Tag Archives: mcmaster university

Fuck Hater Bitches!

Friends,

Back in early 2010 I was 25 years old, almost a year back from Afghanistan, in my second semester of my third year of university, and dating a really pretty and sweet young girl named Chelsea. Chelsea was 18. We got along well and bonded over our love of the gym. We ended staying together for 5 years -it was a beautiful thing.

This post isn’t about Chelsea; this post is about sticking it to hater-ass bitches.

At this time, 2010, Chelsea was still living on campus in a residence. I would come visit her and often spend the night. Coming by after a certain time however, especially on the weekend, meant that I would have to get signed in. This was typically never a problem but one night I came in a little drunk from a party on a Friday night and hilarity ensued.

What went wrong?

First off, I suppose I looked like a shady defiler of barely legal girls in a vintage red leather jacket holding a couple of peacock feathers; feathers which, even now, I’m not quite sure how I obtained so late in Canadian winter (God, I used to be so cool!). Now at the time I could swear that the jacket made me look like Brad Pitt in Fight Club, but it’s also possible I was delusional.

Yeah, it was definitely the latter.

Second, my attitude probably didn’t help either: I am typically defiant when I need to show identification and the entitled attitude of student volunteers always came off as particularly irksome to me, as I had seen a modicum of authority take otherwise insignificant people for the worst in the military. In any event, the lobby sign-in was being staffed by some sophomore girls and guys who had turned their shift into a party with music and such. The lead girl had gotten quite the case of runaway self-esteem, taking the piss out of people who wanted to get signed in. I had texted Chelsea as I walked up to the building and as it usually took her a moment or two to reach the lobby, I walked over to the table.

The mother hen gazed inquiringly at me.

I gazed back.

She blushed a little, gave me the googly-eyes and then complimented my peacock feathers.

I thanked her and offered her one.

She took it and asked me who I was here to see.

I told her.

She asked to see my ID.

I obliged.

She looked at my ID, then up at me, then at the 1984 birthdate.

“You’re?…twentyyy….”

“Five!” I responded with a benevolent, though drunken grin.

“How old is Chelsea?” she asked.

“18.” I responded, just as good-naturedly.

“You’re …seven years older than her?!

“Awesome, right?”

She turned to her friend and I overheard her expressing concern to her friend that I was 25 and Chelsea was only 18, but just then Chelsea walked up looking as petite and sweet as ever. She smiled at my ridiculous outfit, and also because she knew I was a little drunk and this might have been her first time seeing that.

As Chelsea was a bit of a head-turner, the guys in the group started to take notice of me also. I don’t think they (the dudes) had a problem with me beyond the fact that I was an off-campus interloper coming into their house and having a slumber-party with one of theirs, but the girls were a little indignant.

The mother hen turned to Chelsea: “He’s your guest?”

She acknowledged this was so.

The mother hen screwed her face up a little as I walked by hands up, not guilty, free like OJ all day.

What could she do? I was an invited guest with ID, and a full-time student to boot. I told her to enjoy her feather and I walked past the ‘doorman’, having, to the best of my recollection, a wonderful rest of the evening.

Fuck hater bitches!

Best,
-Dre

Leave a comment

Filed under Blog

Figuring Out What the Hell is Wrong With Me

My Friends,
   Last night I accompanied my woman to her sociology class.  It was called “Canadian Adolescent Issues” and it studied the phenomenon of the teenager.  I use the term “phenomenon” deliberately because the professor described teenagers as a by-product of the schooling system which keeps kids in the edumucation system until they are legally adults.  Anyhow, the topic lectured upon last night was “self-consciousness,” and its actually a lot more complex than I thought.  You see, while kids might get shy and overwhelmed if put up on stage in front of people, it can’t properly be called self-consciousness (SC).  Proper SC requires the knowledge that other people have selves which differ from our own.  Kids think everyone is more or less like them (everyone likes chocolate milk, etc…) and have no concept that people are different consciousnesses.
   As they get older and get a clue not only do they realize that people are different but by association they also reason that people may be (are) judging them.  This matters to them.  A four-year-old has no clue that people might think less of him for his tantrums and if he did he probably wouldn’t care.  A fourteen-year-old on the other hand is the polar opposite, scrutinizing the self which he portrays to the world in depth to the point where it becomes stupid (Would ebony or cobalt mascara make me look deeper and edgier?).
   But I digress.  As the professor continued, one point among all others caught my attention; the double-edged razor of maturity.  In his words, it was good to the extent that it helped people be respectful, and compassionate, but often maturity requires people let go of their justifiable anger in order to conform.  Essentially, if you want to get ahead in this world and become a productive member of society you must, to some extent, resign yourself to the injustice you see but which is integral to how the system works (I call it “selling your soul”).  Herein lies my problem; I haven’t been able to let go of this anger.
   But then my development didn’t follow the model he presented in class.  Unlike the typical teenager he described, I didn’t start to really doubt myself until I was about 18 and I didn’t start to doubt that the world was essentially just until I was 22 or 23.  Now, I can’t stop doubting it.
   Frankly, I know how much this anger affects me; my woman remarks often that I have to let shit go and stop dwelling on things that I can’t change.  For my part I refuse to accept that and get annoyed when someone presumes to tell me that I can’t change things for the better.  My struggle for the longest time has been trying to figure out what I can do to effect the change I want to see and thus far I have been at a loss.  My only idea at this point is that the mindsets of people have to be changed first, because very few believe in a better way.
   I make no secret of the fact that I am an idealist and the way I see it we shouldn’t settle for a world that is “good enough” when we could have the best world possible (it’s the same logic I have with dating and relationships).  So even though it causes me no shortage of pained thoughts and sadness, I hope I never lose my justifiable anger.  It’s the one thing I’ve got.

Stay Thirsty,
-Andre Guantanamo

2 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

You Gotta Swim Before You Can Crawl

My Friends,

   In attempting to re-integrate back into N. American life and ultimately get back to where I was at (or beyond) prior to leaving, I am paying especial attention to my fitness.  It started with wanting to get back down to the weight I was at before I left, but my intention is now to incorporate exercises I typically do not do and see where it takes me on the scale instead.  And not just any exercises; where possible, I want to perform exclusively exercises which mimic natural movements.  I have alluded to this desire previously (“Tenderfooting,” 30 August 2011) when I started training barefoot, but I really want to run with it now.  Call it the primal lifestyle if you will, although that implies a change in diet as well, and I am not looking to completely overhaul what I eat.  For the time being, its all about the exercise.
   Now when it comes to strength-training and muscle-building, doing it like a caveman seems easy enough; lift rocks, climb shit, bash your woman over the head with a weighted club, etc.  Cardio training, for me at least, is a little more problematic.  
   “Why don’t you ride your bike,” you ask?  Well, come winter I only really use my bike for commuting as you never know what condition the trails (where I do my bike cardio) will be in.  And while a muddy, slurry of dirt and melted snow might make for awesome and challenging terrain, I must weigh this potential benefit against the reality of being stranded out in the cold, kilometres away from help if I have any bike breakdown or malfunction.
Or if, ya know, a rock falls on me

   “Why don’t you go for a run,” you ask?  Well, this is what kind of got me into primal exercise mode in the first place; all the running I was doing over the last year with conventional trainers was giving me chronic ankle & foot pain and I was looking to do a conversion to barefoot running.  The problem for me now is that its January and fucking cold.  
   “Why don’t you use the Vibram 5-Finger shoes you’ve been dick-riding hard for the past few months to run ‘barefoot’ in the winter,” you ask?  A good question, and I will have to look into a new pair (the pair I used for going around the world may still be athletes foot infected and they are also a trekking model more than a running model) of those once I start wage-slavery again and have money to spend on shoes.  
   For the time being however I decided that if I wanted a lean “swimmer’s physique,” why not swim (cavemen swam, right?).  I have heard only good things about swimming as exercise but I have always been too lazy to actually bring trunks to the gym and then carry my wet gear back with me.  On top of that, I always just viewed swimming as leisure; I go to the beach or a friend’s pool, float around some, get hammered and that’s it, and its been that way since I was a kid.  But now, with my desire to adopt primal exercises more completely into my lifestyle, I was forced to take another look at swimming as the only viable way to get cardio-training for the time being (it was either swimming or intercourse).
   Today was my first day at the pool and not long after entering the pool I realized with some alarm that I don’t really know how to swim.  Sure I can fake it for a length, but when I start to get winded, any technique I might be aping falls apart, my speed in the water (such as it is) tapers off, and I am sort of left kicking haphazardly in the water trying to stay afloat.  The problem I realized was fundamentals; essentially, I have none.  I don’t know how to stroke, I don’t know how to breathe, I didn’t even know the direction of traffic flow in the pool.
   Still, I toughed it out for half an hour (it might have only been 20 minutes, but it felt long) and I think I completed only 8 full lengths of the pool, with breaks at every end and more than one break mid-length.  While changing, I asked this dude who had been out there and was obviously more experienced than me (goggles, no boardshorts) how to breathe during freestyle stroke.  He said exhale while your face is in the water instead of trying to both exhale and inhale during the brief moment my face comes out of the water every third stroke.  That may seem like a small thing but the implications are mind-boggling; I now await my next trip to the pool eagerly, wanting to employ my new secret weapon: breathing.
   Now I’d be a fool to think that my breathing is the only area I can improve.  ‘Til my rematch with the water I plan on seeing if there are any vids on basic swimming on youtube kind of like I did when I was taking up parkour.  Armed with the experience and wisdom of others plus my own stubbornness I figure it’ll be like a week before I’m Michael Phelpsing out there.
“HYAH! And monkeys might fly out my butt!”
Stay Thirsty,
Andre Guantanamo

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized