Dinosaurs RULE!

This evening I went to MTS Centre to watch 'Walking With Dinosaurs'. It. Was. Awesome. Hosted by some dude dressed like a paleontologist, the show is based upon a BBC series of the same name that was released at least a decade ago (I have a DVD of it laying around somewhere). While there is an educational component to the "arena spectacular", the reason most people attend is to be entranced by the life-size animatronic dino recreations. They did not disappoint. For the show's two hour duration, it felt like Jurassic Park had come to life in downtown Winnipeg and for once the oldest creature in our midst wasn't Harvey Smith. 

From pea-brained Stegosaurus to the absolutely ginormous Brachiosaur to the cunning clique of Utahraptors, the event included a wide variety of Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous beasts. Tyrannosaurus Rex was, of course, the rock star of the evening and closed the show. As it let out a final menacing roar directed at the audience, I heard more than a few young children in attendance cry in terror. Who could blame them? The species had to be pretty badass to still be considered the most fearful carnivore of all time, millions of years after extinction. I doubt the lion or Mickey Rourke will share that fate.

All in all, I give Walking With Dinosaurs 5 out of 5. If you don't have plans this weekend, I highly, HIGHLY recommend checking it out (the engagement at MTS Centre ends Sunday, July 19); tickets start at only $22.50. For more information, click here.  

Don't Bother to Knock (or Call)

Telemarketing. Spam. Is there anything more annoying? Well, possibly (most children, self-righteous bloggers, etc., etc.)...but for this post I would like to exclusively rant about vexatious marketing tactics.

First up, the dreaded telemarketer. I signed up for Canada's Do-Not-Call list the moment it became possible, applauding the government's efforts to ensure that my dinner/nap time went by uninterrupted. While I still receive the odd-call here and there, I have noticed a difference (however slight). Today, however, brought me to my wit's end. I received a call on behalf of a charity. I am not a coldhearted person (my heart is slate, not black), but I was not interested and politely requested my name be taken off their list. The telemarketer told me they wouldn't do that. I asked again and was once again shot down. I reminded this psychohosebeast telemarketer of my rights as a phone owner (or something) and requested to speak to upper management. At this point, the line disconnected. In my efforts to trace the origin of this particular call, I learned that I could take legal action against the offending company...but blasting Megadeath into the receiver at volume 11 the next time they call would probably be more fulfilling. 

My secret shame is that I once worked for a telemarketing firm. My excuse (né apology) is that I was 18 - young, dumb and full of rum - without the post-secondary education that would lead to my higher calling of, er, a more respectable form of advertising. I witnessed firsthand how devolved and deceitful the world of phone solicitation can be. I lasted less than three months in that soul-sucking atmosphere but was scarred for life. 

Now onto spam. The number of supposedly reputable companies that have been spamming me over the past while has increased ten-fold. Rexall/Pharmaplus, a pharmaceutical chain I haven't even entered in about a decade, sends me weekly newsletters. Apple added me to their espanol mailing list without consent. I purchased a couple Minnesota Twins tickets two years ago, and Ticketmaster has taken it upon themselves to sell my address to every sport team in the state. The annoying thing is, no matter how many times I unsubscribe, my inbox remains burdened by their waste. Jeez, even the President of Ghana/Zambia/Djibouti isn't this persistent in his efforts to locate a trustworthy foreigner to transfer his wealth. 

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da

A few years ago, I designed a family history book for a client. It was a greatly intriguing project that piqued my curiosity to learn more about my own deep ancestral background. I'm only too well-aware of the eccentricities that lie within the living generations of my family (I shan't mention uncle Amos and his unhealthy fixation on Lego people), but what of the past? The rose-tinted hue of legend? Were we kings? Slaves? Or meekly middle class, just as today? My initial exploration has been rather surprising. 

As part of my research, I took a DNA test administered by the National Geographic Genographic Project. For roughly $100.00 U.S., you can trace your lineage back thousands of years. My paternal side has always been well-documented. My Englishness has never been questionable: I bleed Earl Grey, can queue like a motherf**ker, and always remain stoic in the face of adversity or malodorous flatulence. The results from the DNA test simply reiterated this. While the "Clague" surname is rarely referenced in historical tomes, you can thank us for indirectly inspiring one of the greatest musicians to ever walk the earth...in 1958, an Eric Clague's vehicular ineptitude resulted in the untimely death of the mother of John Lennon. 

My maternal side has always been mysterious; my great-grandparents are French Canadian, but beyond their settlement in Québec decades ago, not much is known in regards to historical migratory patterns. The DNA test concluded that my genes are distinctly (*drumroll*)...middle eastern! Bring on the fried kibbeh!!! This would be the first I heard of it, but upon comparing my olive-y skin tone and my mother's propensity for wearing black eyeliner, I can see where genetics come into play. If one of my distant relatives influenced the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, then you can thank me directly for the phenomenon known simply as "The Beatles".

Music Makes People Come Together

It's become cliché to say at this point but a part of me died yesterday. Over the past 24 hours, I've been reflecting on how important music is in my life. How it provides inspiration. How it provides education. It's amazing how songs have the power to change one's perspective or mood - how often has a stroke of lyrical genius revolutionized a generation? Or, on a more personal level, how often has loneliness crept into our hearts, only to be banished by a distant voice coming out of the radio offering reassurance (or perhaps reason)? How often are our greatest memories defined by the soundtrack of our times?

As I mentioned previously, some of my earliest memories involve Michael Jackson. He was the first entertainer I appreciated without bias from peers. His music moved me...literally. I can vividly recall my 3-year-old self dancing around the living room to the truly epic "Thriller" LP. Even though I had two left feet, I desperately attempted to mimic every move from the "Beat It" video. I never did master its choreography, but I can muster a passable moonwalk. Maybe. Its success is dependent on wind direction, time of day and whether or not I ate an egg for breakfast. 

As his curious personal life became increasingly scandalous (overshadowing any musical output), Michael's influence on my CD collection waned. His sister Janet became the person I fashioned myself after. Regardless, I remember the buzz my classmates and I had after the 1993 Oprah interview. We finally were granted a glimpse inside well-fabled Neverland - The rides! The games!! The llamas!!! It was glorious and it was all we could talk about for a month. Juxtaposed to his 2003 interview with Martin Bashir, the decline of health and wealth is absolutely heartbreaking.  

I took my dog for a walk today and Michael's music blared from nearly every vehicle driving past. Then I came home and watched as thousands of people gathered at makeshift memorials while singing and dancing to those same tunes. It's made me realize that music is not simply an extension of language, but rather something entirely separate from it. It is biologically tied to a primal need for community. And within these songs, these silly little pop songs, a lot of us found that. I did. The unity with which I observe people celebrating Michael's life proves that pop culture is not low-brow. What other form of artistry can unite people on such a mass scale, regardless of colour, culture or creed? Music is the thread that makes people come together.

:(

This is my kindergarten school photo. Yes, I am wearing a "Thriller" dress. I also owned, at the time, one sequined glove and a miniature red leather jacket. I'm not even making this up...I was hardcore. Michael Jackson was my childhood. Watching current news reports, I must say, regardless of the circus his life has become, I would be saddened if anything happened to him. 

EDIT: I am saddened. 

Tada!

Finally - After months of hard work (or perhaps a bit too much slacking), my new website is LIVE! Feel free to explore: the blog will remain and galleries will be updated periodically with new work. Of course, this post wouldn't be complete without a shameless plug, so if you are in need of help with any design projects, drop me a line at "artist @ debclague.com" (no spaces).