The shortest distance between 2 points is not always connected by a straight line.

Two years sober and counting.

Two years without gambling... okay - so I relapsed a couple of times but I'm doing fine.

Two years without a hangup, sexual, social, political or otherwise.

The problem about living post-addiction is that there always seem to be a tempting aftertaste of the drug of choice taken.

I miss the sharp sweetness of a double vodka and diet coke, the way it would hit the back of the throat and burn its way down the esophagus to the stomach. I miss the eventual buzz that it would induce, and the loosening of inhibitions and morals at any given party.

I miss the rush obtained by rolling two dice at the craps table at Casino Nova Scotia. The noise, the chaos, the anticipation that the right number would come up at the right time - would it be a deuce, double deuce or midnight? I miss the ritual and suspense involved with the roll, the many eyes of fellow desperate beings staring at me, praying that I wouldn't seven-out them of whatever hard-earned money that they would put on the table.

I miss all the orgasms that I have obtained, regardless of means, both legit and illicit. The adventure, the danger, the thrill of witnessing, ravishing and obtaining human flesh so that for one fleeting moment, the pain of reality would go away.

It takes but one taste to get you hooked. And that taste will never leave you.

The taste can redefine the way you look at the world, treat the people, spend the money and even read these worlds.

People would lie, cheat, steal and kill for its effects, its rush, its power and the illusion of empowerment.

I lived for the taste. I wanted more of it. I wanted to re-live the feeling of the initial rush every time I took it.

I spent a lot of money pursuing that first rush. I wanted that high to be more intense, more empowering.

Yet with every high, there is a crash, each one being worse, bloodier and more costly than the last.

In pursuit of the taste I had dug a hole so deep that the only way to get out is to keep digging in the faint hope that I could see light at the other end.

Even though I am enjoying sobriety, the reality of my life and the things surrounding it is no less easier. All the things that I had put off due to my drinking, gambling and whoring ways have returned to haunt me. Negligence has its price. Looking back becomes a habit, a sick perverse obsession. A part of me wants to reinvent the wheel when it comes to taking stock of what led me to my current situation.

I thought I could save the world. I thought I could change it. I thought I could be king in a short time.

But after years of living like a god, I started to realise that soon, I'll die like a man and be buried like everyone else, because I am no longer the wild and crazy kid that I thought I was - at least in my own fevered mind. With all the excesses and the resulting mayhem, in the wake of what seemed to be an endless storm fueled by want of immediate gratification, I emerged battered, bloodied, naked and in pain.

But I am not dead.

Not that I really wanted to live forever - I'm just too scared to die before achieving my full potential. There are too many things to do and accomplish for me to toss in the proverbial towel and cash out of this mortal coil.

Life is full of unexpected experiences, both good and bad. No matter what could happen on any given day, I am still standing.

Because of my sobriety and my willingness to pursue and healthier, more fulfilling life, I consider every day to be a birthday.

I don't miss the stupidity, silliness and hangovers.

I don't miss the losses and disappointments.

I don't miss the guilt and embarrassment and shame of the morning-after and the ensuing ruination of lives.

But most of all, I don't miss the taste, even though it will in my body, mind and soul until I take my final breath.

I have done enough sinning in my life. I have gorged enough forbidden fruit to make the vilest of men sick. I have bitten off more that I could chew and burnt so many bridges that I might as well take a deep breath and move forward.

My name is Jacques. I was, I am and always will be an addict, pervert, scoundrel, jealous bastard, wanton lover and romantic hater.

And I am still alive.

And these days, I never could have felt this great.

Thank G-d for the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.

Oh... and by the way - I still love to create.

The Occasional Rant: Anything but THAT!

Dr. Henry Morgentaler may be an influential person.

He may have pushed the boundaries in the medical profession.

He may have given women the power to control their bodies and their lives.

He may have influenced changes in society and attitudes towards reproductive rights.

He may have succeeded in lifting the taboo off abortion.

But he does not, nor ever will, deserve the Order of Canada.

First... I don't mind a woman's right to choose. If she feels that she does not want this pregnancy, that all avenues that would help relieve her of the burden of raising a child have been exhausted, or that this pregnancy might endanger her life, then she is entitled to that right.

That being said, abortion is wrong. Period.

I'm not talking about the X-tian notion of the sanctity of life, although I do believe that life begins at conception. This isn't even about meddling with nature, although the concept of man playing God has irked me in more ways than one (see: bin Ladin, Hitler, Stalin, et al).

This is about dereliction of responsibility, the cheapening of morality and the abdication of accountability, and its effect on the collective mindset at the closing of the previous century.

If anyone had given any thought about their actions with regards to the sex act, if anyone were learned on the responsibilities involved, we wouldn't have to worry about abortions.

By carrying out the abortion, the woman who requested it has abdicated responsibility and accountability: it will always be "someone else's fault", "a mistake", "a decision that had to be made in one's own interests".

Just call me a pro-lifer for choice - abortion is wrong, plays God and messes with nature, but let the woman make the final call.

Dr. Morgentaler is not a villain. He is not a monster. He isn't even the Antichrist, let alone an anarchist. He is a doctor attending to a patient's needs.

But what has he done for all Canadians? What has he done for me?

Far from being humble, Dr. Morgentaler said this...

"I think it's a sign of recognition for all the work that I've done over the years and the sacrifices I've borne and the unjust sentence of imprisonment that I suffered," he said.

"I hope that Canada has set an example and that internationally, people in governments will respond to it."

Joyce Arthur of the Abortion Rights Coalition of Canada was just as modest...

"There's always going to be some division and controversy about him. Canada is the only democratic country in the world that has no law on abortion," she said.

"We set a good example for the rest of the world, and this Order of Canada further sets a good example because it sends a strong message that our society officially supports abortion rights and women's rights and we're not afraid to say it out loud."

Sadly, I don't see any point why Dr. Morgentaler should get this honour, at least at this time.

If this is Canada's way of saying that we are a progressive country, then something has gone FUBAR. The Order of Canada is not for Henry Morgentaler.

So there you go.

Tim Russert has his work cut out for him in Heaven.

Some people say the real cowboys die with their boots on.

Some people think that dying on the fields of battle is more than heroic - it's an honourable death.

Others say that work can kill you, and they may be right.

But by any standards, Tim Russert died too young, his work on this mortal plain unfinished.

Then again, life and death happens, and with the rash of politicians lining up in front of the proverbial Pearly Gates growing longer, it's only fair that G-d of our Understanding would call Tim up.

Whether you love him, loathe him or both, Tim almost always put on a good show in "meet the Press". He deserves some major props for daring others to follow his lead, his flow, his style.

Now Sundays, for the armchair statesmen and pundits, will become crappy.

Now I hope the Duffster doesn't follow Russert too soon, because this will doubly suck.

The Occasional Rant: The CBC fucks up... yet again!

May I have your attention, please?

For the past week, Canada's other anthem - one might even say that it's the most sacred Saturday night hymn - was at the centre of controversy.

The dispute centred on the theme song to the CBC's "Hockey Night in Canada" (a.k.a. "HNIC").

Ask any Canuck about HNIC and s/he will tell you that it's one of the best shows to watch on a Saturday night in wintertime, showcasing the good, bad and ugly of the best game you can name.

Considering that hockey is Canada's unofficial state religion, any tinkering with rules, uniforms and even rituals would be considered worse than blasphemous. Even radical Islamofascism has some boundaries - as long as you don't insult the Prophet (PBUH), they're cool. Mess with anything that has to do with hockey, and you'll have one big fat Canadian fatwah (and Don Cherry) on your sorry hairy arse.

I've grown to accept the HNIC theme as part of the landscape and that of the CBC, who insinuated itself into the Hoser psyche as the purveyor of the game on ice.

Sadly, the theme's composer wanted to get paid a little more because of its popularity.

Considering that we are the amongst most taxed people in the history of Western Civilisation©, we thought that the CBC, a Crown Corporation, would be able to settle this affair accordingly. Right?

Sadly, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation has long been a victim of its own paradigm paralysis - even though it sees itself as the protector of Canadian Culture™, the Powers That Be have no clue how to improve it's management and profitability. In its dispute with the composer's estate, it cried poverty. Towards the end of the week, the CBC decided to hold a competition on a possible replacement. Pathetic.

Enter the CTV, CBC's rival.

Right about now, this company pwns a goodly chunk of Canadian pop culture, from its own stable of radio and tv stations to specialty channels such as TSN, MuchMusic and franchises such as the Discovery Channel and MTV. (Yes... that eMpTy-V!) There was no doubt that one day, it might come to eclipse the so-called Mother Corp.

And earlier today, it did just that.

So what does that mean for the CBC? What does it say about the erstwhile, self-proclaimed guardian of Canadian Culture™?

Well... it's another great example on how a once-respected institution could get so bloated on it own sanctimonious arrogance and delusion that it could succeed in sabotaging its own attempt at retaining and maintaining the respect of its core audiences.

You might say that the CBC had committed a little social and public-relations suicide.

But that would involve competency, and in the end, it was the CTV that wound up pulling the trigger to finish the job.

And so, there you go.

RIP - Bo Diddley...Blues Rockin' OG

Heaven's old-school groove has gotten heavier.

The Godfather of Soul, the King of Rock and Roll, the Man in Black, the Quiet Beatle, the Loon, the Crazy Diamond, the Samurai Blues Brother and all the blues, hip-hop and r'n'b OGs from Leadbelly, Robert Johnson, Otis Redding, Muddy Waters, Easy E, 2-Pac and B.I.G. on down, are all on notice.

Bo Diddley's in town, and for the Lord he's ready to get down.



Give the man all the love and props. If you don't know Diddley, get to know.