3 letters pt.2

I can't actually recall how long we sat around contemplating a new name for the band that was made up of three words. It was deep into the winter now and the wheels were slowing down so to speak. We did however have five brains combined, well six actually if you counted our trusty sidekick Sanjai, who was always quick to come up with good ideas. In fact he was the one responsible for the name we eventually settled with a year later, but that's another story for another blog. 

 During the winter months we ended up spending a lot of time at Chinguacousy hill in Brampton. The hill is tiny but none the less it was a ski hill, and Ryan our drummer was an avid skier. Some of us other guys would ski once in awhile since it was inexpensive and fun to do, plus my old pal John McCuish was now running the ski lift. One day I had a brilliant idea that was inspired by some friends of mine. They had ripped down a steel sign and removed it from it's post. The sign was a warning cautioning skiers not to go down the back side of the "mountain" the boys were all taking turns standing on the sign and sliding down the slopes on it. They were even going down the steep, treacherous backside of the mountain on the sign telling them not to do so. 

 A lightbulb went off in my head and I came up with an idea to try out the next time we went to the hill. I had quite a few spare skateboard decks kicking around at home since I was somewhat addicted to buying new decks, so the next night I decided to bring one with me, it was the timeless classic Powell Peralta "Ripper" I was a pretty skilled skater and without missing a beat I was racing down the hill on my "snowboard" At the time you couldn't even buy a real snowboard in Brampton, hell I don't even know if they were invented yet to be quite honest. None the less it was super fun and everybody wanted a turn. 

The next thing you knew over the weeks everyone was bringing a deck with them. We were making jumps, having races, the fun was endless and it was a hell of a lot more exciting than skiing. One of the city workers who sat in a small booth at the top of the ski lift decided to rain on our parade and start wrecking our sweet jumps we were making. We would spend half the night making a good one only for him to come along and wreck it. Frustrated by this we decided to bring a lock with us one night. We built a killer jump at the far bottom of the hill opposite side of him so we could be conspicuous. Then we went up the lift, locked him in the booth unknowingly, and began hitting airs off the jump. 

When he finally noticed us he was outraged we had locked him in. We ended up in the parks & rec office getting chewed out and bombarded with threats of being banned if we kept making jumps. As we sat there in the office I was observing the stickers on my skateboard when I saw three magical words on a sticker..... Garbage Pail Kids..... G.P.K. Had I found our acronym and our new band name?

3 letters pt.1

So our band now had two new members and a new name, The Little Thrashcals. As the weeks passed on the name bothered me more each day. At first I found it quite clever but as time passed on I found it to be corny and silly. Eventually I felt it was flat out ridiculous. In my mind I assumed no one would take us serious with such an asinine name. It was time for another change.

 As the world of thrash and hardcore unfolded itself to me I noticed yet another trend that I became obsessed with. A lot of these bands had three words for their name that were acronyms simplified into three letters, or initials, however you want to look at it. Some may dispute the fact that the "MC5" is considered the first 3 letter band, i am one of these disputers since 5 is technically a number and not a letter.

 You had bands like G.B.H.(Grievous Bodily Harm) who I believe to be the first band that started it all. Out on the west coast you had skate rockers J.F.A.(Jody Fosters Army) then there were crossover pioneers like S.O.D.(Stormtroopers Of Death) who's front man Billy Milano went on to start his own band M.O.D.(Method Of Destruction)

 Out in Texas there was D.R.I.(Dirty Rotten Imbeciles) who were by far the fastest band on the scene. Rumour had it their drummer Felix kept an oxygen tank and breathing mask beside his drum kit so he could pump oxygen into himself between songs. This was later confirmed when they released a home video called "live at the ritz" of a live performance. M.D.C. was another Texas band and I think they intrigued me the most due to the fact that their three letters changed with every new album, ie: Multi Death Corporation, Millions Of Dead Cops, More Dead Cops, Millions of Damn Christians, etc.

 Out in North Carolina you had C.O.C.(Corrosion Of Conformity) one of the more technical crossover bands with a lot of cool time signatures and sick breakdowns. Even Toronto had its own 3 letter outfit, M.S.I. (More Stupid Initials) and out on the Canadian west coast there was D.O.A.(Dead Or Alive) other honourable mentions goto A.O.D.(Adrenaline Over Drive) and R.K.L.(Rich Kids on LSD) I'm sure there were a few others but I can't remember anymore at the moment.

 So now here we stood as a band looking to change our name to a three letter acronym. The question now was what threw letters would we choose and what would they stand for?

the age old question

today's post is not music related nor was it written by me, but I thought I would share something interesting with the readers in regards to love.

Why Do We Hurt the Ones We Love?

There are many cases in which lovers are likely to hurt their beloved without intending to do so. Love is a close and intense relationship. Lovers spend considerable time together, and many activities of each have significant implications for the other person. Naturally in such circumstances, the lover may unwillingly hurt the beloved. For instance, one may devote a lot of time to work, thereby neglecting, and unwillingly hurting, one's beloved. In many cases a by-product of an enjoyable activity to one person is an unpleasant situation for another. The more time two people spend together, the greater the likelihood of such situations. The great significance in our life of those we love is that these people are both a source of great happiness and deep sadness; they may benefit us as well as hurt us.
The phenomenon of hurting without intending to do so can also be explained by referring to the trust and sincerity which are essential in love. Accordingly, the role of politeness or good manners, which may prevent some kinds of insult, is of less importance in such a relationship, and lovers are less careful in what they say and do. This opens the way for a lover to easily get hurt. The price of being able to behave freely without having to consider every consequence of your deeds is saying and doing hasty things that may hurt your lover.
There are many cases in which we unintentionally hurt our beloved as a result of external circumstances that are beyond our control. Take the case of two lovers who are married to other people, but profoundly in love with each other. The woman, who can and is ready to get divorced, may be hurt by the man's inability to leave his wife, believing that it indicates that his love for her is more superficial than hers for him. However much the man might really want to make her the happiest person in the world, his external circumstances are beyond his control and make him behave in a way that hurts her.
Hurting the beloved on purpose indicates the presence of conflicting perspectives, such as short term and long term perspectives, or partial and comprehensive perspectives. Cancelling a date with a married lover may hurt her in the short term, but might be beneficial in the long term, as their short-term separation could facilitate their long-term relationship. In such cases, the hurt caused to the beloved at this moment for the sake of her comprehensive well-being in the future can emanate from love.
Hurting the loved one can also be a last resort which the lover takes to bring this dependency to its appropriate proportion. Mutual dependency has many advantages, stemming from the fact that two people are joined together in an attempt to increase each other's happiness. However, a sense of independence is also important for each person's self-esteem. Sometimes lovers hurt their beloved in order to show their independence. Other times, however, hurting the beloved expresses an opposite wish: the lover's wish for more dependency and attention. Indeed, a common complaint of married women, far more than of married men, is that their partners do not spend enough time with them. Hurting the beloved by stopping, for example, communicating with him, may be the last alarm bell that warns of the lover's difficulties; it is an extreme measure signaling urgency. If the relationship is strong enough, as the lover wishes it to be, it should sustain this measure.
I do not want to say, as Oscar Wilde did, that "each man kills the thing he loves"; however, hurting one's beloved is frequent. Since the beloved is a major source of happiness, this person is also a major threat to our happiness: more than anyone else, the beloved can ruin it.
Adapted from The Subtlety of Emotions

Firsts & Florida

With my sister now living out on her own, it was just my folks and I living in the house together. Having a sister six years older than me definitely had its benefits, asides from the fact I was getting bullied and beat on by a girl growing up. My sister however did love me a lot and she was very protective when it came to other older kids picking on me. I remember back when I had my broken arm in grade school some big kid pushed me down onto my bad arm at the bus stop. The next day my sister showed up at the bus stop with a baseball bat and told the kid if he ever touched me again she would break his arm!

 Now that I was 14 going on 15 the days of being my sisters punching bag were long gone, plus I had learned a lot of dirty tricks to immobilize her attacks, like pulling on her earrings. My folks had to deal with all the "firsts" with my sister when I was a young kid. By firsts I mean the first time they had to deal with a situation such as finding out she smoked cigarettes, finding out she skipped a class at school, etc. When the time came for me to live out my "firsts" my parents were pretty slack as it was nothing new to them. By 14 years old I was allowed to smoke cigarettes in the house since my sister had been doing it since age 16 or so.There were a few firsts though that my parents hadn't encountered with my sister.

When mid terms came out in grade nine I actually had a D in art class. I don't think I had ever seen my father so livid before, he just couldn't fathom how I was born with artistic talent yet I was failing art. Not only that but I pretty much had all C's and D's across the board. Despite all that winter was here and my folks had booked a family vacation for the three of us to goto Disneyland, it quickly changed to four people with the addition of my nana. We had been once when I was five and now that I was 14 my parents figured it was now or never since I was getting to the age where it disinterested me. The Epcot centre had recently opened so that was the main reason for our trip.

 Disneyland was a bit too kid friendly for me by this age so I pretty much just rode "Space Mountain" repeatedly all day. The rest of our trip we spent at places like Epcot and Bush Gardens. The highlight of the trip for me however was the first day we arrived at our hotel. It was the hottest day of our trip and the air conditioning in the hotel was not working. On top of that none of the pop machines or the ice machine were working either. Our room was sweltering and all I wanted was a cold drink.

My father had a six pack of Old Milwaukee tall boys and it knocked my socks off when he tossed me one, he could see I was clearly dying for any form of liquid.The beer was piss warm and tasted like complete shit, in fact at the time I remember thinking it was the worst thing I had ever drank in my life. I did not care however as I felt like I was in the midst of a special father/son bonding moment, having our first beer together. I truly felt like my father now saw me as a responsible young man....even though it was the furthest thing from the truth.

The Wrestler part 2

The next day at school I was telling John McCuish and some of the older metal guys about the happenings at the wrestling try outs. They all had a good laugh about it and gave me some proverbial pats on the back. John then informed me that him and a few of the guys had been doing their own wrestling training at the school during evenings in the same fitness room on the 2nd floor of the high school. He told me I should come check it out and assured me there were no jocks, no instructors, and no teachers supervising, but there was a record player and we could bring our own records to listen to.

 The sessions started at 7:30pm and I found it strange that a bunch of kids could have the run of the school so late in the evening with no teachers in sight. In fact I think the janitorial crew were the only adults in the building. I showed up with my gym bag packed with records and a change of clothes to work out in. I knew John loved AC/DC to death, so I opted to only bring their records as opposed to my new thrash albums. When I showed up it was just a very small crew of guys, maybe five tops, all of whom I had known since the days of grade school.

 Everyone was just kind of doing their own thing, riding exercise bikes, lifting weights, jumping elbow drops off of gym apparatus onto crash mats, all while our vinyl records blasted the sound track for the evening. I can remember thinking "how am I supposed to learn anything here?" There was nobody to teach or train me and nobody here had any form of training, it was merely a bunch of guys just fucking around and imitating wrestling moves they had seen on television. I kind of stepped back and appraised the situation then thought to myself "I've been backyard wrestling a few years now, I've got a bit of amateur experience, and I'm very well versed in emulating the moves off tv without seriously injuring people"

 As far as I was concerned I didn't really need any professional training, all I needed to do was hit the weights hardcore so I could be the size of the Hulk Hogans and Randy Savages. By today's standards I may have stood a chance as a cruiser weight, but in the 80s it was all about having a weight lifters physique. I hit the weights nightly for a week or two and started eating like a champ. Unfortunately I have a high metabolism and can eat and eat without so much as gaining a pound. Without weight gain I could not get bigger muscles, this ended up being very frustrating.

As the weeks went on our "training sessions" turned into a gong show of Tom foolery. Now with my band in full motion and my new found love for partying, I decided to give up my dreams of pro wrestling and continue to pursue my art and my music. Wrestling was still very close to my heart and one of my passions in life, but realistically I knew I'd never make it to the big stage unless it was as an announcer or a ref, but to be a wrestler... I did not have the discipline. Unbeknownst to me I would get to live out my boyhood dream over a decade later...

The Wrestler part 1

I had previously been black listed from amateur wrestling in middle school, but now that I was in a new high school I was able to try out for the school wrestling team. The tryouts were announced fairly early into the fall and I was all over it like stink on doodoo. The tryouts were held after school but they were not in the gymnasium. Our school had a fitness room on the second floor that contained exercise bikes, weight machines, and other work out equipment.

When I got there on the first day of tryouts there were thin blue mats laid out in a large square, the same kind of mats you would see in pro wrestling on the outside of the ring. There were a group of males sitting in a circle on the mats so I went and joined in. I was a bit surprised to find out there weren't even any teachers present, as the class was being taught by three senior students from the wrestling team, all of them clean cut, cocky, preppy jocks...the type of guys I loathed.

We started out with some stretching then we went into some simple drills. As the drilling went on they became much harder and harder. The smallest of the three instructors was maybe 5'3 at best and he had the biggest mouth and attitude of the group. As the drills went on he proceeded to start singling me out and pushing me harder than the rest of the group. I immediately assumed that since I was the biggest grade nine at the tryouts he was looking to make an example of me while making himself feel better about his short stature. I'm sure the fact that I had a long flowing mullet just encouraged the target that was now placed on me.

As the weeks went on so did the bullying and abuse from the one instructor. When we finally got into learning holds he would constantly pick me as his volunteer to show the rest of the class the moves we were learning, and he always made a point of really applying the pressure to me and stretching my body to its limits. I can recall him putting me in a reverse hammerlock while I was face down on the mat with him straddling me, he then instructed me to try and break free. Every time I tried to get lose he would tweak my arm harder and harder, to the point where it felt like it was about to break.

Defeated by the pain being inflicted on my bad arm I had broken years prior, I just lied there and gave up, which made him even madder. Blinded by anger now his voice raised as he demanded I try to get free or he was going to break my arm, then he applied the pressure harder than ever. Something snapped in me and I saw red. Before I even knew what I was doing, I violently jerked my body in the direction of my free arm and rolled. Now he was back down on the mat with me on top of him, my back facing his front, the hold was still slapped on good and I'm pretty sure he was legitimately trying to break my arm. I thrusted my head back and our skulls collided, dazed he let go of my arm and I flipped over, my knees now pinning his shoulders to the mat. I heard a hand slap down on the mat declaring a pin and a cheer erupted from the grade nine lackeys.

I got up and raised my hands in victory, the so called "teacher" jumped to his feet in dispute, his face red with embarrassment. Humiliated, he charged at me with a crazed look in his eye trying to start a fight with me. The two other "teachers" had to grab onto him and hold him back. I felt great about besting him but there was no way I was going to be apart of this wrestling team, so I grabbed my stuff and left. After that whenever I passed him in the halls he would give me dirty looks but he never tried to start anything with me. A few weeks later a friend of mine in grade nine who was being bullied by the same guy decided to fight back one day which resulted in the grade 12 wrestler getting his nose broken, and his ass kicked in general. After that I never heard much out of him again and he didn't even make eye contact with me anymore. It looked good on him...

Home movies & hammer locks

the pxl 2000

All in all grade nine was starting out pretty amazingly. I was making new friends, I was discovering new things that ranged from alcohol to recreational drugs to incredible music, I had my own identity in the BBS world, and most importantly I finally had a band. Even though we had our band now we still didn't put as much effort into it as we should have, instead we opted to run around and get into trouble every chance we got. And as winter was rolling around nobody wanted to be transporting instruments and walking to band practice.

That year for Christmas my folks got me a black and white camcorder made by fisher price, the leaders in durable kids toys. I even had a very small black and white television that I could hook it up to and use as a monitor. The tv was literally about 6-8 inches squared, so it was very easy to carry and to conceal. We would hang out at the Ching library a lot in the evenings. We were supposed to be doing homework and school assignments, but instead we'd be creeping around with that camera, looking for funny things, people, or situations to record.

Some kid at our school got caught masturbating in the boys washroom so whenever we saw him in the halls we would roll film and get up in his face declaring "hey it's the loser who got caught wanking" that's an example of the things we felt were worthy of documenting. I also tried to do a lot of stop motion animation with the camera but not having a tripod made it extremely difficult, so back to pranks and humiliation it was!

I was now in my fifth year of hockey as well, and to be quite honest I was starting to get bored of it. Plus with the discovery of partying and drinking came the discovery of the dreaded hangover. Getting up for a hockey practice or game at 5 or 6 am after a night of mixing every type of booze under the sun was getting tiresome to me. I knew without a doubt that this was going to be my last year playing hockey, I just had to break the news to my old man now without breaking his heart.

The truth of the matter was, is, and forever shall be, that I despised sports and most of the jock-ish people related to them. Over the years I had played soccer, t-ball, softball, hardball, basketball, and hockey...all to appease my father who was a basketball and football star throughout his high school days. I suppose him marrying my mother at such a young age and in turn having no choice but to work for a living cut his dreams of sports stardom short, causing him to vicariously try and live his dreams through me.

In reality there was only two sports I truly loved, wrestling and skateboarding, both of which seemed incredibly hard to make a living off of without the proper discipline and dedication. I had no clue at age 14 that one could actually be a pro skateboarder, so naturally wrestling seemed like the only option. The question now was did I have what it took to become a pro wrestler?