When I was a young child, Christmas was my absolute favorite time of the year. I remember staring excitedly at packages under the tree (tempted to touch, but restrained myself) and a line of colourful Christmas cards hanging from a string strewn across our livingroom.
Christmas Eve usually involved midnight mass at Notre Dame Cathedral, followed by a greasy meal at Picasso's. We were so exhausted, the lump of food in our tummies rarely kept us from sleep.
One Christmas morning, I discovered the faint imprint of a footprint near the tree, and was absolutely giddy that Santa had left proof behind (of course, the real culprit was my Dad's wet boot, which temporarily stained Mom's clean carpet).
We had a tradition of opening our gifts after a lavish lunch slaved over by Mom. It was admittedly difficult to be patient, especially when forced to open each present one at a time for all to witness (and be photographed). I always hoped family members enjoyed what I bought them, although Mom must've wondered why I kept getting her soap and bubble bath (not much imagination on my part, I'll admit). Gifts to myself were often head scratchers (one year I received a Medical Dictionary; another, a heavy steel safe) but my family didn't really know what I was interested in. Christmas night was usually a quiet affair, the calm before the storm of visiting extended family.
As I got older, my appreciation of Christmas seemed to dim. Instead of a day I was excited about, it became a time of year I dreaded, involving spending time with folk I didn't really like, maintaining a sheepish grin until the season passed. I remember a few years where I was quite busy with work, and the 25th popped up abruptly, like a whirlwind, only to be over just as quickly (to my relief).
The echoes of Charlie Brown's exhasperated question rang in my ears: 'Can anyone tell me what Christmas is really about?'
Eventually, I figured it out.
It isn't about gifts (despite what the avalanche of television and internet ads proclaiming otherwise), it's about giving. The Three Wise Men discovered a tiny baby lying in a manger, surrounded by angel song; they gave Him presents, while the baby Himself was a selfless gift for us all.
Having my two daughters reminded me that it's also about the raw joy a child feels on December 25th. I try to take time to revel in the uncomplicated happiness of the Season, any stress or melancholy chased away by festive holiday music, cookies, and blinking lights.
I guess it's finally about hope. I'm not sure if today's materialistic, jaded, bitter, and techologically connected folk are able to put things aside and enjoy Christmas like an innocent kid; a Christmas miracle may be when they can, and unselfish giving results in a joyful day where time seems to stand still, and the hope for Peace on Earth and Goodwill Toward All doesn't seem quite so ridiculous.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Happy Anniversary
Picture this: a dimly lit office space in the mid 1990s, sections defined with moveable walls, drab carpeting everywhere. The stale air is punctuated by the constant ring of telephones and the voices of friendly and/or bored Customer Service agents.
I settle into my chair, ready to answer calls, and glance across the room at the American Express division of Comp-U-Card.
She was leaving for the day, and strolled quickly towards the elevators. I was intrigued, and knew I simply had to get to know her better. Over the weeks, I interrupted her conversations with a co-worker, my contributions quite awkward in restrospect. Eventually, I followed her to where she sat at the food court for lunch, and mustered the courage to ask her out on a movie date.
It was The Crow, and I shielded her eyes from the scary bits (which was incredibly dorky).
I remember fondly ice cream dates at Swensons, long walks downtown, and finally finding the courage to grasp her hand at the Jazz Festival; meeting her Mom after a long Summer walk past St Joseph's Oratory, and late Christmas Eves dosing off next to her at Claire's.
Flash forward to 1999.
We're dressed up, me in a rare suit, she in a beautiful lilac dress, standing in front of a minister at Disney World, the December air warm and joyous. Placing the ring on her finger feels magical, befitting our surroundings, and it stuns me how almost 11 wonderful years have elapsed since that perfect day.
I was pretty lucky; when I met my wife, I didn't really believe that I could possibly find a person for me. Perhaps by having the state of mind where I wasn't actively looking, I was finally open to finding what had been missing from my life.
Isabelle is incredibly special: she's warm, thoughtful, with clear opinions and a tremendous capacity for love. We both share a refusal to grow up, and a desire to constantly communicate with one another. She has followed me across the country, without hesitation; together we've plunged into home ownership and raising a family. She has stood by me in sickness and health, good times and bad.
I was very fortunate to have met her in that office, and am truly blessed to have her as my life partner and best friend.
I settle into my chair, ready to answer calls, and glance across the room at the American Express division of Comp-U-Card.
She was leaving for the day, and strolled quickly towards the elevators. I was intrigued, and knew I simply had to get to know her better. Over the weeks, I interrupted her conversations with a co-worker, my contributions quite awkward in restrospect. Eventually, I followed her to where she sat at the food court for lunch, and mustered the courage to ask her out on a movie date.
It was The Crow, and I shielded her eyes from the scary bits (which was incredibly dorky).
I remember fondly ice cream dates at Swensons, long walks downtown, and finally finding the courage to grasp her hand at the Jazz Festival; meeting her Mom after a long Summer walk past St Joseph's Oratory, and late Christmas Eves dosing off next to her at Claire's.
Flash forward to 1999.
We're dressed up, me in a rare suit, she in a beautiful lilac dress, standing in front of a minister at Disney World, the December air warm and joyous. Placing the ring on her finger feels magical, befitting our surroundings, and it stuns me how almost 11 wonderful years have elapsed since that perfect day.
I was pretty lucky; when I met my wife, I didn't really believe that I could possibly find a person for me. Perhaps by having the state of mind where I wasn't actively looking, I was finally open to finding what had been missing from my life.
Isabelle is incredibly special: she's warm, thoughtful, with clear opinions and a tremendous capacity for love. We both share a refusal to grow up, and a desire to constantly communicate with one another. She has followed me across the country, without hesitation; together we've plunged into home ownership and raising a family. She has stood by me in sickness and health, good times and bad.
I was very fortunate to have met her in that office, and am truly blessed to have her as my life partner and best friend.
Monday, November 1, 2010
1993
1993 is a year I'll never forget. I was proud to be finally living on my own, in a tiny, dark, cockroach infested single room apartment. The previous winter, I became hobbled by a mysterious inflammation in my right foot. My mobility was quite limited, and the pain was difficult to bear. My sole source of comfort was spending an evening slumped in my sofa, with my leg up, watching the Stanley Cup play-offs.
I had always been a fan of Hockey Night in Canada, ever since I wandered into the livingroom one Saturday night as a young adolescent, wondering why my Mom was yelling at the TV set. Her passion for les Canadiens was transferred to me like a sweet virus, and I followed their 1993 Playoff schedule with keen interest. There were teams with much more talent and depth that were expected to hoist Lord Stanley's Cup; with each series win, it seemed like the Habs were on some wonderfully dream-like journey. Saint Patrick prowled the goal, refusing to allow many pucks to zip past; John Leclair and his supporting cast of checkers and grinders thrilled me with overtime heroics that electrified an entire city. The finals clash with the LA Kings was simply fantastic: the Great One versus my hometown heroes.
I remember clearly watching the clinching game, my anxious face illuminated only by the glow from my tiny TV screen. After the final siren, I turned off the television, and couldn't stop smiling. The city outside my window seemed to pulse that hot evening, and the ecstatic cheers of throngs of fans caused the very air to vibrate. I sat quietly, the pain of my swollen ankle momentarily forgotten; I drank in the moment like champagne, realizing how special it was.
Hockey has always held an important place in my heart, and that Spring will forever remained engraved in my memory, like names on a shining silver cup.
I had always been a fan of Hockey Night in Canada, ever since I wandered into the livingroom one Saturday night as a young adolescent, wondering why my Mom was yelling at the TV set. Her passion for les Canadiens was transferred to me like a sweet virus, and I followed their 1993 Playoff schedule with keen interest. There were teams with much more talent and depth that were expected to hoist Lord Stanley's Cup; with each series win, it seemed like the Habs were on some wonderfully dream-like journey. Saint Patrick prowled the goal, refusing to allow many pucks to zip past; John Leclair and his supporting cast of checkers and grinders thrilled me with overtime heroics that electrified an entire city. The finals clash with the LA Kings was simply fantastic: the Great One versus my hometown heroes.
I remember clearly watching the clinching game, my anxious face illuminated only by the glow from my tiny TV screen. After the final siren, I turned off the television, and couldn't stop smiling. The city outside my window seemed to pulse that hot evening, and the ecstatic cheers of throngs of fans caused the very air to vibrate. I sat quietly, the pain of my swollen ankle momentarily forgotten; I drank in the moment like champagne, realizing how special it was.
Hockey has always held an important place in my heart, and that Spring will forever remained engraved in my memory, like names on a shining silver cup.
Conflict is stupid
I remember playing frisbee in the park with my brother and younger sister as a youngster (probably 9 or 10 years old). We loved that park, it was across the street from our house, and we'd spend many Summer days running around with carefree abandon.
A group of kids noticed us, and crept closer. Eventually, they snatched our frisbee, and heckled us rudely. I was a bit put off by their behaviour, and wasn't sure what to do. When it became obvious they wouldn't return our toy, I turned around and mumbled 'You're an idiot'.
The leader of these pint-sized thugs stamped directly in front of me, and growled threateningly: 'What did you say?' 'I said that you're an idiot' I replied, without really thinking. I felt distant, as if I was looking at myself from afar, but I remember not feeling afraid, or even defiant. I think I was mostly dismayed, since our lovely frisbee afternoon had been disrupted.
The kid continued to try to intimidate me, demanding why I'd called him an idiot, and my quiet reply was 'Because you're acting like one'.
After many tense moments, the kid laughed at me and tossed us the frisbee. I hadn't backed down, but I also hadn't resorted to a violent response either, and I remain proud of that. I still feel (naively, perhaps) that reason and calm must win over irrationality.
A group of kids noticed us, and crept closer. Eventually, they snatched our frisbee, and heckled us rudely. I was a bit put off by their behaviour, and wasn't sure what to do. When it became obvious they wouldn't return our toy, I turned around and mumbled 'You're an idiot'.
The leader of these pint-sized thugs stamped directly in front of me, and growled threateningly: 'What did you say?' 'I said that you're an idiot' I replied, without really thinking. I felt distant, as if I was looking at myself from afar, but I remember not feeling afraid, or even defiant. I think I was mostly dismayed, since our lovely frisbee afternoon had been disrupted.
The kid continued to try to intimidate me, demanding why I'd called him an idiot, and my quiet reply was 'Because you're acting like one'.
After many tense moments, the kid laughed at me and tossed us the frisbee. I hadn't backed down, but I also hadn't resorted to a violent response either, and I remain proud of that. I still feel (naively, perhaps) that reason and calm must win over irrationality.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Obsolete?
I was rummaging through a box of markers I use occassionally, and found a color of a particular brand that isn't manufactured anymore. Unfortunate, since the brand of markers in question was high quality, and long lasting. Similarly, the comic book Bristol Board I prefer is no longer available for purchase; it seems that it has been discontinued, with stores having sold off their remaining stock. Again, I really liked that particular paper, and will have to try to find a suitable replacement.
It's a shame when things become unpopular or obsolete, and vanish over time without fanfare. Who's to explain why the markers and paper I prefer are no longer available; was it a defective product? Poor marketing? Badly managed producers and/or sellers of the goods in question? It doesn't really matter, in the end.
I was reminded of this feeling when I learned from folk I used to work with that storyboards were going the digital route. When I was actively producing storyboards, I'd sketch and pencil on 11 x 17 inch sheets of paper. The studios would photocopy these pages, and they'd head off to the next steps of animation production, slugging and layouts.
Nowadays, storyboards are drawn directly on computer with Wacom tablet; artwork can be easily reused, with character poses or backgrounds cut-and-paste with a click. Efficient and requiring less time to produce, excellent news for productivity. On the flip side, the software tends to be expensive to adapt to modern storyboarding, which also requires new training. Creativity is less of a factor, since mastering technology takes precedence in determining an artist's skill level.
I decided to pursue illustration and design because I've always loved drawing. I enjoy the thrill of a newly sharpened pencil carving a confident line in a blank sheet of paper; I like the texture of paper against hand, and the energy pencilled lines possess. I'm sure modern artists can easily replicate linework digitally; for me, it just isn't the same.
Circling back to my opening train of thought, I consider myself obsolete in some respects. I'm not interested in following the wave of the digital age, and am quite content to create artwork using methods I'm comfortable with (and enjoy using). In effect, this makes me irresponsible, since folk should adapt their skills to the times.
Be that as it may, I don't regret any choices I've made on my current career path, including a refusal to lock my pencils and paper away in some drawer to gather dust. I figure there'll always be folk who prefer artwork created 'the old fashioned way', and opportunites as well.
My defense against becoming obsolete is continuing to improve my skills, since the quality of any work should transcend its medium.
It's a shame when things become unpopular or obsolete, and vanish over time without fanfare. Who's to explain why the markers and paper I prefer are no longer available; was it a defective product? Poor marketing? Badly managed producers and/or sellers of the goods in question? It doesn't really matter, in the end.
I was reminded of this feeling when I learned from folk I used to work with that storyboards were going the digital route. When I was actively producing storyboards, I'd sketch and pencil on 11 x 17 inch sheets of paper. The studios would photocopy these pages, and they'd head off to the next steps of animation production, slugging and layouts.
Nowadays, storyboards are drawn directly on computer with Wacom tablet; artwork can be easily reused, with character poses or backgrounds cut-and-paste with a click. Efficient and requiring less time to produce, excellent news for productivity. On the flip side, the software tends to be expensive to adapt to modern storyboarding, which also requires new training. Creativity is less of a factor, since mastering technology takes precedence in determining an artist's skill level.
I decided to pursue illustration and design because I've always loved drawing. I enjoy the thrill of a newly sharpened pencil carving a confident line in a blank sheet of paper; I like the texture of paper against hand, and the energy pencilled lines possess. I'm sure modern artists can easily replicate linework digitally; for me, it just isn't the same.
Circling back to my opening train of thought, I consider myself obsolete in some respects. I'm not interested in following the wave of the digital age, and am quite content to create artwork using methods I'm comfortable with (and enjoy using). In effect, this makes me irresponsible, since folk should adapt their skills to the times.
Be that as it may, I don't regret any choices I've made on my current career path, including a refusal to lock my pencils and paper away in some drawer to gather dust. I figure there'll always be folk who prefer artwork created 'the old fashioned way', and opportunites as well.
My defense against becoming obsolete is continuing to improve my skills, since the quality of any work should transcend its medium.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Bring on the Bad Guys
While thinking about heroes and heroines for my previous blog, I reflected upon the flip side of the coin: villains. After seeing Star Wars back in 1977, I remember clipping newspaper and magazine articles of Darth Vader, and assembling a scrapbook. There weren't any photos of Luke Skywalker or Han Solo taped within those pages, only his Dad with the deep, raspy voice. I'd guess that I found Vader's costume and mastery of the Force extremely effective, which is key in creating an appealling villain.
Even in comics, the villains tend to be visually interesting: Dr Doom, Dr Octopus, Bizarro, the list goes on. It makes sense that a dashing hero requires cool (yet dastardly) foes to battle, otherwise the fight for truth and justice may get boring. The challenge of overcoming a well designed villain helps remind the reader/viewer how cool the hero is in the first place.
Sherlock Holmes is an exception; I found his analytical and deductive skills so amazing, he didn't require a foil to increase his 'coolness' for me. I haven't even read 'The Final Solution' yet, it's certainly on my 'to-do' list.
Professional wrestling is a prime example where a hero requires an effective 'heel' to be entertaining; I often found myself rooting for the 'bad guy' when watching wrestling Saturday mornings with sandwich in hand. Saying my prayers and taking my vitamins didn't seem as cool as The Undertaker strolling menacingly toward the ring.
So here's to the bad guys; thanks for your efforts and willingness to be constantly defeated. Someone out there appreciates you!
Even in comics, the villains tend to be visually interesting: Dr Doom, Dr Octopus, Bizarro, the list goes on. It makes sense that a dashing hero requires cool (yet dastardly) foes to battle, otherwise the fight for truth and justice may get boring. The challenge of overcoming a well designed villain helps remind the reader/viewer how cool the hero is in the first place.
Sherlock Holmes is an exception; I found his analytical and deductive skills so amazing, he didn't require a foil to increase his 'coolness' for me. I haven't even read 'The Final Solution' yet, it's certainly on my 'to-do' list.
Professional wrestling is a prime example where a hero requires an effective 'heel' to be entertaining; I often found myself rooting for the 'bad guy' when watching wrestling Saturday mornings with sandwich in hand. Saying my prayers and taking my vitamins didn't seem as cool as The Undertaker strolling menacingly toward the ring.
So here's to the bad guys; thanks for your efforts and willingness to be constantly defeated. Someone out there appreciates you!
Monday, October 4, 2010
You go, girl!
Charlie's Angels, The Bionic Woman, and Wonder Woman.
Classics from the 1970s, featuring strong, beautiful heroines anyone could look up to.
I was mulling over the state of current television, and find interesting how the concept of 'heroine' has changed over the years. Strong women today are usually portrayed as tough, independent, and relentless at achieving their goals. Intelligence and bravery are other characteristics of today's heroines, which is an excellent message to send to viewers.
However, it seems to me that the 70s versions had all these qualities along with a certain relatable fragility; they always came across as human, with feelings, despite the fantastic situations and desperate predicaments they found themselves in. They weren't 'flawed', or emotionless anti-heroes with complicated motivations.
Even the male counterparts I watched (The Six Million Dollar Man, The Incredible Hulk, The Dukes of Hazzard) weren't afraid to express themselves emotionally, which may have been why I found them appealling. They inspired me with their triumphs, as well as how they overcame tragedy and defeat.
I guess I miss these old heroes and heroines, the world can always use more of them.
Classics from the 1970s, featuring strong, beautiful heroines anyone could look up to.
I was mulling over the state of current television, and find interesting how the concept of 'heroine' has changed over the years. Strong women today are usually portrayed as tough, independent, and relentless at achieving their goals. Intelligence and bravery are other characteristics of today's heroines, which is an excellent message to send to viewers.
However, it seems to me that the 70s versions had all these qualities along with a certain relatable fragility; they always came across as human, with feelings, despite the fantastic situations and desperate predicaments they found themselves in. They weren't 'flawed', or emotionless anti-heroes with complicated motivations.
Even the male counterparts I watched (The Six Million Dollar Man, The Incredible Hulk, The Dukes of Hazzard) weren't afraid to express themselves emotionally, which may have been why I found them appealling. They inspired me with their triumphs, as well as how they overcame tragedy and defeat.
I guess I miss these old heroes and heroines, the world can always use more of them.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Collecting for fun!
I'm not quite sure when the collecting bug bit me; I don't recall being overly interested in collecting toys as a child, but then again, we didn't have too many, and the family toy budget was limited to whatever I could find at Salvation Army.
When I discovered comic books on my local depanneur spinner rack, a lightbulb flashed in my young brain, and I've collected stuff ever since.
I remember tracking down issues to ensure I had a run (a sequence of numbers without interruption), even if I wasn't particularly keen on the stories or art. Over time, I became more discriminating with my comic book tastes, culminating in my current love of 1950s issues. I love landing a vintage comic book on Ebay for a tiny price, such is the simple joy of the frugal collector!
During the sports card explosion of the early 1990s, I spent most of my allowance on Baseball and Hockey card packs. Once packs became too expensive for my taste, I dropped the hobby. I've become hooked again on Hockey cards over the last few years on account of the promise of autograph and jersey inserts that pop up in rare packs. Of course, I focus on $0.99 packs at Toys R Us, which keeps my spending under control.
I'm not sure what the appeal of collecting is for me; opening a hockey pack and finding a rare card of a favorite player is quite thrilling. Maybe collecting is about trying to capture moments of time, since there's a memory behind each piece of cardboard. Collecting gives me a warm feeling, and I can see myself continuing to build my collections!
When I discovered comic books on my local depanneur spinner rack, a lightbulb flashed in my young brain, and I've collected stuff ever since.
I remember tracking down issues to ensure I had a run (a sequence of numbers without interruption), even if I wasn't particularly keen on the stories or art. Over time, I became more discriminating with my comic book tastes, culminating in my current love of 1950s issues. I love landing a vintage comic book on Ebay for a tiny price, such is the simple joy of the frugal collector!
During the sports card explosion of the early 1990s, I spent most of my allowance on Baseball and Hockey card packs. Once packs became too expensive for my taste, I dropped the hobby. I've become hooked again on Hockey cards over the last few years on account of the promise of autograph and jersey inserts that pop up in rare packs. Of course, I focus on $0.99 packs at Toys R Us, which keeps my spending under control.
I'm not sure what the appeal of collecting is for me; opening a hockey pack and finding a rare card of a favorite player is quite thrilling. Maybe collecting is about trying to capture moments of time, since there's a memory behind each piece of cardboard. Collecting gives me a warm feeling, and I can see myself continuing to build my collections!
Friday, September 17, 2010
Time sure flies....
The past year has been an interesting one; it began with a surprise birthday celebration, including unforgetable cheesecake. Christmas was lovely, the Winter relatively mild. February was a dark month, as I struggled with eye inflamation that was crippling, yet opened my eyes to how important health is and pointed me in the direction to discover the root of my health issues.
The Vancouver Olympics were amazing, and I was proud to witness our medal haul; unfortunately, I missed the game-winning goal for the men's hockey team! Summer was filled with barbeques, activities with family, and continued work at my drawing board. With the advent of Fall, I'm feeling a new energy, as if the year is truly beginning for me. It helps that the NFL and Fall television season both promise excitement galore.
I mulled over ending this blog by tomorrow, since my 40th year will be history. However, having started to flex my writing muscles, I realize I have alot more to say, and have really enjoyed the experience of putting my thoughts down on 'paper'.
Here's to year 41!
The Vancouver Olympics were amazing, and I was proud to witness our medal haul; unfortunately, I missed the game-winning goal for the men's hockey team! Summer was filled with barbeques, activities with family, and continued work at my drawing board. With the advent of Fall, I'm feeling a new energy, as if the year is truly beginning for me. It helps that the NFL and Fall television season both promise excitement galore.
I mulled over ending this blog by tomorrow, since my 40th year will be history. However, having started to flex my writing muscles, I realize I have alot more to say, and have really enjoyed the experience of putting my thoughts down on 'paper'.
Here's to year 41!
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Two of my all-time favorite movies are Superman (1977) and Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.
I know, I'm a geek, and proud of it.
Mulling over why these films appeal to me so much, it hit me recently: both prominantly feature heroism and self-sacrifice. Superman declares to Lois Lane that the reason he is here is to fight for 'truth, justice, and the American way.' A jaded society smirks at such a boring and simple coda: a simple, clean desire to do good for the sake of good. How wonderful a character is that? Superman isn't motivated by a desire to make money, or impress someone, or seek attention; he doesn't have any 'edge' that makes him 'relatable' or 'interesting' (some would say), but I find his desire to lead humanity by example wonderful and inspiring.
Similarly, Kirk fights valiantly to save his loved ones, and Spock selflessly gives up his life for the same end in Star Trek.
In today's world, there's alot of self-absorption and desire for the spotlight. Folk want to know what's in it for them, 'What about me?' they continually ask. There's too much emphasis on personal gratification and not enough willingness to sacrifice or consider the needs of the many, over the needs of the one.
I love these two movies and the messages they express.
I know, I'm a geek, and proud of it.
Mulling over why these films appeal to me so much, it hit me recently: both prominantly feature heroism and self-sacrifice. Superman declares to Lois Lane that the reason he is here is to fight for 'truth, justice, and the American way.' A jaded society smirks at such a boring and simple coda: a simple, clean desire to do good for the sake of good. How wonderful a character is that? Superman isn't motivated by a desire to make money, or impress someone, or seek attention; he doesn't have any 'edge' that makes him 'relatable' or 'interesting' (some would say), but I find his desire to lead humanity by example wonderful and inspiring.
Similarly, Kirk fights valiantly to save his loved ones, and Spock selflessly gives up his life for the same end in Star Trek.
In today's world, there's alot of self-absorption and desire for the spotlight. Folk want to know what's in it for them, 'What about me?' they continually ask. There's too much emphasis on personal gratification and not enough willingness to sacrifice or consider the needs of the many, over the needs of the one.
I love these two movies and the messages they express.
A bit blunt, but still functional
About 10 years ago, I worked at an animation studio in eastern downtown called Cine-Groupe. I started off doing clean-up for a Teletoon series called Bad Dog ; my job in the beginning involved inking rough sketches so that they could be photocopied for model packs.
One day when I returned to my drawing table after lunch, I found a post-it clinging to some drawings I'd been working on. In bold letters, standing out glaringly from the yellow sticky paper, was written: TOOL
I knew who had left the message. Marc was an incredibly talented artist designing characters for a Sony Wonder production I was also involved with; he was confident and outspoken, and this wasn't the first time he'd directed this word my way.
At the time, I raised a confused eyebrow; I admittedly jumped through hoops for my paycheque, working very hard to meet ridiculous deadlines with little praise from supervisors, but 'tool' felt like a deragotory slander. I crumpled the post-it, but mulled over its meaning.
Eventually, the studio downsized, and I was unceremoniously released until some new promised project could begin. That was the warning Marc tried to give me with those four letters stuck to my desk: a tool is often used until worn down, and casually tossed aside.
I'm grateful that Cine-Groupe hired me back in the day; I appreciate the folk I met, and am proud that I played a role in having some fine animation like Sagwa The Chinese Siamese Cat grace the small screen. I may have been a 'tool', but my work ethic is an integral part of my personality.
One day when I returned to my drawing table after lunch, I found a post-it clinging to some drawings I'd been working on. In bold letters, standing out glaringly from the yellow sticky paper, was written: TOOL
I knew who had left the message. Marc was an incredibly talented artist designing characters for a Sony Wonder production I was also involved with; he was confident and outspoken, and this wasn't the first time he'd directed this word my way.
At the time, I raised a confused eyebrow; I admittedly jumped through hoops for my paycheque, working very hard to meet ridiculous deadlines with little praise from supervisors, but 'tool' felt like a deragotory slander. I crumpled the post-it, but mulled over its meaning.
Eventually, the studio downsized, and I was unceremoniously released until some new promised project could begin. That was the warning Marc tried to give me with those four letters stuck to my desk: a tool is often used until worn down, and casually tossed aside.
I'm grateful that Cine-Groupe hired me back in the day; I appreciate the folk I met, and am proud that I played a role in having some fine animation like Sagwa The Chinese Siamese Cat grace the small screen. I may have been a 'tool', but my work ethic is an integral part of my personality.
Nowadays, I work as a freelance artist, responsible to noone save myself. Looking back on it now, I'm glad Marc left that post-it; he was reminding me about self-respect, suggesting I not let myself to be taken advantage of, or hide my unique identity trying to please some boss.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Hot off the presses?
One of the best parts of Saturdays when I was a young lad was buying the newspaper. The Montreal Gazette was a fat mass of pulpy paper and ink, loaded with articles, movie reviews, TV Times, and my favorite section, the comics. Calvin and Hobbes (arguably, the finest comic strip ever) always brought a smile to my face, and The Farside was hit-or-miss, but always interesting.
It was easy to spend a good hour leafing through the paper, and I inevitably left smudged fingerprints all over the room afterwards. Even the Classifieds were a substantial section, and it was cool to note the stuff for sale and jobs offered for readers.
This past weekend, I picked up a copy for the first time in years; I was shocked at how thin it had become, and the sections that I used to enjoy pouring over were brief and dull. After a few minutes, it ended up in the recycling bin, and I was dismayed that I couldn't replicate the simple enjoyment I'd felt in the 'old days'.
Obviously, the sad state of this paper is a reflection of lower interest in print media, and little need for an English newspaper in Montreal. Folk have a multitude of options at hand for their news, weather, and sports: cable TV channels and the internet have effectively whittled down the necessity for a newspaper.
Which is a shame, in the end. But that's the price of 'progress', I suppose.
It was easy to spend a good hour leafing through the paper, and I inevitably left smudged fingerprints all over the room afterwards. Even the Classifieds were a substantial section, and it was cool to note the stuff for sale and jobs offered for readers.
This past weekend, I picked up a copy for the first time in years; I was shocked at how thin it had become, and the sections that I used to enjoy pouring over were brief and dull. After a few minutes, it ended up in the recycling bin, and I was dismayed that I couldn't replicate the simple enjoyment I'd felt in the 'old days'.
Obviously, the sad state of this paper is a reflection of lower interest in print media, and little need for an English newspaper in Montreal. Folk have a multitude of options at hand for their news, weather, and sports: cable TV channels and the internet have effectively whittled down the necessity for a newspaper.
Which is a shame, in the end. But that's the price of 'progress', I suppose.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Bon appetit!
One of my fondest memories of adolescence was cooking Saturday suppers. My lasagna was pretty decent, and I actually enjoyed preparing meals. I can't recall where I learned my meager skills, but I'm grateful that I've always been able to cook for myself.
Over the years, my cooking could be described as hearty and relatively simple, but light on seasoning. I always liked meat and potatoes, spaghetti, or chicken-pot pie. When I lived on my own, I must admit I ate pretty badly; I remember heating microwave meals in a toaster oven, and relying on Burger King for lunch when I worked downtown. Dessert has always been an essential end to a meal for me, I never could turn down a piece of cheesecake or pie a la mode.
When I decided to change my eating habits for health reasons, I found myself in a pickle. Deciding to drastically reduce my fat and sugar intake meant no more steak, rich desserts, or greasy fast food burgers. In the beginning, it was difficult to adapt, but my new eating habits forced me to rethink my approach to eating.
Instead of the bland fare I'd always been comfortable preparing, I've discovered (with the encouragement of my lovely wife) herbs and spices: chili flakes and banana pepper rings in a turkey burger, peanut thai sauce with rice noodles, salt and fresh cracked pepper sprinkled generously.... I began to rework recipes to maximize flavour (Bobby Flay would be proud) and choose interesting new snacks; I love garlic topped humus with a baked pita chip, and Crispy-Mini's drizzled with chocolate are simply divine.
I used to wolf down grub just to fill my belly; my attitude has changed significantly over the years, and I now appreciate foods that challenge my taste buds and palette.
Over the years, my cooking could be described as hearty and relatively simple, but light on seasoning. I always liked meat and potatoes, spaghetti, or chicken-pot pie. When I lived on my own, I must admit I ate pretty badly; I remember heating microwave meals in a toaster oven, and relying on Burger King for lunch when I worked downtown. Dessert has always been an essential end to a meal for me, I never could turn down a piece of cheesecake or pie a la mode.
When I decided to change my eating habits for health reasons, I found myself in a pickle. Deciding to drastically reduce my fat and sugar intake meant no more steak, rich desserts, or greasy fast food burgers. In the beginning, it was difficult to adapt, but my new eating habits forced me to rethink my approach to eating.
Instead of the bland fare I'd always been comfortable preparing, I've discovered (with the encouragement of my lovely wife) herbs and spices: chili flakes and banana pepper rings in a turkey burger, peanut thai sauce with rice noodles, salt and fresh cracked pepper sprinkled generously.... I began to rework recipes to maximize flavour (Bobby Flay would be proud) and choose interesting new snacks; I love garlic topped humus with a baked pita chip, and Crispy-Mini's drizzled with chocolate are simply divine.
I used to wolf down grub just to fill my belly; my attitude has changed significantly over the years, and I now appreciate foods that challenge my taste buds and palette.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Pass me the ball!
Reflecting on my recent High School epsiode reminded me of one crisp Winter day while I attended Marianopolis CEGEP in the late 1980s. At the time, I spent much of my day playing cards and ping pong with fellow students in the 'lounge', an area to hang out in between classes. Someone announced that a casual broomball game was starting, and we all threw on jackets and raced outside.
Although I enjoy watching Sports, I've never been particularly gifted with any athletic skills. I slid back and forth on the outdoor rink, away from the action but having fun. Suddenly, I was hit from behind by an opposing team-mate, crumpling to the rough ice in a startled heap.
Feeling a sour anger well up inside me, I regained my footing. To my own amazement, I found the energy to race up the ice and soon scored a couple of goals, which brought shouts of congratulations from my team mates; I even made a point of checking the dude who had hit me, and I'll never forget the surprise (and fear) in his eyes after our brutal collision.
After the game ended (I can't recall if our side won or not), I stumbled back inside, where I discovered a huge rip in the seat of my pants. I was extremely embarrassed, and slipped out of classes early that day. Still, my torn pants couldn't remove the sweet feeling of momentarily being considered an equal by some cool kids.
As someone who has always shied away (or felt intimidated, perhaps) from the 'in' crowd, my moment in the Winter sun is one I'll always remember.
Although I enjoy watching Sports, I've never been particularly gifted with any athletic skills. I slid back and forth on the outdoor rink, away from the action but having fun. Suddenly, I was hit from behind by an opposing team-mate, crumpling to the rough ice in a startled heap.
Feeling a sour anger well up inside me, I regained my footing. To my own amazement, I found the energy to race up the ice and soon scored a couple of goals, which brought shouts of congratulations from my team mates; I even made a point of checking the dude who had hit me, and I'll never forget the surprise (and fear) in his eyes after our brutal collision.
After the game ended (I can't recall if our side won or not), I stumbled back inside, where I discovered a huge rip in the seat of my pants. I was extremely embarrassed, and slipped out of classes early that day. Still, my torn pants couldn't remove the sweet feeling of momentarily being considered an equal by some cool kids.
As someone who has always shied away (or felt intimidated, perhaps) from the 'in' crowd, my moment in the Winter sun is one I'll always remember.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Disco duck
As a young high school student, everyone in my class was asked by a teacher what their favorite type of music was.
Seated alphabetically, I was one of the last to respond. At the time, I hadn't listened to radio much, and was rather clueless about musical genres. 'Rock' was a popular answer, and I mulled over my response carefully. When it was my turn, and inspired by a Saturday Night Fever album my sister must've owned, I blurted out: 'disco'.
The classroom erupted in laughter, I turned several shades of red, and wished I could disappear under my desk. 'Disco Duck' quickly became my unofficial nick name. I wasn't really a huge fan of disco, I simply gave an answer I felt comfortable with, based on my limited knowledge of music. I don't mind ABBA or the Bee Gees today; as a matter of fact, I find many 'disco' tunes quite excellent.
I learned that day that a) kids can be cruel, and b) having a different opinion than the popular consensus leaves one open to ridicule. Although I regret the small humiliation I had to endure, I'll always be proud of the fact that I didn't follow the herd with my answer; one aspect of my personality that I respect is the fact that I have strong beliefs, and stick to them irregardless of popular opinion.
I hope my kids pick up on this and find the strength to follow their own convictions and life direction without feeling obliged to think or act like everyone else.
Seated alphabetically, I was one of the last to respond. At the time, I hadn't listened to radio much, and was rather clueless about musical genres. 'Rock' was a popular answer, and I mulled over my response carefully. When it was my turn, and inspired by a Saturday Night Fever album my sister must've owned, I blurted out: 'disco'.
The classroom erupted in laughter, I turned several shades of red, and wished I could disappear under my desk. 'Disco Duck' quickly became my unofficial nick name. I wasn't really a huge fan of disco, I simply gave an answer I felt comfortable with, based on my limited knowledge of music. I don't mind ABBA or the Bee Gees today; as a matter of fact, I find many 'disco' tunes quite excellent.
I learned that day that a) kids can be cruel, and b) having a different opinion than the popular consensus leaves one open to ridicule. Although I regret the small humiliation I had to endure, I'll always be proud of the fact that I didn't follow the herd with my answer; one aspect of my personality that I respect is the fact that I have strong beliefs, and stick to them irregardless of popular opinion.
I hope my kids pick up on this and find the strength to follow their own convictions and life direction without feeling obliged to think or act like everyone else.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Heaven on earth
I spent a lovely Saturday morning at Westmount park with my daughters, and I was struck with a powerful truth: kid's parks can be a microcosm of a perfect world.
I saw parents watching their little ones scamper around; kids played openly with one another, eager to meet new friends and explore the wonders of the park. Parents chatted about their kids, beaming with pride and love.
It was wonderful.
Today's world is dark and depressing, dominated by greed, violence, and intolerance of differing opinions. I wish a childlike sense of innocence and wonder could descend on humanity like a calming rain. Everything that adults consider 'important' is irrelevant to any child; they only want to play and be introduced to new ideas and people (regardless of age, race, or creed).
If we all acted more like kids, the world would certainly be a better place to live.
I saw parents watching their little ones scamper around; kids played openly with one another, eager to meet new friends and explore the wonders of the park. Parents chatted about their kids, beaming with pride and love.
It was wonderful.
Today's world is dark and depressing, dominated by greed, violence, and intolerance of differing opinions. I wish a childlike sense of innocence and wonder could descend on humanity like a calming rain. Everything that adults consider 'important' is irrelevant to any child; they only want to play and be introduced to new ideas and people (regardless of age, race, or creed).
If we all acted more like kids, the world would certainly be a better place to live.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Operators are standing by
Watching television these days involves suffering through countless commercials. As a kid, I didn't mind so much, because I was exposed to products and restaurants that were alien to me (the Mikes Pizza ads, for example, are lodged in my fading memory).
I accept that the world spins thanks to commerce, but ads have veered in a direction that bothers me: instead of presenting goods in an impartial fashion, consumers are told what they simply MUST buy. It's no longer about purchasing things one needs, it's about buying stuff in order to fit in, and be a part of the growing crowd of sheep chasing the latest gadget, cd, or weight-loss craze.
Alot of stuff that is portrayed as essential-to-own is simply overrated junk that breaks down quickly or becomes outdated within months. I understand the allure of owning a hot 'toy' (phone, car, dvd, etc), but rampant commercialism dismays me quite a bit, especially in light of a dwindling spiritual focus by society in general.
We're all told by media that we need to work hard to achieve a certain status, with physical objects as tangible proof of our success. I wish that more people would drown out that blaring and insistent message, and worry more about being good to one another, rather than finding a way to afford something they probably don't really need at all.
I accept that the world spins thanks to commerce, but ads have veered in a direction that bothers me: instead of presenting goods in an impartial fashion, consumers are told what they simply MUST buy. It's no longer about purchasing things one needs, it's about buying stuff in order to fit in, and be a part of the growing crowd of sheep chasing the latest gadget, cd, or weight-loss craze.
Alot of stuff that is portrayed as essential-to-own is simply overrated junk that breaks down quickly or becomes outdated within months. I understand the allure of owning a hot 'toy' (phone, car, dvd, etc), but rampant commercialism dismays me quite a bit, especially in light of a dwindling spiritual focus by society in general.
We're all told by media that we need to work hard to achieve a certain status, with physical objects as tangible proof of our success. I wish that more people would drown out that blaring and insistent message, and worry more about being good to one another, rather than finding a way to afford something they probably don't really need at all.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Leavin' on a jetplane
Having spent a lovely day last weekend in Ottawa, I reflected on some of the great cities I've visited in Canada: Quebec City, Kingston, Cornwall, Mississauga, Toronto and my absolute favorite, Vancouver.
1997 was a tumultuous year; I'd finished Illustration and Design at Dawson, clueless as to my next step. I ultimately decided to take a chance on a one year intensive traditional animation course at the budding VanArts, and with my lovely wife Isabelle, boarded a plane headed West.
I never figured to return to Montreal, which filled me with the nervous excitement of the unknown, and the bittersweet sadness of leaving everything familar behind. I spent the previous Spring strolling around NDG with a clunker black and white manual camera taking snapshots of my favorite spots around the city. I felt that these photos would act as fuel for my fond memories, and capture a shard of time with still, grey tones; I still have them in an album somewhere.
Vancouver was beautiful, with a completely different vibe than back East; folk were laid-back and constantly smiling (it seemed), oblivious to the cloudy skies and film productions bustling around them. Stanley park was a favorite haunt of ours, and our one bedroom apartment was quite charming, despite the expensive rent and lovely view of a cemetary across the street. I still miss the hum and crackle as buses zoomed by, and wonder how the Great Canadian Superstore and Province newspaper are faring these days.
We left only a year or so after our arrival (we decided to leave because work prospects seemed better back East, and we ended up missing family more than expected), and I find myself thinking of Vancouver often. Although I appreciate the city of my birth, in particular the neighbourhoods of my childhood and adolescence, I wonder if I'll eventually settle elsewhere within this amazing country.
Wherever I do, it'll be home, as long as I'm surrounded by the people I love!
1997 was a tumultuous year; I'd finished Illustration and Design at Dawson, clueless as to my next step. I ultimately decided to take a chance on a one year intensive traditional animation course at the budding VanArts, and with my lovely wife Isabelle, boarded a plane headed West.
I never figured to return to Montreal, which filled me with the nervous excitement of the unknown, and the bittersweet sadness of leaving everything familar behind. I spent the previous Spring strolling around NDG with a clunker black and white manual camera taking snapshots of my favorite spots around the city. I felt that these photos would act as fuel for my fond memories, and capture a shard of time with still, grey tones; I still have them in an album somewhere.
Vancouver was beautiful, with a completely different vibe than back East; folk were laid-back and constantly smiling (it seemed), oblivious to the cloudy skies and film productions bustling around them. Stanley park was a favorite haunt of ours, and our one bedroom apartment was quite charming, despite the expensive rent and lovely view of a cemetary across the street. I still miss the hum and crackle as buses zoomed by, and wonder how the Great Canadian Superstore and Province newspaper are faring these days.
We left only a year or so after our arrival (we decided to leave because work prospects seemed better back East, and we ended up missing family more than expected), and I find myself thinking of Vancouver often. Although I appreciate the city of my birth, in particular the neighbourhoods of my childhood and adolescence, I wonder if I'll eventually settle elsewhere within this amazing country.
Wherever I do, it'll be home, as long as I'm surrounded by the people I love!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Mushy cereal Saturday mornings
One of my fondest memories of childhood is watching television. We didn't have alot of channels back then (channels 6, 10, and 12 were pretty clear, while 22 was rather grainy depending on the rabbit ears) but there was plenty of cool stuff to occupy young minds.
Weekdays, I'd walk home from school for lunch, and catch the Flintstones with my sandwich. Saturday mornings were the treasure trove, with the NBC Fun Machine (although reception was pretty sad) and other American productions shown on CTV, and international productions on channel 2.
My absolute favorite was Goldorak; I loved the kinetic, wild action, even though I had no clue what was going on; a close second was the french translation of Battle of the Planets, mostly because of the flaming spaceship. Blue Falcon and Dynomutt were very cool, as well as the live action Batman episodes I'd occassionally catch. Scooby Doo was another favorite, since I've always enjoyed spooky stuff.
After school, I'd settle down to watch G.I. Joe and Transformers; again, I didn't really follow the plots, but admired the explosions and transforming robots. I find it interesting that these two properties still thrive today, showing that a strong concept can transcend its fad status to become a part of pop culture.
Kids programming today is extremely varied; genres have been sub-divided into their own channels, targeting different demographics. The stuff on the tube these days is flashy, desperate to be hip, and directed at short attention spans, a reflection of the audience. I'm sure that kids today enjoy whatever is shown on YTV, Teletoon, and the rest; I guess I appreciated programming more as a youth since there wasn't as much available. I doubt the quality was far superior to today's sophisticated 'toons, but I still find those old shows charming and appealling, and am grateful for my fond memories of them.
Weekdays, I'd walk home from school for lunch, and catch the Flintstones with my sandwich. Saturday mornings were the treasure trove, with the NBC Fun Machine (although reception was pretty sad) and other American productions shown on CTV, and international productions on channel 2.
My absolute favorite was Goldorak; I loved the kinetic, wild action, even though I had no clue what was going on; a close second was the french translation of Battle of the Planets, mostly because of the flaming spaceship. Blue Falcon and Dynomutt were very cool, as well as the live action Batman episodes I'd occassionally catch. Scooby Doo was another favorite, since I've always enjoyed spooky stuff.
After school, I'd settle down to watch G.I. Joe and Transformers; again, I didn't really follow the plots, but admired the explosions and transforming robots. I find it interesting that these two properties still thrive today, showing that a strong concept can transcend its fad status to become a part of pop culture.
Kids programming today is extremely varied; genres have been sub-divided into their own channels, targeting different demographics. The stuff on the tube these days is flashy, desperate to be hip, and directed at short attention spans, a reflection of the audience. I'm sure that kids today enjoy whatever is shown on YTV, Teletoon, and the rest; I guess I appreciated programming more as a youth since there wasn't as much available. I doubt the quality was far superior to today's sophisticated 'toons, but I still find those old shows charming and appealling, and am grateful for my fond memories of them.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
15 minutes or less
I must admit that the concept of fame is appealling on certain levels. The idea that total strangers know about you, and may be fans of your work must be intoxicating and addictive.
I've considered producing webcomics on and off for awhile, and reflected on how promotion of my webcomic would lead to folk who dig what I do (as well as folk who hate it, but what can you do) following my progress. Part of what appeals to me about the act of creation is having some kind of impact on others; making someone laugh, smile, or simply scratch their head thoughtfully after being exposed to something I've written/drawn seems very cool.
At the same time, I don't consider myself someone actively looking for life-altering fame; I enjoy my small, happy life, and wouldn't appreciate the intrusion of interest in me if I happened to attain a level of popularity. That's the paradox of fame: people desire the glory and adulation, but resent the constant attention that comes with it.
I enjoy Big Brother every summer, but wonder what drives these individuals to expose themselves on national TV for the small chance of a cash prize; I suppose ego is a tremendously potent force, but do these contestants consider the downside to total strangers identifying with, adoring, or hating them? Or are they all acting, creating personas to mask their true selves?
I'm not looking for fame, but if it ever happened, I figure I'd continue to be the same dorky, low-key individual I've always been. Then again, who knows?
I've considered producing webcomics on and off for awhile, and reflected on how promotion of my webcomic would lead to folk who dig what I do (as well as folk who hate it, but what can you do) following my progress. Part of what appeals to me about the act of creation is having some kind of impact on others; making someone laugh, smile, or simply scratch their head thoughtfully after being exposed to something I've written/drawn seems very cool.
At the same time, I don't consider myself someone actively looking for life-altering fame; I enjoy my small, happy life, and wouldn't appreciate the intrusion of interest in me if I happened to attain a level of popularity. That's the paradox of fame: people desire the glory and adulation, but resent the constant attention that comes with it.
I enjoy Big Brother every summer, but wonder what drives these individuals to expose themselves on national TV for the small chance of a cash prize; I suppose ego is a tremendously potent force, but do these contestants consider the downside to total strangers identifying with, adoring, or hating them? Or are they all acting, creating personas to mask their true selves?
I'm not looking for fame, but if it ever happened, I figure I'd continue to be the same dorky, low-key individual I've always been. Then again, who knows?
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Mean green
I enjoy money, I really do. I appreciate the crisp paper with intricate design and nifty holograms, and like the way bills line my wallet. But for me, money remains one thing: a tool.
My motivation in life has never been to make a fortune; as a matter of fact, I define wealth by different things besides numbers on a bank statement: family, health, and peace of mind and spirit.
Of course, money goes a long way towards peace of mind, and I'll be the first to admit that monthly bills stress me out. However, I'm proud of the fact that the accumulation of cash isn't an obsession of mine; I've seen firsthand how the desire to create monetary wealth can transform someone into a monster, and I decided long ago that I wasn't interested in following a similar path.
Money is a wonderful tool; it's great to own my house, beaten up car, and moderate dvd and comic book collection; but in the end, cash (and material goods) are simply things, with only the value that we place upon them. I don't subscribe to financial irresponsibility; today's society extolls the joy of credit, ensuring us that a life of debt is absolutely normal in order to purchase the latest gizmo or entertainment that we so desperately need.
Feh. I'm happy that I go my own way, as far as saving and spending are concerned. I certainly wouldn't mind having more money, but it's not an all-consuming drive for me, and for that, I'm grateful.
My motivation in life has never been to make a fortune; as a matter of fact, I define wealth by different things besides numbers on a bank statement: family, health, and peace of mind and spirit.
Of course, money goes a long way towards peace of mind, and I'll be the first to admit that monthly bills stress me out. However, I'm proud of the fact that the accumulation of cash isn't an obsession of mine; I've seen firsthand how the desire to create monetary wealth can transform someone into a monster, and I decided long ago that I wasn't interested in following a similar path.
Money is a wonderful tool; it's great to own my house, beaten up car, and moderate dvd and comic book collection; but in the end, cash (and material goods) are simply things, with only the value that we place upon them. I don't subscribe to financial irresponsibility; today's society extolls the joy of credit, ensuring us that a life of debt is absolutely normal in order to purchase the latest gizmo or entertainment that we so desperately need.
Feh. I'm happy that I go my own way, as far as saving and spending are concerned. I certainly wouldn't mind having more money, but it's not an all-consuming drive for me, and for that, I'm grateful.
Friday, July 23, 2010
I choose to accept this mission....
A weird thought popped into my head while hanging out with my daughters at the park this morning: I wondered how many breakfasts and lunches I've prepared for them over the years, and the number seemed outrageous.
If my future self (of today) would've informed my past version (of 9 years ago, heavier and with a bit more hair) that I'd have to prepare such a volume of meals, my past self would've certainly mumbled 'Uh, you're joking; that's impossible!'
It's really easy to become overwhelmed by the prospect of any challenge in life, big or small. When I'm not sure I can handle a particular chore, I put it aside until I feel mentally prepared to tackle it; once it's accomplished, I usually wonder why I considered it such a big deal in the first place. I guess the unknown of dealling with such challenges intimidates me, since I'm uncertain of (and probably underestimate) my mental and physical limits.
I've gotta remember that 'impossible' is only a word, and a sentiment that cripples and holds me back. I can accomplish what I put my mind to, including whatever the future throws at me!
If my future self (of today) would've informed my past version (of 9 years ago, heavier and with a bit more hair) that I'd have to prepare such a volume of meals, my past self would've certainly mumbled 'Uh, you're joking; that's impossible!'
It's really easy to become overwhelmed by the prospect of any challenge in life, big or small. When I'm not sure I can handle a particular chore, I put it aside until I feel mentally prepared to tackle it; once it's accomplished, I usually wonder why I considered it such a big deal in the first place. I guess the unknown of dealling with such challenges intimidates me, since I'm uncertain of (and probably underestimate) my mental and physical limits.
I've gotta remember that 'impossible' is only a word, and a sentiment that cripples and holds me back. I can accomplish what I put my mind to, including whatever the future throws at me!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Soothing the savage beast
One of the important constants throughout my four decades of life has been music. As a youngster, the radio became a friend of sorts; I was introduced to pop music on 95.9FM (can't remember what they were called back then) and classic rock on CHOM 97.7FM. I'd guess I preferred the former, since I wasn't really a fan of loud 'devil music' (as my dear Dad would refer to it).
The 1980s was a wonderful era for radio; pop acts (including one hit wonders) ruled the airwaves, alternative songs crept into High School dance playlists, and sing along rock anthems blared from speakers. I have fond memories of walking into Sam The Record Man with my sister, allowed to buy my very own music; I walked out with Can't Slow Down by Lionel Ritchie, and Cyndi Lauper's debut cassette, and played them until the tape snapped.
While maturing into a cranky and misunderstood adolescent, I disregarded Top 40 'junk' and focused on fringe music played by Claude Rajotte during his weekly Monday night new music program. I thirsted for interesting, challenging songs, and was rewarded with tunes by The Stone Roses, Charlatans UK, New Order, and The Cure. I began to frequent Cheap Thrills, a used record shop downtown, and picked up my very first compact disc: Soul Mining by The The (which I still own to this very day).
Music provided me a sense of belonging; I felt like I held a special secret, enjoying songs that the mainstream was clueless about. Songs gave me happiness during rough times, helping distract me from day to day life, or providing a soundtrack for moments, good and bad, that forever remain ingrained in my memories.
I listen to the radio occassionally, but more often to dozens of mixed cds I've created with my all-time favorite songs. My headphones are usually the first thing I reach for when I slump at my drawing table, and I couldn't get through my time on the treadmill without them. My tastes have settled as follows: I don't care if a song is rap, pop, folk or 'alternative'; if it sounds good, I'll enjoy it, without feeling a need to label it. Some current favorite bands include Owl City and Vampire Weekend.
I've always felt that a good song is a journey, with a beginning, middle and end. I find it cool that music has been a part of my own journey through life, and like Queen sang so appropriately, 'radio, someone still loves you'.
The 1980s was a wonderful era for radio; pop acts (including one hit wonders) ruled the airwaves, alternative songs crept into High School dance playlists, and sing along rock anthems blared from speakers. I have fond memories of walking into Sam The Record Man with my sister, allowed to buy my very own music; I walked out with Can't Slow Down by Lionel Ritchie, and Cyndi Lauper's debut cassette, and played them until the tape snapped.
While maturing into a cranky and misunderstood adolescent, I disregarded Top 40 'junk' and focused on fringe music played by Claude Rajotte during his weekly Monday night new music program. I thirsted for interesting, challenging songs, and was rewarded with tunes by The Stone Roses, Charlatans UK, New Order, and The Cure. I began to frequent Cheap Thrills, a used record shop downtown, and picked up my very first compact disc: Soul Mining by The The (which I still own to this very day).
Music provided me a sense of belonging; I felt like I held a special secret, enjoying songs that the mainstream was clueless about. Songs gave me happiness during rough times, helping distract me from day to day life, or providing a soundtrack for moments, good and bad, that forever remain ingrained in my memories.
I listen to the radio occassionally, but more often to dozens of mixed cds I've created with my all-time favorite songs. My headphones are usually the first thing I reach for when I slump at my drawing table, and I couldn't get through my time on the treadmill without them. My tastes have settled as follows: I don't care if a song is rap, pop, folk or 'alternative'; if it sounds good, I'll enjoy it, without feeling a need to label it. Some current favorite bands include Owl City and Vampire Weekend.
I've always felt that a good song is a journey, with a beginning, middle and end. I find it cool that music has been a part of my own journey through life, and like Queen sang so appropriately, 'radio, someone still loves you'.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Popcorn and sticky floors
The very first movie I saw (my memory is fuzzy, so I may be wrong) was Star Wars. I remember the thrill of sitting in a dark cinema, as fantastic images exploded across the screen, leaving my young mind astonished. I remember creating a scrapbook of newspaper and magazine clippings about the movie, especially Darth Vader, my favorite character (man, was I relieved his damaged ship spiralled to safety ....)
Movies don't have that same charm or thrill me the same way these days. I don't consider myself a big movie buff; I find that the ticket price of a movie has risen to quite an astronomical amount (I realize inflation has had an impact since the 1970s, but still). At the same time, most 'blockbusters' are boring 'cut and paste' of plots and scenes from other movies, with some overpaid actor chewing up the scenery (or smoldering during lingering, unnecessary close-ups). Dramas tend to be pretentious and dull, and comedies are usually aimed at the lowest common denominator.
It's extremely rare that movies come long that live up to my expectations, but two have accomplished that feat so far this Summer: Toy Story 3, and Inception.
The former is a beautiful story about toys that show more genuine emotion than many humans I know. I have tremendous respect for the talented folk at Pixar, their standards are obviously high, and they always deliver entertaining films that are visually appealling. The latter is a visual tour-de-force, a daring thriller that challenges the audience to come along for a wild and convoluted ride.
I find that hollywood has been creatively bancrupt for many years; it's cool that great, entertaining films occassionally pop up, and I'm pleased to have caught two of them this year.
Hopefully, more similar gems are on the horizon.
Movies don't have that same charm or thrill me the same way these days. I don't consider myself a big movie buff; I find that the ticket price of a movie has risen to quite an astronomical amount (I realize inflation has had an impact since the 1970s, but still). At the same time, most 'blockbusters' are boring 'cut and paste' of plots and scenes from other movies, with some overpaid actor chewing up the scenery (or smoldering during lingering, unnecessary close-ups). Dramas tend to be pretentious and dull, and comedies are usually aimed at the lowest common denominator.
It's extremely rare that movies come long that live up to my expectations, but two have accomplished that feat so far this Summer: Toy Story 3, and Inception.
The former is a beautiful story about toys that show more genuine emotion than many humans I know. I have tremendous respect for the talented folk at Pixar, their standards are obviously high, and they always deliver entertaining films that are visually appealling. The latter is a visual tour-de-force, a daring thriller that challenges the audience to come along for a wild and convoluted ride.
I find that hollywood has been creatively bancrupt for many years; it's cool that great, entertaining films occassionally pop up, and I'm pleased to have caught two of them this year.
Hopefully, more similar gems are on the horizon.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Then and now.
One of the major differences between younger me and the current 'seasoned' version is attitude.
Back in the wonderful days of the swingin' 1990s (pre Ipad and worldwide economic meltdown), I possessed a fearlessness bordering on the ridiculous. I didn't think too much about repercussions of my decisions, I simply flung myself into situations with a cockiness that things would work out.
I'm not talking about daredevil thrills, just about my approach to life; for example, when the time came to find my first job, clutching my predominantly blank resume, I felt no trepidation that something would pop up. I circled ads, strutted into interviews, and eventually was rewarded with the thrill of my very first paycheque.
I honestly miss that supreme confidence (or was it naivety?); these days, I find myself constantly questioning decisions, trying to play things as safely as possible. It's entirely understandable, blessed with a wife and children, that my priorities have changed significantly. Having others rely on you may be intimidating, but a wonderful feeling nonetheless. I treasure the warm, fading memories of my carefree singlehood, but love my current life as parent and husband.
One common factor linking my two selves is this: hope. Younger me always felt that good times were on the horizon (or more accuartely, that bad times couldn't last forever), and I continue to feel the same. Despite getting older, feeling worn down and often ill on account of my genes, I never let go of precious hope.
Back in the wonderful days of the swingin' 1990s (pre Ipad and worldwide economic meltdown), I possessed a fearlessness bordering on the ridiculous. I didn't think too much about repercussions of my decisions, I simply flung myself into situations with a cockiness that things would work out.
I'm not talking about daredevil thrills, just about my approach to life; for example, when the time came to find my first job, clutching my predominantly blank resume, I felt no trepidation that something would pop up. I circled ads, strutted into interviews, and eventually was rewarded with the thrill of my very first paycheque.
I honestly miss that supreme confidence (or was it naivety?); these days, I find myself constantly questioning decisions, trying to play things as safely as possible. It's entirely understandable, blessed with a wife and children, that my priorities have changed significantly. Having others rely on you may be intimidating, but a wonderful feeling nonetheless. I treasure the warm, fading memories of my carefree singlehood, but love my current life as parent and husband.
One common factor linking my two selves is this: hope. Younger me always felt that good times were on the horizon (or more accuartely, that bad times couldn't last forever), and I continue to feel the same. Despite getting older, feeling worn down and often ill on account of my genes, I never let go of precious hope.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
I heart comic books!
I really do. Ever since 1983 (or thereabouts) when I discovered a spin rack at a local depanneur stuffed with them. My pulse must have quickened (I'd been exposed to super-heroes on Saturday morning cartoons), and I was inexorably hooked for life.
I remember when I picked up my very first issues (a Fantastic Four and Incredible Hulk, because the covers looked cool) that I didn't feel overwhelmed or intimidated by the fact that these characters had been around for some nebulous period of time (Superman began in 1938, for example). As a matter of fact, I was intrigued by the 'history', as hinted at by thoughtful captions, thought balloons, and editor's comments sprinkled strategically throughout a given issue.
Comics have changed alot over the decades (a reflection of their times, I suppose), and have become souless, slick pamphlets with dense, multi-part storylines, and 'mature' anti-heroes with complicated problems. Bah, I miss the simple, fun charm of the comics I read as a youngster.
Thanks to Ebay, my collection continues to swell (I collect mainly 50s and 60s titles these days, tanned, four-color treasures that smell musty and absolutely wonderful) and I doubt I'll ever lose my passion for comics.
I remember when I picked up my very first issues (a Fantastic Four and Incredible Hulk, because the covers looked cool) that I didn't feel overwhelmed or intimidated by the fact that these characters had been around for some nebulous period of time (Superman began in 1938, for example). As a matter of fact, I was intrigued by the 'history', as hinted at by thoughtful captions, thought balloons, and editor's comments sprinkled strategically throughout a given issue.
Comics have changed alot over the decades (a reflection of their times, I suppose), and have become souless, slick pamphlets with dense, multi-part storylines, and 'mature' anti-heroes with complicated problems. Bah, I miss the simple, fun charm of the comics I read as a youngster.
Thanks to Ebay, my collection continues to swell (I collect mainly 50s and 60s titles these days, tanned, four-color treasures that smell musty and absolutely wonderful) and I doubt I'll ever lose my passion for comics.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Recipe for 'success'
I was recently reflecting on the ingredients for success: passion, incredibly high standards when tackling any task, and a solid work ethic. Although I've alway never been afraid of hard work, the other two factors have been definitely missing over the years.
My philosophy has always been to deliver a solid shift; in other words, if I was working a 7 hour shift, I'd be as productive as possible within that specific timeframe. The concept of overtime bothers me; it's an admission that either time has been mismanaged or too much work allocated. In my careers, I've always sneered at folk who prided themselves on working ridiculous hours to get caught up (mostly because they spent too much time on meaningless 'meetings', cigarette breaks, or coffee runs) whereas I'd be content to leave the office at the stroke of quitting time.
I wanted to leave because I looked forward to going home to my wife (and later, wife and kids). Work was never a refuge or escape for me; it's always been a means to an end, namely, being able to pay the bills.
Folk would point at my attitude as the basis for my current level of success (or lack thereof), and I would be in complete agreement. I admit my priorities have always been my home life, and work a distant second. Even now, as a freelancer, I love being able to see my wife and kids as often as possible, happily setting aside a given drawing.
I lack the desire and drive to be perfect in a chosen career, because I quite simply haven't cemented my choice as to what I really consider my passion. Once I do, I'm certain the formula for success will prove itself accurate, as it always does.
My philosophy has always been to deliver a solid shift; in other words, if I was working a 7 hour shift, I'd be as productive as possible within that specific timeframe. The concept of overtime bothers me; it's an admission that either time has been mismanaged or too much work allocated. In my careers, I've always sneered at folk who prided themselves on working ridiculous hours to get caught up (mostly because they spent too much time on meaningless 'meetings', cigarette breaks, or coffee runs) whereas I'd be content to leave the office at the stroke of quitting time.
I wanted to leave because I looked forward to going home to my wife (and later, wife and kids). Work was never a refuge or escape for me; it's always been a means to an end, namely, being able to pay the bills.
Folk would point at my attitude as the basis for my current level of success (or lack thereof), and I would be in complete agreement. I admit my priorities have always been my home life, and work a distant second. Even now, as a freelancer, I love being able to see my wife and kids as often as possible, happily setting aside a given drawing.
I lack the desire and drive to be perfect in a chosen career, because I quite simply haven't cemented my choice as to what I really consider my passion. Once I do, I'm certain the formula for success will prove itself accurate, as it always does.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Getting old
Some profound truths seem so simple, yet make themselves known when we least expect it.
I was mulling things over the other day, and realized that I'm 40 years old.
I know, obvious, right?
Maybe I was treating my age as an abstract number, or I was in denial. But I realized that I no longer feel like a 20 year old because I'm no longer 20 years old! I suffer normal aches and wear of a typical male experiencing his fourth decade; I'm also burdened with extra discomfort on account of my genes, but that's the way life goes.
Realizing that I'll probably never again feel as spry or energetic (or pain free) as I did 20 years ago was sobering and produced a twinge of melancholy. At the same time, I knew that accepting the fact that I'm getting older is a necessary step in order to appreciate the second half of my life to its fullest (being positive, of course).
In truth, we all are as young (or old) as we feel, and age is an arbitrary number. How we deal with aging is a personal choice, part of the interesting reality of being alive.
I was mulling things over the other day, and realized that I'm 40 years old.
I know, obvious, right?
Maybe I was treating my age as an abstract number, or I was in denial. But I realized that I no longer feel like a 20 year old because I'm no longer 20 years old! I suffer normal aches and wear of a typical male experiencing his fourth decade; I'm also burdened with extra discomfort on account of my genes, but that's the way life goes.
Realizing that I'll probably never again feel as spry or energetic (or pain free) as I did 20 years ago was sobering and produced a twinge of melancholy. At the same time, I knew that accepting the fact that I'm getting older is a necessary step in order to appreciate the second half of my life to its fullest (being positive, of course
In truth, we all are as young (or old) as we feel, and age is an arbitrary number. How we deal with aging is a personal choice, part of the interesting reality of being alive.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Another recent Summer book I've enjoyed is Playing With Fire, by Gordon Ramsey. I expected it to be an autobiography of the chef's journey from kitchen to TV, but was instead treated to Gordon's off the cuff (and uncensored) advice on running (and growing) a successful business.
I have tremendous respect for Mr Ramsey; I've enjoyed his TV series Hell's Kitchen, F-Word, and Kitchen Nightmares very much. At first I found him loud, abrassive and cocky, but now I consider him a man with little patience for fools or folk who don't give their all to a given task.
The concept of achieving success through hard work and passion makes sense to me logically; finding one's 'passion' is an incredible challenge, and after 40 years, I'm still on the periphery of mine. My meandering career path has always been based on circumstances that colored my choices; I wouldn't change a thing given a second chance, since I find myself incredibly fortunate to be exactly where I am. I may be a simple freelance artist toiling for low wages, but I wake up daily ready to tackle whatever is on my drawing table.
That being said, I have the strong feeling that I'll be able to elevate my career 'success' to a new level once I determine my true passion.
I'm looking forward to musing on that particular subject in my 'free' time!
I have tremendous respect for Mr Ramsey; I've enjoyed his TV series Hell's Kitchen, F-Word, and Kitchen Nightmares very much. At first I found him loud, abrassive and cocky, but now I consider him a man with little patience for fools or folk who don't give their all to a given task.
The concept of achieving success through hard work and passion makes sense to me logically; finding one's 'passion' is an incredible challenge, and after 40 years, I'm still on the periphery of mine. My meandering career path has always been based on circumstances that colored my choices; I wouldn't change a thing given a second chance, since I find myself incredibly fortunate to be exactly where I am. I may be a simple freelance artist toiling for low wages, but I wake up daily ready to tackle whatever is on my drawing table.
That being said, I have the strong feeling that I'll be able to elevate my career 'success' to a new level once I determine my true passion.
I'm looking forward to musing on that particular subject in my 'free' time!
Monday, June 28, 2010
Field of dreams?
I've recently finished Vindicated, a follow-up by Jose Canseco to his explosive memoir on MLB's sordid steroid scandal. The book is an easy read, and until the last chapter or so, pretty entertaining (near the end, Jose reminds the reader how wonderful he was as a ball player and still remains as a person, despite flooding his body over the years with illegal chemicals that improved his performance significantly).
Jose Canseco was an early sports hero of mine. I remember clearly 1989, his year of 40-40; I recall tuning into the first game of the World Series, eager to watch this awesome ball player kick some Dodger tail.
I'll never forget that evening, parked in front of the TV, at the edge of my seat. A hobbled Kirk Gibson stumbled to the plate and single-handedly won the game with a homerun that barely cleared the fence. I was at first shocked, then extremely moved by the sheer will of this player to refuse to give in despite near impossible odds (hitting a home run against a HOF closer while barely able to run the bases continues to amaze me to this day).
Baseball was fun back then; I was introduced to televised games by Mom, who liked watching the Expos and Royals (and currently follows the Yankees rather rabidly). I found the game charming and comforting, a staple of long hot Summer days.
Baseball became a game of cheaters, atheletes taking steroids in order to 'compete'. I wasn't entirely surprised when the scandal broke (my interest in MLB waned during the 90s), but I find myself disappointed that such a pure, innocent pass-time remains driven by the almighty dollar, and not for the love of the game.
Call me naive and idealistic, or perhaps trapped in the past, but sometimes I miss 1989 and watching my 'hero' Jose Canseco ferociously hit the cover off of baseballs.
Jose Canseco was an early sports hero of mine. I remember clearly 1989, his year of 40-40; I recall tuning into the first game of the World Series, eager to watch this awesome ball player kick some Dodger tail.
I'll never forget that evening, parked in front of the TV, at the edge of my seat. A hobbled Kirk Gibson stumbled to the plate and single-handedly won the game with a homerun that barely cleared the fence. I was at first shocked, then extremely moved by the sheer will of this player to refuse to give in despite near impossible odds (hitting a home run against a HOF closer while barely able to run the bases continues to amaze me to this day).
Baseball was fun back then; I was introduced to televised games by Mom, who liked watching the Expos and Royals (and currently follows the Yankees rather rabidly). I found the game charming and comforting, a staple of long hot Summer days.
Baseball became a game of cheaters, atheletes taking steroids in order to 'compete'. I wasn't entirely surprised when the scandal broke (my interest in MLB waned during the 90s), but I find myself disappointed that such a pure, innocent pass-time remains driven by the almighty dollar, and not for the love of the game.
Call me naive and idealistic, or perhaps trapped in the past, but sometimes I miss 1989 and watching my 'hero' Jose Canseco ferociously hit the cover off of baseballs.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Fences make good neighbors
Yesterday, I stared blankly at our worn, rickety back yard fence. Our Spring project has been to create privacy by covering the old wood with weather-treated slats, but yesterday I was momentarily overwhelmed. The job seemed impossible, and I felt very frustrated.
The solution was to stop thinking and merely act. Going to Home Depot to pick up supplies served to get me back on track, and the job doesn't seem quite so intimidating now. I even look forward to it finally being completed.
Ah, the joys of being a home-owner.
The solution was to stop thinking and merely act. Going to Home Depot to pick up supplies served to get me back on track, and the job doesn't seem quite so intimidating now. I even look forward to it finally being completed.
Ah, the joys of being a home-owner.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Summer on the horizon
I haven't written in awhile; of course, I've been meaning to, but life tends to get in the way, and free time seems to be quite elusive.
I still miss junk food, but feel good about my improved eating habits. A soy or potabello mushroom burger subsitutes for a greasy beef monstrosity adequately, and sugar-free pudding with a dollop of low-fat whipped topping can be divine. My back aches alot less than it used to; an aquaintance mentioned to me that he requires morphine three times a day to deal with his pain, so I consider myself fortunate.
I'm not looking forward to the sweltering days of Summer; once the pool is up and running, I'm certian the girls will spend alot of time splashing in the clear, turquoise water.
I still miss junk food, but feel good about my improved eating habits. A soy or potabello mushroom burger subsitutes for a greasy beef monstrosity adequately, and sugar-free pudding with a dollop of low-fat whipped topping can be divine. My back aches alot less than it used to; an aquaintance mentioned to me that he requires morphine three times a day to deal with his pain, so I consider myself fortunate.
I'm not looking forward to the sweltering days of Summer; once the pool is up and running, I'm certian the girls will spend alot of time splashing in the clear, turquoise water.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
I've finally managed to catch up on my workload, which astonishes me quite a bit. After suffering all February with my eye inflammation (trapped in a darkened basement with one sore and blurry eye was rather unpleasant), I'm feeling alot better.
Changing my eating habits is slowly having a positive effect on my overall spinal inflammation, but I certainly miss cookies and cheesecake. The habit of less fat and more veggies is becoming second nature, and the challenge of creating tasty and healthy cuisine is actually fun.
I hope that I continue to feel better over time; I always regretted feeling tired and listless. With more energy, I tend to attack days with gusto, which is a lesson I needed to learn.
Changing my eating habits is slowly having a positive effect on my overall spinal inflammation, but I certainly miss cookies and cheesecake. The habit of less fat and more veggies is becoming second nature, and the challenge of creating tasty and healthy cuisine is actually fun.
I hope that I continue to feel better over time; I always regretted feeling tired and listless. With more energy, I tend to attack days with gusto, which is a lesson I needed to learn.
Monday, January 25, 2010
When I first started watching NFL football in the early nineties, Brett Favre was just starting his illustrious career. Although I was never a big fan of the Packers, I respected his tremendous skills and passion, in particular his wide-eyed excitement at playing a game he loved.
Over the years, I adnired his leadership skills, although it became disconcerting when analysts began to refer to him as 'old man Brett' (he's a about year younger than myself). His indecision on retiring was a bit comical, but completely understandable.
His apparent rejuvenation with the Vikings this past season was thrilling; it seemed as if Brett was actually turning back the clock with his trademark determined squint.
Last night's NFC championship game broke my heart. Brett played his heart out, but was left hanging by an outmatched offensive line and running backs who couldn't secure the ball. The Saints were wildly outplayed, yet a single play turns perhaps the greatest quarterback in many years into a goat. If Brett would've had more confidence in his supporting cast (and would've been less shell-shocked from having been slammed to the turf so many times), he never would've made that questionable throw; if he would've been more of a team player, he would've scampered a few yards instead, setting up the probable game-winning field goal.
I'm left with a bitter taste in my mouth with regards to Brett's amazing career; it astounds me, how a single bad decision can tarnish a legacy. In the end, the Vikings didn't deserve to win that game, considering how they played and were coached; still, it would've been very cool to see Brett try for the brass ring one more time, which would've left me with a much brighter image of this man that I respect, rather than the one I'm left with.
Over the years, I adnired his leadership skills, although it became disconcerting when analysts began to refer to him as 'old man Brett' (he's a about year younger than myself). His indecision on retiring was a bit comical, but completely understandable.
His apparent rejuvenation with the Vikings this past season was thrilling; it seemed as if Brett was actually turning back the clock with his trademark determined squint.
Last night's NFC championship game broke my heart. Brett played his heart out, but was left hanging by an outmatched offensive line and running backs who couldn't secure the ball. The Saints were wildly outplayed, yet a single play turns perhaps the greatest quarterback in many years into a goat. If Brett would've had more confidence in his supporting cast (and would've been less shell-shocked from having been slammed to the turf so many times), he never would've made that questionable throw; if he would've been more of a team player, he would've scampered a few yards instead, setting up the probable game-winning field goal.
I'm left with a bitter taste in my mouth with regards to Brett's amazing career; it astounds me, how a single bad decision can tarnish a legacy. In the end, the Vikings didn't deserve to win that game, considering how they played and were coached; still, it would've been very cool to see Brett try for the brass ring one more time, which would've left me with a much brighter image of this man that I respect, rather than the one I'm left with.
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