search snorlax on youtube.

I forgot to mention that I've decided that my TRUE calling in life is to be a professional 5-pin bowler. Last friday, Leah and I went on a double date with Gn'R, to Bronx Bowl. The first game was forgettable - I came in 4th of 4 people. Then we went outside for a jazz cigarette, and it srsly filled me with the power of greyskull or something.


I came back inside and bowled 177 points. What the fuck. 4 strikes, 3 spares in 10 frames. I've never bowled so well in my entire life. My posse was as stunned as I.

I mean, I meant to do that.

It got me thinking though...about life, and the decisions we make. Not that I'm seriously entertaining the thought of bowling for cash, but I can't remember ever DECIDING that the music industry is where I wanted to forge my career. I sometimes call my job 'the hobby that went wrong'. I also wonder how different my life would be if I didn't have certain thing happen when they did. My dad passing away for example; it fucked up my adolesence, to be sure - but when I turned 18 I inherited an insurance settlement that paid for all my university, 2 trips to Europe, rent for 4 years, and the startup capital to found Black Dot, my old production company. It was that foundation that got the ball rolling, so to speak. Things changed, hands were shook and deals were made that cemented my 'position' in this industry. First an assistant, now a 'junior', about to be a manager.

The ladder is real. Holy fuck. I think subconciously I've avoided discovering said ladder, or at least trying my hardest to deny I *needed* it. I gladly admit now I want it. My ambition was always directed inwards - not GOAL oriented so much as working towards places in life where I felt happy and satisfied.

But then I tasted blood, and I wanted more.


Ambition is a funny thing. People have told me I'm ambitious, but I don't know if I've ever agreed all that much...Miriam-Webster, WHERE YOU AT?


Main Entry: am·bi·tion
Pronunciation: am-'bi-sh&n
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French or Latin; Middle French, from Latin ambition-, ambitio, literally, act of soliciting for votes, from ambire
a : an ardent desire for rank, fame, or power
b : desire to achieve a particular end


I don't wanna be famous. Power might be nice. Rank, like in the army? Call me Captain Easychord.

I think I'm just stoked on music. Can it be that easy?

42...41....40...39....38...37...

you're right, it HAS been a while. I feel like I've been busy doing a whole lotta nothing. Catsitting. Internetting. Beer drinking. Reconnecting with previously missing bros. Trying to ignore certain hard goodbyes. Twiddling my thumbs as things fall into place. I sense Fall falling into place. The nights are cooler. The days are dry and hot.

Plans for the move are progressing - we have the means, the end, and the bits in between are just...there. It's funny to think that all this time in Edmonton, all it took was for me to stop trying for an excuse to move, and it happened. Between now and then, are...dates.

Tomorrow, sister comes to town. Stoked.
Tuesday, DJing on the Wooftop, avec Miss Mannered.
Next weekend, yard sale.
September is looking insane. So much work. So many things to do, parties to throw, friends to say goodbye to. Realizing that I likely wont be back here at xmas bums me out a little, but I'm excited to come back to a city changed.

Maybe it's wishful thinking that things will change when I leave...moving away from Edmonton feels like I'm breaking up with a good friend. I know the ties will be there, but it's hard to wrap my head around calling a different city 'home'. When I was there in the spring, Toronto felt so cold and alien and metropolitan. Now I'll be the alien in the sea of glass and steel, just as winter creeps under my clothes. I'm SO looking forward to the pursuit of an excellent americano on a snowy day, scrabble in kitchen nooks and remembering what it's like to not be a stresscase.

6 more weeks. 42 days today.

I claim to have nothing to do. I have too much to do.

To get me there, I've been crafting a list of things I want to do this fall...it includes:
-starting a music writing/mp3 blog.
-finding spots to DJ in the big smoke.
-learning to run (for the first time in 13 years).
-buying, and riding a nice new bike.
-falling deeper in love, once we shake the stress off.
-feeling like a better Eli.
-make lists like this.


Chins up, friends.
Like this dude.

beware of lazr legs.

My brain is a bit tapped out. Shambalha hit me in the face like a nerf bat. A good, swift bonk to the head. I'll report on that later.


Linkgasm time.

Everything you ever needed, or wanted to be.

Do it with your hands.

Listen. Learn. Love.

Enjoy.
Ciao for now, friends.

ps: I found a place to live in Toronto! It's at St. Clair & Glenholme...anyone know the area? Check it! MUTHAFUCKIN CHALKBOARD WALL! (yallz have no idea how long I've wanted one of those.)

box of hair

It's kinda late. I can't sleep.

Tonight I went by an old house I used to live in, the current residents of which graciously allowed me to keep a corner of their basement as storage space when I moved out. I dragged out 7 fucking boxes. There are still 4 crates of records down there.

Leah, the kind and giving soul that she is, helped me unload them from her car onto the back deck of my apartment. A good chunk of my life, heaped into a half-dozen boxes. All my journals & other writing. Almost every photo I ever took, including two trips to Europe, funny things like my high school graduation photos, and my 'memory bag' (which is what it read on the outside), which contained my mortar board and well wishes from my classmates. I scanned over the faces of my graduating class and wondered where they all were, and what they were doing. I only know the fate of 8 or 10 at the most...seeing those pics took me back to an interesting time in my life, when I was meeting dozens of people who would later help me develop and shape the ideas I have and the person I am today. I was punk rock, or at least thought I was, and I can see through my stickers, pins and poster collection, that I was SERIOUS about music. I re-learn through reading notes & diaries and finding doodles that I was, at times, a shameless flirt, an asshole, a coward, a studious teenager, a drug addict, a sexually confused kid, an anti-socialite.

They say hindsight is 20/20; I'm not sure I agree - it's funny (strange, not ha ha) to look back and see both how naive I was and how jaded I've become. I used to care; I used to not give a fuck. I used to think I had it all figured out. I'm here, 10 years later about to make the biggest leap of my life, and I'm feeling...confident as I take it.


It's a matter of shedding some skin. I combed through these boxes and found my sports cards from when I was 11. My bar mitzvah books. The birth of my interest in punk. The birth of my interest in electronic music. Flyers of parties I went to in clubs when I was underage. High diatribes recorded in journals, shaky handwriting n' all. In the end I dumped 2 full garbage bags, another full bag of tshirts for value village, and filled one BIG box with lots of smaller boxes. I never would have thought myself to be a packrat, but apparently I am, and a severe one at that. I'll keep that in mind when I move.



Look at that. Seeking the future through (re)discovering my past. It's funny the difference a day makes. Time for bed.