility. Beware those who ask for guidance. What an odd thing to put in a leadership book. But man, did it strike THE chord for me.


So I started to make a conscious effort not to ask for so much advice and help. I can't ignore the procrastinator or the slacker in me anymore. It used to be I could just walk to the desk and ask the question, and that would make me feel better. Like I'd made some steps towards actual productivity and it was ok for me to go back to the desk and watch some more YouTube clips...



But that slacker is starting to piss of my dreamer. He's getting in the way, big time. And I'm not really able to float along quite as carefree as before.


Which brings me here. 2:18am. My fourth day of lying in bed more then 2 hours (three tonight so far) and just staring eyes open, wide awake. My mind racing a mile a minute.


The Dreamer is getting angry again.


Sure, I'm doing some cool things. Some photos. Some videos. Even a song. But I still can't help but feel like I'm slacking off. Not quite working hard enough. Still spending too much time on things that don't move me forward.


See, I don't even need my Dad around 24-7. I can bring my guilt level to a boil all on my own!







Yeah so anyway. Enough tired self loathing. Back to the "I'm trying to ask for less advice" thing.


See, there was a real paradigm shift that day in that waiting room. "Beware those who ask for advice"...


I used to ask for a LOT of advice.

I'd ask the same question to 5 people trying to make a decision.

What I've realized, is that I almost NEVER REALLY want any advice. I just want my already formed opinion to be confirmed and validated.

Why?


Why do I have such a need for external validation?








So I'm realizing more and more, that I've had all of the answers all along. Lately, when something has been on my mind, and I've gotten back into the pattern of presenting myself with two or more options. Despite knowing which option is best nearly right away, I entertain the others for much too long. Humming and hawing, and never really committing until the very last second! Like, last minute panic is the only thing that washes away the guilt I inherently end up feeling for choosing something just because I want it!


I'm a very empathetic person, and almost always see both sides of an issue. I frequently pick the road that will make other people happier then the one that will make me happiest. If I made two Sandwiches, I have to give the other person the better one. I've always been this way. If I take the good sandwich, the guilt tears me up inside and I can't enjoy it.

Anyway. I'm a people pleaser I suppose. Always want to make sure the people around me are happy. No, that's slightly dishonest. Always want to make sure the people around me are happy WITH ME.





Boy, we're getting somewhere tonight aren't we? Look at all of the worms they fit into that seemingly tiny can! Amazing!





I knew I wasn't going to be able to comfort myself with a few lines of dribble thumb tapped out on an iPod tonight. I disconnected the computer from the hive (external monitors, power cords, external hard drives, tablet, printer, etc etc) and brought it to bed with me. I actually watched a bunch of YouTube hoping it would put me to sleep, with no success.


There's far too much on my mind.


I hardly use this thing as a "laptop" lately. It's easier to leave it all plugged in to the collective. Funny how when you have a Terabyte of Data on an external drive, how meek and meager a 232gig drive seems when it's laptop only.





I'm digressing slightly.



The point is, that I'm not writing this to ask for advice. I hope, through this conscious effort I'm making NOT to ask for advice, then I'll be able to work out the true answer on my own. Instead of asking people's 'opinions' in a controlling and suggestive way that coaxes them into feeding me the answer I want. The one I've already subconsciously chosen.


I suppose I'm being a bit hard on myself. We all yearn for the approval of our peers. But I just think that since I was made aware of this fault, by that random waiting room quote, that I would be dumb to ignore it. It's a sign, and an opportunity to grow passed an obvious short coming. As well as a chance to empower myself to be more in control of my own fate and progression.



You know. Maybe that quote wasn't "Beware those who seek guidance". I think now that I reflect a bit more, that it was "Beware those who seek approval!". Yeah. That was it! Approval was the key word.


I read this as I was waiting to see a counselor about a relationship that I already knew was over. But I selfishly wanted to pay a professional to tell me I was right one more time. So there I'm sitting in this waiting room, on this self serving mission to receive approval for a feeling I had in my heart, and a book slaps me in the face with a palpable reality check.



BEWARE THOSE WHO SEEK APPROVAL.




It's kindof a catch 22. Real rock and a hard place. Because on the one hand I have all these aspirations of being this successful person. And I'll need to get plenty of approval from people if I'm going to make lots of moneys doing the things I'm passionate about.


But I think that's a different kind of approval. A kind I won't have to go FISHING for so directly. I shouldn't have to fish at all. It should just come flying at me because I worked really hard and made something amazing. Not because I slacked off 70% of the time and pulled a magic rabbit out of my ass at the last second, and then presented the rabbit like I'd busted my ass over it and it deserves 100% approval and praise.


I'm getting better. I'm putting more heart into things earlier. Not waiting for "last minute panic" to be my only source of work-horse motivation. Finishing things on time, or early, and then rewarding myself.


But I'm still looking around for answers when I have them already in my hand. Still choosing to wage the debate in lieu of taking the action that only I can see is clearly necessary. Climbing up ladders to see over hedges when I'm already in the right courtyard.




So I've been back and forth, nay MANIC, over the last few days. Really struggling with WTF I'm going to DO with myself in the next month. My time in "paradise" is almost over. Ivan has taught me a lot, and we've shared many laughs and smiles. But I'm way too comfortable here. There's no fighting to survive. Life is EASY. Too easy. Cushy, and comfortable, and EASY!

I hate it.


I'm miserable.


This condo is so fucking nice, and has every imaginable amenity any person could ever ask for. And it's driving me nuts, because none of it is mine.


I want mine.


I want to own a Condo, or a house, or a NICE vehicle. No offense Vanagon. You've got mad style, but underneath it all your an unreliable piece of shit! Wow. I can't help but point that sentence back at myself.



So I think this is me making a decision here. Trusting my instincts. And NOT seeking advice or approval. Like I said I've been back and forth like CRAZY. One minute, I'm staying and moving to downtown Toronto and getting a job with a design studio. The next minute, I'm still leaving to go to BC. I guess I've been more on the side of "still going to BC" for most of the time. But the last three weeks, since I visited Orillia, I had a perceived change of heart. A friend wanted to get an apartment downtown, and keep his house in Barrie. Leaving me with a downtown apartment I could afford, but had to myself on weekends. I was pumped! I didn't have to leave! Another year in slackers paradise! But no, I wouldn't be slack, I would have a full time job! Great, so waste someone else's time for 8 hours a day and then come home and smoke until I didn't care anymore.


*sigh*


That's just not going to cut it for me. I clearly need to leave. I've fallen into a rut of comfort and routine. I need a challenge. I need a mountain. A race. A space flight. A path to follow. Even if (especially if!) it's a path to the unknown and undecided!


Nigel said I should stay in Toronto and reap the rewards of my education...

His opinion, and approval, weighed heavily in my recent battle to talk myself into sticking around.

It's hard to think of Nigel being wrong about anything. But Nigel doesn't know Toronto and Me. About the old bad habits. And stagnant social circles. About how EASY it is for me to live here, because I've fought for the approval of so many people, and have it sitting here waiting to save me from ever having to challenge myself.





So as quickly as the option to get the apartment downtown with my boy materialized three weeks ago, it disappeared today. And with it, my "easy out".




Ivan is a great friend. And a very smart one. He agreed to let me come stay with him, but only temporarily. He's given me everything I could possibly ever need to be fully comfortable here, and once I've had a 6 month taste of the life of luxury, organization, property ownership, style and success, he's gonna pull the magic carpet right out from under me! God bless his brilliant mind, and quiet anti-confrontational, brilliantly subtle and effective guidance.


I flipped the script today and decided with near certainty that the show must go on. I have to keep moving. I have to see the country. I have to make my photo book. And dammit, I have to make my web series of regularly uploaded videos so that people can follow my misadventures.


It's like, the question of how I'm going to connect to the internet while I'm on the road, iPhone, Blackberry, or Rogers stick. The moment I THOUGHT of the question, the TRUE answer presented itself to me in CLEAR AND PLAIN ENGLISH!

DO NOT GET A ROCKET STICK, BECAUSE IF YOU HAVE INTERNET 24-7, THEN YOU'LL NEVER ACCOMPLISH ANYTHING! YOU'LL PARK THE VAN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AND CHAT WITH PEOPLE ONLINE ALL NIGHT!

Sure, I'll upload lots of pics (to Facebook, even though they look ugly, that's where I get my most character validating feedback) but I'll never get around to editing any of the videos! On the OTHER hand, if I don't HAVE internet access 24-7, then I immediately open up a new element to my adventure! WiFi hunting! I can picture days at a time where I'll have limited to no access to the internet! PERFECT time to work on video editing! NO DISTRACTIONS!


So I had that answer the MOMENT I thought of the question. Yet, over the last four months, I've wasted COUNTLESS people's time. Asking them their advice on what my best option was for internet coverage on my journey.


PFffft.



wtf!?







So. How can I turn this blog entry into something productive now. Instead of just a sleepless, self deprecating rant of vague intent?





Maybe I don't have to. Maybe this "blog" thing will serve me much better 10 years in the future, when I come to another fork in my road, if it's not filled with fluffy crowd pleasing filler. If it's just raw, un-edited verbosity. A truthful historic recount of that sleepless week I had on the brink of insanity in Mississauga in 2009.

I must say; spewing truth untapped from the bowels of your psyche is a terrifying, and liberating ordeal. I highly recommend it!

I also highly recommend thinking twice the next time your going to ask for advice! Oh dammit, here comes the "G.I.Joe, knowing is half the battle" moment I was just specifically trying to avoid.


*sigh*


I'm such a cheese ball. Way too many television shows have shaped my vernacular into a formulaic and contrived dribble. I always feel the need to "wrap up" my posts with a Cosby show moment. Breaking everything down into one clear cut, endearing lesson...




Ivan agreed when I told him in the car on the way to the Ultimate game, that there's probably something out on the road that's still waiting for me to learn. It's becoming pretty clear now, after four nights of laying awake and alert, thinking it all over in my head.


The fact that my boy can't take the apartment with me was just the sign I needed help me listen to myself. I can see now that I've been SCREAMING the truth at myself from beneath a layer of thick, flashy, bright, shiny, big city bullshit. I want to maximize these next two months. Make as much noise, and do as many new things as I possibly can. Hopefully make a couple thousand dollars more then I'm currently pulling in, and sink it into the Van. Give the beast a fighting chance to get us to the west coast.

She'd sell in a SECOND if I got her to Cali. And for twice what I paid!


I wonder if you can enter America with "selling my Van" as your purpose for visiting.






Anyway. Think twice before asking for advice. You may already know EXACTLY what you want, you just have to turn off your internal critique, and silence the popular vote filter. "DO YOU" as a wise man once told me. I wish I remembered his name. Chris I think? DO YOU he said. That was the name of his production company, and also a brilliantly simple piece of advice. Cool black guy I worked with in a Radio Shack like 7 years ago. He made movies. I helped him once by drawing him some stills from one of his shots. Sort of a reverse engineered story board. I think he needed a board for funding, and had shot the footage without one. So we paused his film a few times and I banged out some story boards. Story board artist! Now THERE is a fucking job I could sink my teeth into! A job where I can draw all day, and never finish a single drawing!!

*swoon*

IDEAL!


:^D


The west coast makes movies.

I'm gonna go make some movies. And draw some story boards. Fuck graphic design. I really hate designing for print. It's a pain in the ass. Maybe if I'd taken Sandy and Nigel's advice and gotten into die cuts, and cool substrates, then I'd get a little more excited about it. But clients can never afford foil stamps. Or embossing. Or interesting cuts. So I'll chase this web design thing, and this movie making thing, until it gets me in the door with some story board people. And some interactive new media types.

I wonder if I'll make babies with someone before I get a chance to go back to school for industrial design. Maybe I'll hate industrial design like I hate print design. If I get frustrated by 2D pre-press, imagine 3D factory stuff. LOL


Another bridge for another time.


it's 3:13 am now. I'm gonna shut this sob story up before it consumes all of my sleepable hours. Maybe now that I spewed all of this out into cyberspace I won't have such a busy mind when I go to try and close my eyes again.





Man. What a burden, to realize I'm in complete control of everything, and have all the answers myself. Ignorance is bliss... and I aint ignant!






Oh sweet. I just noticed the list of keyboard shortcuts under the post box. I can hit Control - P and this will publish!



BAM!

Come on now! A blog post from an iPod?

Ok, so it's night two of lying in bed awake long after TV had me out for the count on the couch! There are obviously more things on my mine then just getting my taxes done. On weather I typing on an iPhone is really the dealbreaker I think it is. I was so certain I wanted a blackberry... Like I was certain that I wouldn't be staying in Toronto longer then a few months... Oooh jeze, yeah, typing on this damned this gets laggy and annoying... And when the auto speller thingy does it's corrections he results can be hilarious! For example, I typed Ooooh in the last phrase and it substituted Pooh no word of a lie... Maybe the next time I can't sleep and insist on blogging from my iPod I'll allow all of the auto spell discrepancies to go uncorrected :^) aaaAah very clever Apple, auto capitolizing the 'P' in iPod for me as I type... But yes... There is clearly much more on my mind... All of the projects due, and the lack of return I'm getting on most of them. My taxes. My sisters business proposal thinger. My busted up Vanagon. I want to spend sooooooo much money on that thing. I had to type this entry just so I would stop reading articles about people putting bigger engines in them. Spending 15,000$ on one of these fuckers just to have a stylish AND reliable ride!? I could sell tje Van and buy a 10 year old Golf and a Mac Pro with that coin! Ooooh man that magnifying glass ainmation this damned thing uses to show me where I'm moving my cursor to is so damned gorgeous! Darnit! Why do I have to be such a sucker for style! I know his is a terrible typing experience on a puff upped and bloated laggy interface! But here I am! tapping away on it like it's my job!

Well, this entry didn't quite have my usual zest for storytelling and linguistic nuance. LOL

But it felt good. In a controled chaotic nothing for nothing sake kind of way.

:^)


And as I did on Twitted last night, I do on here tonight; come ooooon Sandman!

co

My Blog is Jealous of Twitter!

I mean, no offense blog! It's just that micro-blogging is sooo damned immediate and gratifying! And convenient!

But alas, some things need more then 140 Characters. (so I split those entries into two tweets! *snicker*)


I want to do some icons. Like, re-design ALL the icons I use on my Mac and replace them. Something unique, like maybe hand drawn cartoonish icons?


Yyyyeeah!


That's what I'm gonna do! As soon as I take these other 7 things off my list!


:^)

Backdoor to Clubland

My journey into Clubland Toronto was unique to say the least. I would say I came into it backwards compared to most people. My trip down nightlife lane differed in that I became a club promoter, before I was ever a club goer!

It all began a decade ago, in late 1999 early 2000. The last millennium. Unbeknownst to me, Raves were just beginning their downward free fall after a rocket like Apogee. (I've heard tales of the famed Freakin' 99 that brought umpteen thousand people to the Dock's. The party that was touted as both the peak of Rave in Toronto, and as the final poke that burst the bubble before the whole thing deflated.)

I was "fresh off the plane" from Prince Edward Island and had Just turned 19 years old. As far as I knew, Friday Nights at the Joker, were the pinnacle of nighttime entertainment.

I was next to straight edge, and barely 10 cents passed a virgin in every sense of the word. When on one fateful day, I was fired from my day job hocking faux designer gear at Chateau Works on Queen St West. Citing low sales numbers as their reason (a valid one. I can't sell Junior Girl 'diva in training' clothes to 9 year old's and their misguided mothers.) I was sent on my merry way. This would start a chain reaction of good fortunes that would profoundly change my life for the better.

In Prince Edwards Island in the 90's, the closest thing to a Rave I'd experienced, was a 50 person party in the UPEI "Barn". I use quotation marks because The Barn was both, it's name, and a true description of the structure! The local disc jockey (my friend Brett Doyle, aka DJ Flycore) played what I later learned was a mixture of trance and progressive house, that we ignorantly and blissfully lumped together into the blanket term "techno". There were pacifiers, glow sticks, phat pants, and even a guy from Detroit who showed me how to "Candy Stomp"! But that was all I'd ever known of Rave up to this point. Just enough to know I loved it and wanted more.

The only other place to hear "techno" in Charlottetown, was on Much Music every Friday night. And I was glued to the TV every week! I had literally moved to Toronto from Charlottetown with the singular focus of becoming an Electric Circus dancer. This had proved far easier then expected, and I enjoyed a long run as a regular on that show in the first year I was here. So Le Chateau had been the perfect place to work as their 50% employee discount helped me furnish my cable TV dance show outfit needs on a weekly basis. When they let me go, I immediately walked across Queen West to a little spot I knew called K.M.R. Mode. K.M.R. was owned by two Iranian brothers. Kevan as I remember was the designer, and his brother ran the books and did the hiring. They sold an eclectic mixture of high fashion dresses and skirts and tops, and low brown rave centric fun fur phat pants and shiny pvc gear for men. They knew my face because they supplied the host of E.C. with her outfits for the show, so I'd haunted their store as an extension of my Much Music experience.


Now anyone who's ever walked down Queen West at the turn of the last decade remembers this place. You may not remember the actual store. But you remember that in front of a doorway, sandwiched between Guess and Steve's music, stood a meek looking fellow in shiny gold pants, a mesh tank top, and some kind of fake sheep skin leopard print jacket. Doing whatever, behind the back, and under the leg, tricks he could to convince you to take his Flyer. Neon paper photocopied flyers touting 50% discount for a seemingly un-ending "store closing blow-out sale". For a short time in one summer, that fellow was me.


So I got fired from Chateau Works, and walked across the street the next day and started handing out flyers for 7 bucks an hour. 7 measly dollars an hour, 8 hours a day. Standing out on that busy hip trendy funky street, handing the same damned flyer, to the same Queen West regulars, 5 days a week!

Until, another eventful afternoon came along. A busy, bright, and sunny Friday I remember. I was approached by an over the top friendly, loose jawed character, who, for the sake of discretion, we will call, Ricky. Ricky may have come across as quite the snake oil salesmen, were it not for his friendly girlfriend, whom I'll call, Helen. Helen played straight to what I would later come to know as Ricky's magic pill induced wacky. The man, jolly and inebriated at 3pm on a Friday afternoon, saw fit to offer me a job handing out flyers for him at a downtown nightclub, that very same night. He liked me, for some strange reason. :^P


"Wadya makin' here, Dude?"

7 bucks an hour!

"I'll give ya 8 if you come do the same thing for me tonight!"

What a guy, that Ricky. Skimming that extra 2 dollars an hour from the 10 dollar per hour budget off the top of my pay! Yet still managing to make me feel good about the 1 dollar per hour raise I was about to receive. I didn't know the standard going rate for club promoter was 10 bucks an hour!


He described the location of this nightclub he wanted me to go to, and assured me that a box of flyers would be waiting at the door with my name on it, and I just had to show up at midnight, and ask the bouncers.

The club was a place I'd never heard of before called "Industry". It was quite far from the regular downtown "club district". But actually very convenient for me since I lived on Beaconsfield Street, just east of Dufferin on Queen West. Beside what was then, The (sketchy) Stardust, and is now The (hip trendy) Drake Hotel.

So, terrified and nervous, but mostly excited and curious, I made my way to 901 King Street West to present myself as "PJ who's here to hand out flyers for Ricky". The bouncer, one of the larger and more intimidating of his kind that I'd ever seen, was friendly enough to set me up with my box of flyers. I was the first promoter there that night. Or at least, the first one to set up and start working. The rest of them were inside, where they should have been! Rubbing shoulders and a getting to know the happy party people, before admitting to themselves, defeated, that the party had started to clear out, and it was time to go out and become a part of the flyer gauntlet.

I'm floored at just how young and innocent I was that first night there. Terrified and lost and up way past my bedtime, I didn't even ask to go inside! I just stood there, and waited for people to come out, and did as I was supposed to. Behind the back, under the leg, spin around with a big smile on my face. Whatever it took to get them to take the flyers!


Some of the thoughts that went through my curious and ill informed mind that first night:


Man, some of these people are really drunk! Maybe they're on dope or something? Some of them seem really fucked up! Whoa, they just pulled that guy out and dropped him on the ground! He hit his head! Is he ok? Is anyone going to help him? Man, that techno sounds awesome! I wonder what it looks like in there!? This is a strange building for a club to be in. It looks like a regular office building! And it's in the middle of nowhere! Holy crap, was that a man? That was a very pretty man! I wonder who all these people are on this flyer I'm handing out? There's a lot of names on here. I've never heard of any of them! Maybe I can quit working for K.M.R. now, since I make more money doing this anyway? And it's closer to home! I don't need to be awake during the day. That's boring. Oh, the guy they pulled out woke up, he's gonna try and get back in. Oh man, I hope they don't hurt him again. Come on guy, just leave. They aren't going to let you back in. He's not wearing a shirt. Someone should at least get him a shirt. Though he's showing no signs of being cold. This place is fucking crazy! What am I doing here? Holy frig, this song sounds awesome!"

*dance dance dance*



Again, I was fresh from the East Coast, and the pinnacle of innocence! And I saw some serious shit go down that night. People of every single race, creed, colour, shape, and size. And in every state of mind expansion imaginable. People who didn't look like the type I'd ever peg to be out at such a scary place at this strange hour. Folks who looked like they held down real money making jobs during the day. And others who looked like they'd sleep in the club on top of some speakers if they could. I saw some things that by all rights should have sent me home packing, never to hand out flyers at night again! But that's not how it went. Some sense or curiosity, or love for the throbbing baselines I could hear coming from inside this place made me crave more. Something made me come back the next week, and the weeks after that. Until eventually I was showing up early for all of my shifts, and dancing my ass off inside where I belonged!



Ricky proved to be a very good first boss despite short changing me and keeping the difference for himself. (he didn't last much longer as the go between for his boss and the street team). He and Helen took me out and showed me a lot of what the REAL scene had to offer. And I started to get less and less interested in making it to Electric Circus on Friday nights.

First I got to go see Sasha and Digweed at Meow on the Lakeshore. That place had a Disco ball so big it didn't fit in one room! They had to cut a hole in the wall for it! Not to mention all the fake boobs and the big muscle men! We didn't have fake boobs in PEI! Glamorous and fancy and really cool. Not particularly my kind of people, or my kind of music. But awe inspiring for a kid so green around the gills! They took me to the parties at Industry, where I got my first taste of V.I.Peej line bypass, no cover charge treatment! And most importantly, they took me to a Breaksfest at the Elmocombo!

Whaaaat is THIS place? And why have I never been HERE before!? These people all dance like ME! They put their elbows up, and kick their feet around! They play with their hats and collars and move their heads around on rubber necks! They're all dressed so FUNKY! Not like the fake boobs and collared shirts of Meow and The Guvernment and The Joker. Everyone in here has crispy fat sneakers on! A club where I'm allowed to wear running shoes? I'm HOME! I'm with my people! B-boys and Girls smiled, and all were happy and approachable! When I danced at people, they danced back, and said hello! This was it for me. I knew the moment I walked in and saw the crowd that I was going to be into Breaks. And that I would chase the breaks around to every opportunity I had to hear them!

I bought my first "tape" that night at Breaksfest. It was a mix by the Electrician. I played that tape until it wouldn't play anymore! It was my favorite tape until I got a copy of Funky Skinny Whiteboy by Robb G. That's another story for another time. (meeting Robb G on the rooftop at Lime Light on a Wednesday, about a year later, and loosing my shit on $2.50 drinks and star struck idiocy. LOL)

I'd finally found my way, and knew where I wanted to be. I'd been brought into the scene almost by happenstance, and from the wrong direction, but I was pumped to be there. That was the very tip of the mountain of what would be a whirlwind three year epic journey! The scene swallowed me up and spun me around, and I wouldn't come flying back out the other end for a while. That first night at Industry was historic, and I'll never forget it. But it was really only the tip of the ice-berg. The characters I'd later meet, and the friends I'd make, could fill countless other posts.

Yesterday I took a drive down King West to # 901. I can't help but chuckle at the irony of Industry; arguably Toronto's most notorious and hottest underground nightclub, turning into a Shoppers Drug Mart. You just can't write stuff like that! Who would have ever thought?!



Seeing Industry turned into a shoppers, and seeing how much Toronto's Queen West and the surrounding club district have been gentrified in the decade since my journey began, really made me feel sentimental and nostalgic.

I took my camera through "The Club District" to see if it really did still warrant to be referred to as such. The photos I got are sure to stir up some memories for lots of people. I'll edit them and drop them in another post next week. Some places I found still intact, save for the name on the front. Others are boarded up and vacant. Other still are just a memory where high priced, high rise condominiums
now stand.


Is 10 years really long enough for me to be writing such retrospectives? I think so. Time passed a lot differently for me in clubland then it does in the real world. A decade is a lifetime! And what I experienced and learned in that first summer as a flyer monkey will be with me forever! I'm a better person for having dove headfirst into that pool. And I'm better for having climbed back out and dried off before I got pruney too.


Ok, enough analogies. Time to start working on these photos!

J-Quality in the mix. New YouTube video!