What I am doing: Watching Oprah, who's doing some special on diabetes.  Some woman has no feet because she ignored diabetes until it was too late.  Doctor Oz just showed a pyramid of bags of sugar, then he took away half of it and said "That's how much sugar people were eating a generation ago"  We haven't quite doubled the average sugar intake, but it's getting close.  In one generation. 

My life is just too full at the moment to reply to everyone who has commented, or sent me private emails (Thanks Lionel, you gave me the best advise) regarding my last few posts.  So sorry I can't say thank you to everyone who has commented, but please please please please know that I have read each and every comment and knowing I have such great friends, many of whom feel the same way as me, has been a great inspiration in a week I have felt very very very alone.

I feel like I'm drowning in my desires to be better but Erron gave me some great advise which was to not try and change everything at once. Slowly eat our way through the food we've got and make changes as we can. Erron Anderson is my hero.  I stayed in her house in Saskatchewan for two weeks, recently, when they gave birth to their fourth child.  I figured they could use the help and I thought I was doing them a favour.  And perhaps I was, but really they helped me.  Almost everything in their house is organic and it was a wonder as I helped organize their pantry to think "I know what all this food is, but I don't recognize a single label"  Nevermind know how to cook any of it into a meal. 

I bought massive quantities of candy and ate that as snack food.  I told myself I was on vacation, and also I was definitely on a snack food kick.. I mean, I'm not like that every day, right?  Yeah, I tell myself a pack of lies.  Lies upon lies upon lies to justify whatever it is I happen to be doing at the moment.

Kyle Anderson recently told me how, at first, he wasn't that on board with his wife's push for organic food, cooking from scratch, blah blah blah, y'know, hippy bullshit [my words, not his;  seriously erron, don't be hatin' on Kyle].  But this was in the midst of the conversation where he was telling me about the pig pen he recently built because they're going to raise "bacon" from scratch.  Now, no matter what your politics, you have to admit that "bacon from scratch" is a worthy worthy goal.   But the point was, Kyle wasn't really that keen.. and now, by many people's standards, he's a crazy hippy.  Hell, by many people's standards, I'M a crazy hippy.. but it seems that everyone I actually know is doing far more than me to protect the environment, feed their families healthy, and all that hippy bullshit.  Kyle, you gave me hope.  Because right now Janine hasn't even read the book that changed my life, and Nathan's big thing, lately, is throwing huge massive 1 hour tantrums because... well, who knows... today it was because he couldn't figure out the belt buckles on his high chair.  After the fifth or sixth time he threw himself backwards onto our kitchen hardwood floor, cracking his skull, I moved him to the crib to calm down.  Then I went outside and drank half a beer and smoked a cigar.  then I calmly sat with him in a rocking chair and we tried to find the duck in one of his flip books.  also, the bottle, the cat, the chair, and especially that duck. 

Where was I?  Ah, who knows.  Editing is a luxury I'm going to give up on for today at least. 
Kyle.  Kyle told me how he wasn't that on-board but, like a lot of husbands (especially me), y'know, he's only going to resist his wife so much.  And now he's building pig pens.  He's my hero.  The hope he gave me is that maybe one day my wife will see things the way i do.

Erron.  Erron pushed for change not because she wanted to save the entire world, just her family.  She thought it was what was necessary and she pushed for the change she wanted.  Maybe one day I'll be as brave as her.

Me.  I don't know where I am.  Nathan's going to wake up soon and then I'll have to figure out our meals for the week, and shop for groceries, and wonder if I'm just alienating my readers.  But unlike BSG, I can't pretend to be an expert.  But maybe I can offer up some value by just sharing my journey to being a better cook, a better father, maybe even a better person.

Oprah.  She's still talking about how people are going to die if they don't change their diets.  "If you consume one can of soda a day, you're risk for developing type 2 diabetes increases by 83% a day"  (doctor oz via oprah)  There really is a food revolution going on right now.  And somewhere, somebody unsubscribed to me because I'm talking about a boring shit.  ("as for noncaloric sweeteners such as aspartame or Splenda, research (in both humans and animals) suggests that switching to artificial sweeteners does not lead to weight lost ... it may be that deceiving the brain with the reward of sweetness stimulates a craving for even more sweetness" ~ Michael Pollan/Food Rules)

I never read the food labels either, because it's just way way to much to deal with.  I believe I've gone a bit crazy at the moment (although I'm better than last week) because on top of everything else I deal with daily the support network I had of "you can buy food at a grocery store" has been upended and I feel quite adrift.  But today I ate homemade whole wheat bread (from a bread machine).  I gave up trying to find whole wheat bread flour that didn't have weird chemicals listed in the ingredients (I'll try non-bread whole wheat bread flour instead in the next day or two).  I eat bread & peanut butter & coffee about 75% of mornings and that's where I'm starting.

Maybe I never raise my own pigs, but I am making my own bread.  Perhaps my wife and son are unsupportive or indifferent, but *I* can eat my own bread.  It's a small stupid goal.  What's the point of making your own bread, after all?  It's because *I* can do it.  It's a change I can make, and I _am_ making that change.  See I read the ingredients on the 100% whole wheat 800 million grain bread, and it was full of sugar/fructose-glucose and ingredients I couldn't pronounce.  And even Oprah is on my side.

Well, Nathan just woke up, he's yelling "yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah" repeatedly.  Maybe he's going to be in a good mood this afternoon (that'd be nice).  And Janine just phoned me with hints about what she's going to do for our wedding anniversary this thursday.  And it's time to wrap up this and post it.  Now Nathan's screaming.  Until next time....

Right, so here’s where it gets tricky because I’ve had this internal rule, based on a desire for a stable home life, that I don’t write about my home life that much nor about my wife at all.  It’s not like she’d know because it’s not like she ever reads anything I write.  But if I’m sensational enough I’m certain it would get back to her since most of my readership, about about 95% of people who have ever commented, are friends with her as well.  And 24 hours later, her and I are at peace with one another.  So what’s there to blog about?

Well, let’s review. 

I threw the dog half-way across the yard.  He actually literally shit himself in midair  (I threw a dog from our porch and saw the shit land separately from the dog).  I pulled the indoor door handle off the our truck, I pulled it closed so quickly (in anger).  That’ll cost us hundreds of dollars I’m sure. I destroyed one of our lamps by throwing it on the floor and jumping on it.  Then I took pleasure in bending it into smaller pieces so I could fit it into the trash.  I screamed  (and I mean screamed, beatles and bieber fans had nothing on me) at the top of my lungs at Nathan to shut the fuck up (I had put him in the crib, with a soother, and did not go near him.  I might be a horrible person at times, but at least, today, I knew when I needed to remove myself from my son)

In a typical self-defeating act I chose to eat a bag of potato chips for lunch and a frozen pizza for supper, in direct opposition to my recently adopted eat-no-processed-food mantra.  Because I am nothing if not capable of self-destruction.  Also, somewhere in there I answered a telemarketer purely to scream at him.  In fact, he called back twice.. he hadn’t said anything the first two times because I kept screaming at him.  Somewhere in his first few sentences he asked if I was on some type of prescription medication and admitted he kept calling back because he found me amusing.  This was somewhere around the time I kicked over our couch.  And most shameful of all, I texted the words “we need to talk” to my wife.  I could easily be mistaken, but I don’t think I’ve ever uttered or typed those words before. 

The moral of the story?  For all those people out there who are lucky enough to have a stay at home spouse I have bad news for you.  Something perhaps you’ve suspected all along (and I’ve been on both sides of the arrangement).  Being a stay at home parent is the much much harder job.  Sorry, you lose.  And if you want the laundry done: fucking well do it yourself.  You know damn well where the laundry machine is.

So I’m very likely going to cause myself some more trouble down the road because Janine, despite having been a stay-at-home mom for a year, still feels she was justified in expressing her feelings.  And I very much realize that my various reactions were out of proportion to the cause. You know what?  I am not entirely mentally stable.  I never have been.  I likely never will. 

Seriously.

I have taken on too many projects.  I want to podcast; I want to blog; I want to rearrange our pantry, our kitchen and our entire house to my liking; I want my family members to be perfect automatons that bend their will to mine; I want to suddenly eat organic non-processed, preferably non-meat, meals; I want to convince everyone I know to do the same; I want to write a novel; I want to change the world; I want to switch my phone bill to automatically deduct from my business credit card instead of my personal credit card; I want to finish setting up my media computer; I want to see all my friends constantly; and I really want more alone time.  And I really should begin meditating on a regular basis again.  This list is not nearly exhaustive.

I am pulling myself in too many directions and today I just wanted to curl up into a ball and die, or quit.  As Janine told me (during our hour long conversation prompted by my “we need to talk” text) “Your doing this all in a ‘James’ way, 110% or quit” and it’s true.  I have a problem with the middle way.  Which as a self-confessed Buddhist is a bit ironic.  I am pulling myself in too many directions at once and the attachment to all these things appears to be causing me some deep deep suffering.  But it never feels that way in the moment.  But I suppose it never does.

The last year or two of my writing, I think, has a rather invulnerable feel to it… a natural consequence of spending 10-30 hours on a single post.  I mean, I’ve been choosing topics that I am passionate about and then spend a lot of time on it.  So, yah, I probably read a hell of a lot more about battlestar galactica than you did. But I regret that somewhere along the line I lost the vibe I had during my much older writing, to fearlessly confront the human condition as represented by me.

I am so flawed that sometimes I am amazed that I make it through the day intact.  By the end of today I was calmly reading a book to my son and a girl I was babysitting and asking them both questions like “who can find the sheep?”.  That happened today too.  Perhaps you’re wondering how exactly all of this transpired?  A chronological order giving cause and effect to this very strange day?  But I will deny you that, mainly because I don’t want to relive today in that manner.  I kinda want this day to be over, you dig? The highlights made a good hook, and it all really happened.

Baby steps, I suppose.  Be the change you want to see in the world, but one step at a time.

Baking my own bread.  That I can do.  I can keep baking my own bread.

And one of these days, I’m going to make my own peanut butter.  And crackers.  Since reading the ingredients on whole-wheat-crackers I don’t ever want to eat them again.  Tomorrow I’ll likely be eating a bunch of non-organic non-free-range meat with a bunch of pesticide produced produce.

But I’ll be eating home made bread.

Baby steps.

Step 2: Prove evolution with the help of bees

Step 3: Think “Oh my god, how are we not dead already?” Like, is someone putting stupidity in the water these days?

When we let corporations do the cooking, they’re bound to go heavy on sugar, fat and salt; these are three tastes we’re hard-wired to like, which happen to be dirt cheap to add and do a good job masking the shortcomings of processed food. And if you make special-occasion foods cheap and easy enough to eat every day, we will eat them every day. The time and work involved in cooking, as well as the delay in gratification built into the process, served as an important check on our appetite. Now that check is gone, and we’re struggling to deal with the consequences.

~ Some guy I’m becoming a huge fan of (article gets good, imho, around part 5)

So I’m going to violate all sorts of internal rules and just type, and then post.  Taking inspiration from my friend Cliff, who blogs like its going out of style.  And my friend Chad, who tends to blog about something a bit obscure (World Of Warcraft) and because he talks about his own experiences and doesn’t preach, make the subject fascinating.  I’ve known FoW’s next “theme” for quite a while now but haven’t had time to write at the level of sophistication as when I had a different job (case in point: missing is the blog entry where I quit being a programmer and started being a full time dad)

Food.

I’m starting backwards.  Really I should start telling you about Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution.  But that was soooo three months ago, now I’m all fired up about the last four hours I spent reading Michael Pollan’s random articles.  Except why should I talk about that when, amazing as they are, I should post a book review about In Defense of Food first, as that’s how I first encountered his life-changing prose.  God Dammit, will I ever get to my point?

Food.

Well, if this was a book, or an essay, I suppose I’d start with a paragraph or seven outlining what you might expect to encounter in subsequent entries (though I make no such promises; I’m bad at fulfilling promises).  Don’t click those links, I’m just being thorough.  I’ll get to my point, promise, starting on the next sentence.

Food.

I’m going to spend the rest of my life eating it (or, if I’m not careful, scientifically formulated imitations thereof).  Approximately three times per day.  And until a few months ago I didn’t give a rats ass what I was ingesting.  I had preferences and I knew which nutrients I should avoid (fat, or possibly carbohydrates, or protein? fuck, I’m confused again) but really, I was happy to eat whatever the restaurant, or my wife, or my mother, or whoever, put in front of me.  Jamie Oliver crusaded to improve school lunches first in the U.K. and more recently in America; I caught the TV show (I highly recommend torrenting episodes 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6) and it has inspired me.

I desire to avoid processed foods of all types.  I want to reclaim the family meal.  I want to cook healthy whole meals for my family, friends and anyone else who wanders through my kitchen.  I have resolved to try to be a better cook.  But I’m just a beginner.  Sometimes beginners spend their passion preaching instead of practicing and none of you want to hear me tell you how to eat or what to eat.  And if I ever veer into that territory then I’m sorry because all I want to do is share with you a piece of my life that excites me.  And should I stray, please bitch slap me in the comments.  Seriously, I am a pretentious ass some days so feel free to knock me down a peg any time it seems appropriate

My mother raised me just fine, cooking meals from scratch, passed down by her mother and her mother before.  She taught me to cook and I made meals from scratch; I moved away and forgot it all as quickly as possible.  Now I wish so badly that it had played out differently.  I’ve bought four cookbooks in the last five months and all because I’m craving desperately to reclaim something.  I could spend a hundred thousand words trying to capture what that is, but I don’t yet have a simple phrase to encapsulate it… if I knew what it was, I’d have it already.  But I have the scent.  I know the direction I want to move.  And I want to take my family with me.  And you, even if just a voyeur. 

I want to change my life.  I want to change my food.  I want to eat fresh ingredients, I want to make tasty meals, I don’t particularly want to blog recipies (though I might one day) because that’s as boring as an ikea assembly manual.  Yet I do want to share this amazing treasure I’ve found.  The idea that I can opt out of a system that is selling me bread that thirty years ago would’ve, by law, been required to label itself as imitation bread (at least in the U.S.) 

Notice that I haven’t hyperlinked anything in three paragraphs?  Also, it’s 8 minutes past my absolutely must click publish self-imposed deadline and I haven’t event done the bare minimum of CSS-styling.  Time to end this post then.  Please, do me a favour.  I mean, please, I’m begging you: kick my ass.  If I haven’t posted in a week then demand I surrender the domain name.  The universe didn’t open itself up to me for shits & giggles.  Let’s see what I have to say next.  Until then I’ll leave you with somebody else’s words:

“Easy. You want Americans to eat less? I have the diet for you. It’s short, and it’s simple. Here’s my diet plan: Cook it yourself. That’s it. Eat anything you want — just as long as you’re willing to cook it yourself.”

~ Same article, quoting someone else

A muppetized version of Dr. Chang explains Lost

Obvious: clicking links leads to spoilers

Are you watching Lost?  Yeah, me too.  Their final season is a kick ass smörgåsbord of callbacks, answers, drama, gun fights, explosions, tears, jears, mindfucks and further mysteries.  And So. Much. More.  The only reason Fo W   hasn’t been filled with everything Lost since the debut is, well, frankly I don’t have enough time to contribute more than what you can already find on the intertubes in terms of in-depth analysis and fun shit.

But! In case you haven’t already stumbled upon Lost Untangled, I cannot recommend it highly enough.  It’s boxed in the stupid web-only kind of player I hate, each clip proceed by an advertisement for Windows 7 and it doesn’t matter because this shit is off the hook.  Each sixth season episode is recapped by a muppet (for no discernable reason).  The kind of muppet who has spent the last year huffing glue, locked in his apartment/shrine to Lost, watching nothing but the show and assembling the most hilarious 3 minute-ish recaps.  Watch This Shit Now!  It was when he put Locke’s life story to a rap song (not a recap, just random awesomeness) that I realized I absolutely must throw this shit out into the internets.

Has it been one of those days? Even that third breakfast beer doesn’t seem to be helping? Rectal stretching just not giving you the kind of joy it used to? Wishing you hadn’t traded your last chunk of meth for that fraggle rock thermos? Sound’s like you need a pick-me-up. Oh, I dunno… something like Violent Aggression vs. Decency podcast #6 perhaps?

• Liam completely fails at introducing himself. For minutes on end Liam makes a complete fool of himself. All you had to do was say your name… how hard was that task?!
• John Crier, that fucking asshole, is roasted in a verbal spit, the fires of our collective hatred of him burn brightly
• Today’s questions include: Where is the best place to go “parking” in Edmonton? Is there a gayer scene than top gun’s volleyball scene? Why was Liam’s daughter was punching him as hard as she could?
• The good ol’ days of pc speaker sound are romanticized and some favourite games are discussed… until the Ride of the Valkyries starts playing and we turn it into some sort of impromptu communist revolutionary drama
• Vlad and Kim buy a ladder. The merits of its length, girth and other euphemisms are discussed
• I mourns the loss of the Silk Pie at Denny’s and this leads into… well… almost certainly the most offensive bit of improve we’ve ever done. It’ll either make you unsubscribe from the podcast or tell at least one person the next day you aren’t going to believe what I just listened to. Nope, no hints, you gotta listen all the way to the end to understand what I’m talking about (you could skip to the end… but most people will appreciate the foreplay)
  • By the way… you can read the letter I sent to Denny’s, if that's the sort of thing you're into

The Violent Aggression crew take aim at Decency and it’s Decency that was walking bow-legged the next day. Enjoy! Complaints and Questions can be directed to bow.legged@violentaggression.com Fire away and we might read your mail on a future podcast.

All questions sumbitted become the propery of small laundromat business in southern Wales

It was many many years ago. This is an actual letter of complaint I mailed to Denny’s headquarters, regarding their removal of my favourite desert. Is it any wonder I never got a reply? I present it here as an ode to a pie that was removed from the menu far before its time.

Let us start by saying that I am both the penultimate Denny’s consumer and advocate. Far enough in the past, you may find that I frequented the competitive chain of Humpty’s - long live the egg. But a history of bad hiring practices as well as lapses in quality gave my friends and I reason to experiment - which led us to you.. The Retard! Denny himself.

And what did we find once we began frequenting your find establishment? Nothing but excellent food and the finest staff in all of the Canadian continent. Truly, nothing could improve the Denny’s chain.

But woe was us, for believing that this state of affairs could continue indefinitely. After over two years of constant frequentation, I discovered a flaw in you marvellous restaurant.

One day, as my friends and I sat complacently within the illustrious domicile that is Denny’s, I request a “Silk Pie” for desert. The holiest of holy pies. In my opinion, the unifying reason for the existence of Denny’s. But what of my Silk Pie? NO MORE! I was told. The Silk Pie has been eliminated. Cast aside. Removed from the Menu! Oh, the humanity. The travesty.

The Silk Pie was not only the best thing on the menu. It was an Item to be revered. To be worshiped. The Silk Pie was a desert above all others. It’s chocolate and whipped creaminess the driving point of sale.

But now, it is gone.

My friends laugh as I request the Silk Pie. Despite the futility, I still try. Perhaps there is an old silk pie, hiding in the back. Only slightly mouldy, and waiting to be eaten. Even this would be sufficient.

But they laugh. And the waitresses, uncomfortable, apologize. The Silk Pie is no longer. I’m afraid it has been removed.

Why, cruel world. Why?

The silk pie is the embodiment of goodness. A reason to go to Denny’s. Yet it is no more. But on behalf of patrons everywhere, I ask for it’s return. I ask for a reason for it’s banishment. Was the Silk Pie naughty? Did it misbehave? Was there a political reason it was removed from the menu? Were the other pies jealous?

Give me a reason! Tell me why this pie, a pie above all other pies, should be cast into oblivion. Tell me why, this silk pie, should die.

Give me meaning, help me to find the reason. The silk pie deserved a better fate. Perhaps an award show. Honorariums. For without question, the silk pie was a desert to be honoured.

Please, restore it to it’s full glory. That I may dine, once more, at Denny’s with an easy conscience. I long for the silk pie.. Pie above all others.

Long live the silk pie. May you return to Denny’s one day.

~james

p.s. Under no circumstances must you eliminate “the super bird” (properly referred to as the “über bird”) Let no more travesties be committed against the Denny’s Menu.

My father-in-law, Ken Melnichuk, passed away this last weekend; he was sixty four.

Ken, we will all miss you so so much.  You were taken far too soon.  I was so looking forward to spending more time with you.  To go hunting with you and Curtis again.  To hearing more of your dirty and racist jokes while we shared a drink out in the garage.  To listening to you go on and on and on about crazy good deals you once got, or about that guy who tried to screw you over, but you got him first, or the correct way to fix a television set or how to invest money, or anything really.  I wish you were still here with us today, but you’re not.  You’ve left this earth, and I wish you peace on your journey to whatever happens next.

I’m glad I had the chance to know you.  We shared some drinks, and I’ve stole some of your old cigarettes and smoked them, so now I can say we’ve shared a smoke too.  We had some good conversations.  You raised my wife and my brother from another mother.  Without you, my life would be less rich.  Thank you.  I’ll miss you Ken.

Ken is survived by his wife Thelma, his children Janine (married to James) Keller and Curtis (married to Jen) Melnichuk.  He is also survived by his sister, Marcia Melnichuk.  Ken was predeceased by his parents James and Katherine of Myrnam, Alberta.  There will be a service for him on Thursday Dec 17 at 1:30 pm at Memories Funeral Home, 13403 St. Albert Trail

Normally the railing of the bridge looks like this:

After I hit the side of the bridge, it looked like this:

                               Some pictures of the truck

I was driving on the Whitemud, going over Cornell bridge. I hit some ice or something. I spun out and headed for the railing of the bridge. Janine was screaming like crazy. I could not make the truck go the way I wanted it to.

I pictured going over into the water. I didn't have any reaction to this. I was just visualizing what was likely to happen next. Janine was screaming. We hit the side of the bridge railing and thank God we bounced off, back into traffic. Now 180 degrees the wrong direction. I hit a jeep. We kept spinning until we rested 270 degrees from our original direction.

Traffic slowed around us. I got out and grabbed Nathan from his car seat. Janine had grabbed the dog. We swapped. A woman stopped her car so we could sit in it so Nathan wouldn't be cold

the fireman showed up and told us to move our vehicles. All the other drivers are so rude to us. Swearing at us to get the fuck off the road and stopp delaying their commute. I almost drove off a bridge today with my entire family in the truck. Fuck you back, I believe your Christmas shopping trip can be delayed due to traffic.

That was isanely fucking scary. I am so thankful everyone is alive and okay. I wonder if the cops will gethere soon

That's awesome. How can that show not work? I need to see that show.

We’re back. Sorry it’s been so long. Life has been keeping me busy in other ways. I’ve insulated and drywalled a garage, cared for sick family, done some fun multi-threaded programming at work, watched The Prisoner (fantastic rewarding television viewing), watched bsg: The Plan (a horrible boring affair), tried and failed in my novel via NaNoWriMo (thanks to Liam for plenty of encouragement), and generally engaged in life.

But enough about me, what’s the gang up to this week? (or rather, about three months ago)

• We provide a story, involving a certain candy. We maintain we are not racists.
• A set of unpaid bills at a company cause James to go on a auditory rampage (sorry folks, he drinks a lot).
• Liam breaks down Elizabeth Town, which leads us to view an incredibly disturbing image. Do not click the link I am about to share unless you’ve listened to the podcast and know what you’re in for. Here is what we saw.
• Grammer geekdome: Do you know period goes inside the hyperlink only if the entire sentence is a link. At least that’s what these guys figure. I agree. This isn’t part of the podcast, I just wanted to mention that. The podcast is much more interesting.
• For instance, Shaun and Lindsay get drunk and sleeps in their car (in Scotland, at the time).
• This other time, Vlad’s job as Relationship Fluffer is discussed.
• All this and more on the latest instalment of Violent Aggression

Fact: I watch FashForward. As days turn into weeks turn into months, this is increasingly becoming a sign of mediocrity, rather than clairvoyance, yet I persist.

Tangential Fact:Even though it's canceled, you're better off watching Defying Gravity. I know, it's crap right? Thats what you heard, right? Except after a mere five or eight episodes it transitions to full on blah. And it's awesome. I had a sick fascination with the entire run, which I make no appologies for. Seriously, I liked Defying Gravity. But I digress...

Punchline: So tonight, after watching FlashForward, they have the previews, which I pause the dvr and am about to delete... except my Janine says Don't you want to see the FlashForward of the FlashForward?

Denouement: I realized She Might Be Right!! I was stuck in a metaphysical quandary. Here I was "enjoying" a show predicated on the foreknowledge of future events. Would I actually increase my enjoyment by watching the previews? The remote was stuck in my hands for over a minute. I still have no good answer. What should I have done, gentle readers? What?!?!

Dear motherfucking god in heaven, WHAT?!?!?

Fuck.

Three weeks ago I could not walk without a cane and was motoring around Walmart in a courtesy scooter. The same day that I skewered my hand with furniture I rolled my left ankle, badly, walking down the steps of Ryan Turner’s new house. Like most sprains it hurt but could be ignored. A day or two later I could not walk, sit, stand, anything, I was a useless lump of human flesh that spent a lot of time reading The Unincorporated Man, an excellent novel. An X-ray assured me there was no break, it was just a sprain. My hand was tender but the wound had yet to fester. The hand was surely aggravated by having to grip the cane so tightly. My foot is better now although I believe it will be a long time before I can run anywhere. I’ll be feeling it for another month at least.

I sometimes feel like a bullet speeding out of a gun. My life is the span of time from leaving the barrel to hitting the target. 32 years?150 years? How long will I live? I don’t know; it’s as brief a time as a bullet’s journey. Is my destination obvious from an external perspective? When I feel like the bullet all I sense is the rush of air and time around me. Moving irrevocably forward through the fourth dimension I feel life itself pulsate with the same rhythm that burns in my arm. Toss another log on the fire, burning ’til the fuels exhausted, blazing with light until it fades.

I was helping Ryan and his girlfriend Carolyn move from an apartment into their new house, inside an elevator cramped with boxes, plants, furniture & random stuff, unloading a large desk that we’d placed on its side (in order to get the doors closed). We shimmied the bottom of the desk into the lobby, tilting the desk back towards me. I gripped the leg with my hand and let the weight slide towards me. I hadn’t noticed the wood had separated, a bit further up the desk leg. The thick icicle of wood slid deeply into the palm of my hand before snapping off. I kept things steady with the other hand and eased the desk to the ground You’ve got to be manly about getting a sliver: shit happens, eh? Still, I’d never had a sliver that drew blood and a lot of it. I removed the Deadly Spike of Wooden Death as cleanly as possible. I was sure I’d left a piece behind but picking at it with a pin didn’t reveal anything. I covered it with a band-aid so I wouldn’t drip blood on any of the furniture.

I was overjoyed, a day after spraining my foot, to remember I had a tensor bandage from the last time. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a serious foot injury. I thought perhaps I should just buy a good cane, so I’ll have one around the next time I injure my foot It’s going to happen. _{You don’t think that way at sixteen.} I’m twice that age and now apparently do. Age and experience have naturally changed me; I’m more serious, I joke less, I cry less, I love more easily, I know myself much much much better, but thankfully still not very well and sometimes I still feel like life itself is a towering inferno inside of me, burning so very bright like the ember tossed into the campfire air. I forget how to be one way in my pursuit of being something else. I can live one way or another but never ever can I go back in time.

^{There’s so much to do here.} I’m speeding forward, breaking apart as I pass through time. I used to like thinking about what it all meant. These days I’ve found a comfortable place to be. From my current vantage the questions seem fundamentally unknowable in a way that is exciting beyond my understanding. I’m going to die, but until then I’m going to live. Apparently  infected arms and swollen ankles are how I’m living which, all things considered, is really just fine. Sitting on the scooter in Walmart I felt such empowerment. I have no conception of what being handicapped would be like, but I know how much I loved that scooter. I had mobility after by body denied me that. I have never loved Walmart more than I did that day. _{What else will I get to experience in this life?}

^{I am burning brightly.} Hurtling forward with a speed I can’t comprehend. I look around and sometimes see others on nearby trajectories. They hit their target and suddenly that person isn’t alive any more and the rest of us bullets keep moving forward with no way to go back. I’ve been fired from a gun and I will continue moving until I stop. And what an amazing ride it all is.
     I love the wind on my cheeks, the burning fire inside,
            the roar of a life well lived.

• Violent Aggression is now on iTunes.  Subscribe for free to get the stuff there that you already get here. I’ve personally been negotiating with Steve Jobs personally and he assures me his lawyers will be in contact with us son.
• Non-iTunes? you might prefer our Violent Aggression RSS Feed.  It’s been inspected by the FDA for cleanliness and sexually transmitted diseases and almost all of the criteria were met.

without further delay: the direct link for Violent Aggression podcast #3 

We review Plants vs. Zombies and give it a big thumbs up; Recommended.  They’ve got a 60 minute free trial that’s like your first hit of H.  Prepare to lose large chunks of your life to this deviously fun game..

• Vlad creates an Improved Explosive Device using dry ice and a pop bottle; Shaun, meanwhile, has his _{hands down his pants,} scratching vigorously.
• All time worst flood stories.  We are a collectively unlucky lot and the power of H₂0 has wreaked havoc on our lives. 
• Autoerotic asphyxiation? What the Fuck?
• Bud Light Lime, pros, cons, and the curious effect they have on Chad’s nipples.
• Lounge singers briefly inhabit our hosts bodies, causing an awkward segue into the sesame street theme song.
• And after much procrastination, sketches, rough drafts, redos and hand wringing of all sorts I’ve finished the logo! Yay for art!

This is seal meat. People will eat it

Hey ladies and jents.  Violent Aggression podcast #2 is now available.  Download 35 minutes of high energy podcasting hijinks.  Me and the rest of the radio crew eat seal meat, lament Transformers 2, dish on Sara Palin, I accuse both Kelly and Liam of ruining the podcast (independently), there’s an extended discussion on The Watchmen and Vlad soundlessly blogs while you listen.. yes, well, it sounded like a good idea at the time. Download to you favourite aural receptacle now.

At this point I’m hoping, perhaps, just maybe, that I could be finished by next summer and release it then.  I say that to give you an idea of how much effort I’ve got left to feed this beast and also, to curse myself.  Because now that I’ve put something resembling a date out in public I shall never ever meet it.  The plan at this point is release it through FeelingsOfWhite.com in a serialized fashion.

Well there, I’ve said it.  I’ve mentioned it before to numerous friends but it’s still weirdly idealistic to be finally saying something to you my readers. 

It’s bloody intimidating trying to pull words out of me every day.  I’ve become a slave to my word count figures.  I have an Microsoft Excel spreadsheet that charts my word-count, by chapter, over time.  I am trying to consciously develop the habit of writing and my god my monkey mind does bounce around all over the place.

In meditation I will focus on my breath to the exclusion of all else.  It is infuriating how easily one’s thoughts stray to to-do lists, idle remembrances, planning, yelling at oneself for failing to focus on the breath, thinking of the breath, thinking of how uncomfortable the legs are, ouch, cramping, I should really lose weight, I wonder if I’m going to make my work deadline - ack! focus on the breath.

Trying to make myself write is like that sometimes.  I can be a slippery sonnovabitch when I want to be.  Trying to change your habits is a hard hard thing. But I can do it.  I will put in the effort required, and at the end, I’ll have my story.

Oh, and other actual content will continue to appear on Feelings Of White, but behind closed doors, I’m working on something incredible awesome to share with you.  I am going to write some words and I believe you will get a thrill out of reading them.  It’s going to take a long time.  I’ll see you there.

Violent Aggression #1 is a podcast full of high energy, high octane stories, rants, humour and a dash of music that probably violates a few copyright laws.  Check this shit out:

• A brief discussion as to exactly which drugs Shredder (from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) was likely addicted to.
• Liam’s disastrous attempts to hold an on-air intervention regarding Cliff’s anger
• Our opening story just has to be heard to be believed.  The story is certainly out there, but it’s more like “are this guys actually talking about this?”
• And a guy sews his hand to a bag

There’s much much more! It’s certainly been a blast developing 30 minutes of audio I genuinely believe you will find entertaining.  But with friends Cliff, Vlad and Liam I think we’ve done just that.  I shall stop typing, because at this point you’re supposed to click on this link and listen to an auditory deviousness the likes of which will be repeated as soon as we can.

Fun Fact: Contrary to what you might expect, all of us were actually sober while recording.

For the last eighteen weeks, I have looked forward to Wednesdays with delirious anticipation.  Only two were disappointments (when Lost didn’t air new episodes).  Lost has brought nothing but teh awesomeness this fifth season.  It’s explaining some of the mysteries introduced during the last four seasons in such a cool way: Time Travel.  When Benjamin “Benry” Linus turned the Frozen Donkey Wheel (end of season four) it set events in motion that scattered our friendly neighbourhood Lostaways into the past.  We’ve received first-hand accounts accounts of how our heroes were involved in events leading to The Hatch, maybe The Purge and most definitely The Incident (what the heck did that mean? I don’t know but it was cool.  Why isn’t season six already done?!).  By first-hand, I mean non-flashback… can we call them flashbacks or is it just a semi-linear story?  It’s awesome stuff, sprinkled with the usual kick-ass Lost characters and twisty turns but I want to spend a moment and salute the brilliance of how they built to this and how we’ve been unwittingly educated on how one watches this show…

We began our studies of all things Lostological when season one introduced the infamous flashback structure.  Flashbacks were an existing tool of novels, comics and television so when the show baked them into the DNA of the show, the writers started us with something we were familiar with.  Clever viewers soon noticed that character back-stories overlapped.  The Lost mosaic was ever so hazily beginning to form as we drew connections between these disparate stories and peoples.  And we grew familiar with characters that would lead us from the beginning to (one presumes) the end of this insane convoluted journey.

More characters revealed their back-stories, educating us in following fragments of different time periods, they were also delivered out of sequence too (for Maximum
Surprise ).  What kept it grounded was the ever present island-time stories, moving at a steady realtime-esque pace of one week passing roughly every five episodes (perfect for syndication!).  That tethered us, the audience, to something familiar but even island-time would occasionally switch things up by playing with relative timeframes and multiple overlapping stories.  Lost famously sidelined plot threads for long periods of time to focus on subsets of stories. (causing viewers to give up and yell they’re making it up as they go along!  This Just In: You are watching fiction. Fiction is made up.)  Season after season, Lost kept mixing things up further by splicing techniques together and the audience that stayed with them were forced to adjust to all the disjointed perspectives of time and long story setups.  The writers were careful never to push things too much at one time.  Mind-bending outings like Flashes Before Your Eyes (feat. the time-traveling consciousness of Desmond) were kept to a minimum.  They would eventually hit the “Go” button on the massive story machine being constructing but they were patient like zombies (we do spend lots of time shuffling about, hoping a tasty brain walks by, don’t we?)

We graduated to Lost post-secondary when season four added a new technique to the curriculum: flash-forwards-to-future-time.  With three season of time-shifting perspectivizing under our belts, flash-forwards weren’t much harder to follow then the usual hijinks, yet they felt like a breath of fresh air.  The writers had actually introduced a plot thread that would eventually replace island-time as the narrative-prime, the reliable thread to anchor viewers.  Perhaps anticipating that some might just throw in the towel at that point, they tied the biggest carrot they had onto future-time: some of the lostaways got off the island.  While we all furiously speculated how that happened we were also learning what would become the backstory to this “new present”, if one can still use such a term as “present” when time travel is involved.  Benry spun the Frozen Donkey Wheel making the bait & switch official.  click!

Season five supplied us with our post-graduate materials: the island, our heroes, or both, were unstuck in time and skipping around to the sound of flashing white lights.  Now I realize Sawyer, Locke, Hurley and the rest had their stories continue on.  When I say that island-time ceased to exist I’m referring to the 101 days from Sept 22 to Dec 30 2004 that started with a crashing plane.  We’re so used to following characters around different timelines that the time travel flashes weren’t nearly so jarring; We’ve been training since season one at having our perspective of time warped to fit the authorial whims.  But actual time travel was still quite a leap beyond normal, especially constant uncontrolled random flashes to places and times unknown.  But once we hear that Lost wooooosh™ sound-effect, we know we’ve changed time periods and we should begin hunting for clues as to when we are now.  Unlike me, not everyone has engaged in a season 1-3 re-watch “just for fun”.  If you can relate to my passion about Lost (may I point out: you are reading a blog article about Lost) remember that some viewers are getting their first heavy dose of science fiction and fantasy weirdness and Lost has kept things relatable and compelling for both types of fans. Michael Emerson and Jorge Garcia were just on The View promoting the finale for goodness sake!  (Mind you, Papadama and Roslin were on the The View as well, so perhaps they’re cool)

To reduce confusion the story was kept straightforward and linear at the start of the season five.  By that I mean the absence of flashbacks; we instead alternated between the time-jumpers and the Oceanic Six.  The Oceanic Six story became a linear realtime-esque story about “now they get on a plane.”  The denouement of island-time became ^{OMG! I haz nosebleed!  WTF When are we_?!} The characters were as confused as us, but the story of that confusion and subsequent fix (get Locke off the island) was pretty relatable.  I believe keeping focused so tightly on the character interactions helped us, the audience, track something understandable and familiar while the space-time continuum warped around our protagonists.  It also helped that the time-jumpers landed at some familiar landmarks (familiar to the audience at least).  Dedicated fans might remember the connection to Yemi’s plane crash; we’d already been made curious about the four toed statue; about what happened to Danielle “The French Woman” Rousseau; and how Montand had come to lose his arm (Rosseau mentioned it one hear early introduction scene, 1x09 I think).  They tried their best to keep us invested not only in the character arcs, but also the locales that Sawyer and the rest went to.  Just imagine trying to pull the same story four season earlier.  They spent four seasons foreshadowing time travel. A lot of time laying the foundation kept the wacky plot twists feeling real and familiar to us.

The most technically amazing, to me, occurs when John “Jeremy Bentham” Locke takes his spin at the Wheel of The Frozen Donkey.  His travel through time had been set up for a season and a half by that point...  Future-time welcomed Locke as its newest character and click! things started fitting together like puzzle pieces (some pieces remain absent; it is still Lost).  They managed to avoid the “Hey audience! You are now in the past” moment that exists in most other time travel fiction (think Star Trek or Back To The Future).  Instead Locke slips between the curtains of time and plot threads and emerges into a future present already fully realized, with existing characters and motivations and momentum. 

Cool.

The show is starting to hint at or answer some of the mysteries its presented us with.  Most new questions I’ve had were about the time travel rules of the Lostiverse: Could objects (like compasses or canoes) travel with them? Could they affect the future? (My Guess: Yes, but with no paradoxes).  They’ve played fair and are answering those ponderings and their own pace; a pace no longer so glacial.  I often sit here, deep in my zombie grave and marvel at how accomplished these writers are and how well they’ve structure this behemoth of story machinery.  They have done an amazing job showing us an inherently confusing chapter of the Lost mosaic and keping it relatable.  They sure have spent a lot of time ensuring we could follow along and its well appreciated (hell, maybe I can even forgive season three after this; Lost, you had me at hello  ).  I have high hopes for where this story plans to take us.  As long as they don’t explain it all away as ^{being God’s Will} (and Jacob said so is the same thing)  — we zombies shall be most upset if you disappoint us!  Prepare for the inevitable zombie apocalypse or face your doom!

What are your thoughts? Liking Lost or couldn’t be bothered? Will season six require doctorate-level research? Will all actually be answered a year from now?

And what did you think of that finale? Wow!

Last year TV/Media blog South Dakota Dark undertook a massive effort to rank well, all U.S. television series, ever.  Todd, the author, scares me a little; dude’s watched a shitload of television.  But scary in a good way, because he’s able to speak intelligently about that huge morass of content and give the history of television some context.  He states you have to decide if you’re going to rate based on favoritism, sheer greatness or level of influence. I decided to throw all of that out and rate everything by some weird combination of the three.  With that as a starting point, he’s written an entertaining and verbose treatise on well, all the television shows, ever.

You can certainly jump to number one and see who “won.”  But the point of it all is really his discussion of these landmark television shows, why they worked, why some failed, and why they mattered.  It’s about how one show influenced many others and shaped the entire medium of television.  I actually liked the bulk of the list more than the top, because there’s not many surprises or overlooked gems at those lofty heights.

I’ve head of the Dick Van Dyke Show, but I’ve never seen it.  Todd’s explanation on how it was structured, and why that lead to so many story possibilities is the first time I’ve actually given a shit.  Lists like this so often devolve into “blah blah blah, I liked it.”  Like any critic, Todd’s giving his personal opinion, but he can back it up with why it worked from a critical point of view.  He talks intelligently about how SportCenter (a show I’ve never watched) contributed to the style of The Daily Show.  Naturally, The Muppet Show was a variety show, but I’d never realized it had a bit of sitcom mixed in until he was pointed out.

And lots of behind the scenes stuff too.  Northern Exposure had David Chase as a show runner?  Rod Sterling almost wasn’t the host of Twilight Zone? Early Sesame Street now comes with a not safe for children sticker?

Also: Each series is also accompanied by a youtube clip of the series in question, doubling or tripling the time-wasting potential of this blog series. (note: I didn’t watch many clips, can’t comment on quality).  Like losing days of my life to reading much of this wasn’t enough, I’ve now got a whole bunch more television shows on my never ending to-watch list.

The supplemental lists are also worth perusing.  I especially enjoyed the discussion of Cable Networks.  It’s a bit more than “HBO make good drama”.

If there was one thing lacking from this all it was a clear entry point into the massive text.  Thus was born this article.  We’ve spent enough time reading the forward, let’s get to the list:

100 - 90 - 80 - 70 - 60 - 50 - 40 - 30 - 20 - 10 - 1