Cool hand Uke. An obituary.

For most, this was probably just another day and yet for me, it is a day I'll never forget.
So I'm gonna tell you a story. Put your feet up, crack a snapple and take a read.
I was out for a rip, in between castings and heading to the gym. Taking the labyrinth that is the Shanghai metro and battling the never ending onslaught of fellow commuters, I wound my way through the underground network of tunnels with familiar ease as my earphones pumped my standard pre work out playlist to get my blood moving.

 As I got my audio swell on, I made my way along through the subway maze, hitting a bottleneck in the form of a"X-ray" bag screener. Now normally, the locals tend to ignore this pointless machine and walk on through....
Because ain't nobody got time for that.
But today the lady working the line was on a mission from God.
As I approached, I went to play the old “silly foreigner doesn't understand/I have earphones in thus couldn't possibly get what you're asking me” move ........but she was steadfast. She barked mandrin into my ear and while I didn't pick up the subtleties of the exact phrase, I knew what it meant; put the bag through the machine. “Ti Bu Dong” I rattled off in Mandrin (a go to phrase among us expats, which translates to “I don't understand”). I tried to move past her. No go. She wasn't having it.

Ok fine, lady who looks like Gandolf. I'll put my bag through your useless machine.

But first, a look.
A look to say I despise you just a little bit for telling me what to do and winning our battle and even moreso for wasting my time with your silly witch machine.
I've played this game before with you bag screening lady and you and I both know that you aren't even going to look at the screen as my bag goes through. In fact, I'm half convinced that this machine is the chinese equivalent of those fake cardboard cut out TVs and stereo equipment they have at Ikea to go on the furniture displays. I bet if we opened it up it would be full of ramen noodles and broken karaoke machine parts. That's right lady, your machine is about as useful as the ballerina man tights I keep seeing guys wear under their shorts at the gym.

But you win. We are doing this. I relent to your iron will, bag screener lady. Relish in your tiny victory. You have proven yourself important. You are a thing. Good for you.

I am Kevin's overblown sense of annoyance.

A perfectly reasonable response....in China

#drama

I begrudgingly took off my bag and there sticking out of the top like always was my ukulele. There where it's lived for the past four years, beaming out of my bag like a shining little beacon of #goodpositivevibes. An aloha high five to your smiling face. I went to take it out before putting my bag through the time wasting machine but there was now a big impatient line behind us and she motioned for me to just put it through as is.

Ok. Fine whatever asian Judge Judy. Whatever ends our time together quicker and brings forth the on-screen credits of this shitty little movie of suck you've directed me into.

#thedramacontinues

I laid my bag flat on the conveyor belt and moved through to the other side.

Barely paying attention, I wasn't remotely ready for what came out.

There on the conveyor belt was my bag, puked out, turned upside down and trailing behind it was my ukulele broken in half, strings spraying all over the place.

To say the moment caught me a little off guard is to say that Kendall was a little surprised when Caitlyn asked to borrow her new pumps......
I hate myself for knowing that reference.

If you were to take the collected surprise of audiences everywhere when they watched that scene in Gone Girl where Dr. Doogie Howser/Barney Stinson, forgets his safe word and definitely forgets to have safe sex...... If you were to take all those dropped jaws and condense them into one little double shot espresso of expression.....
That was me.

One hell of a surprise ice bucket challenge to the face.

Jaw+floor= When 2 become 1. Sing it girls.

Actually that's a little too spicy for my tastes.

Go back to doing nothing Spice Girls. We'll call on you if we need you.

And yet the world around me just went on. 

No one seemed to notice....just me.
For me, in my little world, everything stopped. I was frozen, standing there peering at my broken ukulele. I simply couldn't believe it. I stood there gawking at it as a waterfall of rushed commuters poured past me, unconcerned about what to me was a crushing moment.
The guard came up and motioned me and my de-crumbulated (made up word) bag to the side. I took it and slumped against the wall crumpling to the floor.
Lost. In complete shambles.

But first, a selfie.

I was alone sitting in the subway and dumbstruck by what had just happened.
I was....

Jessie without Mr. White.
Harold without Kumar.
Hanks without Wilson. 

Foreshadowing: When a famous actor loves and loses a volleyball named Wilson in the movies and then loves and looses his wife by the very same name years later.

Damn.

During all this, my rational/be a man side (who I like to picture as Red from That 70's show)

You sucked as Venom Eric.

disdained my display of emotion and was already arguing with me, with the standard “there's nothing you can do about it now. It's just a thing. Don't let them see you down old chap, pick up and move on. No big deal”.



Hey if Leo can do it...

Might be time to let go Jack...

But my emotional “my feelings are feeling very feely” side was not having it. This, it seemed, was a big deal. Which kind of surprised me. On paper it shouldn't have been. It's just a thing. I've long since declared myself not a “me and my things” kind of guy.

Let's just pretend that the girl in this photo isn't obviously 15 yrs old

Years earlier, I went through the reinventing process of selling all my cherished little things and redefined myself as no longer a consumer sheeple (no judgement meant to those who like things. Things have their purpose). Happy with my molting into full fledged gypsy mode, I enjoyed collecting friendships and experiences instead of things. What would Tyler Durden do WWTDD. I relished in my lack of need for stuff, enjoying that I just needed trust in me to be content....and a good wifi connection of course.
But this....this thing is different. That little ukulele somehow means something more. Meant something more. It grew into more than just a thing to me. It seemed to symbolized my transformation into a wanderlust traveller. Once a mere hobby to keep me busy, it became a tool I used to befriend strangers and break the ice with the people of all sorts. Somewhere along this path, I became that ukulele guy. It seems daft I know but it made people smile.....and it made me smile. A lot. It helped me connect with people and break out of the regular safe routine of keeping people on the outside. It seemed to mark a change in my life. A symbol of a daily effort to be a more open, more loving, human being.
Cue the violins.

...or should I say ukuleles?

#somuchdrama

But now it was broken and trying to wrap my head around it was like trying to wrap your head around the fact that Cosby was putting quaaludes in those pudding pops the whole time.

Dick move dude....

I'm a firm believer in that there is something to learn from everything and even while sitting there a stones throw away from bag screener lady (you know, is it just me or is the term "stones throw" ridiculous? I mean what kind of maniac throws stones? Seriously?! What are you, Encino man?! It's not even an accurate measurement of distance! How big is this stone? Who's throwing it? Tom Brady? Or Urkel?... I'm going to write a letter).....So like I was saying, even while sitting there two Taylor Swift lengths away from the bag screener lady, I couldn't help looking for the deeper meaning. I knew there was no one to blame and that shit happens (even if I secretly wanted to strum bag screening ladies face with my now busted uke... or in the case of this super random photo, a brass trumpet).

My 20s was a weird time.

I knew that going up to the lady wouldn't bring my ukulele back and that even if she spoke english (not likely) the best I would get is a sorry (pronounced: Duay bu chi in Mandarin).
And we all know that some sorry's just aren't good enough.
Like that dude who invented pop up ads and then told the world he was sorry.
Definitely not good enough bro.
Yes I guess life happens and in retrospect this ukulele did have a full one. It survived a lot of adventures, saw many a country and had surely outlived its original price tag. Looking at it snapped in half I couldn't help but wonder if it was a sign from the Greek Gods. Maybe it's time to move on and do something new. Stop my travels and settle down. Stop playing music and seeing the world. Maybe it's time to grow up and adult for a while.....

I quickly realized that is a stupid, horrible plan and I hated it.



I hate it like Edward Norton hates not Edward Norton.

No I'M BATMAN!

I hate it like I hate people who store the extra toilet paper in some stupid place like the laundry room.
You're inviting disaster, people.

Some men just want to watch the world burn.

Ok so then what do I do? Buy a new uke? Maybe a totally different type of instrument?

Could I be Kevin the bagpipe guy?

Of course this is Portland.

Accordion Kev?

Reinvention: not always a good thing.

Trombone Kbone?




Dammit! I prematurely used my only brass instrument photo! What were the chances that that pic was going to come up twice?!






Or do I dare......Jazz flute?



No.. prob best to leave that up to the professionals.

And yes, that is a link to Ron Burgundy. Click on it anyways. It's been a while and he misses you.

Well what if I did something totally different than music? Maybe I could get a totally different hobby? Puppetry? Cock fighting? (I'm not remotely mature enough to continue that sentence).....



Amateur taxidermy? Hmmmm so many options.... As alluring as all of those sound (they really need to come up with a sarcasm font already), I just don't think I'm ready to put down the uke. I dig it. It's small and unassuming. Chill and happy sounding. Able to be played anywhere and turned away nowhere. Never overbearing and always welcomed.

It's like the exact opposite of Chris Brown.




Yes. Go fuck yourself Chris Brown. Everyday for the rest of your life.

So ya it's gotta be a uke. I love playing it. It's just so happy and sometimes, when you find something you love doing, you just gotta do it.
Like, for example, that lady who loved singing Whitney Houston's "I will always love you" so much that she grounded the flight she was on while doing it.
Yes. That actually happened.

They say sing like nobody is listening right?
(well likely, if you sing badly enough, nobody is)

Regardless, they do say it's good to have a thing.


Where were we? Oh right.... the uke.

I finally left the subway and went on with my day but for a couple weeks there really was an empty spot in my days. It just felt off not to have something to play with in my down time. #phrasing.
4 years. 4 years I played on that little guy almost every day. It was sad to think I won't get to ever play him again. It still is. I remember the first and last song I strummed on him. "Can't help falling in love with you" and "Tears in heaven"by Clapton.

Somehow seems fitting.


Or.....on second thought; comparing your broken ukulele to a song a world renown musician wrote about the death of his son.

#definitelytoomuchdrama.

Nice calves bro

On that note, it's time to stop with the tears for fears, get back out there and start ukeing again (definitely not a word)....or at least that's what I thought at the time. Because before I could put my feet to the ground to go look for 2.0 (and after a very heart warming response from friends and fam to the post-break uke pic on my instagram and FB).....fate intervened.

This warmed my heart :)

My decision was made for me when a brand new ukulele was gifted to me by a very unbelievable friend. Catching me completely by surprise, I was humbled and honoured to say the least. She just showed up from out of the country, put it in my hands and then left. A seriously bad ass move.

By a pretty bad ass woman;)

Life sure is a funny thing. This whole story started and ended with a completely out of the blue act of fate. Neither of which I saw coming and maybe, just maybe, this whole thing has taught me something about maturity. Maybe it's taught me about love and about loss. About not being too attached to things and accepting loss as part of the game. About letting in and learning to let go.........

And if not all that noise then hopefully it's at least matured me enough to get through this next sentence:

The universe it seems, is a taker AND a giver.....

How's that for a happy ending?

A little premature, she said.

Nope. Not mature enough.

Because there's one more paragraph.

So that's it. That's my ode to Cool Hand Uke. Luke the uke. Im gonna miss him. He grew to be a part of me and I will always remember the smiles that little ukulele brought not only to me, but to the people around me. So many great memories with great people. People brought together by their love of music, the love of travel and making new friends.
And so, like Geppetto to his asexual life partner; thanks for the good times my little inanimate wooden friend. Thank you for four great years of making people smile. For making me smile. I hope you enjoy your new home, hanging on my family cottage wall in Canada. I'll be seeing you again buddy.
Now cue the Billie Holiday Mr. Gosling.

Many a mile.

Barely visible be he was there;)