11:11

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As I present my favorite albums of the year, I should note that this list could be much longer. At the beginning of the year, if you told me that Iron and Wine, Rilo Kiley, The Shins, Stars and The Weakerthans would release albums and none would be on my ‘best of’ list, I would’ve called you a damn liar. But, it happened. I’ve included some of the standout tracks for your enjoyment. Here’s hoping that every year is as musically rich as 2007.

Forgotten Album That Deserves to Be Included Somewhere Towards the Top of the List:
Sunset Rubdown - Random Spirit Lover

Worst name for a band.
Best name for an album.

The Mending of the Gown

12. Feist - The Reminder

Everyone and their mom has this album. My mom has this album and may have even referred to the single that rocketed Feist into superstardom as, “that counting song”. Regardless, this album is great, her performance this summer in Vancouver was spectacular and all the cool kids should still take pride in the fact that it took the public six months to figure out that this album was worth buying.

Intuition

11. Radiohead - In Rainbows

This album reminds me of drinking a frozen drink called the zombie the night I turned 24, playing Jesse Patch at Connect 4. (Don’t do it until you get him loaded on zombies - he’s a champion.) The waitress was pretty and bought me a drink. Jesse quipped, “Good waitresses and good strippers know how to make guys like us feel special.” It may be a slight misquote, as I was bombed on zombies when I wrote it down in my moleskin.

Jigsaw Falling Into Place

10. Kanye West - Graduation

I was on the campus of North Carolina A&T State Universtiy (a historically black school) waiting for my historically black friend and heard SEVEN passing cars playing this album in the span of 30 minutes. Then I went to Williamsburg, the whitest neighborhood in Brooklyn, and the same thing happened. The Avenue of Puerto Rico was also rocking out to Kanye in September. Asians were probably loving it too, but I didn’t go to Chinatown.

Everything I Am

9. Band of Horses - Cease to Begin

I loved “Carissa’s Wierd“. I loved the first album. These guys put on a killer show, sold me my favorite t-shirt of 2007, and took a huge step forward. They are destined to be rock stars. This band will always be from Seattle — really.

Islands on the Coast

8. The New Pornographers - Challengers

I’m in the minority, but I think this is The New Pornographers’ best album. People who don’t like this band/album should move to Vancouver for a while.

Adventures in Solitude

7. Sigur Ros - Hvarf/Heim

I walked a frozen lake in B.C. and listened to this album and remembered in New York when I saw these guys play acoustically. I like that they don’t interview well. I like that they make music that lets me think about… things.

Hljómalind

6. Elliott Smith - New Moon

I love Portland, Oregon, Kill Rock Stars and this fantastic poet.

Half Right (the final track)

5. Eddie Vedder - Into the Wild Soundtrack

Read this book. See this film. Listen to this album. It just speaks to me.

Hard Sun

4. Panda Bear - Person Pitch

Everything you need to know.
Note: Animal Collective deserves a spot in this list, but I liked this album slightly more so it is here and Animal Collective is not.

Comfy in Nautica

3. Arcade Fire - Neon Bible

The most underrated album of the year. I have the distinct feeling that in a hundred years, people will still be in love with this band. If you need convincing - check out this SNL performance of “Intervention” (sans Owen Pallett)

Win Butler has “sak vide pa kanpe” on his guitar - a Haitian proverb meaning, “An empty sack cannot stand up”. This band gives a dollar from every concert ticket they sell to a charity helping to end poverty in Haiti.

2. The National - Boxer

For a long time, I thought this would easily be the album of the year. I was fortunate enough to receive an advance of the album and turned a lot of my friends on to this band. Their live show leaves something to be desired but the album is flawless.

Fake Empire

1. Broken Social Scene Presents: Kevin Drew - Spirit If…

My first instinct upon pressing play was to skip the first track of this album. I have friends who still skip halfway through track one (available below). Something changed however, one day when I was at Costco shopping for my MTV overlords. I needed to hear the madness. I needed it to appreciate everything else.

Farewell to the Pressure Kids

San Francisco is a city meant for rainy days and Sundays. In the summer of 2003 I stayed in a hostel on Geary St. and fell in love with my first Irish girl, walked around the city from sun up until down, and wrote postcards I never sent. I discovered City Lights Bookstore. I felt alive and out in the world.

 In 2005, I stayed in a hostel on Sacramento St. and fell in love with my first Northern California girl, walked around the city from sun up until down, and bought postcards I never wrote. I was shown the true magic of City Lights Bookstore. I felt alive and without direction in the world.

In 2007, I stayed at a friends house south of the city and fell in love with no one, took a train to the city, walked around until my feet hurt,  and sent postcards to people I love. I went back to City Lights Bookstore and discovered my name in print - in response to my “Summer of Love” essay. I ripped a sticker from a streetlight that said, “Win the War - Whatever it Takes”. I took a train back to the suburbs, and listened to this song on repeat and wanted to cry but didn’t.

Jack Kerouac wrote it. Jesse Patch gave it to me, after riding around in his back pocket in bars and subway cars for a few weeks. 

“I’ve been reading Whitman, know what he says, Cheer up slaves, and horrify foreign despots, he means that’s the attitude for the Bard, the Zen Lunacy bard of old desert paths, see the whole thing is a world full of rucksack wanderers, Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that crap they didn’t really want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, at least new fancy cars, certain hair oils and deodorants and general junk you finally always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume, I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to mountains to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of ‘em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason and also by being kind and also by strange unexpected acts keep giving visions of eternal freedom to everybody and to all living creatures…” 

In the future, I will no longer be in Los Angeles, but still on the west coast, which has always felt like home. Maybe one day I’ll even have my own bed here.

We are not righteous because we are fortunate.

We are not fortunate because we are righteous.

This summer marks the 40th anniversary of the famed “Summer of Love”. A group of people came together in protest, because they could no longer acquiesce in their society. They came together in the hope of finding something better.

A group of people stood together in absolute protest of an unjust war. They shared ideas, inspiration, art, sex, dreams, and things I can only begin to imagine. They focused on a love-centered life. But, perhaps more than that, they lived that life – even if it was only for a brief moment in time.

As the summer faded, so too did their revolution. Or, at least I imagine that’s how they felt. Sucked back in by the material world. Back to school, jobs, and lives, with the war ever escalating.

But something had changed. Ways of thinking, ways of living, ways of being. Those flower children spread back out across the world, and eventually sparked the changes they dreamed of in the summer of 1967.

Everything moves in circles (ellipses to be exact) and forty years later, we find ourselves in strikingly similar circumstances. I find it hard not to look out into the world, country, city and neighborhood without seeing very serious, seemingly insurmountable problems and heartbreaking injustices.

The key to revolution is to get angry. The key to evolution is to get happy.

The hippie movement failed as a revolution, but it was a major evolutionary success. Their success paved the way to the end of the Vietnam War. It, and every other success for justice, human rights and love, from the beginning of time, has led us one step closer to this opportunity. When I feel myself slipping into despair, I try to focus on the things I can touch. Or let my mind soar.

What did famous abolitionist Theodore Parker have to endure, fighting to end slavery in the American south during its heyday? Though he died before the success of ending slavery in America, he knew what was to come, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”

In my deepest moments of despair, I believe that we really might need a revolution. Let’s start over. Or at least chop the head off this beast. But then I come back to Earth and remember the work of every great person who has been part of the solution, desperately struggling to push us, even an inch, in the right direction.

When we were kids, we were taught to see the world in black and white – right and wrong. Then, as we grew up, the world got grey. Starting now, and for the rest of the summer, let us remember that the world is black and white. You are either part of the solution, or part of the problem.

This summer, we will all choose to be part of the solution. We will be happy! We will make small, but important changes in our own hearts, and lives. We will put ourselves into the world, in service, and spark positive motion. This is literally the time of our life. We will seize this opportunity.

The only way we can fail is if we don’t act. And to those who firmly believe that they can’t make a difference (we are, after all, seen as an apathetic generation of brainwashed consumers) – let me tell you that you already are making a difference: but, for which side? When I first acted with pure selflessness, I experienced a satisfaction that connected with something deep inside, but long forgotten. Then, a funny thing happened. Selflessness and selfishness became one in the same, because it felt so damn great. The world is perfect! “War is over! (If you want it.)”

Armed with love, stand and fight!

(I dare not suggest what problems may be taken on, or how you all may choose to confront them, because I’ve witnessed so many of my friends doing so many incredible things in our battle to better our future. And to those enlightened, eternal souls, I say with every part of my being, “THANK YOU.”)

My father has been working in the restaurant industry his whole life. He started a Canadian franchise in the 80s, brought fast food and convenience stores to the North in the 90s, and currently owns and manages a small, family restaurant in the BC mountains. He is lucky, in that he enjoys his work and feels the satisfaction of serving people good, reasonably priced food. Like most restaurateurs, my pops is extremely pragmatic, a perfectionist to say the least. A genuine self-made man who has voted conservative most of his life.

A few years ago, something changed. My father had an epiphany. Perhaps it was the scenery of “Beautiful British Columbia”, connecting with nature again, or some other undisclosed event, but we started a dialogue about the environment. “We need to do something before it’s too late,” he would tell me, in that confident and immediate tone of his. Seemingly overnight, he made the preservation of our planet his business.

He stepped up to the plate at home and in his restaurant, taking his existing recycling program to new heights. Energy conservation. An integrated food-waste recycling program. And he stopped paying a truck to come to the restaurant to haul away the used vegetable oil from the fryers. He would turn it into fuel.

Using vegetable oil to power automobiles is nothing new, but it has only recently become more widely known. The process is surprisingly simple: my father built his “refinery” in a 4-foot by 4-foot corner of our garage, in a day, with under $200. Get a 30-gallon garbage can, fill it with 6 parts vegetable oil, 1 part diesel fuel, .2 parts diesel fuel additive, pump it through some filters and into your car – drive away!

It’s good for the environment, and after two months you will have recuperated your initial $200 investment, and be driving around for $0.25/litre. (Less than $1/gallon) The satisfaction of making your own fuel in your garage is unbelievable. It’s our own little way of sticking it to Exxon’s (et al.) bottom-line. You can find everything you need to get started by typing “diesel secret energy” into Google.

In Decatur, Illinois recently, 79-year-old David Wetzel has been fighting with the Illinois Department of Revenue, who sent agents to his house to try to collect retroactive gas tax from Mr. Wetzel, who has been making his own fuel from vegetable oil for the past five years. They threatened him with felony charges and a $2500 bond. Mr. Wetzel fights on, in his crusade to de-criminalize recycling waste into fuel. A government law that would allow big oil to rape, pillage and profit while forcing citizens to pay tax for their innovation is not a law worth obeying.

My father recycles enough vegetable oil in his restaurant to continue to supply us with fuel, in addition to some staff members and customers who are now on the vegetable oil bandwagon. When I asked him about the political element of the environmental debate, as always, he put it bluntly, “the future of our environment transcends politics.”

Next up… solar panels?

“Can we opt out of this theater of the absurd? Restore our clarity of mind? Learn to feel again? Sure we can, but it will take a movement to do it – a radical new way of looking at culture. Who generates it? Who controls the information flows? Who creates the meaning and to what ends?”

a bong in my BC mountain-town. I left my jacket inside - my hoodie and tuque would keep me warm. The stars were out last night, bright and shining. Warm today - my first chance to see the sun since last week. I noticed the clouds, immediately. Midnight. Quiet. Only the flick of the lighter, gurgle of water, and deep inhales… exhales could be heard. (A slight cough) Meow. A cat scampers up to me. “Dakota”. My sister named you. I miss my cat “Charlie Bucket”. I named him.

I got new shoes today! They were made in China. I hope the people who made them are happy. I don’t want to walk around on the tears of others. I like these shoes. They will carry me to good times. Appreciate the present. The right-now. Anticipate the future. I’m going to throw my old shoes over a power line. I should’ve done it in Brooklyn, but couldn’t afford new ones. Goodbye, old shoes, we had some good times.

It began to snow. Let the flakes greet me. Good to see you again. I love the feeling of the beginning of a rain or snowstorm. There are places I know where the only concern is snow. These are great places.

The world is so beautiful, sometimes I feel stifled. Before anything new begins, the possibilities are endless. Once they’re past I wonder: What gives us the strength to do the things we do? And: God, I wish I could be back there.

One time, I told a semi-fictional story to a group of people at a bar called Union Pool. I thought of it while ordering my first drink. It ended with me putting on a pair of sunglasses and yelling, “Russell Crowe’s sunglasses!” Later, an acquaintance that heard the bit told me that I should become a stand-up comedian. It was a genuine compliment.

“Thank you” is the only response a confident person can make to a compliment. Union Pool has no pool tables or swimming pools.

What does the future hold?

It’s snowing in Salmon Arm.

What’s the deal with dog years?

They’re confusing as hell. I mean, now, yeah, I figured it out. But as a kid the concept of “dog years” totally fucked me up.

See, I was taught in school that a year is 365 ¼ days — the time it takes the Earth to orbit the Sun.

I was also taught that a dog year is 7 human years.

I spent a lot of valuable time contemplating this as a child.

My conclusion? Dogs live in a world where the Earth travels around the Sun seven times faster than our world does. No, wait, that can’t be right. Could it have something to do with God? Maybe it’s just a heaven and hell bullshit story. “A dog year is 7 times less than a human year”

Why not just tell kids that dogs usually live to be around 10-15 years. There’s no need to equate their lifespan to the life of a human via dog years. I love a good dog as much as the next guy, but this stole a piece of my precious childhood.

Who the fuck invented dog years?

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