New York, NEW YORK!

I had the chance to visit New York City for the first time this past summer. With two kids in tow, we were only there for a day, only visited Central Park and FAO Schwartz, and happened to walk past Trump Tower on our return to the parking lot.  But I was in love before we had even parked the car.

I know how sad it is that I had never been before. In hindsight, I didn't truly understand that the city was real until I saw it with my own eyes. I guess I just thought of it as a character in a movie; something that only exists on TV. By the time we were leaving town, we were already making plans to return.

While I now recognize that the Big Apple is real, my romantic notion of the city is still firmly rooted in fiction and pop culture. Movies and musical interpretations dominate my understanding of NYC so I might still find some surprises when I return - for better or for worse.

With that in mind, I proudly present to you the Top 10 things I expect the city to deliver the next time I cross the bridge.

1. I hope the hooker that grabs my ass in Times Square has, at least, recently washed her hands.

2. When I visit the converted firehall from the 1984 documentary film Ghostbusters, I want to believe that I won't be scared when Slimer flies around overhead, but in my heart of hearts I know I will be.

3. When Jay-Z and I are hanging out at a Brooklyn Nets game, I expect to be discussed as the mystery feller "hangin' with Hov" on TMZ the next day.

4. When I slam my hands down on a cabbie's car, screaming "I'm walking here, I'm walking here!," I expect him to flip me off.

5. If Home Alone 2: Lost in New York taught me anything, it's that no matter how dangerous the streets of the big city are, when your kids go off on misadventures, everything will turn out well in the end.  So Pea and Peanut should be fine if we leave them in the hotel room for an afternoon.

6. As NYC is the concrete jungle where dreams are made of, I will expect to instantly become a handsome billionaire philanthropist who doesn't stress over car payments and a mortgage. Dream a little dream...

7. I expect the descendants of William Cutting and Leonardo Dicaprio to still be vying for supremacy in the Five Points, even though I will never go there... they put dead rabbits on stakes, for gods sake.  That's F'in dangerous.

8. I expect there to be more crazy people on the subway than there are normal people. And I'm not talking crazy, like "oh that guy has 20 facial piercings, he's so crazy!" I'm talking "MOVE! MOVE! MOVE! THAT CRAZY GUY'S GONNA PEE ON US!" crazy.

9. Not only do I expect to see Woody Allen filming in a movie in NYC, I expect to be given a supporting role in said film (this expectation ties back to #6 on my list - concrete jungle where dreams are made of).

10. While I know their battles are epic, over there on the Upper West Side of town, I pray the Jets and the Sharks can keep their fierce rivalry in check long enough for me to enjoy an exhibit or two at the American Museum of Natural History - coincidentally, the location of the best Ben Stiller movies ever made, Night at the Museum.

Letter to the outside world

It's been two hours since the infant took me hostage.  It all started innocently enough, with a bottle of milk in one hand and a soothing bedtime melody playing on the radio... a beautiful lullaby, by the great children's musician Noel Gallagher.

By and by, we rocked.  We stared into each others eyes and before long, sleep fell upon the infant... or, at least, a semblance of sleep.

Then, the moaning began.  Powerful, incessant, belaboured moans seemingly designed to drive me up the wall.  Moans so loud neighbouring children were kept awake in nearby chambers.  Moans so long I wondered if my captor was planning on inhaling ever again.

Stockholm Syndrome perhaps setting in, I began to empathize with my captor. 'She's just trying to get to sleep,' I thought.  'Years from now, I'll look back on her moans with fondness'

But not today.

After what seemed like hours (in reality a mere dozen minutes), my captor lay quietly asleep in my arms.  Time for a quick getaway, I figure.  Not so fast, papa.  Not so fast.

The mere thought of laying my captor in her crib beckons the moans, return.  Now, louder.  And in my annoyed state, the moans take on an arrogant tone.  Like a child dangling their finger a centimetre from anothers' nose, as if to say, 'what are you gonna do about it?'

In time, quiet sleep returns.

Then moans.

Then sleep.

Then moans.

Then, sleep?

Yes?

Nope, more moans.

Then sleep.

Then moans.

[Hours pass in the same fashion... ok, about 30 minutes, but that's a long time dammit!]

And then, my escape arrives.  But for how long? The joys of teething.

Eighteen, going on old

I'm a music fan.  I like a little bit of everything, from country to indie rock to hip hop to folk, and all points in between.  I rarely turn down an offer to listen to something new.

Like many people, I think, my musical taste varies depending on what I am doing.

If I'm getting pumped for a big hockey game, I'll throw on some Offspring or Rage Against the Machine.  If I'm quietly toiling away in the office, it's gotta be Ray Lamontagne, Basia Bulat or City and Colour.

If I'm in the car, it's hip hop... all the time.  A little Drake; a little Jay-Z and Kanye; a little Common.  It's the big bass... literally enveloping me in the confines of a car.  It puts me in a good mood.

Now,  I know listening to loud hip hop with lots of bass makes me a bit of a douche. Especially when I'm stopped at a light, and cars beside me can see the bass rippling through the air (ok, it's never really that loud... let's just say they know it's there).  I guess doucheyness is like an occupational hazard that comes with hip-hopping in the car, and I can deal with that hazard.

Ok, I could deal with that hazard.

As I learned recently while I was on my way to pick up Pea and my wife at dance class, the douche factor increases tenfold when there's a friggin CAR SEAT in the back seat of the car!  What a wake-up call I had when I turned around at a stop light, looked at the car seat, and realized that I'm not 18 anymore.

So, from here on out, the volume is coming down and it's talk radio 24-7.

Sigh.

Sweet disposition, but a complete lack of ability

I hope Pea loves her Dad despite his lack of chops.

You know the song, "Sweet Disposition" by The Temper Trap?  Well, I like that song.  I first heard it on the (500) Days of Summer soundtrack, and earlier today I (legally) downloaded the Conditions album off iTunes.

The lead singer of The Temper Trap sings falsetto.  For the non-musically inclined, like me, that means he sings like one of his testicles hasn't descended and the other is in a vice-grip (it's true, I Googled it).  It's the high singing.  Like Chris Martin from Coldplay, or, like me when I was in grade 4 choir.

Just a few minutes ago, as I harkened back to my elementary school choir days, I thought it would be a great idea to sing along.  There are now 3 dogs barking at my front door.

As I attempted to sing, I was also reminded of the last time anyone judged me on my singing ability.  Again, we're in grade 4.  My teacher, who was also the choir teacher, handed out report cards and I was amazed to see a B grade for "singing."  Like an idiot, I thought it wise to admit to anyone who would listen (teacher included) that I was lip-synching.  The grade was quickly changed to a D... apparently, my lip-synching was so impressive that it saved my from a failing grade!

Now, since I can't do it myself, take a listen to Dougy and the boys, as they do it up right...

I may not know what I want Pea to become, but I hope she loves her Dad despite his lack of chops.

Ridding myself of my karaoke demons!

I hope Pea doesn't let the tone deaf ruin a potentially good time.

In Pea's room, right beside the chair that the Pod and I sit on to put her to sleep, sits a dry-erase board.  Affixed to said board are several pictures of people that are dear to Pea, the Pod and myself.

One of these photos is a picture of the Pod and I, partaking in karaoke.  It's one of my favourite pictures of us, hence its appearance on the Pea wall of fame. It reminds me of a different time in our lives, when we were young and free to stay out late drinking and singing the night away.

Ironically, this girl can sing!
She actually sings the anthem
at Blue Jays games.  Regularly.
(And no, this is not the photo
of the Pod and I.)

At the same time, I loathe the photo, for it is a constant reminder of my hypocrisy.

You see, I hate karaoke.

Why would anyone hate karaoke, you ask, perplexed? Let me explain.

Not many people know this, but karaoke was invented as a torture technique during the Japan/China War of 1767.  Japanese soldiers would force chinese POW's to sing popular songs of the day, to 1) humiliate their foe and amuse themselves at their expense, and 2) determine who would be killed in a daily culling.  The soldiers that were released after the war continued the practice as a way of honouring their fallen comrades.

So, I can't enjoy anything with such a horrible tradition.

All right, I made that up.  The Japanese are not evil like that.  Hell, there wasn't even a war between the two countries in 1767.  At least not as far as I know.  I apologize for misleading you.

The actual truth is that I once saw a 55-year old man sing Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer" in a hotel restaurant/karaoke bar.  This guy's rendition came complete with horrifying gyrations every time he sang the chorus, and a 65-year old back-up dancer rubbing herself against him for the duration of the song.  It was like interpretive dance set to a horror movie soundtrack.

All right, that's not really why I hate karaoke (but sadly, it is true).

The truth is I can't sing to save my life.  That is literal people.  If Justin Bieber were to approach me right now, and threaten to cute me to death if I didn't sing "Baby" to his liking... well, I don't even want to think of a world where Justin Bieber is incarcerated.

More to the point, most people can't sing to save their lives.  But, with enough alcohol in our systems, we can convince ourselves that we can, in fact, sing effectively and to the pleasure of others.

Yet, despite my highly publicized hatred of karaoke, I have been dragged on at least three occasions to sing for others, and plied with alcohol until I too lost my senses and picked-up the microphone.

Now, I'm not an animal.  Once in the moment, I get into things.  But God help me, I don't want to.

As I was putting Pea to bed recently, I found myself mulling over the complex emotions enshrined in that photo of the Pod and I.  And it occurred to me, that I have to think of Pea now.  Perhaps my hatred of karaoke is based on meaningless nonsense.

I want Pea to feel comfortable expressing herself through song.  Or, hopefully, singing beautifully for others!  Growing up, I wouldn't stand for my sister singing in the car.  Looking back, who knows if I was crushing a young dream of stardom.

So I am abandoning my inhibitions and letting the world know that I am hereby renouncing my hatred of karaoke in all of its forms.  I'm now up for a song as sung by someone other than the original singer, or a reasonable cover version.  Whether you can sing or not, your tune is ok by me.

Ok, let's salvage this angry diatribe with a little audience participation.  Favourite karaoke songs — what's yours, and why?  No prizes. Do it, just because.

My favourite is Pete Yorn's Life on a Chain, because it's the only song to which I know all the words from start to finish... and it's an awesome song.

Now, you!

I may not know what I want Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't let the tone deaf ruin a potentially good time.

Hide and Seek

I hope Pea never fails to find the beauty in all forms of music.

My favourite morning radio show is on the city's 'urban' station.  They play mainly hip-hop, which means I'm down with Lil' Wayne, Neo, Alicia Keys, Drake and the like.  I can nod my head with the best of 'em.

I much prefer Indie rock, but the lack of an even mediocre alternative station in our city means I am S.O.L. on that front.  So it's either hip-hop, or the CBC for the most part.  Either way, I'm happy, because the CBC is amazing.

Recently, my love of Indie rock and hip-hop came together... in a good way. Hip-hop artist Jason Derulo released a song called Whatcha Say... and the chorus is a sample from Indie artist Imogen Heap's Hide and Seek.

I'm a fan of both songs, really, but the creativity and unique sound of Heap's original song is far better in my opinion.  Here's a live version for your listening pleasure.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never fails to find the beauty in all forms of music.

PS - If Hide and Seek sounds familiar, you've probably seen Zach Braff's movie The Last Kiss... in fact, if you want a good Indie starter kit, Braff's soundtrack for both The Last Kiss and Garden State are a good place to start.

Those who can, do.

I hope Pea doesn't end up with her Dad's singing chops.

There are a lot of things in my life that I wish I could do better.  Sure, I have my fair share of skills.  Sarcasm.  Showering in a relatively short amount of time.  Eating.  But there is lots more I wish I could do better.

What kind of things, you might ask?  Math.  Impressions.  Tending to animals.  And most of all, singing.

While I may not be able to carry my own tune, I can certainly appreciate the skills of others.

Lately, I'm really into the Pete Yorn and Scarlett Johansson album The Breakup, which is far better than many people expect, especially after Johansson's ill-advised debut album of Tom Waits covers.  The first single from The Breakup, called Relator, is the most played track on my iPod and never fails to put a smile on my face.  I urge you to give it a listen (see below).

Closer to home, for me anyway, is the music of MJ Cyr.  

The Pod is good friends with MJ, and introduced me to her many years ago. Since then I have come to know and appreciate MJ for her kindness and her music.

We've been to several of MJ's shows (not recently anyway... since Pea was born we have a much harder time getting out), and she was even a guest at our wedding.  Long story short, I like MJ.

I hope you do too!  You can check out MJ at http://www.myspace.com/mjcyr, but to make things easier, here's the video for her song The Bottom Line.  Enjoy.







I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't end up with her Dad's singing chops. 

New 'Chune'

I hope Pea isn't afraid to give new music by mountainous bearded men a chance.

I heard this on the way home from work yesterday, on CBC Radio 2... quickly becoming my favourite radio station.

It's a song called "You are the best thing" by Ray LaMontagne.  A great song.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she isn't afraid to give new music by mountainous bearded men a chance.