I forgot I had this or Are blogs still a thing?

 It's been years since I've written anything in here, so I thought I'd drop in and do so for old time's sake.  What have I been doing? Well... publishing books, raising kids, working, training in BJJ, trying to avoid facing the reality that with every year I get closer and closer to the grim spectre of oblivion.  You know, the usual stuff!

Some days I lament the choices I made (or didn't make) from my past, others I'm just meh over them.  Some nights I can't sleep (or wake up in a panic) as I ponder the end of life and potential end of all that is, was, or ever could be, while others I fall asleep and wake up fine.  Some days I feel great, others like a breaking down fool.  I guess what I'm saying is middle age sucks and I know it's only going to get worse. God that's depressing. But I have lots of positives too. People have it way worse out there. I'm middle class, own a home, have some cool friends and neat stuff, have no serious health issues (that I know of) and manage to stay sane in a world that seems to be getting more insane with each year.  So I guess I can't complain right?

I won't.

I know this ride is always changing and there's lots more to see and do. I'll face what comes the same way I've faced what's already come. Keep on keeping on.  What else can I do?

I'll pop in again, don't worry!

The Tragically Hip or The Night a Country Joined as One

If there was ever a case that makes the point for a national broadcaster, it was tonight.  An entire country given complete, uninterrupted access to the final concert of a band that has been a part of the national fabric for four decades.

The Tragically Hip.
I haven't always been into them.  In the 90's I was obsessed like every suburban teenager, devouring the albums, seeing them live, rocking out on the radio.  Then I fell out of love, found them a tad too repetitive, overplayed.  But there was something about the songs.  They called out aspects of Canadian history, culture, people and places.  The band never caught on anywhere else and that was somehow fitting. They were our national secret and we treasured them
Wheat Kings.
Bobcaygeon
Fireworks
At the 100th Meridian
Nautical Disaster
Thompson Girl
Blow at High Dough
New Orleans is Sinking
Ahead by a Century
38 Years Old
Three Pistols
The list goes on and on and on.


Tonight, with Gord Downie dying of terminal brain cancer, the country came together to watch a piece of us say goodbye, go out with one last party.  This was our generation's 72 Summit Series, the moment when we all drew close and shared something communally.

There was a moment in the show, during "Grace, too" when Downie began shouting out "Here!" "Now!" at the top of his lungs, his body wracked by sobs, tears and sweat streaming down his face that brought everyone to the brink. This was an example of life in the purest sense, the present, the now.  For him, someone with so few tomorrows, that moment on stage was the condensed essence of his entire life, and you could see it was everything that was weighing him down taking hold, his only option to scream to the heavens "HERE!"  "NOW!"  Denying the near future he knows is fast approaching, denying the terminal diagnosis of his doctors, denying that his days are ending and this will all become a story people tell their kids. Denying with all he had, his voice, "HERE!" "NOW!"
That moment will be forever etched in my mind.  Live now.  Tomorrows are running out.


This was a magical experience, no matter what you think of the band. To see someone dying, ravaged by cancer being raised up, renewed, held aloft on the outpouring of love from both the crowd in the arena and a nation watching in bars, theatres, streets, homes, parks, backyards, basements, anywhere and everywhere, was incredible. As the show progressed you could see him getting stronger, his voice more assured, his movements returning to the flailing, erratic Downie of the past.  If there was ever a case for the collective power of human emotion, this was it.
All I can say is that I'm glad I took part, in whatever small way I did. I felt momentarily part of something bigger, felt the idea of a country, a national identity, a collective. So many times in this life you can feel small, isolated, alone, but then something like this concert connects you to the larger whole of humanity, if only for a moment, and things feel different.
Thank you Tragically Hip for all the years of great songs, thank you CBC for allowing us all to share in this moment, and thank you Gord Downie for fighting to make it possible.

Farewell Nintendo Power or A Warm Blanket of Nostalgia

So I know that this has been written about extensively already, but this is my barely updated blog dammit, so I can do whatever I want with it...
Nintendo Power is done.  The last issue is on the shelves, finishing up a 25 year, 285 issue run. Now I can't say that I've been a lifelong reader like some, in fact, I  haven't been a reader at all for the past 12 or so years, but that doesn't mean that seeing the publication end holds no meaning to me.

You see, I WAS a subscriber, in the early-mid 90's, from Issue 27 to Issue 87, 5 years or so of the entire lifecycle of the SNES.  I got out right at the start of the N64 era, when I felt that it was now time to "grow up" and move away from those video games that were keeping me "uncool" and single.  You see, back then, being a gamer was a one-way ticket to nerd-dom, and not the "geeks will inherit the earth" nerd-dom of today where the culture is celebrated, but the "get beaten up every day for wearing glasses" nerd-dom of the 80's and 90's.  So, I left the ranks of those that received every issue to find ladies and popularity, which went nowhere, and I was sucked right back into gaming with a little game called Final Fantasy 7.
But my heart stayed with Nintendo Power, even then, my warm memories of getting an issue in the mail, sometimes still ice cold from the winter weather, other times folded by the mailman (much to my chagrin) meant more to me than buying a PSM or EGM to read about the Playstation.  There was just something about the way they focused only on the "fun" of gaming, the lack of obnoxious ads, the maps, the odd scores, I don't know... it was just more "innocent?"
I was a voracious devourer of gaming magazines, reading the same issues for hours and hours, multiple times, going back over them weeks and months (and years) later, dreaming of all the games I wanted to play, trying to come up with schemes to earn money to rent or (gasp!) actually buy some.  While GamePro and EGM showed me what was going on with the other consoles, Nintendo Power was my bible, tipping me off about obscure games that would go on to become my all time favorites (Nightshade, Shatterhand, Panic Restaurant, Shadowrun, etc.), others that did more to define how I see the world now than possibly anything else (Final Fantasy III, Chrono Trigger, Super Metroid) and others that I had to move hell and high water to actually find and play (Car Battler Joe, Ninja Cop).

This was the magazine that loved the big and small, and gave you maps, tips, cheats, and coverage that no one else was doing.
Back in the day, when the 90's console wars were going on, school yard fights could break out over which was better; Sega Genesis or Super Nintendo, and Nintendo Power was often a shorthand when people wanted to talk about "brainwashing" or "biased" coverage.  But the people that did that, had no idea what they were actually talking about, only assuming that the magazine rated every game high, loved even crap, defended all things Nintendo.  I took up the mantle many a time of defending my precious magazine to the non-believer, suffering more than just the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune for my cause.
I had all of the strategy guides, give aways, trading cards, posters, etc that a subscriber received for my tenure, ordered the occasional product from their catalogue, and cherished the index that they provided for the first 50 issues, telling you where any game could be found.  But after years of loving, I sold everything on ebay.  I made the decision not to live in the past and unloaded it all.  It seemed like a clean break, a way to finally "mature" and grow up, cast off the shackles of youth and step into adulthood and despite my attempts not to, I regretted it almost immediately.
The logic minded side of me says that lugging around 60 issues of Nintendo Power for years, moving from apartment to apartment, packing and unpacking would have been hell, but the little kid inside of me misses all those precious little books.  And this is the problem with nostalgia.  You want to recapture the feeling you had back in the day, the pure joy of childhood when the only thing you had to worry about was whether or not you would watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles OR GI Joe, play Super Mario World OR Star Fox.  Decisions were not based on food/rent money, they were which fun thing will I spend my energy on.  There were no jobs, kids, mortgages, bills, health concerns, car repairs, chores, only the blissful chiptunes of the little grey box and your TV.
Dreams were currency, and I spent them all on my love of Nintendo, with the magazine being my passport to another world.
So, I bought the last issue, to celebrate the end of an era, remind myself of what I used to love, and close a chapter on something that maybe needed closing.  The world has changed since I could sit and read an issue for hours on end, call up the Nintendo hotline for help in Shadowrun, beg and plead for the Final Fantasy strategy guide.  I have kids of my own now, the internet can bring up anything you need in a few clicks, and that innocent era and time is long gone.  You can try to wrap yourself up in a warm blanket of nostalgia all you want, but life happens, time passes, and we all grow up.
So, farewell Nintendo Power, even if I wasn't the most loyal of subjects, you always had a very special place in my heart and I'll miss knowing that you're out there somewhere, making some kid dream of the endless possibilities for hours on end, miss knowing that you're providing a sense of community and connectiveness for some kid who feels alone, miss knowing that simple words and pictures are making someone happy for a short time.  But mostly, I'll miss the 12 year old me, the happiness that I had, my whole life before me, the feeling I had finally getting Final Fantasy III after so much lusting, the belief that Alien III had the best graphics of all time, the chills I had playing Super Metroid for the first time, the danger and excitement of the Mortal Kombat 2 bloody fatalities, I'll miss the myriad of choices I had, the paths I could've chosen... But I'll remain content knowing that the roads taken were influenced by the dreaming I did while looking at that little magazines pages.

RIP Jack Layton or The loss of a great Canadian

This is only a small personal story, but it's all I have to share...

Jack Layton was speaking here in Winnipeg in '04 shortly after being nominated leader of the NDP. I had been very impressed w

ith his politics and had purchased and read his book "Speaking Out: Ideas that Work for Canadians." In addition,

I had just met a girl who had worked for the NDP and thought that seeing Jack could be an interesting first date. He took the podium in a room full of longtime "grey" NDP'ers and spoke about hope and possibilities, his ideas for tak

ing the NDP to greater heights, which included some "softening" perhaps. Some members in the room spoke angrily and he bore the brunt of some firey criticisms with grace, engaging in a rigorous conversation, listening to ideas and presenting his own. I don't think that there was a single person in the room who left with the same impr

ession of him that they had come in with, everyone was impressed.

After his talk, he gave time for 1 on 1 conversation, and I nervously approached him with my copy of his book to sign. He asked me a little about myself and what brought me there, what prompted me at 24 to take an interest etc. Being shy, I related what I could and asked him what was really a silly question. I mentioned his striking resemblance to the "Video Professor" from infomercial fame and how he responded to those among some people I knew that used that as a strike against voting for him. He laughed and joked that he wanted to "control-alt-delete" the liberals and passed back my signed book, thanking me for attending and supporting the NDP.

I hadn't looked at that book for a long time, but 7 years on, I'm still with the same girl, we have a house, a dog, and a baby boy. It was with the sad news today that I opened the book up and saw the inscription, simple, yet a perfect sum up of everything:

"Dear Ian,

With thanks and hope!

Jack Layton

Nov. '04"

Memories of Terra or A Broken Heart

It was the summer of 1995 when we met her. We all climbed into the old family car and drove out to a small farm near Winkler. There I was presented with a pile of tiny, energetic, little balls of black fur climbing all over each other and their mother. We had been told to pick the one that seemed the friskiest so I looked for the pup that was moving the

most. One definitely stood out from the rest of the litter, so I chose her. She could fit in the palm of my hand with ease and after paying we drove her home, fast asleep in my lap.

I named her Te

rra, after a character from my favourite video game at the time (Final Fantasy III for the SNES) and the first time she saw our house, she knew she had found her home. She wanted to explore from the moment we set her down on the kitchen floor, sniffing away, looking into every nook and cranny. We knew that the first few nights would be hard, as puppies cry for their mother and we tried to make a comfortable bed for her in the nook under the phone, lacing it with warm blankets and a nice pillow. She was soon fast asleep and we placed a cage door to keep her from escaping. Sometime during the night, I heard a plaintive cry, a high

-pitched whine like a baby crying. Going downstairs, I was shocked to see that Terra had escaped our makeshift cage and gotten loose. She was looking for her family and we had to cradle her back to sleep for the first few weeks, until she became accustomed to her new home.

House training was a challenge, she would always decide that the edge of the newspaper was more fun to use than the centre and inevitably, she would make a mess of the whole kitchen floor. Eventually she learned the right spot though.

Her energy level was off the charts, always running and jumping up on the furniture. When I picked her, I had no idea just how crazy she would turn out to be; she could run forever and loved to play chase around the house.

She wanted to be carried only facing out, so she could see all that there was to see in the world. She loved to cuddle, but only on her terms, if you picked her up and put her on the couch with you, she would jump off right away only to return when she felt good and ready. She loved tummy and back rubs, scratches behind the ear or under the collar and her tail would wag when you lavished her with attention.

She loved garbage, especially my used Kleenex and it was a constant struggle to keep her from foraging through the many cans in the house. If she was lucky enough to find something in one, she would snatch it up and run downstairs behind the couch to munch away. I had to pry things from her mouth many a time and deep down, I think this was one of her favorite games.

She was always proud whenever she had her hair cut. The cl

ippers would give her a different coloured bandana to wear after each visit and she would puff up her chest and display it for everyone to see when she came home. She made sure to bark at everyone we passed on her walks as if to say “look at me!” She eventually accumulated so many different bandanas that she could wear a different one every week.

She always slept in our beds, usually with my parents, but many times with me, burrowing under the covers and snuggling up close. She had the strangest idea that the bed was hers and she would usually spread herself out to take up as much as possible. IF you weren’t careful, you would end up on the foot of the bed or the couch.

She loved going for walks and chasing balls around the backyard, when she wasn’t more interested in running through my mom’s carefully m

anicured flower beds. She had her patch of grass near our house that was her personal territory, forever marking it in all ways and loving to jump through the tall grass when the city neglected to cut it.

Her absolute favourite time of year was winter though. Despite the cold, she couldn’t wait to go outside. She loved climbing the snow piles to pee on the top, jumping in and out of the softer areas and never seemed to mind even the coldest wind.

Company made her so excited that she would roll on her back for a belly rub and accidentally pee when it came. This was something that took her many years to grow out of, but it was always ok, because she loved everyone that came over.

Her energy level lasted far longer than most, she stayed as hyper as ever well into her early teens, only slowing down the last couple of years of her life. Towards th

e end, she could barely stand, and it broke my heart to see her stumbling on the kitchen floor that was once her racetrack.

For many years we were told that we were spoiling her and that she was too fat. She was constantly on some kind of diet, but as she grew old, food lost its interest and she slowly whittled away into almost skin and bones. She still knew the smell of McDonald’s French fries though, and the last time I saw her, she eagerly gobbled up a whole bag, temporarily forgetting the pain in her mouth that had prevented her from eating for days.

Terra was more than a friend, she was with me for some of the most tumultuous years of my life; High School. She helped me forget bullies, homework, fear of the futu

re, trouble with my love life, and other problems you worry about during those times. She was there when I was trying to figure out my path through University, there when I was working at 4am, there when I came home from parties at 6am. She knew when I was feeling down and would come and snuggle, licking my hand or asking to go out for a walk. She knew that I couldn’t say no when she begged and always got a few secret table scraps. When I moved out, she would always light up when I came home, even towards the end when I’m not sure how much she could see or hear, I could always see a faint glimmer of recognition at the sound of my voice, or the feel of my hand on her back. Her tail would wag, even if only for a brief moment and I knew that she remembered me.

The last time I saw her, I took her in my arms and told her how imp

ortant she was to me and how much I loved her and would never forget her. I didn’t want it to be the end, but I could tell that she was ready. She looked into my eyes and wagged her tail, saying goodbye to her best friend for the last time. As I turned to leave, she was out of her cage, where she had been sleeping for most of her final years, watching me at the front door. My mom said softly, “she sees you” and my heart sank. I didn’t want to let her go, she was too important. Then she wagged her tail, bowed her head and sniffed the kitchen floor again as she had done so many years before when she could fit in the palm of my hand.

Terra was more than just a shaggy haired, floppy eared, hyper miniature schnauzer that lived for 16 years. Terra was a beloved member of our family and I will always treasure the times we had and will miss her for as long as I live. I know she is free from pain now, free from aching bones, free from sore backs, free to run wherever she wants, but that

still doesn’t make it any easier.

Rest in Piece to a dear friend and companion, rest in piece Terra

Terra Russell 1995-2011