The Bathroom Befuddlement.

Like all the great minds of my time I have all of my best ideas in the bathroom. 

Wait! It's not what you think. 

I don't get some serious thoughts while squeezing out a deuce. I can't even read when I'm in the bathroom, it's one of those get in and get out deals. 

That's why you come to my blog. To read about me having bowel movements. I guess I've finally crossed that line I didn't want to eventually cross. There is no coming back. Up next the failed sexual exploits of Tyson Elder. 

Back to our regularly scheduled blog post about thinking in the bathroom. 

The bathroom is where all my big ideas happen and slip away with the grime, soap, and water of the shower. (I had a particularly blue line to go here.) That's right I get ideas in the shower. 

Generally when an idea rolls around in my head all through the day. Most of the time I'll be at work when this idea pops in to say hello. I scribble some unformed idea in a notebook I keep in a coverall pocket and hope something happens with it. When I get home from my working day smelling like an aircraft's asshole I throw my notebook in my office, and have a shower. 

In that five to seven minute window of fluctuating temperature water the idea comes back in full force, but without me being able to write it down. I think of that witty one liner that will never see the light of day, the opening paragraph to this blog post, or something vaguely business related. 

By the time the soap is out of my eyes the idea is being back to half formed. Lacking those qualities that made it so “unique” in the shower. I rush to my computer, fire up 750, but normally it's gone. The light bulb is there but it is flickering with the last seconds of life. I bang something out, but I know it isn't right. That's why I normally don't have anything brilliant to put up here. A rule of thumb on my blog is that I don't like to put up things I'm not happy with. 

So, here is my predicament. I have ideas in the shower that I can't capture and therefor can't ship. Wow, that sounded really social media douche-y. 

Do you have any suggestions on how I save these ideas and thoughts in the shower without ruining my walls, shower, periodical table shower curtain, and bathtub? 

I'm all ears. Trust me they are clean I just had a shower.

Cracked.

“Hi! How are you?” 

It's not pretty and it's certainly not fun, but I'm okay. There are no pictures. I'm certainly not going to take one. I don't have an x-ray to wave about, and I don't have a cast.

What I do have is a crack through one of the bones in my foot. Making it extremely difficult for me to do any real moving along at a decent speed. There is a limp. I walk funny because I'm resting my wait on my big toe and my heel. Staying away from the “palm” of my foot. I've been bombing around on crutches from time to time. Icing in the meantime. As you can guess there are no painkillers. Also I'm not at work. 

I do have to say my friends have been super solid offering to pick up groceries, drive me around, and you know generally awesome. Kat wins friend of the year though for picking me up at the hospital in a deathtrap when I couldn't get a cab. 

All in all I'm doing well. Bored out of my fucking skull though. I think I've watched a series and a half of Doctor Who now. Yes, I'm watching that now. I'm into series 5 as I write this so shut up nerds. I watch all six episodes of Sherlock at 90 minutes a piece. I've also rewatched a few Sophia Coppola movies, a movie about Joy Division, a couple documentaries, and my regular weekly television digest. Too much British television maybe? 

I did a little bit of cleaning today. It's hard to be on my feet for too long though. So I gave up and finished Chris Hardwick's book. I listened to music, podcasts, and a bit of 'Life'. Can you tell I'm bored? I need to find something to fill my time that isn't television, video games, or movies. 

I've been writing a little. I keep getting distracted though. Looks like my allergies are acting up.  

Time to ice the foot. 

Snow Day (so far).

When I was looking out the window at 2AM this morning I had this thought in the back of my mind that crept through the next few hours of sleep. “Did I fuck up my karma somehow?”

Five and a half hours later I was clearing the half foot of snow off the truck in what felt like a blizzard (I'm getting soft in my old age). I put the truck into 4Low, and rolled up the driveway. Visibility was the shits but there was no one on the road. I took my time and made it to work. In a losing battle I shoveled snow for two hours only to watch steps behind me fill in.

I left. There was no point in us being there. The coffee shop was open, and I figured I would swing in to grab a coffee before going home. I got out of the truck, wiped the ice off the wipers, turned to start to the door, and just like that I was face down in the snow.

A path not cleared. I tripped over a curb. I sprung back up in shock, but more embarrassed. I come here everyday how did I not know the curb was there. Oh yeah, snow. I ordered a coffee and a sandwich to go, and sat down at a table. Only to realize that my right foot was now killing me. Every movement a sharp pain runs up my leg.

I shuffled down my driveway, stripped off my snow covered coveralls, boots, and jacket. I made my way to my bedroom to collapse in pain, embarrassment, and an oncoming wave of loneliness.

The snow, the country, and where I live are isolating. I lay here wondering to myself if I could get help if I actually needed it. It is the first time in a very long time I've felt vulnerable and alone where I live. Sometimes you just want someone to take care of you or drive you to the hospital. Sometimes you just want your parents to look after you.

Against my better judgment I'm not going to brave the roads to go to the hospital to get my foot looked after unless I really have to. When the snow stops falling and the roads are actually plowed. Until then I'm going to lay here alternating this cold pack on my foot, napping, and reading.

I'm an adult now?

Save This House.

A couple shots I really dig from two of the house concerts I went to last week. I'm sure there will be a few words added here about them later. Until then to see more of my shots of Shaun Verreault and John Mann check out my Victoria House Concert B set on flickr.

Saying Goodbye (Guitar).

During last nights Victoria House Concert B, Andy announced that he is starting a charity to give the gift of music to an adolescent or teenager in the community that wouldn't have the opportunity otherwise. Andy held a small auction for guitar lessons with Shaun Verreault with all proceeds going to the new charity. It really got me thinking.

A few years ago when I was working in the spice mines I had a bit of an accident. It involved a box cutter, my wrist, a lot of blood, and several hours in a waiting room to get stitched up. After the accident I started to realize I had lost the the feeling in two of the fingers in my hand. Still fully functioning fingers, but without the fun sensation of feeling.

It was around this time I was really discovering playing a guitar. A few months before my accident I decided to stop borrowing my sister's guitar and buy my own.

I fell in love with my guitar as soon as I saw it. Matte black, Canadian made, cherry wood, electric-acoustic. An Art & Luthrie cutaway. Just a beautiful piece of art. Something to be proud of and to show off. I loved the shit out of the guitar until my accident happened. Then it just sat there on it's guitar stand starring back at me wanting to pick it up.

Over the last few years I've made some serious attempts at trying to get back into it, but it never panned out. I'd get frustrated, and put it back in its case. A constant reminder of something I wanted to be good at, but could no longer achieve. It's hard when a lot of your friends are struggling musicians, and they bug you to pick up the guitar to play along with them. Not quite understanding why you can't play anymore.

Here I am with a beautiful guitar sitting in my living room collecting dust and looking like a tragic piece of art unloved. There have been much contemplation about selling my guitar, but it never felt right. I want my guitar to go to someone who is really going to appreciate it. Someone who is going to love it. Someone to treat it right.

That's when I made my decision. I'm going to donate it to this charity Andy from Victoria House Concert B is starting. For him to give to a kid who could really love it, and otherwise wouldn't be able to have a guitar. I know my guitar is going to make some kid really happy, and at the end of the day that's all I want. Not money, but the satisfaction of knowing someone out there is happy because of my guitar.

I dusted her off, cleaned the case up, packed in my tuner, some extra picks, and a guitar strap.

Everyone needs music in their lives.