I Swear I Won't Let 2014 Become 2012

By that, of course, I mean contend for the title of ''worst year of my life''. It's not too late to jump off the train and head somewhere else, and I guess that starts in early April, when I move yet again (this time, solo).

It won't be easy, especially financially, but it needs to be made.

It's unfortunate that the people who treat me the best are so far away (Calgary, Banff, Mexico, NYC) and I feel disconnected and taken advantage of and double-crossed a lot in this City I feel less and less at home in, but am legally bound to remain in until what is now June 2015 (part of my new lease... on life?), though there are ways around that.

You kind of have to feel dumb following the advice of an internet meme, but for the second time in little more than a year:

And when I realized I did, I fucked the hell off. No more being sucked in, no more innocent-bystander shit ruining my health and life.

Live-Blogging A Triple-Tooth Extraction

It's been a surreal week so far, with only one day of work, a death in the extended family, and an appointment to extract teeth - I didn't know until the last minute if it'd consist of one, two or three leaving my mouth. Turns out I went for three, all top-left, all in the back (starting with the molar, we're letting my wisdom tooth grow).

My appointment was originally for 7:30 PM on Thursday, but they called me on Tuesday to postpone it to 8PM. Here's how it went:

5:15 PM - They call me, asking me to come in earlier. They offer 6:30 PM, but that's too early and there's no way I'd be able to make it in time; we settle for 7 PM.

5:45 PM - I leave the house. I know for a fact that I won't be able to eat for 24 or 48 hours after the act, so I stop by McDonald's for a quick, unsatisfying bite. I take a third-pound angus burger, but forgo taking the trio (drink and fries) for the extra $3 because it's a rip-off. And I don't feel like spending over $10 on a McD's meal.

6 PM - I get on the subway.

6:20 PM - off the subway, wait for the bus, that's 20 minutes away.

6:25 PM - I get thirsty and start looking for a convenience store, but there are none in sight. I settle for a bowling alley, and buy a $3 (can't make that shit up) small bottle of 7Up. Should have taken the fucking meal, I would have had more to drink...

7 PM - I get to the dentist's.

7:05 PM - I'm sitting in the chair, getting my shots of anesthetic.

9 PM - I'm done. A quick stop at a pharmacy for painkillers (percocet!) and my dad drives me home.

9:10 PM - I take my meds and watch TV.

MIDNIGHT (Friday morning) - I start feeling pressure on my teeth - a bit in the hole where my old teeth used to be, kind of the same pain as the toothaches I used to have - but I also feel something in my front teeth, I guess she was pressing against them for leverage in taking the other ones out, but now those were annoying me. I guess the anesthetic has worn off.

3 AM - Time for bed.

6 AM - An incredible thirst comes over me, so I get up to chug a liter of mineral water. Then back to bed. Can't sleep. Fuck.

9 AM - Pill time. I get up, with just a minimal amount of pain in my face, less than a toothache, more like the pain you get when you have a small cavity. This could be less bad than I'd heard. Back to bed for what should be a couple of hours. Waking up at noon would make sense.

3 PM - Drowsy, but feel I should get up, if only to take my anti-inflammatory meds. Decide to order wonton soup to go along with it. Great fucking idea, I rule. Let's watch La Galère with the Former Lady Of The House.

4 PM - I've had enough of that show, would rather play Civilization.

6 PM - Feel drowsy again, I'll nap a while.

9 PM - Up in time for meds and supper. I'll have garlic-and-herbs pasta (I'm tired of tomato-based sauces for the time being). Will watch Family Guy (Season 10).

11 PM - tired, off to bed.

3 AM (Saturday Morning) - Jesus Christ. The place where my teeth used to be hurts, similar to a tooth ache, except without the physical presence. Is it all in my mind? Also, the left side of my face has swelled and feels the same as having an abscess, except I don't have one, I'd feel it with my tongue, and I don't. On the plus side, it's time for my meds.

3:30 AM - Can't fall back asleep, although the pain has subsided a bit. It's definitely tolerable, in any case, so I guess I'll play Civilization until I can go back to sleep.

9 AM - Shit, time for more meds. I guess I should try to get back to bed.

2 PM - Woke up drowsy, but it'd be a shame to waste the whole day in bed, so  I'll get up. I'll make myself some shitty McCain tiny pizzas for lunch, they'll be ready for meds-time (3PM). I guess I should clean up a bit, too. I'll start with vacuuming the hall and living room.

How Music Is Made

Legendary guitarist Johnny Marr (of The Smiths and Gorillaz fame) has specific ideas on what makes music innovative, which he shared in an op-ed piece for Independent.ie, which was culled from a lecture he gave.

He makes quite a few valid points, but his conclusion seems to have hit many things on the head:

That's the first rule of thumb for any artist. If your friends like it, then you're on the right track. The second rule of thumb is that if you're going to follow the first rule, then you'd better make sure that your friends have got pretty good taste, or else you're scuppered. And I suppose the third rule of thumb is to make sure that none of your friends work for insider record companies. I know you can be mavericks within the music industry. I don't want to say you have to do this, you must do that, the gospel according to me is... What I mean is that all the greats did it from the outside. And that's a very, very inspiring thing. We live in an age of such conformity and uniformity and stifling conservatism. I don't know how that happened, but we do. This idea of the outsider has to be identified and celebrated, cherished, encouraged and theorised over. I want to see more people, and I know there are people, waiting to be like those I have described: the McLarens, the Oldhams and the Lydons.

To finish, the title, (Lou Reed's) "Walk on the Wild Side", came from the 1956 novel by Nelson Algren, A Walk on the Wild Side. Algren said of his book, "[it] asks why lost people develop into greater human beings than those who have never been lost in their whole lives." That song explains it all, that title explains it all – it might as well have been called "Walk on the Wild Outside".

 My friends have impeccable taste: they keep inviting me to play at their shows and fundraisers, they start bands with me - both of original material and covers... and I honestly love what they do as well. It seems we keep raising the bar for ourselves, amongst ourselves. And some people take notice, which is also cool.

Chew Through Pain

Apparently, getting a tattoo removed is so painful you need a mouthguard to chew on to deter from the pain. Well, Megan Fox does, anyway.

Then again, I suspect she also has to find a way to numb the pain of being married to Beverly Hills, 90210 alumni and ''DJ'' Brian Austin Green...

I Burnt Myself

I have a love/hate relationship with ovens...

Sure, they cook some of my meals (although I prefer cooking in a wok), but I'm also one of the clumsiest humans ever to walk this planet, so they're also a great source of pain to me.

I won't get into great detail as to why it's not safe to cook meals naked when you're a man - even if you're only using the stove top and a pan, the metal from the oven still stings and burns when your manhood makes contact - and will instead concentrate on my latest feat: burning a perfect rectangle on the inside of my left forearm.

I was making garlic and rosemary calamari, and BBQ-flavoured chicken strips; I'd already turned them over once and was pretty much ready to take them out of the oven when, as I bent over, my forearm must've touched the oven's door on the inside... the pain was instant and excruciating, but because I can handle most levels of hurt, I guess it didn't show at first.

The Lady Of The House seemed distraught when I walked to the freezer, grabbed some ice cubes and inquired where the plastic Ziploc bags were; her face let on that I was moving at too slow a pace to really be in pain which, it's true, could be misleading.

In any event, the food was terrific, much better than the movie we watched that night, Michael Bay's (apparently) Criterion Collection-worthy unrealistic bore The Rock. Yeah, like the U.S. Army's most-decorated general, three-time Vietnam touring, Gulf-war winning chief of military and a bunch of his closest associates-turned-guerrillas will fall to a lab rat and a single SIS agent who hasn't left his prison cell in 30 years... makes sense.

Then I spent the whole night applying cream to my wound rather than sleeping. Vitamins A and E, aloe, chamomile - three different kinds of cream to make sure it healed... but it didn't. 48 hours later, the perfect rectangle houses swelled skin that looks like a brain.

It stings now - rather than ache or burn - but it also feels like it's stretched-out, for some reason. But I'll survive. This, anyway.