Leonard Cohen in Concert

When I started listening to Leonard Cohen, he had been living in a monastary for 5 years.  I pretty much assumed that, like most of the music I started to listen to when I started university, it was by someone I would never see live.

Which is fine by me, because I prefer the prefection of a studio recording.  I like it to be exactly how the artist wanted the music to sound, because they could retry if they didn’t like it.  So, I assummed from when I first began to worship the man as something like a god, except far more powerful and actually real, I would never be in his presence.

Because I decided that years ago, I didn’t realize, until I pulled up wikipedia to write this blog, that he toured in 2008 and 2010.   But shut-up.  You don’t know what your favourite band is doing right now, so back off.

When Old Ideas, his newest album came out in January, I fell completely in love with it.  It is amazing.  It’s a beautiful look at mortality and regret, and it’s uplifting and heartbreating.  It’s aboslutely amazing, and when I learned he was touring, I was like a hawk on the ticket release date.  I was going to get me those tickets.  I registered with something or other to prebuy, and got myself floor seats on the Saddledome.

I picked up two tickets because I assumed I would find some cute single girl to take with me, because I have a completely off idea of who Leonard Cohen fans are.  See, most of the times I talk about music, it’s because I’m trying to impress a girl with how good my taste in music is.  It’s usually some really cute crunchy granola girl who cares about the world and buys clothes at second hand stores, half for the irony, and half because they care more about art than money.

Basically, her.

So, I’m looking for these girls, and they’re not showing up.  Then I start looking for other people, who at least like Leonard Cohen.  Sure, they exist, but everyone I talked to either ended up busy on the night of the show, or they weren’t interested in several consecutive hours of his music.

So, like I always do in times of great crisis, I made Kodie my solution.  I forced him to come along, because somehow, after 20 years, I can still talk him into my plans.

When I got there, I found out that the average Leonard Cohen fan is a little more…


I mean, he was born in 1934, so I’m not quite sure why I didn’t think a 78 year old genius wouldn’t have gathered fans over the years, and lots of them had known about him since … before I was born.  I mean, there were some cute young girls there, but they were spaced out amongst a sea of silver.

So I got myself a Saddledome crack-beer, and we found our seats.  And then everything was amazing.  Leonard Cohen bounded onto the stage, so full of life and energy.  He loved the crowd, and we loved him back.  He was funny, and engaging, and his songs brought him to his knees with the remembered pain and the perfect catharisis.

Every musician on stage with him was extraordinary.  They could have filled theatres themselves.  They were there to play with him.  Each one was a master, and everything sounded so … perfect.

And I was worried that my expectations would be impossible to live up to.

He played for an hour and a half, and then announced he was taking a break.  Back in reality, Kodie was … suprised to learn that we were only a half hour in.  He … he wasn’t having the blast I was, because he likes music by people who aren’t part of our grand parents generation.  He’s a little less “Hallalujah” and a little more “Call Me, Maybe.”

So we had an intermission, and then another hour and a half of great music.  Then a three song encore.  And then another.  The third standing ovation brought him out again, and he sang again and Kodie gave me this “I’m going to kill someone” look.  I assumed it might be me.  So we started heading to the door.  Leonard told us it was alright during the first encore.  “If you have someone waiting,” he said “Go to them.  If you have time, friends, I’ll sing a few more songs.”

He’s the best.

But Kodie told me that I now owed him.  Kodie never says that.  He just puts up with my ridicilous bullshit.  So basically, if Cher does another fairwell tour (her third, I guess it would be), Kodie’s boyfriend is off the hook.



Worth it.


Published in: on November 26, 2012 at 5:13 pm  Leave a Comment  
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So, a few days ago, a beautiful and talented woman asked me what I was working on creatively.  I was embarrassed by the answer, and it was only made worse because she was super hot and better at art then me.  Basically, if you’re reading this, you know I’ve done nothing in months, and very little all year long.

I’ve got to change that, and that’s going to take some concerted effort.  Basically, I’m going to regularly need to make sure I keep writing.  I may make a couple of changes around here to make sure that happens.  I’m also going to need to look after my other stuff, like my deviant art page.  I might make some formatting changes to my blog.

One of the things I noticed is I’ve become a little insecure about the things I like.  I watch a lot of fantastical movies and tv shows, and read books where extraordinary things happen, but I don’t want to write about that.  I need to figure out how to let that go.  If I read Game of Thrones, then there’s nothing wrong with writing fantasy.  When I watch Supernatural, even in to Season 7, where it gets next to unwatchable, why can’t I write some horror stories.

Although, something I might start doing more of is scenes from songs.  I get a lot of strong imagery in my mind’s eye when I listen to music.  I’m going to write more of those.

Basically, I don’t care what you think.  Unless you’re a beautiful and talented woman, then I care that you think I make good art.  The most important lesson I learned from my Creative Writing Professor in University is that the point of art is impressing cute girls on the off chance it will get you laid.

Published in: on November 13, 2012 at 7:42 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Love and Night Driving

I miss driving at night and being in love.

Backing up a step, I’ve just recently gotten a car again.  I have been, for the most part, vehicle-less since I returned from Japan.  I probably could have gotten one sooner, but I wanted to wait until I could afford one I love.  And I love my new car.  I’m readjusting to the freedom, to the larger range of my life, and the new options.  I’m also being reminded of things I miss.

I used to have something of a preference for long distance relationships.  See, I like my space, often several hundred kilometres of it.  I like the idea of everyone in the relationship having their own  very separate lives, that coincide when we plan for it.  Specifically, I want her to have an awesome life full of cool things, while I play video games and watch DVDs, and then we spend our weekends together.

I miss driving at night, a dark highway interrupted by clusters of street lights.  It’s an amazing feeling, flying across the deserted world, singing along with a radio turned up way to loud.  Somewhere, down that fading ribbon of road, there’s an amazing, beautiful woman waiting for me.

Because if you lived more than an hour away, and I was willing to repeatedly drive an hour to see you, you were both amazing and beautiful.  I those are kind of my requirements for an exclusive relationship; spectacular, gorgeous, and at least 60 minutes away from the rest of my life.

It is hard to find a time when you feel more in love; it has been days since you last saw her, everything you are doing, you’re doing for her, and she is just as excited about it as you are.  I miss that rush, that roaring, wild drive to fall down with someone who was worth the wait.

As a side note, if any woman who lives within say, 100 to 250 kilometres of Calgary, who is at least an 8 out of 10, who is absolutely fascinating, and happens to be single, I’m available for love-struck drives to your bedroom.

8s will need to provide the ingredients for breakfast, but I’ll still cook it, because I should bring something to the relationship.

Hard to Compliment

Some things are really hard to compliment.  For example, I think girls with big ears are cute.

Girls like Amy Smart

I like the type of ears that, when a girl wears her hair down, the tops of them stick out.  I doubt this is common, because all my google fu was useless in finding pictures of unnamed cute girls with big ears.

It sounds like an insult, doesn’t it?  Big ears.  Like I’m going around mocking elephants.

I am not attracted to elephants with big ears. Just girls.

In fact, most girls that have them, I assume were teased for them.  They hide them, under specially designed hair cuts and hats and other optical illusions that girls know to make me think they look different than they actually do.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m generally a fan of the spectacle, all the work the ladies do to impress … well someone else, but I still benefit from the visuals.

This one, however, it makes me said.  Even if I want to tell a girl “Your ears are so cute” she bulks.  It’s like I’ve built my own “Do these pants make me look fat?” trap.  It’s like an unescapable, back-handed compliment, and unless you’re a pick up artist playing with negs, it doesn’t really work. 

If you didn’t know, negs are semi-mean compliments designed to throw a cute girl out of her comfort zone, and make her work to impress you.  It’s a tricky game to play with the ladies, especially because you can get accidentally mean, and you shouldn’t fake a sense of humour you don’t have.  Plus, I sincerely like her ears, and if she’s feeling like she needs to compensate for them, I done screwed up.

Is this just me?  Am I the only one who thinks big earls are cute?  Because Google Image Search suggests I might be.  I mean, if most of my top five celebrity crushes didn’t have them, I never would have been able to give you this other example of Jordana Brewster

Who has been kind enough not to slap a restraining order on me

And I’m pretty sure, even in the two pictures I’ve provided, those girls have minimized their ears.  I couldn’t find many good ones.


Zooey Deschanel!

Here’s a good one!  Zooey Deschanel!  Why don’t we see more girls with those kind of cute ears?  That is exactly the look I’m thinking of, and I would be happy to see more of it.

And, this blog was written in February of 2011.  I mention that explicitly so that the next time I get in a fight over a girl over whether or not I was being sincere when I tell her her big ears are adorable, or sexy, or whatever adjective I use to get what I want from her, I have this as proof.  There, future girl, I wrote this before I met you, so now you have to forgive me, and realize, I really like those ears.

Pieces of Me

I have never had an angry break-up.  When I leave a girl, it’s always a sad affair, and it always seems to end the same way.

The choices I’ve made always seem to tear me away from some cute girl I love.  It’s never about us, it’s something I have to do.  My fragile ambition is always stronger than my fractured love.  I always hate losing her, but I have to go.  It’ll be pre-dawn, in her dark bedroom.  It’s always her room.  I always go to them, afraid of what they’ll see if they come to me.  No one says much, all the desperate, tearful goodbyes spit out in the dead of night.  We’re both emotionally exhausted, physically drained, and ready to be alone with ourselves.  It’s too hard to see each other, so the lights stay off.

I gather up the last debris I have scattered, and grab a packed bag.  I’m always going far away, too far for us to stay us.  There’s a few whispered words of regret, and a last embrace that lasts a moment too long, making me believe that I could just stay, that everything could revert, that I can still chose love over life.

But the bell’s been rung, and you can’t un-ring a bell.  Staying would make things worst.  Now, I need to go.

There’s always a song.  Maybe it’s Leonard Cohen’s Chelsea Hotel #2 playing on her radio, admitting what we had was always futile.  Maybe it’s Josh Ritter’s Last Temptation of Adam in my car as I drive away, a constant worry that if we had been comfortable, we wouldn’t have been us.  Sometimes the song isn’t something poignant, or related, but it remains forever hers.

I drive into that highway sunrise, lost in the song, lingering in the last kiss.  Some part of me always wants to turn back, instead of heading to that burning beacon of all the long lonely days without her.  Some beautiful lie, some excuse as to why I’ve returned; I left something behind.

There’s a piece of me still with her. 

And the mistake I always make, months or years later, is the belief that I could go back for it.  I dream that the memory of me is still shining in some lost corner.  Somehow, I’m always wrong.  I’ve remembered things too … too far from what they were.  I go back, and try to make reality conform to my vision of the past.

I think I can have back that piece of me.  But it wasn’t mine, not when I went out that door.  It’s hers, and she can do with it what she likes, but it’ll never be part of the me that’s come back for it.

The lesson I never seem to learn is that when you go away, you’re gone.

Sergeant Joey’s Lonely Hearts Club

So it’s nearly Valentine’s Day.

Which should focus more on it's candy.

Valentine’s Day is almost like Halloween’s evil twin.  Sure, there’s candy, but you don’t give it out to strangers.  I’m given to understand that there’s sexy costumes, but they’re only in private.

Unfair, Karla, unfair.

I say given to understand, because I have always been single on Valentine’s Day.  Yep, never had a date on February 14th.  It was last year when I realized the true implications of that fact; if I’ve always been single on Valentine’s Day, it means I’ve never been a relationship that lasted a full year.

I nearly made it once.  I started dating a girl in March, and January neared its end, and things were … well, they were alright.  But then, it was like something snapped in my head come February, like I subconsciously realized I was about to settle down in some way.  I somehow managed to sabotage everything by February 10th, thus saving me a couple hundred dollars in lavish displays of affection.

Yeah, I’m kind of a dick, but at least I’m generous.

My brother is just like me.  He’s never been anything but single on Valentine’s Day.  You know, until this year.

Et Tu, Brutus?

He started dating a girl a few months back, and apparently, Stadelmann Brother Tradition isn’t enough to convince him to dump her.

Sure, she’s also cool, and smart, and has excellent taste in TV, and she’s definitely too good for him, so he needs to latch onto her like a barnacle on a boat, but that’s beside the point.  If he doesn’t make a terrible mistake and dump her, then Sergeant Joey’s Lonely Heart Club is down to one member, and I know where my priorities lie.

With me, baby.  With me.

Published in: on February 11, 2011 at 12:00 pm  Comments (1)  
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Why I love WordPress

This is the third home for my blog.  I started on MySpace.  This was in the Long Ago, the before time.  In those day, MySpace wasn’t something to be embarrassed about.  It was actually cool.  Good bands had cool music for free.  I met some really awesome people, and even agreed to meet some of them in real life.  I started blogging there, and used it for most, if not all of my time in Japan.

I really liked it.  I got to see how many people were reading each blog, and a lot of the friends I made on MySpace were because I wrote there.  I wasn’t making music, but it set my page apart.

This was, remember, before Facebook was open to everyone.  You used to earn your way into Facebook.  You needed an email address from a recognized school back then, and University of Lethbridge had just made the list.  My social life was more strongly based out of work, and not everyone who worked at the restaurants that employed me were students, so they could get a MySpace, but not a Facebook.

Facebook wasn’t social enough for my social networking needs.

But slowly, MySpace began to change.  Even if you weren’t a band, you could put a song on your page, and they were always too loud.  When you got to a new page, your first instinct was to find the music player and mute it before you had to hear their profile song.  Then  came the code.  You could go to a side site and get a code to spruce up your MySpace.  It would update the background, and while it could be done tastefully, like on my MySpace, most people did a gaudy mess of glitter, like Lady Gaga vomit.

I’m not going to subject you to glitter text.

Then the people changed.  You stopped getting messages from people who thought you were cool.  If a cute girl sent you a message, she was no longer someone who liked your writing.  She was a cam whore who was trying to get you to sign up for a pay service.  Bands no longer cared what you liked.  They sent you friend requests to boost their fan numbers, and hoped you clicked it by accident.

So like everyone else, I moved to Facebook, who by this point had opened their doors to everyone.  But Facebook notes didn’t meet my blogging needs.  So I checked out a few sites and tried their technical aspects, and found I liked writing on Live Journal most of all.

While I enjoyed their technical aspects, I didn’t research the community enough.  I didn’t find out until I had been there over a year that the site was associate with angsty emo poetry by fifteen year olds or Harry Potter slash fiction.

No thank you.  I already have a Deviant Art account.

Then I found WordPress.  It’s technically superior to Live Journal, helps drive traffic, and most importantly, has better statistics than MySpace ever did.

I know that the searches that bring people to my blog through Google are “Tony Stark Beard” “Scott Pilgrim vs. the World Comic”, “Jessica Alba fake nudes” and “Rachel McAdams”.  It’s good to know what you’re known for.


Joey was looking at his stats to figure out what you like in his blog.  If there are types of blogs you like more, let him know in the comments, or send him a message.

My Absence

Yeah, I know I’ve been gone for a while.  About two months.  In internet time, that’s like forever.  I mean, I fell in love with, and came to dispise FourSquare in that time.  It’s no fun being Mayor if no one else is playing.

I got busy in December, doing real world stuff, and really didn’t get much writing done.  Then came the post Christmas hermitage.  I got some great DVDs and video games, and I may have lost myself in some escapism over the next few weeks.  I’m not done watching everything yet, but I need to do more with my life.

I’ve been trying to go out more, which should lead to blog worthy stories, and I’ll be working harder on everything I write.  The problem is the sirens call of video games.

I mean, sure, maybe I’ll seduce a bevy of attractive young women who are still in the stage of life where they make terrible decisions involving charming writers they’ve just met.

But none of them are blue tree chicks:

And if you are real, hopefully you're still making terrible decisions involving charming writers


Published in: on January 26, 2011 at 12:01 am  Leave a Comment  
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Last Minute Halloween Costumes

Not everyone is like me when it comes to Halloween.  Some people do not consider it last minute to figure out what they will wear for Halloween on September 1st.  They don’t spend the months leading up to the holiday scouring costume shops, thrift stores, variety stores and the internet for all the pieces it takes to perfectly imitate some character.  I understand that.  I’m exceedingly fortune that my talented sister, Kim, has started a tradition of giving me an excellent costume for my birthday, on the caveat that it would be worthy of her skill and interesting enough that she should bother. 

Some people don’t even have the foresight to buy a slutty costume the weekend before.

And you can find a skanky version of anything

There are pre-made costumes available at stores, that for girls are supposed to be a sexy fill in the blank, and for guys most costumes are usually some crude visual gag.  You can also find costumes based on whatever movie or TV show people have been watching.

I watch Jersey Shore, and all, but seriously, Snooki costumes? Why is this a real thing?

But what if you didn’t think to pick something up, and now, it’s time to go out for Halloween.  Well, let’s look at what you can do, and what you can’t.

Acceptable — Work Uniform

If you used to work at a fast food place, or somewhere with a recognizable uniform, you can put on your old work clothes.  Make a fake, punny name tag, and make sure the clothes are clean.  As long as people know it’s a costume, it’s okay, but they shouldn’t think you just left work.  This costume is especially true if you are a cute girl who used to work anywhere the uniform included an apron, like Starbucks, and you want to pull a Rene Zellweger form Empire Records

This is always okay.

Unacceptable — Hockey Jersey

Do not just put on a hockey jersey, and claim to be the player whose name is on the back.  If you want to do this, you better fucking look like the guy.  You also should go a step or two further.  Put on a pair of hockey gloves, maybe a fake black eye.  If you are a white guy with long hair, you can’t just put on your favourite player’s jersey and tell me you’re this guy:

because you look nothing like Iginla

Acceptable — Vampire or Zombie anything

Put on any clothes.  Grab some make up.  If you don’t have any either run to the drug store for some make up, or borrow some from your wife, girlfriend, mother, or neighbor.  Seriously, it isn’t that hard.  The internet is full of great tutorials on zombie make up, or if you’re lazy, just put down a white base and run a little red down the corner of your mouth and be a vampire. 

Ignoring my awesome cap teeth, there's not a lot to this costume...

Unacceptable — Superhero T-Shirts

If you’re like me, you’re not desperately trying to figure out what to wear on October 31st.  But if you’re kind of like me, you have a bunch of superhero T-shirts, and if you’re dumb, you think they could be turned into costumes.  This is untrue in almost all circumstances.  A Green Lantern t-shirt and jeans is not a costume.  There are exceptions.  First of all, if you have the right haircut and the right Superman symbol T-Shirt (red symbol, black background) you can be

This one, specific Superboy

Also, if you have Peter Parker or Clark Kent clothes, you can do mid change superhero.

This is the lamest Halloween costume I've ever worn. I have high standards.

Unacceptable — Toilet Paper Mummy

Just, just don’t.  It’s gross.

Acceptable — Dressing as a Holiday

Not everyone has a collection of capes like I do, but most people have Christmas decorations, or … Easter, or something.  Wear them like a costume.  Be Christmas.  It’s better than wearing nothing.

Unacceptable — Ghost Sheet

Don’t cut the eyes out of a sheet and be a ghost.  Especially after that one South Park, where Cartman showed us what you really look like:

You can't unsee this.

Acceptable — Bedsheet Toga

Seriously, if you need to wear a sheet, wear it as a toga.  It looks better.

Unacceptable — A Celebrity you look like

So you think you look like Johnny Depp, or Edward from Twilight?  It’s not enough.  You need Depp’s weird hat, or Edward’s eyebrows.   If you want to be Ricky from Trailer Park boys you need to wear one of his signature shirts.  Basically, you can’t do this unless you already have built a costume, and if that’s the case, then you have a costume, don’t you.  It’s not enough to wear your regular clothes.

Acceptable — Dress Clothes

Put on your best suit.  You’ll look like something.  Maybe you’ll need a headphone run to your ear to look like secret service, or maybe you’ll look like James Bond.  For girls, you might look like a prom queen or a bridesmaid.  You can go with it.

Unacceptable — No Costume

This is not okay.  You hear me Kodie?  Not acceptable.  You have to stay home.

Acceptable — Your Skankiest Clothing

Ladies, it’s Halloween.  No matter what you’re wearing, you’re not a slut.  You could say your a prositute, but you don’t need to.  If you’ve got an animal ear handband, you’re more than set.  It’s the Mean Girls Equation: 

Animal ears plus underwear equals costume

Seriously, wear your underwear, and you’re good.

Hot For Words

Internet, how come no one told me about this?

This is not a secret to keep from me

Since 2007, Marina Orlova has been running the website Hot For Words where she examines philology of words.  That means where they come from.  In case you didn’t guess by the name, she also has an incredibly sexy accent, like the temptress from an old Bond movie.

Seriously, people, when beautiful girls with accents want to geek out on words, you should probably understand that I consider it your responsiblity to tell me.  This doesn’t just apply to sexy Russians talking about the origin of English words while dressed as either a sexy schoolgirl or a hot teacher.  If a cute girl puts on a bikini and is teaching grammar, you tell me, especially if she’s Austrailian.  If some German chick puts on a mini-skirt and wants to discuss spelling, YOU TELL ME.  If a British babe in short-shorts wants to debate the merits of different eras of literature THAT IS NOT A SECRET YOU KEEP FROM ME.

So remember: cute girl + revealing clothing + accent + English language geekiness = TELL JOEY WITH CAPLOCKS IMPORTANCE.

I mean, really, can you in good faith deny me this:\