The Aardvark

When I'm at work, I need the radio to be playing.  When I first started the job, I went weeks without a radio and often found myself either distracted and unable to concentrate on the work in front of me.  Either that or I'd often find myself singing, under my breath, whatever song happened to grind it's way into the inner sanctum of my brain.  Eddie Grant's Electric Avenue was stuck in there a lot and I've come to dislike the song, somewhat.  That one and Don MacLean's American Pie.  "What?!?"  I'm sure someone is thinking, right now after reading that statement, but try getting it stuck in your head for weeks at a time.

Eventually, when I grew too tired of composing my own songs just to entertain myself when I was alone driving the bus, I got my self a radio, albeit a transistor radio at first, which only received a signal when I worked on the east side of the city.  Anything west of Idylwyld Drive, was met with constant static interruptions, which aggravated me as much as it annoyed me.  Next I got a small speaker from Visions which worked well, but only lasted about five, maybe six hours, if I was lucky.  So it was back to the ol' drawing board, one more time.  This time I didn't cheap out by purchasing something from the discontinued aisle.  Instead, I went to Costco and purchased a JBL speaker which, despite being dropped a handful of times, works like a motherf**king charm.

I spent my mornings listening to Clayton and Stacie on Cruz-FM and in the afternoons, I would either listen to Regina's The Wolf or Saskatoon's Rock 102 FM.  Especially after Cruz shit-canned their afternoon guy, the legendary Dave 'Muzik' Morgan.  His replacement sucks.  Then a few months later, I switched over to Rock 102 FM, exclusively, when Cruz went on another inexplicable firing tirade and fired the morning guy, Clayton Kroeker.   Stacie is awesome, but she doesn't have the chops to broadcast alone, so I deserted the radio station in favour of greener pastures and I'm glad I did.

I began listening to Whitney in the afternoons on Rock 102 FM and she's a blast to listen to.  Always in a jovial mood, I can only imagine the joy it must be to work with someone like this, who always seems to be in good spirits.  

One day Whitney was trying to help out this guy who'd called in.  He had two tickets to see his favourite band, but his dilemma was choosing who to go to the show with.  Either his wife or his daughter.  Whitney had all sorts of people calling in offering up ideas and so with a few minutes to spare on my route, I overcame the anxiety I have about placing phone calls (*I imagine there's a blog in there about that) and I called in to the radio station.  Whitney was a hoot to chat with and she played right along with the insanity that I offered up.  I simply stated, "He should take his daughter.  Wives come and go," I added, "But daughters are forever."  I don't know exactly why I stated it like that, I don't even have a daughter...., or a wife, for that matter, but Whitney got a helluva kick out of the statement and for several months that followed, I'd hear my raspy radio voice repeating that statement during some of the radio breaks.

Not long after that, Sully joined the Rock 102 crew and he fit in like a glove.  The two of them, Whitney and Sully, are like long lost siblings.  The way they tease each other, you can sense that there's a lot of love and respect shared between the two, but when Whitney is "bullying" Sully (for lack of a better term), the results are hilarious.  Sully being from Vancouver, originally, the radio station has been trying to "Saskatchewanize" Sully.  They did a question and answer portion on the show one day, in which poor Sully got an electric shock every time he answered a Saskatchewan question incorrectly, but truth be known, I've been here my entire life, minus a six month stint in Edmonton, Alberta, and I'm not familiar with a lot of the "Saskatchewan terminology" that Sully was failing to answer correctly.  I've often thought about challenging him to a Saskatchewan-off in a year's time.  See if this Vancouver transplant is more Saskatchewan than myself, who was born and bred in this province.

Long story short -- TOO LATE!!  I began calling in to the station on a semi-regular basis and in the meantime, managed to score a nice collection of goodies and prizes.  I'll spare the details, but one of the best items I received was two tickets to see Finger Eleven at the Ex, which I attended with my best bro, Dan, who I also brought with me, when I received a $50 gift certificate to Tapps Sports Lounge.  It got to the point where I was calling in so often that I felt I needed an identity.  I'd hear other people, regulars, calling in and they all had nifty nicknames, but all of the nicknames that I have, seem too silly to broadcast on local radio.  I love that online, I'm the one and only ToontownJuggalo, but people would react foolishly to that name, likely confusing the term "juggalo" for "gigolo" which would be greatly incorrect and mildly offensive, plus I get annoyed trying to repeatedly explain shit to people, so I avoided using that nickname.  Another nickname that I've adopted in the last few months is Aardvark, which again, requires some explanation which I'm unwilling to do.  So I stuck with who I am.  I'm Jeff.

I'm Jeff, but I'm not just any Jeff.  I'm The Jeff.

(Not actually a picture of me. I don't like sleeves
or turtle necks, but I'd kill for that hairline.)

I figured, any bumbling fool can be a Jeff.  It's really not that difficult. I'm living proof of that.  I've been stumbling through life for decades as Jeff and it's nothing spectacular.  However, only a precious few or one, can be The Jeff and folks, that one and only, is this guy.  Me.  I'm now The Jeff, at least as far as calling in to the radio station.  I needed something that would set me apart from everyone else and by Jove, I think I found it.

I could've went with That Jeff, but upon further retrospect, I decided that no one wants to That Jeff.  Why would you?  That guy is....  Well, That Jeff is one odd duck and as awesome as ducks go, the odd ones are just... weird.  Of course, referring to oneself as "The", is a little strange in and of itself, but that's why I'm the Aardvark.  Because I'm unique. 😁

Confession

We all have secrets.  Little lies that we tell each other and even convincing ourselves that they don't exist all in an effort to protect ourselves from judgment.  Secrets that hide behind that fake smile that we show to the world, all the while, our inner thoughts are plaguing us with guilt and fear.  I'm no different and if you're reading this, chances are, you deal with these thoughts every day.  "What if they find out?" you think, "What will they think?  Will they still like me?" Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  It's only through confessing that some of the weight can be lifted off our conscience.

I've been racking my brain for a while over the decision whether or not to come clean to my friends and family.  I have laboured intensely for months with this inner turmoil and only now have decided that I should step forward and speak my truth.  Be who I am and own my decisions.  If people choose to continue being my friend or family members wish to disown me over my standing up and declaring my truth, then so be it.  I've been alone before and have come out the other side and I truly believe that, deep down, I'm still a good and decent person.  Like me or not, please respect my decision.

So here it goes:  As much as I love the ROCKY movies (with exception of Rocky V), I must confess to you all now...  I hate the song, "Eye of the Tiger"!!  There!  I've said it and as soon as I press the "publish" icon in the top right-hand corner of this page, the entire world or, at least, the one or two people who may take the time to read this drivel, will know my truth.  Either you, the reader, will accept me as an "Eye of the Tiger" hater or you won't.  I can't change your mind.  You'll have to come to that decision on your own.

   

Even though, at this precise moment, my secret is still just a secret, with the potential to remain hidden with the touch of the delete button, but I already feel a hundred times better about my life, having simply wrote it out.  This blog, if for no other reason, is therapeutic in some ways. In fact, so much weight has been lifted from my being, that it's giving me the confidence to admit some other transgressions.

I love the Top Gun movies.  Tom Cruise is probably my favourite actor, overall.  I've commented in the past that I like that, no matter how bat-shit crazy Cruise might get in his personal life (ie. The Oprah Show incident), I completely believe him in every role that he takes on.  His performances are spectacular and barring anything completely f*cked up, he'll always be my favourite actor.  That being said, I f*cking hate the song "Danger Zone" by Kenny Loggins.  Loggins' voice sounds like two cats fighting.  I can barely struggle through it.  I think the only way that I am able to listen to it is my equal love of the cartoon, ARCHER, whose title character, absolutely adores Loggins and his 1986 hit.  When the song hits the airwaves, I think of Archer and it makes me smile.

There's a whole host of music that I dislike greatly.  Anything from RUSH or Zeppelin, although the latter is beginning to seep through my tough outer skin and I'm starting to like some of it.  However, my thoughts on The Beatles being the most overrated band in history, continues to be my belief and there are those who will agree with me, though they do not possess the courage to stand up and declare this fact, for all to witness.

Another confession that isn't really a confession, because I've openly declared my hatred of it, is the ELEANOR Mustang from the 2000 film, "Gone in 60 Seconds", starring Nicholas Cage.  I believe I liked it at the time, when the movie was released into theaters, but unfortunately, in the decades since its release, automotive customizers have flooded the market with clones.  Clones are, obviously, homages to the original movie car.  Some of these clones have garnered hundreds of thousands of dollars at auction.  There are so many clones out there that the widow of the original cars designer, Denise Halicki, has launched many lawsuits throughout the years, against people who built "unauthorized" Eleanor clones, including the late Carroll Shelby, in 2008.

The car is a stunning piece of work.  However, there are so many out in the world, that I've grown tired of seeing the damned things.  I like chocolate cake, but if I ate it everyday, I'd barf every time I saw a slice on a plate.

So there you have it folks.  I hate the songs "Eye of the Tiger" and "Danger Zone", two pieces of music that exist in the zeitgeist of human history.  Two songs that possess the default setting of everyone (must) love it, but no.  This is not the case.  Not with me.  I have to go against the grain on this one, as I do on many subjects.  I gotta be me.  I have to be individual, apart from the masses.  I must be that square peg that forces itself into the round hole.  I am the proverbial aardvark!

Retention

 

I was brutally awoken from an otherwise restful sleep, this morning at around 4:30am, with a massive migraine.  Not as bad as some I've had, but far worse than most of the headaches I suffer through on a nearly daily basis. I managed to take something for it, a special prescription given to me by my physician, which usually works, but this morning, it failed to relieve me of any discomfort.  I did, however, manage to fall back asleep for another few hours.

When I finally woke up and got out of bed, the headache was still present, but also, for some strange reason, I was reminded of a girl from my youth.  It was grade school and her name was Ruth.

Ruth was a smart girl.  A very smart girl.  Actually, smart doesn't even come close to how brilliantly intelligent this girl was at that age.  She was kind of a frumpy awkward girl, but a lovely and overly friendly girl.  She was friends with everyone.  The reason she was so intelligent, leaps and bounds above everyone else in our grade and probably all the grades above us, was the fact that, for fun, Ruth had read the dictionary. Front-to-back, from aardvark to zyzzyva, this girl read every word, every definition, every... Everything. She read it all and better yet, she retained every last word.  If any student was struggling with how to spell something or what a word meant, they avoided looking the word up in the dictionary and instead consulted with Ruth.  Everyone did it and one would think that Ruth would get annoyed by all the extra attention, but as memory serves, she was always more than happy to oblige.  It was only the teachers who would get after the kids, urging them to stop harassing Ruth.

I don't know why, exactly, that after all these many many decades, that I would be reminded of a girl that had almost completely vanished from my memory, but I suspect it may be because I need to learn some information to further expand my current driver's license.

In order to qualify for more lucrative employment, I believe that I need to get my Air Brakes Endorsement.  I've already jumped through all the hoops to get to my Class 2, which allows me to operate a bus that exceeds 24 passengers, but I need to overcome that last hurdle, which is a difficult one for me, as I am not mechanically inclined and reading difficulty prevents me from retaining much of what I read.  I can count on one hand, how many books I've read where I was able to understand and remember everything I read on their pages.  For those who are counting, it's two and the dictionary is not one of those books.  (Actually, it's two of Mick Foley's books; Have a Nice Day and Tietam Brown ~ both wonderful books. I recommend them.)

Just the thought of picking up a book or anything, really, is an overwhelming daunting endeavour.  Almost scary, sometimes.  For someone who craves knowledge, it's incomprehensible as to why the mere thought of reading something, especially a text book, is scary.  I don't know if it's the frustration of not remembering or understanding the sentence I just read or what the reasons are. 

I remember when I first picked up the manual for learning Air Brakes and sitting in the backyard in the shade and reading the first paragraph.  Like, six times.  Maybe more and not comprehending or remembering a single word that I'd just read... Six times.  Maybe more.  All this before I bounced my head off the pavement, further depriving myself of mental retention.  Six times, maybe more, and it took me close to an hour before I finally gave up and tossed the books aside.  I've only recently found the manual, when I cleaned out my computer room where, incidentally, I'm currently writing this drivel. 

I spoke with some fine gentlemen, yesterday, who suggested that I watch some YouTube videos.  That everything I need to know for the written and visual exams at SGI (Saskatchewan Government Insurance).  That sounds promising.  I can set aside the cat and dog videos or watching Mike Finnegan f*ck with all his cars, long enough to learn something.

That's the only way I can learn things, is visually, not from reading.  Reading is my mortal enemy, which seems ironic, when you consider how much I enjoy writing.  Believe me, the irony is not lost on this guy, but like the song goes, "I'm a walking contradiction."  Can't read for shit, but I can write halfway decent.  Plus, I don't really compose as much as I simply type out the conversation I'm having in my head with an invisible audience.

I wonder what ever happen to Ruth, that girl from grade school.  What did she end up doing with that brilliant beautiful brain of hers.  I hope all that knowledge never went to waste.  That she's holed up somewhere, searching for the cure to cancer or why people love cat videos so much?  I'm just kidding on that last one, but I hope she's sharing her knowledge and intelligence with the world.  It'd be a shame for us all to lose that spark she had.