High Fidelity

High Fidelity

My life is like a jukebox, not the kind the Fonz would hit but rather the type that follows you around… maybe in your pocket or your hand. Kind of like a portable audio listening device. Something that would allow one to access and choose what song they would like to listen to… wait a second, I think we have such devices in this technological utopia of ours, the Walkman! Yes sir, when I walk down the street I can choose what I listen to and I can skip the song when I grow tired of it, which happens more often then not; for you see I suffer from a very strange affliction called song ADD. I have the inability to completely listen to a song from start to finish unless I truly love every second of it.

Modularity

I love music; I can’t go a day without listening to Run D.M.C. while I walk down the street in my Addidas. If I go 24 hours without hearing the haunting voice of Dallas Green I’d think it was a waste. Any large amount of time without Barenaked Ladies is shameful and a little un-patriotic… get your minds out of the gutter, I speak of the band that is also a national treasure. I have a soundtrack to accompany my every whim and mood. I have a tune for every thought and feeling, I even have a little ditty about Jack and Diane that I stole from a guy who likes pink house’s a little too much…. That’s what you get when you remove the cougar from your name!

Semblance of realism

You can learn a lot about a man from the songs he writes, just like you can learn a lot about an author from reading their books, or how you can see into the soul of a painter by simply viewing his latest work. You can feel the emotion jump of the vinyl when you hear Johnny Cash say that he’s hurt. You can feel the joy soar across the room when Billy Joel sings to his uptown girl. I think that life is like a song, a song that I’m writing as I go. I’ve got a couple of versus and a chorus and a jaunty little beat to go with it… maybe something acoustic. I still don’t know what this song is about, I probably won’t know until it’s done and to be honest with you I’m not too anxious to hear the denouement. It could be a happy song it could be a sad one… it could damn well be a concept album and require two discs to contain its story, a story with up’s and down’s and maybe an elephant or two. Who knows… I don’t know how this song will end, I can’t fast-forward to the part that I like or rewind to the intro because I want to experience the euphoric guitar solo that I thought would never end. All I can do is ride the wave, sit back and hope that when the song is done and the tape has run out that someone will be kind enough to put it back in the case so that someone else may enjoy it.

Big Feet, Small Mouth

Big Feet, Small Mouth

I have big feet, depending on what brand of shoe I buy it can range from a size 13 Converse or a size 16 Nike. If I choose to sport around in a pair of Addidas chances are they’ll be size 14. I have big feet, most times I don’t even notice until I stub my toe on a dresser or slip on a stair, often I don’t mind my colossus sized walking tools, until I have to buy shoes that is… had I an extra inch I’d have to travel to a far and southern land to purchase that which covers my feet, Toronto. My mouth isn’t that big, I’m very good with secrets and I barely gossip. When my wisdom teeth came in I barely had enough room in my small but proportionately sized head to house them. Lucky for me my extra pearly whites did not require extraction… as of yet. Why am I talking about the size of my feet and how small my mouth is? It’s not to brag I assure you. I say all this to emphasize how much it hurts when I put my foot in my mouth… which seems to be a common occurrence these days. So how do you fit a size 15 shoe in a tiny mouth that happens to be approximately six feet away? It ain’t easy but I do it like a pro… and where does it get me? Well, more often then not it gets me nowhere. It’s hard to walk up to somebody and apologize with a foot in your mouth… especially with one that is as big as mine. No need to send in the clowns folks for I am already here. I do after all match the description fairly well. Big shoes… check! Wardrobe filled with bright fabrics… check! The ability to be loved by so many while simultaneously being off putting to the ones you actually care about… check… with a capitol C, or with a big check mark sign. I’d write one here but I don’t know how… so use your imagination…. Right… here! So yes I can put my foot in my mouth and make a fool of myself and alienate the ones… or the one I care about, but… it could be worse… I could have a size 17 shoe. Then I would be in real hot water

I don't put sugar on my Corn Flakes

I don’t put sugar on my Corn Flakes

Beauty is not measured by aesthetics alone, no. You can’t simply look at a picture of a woman and say that she is beautiful without ever having a conversation with her or without getting to know her. Only then can you truly see the real beauty of it all. True beauty can be measured by inspiration, when you want to write her tomes and volumes just because you can. You can measure true beauty by her ability to understand; by how she knows exactly what to say and when exactly to say it. We don’t all have that ability; in fact most of us have become experts at putting our feet in our mouths… I count myself as one of those experts; But every once in a while we meet that one person that rocks our world. That person that completely changes our perception of everything we thought we knew. After you meet this person, fruit tastes better, the cold winter air smells fresher than it ever has, the sweetest of wines don’t compare to the sweetness of her heart and sunsets pale in comparison to the true inner beauty of her soul. And all the finest pieces of art mean nothing to you when you stare into her eyes. She’s someone that makes you sure of yourself. She’s a woman that inspires not only creativity but happiness, genuine honest to goodness happiness. I am lucky enough to say that I have met such a person, someone who has shown me what the meaning of joy is.

I don’t put sugar on my corn flakes because I don’t have to… life is sweet enough just as it is.

I want to buy a dog and name him Cat Stevens

I want to buy a dog and name him Cat Stevens

If I had it my way I’d be happy… the fountains would run rampant with gallons of a certain diet caffeinated beverage, the gym would be free and cigarettes would be better for you then vitamin C. Hugs would be given away like sunshine while kisses would still cost 7 dollars. Road trips would be a weekly mandatory task, the destination not being the goal but rather seeing the road less travelled.

I want to buy a dog and name him Yusuf Islam

If I had it my way guitars would tune themselves and we would have the option of buying our shoes broken in. Saturday would come twice a week and Sammy Hagar would still be with Van Halen. Writing would be fun again, the pen would never run out of ink and the lead would never break. Being happy with the small things would be good enough, like Don Quixote we would chase our windmill until our last days, then be happy that the windmill never had legs

My dog would sing Cats In The Cradle

If I had it my way we would spend more time with the people that matter most and get re-acquainted with old friends. You wouldn’t feel like a sucker, even after being on the receiving end of a punch of the same name. People might remember rock and roll. A knickname would mean something, eggnog would be available all year round and I wouldn’t have to pretend to like Christmas.

My dog would change his spiritual beliefs and sing songs with a political agenda

If I had it my way Sam Beckett would find his way home, David Banner would find the peace he is looking for and Archie Bunker would open his mind… if I had it my way I wouldn’t worry about fictional characters.

My dog would be missed by the music industry…