Road Trippin'

There's something about burning the midnight oil that gets the ol' creative juices flowing and yields another post up in hurr. I have no idea what it is about being bleary-eyed and semi-conscious that leads to my best work but let's not question that for now... (the bleary-eyedness kids. Not whether or not this can be considered anyone's 'best work'...).

Come to think of it, maybe it has something to do with the fact that only between midnight and 4 a.m. do I get to talk to my sis Sarah in Wales...? It's time to come clean y'all - this is a team effort. Try not to be disappointed that I've been living a lie this long but I sure as heck couldn't dig up fabled Meek legends without her help. She deserves some cred and plus, I like to think of us as a team... not unlike early '90s pop superstars Milli Vanilli. Just like them. Except minus the hair, parachute pants, and lack of musical talent (anyone that has been fortunate enough to hear Sarah belt out the 'More More More' jingle can attest to that one...). Where am I going with this one? I don't know. What I do know is that I felt she was worthy of at least some sort of shout-out... and if you notice this post is a little (or a lot) less interesting than usual, blame her since she's MIA. How's that for logic.

Moving on.

So my 4 glorious (interesting might have been a better word choice) years in Phoenix at the fine institution of Arizona State University are finally coming to an end. As this chapter of my life draws to a close, I'm led to thoughts about future plans. Not too far into the future, mind you, but mostly deeper, pressing questions like, Do I bother changing my Facebook network once I graduate, Is it wrong to fake illness to avoid having to donate as an ASU alum, What the freak are my summer plans... etc. You get the picture. The last question primarily occupies my thinking since I think I've finally decided on the first two (respectively: yes and probably, but it depends on how often they try to rope me in).

Anyway, this summer ought to be a complete gong show since Sarah's coming over and we'll be teaching volleyball to a plethora of impressionable youngins across the Northwest for the entire month of July (expect an abundance of blog material). That isn't actually what will be all that fun, but it's the hours of driving between each city which will inevitably lead to hilarity/disaster. My money's on the latter.

The reason for this prediction is because we'll say my family has quite the history with cars, and let's be real, a road trip just isn't a road trip without the car breaking down at least twice in the middle of nowhere, right? Right? Uh, right...? Oh wait, that only happens with the Meeks. Probably because, let's be honest again, 36 hour drives also only happen with the Meeks. I will concede that trips of that length aren't totally unreasonable to Canadians however what IS totally unreasonable is to undertake such a venture in a 17-year-old VW Vanagon...
With 5 kids.
And no air-conditioning.
Through the Nevada desert.
In mid-July.
That's no joke. And yes, of course the van broke down. And yes, it sucked. You might laugh but I'm pretty sure I just cried a single tear.

Anyway, here's to hoping nothing quiiiiite of that magnitude happens. If we do have car troubles, I'd rather it be a little along the lines of some of the other classic Meek breakdowns... Since there have been so many (by some estimates, we've broken the 30 mark), they can be categorized by severity... A sort of breakdown rating system, if you will. For example, say your '86 VW Golf dies in the middle of the street with your 86-year-old Granny riding shotgun... That' s a category 3 breakdown because it's embarrassing, but not overly dangerous. Or maybe the VW family Vanagon breaks down in the middle of snowy rural Alberta, with 3 middle-aged women left to hitchhike into town for help. That's a solid category 4 because while you might be used to it, this kind of breakdown involves rookies unfamiliar with a situation such as this.

Then again, things could always take a turn for the worse and could be something like the mother of all breakdowns when yet another Meek family van, this one we affectionately referred to as The Toaster Box (perhaps too appropriate a foreshadow), lit itself AFLAME and burned to a crispy pile of ashes on the side of the highway while my brother and his band were on their way to a high school gig... Thanks to the retired couple on their way to Alaska for the shot of the carnage.

Before

After

(Click for a zoomed-in shot, and YES, that shot is legit of the van on that fateful day)

My dad's first words upon hearing about it? "That van was practically brand new!" That's the breakdown that freakin' blew the rating system out of the water. But that's a story for another day...

What really inspired this kind of thinking was my mom's latest road trip down to Utah a few weeks ago. Let me just say this was another breakdown story for the record books y'all. A reeeeeeeal category 5. Dearest Helen and her good friend Janae were driving home from a short vacay down to the promised land in another luxurious family vehicle, this time rollin' deep in a 1990 turbo diesel VW Jetta.

Summary:
Janae is driving away through the rugged countryside of southern Montana when suddenly the seat warmers activate and become unbearably hot. Needless to say, her bum was being warmed beyond a comfortable level. At the same time, the windshield wipers spontaneously fire start flying across a bone-dry windshield at triple-time speed. "Helen, I think something is going on..." The two lovely ladies pull over and pop the hood, my mom experienced in all things breakdown at this point in her life. The battery is STEAMING and has battery acid down the side, so for the time being my mom decides against pouring her water bottle over it to cool it off. Instead, she pulls out the ol' toolbox and starts tinkering with the fan belt. Actually, they call a towtruck because, miracle of all miracles, they happen to have Janae's cell phone. (Ironically, the ONLY family I know that has as many cars break down as mine is also the only family that has never had a cell phone of any kind...).

The tow truck driver rolls up and informs then that the only way electrical problems of this nature could have come up would be because the alternator is also shot. Unfortunately, there's not one in town and it can't be ordered in for at least a few days... Fortunately, determined to get my mom and friend on their way, this guy also happened to be the nicest and most ingenious man alive and spent the next 20 minutes rigging up a makeshift wiring system - running a wire from the battery, along the side of car and in through the driver door to some sort of switch he fashioned out some old gum and a spare paperclip (ok I don't know what the switch was made of, but I swear it's all true up to here). He instructs the ladies to flip the switch once per hour for about 10 mins to cause some sort of power surge and then flip it off the rest of the time so the car doesn't just straight explode. They thank him profusely and are on their way.

Everything's all gravy until a couple hours down the road, it's getting dark and it starts to snow... What to do?! Explicit instructions were given NOT to use anything that would drain extra power... That means no using the heater, radio and other non-essentials like lights and windshield wipers. Unfortunately, it soon becomes obvious that pulling over every 5 minutes to clean off the windshield is becoming a problem. Not because they're making bad time but because my mom is running out of supplies. The paper towel, napkins and old socks are LONG gone and she's now resorted to stealing the tissue paper out of a gift intended for my Grandma. They decide to fire up the wipers and turn on the lights. Sure enough, a short time later, the old beast rumbles to a halt.

They decide to abandon the car and grab a rental car to hopefully make it home sometime before the end of 2008. While Helen and Janae wait for a tow truck, they call the local Budget and arrange to pick up the most minimal Econo Car the place has. 15 minutes later, they roll up to find themselves outfitted with this:


That ain't no Econo nothin'. A 2008 Mitsubishi Eclipse? My mom's never driven anything but cars born before I was and all of a sudden she's behind of the wheel of that slick driving machine. Needless to say, Helen was a little overwhelmed but they were rollin' in style for the rest of the trip. Fully functional ENGINE, let alone windshield wipers, seat warmers, lights, and heat? Yes, please.

Now, as usual, this is getting a little long but I thought I'd share one last piece of wisdom, a short tutorial of sorts...

How To Start A Vehicle At The Meek house

You get in the unlocked car and try in vain to turn the engine over but it just won't start (doesn't have the juice it used to when it was fresh back in '84). For my siblings and I, this part of the process is a given so we don't even get so much as a quickened heartbeat... Meanwhile the friend privileged to be riding shotgun in one of these fiiiine pieces of machinery is already white knuckled and breathing out of a paper sac... Anyways, for those experienced in the ways of a reluctant car-start it's:

STEP 1: Turn the key and hold it. This is of course for show, and will inevitably yield nothing on the first try...
STEP 2: Turn the key again and at the same time, PUMP THE GAS with all your might. It's important to note that it IS necessary to do it like my mom and take your foot WAY off the gas pedal, then slam it back down to the floor over and over.
Then it usually starts. But then dies again... and the fun doesn't end here.
STEP 3: Repeat steps 1 and 2... if it still won't start, recruit the local neighbour kids to push start the car while you SLAM your foot on the gas once again so the engine revs to approx. 5000 RPMs and is one second from burning the engine out. Then proceed on your journey as normal.

Adventures In Online Stalking, Vol. 1

So while engaging in another one of my favourite late night sleep-wasting activities - looking at people's photos on Facebook - I came to notice some very (insert adjective of choice) trends among the hundreds of albums I'm ashamed to admit I've perused since the advent of the site.



Now before continuing, I felt I needed to compose some sort of short disclaimer:

I am aware that after reading this post, those of you that are friends with me on said website will now probably go back and scrupulously pore over the photos I've posted in the 3 glorious years since I joined the Book of Faces. So, just in case anyone is wondering if I am putting myself on some sort of pedestal in writing this, please please know - I AM. Just kidding. Actually, what you will likely find is that I'm guilty of probably at least most of these crimes and that's what makes this list that much funnier to me. Further, like I've said before, this blog is probably at least 50% for my own entertainment (again, joking. Ok, maybe not entirely...). So if you find a picture(s) that indict me, comment away! It'll make it easier for me to find the incriminating pictures so I can be sure to un-tag myself...

I like to call this The 10 Commandments of Effective Facebook Albums (yes, it needs work... and there aren't 10):

#1. The Self-Portrait/Photoshoot Album
This album can often be pretty easily identified by the title, which is usually something along the lines of either "bored", "moi photoshoot" or "another rainy tuesday in october". It basically consists of the subject taking a minimum of 15, and sometimes up to 70, self-pictures in different poses. The repertoire usually includes, but is not limited to: their best smile (x3), the provocative stare, the pensive thinker, the artsy shot, the sexy/kissy face, and the suburban gangster. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for the self-shot in SOME circumstances. Because I have ridiculously disproportioned arms, I often get called on to put these go-go-gadget-limbs to use to take pictures of me and a group of friends when nobody else will do it for us.
However, the key difference here is the presence of others. I'm even for a self-shot sprinkled in here and there with normal pictures, but PLEASE people, an entire album of your solo Zoolander impressions isn't fooling anyone... Your "boredom" didn't just create a 67-pictures-long ode to your face on its own...


#2 - The Never Ending Album
This album is instantly recognizable when you realize you just opened a barrel of monkeys that could take several hours to look at. (What does that mean? Even I don't know...) This type of album always contains something like 3248 photos and includes multiple shots that appear to be identical. However, on closer inspection it becomes clear, that YES, that dolphin you're swimming with has successively swum 3 feet further between pictures 3 and 9... And don't think it wasn't imperative to include each and every one of little cousin Rusty's Christmas expressions. While pictures of the surprise that he got a GI joe, the elation that there is silly putty in his stocking, the anger that he has to wait in line for the next present, and finally the crying from too much Christmas sugar IS very cute, 11 detailed shots of each emotion miiiight not be necessary. Then again, maybe that's just me.

Note: this commandment doesn't apply if the subject of the never ending album is YOUR granddaughter/nephew (not that I'm biased). In that case, more is never enough.

Moving right along, the Never Ending Album is also often a key characteristic of...

#3 - History-of-My-Last-2-Years Album
Actually, this type of album can often be a pleasant surprise when it's created by a good friend you haven't heard from for a while. You'd been wondering what they're up to and this album can serve as a quick overview of missed time. However, this doesn't change the fact that this album is often difficult to follow and can leave you quite confused as to the space/time order of shots posted. It can also have you wondering if it's actually the same person in all the pictures. This confusion is only exacerbated by the fact that there are usually no captions, so you're left to fill in the blanks entirely on your own. This can also sometimes make for quite a comical run-through, as you might make some surprising discoveries while perusing this album. Discoveries such as, since you heard from her last, your friend has married and moved to rural Saskatchewan to pursue her dream of becoming a pro bass fisherman... Guess you weren't as close as you thought.

#4 - "Come and See How Good I Look" Album
At first glance, this album might seem identical to the self-portrait album, but this isn't the case. The two albums often bear a ressemblance but a key difference is the Come and See How Good I Look album shows the subject with other people and in many diverse settings. This album is often multi-themed has no real common thread besides having the same ONE person look good in many otherwise horrid pictures. Now, let me be the first to say, I am VERY guilty of this one. I won't deny it, but I figure that if I'm posting pictures for the world to see, it's my discretion to put the ones up where I don't look totally snaggletoothed.
It becomes a Come and See How Good I Look album when it becomes glaringly obvious that you chose the pictures where you always look best, with a patent disregard for everyone else in the photo. Nobody is spared. A turned back, food in the teeth, eyes closed, or just otherwise embarassing facial expressions means nothing as long and the person posting the photos looks great. This is especially funny when that person isn't even close to being the main subject/focal point of the picture but somehow finds a way to tag themselves and draw attention to their fabulousness anyway.

Also, this type of album always contains a photo of the person in fabulous sunglasses looking glam.

This brings us to our second-to-last album...

#5 - When the Pimp's in The Club/Look-How-Many-Friends-I-Have Album
Let's start this one out by saying college students are especially guilty of this one. This is an album, or just many MANY individual photos strewn about Facebook, of them (and their girls/boys) at the bar. This is one album I can smugly say I'm not guilty of, but it's an album I definitely see more than any other. For some reason, essentially the same picture taken of you in a different outfit and with different acquaintances on 363 different nights is still supposed to be worthy of posting.
I'm just gonna go out and say it: You members of Greek Life aren't fooling anyone. Nobody has that many friends and you're certainly not friends if you only have 1 picture of them from the Delta Sig Winter Formal last semester. The pictures usually get more and more ridiculous/scandalous/confusing as the album progresses as the person and their crew get more and more debauched. Always a delight. Once posted, this album is also usually flooded with comments such as "OMG that was the best time ever!" and "Umm, I HATE you for looking so cute in that Juicy dress".

Finally, I didn't feel it fair to leave our older Facebook friends out of this list. I've recently noticed a trend of middle-aged (read: OLD) people joining the beloved site in droves. (The day my mom joined, I knew it was the dawning of a new era). For the most part, their photo albums do not follow the above rules but I didn't want them to be left out. So here comes the 6th and final tenet of The 10 Commandments of Effective Facebook Albums....

#6 - Anyone But Me Album
Strangely, the self-obsession that tragically traps so many in their youth seems to completely reverse with age. Old people's albums tend to be sparse, at best containing as many as 9 pictures but usually something like 4. (Then again, I don't hold this against them as they've only just learn to harness the power of technology and use the "world wide web"). These are mostly pictures of their children/yard/dog/parakeet (in that order) but you might be lucky and stumble on a gem or two where said old person is actually in the photo. Curiously, they will be visible from only the neck up and the picture will have a familiar aged, grainy quality due to the fact that it was actually taken in 1992.

Note: My mother is the exception to this. She unabashedly posts more ridiculous photos than anyone I know:

She provides enough content for an entire blog of her own. Love ya Helen.

So there it is. I'd try to think of a better way to end this but I'm tired. That and I've got some great pictures of myself I've got to get posted. Trying to wittle down my collection to follow all the rules of the above protocol from now on is gonna be tough... I already know my suburban gangster look needs some work.

Betrayal of the Banana Board

Get Yo' Ride On

Welp, here we go again.

Less than 24 hrs later, I find myself back here. Bloodshot and tired. Nothing more than "a desperate fool at the end of his pitiful rope" (extra points to whoever knows what movie that's from).

I was trying to think of something exciting to write about since, let's be honest, my whole prediction that life would take a turn for the epic has yet to be realized. While talking to my lovely sister Sarah, I was convinced to wax poetic about one of my finer moments in recent months... let's call it Longboard Disaster 2008. (And yes, the 2008 is necessary. It makes everything sound more epic).

Before describing this episode, I should like to provide a brief context, a.k.a my history with skateboards, in which the story can better be understood.

Growing up in the sprawling urban metropolis of Sherwood Park, Alberta, Canada, my connection with all things cool began at a young age. I have vivid memories of attempting to learn to ride a skateboard on the ol' family banana board. Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with this fine piece of engineering, let me break it down fo' ya. It's basically this:

+

=

I know what you're thinking... Potassium-rich fruit? Polycarbon decks? What? How?

Well, let me tell you, it all comes together in a beautiful mash-up in the form of most beautiful extreme sports equipment. And the Meek family was fortunate to be the sole proprietors of one such gem in our little neighborhood. (Nevermind my parents probably acquired it at A) a garage sale, or B) from someone's curb on Garbage Day. We're talking pre-loved VINTAGE.)

Now, while it's quite something to behold - slick yellow plastic, clear amber wheels - let me be the first to say its steering mechanism left something to be desired. And by something, I mean the steering mechanism in its entirety was desired... There pretty much wasn't one.

This was a particularly cruel joke when you put a 7-year old who has scarcely acquired the ability to balance on solid ground let alone on something merely 6-inches in width. My siblings and I spent the early stages of "riding" (ok, we never got past the 'early stage') just trying to stay on the thing. Steering, had it been brought into the picture, would've been out of the question. Let me paint a little picture... Something of a childhood memory, if you will:

Perfect summer's afternoon, ideal weather for banana boarding (banana-ing? banoarding?). With the neighbourhood crew (a.k.a your little brother, and the gray cat that lives under the raspberry bushes in the backyard) loyally observing, you head outside and hop aboard. It's a tentative start down the driveway but so far so good. Down the slope. Still feelin' it. Easy. Pickin' up some speed. Eeeeasy... You hear the opening lines of the Chariots of Fire theme song playing in the distance. It's at this moment, at the very pinnacle of achievement in your young life, that a cruel trap in the form of a rusty '86 VW parked at the end of the driveway begins to come into focus. Directly following this observation, the idea avoiding the car crops up for the first time in your little head...

So you start to lean. A little tentative at first, then a little harder. Nothing happens... You're really leaning now. Doing your best high-speed-weight-shift. Still nothing... You're now throwing all 6o pounds of your spry young self desperately to one side of the stupid yellow board trying to avoid the inevitable... but it's like this board is dead-set on a literal crash course with disaster. And then it happens. Slam. Feet go out, skateboard FLINGS aross the cul-de-sac and up the neighbour's driveway... The relationship you spent many a summer day cultivating with the precious banana board just came to a painful end. You're now cultivating a new relationship, one characterized by band-aids and the growing of a new left knee.

Maybe this is a memory only I have, but I DARE you to try to tell me you don't know someone who has experienced something similar to this. I firmly believe it was because of this introduction to skateboarding that I was tainted for life. I've had this deep, abiding fear of it ever since but this past January I decided to throw caution to the wind and climb back aboard.

Big mistake.

I briefly had visions of cruising about town on a low rider (I don't even know what that means but I like the sound of it...) wind blowing through my hair, the familiar 'clackclack-clackclack-clackclack' sound of skateboard wheels ringing in my ears. This daydream culminated in my suavely jumping off my board outside the nearest Mac's where I'd stomp on the end, fling the board up into my hand and stroll inside for a cold refreshing Slurpee...

Reality check: I'm laying in the bushes on the side of some dark random street in east Mesa, wondering what the f just happened. (Here's where Longboard Disaster 2008 comes screaming back into the story). Since this is getting long and wordy, I'll let the video and pictures below say the rest. But I'll leave it at this: keep skateboards, longboards, banana boards... heck, anything with tiny wheels and grip tape FAR away from me for a while. A long while. I'm gonna need some time to a grow another new left knee...

I like to call this one "The Crew". Or more aptly, "The Calm Before the Storm"

It's all fun and games 'til someone loses a chin...

The end of perfectly good jeans...
I look like I just climbed out of a mine-shaft.

Making war-wounds look like child's play...
Let my pain be a lesson to you all...
That and get the dang camera out of my face.
Photo diary: OVER.

I'm Everything I've Ever Hated...

I've finally gone and done it.

I've created a blog.

It's something I said I'd absolutely never do. And yet somehow, here I am. Or rather here you are if you're reading this...

The first question I had to ask myself is why on earth am I doing this? At first, I liked to think it was for a noble purpose - I could raise awareness for some valiant cause. I could post my praise of all things great. Unfortunately, the more I thought about it the reasons became less and less noble... I would improve my writing? Get less sleep? Let curious loved-ones know what I'm up to? Waste even more time checking WhiskeyMilitia on my otherwise crap computer? Frankly, these reasons sucked and they only got worse as time went on...

To get to the bottom of this seemingly ridiculous new idea, I thought about what I generally hate about blogs in the first place. First off, I always wondered, Who do you think cares so much about what you ate for breakfast or Why you hate the Counting Crows? The boring monotony of day-to-day life seems hardly worth romanticizing online for millions (or in this case, seven heck maybe eight on a good day) people to read. I don't even like keeping a journal for the embarrasing entries that years later inevitably make you think, "what the @!%^ was I thinking when I wrote this?!". It was at this point in my pondering that it occured to me that I do have a few blogs I read and find entertaining/enjoyable. Maybe, I thought, the very creation of a blog inherently makes life more interesting. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy! Life gets better by virtue of my wasting time to write about it!

But alas, no. That wasn't it.

Upon further examination, I came to the sad sorry conclusion that I just really liked the idea of having an entire corner of the internet devoted solely to moi. Never mind that I was the author and finisher of said pathetic little page. The idea that there could finally be something out there with the sole purpose exploring the intricacies of yours truly was too tantalizing (and this is where most of you will stop reading...). I've always liked to envision myself as a simpleton. Humble. Docile. Gentle. I aspire to one day be most aptly described by the mother of all adjectives - self-effacing. Heck, my own freakin' NAME is Meek. But at the end of the day, I'm really more accurately described as a narcissist. I realized the real reason this blog exists is pure, unadulterated self-adoration.

And there it is.

Maybe the whole reason I always shunned the idea of a blog is to help in the repression of that painful fact. Or maybe I was just too lazy. Either way, here it is in all its shining glory. I'd like to think this post hopefully isn't both the first and the last, but only time will tell. I'd also like to hope even harder that someone sometime will actually read this...

Either way, I still win.