Music, specifically strings, was primarily the purview of the geeks. We were an awkward band of over-achievers. Book smart and conscientious. Shiny pennies. So I guess it’s no surprise that we would agree to come together for one last performance.

It’s a Mr Hollands Opus sort of deal. Create a flash mob orchestra to mark our beloved teacher’s final school performance. We’ll overtake the stage as soon as he finishes conducting his current class. (Shhh, it’s a secret) We’ve managed to assemble an orchestra pit that cherry picks across more than 20 years of students. I’ve managed to be convinced to join this ill advised endeavour and for the first time in decades I’ve picked up a viola under the exhortations of “Its like riding a bike!” It’s not.

I’m fortunate that my stand mate is a highschool junior familiar with the piece. While she may give me the occasional stink eye for not bowing in sync – something she’s already admitted to being OCD about – she’s otherwise tolerant of my muddling. At the very least I have not lost the touch of faking it. I’m confident in my superb air bowing technique.

It’s not easy sitting there surrounded by these high school kids. They’re loud and as easily distracted as puppies. Nonetheless, I’m keenly aware they are the ones I’m going to rely on to cover my ass. I’ve got 2 weeks to pull this shit together. Our second practice is this week.

And then Lori died of cancer.

So when one of the group booked themselves in at the Aria for Easter weekend, we all booked. No more reasons why not.

It’s such a different trip than what I’m used to. I ate at restaurants instead of at a poker table. This meant consuming food that required utensils. With 7 of us in tow it was cheaper to travel by limousine. Staying at the Aria I slept under sheets that didn’t feel like they could stand up on their own. Visited the Vegas sign at last. Finally saw a Cirque show. Had an epic, drunken time in old Vegas where we rocked out to an incredible 80′s hair metal cover band (and a street performing tranny). Rented a cabana and lounged poolside.

Lori loved Vegas. One of the crew brought her along as a handful of tiny, stamp sized photographs to be left at the Bellagio fountains, tucked under a seat at Mystere or hidden behind our cabana at the Aria. Maybe that makes her a sentimental litterbug but it acknowledged the fact that this never would have happened if Lori hadn’t been a a part of all our lives.

“Kitchener imports it’s happiness” This from a Deer Ridge native commuting into Waterloo for the ubiquitous hi-tech gig. Happiness as opportunity. While industry takes a dirt nap in town, opportunity abounds in Silicon Valley North. Waterloo is the beacon that puts the region on the map. No one explains the changing fortunes of our two cities better than our own John English in a recent Maclean’s article.

“Kitchener isn’t happy” It’s saddled with a downtown core that intimidates. Still I think it was put best recently that “the fear of crime in downtown Kitchener far outweighs the possibility of crime.” The perception that it’s a downtrodden mess still persists and the majority of people I chatted with were only too happy to dogpile on the beleaguered core. One father will pace his kids at 40 feet in downtown Waterloo while he ushers them off to the Civic square from the parking lot. In downtown Kitchener a strict arms length rule is enforced.

Hey, it’s not all doom and gloom from those that were polled. The Kitchener Rangers are a hometown pride. Victoria Park has a fantastic playground and waterpark for the kids; one that out of towners are often brought to. McClelland Park was also sited as a great spot in town. I am also now consumed by the need to visit Victoria Park’s Winter Wonderland show, painted as some surreal carny exhibit with freakish animatronics with flaking plaster faces, dead eyes and ghoulish smiles miming picturesque holiday scenes guaranteed to haunt my dreams.

Downtown Kitchener still holds a warm place in my heart and I miss the old office on Frederick, a stones throw from Walper Tobacco, a great lunch at the Xhibit Cafe or a quick run down to the Tim Hortons for a mid afternoon Cold Stone Creamery. I may joke about living in the hood of Stanley Park, but at least it’s my hood.

Working behind the scenes you’re expected to go on about how floored you are by the effort that’s put in. Being humbled by the professionalism exhibited. Feeling privileged to be counted among the merry crew. And that’s despite the last minute flake outs, the bubbling tensions, the unrealistic expectations and niggling criticisms. …what can I say, I’m not going to stray too far outside the lines here.

Bitch all you want about waiting for food, the heat and the chaos but remember, these are all volunteers. This isn’t their day jobs, they’re not getting paid, and many had to blow a vacation day just to make this happen.

These volunteers brought unbridled optimism, eager enthusiasm and a relentless pursuit of making it better. Even more important was their capacity to simply do what needed to be done. Someone still needs to man the coat check, guarding the 5 jackets actually worn on a 27 degree March day. Dragging benches and tables, setting up for the next break. Manning the doors so that people aren’t stumbling in mid session. How about being the guy that grabs a garbage bin and empties the trash at the nearby park, stuffed to overflowing after spotting a critical tweet. Pretty awesome.

Things go wrong, mistakes are made and disasters barely averted. Wifi goes out and the registration line backs out to the street with a half hour before curtain. Dinner in a box, the purported speedy alternative, gets bogged down when patrons are faced with making a choice between 10 options. So many hiccups, but like a wedding you can plan and plan but on the big day you just need to roll with the punches. Solutions were found and the show went on.

So like an Academy speech that drags on let me close with some thanks.

From my little world of Logistics let me just say that the entire crew at the Centre in the Square kicks ass. Dwayne Price is The.Fucking.Man. Any success I enjoyed is thanks to his efforts. The crew at Gibson’s Sound and Vision are consummate pros and masters of the zip tie. The KW Art Gallery once again proved how easy they are to work with and I hope you took the opportunity to check out their latest exhibits. And finally thanks to an awesome team that frankly did all the work. We made it!

I’d just gotten Twitter to a manageable level. Lists saved my ass from reading every inane, platitude spewing, gosh shucks, can-do dweeb, peddling empowerment and self actualization between transparent pitches. I should be grateful it hasn’t descended to the miasma of cynicism and vitriol that typifies any YouTube comment stream. How can you not cheer for optimists armed with nice teeth and positive social attitudes? Besides I’m just as guilty, and perhaps even worse, fall under the “Hey! There’s weather outside!” school of asinine ramblings. I’ve just got a bigger thesaurus.

Facebook stalks in the background. It keeps the extended family up to date and has rekindled old friendships. Sure it’s filled with all kinds of puerile, petty dramas and dirty laundry aired for all to see but how else am I going to get all those birthdays straight from people I have only a cursory relationship to?

There’s little crossover between the two and I like that. Twitter gets my non sequiturs and Facebooks gets pics of my kid. The blog is just old school ramblings that no one reads, my Tumblr is off doing God knows what off in the boonies and Google+ languishes in the corner.

And now Pinterest. Interesting in that this hot new internet flavour appeals to the Facebook crowd more than the Twitter early adopters. Maybe it’s the aspirational element that Pinterest and Facebook share. Snippets of dream decor, vacation paradises and pithy quotes. Broad strokes here but moms love it. It’s internet scrapbooking. Great resource for recipes, cleaning tips and crafts but not sure if I see any value in scouring the webs for kick ass kitchen designs I’ll never be able to afford. Maybe I just don’t get it yet. Regardless, like a new year’s gym membership, I’ve signed up and am eager to play along. We’ll see how long this lasts…

Though not entirely useless I guess. I gifted an entire box to a friend’s son in the neighbourhood. I dreamt of such a windfall as a kid myself but never saw it play out without the inclusion of a windowless van down by the river. I’m only dying a little on the inside thinking about his grubby paws folding back the spine and creasing pages on my Claremont era X-Men.

Comics have gained some credibility in the past years with the Dark Knight Returns and Watchmen getting some deserved props, but to be honest, most comics are crap and the continuity is a mess. At this moment Spiderman is dead, or in an alternate universe no longer married to Mary Jane, African-Hispanic Miles Morales, or one of his many clones. Don’t even ask about the X-Men. Still, pretty pictures! And they look fantastic on the iPad!

Now I have an entire comic store at my fingertips without that whiff of condescension when I ask about the latest offering from Jim Lee. Hear about a great indie monthly? Just a click away. Orc Stain, Morning Glories, The Umbrella Academy and The Walking Dead are all absolutely fantastic reads and a great diversion between the more literary tomes crowding my iPad. Do yourself a favor and try one out. Maybe you can’t bring yourself to buy a comic at the Chapters, let alone wander into an actual comic shop – but much like Harlequin romances or Harry Potter erotic fanfic you can indulge in this guilty pleasure with no one being any the wiser.

A year ago I would have dismissed e-reading, defending my love of the written word, the pure joy of having shelves packed with books as a visual testament to my literary tastes. The tactile feel of a good hardcover, the elegance of a deckle edge and the cosy scent of good paper. Why would I give that up for an overly indulgent, mini TV screen that holds my books hostage in some ephemeral library. Even more troubling, these virtual books are tied solely to me, or at least my iTunes profile, to ensure they are not easily “lent” to friends or even passed down to my daughter.

All true, but you know what? I love reading on the iPad!

In the last year I’ve read about 36 e-books. That’s a good 40% more than my usual dead-tree component. I’m reading more now. The beauty of the backlit LED screen is that I can read anywhere. I read with the lights off. No need to crane for a bedside light or huddle next to a lamp on overcast days. Inexplicably awake at 3am? Dash through a chapter without waking the wife.

I’ve enjoyed a ton of new releases. I was previously a trade paperback buyer, avoiding the costs of hardcover. Now, while the hardcover new release sits on the shelf for $30, I can grab the e-book for $12. With the amount of coupons Kobo has afforded me, ranging from an additional 20-30%, I save even more. Room, The Night Circus, Freedom all snatched up while only a few weeks on the bestseller lists. Books like Robopocalypse or Ready Player One are picked up on the strength of some heavy geek cred. These are books I would have long forgotten by the time they’d seen release as trade paperbacks.

I’m getting more diverse in my reading choices now. At the bookstore I’m floored by the sheer choice available to me. There’s the bestsellers – too expensive, maybe one or two possibilities in the newly released paperbacks and then I proceed to get lost in the stacks. There’s the inevitable struggle with how this purchase will fit into my bookshelf. Is it worthy to sit next to my Foster Wallace or Sedaris? Yes, shallow. Bookshelf as aspirational metaphor. Online though I’m free to indulge. Janet Evanovich’s One for the Money seems way too chick lit, McNovel but what the hell – fun read! Autobiography is generally not my thing but Tina Fey’s Bossypants was great! No way Christopher Moore’s Lamb would have made the book cover cut but talk about fantastic!

As bits of data, books suddenly become “crackable”. There’s a host of content floating around the digital ether “free” for the torrenting. .epub and .mobi the new .mp3. Online bookstores appeal to my bent towards instant gratification. Hear about Mindy Kaling’s Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) and wham! Into the library it goes. Love it and I haven’t even told you how awesome comics are on this thing.

This is me getting my poker fix. It’s the annual foray into the heart of Nevada for some Texas Hold-em. That’s the extent of my trip. Despite all it has to offer I’ve yet to partake in anything remotely cultural. No Cirque show, not Penn and Teller, David Copperfield or even Carrot Top. Home to some of the nation’s finest dining, a good number of my meals this trip will be had off the felt. Bites of a reuben between hands, a greasy burger while waiting for the cowboys to land.

Let’s be clear, I’m no great player. I hold my own at our home games but am no more favoured to win than any of our other regulars. Across the table I’m not spying nervous glances sweating my dominant poker chops but outright laughter as my bluff is picked off and I’m sheepishly caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

Back in Vegas I’m getting schooled at the Venetian’s $130 tournament. I’m being broken down with surgical precision. I might as well be playing with my cards face up. The players are completely in my head and it takes them little over an hour to fleece me and kick me to the curb. It’s a wonder to watch, like breaching sharks feeding on hapless seals.

Then there’s the players with more money than sense. I have no idea why they’re sitting at the 1/2 small stakes when, for them, a $20 pre-flop raise is nothing more than a pot sweetener and $60 is a standard continuation bet. When I push with big slick I’m making the right call at the wrong time when their K7 off, two pairs and busts me out. But that’s poker.

That same rule applies when the suited connectors from earlier hits the flush on the river to crush the rockets of the good natured lady to my right in the photo (who made it to the threeway nonetheless). I’m in good tournament position to hit the final table which I manage to convert to a heads-up chop at the MGM. I manage a win the next day at Excalibar and with a couple of cash game sit and go sessions, my trip is completely covered.

It’s a great run this time out despite/because I’m travelling on my own. The usual crew can’t make my schedule and I couldn’t pass this small window of opportunity. Frankly Christina is a saint to even let me go. Not many wife’s would. It’s head clearing. I like the isolation and tinge of self-consciousness that comes with being on my own. Vegas standing in for Walden Pond. When everything is interpreted through the lens of self, every so often it’s good to clean the glass.

Those that did make it out were giddy with anticipation. Several of our seat mates had seen the Toronto production and couldn’t wait to take this ride again. The button down chemistry teacher sitting beside me was already bobbing to Warrant’s Cherry Pie playing over the loudspeakers. I kept waiting for him to throw up the horns and headbang his thinning comb-over. And me? I’m that 80′s kid who spent his formative years on a steady diet of Motley Crue, Def Leppard, and Van Halen. I may not have been a fan of Jefferson Starship, Bon Jovi or REO Speedwagon but you couldn’t escape it back when radio still ruled and they actually played music videos on music TV. Anyone remember Toronto Rocks on CityTV with Jon Majhor?

So Rock of Ages isn’t exactly rife with plot. You’ve got the boy from Detroit and a small-town girl from Kansas chasing their dreams on the Sunset Strip. You know how it goes. It raucous and wild, packed with 80′s era music on a perfectly realized set that harks to every hedonistic rock and roll LA glam bar of that era. I was wondering what the hell some lady was thinking bringing her grandkids, the youngest a boy of about 7, to the show. A show that’s got a gaggle of hard bodied ladies wearing garters and barely there lace unmentionables painted on their lithe dancers bodies bumping and grinding with lascivious abandon… what am I saying – best Grandma ever!

Dominique Scott as Drew, the Detroit rocker wannabe was fantastic with some serious Sebastian Bach level pipes. Justin Colombo as Lonny had so much good stuff to work with. While he may have, in a fourth wall breaking monologue, lamented his theatric fate that had him narrating a musical filled with poop jokes and Whitesnake, even he had to admit to having a kick ass time. Lonny was half the guys I hung around with in highschool – even in his “Show my your Boobies” T-shirt Lonny was the better dressed version of an old friend who would have accessorized with snake skin boots and bandanas – he even had the nunchuks.

Rock of Ages is wall to wall music. Lonny and Dennis’ rendition of “I Can’t Fight This Feeling” complete with travel photos and Titantic level swooning was hilarious and while “Don’t Stop Believing” will always be that Glee song, it still brought the house down. Throw in some Twisted Sister, Bon Jovi, Styx, Quiet Riot, David Lee Roth and Asia and you’ve got a serious good time. Give me a seedier room liberally doused with alcohol and that chem teacher beside me would have been singing along at the top of his lungs remembering the days when he could have whipped his hair back and forth in his quarter sleeve Iron Maiden T-shirt. Fuck yeah.

Once again had the good fortune of interacting with our varied speakers. Whether it’s discussing the vagaries of the sound system, massaging their slide deck or getting them past some last minute jitters, I love being an usher to this experience. I’m legitimately happy for all our presenters. I know the exhilaration of pushing past your fears, stepping onstage and leading the crowd through your 5 minutes. It goes by in a blur but it’s still heady stuff. Talk to any of our past presenters and I’m confident they will exhort you to give a shot. There are still so many more stories out there and I want to hear them all!

Nonetheless, Ignite 7 marks my break from the event. In large part juggling my role with TEDx Waterloo in March with another spring Ignite is none too appealing. I am however looking forward to seeing the show as an audience member. The surprise of each presentation, the challenge of the contest, the ability to sit back and take it in. At $5 a person it’s still consistently the region’s best event value.

All of it wouldn’t be possible without the raft of volunteers past and present that have given up their time to make it happen. It’s often a crazy, seat of the pants, ad hoc process and yet it has consistently put out great events. Planned serendipity at it’s best.