Just Phil

Broken Finger: One Year Later

2015-04-30T21:19:00.004-07:00

Late in the morning, exactly one year ago last May I broke my first bone.

It's not exactly one of the "Definitive Moments in World History", nonetheless the memory of the stumble, panic, and the flight and all-day stay at the hospital lingers say nothing of the obvious scar on my finger. The tendons on one side of my index finger are gone, and it swells if left in a down position for too long.

I never went into the subject in depth though: My hands!

They are massive, and the idea they could still be massive yet minus one digit was a few millimetres away from a reality that day. More or less, they are a spectacle to everyone or anyone who notices them. Slightly smaller than NBA great Shaquille O'Neal's hands, they measure fourteen inches in circumference, give or take. According to a boxing fan friend of mine they are about the same size as the late heavyweight champion Sonny Liston. I didn't envision becoming the next Sonny, so I just smiled, nodded, ran to the nearest faucet I could find, and doused them in cold water to shrink my hand size.

My secret crush from the previous decade noticed my hands, too. Oh yes! It was years ago, and she put her hand in mine to measure. Outside, I was nonchalant about it, but inside I was gushing. 😍 *Phil calm down* 😒

Before the injury, I could do the infamous "Four Hoops" trick, where I bend my fingers back and form four circles with my hands. I did this to freak out small cousins. 😁

There are disadvantages, though. Basketball jokes, wacky spelling mistakes on the keyboard, mostly. However, it's playing instruments where I have the most trouble. Where the bass guitar is a dream come true, intricate guitars and keyboards are a musician's nightmare. Never did I hit so many dual notes on strings than with these demonstrative digits! In spite of this, in the ten years since first picking up my old acoustic guitar, and getting blisters within minutes of playing Wonderwall (badly) these hands helped get me back into music, and into writing.

To think, it all could have disappeared that rainy day sixty miles west of Toronto. Everything in our lives, and about us is a gift, and at any moment they can be taken. My hope is these hands, as large as they are, will be used for good and wholesome purposes. 😮 👐 😀

If Pitching Machines Were People...

2015-04-18T16:14:00.001-07:00

Since the beginning of April, I made the weekly pilgrimage to the batting cages in town as part of my spring training routine for this season. I changed my diet in the off-season to a seafood only, vegetarian diet, which helped with staying in shape.

In the time spent at the cages, however, I noticed the pitching machines have different personalities as well as different speeds.

The Dirty Player

He doesn't have good stuff, so after you hit his best pitch he will pitch inside just to get you off the plate. He also hates left handed batters, like REALLY!

The Angry Dad

The pitches are slow, yes, but they drop suddenly for no good reason. It also doesn't help the balls are as small as ball bearings in a child's bicycle. Not good when you bring your date to the cages, and you're swinging and missing. It takes a few pitches to know figure out what the machine is doing, so don't lose heart.

The Jealous Ex

Everything is seventy-five mph or above. He hates people. He wants to embarrass you, plain and simple. Unless a member of the Toronto Blue Jays arrives, when the cages are empty, and hits every single fastball the machine can dispense, no one challenges him.

One unfortunate note, before I go: There's that moment, when you get that perfect pitch, and you foul it off your bat the wrong way. The ball bounces into the dirt, and hits you... there.

There are usually kids around the cages waiting, so you grab your head instead. It's only for a moment, however, as the pitching machine throws another ball your way. Now, you're swinging and standing like a penguin balancing on two ice floats!

As if you didn't look goofy enough! o_O

Phones, Crime, and Thoughts on a Bus

2015-04-02T06:33:00.001-07:00

A friend of mine was a victim of theft on the bus. Someone stole their phone from right out of their hands; it was quick, and the thief immediately left the bus and disappeared into the night.

Of course, their friends and I were sympathetic and supportive, but imagine the kind of world where we blamed victims of theft for such crimes being inflicted on them? Imagine receiving questions like...

"Why were you looking at your phone on the bus?"

"People who but iPhones are just sling for trouble."

You have a phone? You're flirting with disaster!

"You don't have a phone? You're a prude!"

These are only some of the ridiculous statements I can write at this moment, but there are dozens more. Yet, we do this to victims of abuse and assault almost all the time, so if we would never make such ludicrous statements to victims of theft, how should we address victims of assault?

Phil About Town

2015-03-17T05:21:00.001-07:00

I went to Tim Horton's yesterday, and not one of their sandwich boards listed the price of a donut. 😕

It could be two dollars apiece, for all I know! 🍩 💵 😨 That's an anti-trust lawsuit waiting to happen. What's that? Of course I know what that is!

Perspective, Roller Skates, and Free-Market Capitalism

2015-03-10T14:37:00.001-07:00

A friend of yours from church discovered your dark secret. Instead of spending dozens of dollars at the shopping mall buying the latest, trend setting tops, unusually coloured trousers, and buckled shoes your friends Davin and Bekah like so much, you drive to almost the middle of nowhere, put down a few bucks, and enjoy four hours of... Roller Derby! 😲

Now, before you do your bad Cybermen impression, and "Deny! Deny! Deny!" Let's remember one thing: You're on film. 😮 💭 You're the goofy fan in the top row of the bleachers chowing on the tuna fish sandwich!

Yes, your secret is just broke loose and is the lead jammer, and now they're looping around on its first pass. You can be embarrassed, take a penalty, and sit out the next thirty seconds as your friends and onlookers berate you in a "power jam", or... THINK OF THE BOOK SALES!

For the first time since forever, you have the floor, and going outside to take in some family sports entertainment is a normal and neutral activity! Besides, you were surprised anyone made it that night...

You know, because it was the rookie team's second bout of the season, and they didn't lose by as many points as they did in their first game two weeks ago. #99 really improved their game and took no penalties, and what a great announcer "Mr. Whistler" is, and look at those buttons you bought last Saturday! You bought three button's with the travel team logo, no, it was two buttons and a keychain for only FOUR dollars, and the last at the register was so nice and she remembered you from the last time you went! 😊

You found there's nothing about which you should feel embarrassment! ☺ In a few minutes, you have a plethora of stories and experiences from which you can draw. 😀 Plus, if you remember enough stories, you can put them in a book, and people might even read them like they're reading this story RIGHT NOW! 😮 ❗ 😃

So, if you're having a bad day, or you need to recount an experience you had, own it with your words and take heart that you learned something. If all else fails, though, THINK OF THE BOOK SALES! 📚 😁

Are You A Better Human Than Phil Wood Was?

2015-03-05T07:39:00.001-08:00

I was driving around the city, and I wanted to turn down the music coming from the radio, so I reached for the air conditioning knob. 😑

How Do You Work This Thing?

2015-03-03T05:22:00.001-08:00

Um, hi there! You look well.

Yes, I know I disappeared for a few months, and there's a logical reason for that. If you know what is, let me know, and I'll use that as my answer. In the meantime, the following paragraph will have to do.

I did have a schedule, and up until January of 2014 I was consistent. It was January when things went downhill, and I didn't feel good about who I was as a person. I tied writing with what happened to me and the people involved, and I didn't want the reminder of those things staring at me from the page. So, I stopped writing.

I wrote a few times in the past year, but not with the same consistency or passion. I'd like to return to the glory days of this blog, which were all the way back in 2012, and reclaim what made me happy. Hopefully this will work; plus, I have Blogger on my phone, so I don't have an excuse not to write, I guess. o_O

The Stain

2014-10-14T18:44:00.000-07:00

There is no feeling in the sport of baseball or in any team sport, worse than believing you single-handedly lost a game for your entire team. Whether rightly or wrongly, that feeling belongs to one person, and it is that person's choice to live with that feeling, or let that feeling live off them.

Six years ago, an unsure rookie worked his way up from an unsteady right fielder to the backup shortstop position in his softball team in the city weekend league. On a rainy August afternoon, he slid towards a soft, catchable pop fly and instead bounded it toward home plate with his left knee thus loading the bases. Two pitches, a triple in deep left centre field, three runs batted in, and a lost lead later, the shortstop was inconsolable, and his position as the #2 shortstop guy was gone. In the end, all that remained was me, and a stain.

I still have the shirt from that year, as well as the dirt stain on his left shoulder. After booting the pop fly, I rolled over and slammed his glove before getting to his feet, and as a result of rolling over the stain emerged on his shirt. That Saturday night, under a running faucet of warm water, and a near empty box of bleach powder, I scrubbed, brushed, rubbed, wet, and pounded the stain with bleach until all that remained was a small yet noticeable patch of brown. The hours spent cleaning by hand did next to nothing, nor did the cleaning absolve me of guilt for costing the team the game. The experience did teach me something about the game of baseball, which I love though you wouldn't know that from my demeanour that night, but it also taught me about who I was.

Don't laugh! That picture got me four hundred hits on
ChristianMingle! o_O

Every grass stain on my baseball pants, and every dirt patch on my shirt tells a story. Stories of heroic deeds*, thrilling upsets, overcoming injury, fear, confidence, arrogance, victories and defeats, but the common thread, literally and figuratively, is there was someone who always tried his best.

The mud spray all over my white baseball pants with blue piping: During a rainstorm, I ran through a puddle to field a ground ball.
The countless black baseball socks with holes in the shins from various attempts at making diving, no, heroic catches in the outfield* (Hi Kevin).
Standing in the middle of right field in dry, weathered, red cleats, and watching two groups of people shouting and yelling at each other during a championship game because the rain & lightning started in the last inning, and members of the losing team, which was batting, thought the leading team on the field was trying to call the game prematurely.

New rule: If you don't wear your stirrups or socks up to
Cardinals relief pitcher Pat Neshek level height, you'll be
ejected from the game.

I don't want to bore you other baseball and softball stories from the past twenty-five years of my life, but with every big fish story there is a sense of missed opportunity and dread. Why did I leave that baseball player with the stain on his shirt at that field? Baseball was not only my escape, but a chance to become someone else: A dependable, capable, focused, and sometimes goofy teammate, competitor, and friend. Why can't I be that kind of baseball player away from the diamond? Why can't I be that kind of person now? Who am I? Am I making sense? Who am I?

I don't pretend to know all the answers, nevertheless I would like to say I'm closer to being a synthesis of regular Phil and baseball player Phil now than I was in 2008 or 2011. Baseball is a team sport based on a chain of events by individual people. o_O If that makes no sense, then baseball is a series of games within a game, and if baseball mirrors life than maybe I'm just an individual trying to play the "game" within a game, only I'm on a team full of teammates wearing stained shirts.

I hope we're on the same baseball team, and I hope you're not tired of me, and want to put me on waivers?! Please don't do that; who will make all of those heroic catches in the outfield?*

* - Insert eye roll here

TEN THINGS YOU DON'T KNOW ABOUT ME

2014-07-22T20:52:00.002-07:00

Now that I'm thirty-two, I should admit some things about my life you may or may not know about me. These may come as complete surprises to some, but to others it is just an affirmation of things they suspected.

No, there's nothing here too alarming...or at least there shouldn't be. o_O

I complained about being single a lot. I felt entitled to some sort of reward for doing all the right things in life. I realized too late I received my reward in full: An empty house. I'm sorry for that, but I deserve it, too.
Baseball gives me the most joy. Where else can you forget who you are for an indefinite amount of time?
I can never trust bug spray manufacturers like OFF! It's a spray can full of irony.
I already started giving away my track jackets. Years ago, I bought an extra rack for all of them because they wouldn't fit in my closet. Now I'm getting rid of the clothes I don't wear anymore.

Here, I get to be someone else, for a change.
The books that changed my life forever I gave away. I think good books should leave your possession, and go to people you love, so they can enjoy them the same way you did. I will never own another copy of Watership Down or Kingdom Come again. Superman: Red Son? Maybe.
I hate taking off my baseball cap in the middle of a game. The sweat irritates the scalp, and the heat makes everything worse! By the end, I'm a scratching post.
After five years, I stopped going to my favourite restaurant. I went there last week, and all four waiters ignored me, and served people who came after me. That was two days after my birthday; I was going to spend more than fifteen dollars on food!
I was on Christian Mingle. Oh yeah, I was there. I made a few good and wonderful friendships thanks to that site, and there were times I was quite the embarrassment to the family. There's nothing better than your Dad "accidentally" opening your email account to read your private emails from CM. What keeps me from going back there is remembering who I was, or who I am.
I used to scream when those generic, professional cute couple and wedding couple photos appeared on my computer screen. I usually just stay silent now, and avoid those web pages in the future.
As bad as things are, I still want to help people. Even if it's only one person who makes it, if there's something about my bad decision making or poor choices that convinces someone not to take the same path I did, then that's alright.

Life On The Disabled List (From MAJOR LEAGUE GOOFBALL)

2014-05-08T09:08:00.001-07:00

I broke my finger on May Day at a construction site, so I get to start the softball season on the fifteen day disabled list. What joy! ^_^ (Tears everywhere...)

I thought this Sunday was my first game of 2014, but instead it looks as though June, if not the week following the May Long Weekend, will be when I make my triumphant return to the glorious game (I'm Canadian).

Michael Cuddyer, like most Major League ballplayers, is no stranger to injury,
and the DISABLED LIST. Blogger Phil Wood shares his first experience
on the dreaded list, and what that could mean to him personally.

There is something quite romantic and tragic about awaiting the return to the game, and literally crossing the foul line, or entering the batter's box to start a softball game. I'm leaving emotional baggage, stress, physical restrictions, my job, car payments, credit card bills, lack of a long-term and meaningful partner, the demands of my parents, and my identity behind to play a sport, and become a new person - a useful person. Since 2008, I stepped over the foul line, and became a different person each time...

#7 NITRO
#10 KNOCKOUT
#19 JUDAH
#22 McCUTCHEN
#66 STEAMPUNK
#74 MERLIN
#82 HOLLYWOOD
#87 MONDAY

As long as I wasn't me, things would be alright. With this injury, however, I can't help but be me. It will be a new sensation to watch your team win, lose, coast, or struggle and not be in the trenches alongside them. I found a note in my kitbag, which I scribbled years ago, during a team practice a couple of weeks before my injury.

Goals for the Summer:

Improve fielding
Improve batting
Better communicator
Better person

Don't take things personal:

~~Your actions will/won't bring the world crashing down around you.~~
Stay in control.
Trust people.

JESUS is a cool guy who saved the world and brought it back with the "fundamentals" (Matthew 22:36-40: Deuteronomy 6:5, Leviticus 19:18)

At the bottom of my note, I drew a picture of a dude dressed as one of the Kansas City Royals. He is wearing a catcher's mitt, and he has a giant nose. I'll scoot down to the game Sunday night, and support the team if I can. I'm also on painkillers, so coupled with the injury to my hand I can't drive for a couple of weeks, and that's crazy! >_<

Basketball, Donald Sterling, and Instagram

2014-04-27T13:18:00.003-07:00

Hi,

I wrote a short piece about the Donald Sterling/Clippers controversy on another website here. I would copy and paste, but there is a bug when you copy from particular websites to Blogger, so I will just add a link to it.

In case the above link doesn't work, copy and paste the URL typed below.

http://philhollywood.tumblr.com/post/83983605489/basketball-today

Music Challenge 2K14

2014-01-09T16:10:00.001-08:00

Earlier this week, my keyboard of two years went kaput. I thought it wasn't pulled in, and it was. I changed to another fresh adaptor, and it didn't work. I even went to battery power, and still none of the lights came on. I saved the box, when I purchased it with the one year warranty in 2012 :[

My guitars are fine and in good working order. I get a free tune-up from the music store, where I purchased my bass, the Prima Fusion, and I want to get that done within the next two months. Other than that, everything is in tip-top shape, and I have extra strings on hand.

The loss of my keyboard leads to a big decision: I could purchase a new keyboard, but then again an electronic drum kit could be the wave of the future. I shopped drum kits in the past, and they were either HUGE or expensive. I don't want to keep buying new "toys", and put off my Big Move to another time.

Here is my list of music things for 2014

Keyboard/Synthesizer, which would include a subwoofer o_O woof woof
Electronic drum kit with realistic sounds, and it folds up ^_^
Second guitar (Fender), preferably in pink (why are you looking at me like that?)

I can plug the synthesizer into my computer, which makes recording a little easier. Then again, a drum kit would equal having rhythm for the first time, and for someone who played drums at fourteen this would be really nice ^_^ All I have rhythm-wise are three egg shakers o_O Time to get cracking LOL

Of course, I could buy both, but finances are tricky just now post-Christmas shopping, and I don't want to overdraft.

Don't worry about the pink guitar; the music store is sold out of those T_T (They were a different brand, so no tears were shed...much)

Finally, some good news!

Good news, I wrote a song and sang in dorian mode o_O The lyrics are preliminary, but I hope to have something soon.

Happy New Year 2014. Now, Down To Business

2014-01-01T17:43:00.000-08:00

I typed the following on my tumblr blog, and liked it so much that I reposted it here. Happy New Year and all that stuff o_O

Every time I search "forever alone" I think, "There are a lot of upset people here." I want to help, but it's a ton of work for only one person.

A little insight into who I am: I was single back when Fresh Prince of Bel-Air was on television, even before Manchester United won the English league championship in 1993 ending a drought lasting twenty-five years. I called it being “zero-for-zero”, and I was routinely told by the culture in which I lived and by some women I was interested in that I was “not good enough”. This is the part where I tell you about how long I was in a relationship, and how coming out of a week-long break from my girlfriend makes me an expert on everything you are feeling, and “don’t worry”, and “don’t stop believing”, and insert Disney Prince/Princess picture here, and use hollow Notebook, Gossip Girl, and TVD references, but I can’t do that. I could never do that.

I can promise you this:

You are not alone.
You are a person.
You are valid.
We are in this together.

If you are looking for a laugh or need a sounding board to bounce or exchange ideas, then I’ll do my best to help. Keep in mind, I don’t have all the answers, and I have angry and sad days just like you. This is an open idea that perhaps we should help each other out before we do something destructive.

Are you in?

Renee Zellweger

2013-09-21T20:11:00.000-07:00

Alright, let me tell you a short story...

Almost ten years ago, I was sitting in a lecture hall room 106 with dozens of other students waiting for our politics lecture to begin. The class was Politics 110; I remember the number and the professor, whose name was Professor Lippincott. He was from Rhode Island, and he was proud of the fact only one of the Eisenhower Interstate Highways went through his state. That and his Providence Reds hockey team. I don't remember what we learned that year o_O

Anyway, it was the first week, and I know this because before one of those classes I noticed a young woman seated in front of me looked vaguely familiar.

Class did not start yet, and for whatever reason I drummed up the courage to let her know of whom she reminded me. Oddly enough, she got that a lot from people at school ^_^ (Phew, that was close o_O)

That's how we first met. It was ten years since we met in that lecture hall room 106, but we are still friends. Her name is Faren, and she is quite nice ^_^ We talked on the old MSN Messenger on a daily basis, back before Facebook became a thing, but nowadays we catch up on how we're doing from time to time. Those were good times ^_^

P.S. Still at a loss about the person of whom my friend Faren resembles? Check the title.

The Decline and Fall of My Life

2013-08-11T05:01:00.001-07:00

I don't know what this post is, to be honest with you.

Some of you, who stuck around since the start of the year, might remember that I received an unpleasant letter in January. I received bad news in the past, but nothing as unexpected and destructive as that, so I lost my drive. Both this blog and my baseball blog suffered: The posts were shorter, I went weeks without uploading new stuff, and sometimes I wouldn't write for months. I tried keeping busy with other projects like shooting videos for YouTube, writing music, and learning new instruments, but all I could remember was what happened early this year, and the aftermath that followed (unrelated events, yet related, in some odd fashion).

It would be cool to return to the wacky optimism and frequent writings of 2011 and 2012, but I think those days are gone. I don't what the future holds, and it is quite scary, but I'll keep my blogs functioning for now. Maybe someone can learn from my mistakes, make better decisions, and a better life than mine.

Backwoods Baseball, Part 2

2013-06-20T21:31:00.000-07:00

Forsaking the warning signs on my dashboard, I make the turn towards the baseball diamond, unsure of where the road would take me. There are some things a man can replace, such as gasoline, but you cannot barter the trust of one's teammates.

Bounding over a couple of hills like an ant traversing the fringes of a checkerboard patterned tablecloth, my car arrives at another intersection: One path leads back to civilization, while the other heads off into uncharted territory and a playing field. I chose the latter, and in a short while I enter the quaint, unmapped town of Kilbride.

From what I could tell, the only prominent landmarks are a street leading to the main residential area of town, the fire hall that consists of relaxed firefighters enjoying the dusk of a summer day, and the school. The Kilbride Public School, which represents the door out from sleepy town Ontario to the big, busy world, is the place where my baseball dreams of grandeur and heroism lead me. My thoughts, as I pulled into the parking lot, turn to the meter measuring my gasoline, and a pool deep enough for a flea to drown remains. I made it.

Alas, as I find the teammates, a few more straggle in before we begin to wonder aloud: Where is the other team? o_O No sooner does the thought cross our minds then the sound of big motors and pickup trucks pull into the school disturbing the quaint peace of the valley. Their numbers are large, their choice of bats is stellar, their size is towering (well, a few of them, still...! O_O), and the odds are not in our favour.

As the game progresses the score gets wider, the breaks are beating us, and the grounders are a little further away from our grasp. Finally, the worries about gasoline are the last things I am thinking about as I head to the dugout for the final time after flying out to left field. The misadventure into the lovely town of Kilbride taught me a valuable lesson: Be prepared (DUH!), and what is more to enjoy the journey. If you don't stop to notice the Mom & Pop restaurant, the manicured rose-laden park, the old-time railroad crossings and street lamps, and the strawberry farm along the way then you will wonder how you arrived at your destination, place in life, or age in the first place!

An excursion can last thirty minutes, but the stories within that journey are limitless. ^_^

Backwoods Baseball, Part 1

2013-05-18T23:23:00.000-07:00

I play baseball three times last week, each game for a different league in and around my hometown. My third game last week, however, was not in a usual, well lit part of suburbia, but out in the agricultural, rolling hills, and backwoods of Canada without the banjos.

First, there is my hometown of Mississauga, then a little west of there is Oakville, Burlington, and then a town called Guelph. This game I was about to participate in started almost immediately after work ended, so I not only had to get my gear from home and change clothes, I had a fair amount of driving to do. I'm a product of the 1990s, so when I need directions on how to arrive at a destination I print them out on 8.5"x11" paper, place the directions on the seat next to me, and drive the route the direction tell me to travel. No GPS, no ambient female voice telling me I made a wrong turn, and no room for error!

The major road to the diamond is a "line": The Guelph Line. Effectively, it's the border between urbanization and suburbia, and agriculture and secluded, sleepy towns like Lowville, Churchville, and Inglewood. Like the childhood home of NFL quarterback and future hall-of-famer Brett Favre, you can't find "Kilbride" on a conventional map. Google found "Kilbride Park", which is behind the elementary school, but Google believes the road to Kilbride is a straight line. Ladies and gentlemen, the Guelph Line is not a straight line; it's a border, and borders are never simple.

I took many slights and curves to stay on the Guelph Line burning the last of precious gasoline as I left, obeying traffic signs, and annoying the locals behind my automobile by doing so. I wasn't lost - I was...taking my time. As the clock indicated, throughout my journey through the Ontario backwoods, I had to put the pedal to the metal, yet it was during the many twists and turns I discovered I was only halfway to my destination when I arrived at Twiss Road (no pun intended).

Guelph Line & Twiss Road: I reached a cross roads. As the little Chief Engineer Scotty cackled in my head that "the engines aren't going to last much longer!", I eyed the little Esso gas station across the street. There was no telling how much longer the journey would last, and there was only enough gas left over for a few more kilometres.

If I get gasoline for the car, I would be late for the game. If I drove on ahead, I could be lost in the Ontario underbrush and thickets armed with baseball bats and a Los Angeles Dodgers hoody I purchased from the online store for $51 after discount.

What would I do? What would I do?

Dat Voice: My Life and The Four Seasons

2013-05-06T18:18:00.001-07:00

We had a radio station that played nothing but oldies music when I grew up. Those were good times.

Actually, I tuned it to Oldies 1150 AM out of Hamilton, and 1050 Chum from Toronto, and from there I bounced back and forth. Every Sunday, Oldies 1150 would play nothing but Elvis Presley from 8am to 9am, and then nothing but Beatles music the following hour. That was some sweet music to listen to as you're putting on your Sunday best, leaving your room, being told by Mom and Dad (mostly Dad) to wear something else, returning to your room to change, and trying again.

I did have one pet peeve with Oldies radio stations: Mmm-bop music. At least four times a day, I could count on both radio stations to play The Four Seasons, and each time I could feel my eardrums liquify under the mind-numbing shrill. I'm sure Frankie Valli is a nice guy, and the Four Seasons are a lovely bunch of guys, but the plastic mmm-bop music of the fifties drove me insane. Why is my foot tapping to "Sherry"? Since when could I sing the words to "Big Girls Don't Cry"? Why do I love what I hate so much?! AHH!

Perhaps I should write a 50's mmm-bop song to exorcise my childhood demons? At least I would become part of the madness that engulfed my pre-teen to teenage years, and my song would live in the memory and liquified eardrums of another young soul.

"Sheerrrr-rrrrrr-rrryyyy ba-aa-by, Sheeerrrryyy, won't you come out tonight...? Oops, turn off speech to document application...!"

As you can see, I'm a tad conflicted, if not confused. Some of my fondest memories growing up revolved around Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons: My first day at high school, my first car, driving to the Dairy Cream to hang out with friends are all great times and the "Jersey Boys" were involved in some way. Maybe mmm-bop music isn't all bad; compared to today's stuff, I would prefer the Four Seasons for its originality, harmonies, and lack of auto-tuned wackiness.

Play it again, Frankie ^_^ Wait, what did I say? o_O

Speaking of music, I launched another YouTube channel this spring. I upload nothing but music videos on it, and so far the reception was pretty good. It's called "Philhazmusic", and if you click on the link it will take you to the channel page where you can listen to what I posted so far and SUBSCRIBE for more updates. It's not on the level of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, unfortunately, but I hope you enjoy it.

My First Racism Experience

2013-04-18T23:05:00.003-07:00

Alright, let's try something completely different...

Preface: I will be the first to admit I said many STUPID, prejudicial things growing up. As multiculturalism and urbanization grew and developed in my neighbourhood, what I lacked in understanding and narrow-mindedness showed up in my actions, but more often than not in my speech as well. There was forgiveness from God and others, and enough opportunity to rebuild friendship and trust with my friends and cohorts in school and in the neighbourhoods of the suburbs.

With all that said, I knew I was different from most people growing up. There were not a large assortment of black students, never mind black males, growing up in the suburbs of the Greater Toronto Area in the 1980s and 1990s.

A toddler called me the N-word in a shopping mall.
One of the organizers of a video game tournament in my hometown on Canada Day refused to enter me because I was black.
A city bus driver ordered each black male boarding her bus to show student identification.

With the exception of the middle one, those don't bother me much anymore. I was a kid, so I took everything that happened to me to heart, and playing the race card for every little thing was a popular thing at the time (I mistakenly linked Malcolm X: The Movie coming out in theatres and everyone being angry with everyone else for different reasons, but I digress.)

Artist's representation of my cruise ship in 2009 o_O

In 2009, I went on vacation alone. I needed a break from everything and everyone: I wasn't sleeping properly, I had nightmares about work, nightmares about worst case scenarios at work, nightmares about going to work, and I was snapping at family and friends. I was on the verge of my second mental breakdown (first occurred in England in 2004). The solution, which coincided with graduation from university, was a two-week cruise of South America. Overall, it was what I needed, and I could regale you with many stories about my experience that were positive reminders of God's mercy, majesty, and sovereignty. Onboard the cruise, most of the people were friendly, and the staff was especially nice and courteous and wonderful. There was, however, one ongoing "problem"...

Avery Brooks, the actor who played Captain Sisko in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, says it best in a quote from the episode "Badda-Bing, Badda-Bang":

You want to know? You really want to know what my problem is? I'll tell you: Las Vegas, 1962. That's my problem. In 1962, black people weren't very welcome there! Oh, sure, they could be performers or janitors, but customers? Never!

The cruise was Vegas; and I went to Vegas! Sure, there was a little casino below deck, but that's not the point. I knew the world was not a happy-go-lucky place; my parents taught me that, so as I progressed from high school to university to graduation to almost thirty-something I knew my first experience dealing with the unfairness of the world would come sooner than later. When I stepped on the cruise, it did not hit me like a ton of bricks like I thought it would, no. Instead, it hung in the air like a wisp of Air from an air freshener automatically set to spray at random times o_O

There were many "single, black men" on the cruise. If they were not singing or performing on the grand stage in the ballroom, they were either standing by the doors in black ties and frilly sky blue blazers holding trays or cleaning rooms. For the first week, I received looks and double takes from other vacationers because I wouldn't take orders, perform on stage, or look like I was doing something. I could hear the whispers and feel the palpable awkwardness whenever I entered a room, and eventually it limited where I could go on the cruise: I couldn't eat at the high-end restaurants, not because I was broke, but because when I dressed up I kept getting asked about food and orders. I looked forward to disembarking at each port of call just to avoid those situations time and again.

Finally, it happened...

I'm a big ice cream guy, as my friends will attest, so one day I grabbed a soup bowl, filled it with orange sherbet, and sat down at a small table in the lunch room facing the port side windows. I received a few looks already, but nothing too obvious that day. I did, however, notice a familiar old lady staring at me from across the hall. I turned away and ignored her glare, but all of a sudden she stood, marched the length of the room, stopped a few inches short of where I sat, and in a loud voice said the words I would never forget for as long as I live:

"SHOULDN'T YOU BE WORKING?!"

Jesus instructs each of us to "love our enemies", and if it occurred right when the vacation began I probably would "open the gates". Like her, the only "single, black men" I saw on the cruise were cleaners, waiters, and entertainers. All the others had people, for lack of a better word, to "vouch" for them. She noticed me "not working" and "being lazy" for days and days and days, and finally had enough. Naturally, everyone within earshot was either thinking the same thing or mortified by her assertion, so I did my best to respond as calm yet loud enough to answer the question on everyone's mind.

"No, because I am on vacation just like you."

Almost a moment later, the same woman flipped from accusation to embarrassment. She sweated apologies all over the floor, and sheepishly walked away. Now, I don't share that story to beef me up, and say "LOOK AT ALL THE HOOTS I'M WORTH! WOOO!" I shared because you probably felt the same way, although our circumstances are different.

You feel pushed aside, generalized, marginalized, hurt, abused, teased, insulted, embarrassed, lonely, or ready to explode over various misgivings. There are loads of evil in the world, as you know, however in expecting the absolute worst to "COME AT ME", I should not expect my response to bring the absolute worst out of me. One should be able to handle anger and every other emotion with care keeping things in proper perspective, and remaining humble. It's not going to be easy, as it wasn't for me in 2009, and it isn't easy for me now. I just manage my emotions a little better since then, that's all, at least I hope I did.

Yes, so don't get me wrong; my cruise experience wasn't all doom and gloom. It was quite nice, I suppose. Cruises are nice vacation boats, I guess ^_^ I met some nice people onboard, and perhaps in time I can share some stories about them with you. In the meantime, it's late, and I should sleep.

Help Someone (NOT ME) Get Into Art School!

2013-04-12T20:48:00.000-07:00

I don’t do this often, if at all, but the story of the person I linked to below is a familiar one.

When I was eighteen, I had to choose between university life and going to school for animation. I like to draw, and occasionally do nowadays. The funds were there, but the confidence was not, so I chose post-secondary education to increase my chances of getting “a real job”. The story of Emily Carson, who is ‘emilythebravee’ on Tumblr and YouTube, struck a chord with me. However, while she has the talent and confidence to succeed in art school, she needs help paying for it. That’s where YOU come in…

Right now, Emily is enrolled in a $10K scholarship contest. She wrote an essay about her life and how much she loves working in animation. All you need to do is click on the link above, read her essay, and vote for her. If she receives enough support from YOU and readers like YOU, then they will consider her for the scholarship! :D

I voted already, and plan to do it again! I’m not secretly a backer or getting residuals for doing this, and I’m sure she doesn’t know who I am; I followed her and her friends on YouTube for the past year, and I’m doing this because she is a genuinely nice person and an incredibly talented artist.

Thanks for reading and taking the time out to support her cause ^_^ I appreciate it, and I’m sure Emily does, too!

Here is her post via tumblr:

So I’ve entered a scholarship essay contest for up to $10,000!

The first part of the contest relies on voting so if you could take a minute to read my essay and vote I would be eternally grateful!

Oh also, the site says where I live and I can’t change it which is super annoying so like, please don’t be creepy. I trust you guys with this. Don’t blow it.

ANYWAY HERE IS IT WOOHOO!

I Am Unhappy

2013-03-04T19:55:00.000-08:00

I wrote this at ridiculous a.m. in the morning, and after two dozen people read it I relegated it to draft mode because I felt more ashamed of me than ever. However, it does zero good to anyone to deny my feelings, and it could help someone as we are not alone in this. So, after a day's worth of prayer, editing, and fixing "which people can't see this" to "everyone can see this", here it goes...

Hi,

I think I was put on this earth to make people happy, and for a little while I managed to do that. As it turns out, I can't do it anymore because the person that should be happy others are happy is not me.

I was a comedian and scratch musician through grade school and high school, then later on in life I became a REAL Christian, and not just in name and on Sundays. Loads of people liked me, and I thought I was finally making a difference for JESUS. Things were going to be alright, from now on, I thought. Then, in 2010, things changed.

Something terrible happened to a friend of mine, who is no longer with us, and then something almost as terrible happened to me, which only one other person half knows about. That event weighed on my actions for so long that I drove away my family and friends; I even ended really good friendships over minute and ridiculous things. Years later, I overheard my Dad talking my relatives about my changes, and his "reason" for why 'the lights went out'. He wasn't right, but he wasn't wrong either.

I tried to overcompensate with heavy doses of writing, however that began to wane in recent times. My serious writing had three outcomes: (1) I deleted whatever I wrote because I believed it was terrible and not worth anyone's time, or (2) I posted what I knew lacked insight and annoyed people just for the sake of viewership, and that is stupid, and (3) Someone somewhere liked it, for some odd reason, so I decided to keep it at their insistence.

Everything I do immediately turns to dust, from structured essays to the most sincere and genuine gestures of friendship and support. When I returned to making videos, which I didn't do since the early 2000s, the urge to reference this feeling as a real live problem grew as well. I told my insecurities to a pastoral intern in Oakville named Daniel (Hi Daniel), when he posed a question on Facebook about your "Social Media Heart Check". In response Daniel, who knows next to nothing about me, told me God loves me. I really want to believe God does, but I look around and conclude things will not improve.

I am unhappy. I am expected to fill a role, and then I am expected to go home. Sometimes I feel no one cares if I'm alive or dead, unless they are compelled to tell me out of the circumstance. For example, I received my fair share of 'Dear John' and breakup letters from women that still want to be friends, and all I could think was "We were never in that type of relationship to begin with, so why do I have this, and if she doesn't want to be seen with me, why would she want me in the same room?" Then again, I can't think of anyone I know that wants to be with me, never mind in the same room. Does anyone care? Do my friends read what I write, or do they just nod and smile politely and make vague assumptions? Do they talk about me, and what do they say? Do they laugh at me, do they whisper my name in dark corners, or do they just glare and curse my existence like what happened three years ago? Is this what my friend thought before he left us? I don't want to act the fool just to get by, get laughs, and convince me and others that things will get better, like in high school and university. I would like to be happy again, if that is alright?

If you are younger than me, or maybe the same age and older, and you feel the same way about feelings then please tell someone you trust before it's too late! Don't let the circumstances, however real or imagined, decide your life. Don't let them claim your life like they claimed my friend three years ago, because...this world will not be the same without you, and it will not get better. If this serves as a way to help somebody with a similar problem, then maybe it will be worth it, but right now I feel like I did something wrong.

Thanks for reading and sticking around this long. I think this Charlie McDonnell dude explains it alot better than I ever could. The variables are different (YouTube vs Writing), but the pain is the same. You should check out this video he made awhile back.

Bye.

An Antarctic Romance

2013-02-07T21:24:00.000-08:00

They fired the last flare into the air an hour ago. All they have left in that shabby tent are a couple ofTblankets, an empty skillet, their clothes and each other. Sitting beside each other for warmth, one turns to the other, and says…

“It’s so cold!”

“It’s alright, honey.”

“I wonder if they saw the flare? That was the last one.”

“It doesn’t matter now; we did all we could.”

“I’m scared.”

“There, there. It’s alright.”

“Sniff, you probably think I’m such a baby?”

“No, I don’t think that at all.”

“I’m sorry I brought you here.”

“Don’t be sorry. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

“I didn’t imagine it would all end like this.”

“I am safest in your arms, darling.”

“How can you say that?”

“I just did.”

“Honey, I…”

“Shh, everything will be fine. Just hold me back, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Heh, for what?”

“For you; for everything.”

“Heh, thank you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

…

“Wait, did you hear that? I don’t believe it! It’s them! You’re right, they saw the flare! Hey! HEY! OVER HERE! They see us! They are coming over. Everything is going to be alright, honey. We’re safe now, honey. Honey? Honey…”

Two Must Pull Each Arm: An Antarctic Survival Story

2013-02-07T21:18:00.004-08:00

I jumped out of the water first. I scampered up the hill of ice as he clawed his way to the crest of the hill where he could stand. Just as he got a foothold, he turned and spotted Leon and Dalton coming up from the water.

“Come on, come on!” I exclaimed, “Get up the hill, hurry!” Leon didn’t need to be told twice, as he was already well in the ascent. Dalton paused to stare at me with a look of horror in his eyes. There was no time to waste as Greg and Carlton bumped up behind him, and pushed him forward. Poor Dalton, it was his first real swim.

I stood at the little ledge of the hill pointing the others toward where Leon stood catching his breath. Watch the water! Keep count, you fool! There’s Edward. Watch the water! Harry, Allan, Tyrone. Watch the water! Oh no, where is Bill? “Frank, Wendell, you’ll never make it; that side is too steep! Come up this side!” Where is Bill? Stephen, Max. Watch the water! Ulysses, John. Watch the water! Bill, oh, thank heavens, it’s Bill.

Bill hurried up beside me as Roger and Quincy filed past us toward the others. “I have my group; it looked like it had us for a second, but we are alright.” He told me. I nodded, “That’s better than we usually do. Keep an eye on the others, and keep an eye on Dalton; make sure he doesn’t panic.”

Suddenly, Tyrone shouted from the top of the hill. His fin pointed in the direction of the water. Bill and I turned our heads toward the water, and spotted a large black line in the distance. As it neared, the water tailed off on both sides, and the line grew inch by inch, second by second. I ushered Bill up the hill with Xavier, and motioned the brothers Nathan and Oliver away from the sleek ledge Frank tried to scale earlier. Pascal came up from the water, but saw me waving at the brothers; he called the determined pair in his unique and vulgar way, and both immediately hastened towards us. I turned once again at the black fin that rose from the water we swam across in fear and desperation not too long ago. Where I stood wasn’t so safe either, so I waddled up the hill just behind the other three, when Bill screamed from the top. The look in his eyes spelled trouble, and the others around him knew it as well.

“Kevin! Where’s Kevin?!” Bill exclaimed. The count, ye gods, I forgot the count! I forgot to wait for Kevin. I turned and found an injured Kevin paddling in the water ahead of the oncoming black line; his arm was sore from the diving training session we had back home, and in all the panic he injured it again. I could hear him calling me for help as he choked on the water splashing into his throat, but I couldn’t move. The black line, as big as it was, began sinking into the water as it approached our little glacier. The black line. That black line. That small black line. That small black tip.

Kevin was near the edge of the ice flow, when I heard a commotion coming from Bill and the others behind me. As I turned my head, Dalton bumped into me as he slid down to Kevin!

“Dalton, no, it’s too late!” I said.

“Let me go! We can save him!” Dalton argued, pushing away as best he could. The black tip was getting closer to Kevin now, but Kevin couldn’t climb up with his injured arm.

“Dalton, no!”

“Kevin!” Dalton put up a fight, and broke loose! I tried to grab him, but he already slid the rest of the way, and grabbed Kevin’s good arm. At that moment, the black tip behind Kevin disappeared, and the sea slowly became calm. We all stood in silence as the splashing waters receded, and all we could hear was Dalton struggling and Kevin gasping for breath as Dalton pulled his friend out of the water. I could hear Kevin’s words to Dalton.

“Thank you.” He said. Dalton nodded, and they looked at me as they walked up the hill.

I wanted to say something, but I forgot what it was.

Suddenly, the black tip arose from the water revealing the massive whale underneath! Its mouth opened up from out of the water casting a shadow over Dalton, Kevin, and the knob of ice beneath their feet. I heard their screams mere seconds before the mouth of the whale closed down on them and shot pools of water all over me and that half of the ice flow. I fell down on my back and rolled over as the water splashed on me like a waterfall.

I couldn’t hear Kevin. I couldn’t hear Dalton. I couldn’t even hear the whale.

There was a genuine silence for a minute, before I started hearing Pascal screaming at the top of the hill. I looked up and saw Xavier on his stomach, Nathan and Oliver standing in shock, and Wendell walked a couple of steps to the side before vomiting on the snow. Everyone else was crying, but not Bill. No, Bill just tilted his head at me, and shook his head. The tears collected in his eyes, but he didn’t release them. I gulped, stood up, and turned towards the gaping hole in the side of the glacier a few steps away…

“There was nothing you could do.”

“No, if I went with Dalton, we could have pulled up Kevin together. That’s the rule: Two must pull each arm. One penguin pulls one arm, and Dalton pulls the other. Then, they would be here. Instead, I had to tell Mrs. Davidson and Mrs. Kyle when we got home, and Mr. Kyle was there. I saw the Kyle family first, they are such a lovely family. They have four…three kids, three beautiful baby daughters. Kevin said he was going to teach the girls how to swim and catch fish, and once he figures out how to dive properly, he will…?”

“There was nothing…”

“After that, I saw Mrs. Davidson, she lives on the other side of town. It’s just her and Dalton, you know? Well, it’s just Mrs. Davidson now, you see, but I told her that her son…her son is a hero…her son was a hero, but her son…her son isn’t coming home. He’s never coming home again because…because…”

“You found that ice flow. You saved Bill, Wendell, Pascal, Nathan and Oliver, all the others; they understand.”

“No, you don’t understand! The look in their eyes. I saw their eyes; there was so much fear, panic, desperation. They were grasping for life; they were looking at me. They looked to me! They looked at me! Look at me! LOOOOK AT MEEE! Mrs. Davidson looked at me; she looked at me the way Dalton looked at me. They are so alike; the resemblance is uncanny! Do you know what she asked me?! Do you know…what she…said? She asked me ‘what did I do?’ What did I do?! I…I don’t know, Mrs. Davidson, I…couldn’t help your boy…I couldn’t help…I…couldn’t…help…I couldn’t…SAVE THEM! I CAA AA AA…AHH AA AA…AAA…AAAHHH…AH AH AH…AAAAAAHHHHHHH AHH AHHH!”

(picture credit by Jeff Shaw)

An Antarctic Proposal

2013-02-07T21:07:00.000-08:00

I must admit as cold as it is right now, your smile always warms my heart, no matter what the weather may be.

In the time we spent together, I know what true warmth and true love is: It's in your eyes, your smile, your kiss, and in the touch of your hand.

You are a light that shows my way, a flame that never dwindles, a heat that warms, and a fire that give me life.

From the bottom of the earth, from the bottom of my heart, I will always love you and seek to honour you with all my heart and everything that I am.

The Antarctic Words

2013-02-07T20:44:00.002-08:00

I have a tumblr account, and spent a considerable amount of time writing on that. There are a few works that I am proud of writing, so I thought I would share them with you on here.

There are three short stories and poems that are set in the South Pole, or Antarctica. If you have a favourite, be sure to share them amongst your friends or followers. I will give each of them a post, instead of copy and pasting them under one post.

Enjoy!