Reefer Rd. Chapter 2: Pt 5

Reggae is a wonderful thing. A form of music based around happiness and bred to spread the peace of people all over the world. If religion was truly something to admire and indulge in I think listening to reggae should have temples built in honour of its very name. Dylan Murray, a Canadian artist from the Toronto area was playing at Algonquin College, which was about a 5 – 6 minute walk from the apartment building. His performance took place during the mid afternoon at about 1:00 p.m. and was included a-long side a free BBQ lunch. What more could we have asked for our second day just moving to Ottawa? We were still quite hung-over from the night before but I remember waking up to Dylan standing on the balcony stricken with a new found sense of pride. I liked it. He looked at me with a solid grin. We had felt as if the world had become ours for the taking and the first thing on our minds was a pipe, marijuana, beer, a free lunch, and a solid afternoon of Dylan Murray. Dylan had once again jump onto his phone contacting Jess and Maggie almost immediately. I had decided to hop onto Dylan’s computer to have Laura come meet us there as well.




The infatuation had begun. That feeling like there would be no one else in the world you would rather spend your day with than her. The one you had already dreamt of the night before. The only issue was the easily identifiable question... Was I already moving too fast? What actually interested me about this human being other then direct attraction? Who was I to judge really? I was young, always moving on a whim. I had let my instincts take hold instead of my mind so Laura had met us that day and we were ready to go. I was dazzled and overcome with a wild sense of self gratification. I had conquered a massive portion of my life. Was I finally becoming a man? I certainly hadn’t felt like one before that moment in time. I remember for a brief moment contemplating what my parents might had thought of what I was doing right then. I was severely hung-over, pretty ragged, not to mention stoned, and already getting ready for round 2.




We all had those thoughts in the back of our heads as we watched Dylan Murray belt out his inner sorrows a top a green, rolling hill. He was playing in the middle of one of the Algonquin court yards. The sun was shining down on us like we were all supposed to be there, like this was our moment of golden reign over the earth. As the typical college students played volleyball and tossed Frisbees and footballs around we all had one other thing riding our thoughts. That night was Tom's arrival to the new apartment. That night would forever be an unforgettable celebration...

Reefer Road Pt.4

My first real taste for liquor came when I was about 14 years old. I was living in an extremely small town with my mother. The town was named Iroquois after the tribe of Indians who had settled the land many, many years ago. I had lived there for about 4 years when I was younger. It had mainly become a retirement town for old people to die in peace while the youngsters spent all of their time trying to find some way of stirring the pot. In fact the very first time I smoked a joint was in a town just outside of Iroquois with a couple old friends of mine. I never really cared for trying drugs. I was a skateboarder back then and the only time I ever had to dedicate went to throwing my body down flights of stairs and over concrete barriers. Then the day came... I figured why not? It had never harmed any of my friends before and frankly I thought they were always a lot more productive and humorous when they were stoned. They rolled a joint on a fun box outside of my friend’s house.
“I think I’m going to smoke that with you guys.” I replied hesitantly.
“NO WAY! Jaden’s going to smoke weed!” They all chuckled and remarked to themselves. They were way to overly excited about this and frankly it really did not help with my wanting to progress into the circle with them but I thought to myself you only live once right? I had not a clue what the substance was about by any means and I was a little bit nervous. The lighter was flicked. I watched my friends around me all with smiles slapped on their faces. It felt like some sort of initiation into a world I had never known. The joint was passed to the left. My other friend coughed his lungs out making me seize up a little bit more before it was handed to me. I stared at the joint between my finger tips. This was it. I was getting high for the first time in my life. Questions were soaring through my mind. What was going to happen to me? Was I going to hallucinate? Would I overdose? What was this plant going to do to my head? I took a small drag and blew it out quick.
“No man! Take a nice big hit and hold it in or it won’t do anything.” One of my friends instructed.
I put the joint to my mouth. Hauled in as much smoke as my lungs could hold and I held it in. I burst into a fit of coughing but I remember how warm the smoke had felt in my chest. I looked back up at all of my friends who were then patting me on the back and all extremely satisfied of what I had done and then the marijuana took hold. My body was tingling all over. I was seeing the world in a light unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was magic. I was part of something bigger than anything I had ever hoped to believe. The planet had taken hold of my mind and showed me the true nature of itself and myself. I was one with the earth. I had begun to start thinking outside of the box...
I was skateboarding outside one summer day at one of the elementary schools located in the middle of Iroquois. My friend Ryan Smith was with me and we had decided to go back to his place to grab a bite to eat and something to cure the pounding heat outside. We went through his cabinets searching for anything we could find when suddenly Ryan had stumbled upon the liquor cabinet. I had drunk booze before. A few sips of Kaluha here and there but nothing drastic. I was young and these things had never intrigued me before but after my first experience with a new substance I was definitely up for another adventure. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey, then a bottle of vodka, and then another bottle of rye. We drank until we felt as if we were going to vomit. Feeling completely "badass" and rebellious we decided to go back to the school and finish of our skate session. This was before the liquor had begun to fill our bodies. The earth started shaking and my vision blurred as we pushed our way to the school but the entire time I had found a new found strength in what I was doing. Nothing was bringing me down! The rest of the day was a complete haze. I do remember Ryan’s mother pulling up in the parking lot of the school ready to ring our necks for what we had done. This quickly passed. From that day on I had always had some deep seeded love for drinking. As I have matured so has my need for the drink but in any other case Laura would now be ready for conversation...Alone.
We were sitting on the floor of my new bedroom. I remember being more lost in her conversation then the fact that I had found myself in a ridiculously brand new situation. I couldn’t help but look around my room and most of the talk was based around the new apartment until the verbal courage started to spew. She had told me something about having somewhat of a crush on me, meeting Tom and I at a party Brendy had thrown sometime in the previous year. This was my shot! I remember my tongue spitting out something along the lines of how gorgeous she was and realistically that sealed the deal. Next thing I know I was staring at the ceiling making out with the most attractive girl I had seen in a very long time...

Reefer Road Pt.3

The words “House Warming Party!” were the only things entering our minds. We may not have had everything moved in fully yet but we sure as hell owned the place and we were certainly going to break it in!
One sporadic day while I was visiting my mother out in the country, I had come across a marvellous little wonder that had decided to catch my eye. There on the front lawn of her old, stone home sat a small Mayan warrior statue peeking its head out of the grass. I picked him up from the ground. He was mystically carved. His sword had been broken off and his clay body covered in mud. I immediately asked my mother who this statue had belonged to.
“That’s the landlord’s Jaden. You’re standing in his yard.” My mother had pulled me back down to Earth.
This Mayan warrior would no longer be in the “landlord’s” company. The Mayan warrior was now a piece of my soul.
“I’m taking him. I don’t care what you say.” I replied and nothing had ever been spoken ever since. He was mine.
I had un-wrapped the clay warrior from his newspaper shelter and brought him into the living room of the new apartment where I sat him on the couches end table and stuck a stick of incense in his mouth. Dylan stared at me with a fresh joint sparked in his mouth... This was home.



Dylan immediately got on his phone after a solid balcony session and called a bunch of our mutual friends over for drinks. I remember that night as well as I ever will but keep in mind this is where things begin to get a little hazy. The previous year Dylan and Tom had committed themselves to a couple of programs at Algonquin College. Dylan (rather obviously) was taking photography and was now in his second year. Thomas was taking electrical engineering but had a falling out about half way through the year. The course was not for him. They had lived in Algonquin Residence during the year. I was there at every opportunity I possibly could have taken in between my return to high school for a semester and work. Algonquin Residence has become a Nazi recruitment camp ever since but when we were there the place was set ablaze with frenzy. Booze, drugs, metal and all the fun we could throw ourselves toward. This however was the catalyst life choice that had brought us together with so many of our closest Ottawa friends today the Barhavener’s, Maggie, Jessica and Sam. The Barhavener`s consisted of many great people. Andrew Cottingham, Brendy Rygus, Ryan Lafrenier, Steph H, Rebecca Leach, and the list goes on. Most of these friends came out of the photography program at Algonquin including Maggie and Jessica. Jessica was the happiest person I had ever come across complete with dread locks and a thunderous laugh like no other. Maggie had become very fond of Dylan over the growing years and Dylan of Maggie.
The responses came quick. Everyone was eager to get to Baseline and party in our new found apartment and one by one, sure enough the heads rolled in. There were new faces amidst the crowd. One in particular I will never forget. She was beautiful and glowing. Her name was Laura. Before I delve into this story I feel obligated to relay a little insight of the perpetual relations I tend to have with women.
I have been known to be unkind and un-fair in many circumstances mainly because I am a very self oriented human being. I am an extremely self driven person when it comes to matters of human relationships and most of the time I do not fare well because of this. I am one to pursue, indulge, love and when things go awry (as most relationships with girls usually tend to do) rarely ever retain. I have become extremely comfortable with who I am and confidence is something I dispose in vast quantities. So having relayed this information... Her name was Laura.
The party was booming and the drinks were flying but I had one thing on my mind...Discovery. I had finally found myself in a new place amidst new people and I was all for forming new bonds. I sent some subtle eye gestures her way and had begun to start making some small conversation. The progression happened fast. Alcohol will bring out a lion in anybody. “Liquid courage” as my dad had always said. My friends and I had never been stranger’s to alcohol.

Reefer Road Pt.2

They had found a three bedroom apartment in Ottawa and were looking for a roommate. All I had been doing with my life while living at home was working, reading, writing and of course smoking quite a bit of pot in between coming home from the night shifts. I was working at a place called Nucomm which would be better known as a low grade call center located in the far west end of Brockville. Brockville is about a 10 – 15 minute drive west of Prescott. My father would drive me to work by day and my friend and co-worker Amanda would drive me home by night. I mainly worked the late shifts starting around 3 and ending most of the time around midnight. My routine at night had usually consisted of smoking weed with Amanda on the way home and then smoking a little bit more when I got home so I could be high minded and ready for a sound read. In fact one night I remember having a small zip lock bag full of psilocybin sitting in my room, so when I got home from my shift around midnight I lit some incense, got out all of my drawing pencils, pens, papers and books and went to town. I remember walking around my room a lot, examining the walls and writing frantic poetry in hopes that my parents wouldn’t walk into my bedroom to find me laying on the floor with a joint in my mouth and pupils the size of the moon. Naturally with my unsettled quest for sanctity I agreed with the motions but found them to be to tiresome and overdone. I was bound for things outside of my little world and moving was the stepping stone I needed to find out just what those new found adventures might be. In no way did I ever expect the path that had laid itself ahead of me.
We said our goodbyes to our families and friends and the old sheltered lives we had all been living in and packed up our belongings. We moved in to 1800 by the end of the summer when things were as beautiful as they come. The apartment was a dream, come true for us. We were situated on the 4th floor but the building was odd in this respect. Each individual apartment went as follows... After opening the door you were approached by either a set of stairs leading upward into the apartment or downwards. The sequence being that one apartment would be directing upstairs the next one directing down so each floor was technically two floors at the same time. All in all, when I say we were located on the 4th floor we were actually situated on the 7th due to the fact that our apartment had lead downstairs. We had three bedrooms, a big living room/dining room, and a tiny, little kitchen. The floors were made of hardwood leading into carpet in the bedroom area that divided itself from the living room with a single door. The balcony however was what held all of my love for our old apartment. The view was incredible, overlooking all of the Deerfield area as well as most of the outskirts of Nepean. The apartment was pristine and every single 18 year olds dream pad.
Moving day had proven itself to be quite the situation. Dylan’s mother Mary had decided to bestow upon us her entire living room set which included a massive, comfy, black leather couch and chair, a wooden coffee table, and an end table in lieu of her buying a brand new set for her living room at home. Everything else we had moved in was easily transported and manoeuvred except for this gigantic leather couch. We struggled hard, shifting it around in the elevator trying to fit the monster into the tiny steel box. After squishing it sloppily into the 4 man elevator the real dilemma had only just begun. The couch in no way, shape, or form was going to fit through our doorway. We had tried everything and by god this baby would not budge and butter was not going to solve this problem. Not giving in, we had all conjured up an idea.... We literally had decided to completely remove the front door and parade the couch violently through the doorway and down the flight of stairs into the apartment... Triumph! We could rest easy on that note but resting easy was not in neither Dylan nor my vocabulary that first summer night.
Tom had to head back towards Brockville for the night due to the fact that he had still another full load of stuff to bring up the next morning so it was Dylan and I for the first night. I remember what my bedroom had looked like that first night. I was sleeping on two fold out cushions because of the fact that there was absolutely no room to fit my bed in Tom’s parents’ truck and my dad was driving a newer model red, family Intrepid which had done its job fitting all of the smaller items I needed to take. I had one black dresser, a few posters from my old bedroom at home, a blue Ikea reading chair and a small T.V. that I never to this day recall using. After situating all of the furniture we had moved in, stacking all of the food in the cupboards, and rearranging our bedrooms, we were more than ready for a night of drunken debauchery weather Tom be there that night or not!

We had done it! Freedom alas!

Reefer Road Pt.1

All good things must come to an end...One might say that this saying has narrowed itself into my life over the last short period of time. I had been living on the outskirts of Algonquin College in the west end of Ottawa (otherwise known as Nepean) in a somewhat mediocre and under developed apartment building – 1800 Baseline Rd to be precise from 2008 - 2010. Located beside such areas as College Square and slap – dab in the middle of Bells Corners and Downtown Ottawa. The location had never generally bothered me (personally I was a fan of West End Ottawa). Baseline Station (a bus station of which any area in Ottawa is practically reached by) is close to 1800 as well as a grocery store, fast food places including Mcdonalds, Pizza Pizza, and Subway, Rogers for all of your gaming, and movie needs, and on top of that the coveted LCBO and Beer Store were located no more than a 7 minute walk from my old apartment. A person might ask themselves; why would a young adult no more than 20 years of age want to leave an area so suited towards his own needs? Well... In light of certain events I had been driven to ask myself that exact question.
It was the end of August in 2008 when I was approached by two of my best friends Dylan Leeder and Thomas Slack. Tom and I had been great friends since the moment we shared our first conversation. The man was driven by fun and loved nothing more than to just sit down and pour his entire minds technicality into writing guitar...Oh yes and if I forgot to mention before, Tom is a party fiend (as most of my friends generally are). My friendship with Tom really grew when I decided to try out for the lead vocalist position in a previous metal band he was in called Hide Yourself Away, Generally known in the Brockille and surrounding area’s music scene as a very solid group. When they had decided that I was the right choice for the band after their old vocalist (and now great friend of mine as well) Justin Amyotte had decided to disband, it has been musical progression ever since... (Mind you the band may have gone through a few musical differences, name changes and complications but the real dedicated members have chosen to fight on). Great personalities mesh together well and Tom and I had made a great pair.
Dylan, on the other hand has been like an expansive rollercoaster. After getting over that initial fear at the beginning while waiting in line you may not be quite sure about the rickety ride. It had many stomach turners in the middle but once you felt out the track and got to understand it’s mechanics you wish you could have built a house beside the coaster so that you could experience it every day. Dylan is a professional photographer and I say this because I firmly believe that he of all people will be making heads turn in the world of professional photography. This man has a style all of his own and has had nothing but dedication for the art since the day he was born. The term Brother is the only word that could possibly come to mind while trying to describe Dylan and in words taken right from Dylan’s mouth “We are so cool!” The amount of fun I have had with this human being cannot be measured at any length. It will never stop and I never intend it too. True, Death Bros.
I was living with my parents beforehand in a no where town called Prescott, Ontario. When I say “No Where Town” I mean this in the truest sense of the words. When I was younger Prescott was my world. There were a maximum of 9 – 10 stores, 4 schools, (1 high school and 3 elementary) 1 bar, and low and behold, about 5 – 6 separate churches. Growing up in this place was, for lack of better words... Odd. Strangely enough I always felt like a very segregated person there. I remember going skateboarding with my brother one summer afternoon finding ourselves in the midst of a bullied frenzy. Four little rat kids had surrounded my brother and myself and had decided to start pushing him around for his skateboard eventually taking it out of his hands and claiming it as their own. My past experiences had told me never to stand down to such mockery and when a member of my family was dragged into the mix there was nothing left to do but rebut.
“Give him back his skateboard right now!” I had decided to step in.
“What are you going to do about it, fag!” This cretin must have stepped into a book or two judging by his sharp retort ion tactics.
“Fuck off kid! Give him back his skate!”
“Fine!” Now I was getting somewhere. “I’ll give his back if you give me yours!” and the scholar had turned into a young entrepreneur.
“Alright... Whatever! Just give him back his board and we’ll call it even.” I felt as if there was no other civil way out of the onslaught.
The kid gallantly handed my brother back his skateboard and as for my end of the bargain well as hard as it may be, my word was my word. As I handed out my skateboard to the chubby little dwarf all of the showmanship had began. In an attempt to impress his slack jawed minions the kid lunged at my stomach instead of grabbing my skateboard. Now, a side note to anyone who has ever been in a brawl as a child, lunging is not the way to start things off. As he tried to latch on to my waist my first immediate reaction was to hammer down with my elbow as hard as I could on his spine. This surely did not come as a very pleasant surprise to my foe. He arched his back up and cried in pain and as he attempted to dance around in a dash towards his friend I had decided to drive the nose of my skateboard into his stomach completely immobilizing him from doing harm to my brother or myself again. Our reaction... Let’s get the fuck out of here!
Collisions like these were not a rarity in our little town. There weren’t a lot of overly wealthy families in Prescott and mine was no different. Although we were humble about our finances, we got by with what we had. This lack of grandeur did have a catalyst effect on the members of my family forcing us to do things like adventuring outside to find an old fort, or playing guns at the old abandoned factory across the street. As I grew with the town I found myself retreating more and more into music, books, art, and the wonders of the world. Although beautiful in appearance, Prescott had some very diminishing life lessons on the folk living inside of it. I had then turned the age of 18 and of course I wanted nothing more at the time than to leave the restraints of my parents, quit my good for nothing call center job and start experiencing the real life, a life where freedom of self identity was never questioned or forced onto you. Get a job, go to bed, get a life, mow the lawn, do your work, cut your hair, don’t do drugs, you’re too young to drink, no friends allowed in the house, and the list tumbles on for what feels like an eternity. Basically I felt like there was a massive lack of self identity in my life and I was out to shatter that dome. I wanted to be me on my own and this is precisely what Tom and Dylan had wanted to do.