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;)

 

Wake up. It's time to go.

Wake up.
We need to talk.


I need you to wake up and listen because there's something I need to tell you. Something that you used know..... but that it seems you've long since forgot.
I'm here to wake you up and tell you you've been dreaming my friend. Yes you've been dreaming for far too long now and it's long since time for you to wake up, shake off the dreams and get back to living.

It's time to get out of your comfortable bed and you're comfortable life. It's time to get out of the life that you didn't really want in the first place and stop dreaming a dream that was likely never dreamt up by you anyways. So I want you to think back, way back and remember how this all felt so long ago. Long before you had accepted this way of life as the way it is and
the only way it could ever be.
Do you remember how this whole thing called growing up seemed so foreign and foolish back when you were too young to be a part of it? Back when you would ask why and they would say because that's the way it is. Back when they would tell you to just be quiet and do as you're told. Do you remember that feeling when they said that? How wrong it felt?
Do you remember when your childhood contempt relented to adulthood complacency?
Somewhere along the way you gave in the tow of others, fell in line, and began marching towards a paycheque.

You did as you were told.

Yes you did as you were told so they told you that you did good and besides; it wasn't so bad you told yourself. You studied hard to get that job so you could afford that thing.You liked things. Having things was nice. You were proud of your hard work, your new knowledge and your nice things so you worked harder.
But then came the other things. Expensive things. Things piled upon things as you worked harder and harder. Then one day you found yourself stuck in traffic in the car that you only bought to go to work, in the clothes that you only bought to wear at work so you could buy a house that you never see because you're too busy at work trying to pay for the clothes the car and the house.


When the hell did that happen?


Maybe it happened when you stopped wanting to wake up in the mornings. Maybe it happened when you stopped living your dreams and started sleeping through life. Maybe that's why you stopped wanting to get up in the mornings and go to work, because all that work wasn't for you anyways was it?  Deep down it was always for someone else.
It usually is. And it was for the things.

All those expensive fucking things.


But it was too late. You were signed up and locked in. So you sat back in your predictable comfortable life that made sense and entertained yourself with your entertaining things. You traded your little free time for big expensive stories.
Entertaining and interesting never-ending on-screen tales that let you mute your rented life if only for a little bit; while they made you feel alive again.
So you tuned in and turned off and in-return bought the stories they sold of a pre-packaged life;
but it turns out it wasn't enough was it?


No. It wasn't.

Which I guess is why we're having this talk.


Because while you've been watching and living other people's stories instead of writing your own you've unwittingly written yourself as the bad guy in the story of your life.
You've been watching a world on fire when it should've been every ounce of you on fire. Every ounce of your soul burning to crawl out of that comfortable, complacent, couch of concessions and get the hell out. To stop watching a life that isn't yours and wake up already.
Wake up and realize that the world you've been watching on TV might not be there tomorrow to see. Wake up and remember your dreams. The ones that used to be so important to you but were quietly given up to the impatient expectations of today's march towards another paycheque.

It's time you wake up and realize that tomorrow I will be happy isn't good enough anymore.

No it is not. You are alive right here and now and thus it is your job to thrive. Right here right now. Not tomorrow but today. On your mark, get set, go was a hell of a long time ago so stop stretching at the starting line of your life and get going already. This is not a trial run and there will be no second chances so don't you dare spend your life working at some job you hate. Instead take up the job of being alive in the most breathtaking of ways you can imagine. It is your job and responsibility to say thank you for this amazing gift of life by cramming as much of it through your tear soaked eyes as you save it's golden memories in your ever-shrinking brain.

It's your job to take the name you've been given and go make yourself a new one as you travel the worlds cracks and craters. It's your job to go forth and hear life through the drum of your pounding heart as you find it all anew. As you climb it's towering mountains and cross it's unknown valleys. It's your mission to push yourself through this worlds highs and lows and champion the search for the same in your heart. To embrace the gift of seeing it all for the first time. The gift of seeing what's right there in front of you in a whole new way. It's your duty to go find it all; not just to see the world but to find the world inside yourself. To see you again.
For new again.

I plead you to write your own religion, make your own legacy, and build a testament to a life well lived.
I beg you to stop sitting around waiting for a better hand, in a game where you only get to play one and just go all in already. Flip the table if you have to.

I urge you to stop trying to save the sunset by holding your breath a little past forever and just let it go. Breathe it all in, love it until it hurts and then let it all go.
Be the great human being you were designed to be.
Yes you were made to do this so let go already. Let go of your expectations of perfection. Let go of your doubts of self and let go of all those expensive heavy things weighing you down.
Let go of trying so hard to look good on paper and choose to be better in person.
Go fill your life with heart filled moments and love-soaked goodbyes as a melancholy tribute to this sweet and sour dish of life. See it all for the first and last time through your tired, youthful eyes and do it with the biggest smile you can afford to offer as you traverse the ever changing love affair of soul and body.

The sun is setting and the time is now so go do it all. Go give your very best and then give it away as you sing out your war cry; letting loose your dogs of war. Don't ask for permission or forgiveness let alone wait for green but instead take the middle of the street and claim the night as yours. Pull up the anchor, grab the reigns and hit the throttle. I can promise you the pedal on the right is more fun anyways. I can promise you you won't have to worry what it could've been.

I don't know where this whole thing will take us....
but I can promise you it's going to be worth it.

Neither will it be everything you ever wanted, but that surely is a good thing for the only thing worse than not getting what you wanted is getting all of it.
You see, the magic of this whole show will always lie just past our grasp. Past our explanations. Which is why the best things in life cannot be explained, only understood. Why no combinations or words and letters will ever convey one's personal truth.....and yet still, we are compelled to try. I'm compelled to try and convey the soul-awakening gift that the travels through this life have taught me. I'm compelled to try and tell you how whole thing is temporary and that all of this will go away far before we are prepared for it. That the only thing more astounding than being alive is the realization that one day we won't be. That a world that made you without asking will take you back in the same.

It's taught me not to fear goodbye; for life comes with goodbyes. This painful and yet oddly beautiful, inescapable truth. You'll find goodbyes at home and you'll find them abroad. So let go of something you can't hold on to anyways and accept that you are going to say goodbye to it all. To everything you've ever seen and everyone you've ever met.

One day you are going to die. 

And as much as your brain would like to bury forget it, I urge you to stay in this moment with me. To think about it. Ponder it. Let it in. Stay with that truth as contemplating it takes your sanity to the brink of its capacity and then use it as a catalyst of comprehension to find freedom in it's knowledge. Freedom in what you can't control.
Freedom in this simple truth:


Any rules or expectations that life puts on you will always be superseded by the inescapable truth that this is all but temporary and thus the only chance you have to achieve your life's purpose.



So embrace that the human race has a finish line and see it not as not a curse but a blessing for our death is the very thing that gives our life so much purpose. Whatever you chose for that to be. And that is the greatest gift of all, for the purpose of life is yours to find. And then yours to give away.
This is whole thing is happening inside you thus You. Are. The. Maker. You decide it all. The realization of your eventual death with today's sunset sets you free from tomorrow's expectations.....but only if you choose to accept it.
So wake up, look it right in the eye and embrace it because in the blink of an eye we will all be old beyond our years......so why not build a life so full that you don't dare blink?

So before I go, I ask you; remember this:

This was never me saying this to you, but instead my soul screaming it to me. This was written as a wake up call to myself. This was for me to understand. My personal truth for me to take in, to let go and then for me to give away.

And with that, I'm giving it to you.....if you want it.



Ergo,
I speak to you with purpose, with intent and with a need.
I beg you please, heed my call and go.
Go forth.
Go on.
Go west young man.





Just go already.

#gofuckyourselfie

Somewhere in the user agreement we didn't read, it may have warned of this.
Regardless, you and I have been pick pocketed of our life's purpose and we are none the wiser of it.

Beneath the veil of the blinding dream soaked lights, most don't see it's gone. For those that do, they search their minds for a battle cry that never was for it was lost in a series of small unnoticed concessions.
Concessions bathed in blinding dream soaked lights.

Plastic smiled dream vendors sold us a lie and robbed us of our legacy, while we were looking down in silent LOL. They stole it armed only with our egos reflection and we were too enamored to fight back. Dorian Grey put down it all upon the sight of himself and walked away from the good fight.
The vendor told us you could have it your way and we took it as a mission statement. He said the customer is always right and we saw it as a modus of life operation. The snake charmers massaged their prepackaged, sugar free lies into the loins of our lion-like pride and we loved them for it
because it was on sale.

A concern for consumption that curtails creation, we keep calm and purchase on. We are a generation of can do who choose not to. We were just too busy and our $5 lattes told you so. Toned and tanned, we primped to look like those who did, all the while super sizing our lack of achievement. A high fashion magazine of low fat pictures with no hard to spell words, perfectly fanned on a stack of never read books. 
We are a choir of soloists who can't hear ourselves over the screams of our accolades. An audience of auto tuned, off key rockstars, who stormed the stage leaving no one to enjoy the show. A pre tense of pretend, the meaning has been washed away in a sea of the insatiable need for more. The superfluous swell to quell the feared pangs of boredom. We kill time playing games while time kills us in the only game that matters.
 So we like each other in a fake world instead of loving each other in the real world. We photoshop our personas with perfect pictures and hang hashtags to hide the chasms of our characters. We heart focus filters on our phone framed memories that beautifully blur our lack of depth. How convenient. 
Style squealed YOLO while stepping over substance. 
How fabulous. 

7 billion unique snowflakes in a suffocating styrofoam snow storm of individualism. We are living in humanity's runoff and downward dog is supposed to make it all ok. We've achieved too little trying to look like too much. Yay us. We've searched for wifi instead of wonder and it's no wonder we tried to buy back our youth and instead were sold a cell phone charger that no longer fits. 
Posed and primed with painted Insta-faded duck faces, we stand social media tall at imaginary podiums as we chant our wants. Wearing hashtags earrings, pre-worn jeans and busking for likes we're all rolled up in ourselves in a spliff-like yoga mat. Chanting...Follow me. 
Just don't ask where I'm going. 

We are together in solitude, tanning in the glow of our screens in an online circle jerk, praising each others rented accomplishments. A drumming circle in CAPS LOCK, going to the beat of our egos as we pump each others tired twitter tires. Good job on no job well done. A panoramic of selfies, we have coddled ourselves for looking beautiful while not breaking a sweat doing nothing.

A 3D world lived in 2D fashion 1 instantaneous gram at a time. We took what they sold, expected a full refund and all we got was store credit. We had it all and were disappointed when it wasn't more. 

The world was at our fingertips and we typed BRB.



So maybe go fuck your selfie.

Lighting the lightning.

 I see worlds ending.

At least that's what it looks like to me as I look into her eyes. A mesmerizing, hazelnut ending of worlds, with flecks of gold and green falling into the dark, and it's all looking back at me, inviting me in.

There's lightning deep in those eyes.
And it's hard not to get lost.
It feels like a lazy Sunday all to our own as we wrap ourselves around each other in the big, warm, wooden bed. Skin against skin, we've passed the day away staring into each other. My hands running through her soft, flowing hair, watching it fall against her naked back. Her hands tracing soft circles on my back; my secret kryptonite. My goose bumps betray just how much I've always loved that.
It feels like we've known each other for a lifetime, even if it's only been a day. Funny how that is.
The sheet desperately hangs on, just hiding her backside and mine as we tangle in each other. Our lips locked in taste, our hands locked in embrace, they grip tighter and she rolls on top of me. Her naked chest against mine. Through her breasts, I feel her fast beating heart going to the beat of my own. Her hair falls in my face and hangs in my beard. A middle aged mans hand pulls the blanket down. She sits upright. She's beautiful, shyness gone. I move onto my elbows to follow her...

Wait.....What? Why is there a hand.....

"NINNNNNNNNNEEE!! Beseitigen Sie die Decke vollständig! Ich möchte keine Decke sehen!!!"
The walkie screams unknown German into our ear and we come back to reality faster than a Christmas DUI.

"The client would like to get rid of the blanket completely." the photographer says.

Right. Because this isn't a lazy Sunday is it?
Nope. Just looks that way.

Almost tho....

It's times like these that I feel like I live my life in "just looks that way" mode. I feel like one of those fake, cardboard televisions or stereos they put on furniture in Ikea to make it all look more "real".
With all the flavour of those styrofoam packing peanuts.


Almost, but not at all.

Gratuitous Zoolander reference: check.

So while "we" may not be real, the question of the blanket most certainly is.
We look at each other and she gives me "the look." I know this look. I know what this look means so I say to our photographer "Can we have a minute? We need to talk about this. Alone."

He's surprised and after a pause more awkward than Walt Disneys man crush on Mickey, he says "Ok." leaving the room to join the rest of the crew just outside the door. Loud, halting German speak ensues.
Ahhhh,  the language of romance.












"So.....They want us naked. What do you want to do?" she says.




And this is me at work.

How did this become my life again?

Well, that story, a long, colourful one, that I still have trouble believing, is a story for a different day but it invariably ends with me here in Africa being asked if I'm willing to shoot completely naked. In the buff, sans pants, no underwear or most importantly and our last line of decency; the blessed sheet. It's a line, no doubt. One we either cross or don't. It's our call and our agents will back us either way but so far today, we have crossed a lot of these lines. Small little concessions as we've shot this intimate couples shoot for our German clients. They've been very happy with the results (at least I think that's what I grabbed from all the yelling) as we've moved through our shots and now as the day is ending, so are the places to hide my "shame".
Like a politician sweating KY; this whole thing is getting a little slippery.

Now, to be fair, if I lost the sheet....and the underwear..... I wouldn't be technically naked.....I would still be still wearing that one last thing. One very common piece of clothing.... just not how it's usually worn.
Question for you: Every see the Red Hot Chilli Pepper's perform? Well, I would be wearing basically the same wardrobe............... but with less funk and a lot less drugs.

A LOT less drugs.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say here is:



I would be wearing a sock.
A sock on my cock.

Said the jock named Brock?
Where's Dr. Seuss when you need him.

So I get a sock and she gets a hat?

The sock in question, would be a black, Nike brand ankle sock but if I'm being honest here....I just don't think it's really a good look for me. Why not put me in a suit? I KILL in a suit. But just a sock? You put me in one sock and I'll look ridiculous and it makes me wonder; what's the point? Why not just go naked?
Couldn't I just ugly girl it?

Laces out Ray Finkle.

For anyone who has seen the end of the above scene, you know why that's a bad idea.


So as I see it, there are definite reasons to sock it up. Three key reasons to be specific.
So let's talk cock blocking socks shall we?


First reason for the socks existence:
Seeing how there are two of us here shooting in very close contact, it's a basic hygiene thing preventing..... things from.....touching. Nuff said?
It better be because I'm not explaining that one.

Thank you Christian sexual health video from the 1990's.

Second, it's an insurance thing. For me, I'm pretty relaxed with where my pics end up and anyone who cares to google my name will see this by the sheer mass of embarrassing work I have floating around on the inter web.

Hurts....brain....

That said, I don't really want to add cock shots to that mix. I don't see that doing me any favours so, by wearing the sock, I can make sure that there are no in-between-takes shots that somehow end up somewhere online where they shouldn't. Call me paranoid but this happens more than you would think. In any given shoot where you're half naked, you can usually look up and take a quick glance of the room to see someone trying to snap off a shot of your baked goods .......and like dudes with whistles, it's hard not to just yell at them to fuck off.








Because seriously; who likes dudes with whistles?
WORST.

Can I un-invite you?

 So anyways, the sock nullifies the cock shot lookieloos.




Third and how do I say this.....It makes things less hard.
Are you reading me?
No? Well then let me spell it out for you:
I'm talking about boners here people.

It's the pleats?

Steamers, ramjams, stiffies, rigs, pocket rockets, pea shooters, dingdongs.... I could go on ......but why not let 1990's heart throb James Vanderwhatever do it better.

But whatever you choose to call it, that's not the point.
The point is, I pride myself on being completely professional on set and when I shoot with a girl I work hard to make sure she's 100% comfortable. So popping a tent while shooting is not only super unprofessional but makes things a wee bit awkward.
Like when Kanye speaks.

Because Kanye west is a total hard on.

So, just because a pocket rocket decides to pop up and rear it's ugly head in the middle of a shoot, does not mean it's ok. Trust me; it's not. I don't care if it's just natural. So is Ebola.

That being said, it's important to remember that while the end result of a shoot can look hella steamy and intimate, in reality, a film set is about as sexy Seth Rogans loofa. It's hardly a romantic setting where you have sex on the mind. Instead, it's usually a big open, dick-shrinking cold room with bored-looking crew all standing around watching you do take after take as you focus on your marks and blocking. Pressed on time and heavy on expectations, it's not exactly a stimulating experience.
That being said....... nature is a funny thing and skin on skin is a powerful drug, so the sock helps keep that issue from..... arising.
Understood?
Good. So the sock stays.







And besides, it's a lot more than girls get to wear in these situations....

Hard day at work?

Remember that time.....
Me too.


But again, another story for another day friends.






"So what do you want to do?" she says. I look to her as if to ponder but I already know my answer. I knew it when I woke up this morning before my alarm and I knew it when I said yes to the job three days ago.



I miss that feeling....


You see, back when I first shot with a photographer, that very first time looking down the lens, I remember this crazy excitement from the whole thing.


 This nervousness that had my hands shaking and my heart beating out of my chest. This lightning coursing through my veins that made me feel alive for the next week until it wore off and I needed more. Until the next time I booked a job and had to do it again. I think that feeling of excitement you get from being in front of a camera, is a feeling rooted in the fact that you can't hide. The camera catches you for all that you are. A good photographer catches what' s going on behind your eyes and when you step in front of a camera it's your choice to shy away or to rise to the moment. To be that person you always wanted but for some reason never felt you could. To show the you that you usually keep just for yourself. It's that expression of your inner soul that makes for lightning and for me; I got addicted. It made me feel alive from that very first time.

How all hair looked in 2003.

Unfortunately though, time passes and things fade.
Just ask Luke Skywalker.

Stop forcing it bro.

Yes life has a way of making you forget. Fast forward 10 years in front of a camera and I rarely feel anything but a small speed bump now when I step in front of a lens. Call it life, call it a profession or call it burnout but whatever it is; I do miss that feeling.
So when the opportunity came up to do a shoot that required something new of me, something where I would be outside of my comfort zone; I knew I had to do it. I knew I had to say yes, if not for anything else other than to feel that feeling again. That lightning.

You know, when I put it like that, I can't help but think that people are going to read this and think "Kevin took off his pants to feel alive again."...... and while I'm not sure that that is exactly the message I'm trying to get across here.......I guess fuck it. Why not? Just a little more garbage tinder for the internet bonfire right?

As is always the case; no matter what the words I write it comes down to how you choose to read them.
Maybe you see a story of an afternoon spent trying not to get lost into a beautiful woman.
Maybe you see a bunch of tasteless wiener jokes.
Or maybe you see a storm chaser...looking for lightning. Chasing that moment.

Whatever you see, those world ending hazelnut eyes are looking for an answer.


Time to man up, Dirk.


The german speak has gone silent now. They await.


"I'm game if you are." I say and as I do I see into her eyes....
And see that very same lightning.

She's smiles.
Ok then. We are doing this.

Scheiße....


The sock, sitting there with it's little Nike swoosh, looks up to me and says "Just do it man" and with that; I "gear" up and call in the photographer.
All the last reservations are quiet now, drowned out by my very alive, pounding heart.


And it feels wunderbar.

She's got the look

"What are you looking at?" she says.

Shit.

"Um, what?" I say.

"You look zoned out. Are you listening to me?"







Definitely wasn't listening.
Where am I again?







Riiiight. The non-date.
She, is the woman sitting across from me and between us there are two not deep enough glasses of pricey vino as we soak in tonights artificially antiqued ambience. The restaurant is a brand new, rustic looking place with expensive, dilapidated driftwood type chairs. The kind of place where they say things like "tapas" and "a la carte" instead of saying things like "expensive" and "get ready to still be hungry".
Regardless, I came here for what I smoothly thought was a date....and she thought was........well, not that anyways.

Good times. Not awkward at all.

"My boyfriends obsessed with this dish!' She said while looking at the menu.

Now THAT part I definitely heard.
She orderers the duck a la orange. With sides.

Separate checks it is.

"Kevin! WTF?"
I scramble.
"TOTALLY!" I say. "I'm listening. Sorry, long day. Go on."

Her eyes judge me for an awkward moment before either finding what she's looking for or not really caring enough to see it for the blatant lie that it "TOTALLY" was. Either way, she's back to talking and I'm back to daydreaming.

Daydreaming about her.


I know. It's the classic cliche that guys never listen but tonight I just can't seem to help it. I really do want to listen but something keeps distracting me. Her story about (insert something no guy would ever find interesting here) .........was great.
Really good stuff.

But all I could think of was one thing:

This is the most beautiful women I have ever met in my life.

So let's go get sidetracked in that for a moment...

Have you ever met someone who was so attractive it stopped you in your tracks? Someone that redefined your parameters of what beauty is? Someone who was so stunning that it actually worried you how powerless you were around them? A person so entrancing that they had the ability to kryptonite the part of your brain that controls things like speech and reason?

Well I definitely have and she's sitting across from me right now...blinding me like Miss South Carolina staring into AC Slaters never-aging dimples.

Nailed it.




Ok, so to put her in perspective, let me sell you on how painfully beautiful this woman is:
She is amazing and fantastic.



In fact, she's so fantastic that she actually sued that cleaning spray called Fantastic for copyright infringement. And won.

True story.

Not a true story.

She is so beautiful that the radio stations of my mind have all been take over by a emergency broadcast of the same breaking story:

This woman is made of heaven and you need to make her love you back.

She is what little baby angels want to be when they grow up.

She's so beautiful that when cupid has wet dreams, it's HER he's dreaming of.

Every lovey dovey Halmark card ever bought was written by me and it was for this women.

Sold yet? 

Anyways, I could go on about her...... and apparently, so could she because she's gone back to talking about....something, but like before, I got nothing. She's Helen Keller'd me before I ever hear any of it.

It is a shame though. I want to pay attention to what she's saying. I want to know who I'm sitting across from on this non-date. I really do but her beauty is just too fucking loud. Front row, no one understands me like Dubstep!!! kind of loud. Her kind of beauty is so loud that it over powers anything she says.
And It probably always has. 

Which is a funny thing to think about. Can you imagine what it would be like to have people always there listening to you but never hearing any of it? Eagerly wanting to be around you but not bothering to get to know you? That no matter what you said, people would nod and agree like drooling Fox news anchors interviewing a republican.

Come to think of it...... maybe this is a good time to check if I'm drooling. 

Nope. No drool means we're good to go so I throw in another "TOTALLY", order another glasses of wine I can't afford and go back to daydreaming about the dream girl sitting in front of me.

What's bark made of?

Which is exactly the problem. I'm dreaming of a girl that's sitting here with me instead of being present and in the moment with her. I'm painting an image of what I want her to be in my head Vanilla Sky style instead of seeing her for who she really is right here in real life.
Painting broad strokes over the finer details of her character.

So when I say she's scary beautiful, I mean it when I say scary (and not in a Scary Spice kind of way..... although she's alright too I guess. Each to their own. I personally was always more of a fan of Baby Spice. Total knockout in 2 become 1. Def my fave)
Where was I?
Oh ya...scary in that it's scary that someone could render my brain so completely useless. That someone can shrink my brainbox to the size of a Hong Kong apartment. That no matter what comes out of her mouth, I'll TOTALLY agree and think she's amazing. She has me at her beck and call for the rest of her life kind of beauty.
Want me to carry your new friends carry on bag through security? No prob.
Need help making signs for your big West Borrow Church rally tomorrow? Sure thing.
I'm cool like that Baby Spice. I gotcha.
She could burn my house down into a pile of smouldering ashes (also known as a Lisa "Left Eye" Lopez breakup) and when the cops came to arrest her I would tell them "You guys just don't get her like I do."

She's a bit of a firecracker.

So maybe this is why we all have that one friend, who for the most part seems like a smart, logical person.......who's somehow paired up with the spawn of satan incarnate.

We all know the story: Your buddy introduces you to his new girl and her handshake is so cold and limp that you worry that he met her at the Pet Sematary. She spews icy, venomous looks your way and scares the local wildlife south months early, but in your buddies eyes she's everything he's ever wanted. Remember that movie Saving Silverman? Well it's like that but with less fat funny guy spilling nachos everywhere:

*Side note
  Steve Zahn: still hilarious for some reason.




So what's going on here? It's clear that there's a disconnect somewhere in how we see each other. That we can become so enamoured by our painted perception of someone that we become unable to see them for who they really are.
Like for example, this horrible human being.
If the majority of marriages end in divorce (because Dr. Phil wouldn't lie would he?) then surely it's not that ALL of these people were all making a rash, foolish KFed-esque mistake but that they genuinely believed that they had found the Ross to their Rachel.
Or should I say "Brangelina"?






I hate that I know this shit.







Have you ever stopped to wonder what's the point of seeing someone as attractive? What purpose does it serve? How is it that we we judge each other for the shape of our faces when we have absolutely no ability to control those features in the first place? How does it make any sense whatsoever that who we spend our time with be based on their beauty?!

"Well, ya she treats me like shit in front of company but you should see her ass dimples in a bikini. TOTALLY worth it."





Ya. Totally.

Picking a spouse based on looks is like picking a car based on the colour.

Sure, it's true that looks are merely part of a much bigger equation. There's obviously more to it then just physical attraction, because if someone is stupid you're likely to get sick of them pretty quick.....but likely is the key word in that sentence. Sometimes beauty overrides our bullshit detector when we're not paying attention and while we would all like to believe it doesn't happen to us; we may be lying to ourselves.
Like when we eat fat free frozen yoghurt and say it's ok.
It's not ok people. That shit is pure street crack.
When it comes to the topic of looks, It's kind of like when people say: Dance like no one is watching.
Sure, it sounds like a nice idea worth a like or two on Facebook but in reality; we all secretly want to look at least a little cool while dancing.






And besides;  YOU try keeping calm when you have this woman giving'er like no one's watching.
In front of your kids.
Who are DEFINITELY watching.

So we care about looks. It's inescapable. But how and why did this happen? Are we all that superficial? Or is it just genetic? Is it simply in our human nature? Built into our DNA from a time long passed? How would looks have played a part in our pre-instagram, hunter gathering days?
How would chiseled features and a good jaw line have benefited Encino Man on his hunt for more wooly mammoth jerky?

I still love you Topanga

Then again could it be a more recent phenomenon in human history? An appreciation for the "finer physical qualities of a partner" that came with an exploding population increase thus leading to an increase in mating choice? Back when people were few and far between I'm sure we were much less picky eaters.
Mostly though, I'm inclined to think it's a mix of both. Likely, we have a predisposition to physical attraction that has been dramatically amplified by a skin deep pop culture. Perhaps we can chalk it up to the years of subliminal messages from advertisements screaming for our attention during a childhood raised on marshmallow crack-cereal and TGIF.
Maybe our deep-rooted love affair with eyeballing purdy looking people is the end result of a lifetime of ads being crammed into our faces.
Whatever it is, we just can't seem to help being attracted to good looking people.

It's undeniable that we celebrate people we find gorgeous; sometimes, being balls-out obvious about it.

Witty check under the hood/my underpants joke here

Painted on abs: the hottest trend in war paint

But many times it's more insidious as we think we celebrate someone for their (artistic, poetic, heartfelt, orwhateverbullshityoucomeupwith) ways........ and it just so HAPPENS that they are nice to look at.

Riiiight. and Anna Kornikova stayed in the headlines for her really swell serve.

So it can make you wonder: what accomplishments are my own? Which ones did I actually earn based on my hard work and merit and which did I earn based on the genetic lottery of how I look?
Who earned it more? This guy:

Or this guy:

Sad doesn't begin....

Both achieved success most could only dream of. Both have been celebrated for their wide range of work and both have my utmost respect for what they are able to do onscreen (Cruise haters be damned).... but which one worked harder to earn it? Which one had the tougher path? Which was sure to play the good guy?

Don't tell me you don't know.

Hoffman's tragic too-early death is surely telling of a man that went through a rough, inner battle in his life. Of that there's no doubt, but don't confuse me for condoning drug use just because the guy wasn't typically attractive. That's obviously a TJ Mackey sized load of bullshit. Lots of people have amazing success despite, shall we say "less than conventional" good looks...... but could you imagine Tom Cruise being a depressed closet heroine user?

I think we can all agree that he doesn't fit that role. Slightly crazy, sure but not someone who's reaching for the razors. Which just goes to show that as ugly as it is; we can't help but associate good looking people with success. Hence why we buy garbage we don't need from so-called beautiful people.

The question then is who would you rather be? The man who had to work exponentially harder to get it or the man who will always question if he truly earned it?
Either way, both have their battles and both are battles that wouldn't exist if our world weren't hijacked by something as superficial as skin deep beauty.
Years spent working as a model have shown me a really ugly side of pretty. Watching supposedly gorgeous people carry themselves with a sense of entitlement based solely on something they played no part whatsoever in creating... and then seeing others celebrate them for it has left me with a low-level loathing for it all.
It's convinced me that we would be a lot better off without the whole aesthetic thing. I believe attraction hides our real selves not only from each other but from ourselves. When you look in the mirror and see something looking back at you that the world is willing to praise; it becomes very easy to sit back, relax and let it in instead of building on ones character. Conversely, when you see the mirror looking back at you with a plain or uncelebrated look; how does one separate that from who they are on the inside?
Good luck not internalizing a lifetime of that.
Yes, physical beauty can be nice to appreciate and fun get lost in but ultimately; I believe it is a fog that blinds us from the inner importance of who we are. It has our souls driving racing cars blindly past each other. Some shiny and some rusted. It is a mask that hides from us the deeper beauty that lies in those all around us. Instead of seeing people solely for quality of their character, we become focussed on......



Other assets.

"I hear they're low on underwear too"

Thinking of all this makes me wonder how many people I would've loved but never gave a second thought based on them "not being my type". It makes me wonder how much time I've spent on people I found attractive but couldn't see I had little in common with......and vice versa: How many of my friends enjoy my company for who I am without my looks playing a hidden factor.
An unattractive thought to say the least.


Mostly pertinently though, right here and now it's making me wonder what I'm doing in this overpriced restaurant.
Have I wasted my time sitting here not paying attention to the beautiful, stunning stranger in front of me?



The answer:









Totally.

Find your own adventure

Maybe I have this all wrong I think to myself.
If ever there was a place to make me reconsider my travelling ways, this very well might be it. Sitting shotgun beside a good friend that I haven't seen in too many years, we pull his truck off the gravel road and into what very well could be heaven.......if there is such a thing.
I imagine John Lennon would've wrote different lyrics had he been here so let me paint you a picture of what heaven looks like to me:
The trees part as we drive the old truck into the clearing. The sideways evening light shines its warm golden rays through the Birch trees, lighting an old charming country home that looks like it should be on the side of a maple syrup container. At the sound of our arrival, my friends beautiful wife rises from the garden, wagon full of freshly picked vegetables in tow and beams a smile our way. Two year old baby Benjamin runs with a hug locked and loaded for Dad, flanked by a posse of tail wagging dogs and inquisitive cats. It's a homecoming parade of happiness and it happens every day at work day end. While I've found my adventure overseas, they've found their adventure here, together, every day in tending the farm animals and doing the chores.
And in each other.
Seeing them in their country side paradise, my envy doesn't fit in my already overflown, tired suitcase. To me, they've figured it out. They live a purposefully simple, content life and today I am their welcomed guest. It's an honour not lost on me.


As is often the case when I return home to Canada, I bathe in the warm hospitality of good friends and spare beds. This particular friend I haven't seen in at least 5 years but you wouldn't know it from how easily we slide back into good old times as we catch up over the farm chores.
Time reveals all and friendship is no different. The ever-running clock on the wall has taught me something interesting about friendships: sometimes friendships happen when people bond over where they are. Sometimes it happens when people bond over who they're with.
Our fifteen year friendship is definitely the latter and I'm lucky to have a friend as good as
Mike Lewis.

It's always a mixed bag coming "home" to a place that feels oddly foreign but still somewhat familiar. It's something I've written about before and anyone who's ever travelled for an extending time knows the feeling well. But it also serves as a window for showing you where your friendships fall. The Whos and the Wheres..... and I've been lucky to have met a lot of Whos.

The Wheres may be there with you but it's the Whos who will be there for you and the last couple months of adventure have surely taught me this.
To fill you in, the last time we talked I was in Mexico City trying to do that whole making money thing (my friends keep telling me this might be a good idea) but instead I was getting my butt kicked like Pinocchio in politics.
Muchos frustrating.

So let me share with you the baking ingredients for Mexico City disaster cookies:
-A dash of your agency not coming through with the work visa (which means no making dineros)
-2 cups of Xanax fuelled agents that clearly took a couple too many siestas
-4 cups of Thrifty's car rental charging $600 in extras for speeding tickets from your Cape Town trip
-147 cups of credit card fraud and a clueless bank that couldn't care less that you're stranded in Mexico City
-One pinch of still waiting on payment for your 3 months of previous work in Cape Town

Combine ingredients in a Mexican mixing bowl and bake in 80% humidity at 30 degrees for about two and a half months and you will end up with a crumbly one way ticket cookie back to Canada.

That and diarrhoea.

Sharing is caring:)

So arriving with my financial tail between my legs and a suitcase full of dirty laundry, I was open and ready for a life lesson and somewhere in all of this; it was there waiting for me to find it. It was there in the open arms of the Whos as they shared their homes with me, reminding me of what it is that makes this whole thing worth it. Reminding me that there is adventure in life wherever you choose to find it. Whether here or there. That you don't need to travel to find your adventure, for it can be right there in front of you....if that's where you choose to make it. But also reminding me that if you do head off into the unknown, your true friends will be with you wherever you go....
and there when you return.

Good friends who are glad to see you home and proud to see you go.
Good friends like these two epic beauties for example.

Back when I was leaving Canadiana to go to Cape Town South Africa, Linds and Joh showed me just how lucky I am to have the friends I do in the form of this pretty epic video. Linds somehow managed to corral a bunch of my friends from around the world to make asses of themselves while they lip sung a song they CLEARLY couldn't remember the words too.
This will never stop being funny to me and I will love them forever for it.

So after watching this sweet vid too many times, forever searing this song into my head, I made a plan to pay them back in kind. A way to say thank you for making me feel at home no matter where I am. Whether on a perfect family farm or in a far away land on a new adventure, it's friends like these that remind me that we all have our own adventure to find..... and that no matter where we go, we will never go there alone with the love of good friends.

A big thanks to Klaudia, Lora and all my CT friends who put up with me constantly singing this song.
An even bigger thanks to all you rockstars who took the time to sing it to me.
Linds, Joh, Tara, Toby, Leah, Anna, Millie, Kyle, Yulia, Lauren, Jeff, Justin, Tom, Mel, Louis, Ian,  Curtis, Graeme and JP I will never forget it.
Miss ya.