Is it possible to exercise demons? Smite them with treadmills and shit?

This post is gonna be a hard slog. I’m operating at 25% capacity today.

I feel swampy right now. In my effort to shunt back to healthier habits, I’ve taken the cold bucket o’ water approach to a couple of things. No coffee today. The duelling tensions of sleep vs activities, artificial vs naturally produced energy, have meant that my coffee use has escalated as of late. It’s been none-too irregular for me to have four or five cups a day. Considering that all bar one of those are shitty brew coffee that I don’t even like, begs the question as to why I’d go there in the first place. Pretty sure it’s a combo of boredom consumption and habitual addiction. Too much coffee has meant flailing afternoons, which have led to crashing in the evening, no energy to get out and do things. I’ve been way less social than I’d like, unless prodded by alcohol. Not the place I want to be.

Drinking a ton of coffee is symptomatic of a larger addiction to consumption. It’s both because of this addiction and a cause of this condition. I feel a need to consume, which extends to filling a cup of coffee. The more I drink, the more my inhibitions are lowered. My sometimes foods, while usually during outside meal times, have become a larger part of my daily intake. I’ll make an exception for something I wouldn’t usually have, then make that same exception the next day “because it was okay yesterday”. Then I feel grumpy and bummed out that I’d veered so widely, leading to eating my feelings later on in the evening. At work our new-ish boss always has a well stocked treat table. If I had the discipline to not be treating myself constantly, I’d exercise it. With the way things have been, it wouldn’t surprise me if a caloric consumption (not that I’ve been counting) of one and a half to two times my normal intake has been the rule, rather than exception.

It’s a dumb, but understandable pattern to fall back into and it’s been throwing my mood way out of whack. I’ve been alternating between extreme grumpiness and fatigue. I’m distractible all the time. It’s shitting on my ability to concentrate on work, turning me into a home-bound mope and making me feel shitty about my body. It sucks. It’s also something that nobody else can really help me with. Sure, there’s emotional support, but emotional support is not habit forming and won’t help me get anywhere. It’s something I need to take care of on my own, because it’s not something I’m doing for anyone else. It’s also far from the first time I’ve hoisted this bugbear atop my shoulders and I’m sure it won’t be the last. As always, a long term view, self-compassion and hard work will be lead me in the right direction. Right now though, it’s slow going.

One foot in front of the other. Again and again.

I want to eat cheese and never stop.

Tired. Brain dead. Not to be confused with the 1992 Peter Jackson splatterfest renamed Dead Alive for the North American market. You know, the one with the karate master priest who exclaims “I KICK ASS FOR THE LORD!” Also a dude walking into a room full of zombies holding a sideways lawnmower. Great film. I didn’t walk into a room full of zombies carrying a sideways lawnmower. It just felt like it.

I had a run during lunchtime today though, that was a bright spot. Being able to get out of the office and jog across the waterfront was pretty fucking great. Fresh air in the face of Toronto’s recent jigsaw weather (today had a high of 10°C. Tomorrow’s is -2°C) meant I could attack the afternoon without feeling dried out. Instead I was achy and hungry. So my normal state of being, anyway. I protest too much. It really was awesome not only having the opportunity to run in the middle of the day, but to be capable of walking out the front door at work and jogging almost 6km. With Spring quickly approaching (yesterday, apparently), I want to get fitter again. I’ve been keeping active, but haven’t done the cardio I’ve desired. I’d say I’ve been itching for it, but realistically that’s just the beta alanine in my bloodstream. Tossing Girl Talk’s 2014 Coachella performance on my headphones, I put my legs through a decent pace. Tons of people were taking advantage of the weather and hitting the pavement. I’m not gonna lie, whenever I saw someone jogging on the bike path ahead of me, if I saw them slowly getting closer I made it my low key mission to overtake them. Because what else was I gonna do? I’d left my cellphone (Pokémon Go portal) back at work. Whenever I saw somebody jogging in the opposite direction I did that little bus driver wave. Nobody waved back. Maybe Toronto is as unfriendly as everyone says.

After eating everything in sight (and taking a walk to eat the things that were out of my sight), I was exhausted. Then realised I had a job interview in a few hours and being stuffed would be a sub-optimal strategy. So I did all of the things you typically do when you’re that special combination of nervous and anxious. Nervious? I re-read the job application to search for scraps of handy ideas to prepare. What kind of questions would the interviewer ask? Could I use an old list of questions to ask in an interview again? Oh shit, I’d already spent ten minutes picking the guy’s brain about the position a month back. Had I asked those questions then? Would he remember? Did my breath smell too much like tuna? Should I brush my teeth? Did I need to shit? Why was my mouth dry? Should I drink more water? Was I wary of drinking too much and having to pee during the interview? Could I just bring a drink bottle into the interview anyway? How many copies of my CV did I need to print out? What if there was someone with him in the interview? Wait, what did he actually mention when I talked to him a month back? Were there any things I felt I should take heed of from that previous meeting? Who schedules an interview for 4.15pm?

Interview went fine. It was also a minute’s walk away from my desk, so that was handy. I had decent answers for all of his questions. I didn’t oversell myself, but confidently stated my abilities and admitted faults (that honestly did fit the role). I talked about previous positions and how they’d help. I asked about what he was seeking from an employee and felt I represented the answers he gave. I asked a couple of questions he had to think about, which prompted further discussion. All in all, I think I did as well as I could. Whether or not I get a follow up interview will depend on whether I match what he’s looking for.

Then with ten minutes left in the workday, I messed around on the internet then left.

I’m still messing around on the internet.

Just pop the tab with your sphincter. Why else would you squat so much?

Well I’m back on the pre-workout. If you remembered my previous experiences on the drug supplement, you’d find no reason to question why. If you didn’t, then the reason is obvious: I want to feel like I have super powers.

Whether or not mild discomfort is a super power is up to you. As I can only imagine Wolverine does as his skin knits together, five minutes after downing it I feel a tingling itch spread across the surface of my body. Like teensy little needles knitting together the fibres of my being, my pores are suffused with a wave of expectation. Hesitation lingers but a moment before realising that I’m about to ride what a mountain of coke would feel like without the euphoria: A disdain for limitations.

Taking pre-workout is indistinguishable from a metric fuckton of microdoses unified into one high. Let me rephrase: It makes you high. Pre-workout makes you feel young again, which is a nice way of saying that it shaves years off your life. You know that scene in Logan? The one with the bestial howls? It’s basically that in the middle of the gym, which is a super handy way of getting people to stop loitering at the squat rack. A heavy-breathing, sweaty dude behind you is a huge incentive to leave whatever you’re doing and never to return. To that end, given the packed gym during the prime 5.30pm time slot, it’s mostly standing around feeling your molecules vibrate rapidly.

The true fun of pre-workout is trying to justify to others why you needed to feel that for once you were capable of ripping a horse in half with your bare hands. Man once looked at the moon and started thinking “how” instead of “if”. Everyone who’s ever taken pre-workout has looked at the moon and started thinking how long would it take me to run there? Pre-workout is not merely to engage the limits of your strength, but to engage the limits of your healing factor. By tearing your muscles asunder, you’re daring your body not to keep up.

Even after these ringing endorsements, you may still be questioning whether pre-workout is right for you. In that case, take a hard look at yourself and search for these answers:

  • Do I crave the sensation of shelving an unopened can of Red Bull?
  • Are my workouts suffering from a lack of graft vs host style fear?
  • Is it not enough to feel uncomfortable in my own skin, that I need to make everyone else uncomfortable around me too?
  • Have I ever been envious of a pitbull’s saliva output?
  • Did I watch any of the Fast cinematic universe and think I wish I was a car?
  • Do I seek to make hummingbirds jealous of my heartbeat?
  • Am I bummed that I’ve never shit myself at the gym?
  • Do my eyeballs sometimes feel too small for my pupils?
  • Have I got #squadgoals for Nicolas Cage in the Wicker Man remake?
  • Is the dial up connection sound my favourite rapper?

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and suggest that pre-workout isn’t for everyone. Sometimes though, you just want to know what it feels like for your muscles to exist outside your skin. For those times, pre-workout has your back. And will likely capture your heart.

Sorry, I meant will make your heart seize up.

Well I’ve got enough acid for the recipe, clearly.

I’m pretty wiped right now, so in lieu of anything insightful (as if that were the norm or something) or interesting, here are a few words in certain arrangements:

  • My legs are shot. I’m undecided whether this is a positive development or not. Positive, because I worked them pretty hard on Monday. If my body manages to regenerate the damaged tissue, I’ll no doubt be hefty enough to juggle cars. If I’m in this much pain, I obviously worked to a super human degree. If my *walking* is reduced to a slow shuffle, it must be because the muscles have retreated to chrysalis-esque pods, hiding their eventual potential. They’ll burst out when I need them most for some feat of heroism. It’ll be worth the borderline limp I’m rocking at present. Why I flopped around a Body Attack class trying in vain to look competent. My butt feels like it’s gonna collapse, these buns of steel underneath proving too much for my feeble skin sacs to contain. It can only be a great thing, definitely. There’s no other reason I’d be suffering. It has been ordained. Just you wait.
  • I got my Fleet Foxes ticket today through a pre-sale. It’s great news, it really is. While ordering though, I couldn’t believe how quickly available seats had been snapped up. I’ve heard rumblings that Toronto is plagued by virulent scalping bots, but until today I didn’t understand the magnitude (Pop Pop) of the issue. I ordered perhaps 20 minutes after they’d become available and options were pretty slim. After being allocated tickets far back and hugging the left side of Massey Hall, I took another spin on the “best available” selector and was very luckily given a prime location (ordering a single ticket does have its advantages). It’s a bummer. It’s not good enough that I’ll be fine, what about all the big fans (it’s been six years since “Helplessness Blues”) that’ll likely be singing their own helplessness blues) who’ll miss out? All because a few shitlords want to take advantage of the system? I don’t know what the answer is. Do more Toronto ticket sites need captcha? A four ticket limit per order? A vial of blood extracted from each purchaser? Hopefully this survey garners helpful tips.
  • It may well have hit nine degrees today. I saw some dude on the subway in jandals. I wish I had that much confidence about anything in my life.
  • During today’s Body Attack class we did a bunch of squats. Thing is, I really needed to fart. It unfortunately wasn’t as simple as being ashamed of releasing gas. These were farts barely discernible from the next stage of evolution. I was mortified that if I gave them the credence to run free, I’d free the runs. So not only was I hobbling around with my chrysalis stumps, but I was striving to hold in my lunch. “Body Attack” could not have been a more apt name.
  • For the first time in mind-bogglingly long, I’ve assembled a fresh salad for dinner tonight. I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know how to make a simple olive oil vinaigrette salad dressing by heart. Sure, Google is quick and easy, but isn’t there merit in knowing things without the need to look them up? I bet Jandals in Nine Degrees Dude knows how to make one from memory. Dick. I bet he scalps tickets too.

Why do they keep making Oscars even though D2: The Mighty Ducks already exists?

In less than 24 hours, the movers and shakers of Hollywood’s cultural elite will come together to bestow the finest honours upon filmmakers and actors alike for their cinematic achievements over the past year. I ask you now, why? Why do we continue to celebrate the film industry’s output year after year, when the critically underrated 1994 masterpiece D2: The Mighty Ducks already exists?

The story of Team USA’s journey to the Junior Goodwill Games, D2, is a rich tapestry of overcoming adversity through the trials and tribulations of high level competitive sports. A film so emotionally compelling and well acted that Entertainment Weekly mentions it “now includes token members representing both sexes as well as major races, religions, and regions.” Wow!

Sure, Moonlight may have brought a tear to your eyes with its inspired use of Barbara Lewis’ “Hello Stranger” in the diner scene, but For Your Consideration, could anything match the raw emotional catharsis of Emilio et al singing Queen’s “We Are The Champions” around a campfire? I didn’t think so. And with all the hubbub about the Academy Awards’ lack of diversity (anyone remember #OscarsSoWhite?) what could’ve been more diverse than bringing together team members from as far away as Minnesota and Illinois? Heartwarming!

The Oscars have always been a forum for celebrating the truest love stories in cinematic history. Really though, while the budding romance between Jack and Rose in 1997’s indie darling Titanic may have captured our hearts (and The Oscars’ eponymous golden statue), does it really hold a candle to Coach Gordon Bombay rediscovering his enduring love of the game? Or his fiery romance with the steadfastly Icelandic Marria? Or his fatherly affection for star player Charlie Conway? When you actually think about it, it’s a downright travesty that The Academy never brought itself to gild what is unquestionably the greatest love story of our time.

At the end of the day, The Academy Awards were created to shine a light on the films that inspire passion, to make us aspire to reach for the stars. Sure, William Wallace’s “Freedom” speech was enough to lead the Scots against the English in the face of almost certain death, but could it have helped them defeat the juggernauts of ice hockey; Team Iceland? Not on your life, son! Just think, if Coach Bombay had been there to teach them that “ducks fly together”, maybe things would’ve turned out differently. Maybe Brexit never would’ve happened. That’s not only the power to change lives, but to change history! If that kind of time travel capability isn’t Oscar worthy, then maybe I just don’t know what is.

Look, I’m not trying to be controversial here. All I’m saying is that if The Oscars really cared about celebrating the best that cinema has to offer, they would’ve seen the futility of subsequent ceremonies from the moment the knuckle puck graced the silver screen.

So far away that a flock of seagulls couldn’t catch me.

A good day at work for once? How does that even happen? Most likely a decent sleep and great weather rubbed off on me. In truth, work has been unremarkable, but if the alternative is a clusterfuck, then unremarkable is excellent. It’s all relative. Like grandparents. Relatives.

The best part of the day was being able to get out and go for a run. “Whaaaaat?”, you might gasp and sputter. I ran. In Toronto. On my lunch break. Because today had a high of 14 fucking degrees. Fahrenheit? NO. CELSIUS, BITCHEZZZ.

*Ahem* Let’s try that again, but without the flagrant over-enthusiasm.

Today’s weather has been swell. Jolly. Righteous and filled to the brim with spiffiness. Being able to leave the building and go for a 5km jog was a highlight. Breathing in the air coming off the lake (except for the godawful smell of burning sugar from the refinery next door. How does a scent so innocuous sounding end up smelling like carrion?), feeling the sun soaking into my skin. My heart was thumping in my chest comfortably, a reassuring swell indicating that not only am I alive, but I’m really living. It’s like that primal sensation of having cut wood or the like. Calloused hands, worked muscles humming. You might be tired, but there’s an assurance that what you did was working towards a purpose. Going for a run made me feel lighter, like a gazelle leaping along the grizzled “urban jungle” of Toronto’s waterfront. Any lions dumb enough to chase me down would have to earn their meal. Dripping sweat in a light breeze gave me a sense of indomitably. Blame endorphins, but nothing was gonna bring me down.

Of course, nothing goes quite so hand in hand (or phone in hand, rather) with running as Pokémon Go. Continuing the theme of today being a great day, the app delivered with panache. Which is to say it still crashed every few minutes and immense tasks such as clicking on a pokestop was enough to throw the system into chaos and lag. Does everyone struggle like this? Maybe I need a new phone. Still, running along the waterfront was the perfect way to look out for rare pokémon, or at the very least trawl for Magikarp.

I found a super low cp one, but figured Magikarp candy is Magikarp candy. I threw pokeball after pokeball, but nothing was sticking. Maybe eight wasted pokeballs later, this was getting farcical. The thing had 49 cp for fucks sake. It was silly, more than anything. I figured why the hell not? It was giving me enough trouble that I wanted it all the more. I tossed a berry its way, then grabbed an ultraballs and tested the waters. One wobble. Two. Three. Settled. Finally. Then the screen darkened and the centre glowed white. What the hell was happening? I just wanted to get it appraised in case it was somehow special. As the screen came back to focus, I discovered it was special. In fact it wasn’t even a Magikarp. I’d finally caught the elusive Ditto. Surprise!

If that wasn’t neato enough, my 10k egg hatched me a Larvitar with decent stats. They’ve been pretty elusive so far, bring the initial component of 2nd gen’s rival to Dragonite. Speaking of which, I picked up a good Dratini today too. Maybe I’ll finally get that Dragonite I’ve been looking for. Do I really see myself getting competitive enough to start attacking gyms again? Who knows? I’ve got enough candy to evolve a Gyarados now, maybe I’m moving towards a workable team. Which in the end is silly, because if I really cared about decent battling I’d get the Game Boy game instead.

Who cares? The sun is setting on a brilliant day. I’ve got no responsibilities left before bed tonight. Hakuna Matata and all that jazz.

Not to be taken as an authority on anything ever.

Ugh. Getting back into Magic the Gathering Shandalar was as addictive as I’d feared. Starting around 10pm, I had to force myself to stop around 1.30am for fear of looking shaggy and embalmed at work this morning. Even then, getting into bed I couldn’t do anything but think about the game, potential decks I could build, cards I’d lost and won. It’s baaaaaaad, dude. I dreamt about the game. My work day has been time spent waiting to play the game again. After hours of staring at the screen, I saw images of the game floating in my mind’s eye. You know that phenomenon where you play a game so much that everything around you morphs into a weird augmented hyper-reality of the game? It’s like playing Bejeweled and seeing gems everywhere you look. Same thing, but with mana costs, old school card borders and overly antiquated graphics. It’s great to be enveloped by a rampant desire to play something again, but addiction is gonna get in the way of life, if I’m not careful. At least when I was playing Pokémon Go, I was getting out of the house.

Then again, I am still playing Pokémon Go. It’s less manic-obsessive this time around. Though there was the massive disappointment of my long awaited Victreebel having a terrible moveset (with zero grass type moves). Bummer. My workplace is handily close to the Jack Layton Ferry Terminal, the numero uno place to catch in the city. If I’ve got nothing to do during lunch (do I ever?), I can go for a wander and hoard Magikarp. It’s neat getting back into the game again. With fresh pokémon I’ve got a renewed interest. It’s still entertaining and less tedious than it had gotten. Once the weather warms up I can start going for jogs on my lunch break and play at the same time. No floating Magic cards, just actual air flowing in and out of my lungs.

Went to Hogtown Vegan yesterday for lunch. After hearing nothing but glowing reviews, I was pretty excited to check it out. My girlfriend and I both left feeling like we’d had an unremarkable meal. Neither of us are vegan or vegetarian, but with how lauded it was, we thought that wouldn’t matter. It’s not that it was terrible by any means, but the concept of meat substitutes still feels odd. I enjoy vegetarian cuisine well enough, in that I don’t assume all meals need meat and there are endless flavours you can pull out of dishes without killing for them. Meat substitutes though, are pretty damn odd. Seitan has this bizarre texture and, in a “Reuben”, didn’t resemble bacon in the slightest. Dry, yet squishy was my best approximation. The “pulled pork” my girlfriend got wasn’t pulled at all, but squishy little bite sized pieces of tofu. The collard greens were delicious and the “cheese” sauce on the fries was great, albeit cheesy wouldn’t be the flavour I’d describe. I wonder what I would’ve thought of the meals had no comparison to meat been made.

It reminded me of how people try to say how tasty some protein powders are, when in fact they taste like chemicals with artificial flavouring. I’ve yet to try a chocolate protein shake that actually tastes like chocolate. Then again, I’m not sure how that’d be possible without masses of sugar, which negates the point of the whole exercise. I get it. I buy protein bars all the time. Some of them don’t taste awful, but they don’t also taste delicious. It’s the same as that phenomenon where, after purchasing something expensive that’s meant to be healthy or high quality, convincing yourself that it was an excellent purchase. As if by admitting disappointment, you’re admitting you made a poor choice. It’s okay to not be an expert every time. Your financial decisions don’t define you as a person.

Then again, what do I know? My life is spiralling out of control because I’m obsessed with an updated 90s video game.