Do Porcupines Hybernate

I recently went to Toronto to see my favorite band perform at the Princess Margaret Theatre. Porcupine Tree is not well known here in North America. They originate from England (so proud) and play a type of music that most try to label "progressive rock". But labels are deceiving, irritating and itchy (if you don't cut them off properly).

This incredible band is made up of all the elements needed to be monsters of popularity except the desire to produce cheesy pop rock or top 40 radio dung.

Their list of elements include;

• Incredible musicians - with possibly the best drummer on the planet - though some might wish to debate me on that.


• Truly sophisticated music that challenges while it attacks and retreats through long eclectic passages of hard edge cuts and soft soul massages.


• Lyrics that would make a poet cry. An understanding of life and a brilliant ability to encapsulate it in a few short rhymes.
  
• The perfect stage show, with CD quality sound mix and near prefect reenactment of the recorded songs. Floyd would be proud!

Having waited since the Spring to see them, tickets in hand for 5 months, I thought I might have built them up to a place in my mind where I would undoubtedly be disappointed. I attended the evening with a close friend - who originally turned me on to this band during a 2 hour wait in a Japanese airport lounge - and my son who is also inspired by PTree's music.

The first set consisted of tracks from their new CD "The Incident" which is a monster in the making. Despite it's newness to me, it felt like I was listening to music and stories I had known all my life. The second set included tracks from older albums that included two of my all time favorites, "Anesthetize" and "Start of Something Beautiful". Near perfect compositions.

With illuminating sound penetrating the tightest corners of my soul I watched 2 hours disappear in a split second. Never have I been so disappointed to have a concert end. It could have gone on all night as I felt refreshed, invigorated and inspired.

My dear friend soaked up the event in a flurry of air drumming that could have been lethal should anyone wander in the vicinity. I, on the other hand, sat transfixed, not moving a mussel - I couldn't - the music took my mind away, and just left an empty hulk in my seat to tend to my coat and wallet. I was gone! Transported in to a very rare place - a place very few get to experience. I can say that with assurance as I have attended many a great concert in my day, but this was different - this was as close to a religious experience as I would want to get without the required worship and guilt based donations.

I had spent the whole summer waiting for this late September event. The realization that it was over too fast and that the next day was October, left me feeling the night chill and a touch of sadness that often precedes winter and the social hibernation we all go through here in Canada.

The leaves on my trees are changing, the Maple Leafs are dropping, the P Trees have left and soon the white stuff will appear. Not heart warming signs.

As they departed the stage, PTree promised to be back in the Spring with a new show. Perhaps this promise will get me through winter with a smile and a memory of a night that is now tattooed into my soul.

Until then - it's hibernation time. Time to dream of new leaves and the Trees returning.

Paris Hilton owes me!

Vacation week is over as fast as it arrived. I love my job - sometimes - but the lack of good weather this summer in Canada makes me feel cheated, thus I do not want to return just yet. I feel I am owed something.
Maybe that is the nature of all of us. Entitlement. I certainly see it in the young people today - oh god I sound like a senior citizen.
The Facebook generation seems to believe that the rest of their connected world (their so called friends) actually want to hear about their every move from "I'm eating lunch now" to "my hair looks tremendous".
This self centered approach to life, oblivious or impartial to the world around them, has resulted in a shift in culture that will sadly permeate our society once this generation is middle aged. One need look no further than celebrity culture where Paris needs a show to select a new Best Friend, and a playboy bunny can have her own show about the trials and tribulations of marrying a millionaire athlete.
Our culture is imploding into 5 billion little black holes where everyone feels entitled to receive but not to give.
Once we socialized by going "out" with a friend, or sitting with hundreds at a movie, or listening to a music album in our living rooms with actual friends. Now, the "personal" generation prefers human isolation - happily provided in their personal music systems (ipods) and online virtual friends.
Kids don't bike over to a friends house to play - they text each other to meet online and play video games (becoming characters who replace all their imagination burdens for them).
Anyone who can step back, take a breath and look at this world from a distance can see whats coming. This cultural isolationism has been predicted in many a science fiction story - but here it is on our doorstep.
My oldest and dearest friend just joined Facebook and Twitter today at age 47. It saddens me in a way, as we were always the last holdouts in resisting the Fads. But somewhere deep inside we instinctively know that this is not a fad. The vehicles (like Facebook) my come and go, but the path has been set for this culture. Perhaps he and I are of a dying generation and simply waxing nostalgic at the notion of finding your BFF the old fashioned way (without the need of a TV show). Of course, back then, we never felt entitled to this privilege, nor did we envision collecting hundreds of "friends" like we collected hockey cards. We were not entitled to the things we saw on TV - we knew we would have to work for everything that we received and very little would simply be given to us (Liberal governments not withstanding).
So I didn't get the summer I wanted! Alas somebody must be to blame. After all, I am owed some relaxation, and sunshine, and fun right?
Back to work on Monday - Damn that Paris Hilton

M

Retirement

This painting is about simplicity. Both the way it was painted, with simple knife and brush strokes, and the message, which reflects my desire for an uncomplicated slide into old age.
The irony remains in the years I have spent pushing myself so hard to achieve my dreams, when all I want now is alone time, warmth, and an uncomplicated schedule of late breakfasts followed by early cocktails.

Cheers to Retirement

Polute the Yellow Brick Road

This is a piece I love dearly. My intention was never to make an environmental statement, far from it. It is intended to point out how us humans consistently strive for more as - the perfect car, home, life, etc. yet we are never satiated when we finally arrive at that place. So the trip continues.
It's a trip of pain and sadness since we can never reach the end and can only add to our growing list of desires and wishes.
Some say this is the human spirit and drives all of our innovations. Others see the sadness and incomplete nature of our emotional condition.
Follow your dreams, but have a look out the side window at the garbage piling up along the way.

Western Therapy

Last week, on my way back from Vancouver, I stopped for the weekend in Saskatchewan to see an old friend. More like an older Brother, or Yoda as I once called him. We have survived life's ups and downs by connecting at a deep level that I can only surmise would be possible among siblings. Alas I have no Brother or Sister so my same sex equivalent of a soul mate holds that honor.

Landing in Regina is a pleasure. A fine airport in its own right, it does not have all those things that irritate the traveller in hubs like Toronto and Montreal - like planes, people and quality shops that should have the motto "no mark up it too big for us"!

Leaving the airport I remembered my dear friends comments that "whatever you need in Regina it's only 15 minutes away". Promising, but a lie! I didn't pass one Starbucks on the way to their place. Maybe Starbucks had not attacked Regina yet. Maybe they have and were beaten back by pitchfork wielding locals with Tim Horton's mugs.

30 minutes north east of Regina is the town of Beuna Vista (once called Regina Beach but I gather there was some sort of feudal incident and lines were drawn), a beautiful piece of country that literally indents the flat lands and refills it with lakes, flora, fawna, and a slightly slower rotation of the planet.

I settled right in, checking my Blackberry only bi-hourly, rather than every 10 minutes. Ahh relaxation!!

I was met with a huge hug and a kiss, followed by the same from my friends wife, a woman who I dearly love, and at the same time deeply respect for her strong presence and ability to accept me on my own terms without ever trying to change me.

My friend, lets call him Big H, was ready with the drinks and sunshine. We sat on the flat roof of his garage where you can see the lake, and covered all of the "catch up" topics necessary to get us up to speed.

I've known Big H only 15 years, but it seem like a lifetime. He knows what to say when advice is needed, but more importantly, he knows what not to say when you just need to pour your soul (which his wife, lets call her Bev because that is her name, believes I still have possession of).

We covered business and how the company was doing since I fired him (a story for another day), and I got the goods on his family - a son's happy marriage, and a beautiful daughter's sad divorce. Many a tear welled up in the corner of our eyes, but Big H and I don't cry. That's for the weak! Haa

Finally the invitation came to go down to the dock and take a boat ride at sunset. On arrival I did nothing to prepare the boat because that would be like me bringing a cup of water to the Hindenburg disaster, pointless and ineffectual. So I watched. Interested in the process, I had many questions, most related to the odds of me drowning.

Pulling out of the marina a sense of peace slipped over me. The conversation stopped and we just observed. An orange sky was burning over the horizon where the sun had recently crashed. The waves made choppy sounds against the hull and the brisk spray refreshed my face and arms.

Water birds with babies on their back bobbed by the boat as we drifted for a while. I don't know the names of birds so I called them Charlie and Rebbecca. Seemed right!

It was the shortest 90 minutes of the year. Too dark to continue I reluctantly climbed out on to the floating dock and found my land legs (not immediately).

Leaving for the airport the next morning I embraced Big H and Bev. Two of the best people on the planet. They gave me so much in two days and they will never know what it means to me. My emotional tank refilled, I drove to Regina, past the suicidal Prairie Dogs that line the highway, into the city and returned the rental car (in two minutes - please take note you Boneheads at Pearson in Toronto).

I was happy to get on board the plane (minus a business class - what the Hell?) but sad that I could not take Big H, Bev and Regina Beach with me. But then, If I did, it wouldn't be the same. Soul mates and refills are a gift - and I am willing to travel for that gift.

Thank you Big H

Vancouver

Business took me to Vancouver this week. A confusing town for visitors to navigate and a slow paced mega city to say the least. A real lack of highways adds to the slow grind, stress and frustration. Add some west coast rain and stir briskly and you have a wonderful recipe for communal anger.

I was once in Regina and someone told me that everything you need to find is 15 minutes away. Sadly this is not the case in Vancouver - poorly timed lights and Olympic sized construction projects make 15 minute drives an impossibility. Figure an hour wherever you are going unless it's real important, then figure two.

My temporary home was the Red Rock Casino resort in Richmond. Interesting name as there are no red rocks to be seen anywhere, just fake grey ones, however, the stay was a pleasure starting with a wonderful front desk greeting and capped off by a great room, great service and a stunning view of the clouds surrounding the mountains giving a look of purple cherries on top of a whipped cream sundae.

The view also included a yacht club of beautiful boats ranging from little outboard runabouts to large second mortgages.

Prior to my morning departure I walked the piers and admired the many ducks and geese making nests by the water, oblivious to the jumbo jets that scraped the hotel roof in their approach to the nearby airport.

Walking down the street I'm passed by several blond Asian women in mini skirts on their way to gamble or work - who knows, maybe it's the same thing.

Construction everywhere, dotted with "Help Wanted" signs making a liar out of the recession.

Friday morning the card tables are still full in the casino - seriously, who gambles at 8 am on a Friday?

At 10 AM I head further down the street to the ubiquitous Starbucks, past the rear loading doors of the casino and the pungent smell of garbage emanating from the Red Rock loading bays. Everything feels fake and the smell of decay is in the air. Social or physical, I'm not sure!

I feel strange surrounded by the beauty of BC, yet so much seems exploitative. Progress I guess!

The ducks don't care. Maybe I don't either.

My latte is too hot to drink so I sit in my rental car and watch the world pass by. It's surreal, I feel no connection to this place, it could be a TV show for all I feel. Time to fly.



M

Wine and Cheese

This week I experienced a moment of true happiness when, in the middle of a crazy work week of mind numbing strategic meetings, I escaped for a few hours of wine and cheese tasting at Bistro Champlain in the Quebec countryside.

My view stretched across a lake dotted with a few boaters while the dock was near empty but for a few dogs walking their humans and enjoying the pre "schools out" madness of cottage country.

In the Bistro I am surrounded by amazing works of art by Carson, and below me is a cellar of 18,000 bottles of wine. Far to many for me to drink in one sitting, but I was eager to try.

The wine steward and host was a wonderful man of great humor and hidden knowledge tucked away in folds of his wrinkled eyes. He delivered a centrepiece of cheeses and apples that looked too fine to eat. Cheeses my anglophone mouth could not pronounce but had no issue devouring,

the highlight being a 5 year old Gouda that activated taste buds that I thought long dead.

Champagne arrived, followed quickly by a 9 year old Chardonnay. Brilliant tastes of oak and apply danced across my pallet and flowed into my stomach, replacing the tension and stress that had sat there for days.

Then the reds arrived. Pinot Noir first - an aroma to lift your head off. Can we stop the world at this point because it just cant get better? But it did! 5 more wines followed, each one distinctly different and interacting with the cheeses in a most unexpected and creative manner. Dusty and mildewed labels revealed no hint of the pleasures they were protecting.

After a quick visit to the wine cellar, I settled back in my chair to finish off my new found liquid obsessions along with two wonderful colleagues who shared this surreal experience.

All talk of work was gone. Only mutual confusion as to why our lives are so regimented and stressed when paradise is all around us.

I didn't want to leave. It was upsetting, like being yanked back into existence after a near death experience, inches from Nirvana.

The drive back was filled with laughter and good natured opinions surrounding the wines and cheeses we experienced. But sadly, I surmise we all felt like something was left behind.

Maybe I will go back one day and look for it. Or maybe it was a moment never to be repeated beyond the retelling in stories and a knowledge that there is a different world of sights, sounds and tastes out there if we have the desire to seek it out.

M

Kicking and Screaming

Technology and I do not get along!

I am an painter and a writer, with an artistic soul and a well hidden emotional side that most who know my alter ego - corporate President - would never guess or suspect, or even want to associate.

So why a Blog?

I need an outlet, that most who blog or twitter seem to have found. Painting and writing is a fantastic emotional outlet, but on occasion, nothing beats a good political rant - posted for all to see. Though why anyone would care, is a mystery!

Since western society is obsessed with the narcissistic need to inform facebookers of their every mundane move, why can't I drop a comment or two about the futility and absurdity of it all?

So I plan to use this space to show some paintings, write a few lines of dribble, or just rant about the World, Politics, Business, Music, or anything else that pops into this 40ish brain. Running a business is stressful, with hundreds of lives depending on your decisions - I trust running a blog will be a little less taxing.

Let's see where this goes.





Cheers!







M