tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72631262024-03-12T21:28:13.746-07:00Goofs and GadfliesI write, so you don't have to.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1119665306334540522015-05-02T22:05:00.000-07:002015-05-02T22:07:40.937-07:00post post-modern dance"Its never quite as much to do something, as it is to imagine it being done"- Me, 30 seconds before typing it here.<br /><br />I have this connection to the world. I can't quite explain it in any way that makes literal sense. I didn't really understand this <br /><br /><br /><i>Today was a "Me" day. The types of days well meaning people are always telling me to take. I spent most of the day either exercising my mind or working out my body. I am not one who considers the rote recitation of daily events to be of interest to anyone (including myself). It was a laundry list type of day. Leisure walk with coffee, clean my physical space, buy essential toiletries, hit the gym, grill up some BBQ for dinner, then end the day with a vigorous rollerblade around the neighbourhood. A day of vitality and renewal. The main difference was that for the most part of the day I kept my phone off and my chat clients on "away".</i> - <b>2006 A Single Man with too much vanity and no real accomplishment.</b>
Nine Years Later. I have some grey hair. I have memories of real accomplishment. I buried my parents. I made a baby. I learned how to be a step-parent. I am no longer afraid to cry. I no longer cling to the notion of being cool. I am not a hipster, I am a carpooling goofy joke making lunchbag assembler.
And maybe I no longer need the blog, my towel, my security blanket for this life trip. Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-91484557521265806652015-05-02T22:03:00.001-07:002015-05-02T22:11:19.688-07:00Wearing the inside out? Aside from being a great cut off Pink Floyd's The Division Bell, it really summarizes what life in the 4th decade of my existence has become. All the pretenses. Needing to be cool needing to fit in; needing validation of my choices; needing the party to go to, they've all gone away. Although I am wondering if this is at the cost of feeling relevant. I don't know if I have ever been happier. I look around and all I see are memories of things I have done. Even if I didn't enjoy them then at the moment, the pictures bring a different kind of comfort. I have survived, my bliss has survived. Why can't people be happier? Why was I born wired to be happy? This smile is my sailboat. My silver sun pickup that takes me to an eternal sunset. I have struggled recently with what being an adult means and the definition of a grownup. I don't do dumb shit. I don't do risky shit. I'm okay with that. All I have to do is read back in this blog to see that I have lived, danced, and caroused my way into some luscious scenes. <br>
This all seems so complicated now. Life, and what I mean to others. That I mean something to others is a novel idea. Avi gave me a hug tonight. Why? Grateful I guess. The same way I was grateful to my Dad. Like the way I knew that we are spinning on a rock hurtling through an incomprehensible vast space, yet he was always able to make sure there was milk in the fridge. He was my rock, and now I guess I am his.
<blockquote>"Ticking away the moments that make up the dull day, you fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way"
"The time has come, the song is over...thought I had something more to say" - Time, Pink Floyd</blockquote>
The first and last lines of this classic song are compelling. They combine a constant awareness of life with a cognizance of the inabilty to contextualize its limitations. We don't know when we are going to die, we just know that there is always something else waiting to be done. This is not a call to arms, or an exhortation to seize the day. I'm just at this point in life where I am content with the pacing, the people, and the problems. Everything is manageable and I feel like this is the sweet spot. How long does this last? How long have I been in this good place?<br>
What does it mean, wearing the inside out? It's that I'm finally okay with showing the real me. There is no hiding, no worries about being judged because it doesn't mean anything to me. That hug. It all comes down to that hug. It was as much a reassurance to him that I am real and here, as it was a show of gratitude.
So, yeah, not much to say. But it's better to put out something here where it all started. Where I first became aware that the printed word has peace, love, and passion, all wrapped into a melange of contorted thoughts. So I share this, because sharing is caring.
Love ya, miss ya.
rg
Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-32750641535102636212013-05-14T16:50:00.001-07:002013-05-14T17:01:34.927-07:00She wanted me to write a eulogy...I spoke recently to observe the yahrzeit of my Mother. Many people expressed their appreciation and wanted to share with people who couldn't make it. I figure I would throw it up here so this place doesnt look as abandoned as <a href="http://jdatersanonymous.com/"></a> who actually dusted off the cob webs to muse on Shavuot. So Gentle Reader, I may return, or it may be another two years before I return.
--
One year ago today, my mother Elaine Griver , Chana Sarah bas Leible ve Shayna Aleha Hashalom went to her eternal repose and her beautiful neshama left this world. Four years ago this week, my father Dennis Griver Aleha Hashalom departed for shamayim Erev Shavuos. As with most jewish Levayas time simply does not allow for everyone to come who wants to be there. As such, I want to go back into the eulogy I gave for my mother and reflect on what I said and the impact of those words 12 months later
Quoting from the speech I said the following - I am comforted by how much my mother loved to celebrate life. Through the years of bar/bat mitzvahs, graduations, weddings, and babies of our family and the extended family, i would look at my mothers face as a child is want to do, to learn what the appropriate emotions to feel would look like. I can safely say that my definition of “unbridled joy”, my understanding of that concept, stems from stealing glances of my Mother during these simchas. She taught me how to feel, how to love, and how to empathize. When I look at Idaliah, Avi Adam, and now Zev, when I watch them dancing, playing soccer, or Ice Skating, I get what it is to have that prideful look in my eye. My children give me so much nachas and joy. It's a reminder of how patient and loving my parents were and it motivates me when I try to raise my family
For my mother, no one moment was bigger than another. She clearly knew how to appreciate each day and to live in the moment. As i stand here today, I am in complete awareness of the responsibility my mother has given to me. I now have to continue her legacy of kindness. I have to make the small efforts, to continue the delicate and sensitive way she gave to this world. I have to be grateful and expressive of gratitude.
And this is where the real reflection occurs, I stand here speaking for the merit of my parents when I say that I appreciate more than ever how we as a community must be better, must pick up the slack that others carried unquestioningly. I think about Rose Lax and Melissa Axler Aleha Hashalom. I do this because they were family to EVERY jew. I think about how much better of a person I am because I was simply lucky enough to have met them and be inspired by their unstoppable dedication to helping others.
Which gives me a great segway to introduce a thought given to me byLeslie Selevan (she who is herself an unstoppable force in her dedication to helping others) who said in the name of Yehoshua Stokar, Montreal Kollel,
Many times, I have been asked, as a member of the Kollel, but also as a
plain Jew living in the twenty-first century, ‘why should we be Jewish?’ What
is wrong with Christianity, Buddhism or any other religion for that matter? The true unprejudiced answer to this question is not that we can find some sort of logical flaw or any obvious errors in any of the other religions. The truth is we chose to be Jewish because… we are Jewish. One can ignore all of this and go to a place he does not belong - Or he could choose to live up to these high expectations, to become a link in the great chain called Jewish history.
This sums up my father perfectly. He didn’t know how to be Jewish, he just knew that he was a jew. He was content by the shabbes challah, his eyes were warmed in the reflection of the lit candles, his cheeks rosy as they filled with chicken soup. I am so grateful he placed me in the circles of jewish thought and supported the direction my life took.
The system of shiva allows those people to comfort the mourner in the following week. In some Cosmic quirk, my sister and I observed a total of 22 hours of shiva combined for both parents. What we gained in the easing of the most restrictive mourning period, we lost in terms of quiet contemplation of our loss. I hope that with the conclusion of the year of mourning, as we exit avelus and return to normal life, that we can continue to teach the lessons our parents taught us. Stephanie, as a sister you have shown tremendous love for my family and our bond should only grow stronger as we celebrate only simchas.
I want to take a moment to express my personal gratitude. First to Rabbi Daniel Green for his tireless dedication to the Community. To Rabbis Selevan, Schweitzer and Gans for their friendship and Chavrusa. To all my close friends thank you.
When I thought about my wife and how to express my gratitude, I thought about the linkages between Pesach and Shavuos. On Pesach we say Dayenu. If I had my wife and nothing else, dayenu. If I had Chana and her children and nothing else, dayenu. Instead I have all this and a beautiful community and for that I truly mean dayenu. Chana, I am truly in awe of your passion and dedication.
Like I said, at the levaya I spoke from the heart and to close I want to return to those words.
Thank you mom, for being the inspiration and muse of my father. Thank you for being the type of woman who would inspire a man to say “I fall a little bit more in love with your mother every day”
Thank you Mom, for giving Stephanie the opportunity to perfom kvod habaim to the fullest extent possible. Her total devotion to your health and life gave me the peace of mind to stay in Hamilton knowing she was so capable in advocating for you and keeping you comfortable.
I would always leave the house by saying I love you Mom, to which she would reply, I love you more. So today I get to say to you mom, I love you more.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-27090709824487260322011-02-16T06:19:00.000-08:002011-02-16T06:23:51.993-08:00A Post on CensorshipThis is a joint statement by many bloggers about the recent ban on VIN and the actions taken against VIN and the companies that advertise on the site. Kudos to R. Gil Student for drafting this statement and to the other bloggers who were primarily responsible for pushing the effort forward.<br /><br /><br />A little over a month ago, a number of rabbis signed onto a ban that forbade advertising on or otherwise working with the website VosIzNeias. This ban singled out one website without addressing other websites or public forums like newspapers or magazines. The singling out of a solitary website raises many questions, particularly when newspapers in the same community regularly publish arguably libelous stories and online discussion forums for the community are essentially unbounded by civility. Additionally, VosIzNeias has publicly stated that it has already raised its standards and is willing to do even more with rabbinic guidance, provided the same guidelines are applied to its competitors.<br /><br />Bans of this nature are generally brought into fruition by activists and this one is attributed to a specific activist who seems to have business and political interests in this ban. He ignored VosIzNeias’ request to meet with the rabbis in order to explore ways to satisfy their concerns. With this ban, the activist is threatening the commercial viability of the VosIzNeias business.<br /><br />We have now received reports of continued harassment by this activist, who is threatening to publicly denounce people, companies and charitable organizations who continue to cooperate with the website. He has also reportedly threatened to remove the kosher certification of companies that fail to adhere to the ban. However, on being contacted, the activist behind the ban denied all knowledge of this harassment and attributed it to someone acting without authorization. We are, therefore, making no formal accusation as to who is conducting this campaign of harassment.<br /><br />To the best of our understanding, this activity is illegal. One individual told us he reported that harassment to the police. <br /><br />Harassing good people with threats is illegal and inexcusable. We call on rabbis and people of good faith to denounce this behavior, and we encourage victims to respond to this activist as follows:<br /><br />If he calls or e-mails you or your organization, thank him for bringing the ban to your attention and say that you will decide how to proceed after consulting with your rabbi or other advisor. And because of rumors that there is harassment involved in this matter, you regret having to tell him that if he contacts you or anyone else in your organization again, you will have to report him to the police.<br /><br />We have a copy of an e-mail forwarded to us by people involved, which includes a pseudonym and phone number, and we have been told of intimidating phone calls. Note that at this time we are withholding this activist's identity. If he continues harassing people, we will have to be less discrete.<br /><br />Signed,<br /><br />His Mightiness, Garnel Ironheart (along with many other Jewish bloggers)<br /><br />If you agree, please feel free to sign in the comment section and post this on your blog as well.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-77562370240418264722010-10-06T17:47:00.000-07:002010-10-21T08:11:35.386-07:00A Happy Medium is the Message'The Last Line Always Remains" was the title of the first book I was going to write. I was 21 at the time. Poetry and prose flowed through an angst quill. The Internet, having not quite reached adolescence, was a 56k buzz in the air as pixels slowly churned in linear formation. The direct access to the Carleton Library Computer was handy for looking up books I would never read. However, in 1994 we had not progressed to the point of personal blogs or Myspace. We rendered our poetry to the pages of notebooks. I set out to write thematic prose musing the salience of youth. The work while lofty in its task, was never metered for public consumption. The pages sit unmolested, in a bin stuffed with memories and memorandum of my youth.<br /><br />Contrast that with the first few years of this blog. Which when printed and submitted to a few friends with an eye for editing, was told there was a potential book here. What changed? It's the same metaphysical claptrap. There is nothing new under the sun. What is different is that we are now more comfortable with the idea of personal publishing. The notion of credibility not necessarily being tied to the publicity machine of mass media. We are now a society of consultants, of social media mavens, of mompreneurs and camp attendees.<br /><br />If the medium is still the message, that message seems to be "I'm okay, you're okay". I get increasing levels of validation in reading blogs about new parents. I look at my child and don't feel the need to be superdad or picture perfect. I get this because I read about real people going through life as parents, watching them live it online via social networks. I also read Canadian Today's Parent, but that's different. That's a magazine looking to sell copies and ad space. They need a hook. They spoonfeed how I should feel while reading the articles, by using pictures and colors to denote the anticipated mood. Today's Parent represents a consensus of experience and depth of understanding inaccessible to most people (who aren't friends with doctors, lawyers, chefs, or gym teachers). I need that knowledge, I need to know how to cook new soups and how to arrange my kid's room to help them study. What I don't need is the pressure to live up to magazines haughty goals for personal happiness.<br /><br />The beauty of social networks is twofold. They provide a quick glimpse into the foibles and cresting achievements of people we have only a tertiary(3 Kevin Bacons or more) connection with. They also allow people to share and learn from these experiences. It's a double benefit. We gain in the actual manufacture of social media content, and we gain in the sharing and learning of that creation. When you post pictures of taking your kids apple picking, you give people the idea that they too can take their kids apple picking. You might even inspire someone to write a blog about the "5 ways Apple Picking can spice up your marriage (The InCider View)"<br /><br />That is the difference between 1994 and 2010. Then it was Green Day's Dookie and Metallica's Black Album blazing through a stereo rented at Granada. Now it's blogging about apples. Now its raking leaves while the kids do their homework. It's about celebrating moment after moment of growth as a family. It's about pride through preservation.<br /><br />Welcome to my Carlsberg Years.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-28564913138659636722009-03-04T05:53:00.000-08:002009-03-04T06:35:10.903-08:00The Continuing Importance of Me.I believe that Social Networking has benefits, thus I also believe Online Social Networking has benefits. Early adopters of Internet believed the CRT monitor would become a window to the world; removing the barrier of geography to enhance understanding and foster a new enlightenment. Unforturnately it seems the LCD monitor is not a window but a mirror. The Personal Computer has become a source of personal validation. The belief that everyone wants to hear what you have to say and understand exactly what you mean even if you speak in vagaries. That is why people believe their *tweets* about what they had for lunch are actual ironic commentary on the supersonic pace of their unbelievably busy life. Sadly though, the ironic well has flooded, sending ironic waste seeping into the fabric of the public streets.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-72720941401836488382007-07-24T20:33:00.000-07:002007-07-24T20:39:18.883-07:00The Culture of MeNothing seems fit to print these days. Life is beautiful and invigorating beyond description. I am exposed to massive amounts of beauty and chesed on a daily basis. I always said that I have something to learn from every person I meet. Well, I have taken on the task of learning with reckless abandon. As such I have no desire to emote on the state of my being, when my being is highly irrelevant. To learn, to become selfless and unencumbered with ego and bias, is my new passion. To remove myself from the rat race while at the same time functioning in the maze.<br /><br /><br />There is more, you're just going to have to wait for it. Patience my friends.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1171396710144782682007-02-13T11:51:00.000-08:002007-02-14T12:15:59.212-08:00Can the Internet send me to Vegas?*EDIT* We didn't win. It was however a wonderful exercise and I am delighted to be surrounded by a wealth of kindness. please allow me to in turn repay such generosity.*EDIT*<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Dear Readers,<br /><br />If you have enjoyed reading my blog, and have a minute to spare, I need your help.<br /><br />I want to go to Vegas and get married. The MIX is having a contest and I want to win.<br /><br />Finally, I *want* something.<br /><br />Here's how you can help: Call or email the mix and tell them that you think Ryan and Erin deserve to go to Vegas. If you can do this in a creative way, all the better. Whatever you can do to help, I will be grateful for your support. If I had the resources, I would marry Erin tomorrow, so this contest has given me a chance to dream. Even if I don't win, I will always be grateful to the MIX for that.<br /><br />Here is what you have to do: Call the Mad Dog & Billie line at <strong>416-323-5420</strong> or e-mail <a href="mailto:sweetescape@999mixfm.com">sweetescape@999mixfm.com</a> and tell them why Erin and Ryan deserve a "Sweet Escape".<br /><br /><br />Here is the Letter!<br /><br />Dear Mix,<br /><br />I was eating dinner with my fiance last week and I said to her, "pass the pepper upon the left hand side". She replied, "Oh! You were listening to the MIX too!" You see, I work in Toronto and she lives in Hamilton. Until we are married in November, we are going to be living apart during the week. Whether it's a song by Snow Patrol or James Blunt, or some throwaway little radio bit, the MIX brings us together even though we live apart. She'll often call me during the day to ask me to put on the MIX so we can share a song. It's ironic that in the age of instant communication and crackberrys, its something so basic as a radio that cuts through the distance.<br /><br />I proposed on Jan 13th, 2007. It was our one year anniversary. I asked her to wait until November for the wedding because I needed time to save some money.What's amazing about this contest is that she has been asking me to move up the wedding day so she can have a "hot" wedding instead of the November date we had picked. With any luck, you can help make this happen. When we first started dating, I could always hear her pulling into my driveway. "Rock Steady" would be blaring out the car stereo. She loves Gwen Stefani and will be dancing in the aisle at the concert at the ACC. I know that my Mom would approve of Mad Dog as a best man. A few years ago she wrote to him to get an autographed photo. He sent her a signed picture which sits framed in her reading room. And like my fiance, Billie is a hot blonde with a wild side.<br /><br />Oh the stories we will tell...I want this so bad I can taste it. I want to give her a wedding to remember. I need to show her how lucky I am, because all of her friends keep telling her how lucky she is to have me. She is a great mother of two kids from a previous marriage and I am always thinking of ways to give her some downtime. We always said our first time in Vegas should be together, and I hope that you can help us make our dream of an early marriage come true. We promise to be loud and wild Canadians mixing it up with the Vegas crowd.<br /><br />Thank you so much for giving me a chance to think about how much Erin means to me, and to dream of becoming the lucky winner who gets to hang with MadDog and Billie.<br /><br />RyanRyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1163907112241684512006-11-18T18:11:00.000-08:002007-02-07T08:31:58.863-08:00Snapshots and MagnetsTo the Internet and its Netizens:<br /><br />There are moments when I walk along a certain stretch of a tree lined street that I can hear the earth breathing. Stripping away the concrete shackles and asphalt baklava, the soil gasps for air in some kind of an oxygenated love affair. Whether the skies be blue or grey, and in warmth or chill, the connection remains strong. There is so much disconnect in life, that each remaining connection must be treasured.<br /><br />These connections, or rather I could say magnets, provide a structure for understanding the limitations of a logical existence. I now see the world through the eyes of a 5 year old child. His fears (currently its bears) and his love/hate relationship with salad and Chinese pears. There is no semblance of a cohesive plan, just an overwhelming desire to bring toys surreptiously to school.<br /><br />I am transformed from a tender and loving life partner into a mentor and authoritarian dispenser of snacks and toothpaste (though usually not at the same time). This change is momentary and at any given time I have to balance; my status as a loving and nurturing fiance with my role as a positive male influence. I love it. I love being relevant and meaningful to people in that way. Being thrust into fatherhood allows me to share positivity and issue gentle life lessons in a creative manner. I enjoy having a selfless and meaningful existence. It has allowed me to relate to the other facets of my life and reveal the dynamics of interpersonal relationships.<br /><br />Authors Note: These collections of words are a lifetime project. Much like the author, I suggest that you not fret with momentary bouts of inactivity or block. People read you (and I) for fractious moments of inspired lucidity, not for a litany of licentious lifestyle foibles. Share the moments where reflections are still and clear. Paint the detailed nuances of scenic syllables in the winter's thrush and the fall's resection. Find those moments of complete satisfaction and relative synchronicity. When you feel anger or disappointment, you should look in the mirror at your tear soaked face and ask yourself this question: "Is this the person I want to be"?<br /><br />Personal Update: I am engaged to be married on November 4th, 2007. I have found someone brilliantly kind and unfailingly generous with her time and mind. She is a writer, a lover, and a fighter for those who cannot speak. She is a woman of the ages and the inspiration to many who have met her. I offer you not hyperbole but empirically proven facts. She is her mother's daughter, and her daughter's mother. Her mother and daughter are intellectual and creative. I am a very fortunate man to be with a woman who was patient enough to afford me the time and space with which to realize that life with her by my side is appreciably better than I could ever have imagined.<br /><br />I miss this, the pairing of words in this keyboard waltz. I do hope to see you again soon,<br /><br />RyanRyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1148520696428043972006-05-24T17:37:00.000-07:002006-05-26T04:53:46.800-07:00What you Get.<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4395/438/1600/Image006.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4395/438/400/Image006.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Connections, belonging, and identity, are prime facets of the human struggle with moral consciousness. We are not automatons clanking out products, nor are we as simple as the goldfish or the trained chimp. This mental melange of constant struggle creates a platter of potent potables. We drink up this challenge of senseless suffering and deprivation. We gorge ourselves with worry and fear because if you don't have a struggle with life, you are probably dead.<br /><br />So how do we maintain our connections? The reality is that we think we are closer with people than we are. We create these associations in our head with memories, this becomes real emotional currency. The fact is that we spend more time with ourselves using this bank of emotions to sustain us, than we do making deposits with actual friends. We busy ourselves with work, play, and hobbies, that take us away from the very people that give us comfort. We don't know this because we keep thinking about them, but so rarely do we take the time to let them know that they are thought of.<br /><br />The associations of an adult life are invariably more complex that those of a kid. In high school you were either a snob, geek, loser, jock, or a cool kid. To save the author some time (as he is a *very* slow typist) please go view "The Breakfast Club" and return to this blog. In adult life you can belong to a religious association, a professional designation group, bowling league or softball team. Maybe you will belong to more than one category. The difference is people stop judging you by your associations and now look at the content of your character. We realize that what a person does, does not define who a person "is".<br /><br />This in itself is not an improvement per se. It merely describes the shift of responsibility in how we identify ourselves. Before we saw what other people saw in us. We perceive only the facets so egregious that they defy going noticed from our daily inspection in the mirror. This circles back to the previous contention, that we are closer to ourselves than we realize. We are our harshest critic and care more about ourlselves than anyone else does. As adults we mostly know this fact of self interest but are in denial of its primacy. The concept that no one cares if you get a bad hair cut or an especially durable pimple is so ego dashing it is often subconsciously quashed.<br /><br /><strong>And by we, I mean "I".</strong> But this blog isn't about me, at least not in the sense that I write about things exclusive to my life. I hope that the subjects in these missives are as universal as the floppy breasts on the centerfold of National Geographic.<br /><br />A goldfish has a memory span of three seconds. A habit can take up to 4 weeks to instil pathways in your neural network. You probably say "I love you" a thousand times in your head before you actually utter the words to the intended recipient. Taken alone, the random observations don't seem to correlate to a hypothesis. What they are is, the current collection of thoughts running about my skull at the precise moment my fingers are tap dancing on the key board. Today, I feel like a goldfish.<br /><br /><br /><br />Postsript: A biopsy indicated that I had a possible form of testicular cancer. For ten weeks I wandered around the planet conceding my imminent departure. A specialist in tumour pathology ruled out cancer a few weeks ago. In short, I am a giant suck and I wasted over two months of my life moping about. The lesson I learned for the future is that life is precious and needs to be lived every day. No giving up, and no half assed efforts.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1140698831722847642006-02-26T16:20:00.000-08:002006-02-27T12:34:55.643-08:00Smooth SurfacesWinter set in with a quiet thud and moved meekly through the bones of the huddled masses. The cold snap sent rivulets of frosty memories streaming through my conscious mind. I seem to be hell bent on reminiscing the entirety of my cognizant existence in flashes flooding my brain. Spending pensive moments sitting in front of an unlit fireplace. Much like Bob "Pink" Geldof stared at a blank TV screen, I sit motionless, emotionless, both fascinated and exhausted by the process of relegating memories to the rightful sections of the storage bin I call my brain. I know this doesn't sound like a happy task, or a particularly bright idea (musing in the midst of dark times), but winters have always been the season of my discontent. Sleeping more than I should, stepping up the coffee intake, and eating enough chocolate to spike shares in Cadbury. I do these things to make myself happy, because the alternative to happy is indifference. I guess you were expecting me to say sad? Nah, I don't want to attach a relative quality to sadness, I'll let such a strong emotion remain untethered. I do wonder about moroseness, what would its relative opposite feeling be? It's at this point the author realizes he hasn't has a paragraph break in, like, forever.<br /><br />As I sip on my third Timmie's concoction of the day, I think about time, specifically the time of forever. I don't think I have a grasp on forever. People seem to talk about it enough, but it's used in so many different ways. Forever Young? Do you really want to live forever? I haven't seen him in forever. I've known him forever. I get always. I understand that word. Always means sometimes, but most particularly about five minutes ago. Never is understood much in the same way. They even have preferred prepositions. You *always* get your way. I *never* get to choose. A noted exception would be John Lennon writing "You *never* give me your money", but it's John Lennon and he gets a pass. Besides, he would probably say Paul wrote that line. It's all about arguing. Passion with communication. Something I have trouble with. I've always been a poor arguer. I treat words like swords, capable of great beauty but also great pain. Nice to look at, but also to be used safely and respected for their power. This is why I ended up saying to someone yesterday, "Every good negotiation begins with a concession". I get the feeling that if Winston Churchill ever spoke to me in a dream he would say "I was wrong. Appeasement is for wankers!"<br /><br />Like my most flexible friend Janice reminded me earlier "The greatest of faults, is to be conscious of none -Thomas Carlyle" Ps. Janice has a sinus infection and I hope she feels better. I also hope she doesn't sneeze any germs my way.<br /><br />I'm chipping away at surface emotions here. Afraid to deal with issues lingering well below the beltline of sanguinity. Penny wise and Pound foolish is the antithesis to that pithy rejoinder I am also reminded of; "Watch the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves". If its a penny for my thoughts I've got a bucket with a hole in it, dear Eliza, and I am Throwing Copper wherever I may roam. I am dropping enough mental jewelry to make a crown of thorns upon my head. It all comes back to the problems. This time its personal. Last year I walked the line in the cold wind and rain, fighting demons and feelings that saddled me with cement stockings. Feelings of inadequacy that dauntingly forced me to confront myself and defend my existence. I came out of that personal courtroom a new man. Emotionally sound and spiritually healthy. It's because of this that the following news has me so perplexed. About a month ago, a urologist found that a lipoma in my groin had doubled in size. I am going to have a biopsy tomorrow. I've been a little frozen since the news. I didn't tell more than a handful of people and really didn't want to discuss it much more than to explain what was going on in my life. I was unable to tap into my creative sphere for fear of stimulating any macabre ideas. I can talk about it here because in this case I am talking to everyone and no one at all. I've struggled quietly with this and in a few days I will have my answer.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1136666717598416022006-01-07T12:06:00.000-08:002006-01-07T17:04:19.630-08:00Silent LucidityThe snow fell silently outside. Passing in fits behind the shuttered window, the white stuff coated the ground with a harrumph. Drawn to its nutritive and convalescing embrace, I found myself outside making a semi-conscious snow angel. The snow caressed me as I flung myself at the ground without missing. The pillow of cold packed powder cradled the back of my neck as I burned my energy into what was once water in a cloud. The life of a snowflake, eh? <br /><br />"It's only when I lose myself in someone else, that I find myself." - Depeche Mode<br /><br />Memories. Part of having an excellent memory is the feeling of never being alone. The movie in my mind. Something constantly running in cerebral technicolor. Thoughts of first meetings and last dances; Places I have lived, loved, left and longed to return to; Images of ecstasy and tableaus of turmoil. It's all there, ready to recount. <br /><br />Moments in the snow. The mind wanders through the blue sky dotted by falling flakes of white wonder. Moments wane as the spirit sails. Unfortunately due to the laws of thermal dynamics, hypothermia can put a real crimp in the plans of the day. The body rises, but the spirit continues on in a frolicking angel making romp.<br /><br />The house was remarkably silent for a Saturday afternoon. The creak of the old oak chair was my only companion. I've always preferred silence over hustle and bustle. Maybe it's because I like to live and tread lightly in this world. I find the less distortion I create, the easier it is to surf through the waves of life in the half-pipe we call Earth. So here I am digesting and feeling human, while I take a few meditative breaths and really feel the ambiance of the room. <br /><br />I'm imagining leading a life of constant amusement. Of finding the interest of *everything*. Leading a remarkable life 24-7 and having a perma-smile plastered to my ecstatic mug. Then I realize that being able to recognize the beauty of others, physical and spiritual, is my special gift. Though I myself am not blessed with the innate desire to be "scenic"; Being a patron of the arts allows me to experience the expression and energy of people consumed by expression itself.<br /><br />Creativity that does not result in productivity is wasted energy. It's like mental masturbation. Good in spurts, but if you have read Portnoy's Complaint (Phillip Roth) it can become a sinful obsession. It partially explains why I stopped smoking pot in University. I would get stoned and my mind would spring alive like Alice in Wonderland. Stories and characters would appear like rabbits at the well. Yet nothing more than half written prose full of promise ever resulted. When I gave up the constant companionship of the cannabis leaf I regained a sense of purposefulness and found progress through the act of completion.<br /><br />I am surrounded by beauty and purpose. I delight in the discovery of hidden talents. These glimpses of candid candy can be seen in the eyes. The eyes cannot lie; cannot hide disappointment, and cannot disregard the empirical evidence of sight. I like eyes, and I take measured glimpses of that facial feature when afforded the opportunity. Let me drink in your eyes and I will tell you your dreams. <br /><br />"Dreams morph. Dreams get quashed. Eventually she stopped wishing..." <a href="http://loveandcomraderie.blogspot.com">Mai.</a>Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1134315688894531902005-12-11T07:18:00.000-08:002005-12-11T07:41:28.943-08:00Boxing ShadowsNew Job<br />New Home<br />New Friends<br /><br />The only constant is change. It's the pace of change that can be unnerving. <br /><br />I have lost a lot of my definition. I have found that the undefined have a definite difficulty with definition. Since a lot of what I do here is the definitive "me", I definitely have defaulted to desolation and blog dereliction.<br /><br />Pink Floyd might suggest to "Keep Talking" (From the Division Bell), and I will continue to look for inspiration in all that I do. I will write when the words can be spared. Right now I need to not think so much, and just to live my life unrecollected.<br /><br />"This ain't au revoir, it's goodbye." - Roger Waters, Radio KAOS<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Be back in a few to continue being a gadfly.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1131297671375346992005-11-06T04:20:00.000-08:002005-11-07T05:39:38.396-08:00Pieces of PeaceThe black Pontiac Pursuit cursed through the dark night. Pursing forward into the wilderness of Lake Simcoe. The minutes slowly add up on this journey away from the bright lights of the big city. Time begins to crawl ever so slowly to the base of twelve o'clock. The day had several false finishes. It seemingly had no discernable end. This day was going to stretch from my wake up call of six in the morning, all the way to the edge of midnight, and borrow some time from the day of the next. I never felt like I was running away from something while I beat a path to the North. Rather I was drawn to a body of energy that was familiar and intangible. I was returning to my mind and the beautiful memories that it holds. A temporal portal was my destination. A place so reverent and mystic that it was my connection to a lifetime of people passing through.<br /><br /><br /> I have taken to finding comfort in the fleeting moments of peace in my life. They come in a multitude of places. Weeks ago I found myself at the cottage of an old friend. This was a chance to spend some time with mother nature, scotch, and a Sony Playstation 2. I arrived, de-camped, and properly debauched myself in an expeditious manner. Yes, I popped the 2001 Sonoma Coast La Crema Pinot Noir that I had been holding back for such an occasion. The occasion tonight? To properly prepare (inebriate) myself for a trip back into my mind and memories. The pure cherry and cedar aromas filled the glass and my two companions were taken aback by the structured complexity and fullness of a Pinot Noir. This was my magical mushroom to begin the trip I had left for. <br /><br />After much laughter and mirth lasting into the wee hours of the morning we settled into bed. I woke up with a contented yawn. I made my way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee in the hopes of rousing some company. Until then I ambled over to the cottage den looking for some inspiration in the misty morning's scenic display. Staring through the glass doors to the backyard of this waterfront property, my eyes gazed across a thirty foot long wooden porch. The sun was shining brightly and it was unseasonably warm for late October. The white caps of the water caressed the lake as they smoothly played their part in the process of the tides. A few boats can be seen off in the distance, not a lot of activity in the water on a weekend where no doubt the retreaters' of urbanity found other things to do in the city. <br /><br />So here I am left alone with my memories. As my gaze draws inwards towards the deck, I begin to pour over each grain of wood. Searching the fibres of each plank for memories of people that once graced the cottage with their prescience. Sixteen years. Faces, empty bottles of beer with cigarettes in them, and wet bathing suits. Each table or chair holds a particular memory of someone saying something particularly memorable. The fire pit in the middle of the grassy lawn has roasted many a marshmallow and warmed the drunken faces of motley adventurers for over fifteen years. I have pictures, but they don't capture the smells and feelings like a memory can. I stand overwhelmed at a life lived in laughter and joy, of Kim Mitchell's "Patio Lanterns".<br /><br />The weekend closes, the contents of which need not be recounted except to say that there is a policy of "cottage honesty". Aspects of my life I would not talk about anywhere else but at that cottage. It is a safe harbour. A Semitic confessional of sorts. I packed and moved some bags to the car. The trees spat leaves at my car in an inspired defiance. Bring it on winter, as if the trees were saying: "I am ready for you. I am tough and strong. These leaves don't define me and I throw them off in a display of strength. My core is, and will always be the branches and roots I have grown."<br /><br />Amen to that.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1130209462488174052005-10-24T16:20:00.000-07:002005-10-24T20:09:16.306-07:00New Demons"There's so much I need to say to you,<br />So many reasons why;<br />You're the only one who really knew me at all" - Phil Collins<br /><br /><br />Some days were meant for solitude. The chill in the fall air, and the sparse precipitation issuing a fine misty spray from the powdery grey clouds. Once again I walk alone with the pilloried playground I call my mind. The world is a precarious little thing. A bug on the cosmic windshield. The whims of the people festering on this flying rock are of even less concern in the grand scheme of things. The fact that nothing really matters can be either a great solace or a grave consideration to the general populous. <br /><br />Actually, the general populous is too busy watching "The Golden Girls" to weigh in on such meta-physical meandering. But tonight I sit with a frank stare across a dull blue-grey room. An operatic hum fills the room, arias reaching into the dense night sky. They do not move me. The most basic concept of a smile eludes me. My face is frozen and contorted into a melancholic frown. The truth surrounds me. Thoughts left half undone in my mind sit on the ballast as I try and steer this ship back to sea."We are all ships looking for a harbour"- Me, to <a href="http://loveandcomraderie.blogspot.com">Comrade Chicken</a> Oct. 2004<br /><br />How can I be so content, so happy, and yet so sad, all at the same time? What causes this caustic conflagration of comical calamity to incite such a multiplicity of emotion? Why do I have to feel all of it? Can I just not be swayed by one predominant set of reactions? Something to cloud my judgment and objectivity? Why can't I just be like everyone else I know? It is open to debate, but I seem to have lost my ability to be angry. In my effort to become more understanding, a curious side effect is the obliteration of anger. The path of logic leads to understanding. Knowledge feeds itself in a vigorous pursuit of discovery.<br /><br />Back to square one.<br /><br />Sometimes things make sense in the fog.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1128465934173245542005-10-04T16:20:00.000-07:002005-10-04T15:45:34.210-07:00Words Are Very UnnecessaryI play with words. I trip the light fantastic with symbols and sylabic structures, and I bend the will of language to serve my whims. In this realm I put concepts into a fragrant bouquet of punctuation. I dance around the deep recesses of my brain, waltzing with the constant hum of my cortex. Writers know this feeling well. This power to create a literal landscape and draw the utterings of an imagination. <br /><br />Ayn Rand is a writer. Sotting through Atlas Shrugged, I am <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=agog">agog</a> with her abilities to paint the physical and emotional nuances of the terrain and characters in her book. Creating the images and logic behind a story is one thing. Being proficient enough in your craft to spin these stillbound words into a working, living novel is another thing all together.<br /><br />I've been thinking about my writing. Does it torture me to do something that makes me happy, while pursuing a career in Sales and Corporate Relations? No, it does not. I am okay with writing as a hobby in the same way I looked to <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=oenology">oenology</a> and comic book collecting. But in those cases my pursuit of the hobby created some net gain. My 13 boxes of comics are worth thousands of dollars if I wanted to part with them. I have invested in wines and held them for five to ten years while they matured. This allowed me to drink wines that would have cost four or five times the amount I paid at their initial release.<br /><br />So, what to do with this collection of words I have amassed? With three years of Livejournaling (which produced very little of substance anyway), years of poetry written during my University years, and a raft of private stories and conceptions, can I spin any of this into an income producing activity?<br /><br />I am not going to stop writing if the answer above is "no". The labour of love which I set forth to every few weeks or so will continue anon. This question is a result of trying to measure the productivity of my day. Perhaps creativity cannot be measured any more than noting its abscence. <br /><br />So, why do you write?Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1127386766931075682005-09-22T03:54:00.000-07:002005-09-22T03:59:26.936-07:00Hurricane Relief Part DeuxOne Last note on Hurricane Katrina and the continued efforts to provide relief to the area. Ken Dawson, a New York blogger who originally hails from the Louisiana Area, wrote <a href="http://kenwheaton.blogspot.com/2005/09/big-rig.html">here</a> about further ways to help if you haven't been able to or didn't know how to lend your support. If you can't give, please throw a link on your blog to increase public awareness.<br /><br />War Eagle,<br /><br />RyeRyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1127273488156459012005-09-20T20:09:00.000-07:002005-09-20T20:31:28.163-07:00On Kissing and Sex.Kissing is like opening a door. The key must fit in the lock perfectly. Otherwise its just a lot of jabbing and shaking. Kissing is like taking someone on a trip through the stars. Wanderlusting through time and space and melting the fabric of energy around us until we are everywhere all at once. A good kiss can speak volumes. You can have a whole conversation through the connection of lips to skin. <br /><br />Good Sex to me is like an Symphony. Well paced with a background of story and music all leading up to a series of exclamations and cataclysmic eruptions leading up to a grand finale and a soft lingering hum in the ears. Olympic Sex. Quickies. Just because dinner was really good. Sex is tender and full of exposition and raw naked vulnerable aggression. It is the steam engine boring through the mountain tunnel. It is the piston pumping repeatedly through the engine core. It is every hackeneyed euphemism we've ever spouted.<br /><br /><br />The one moment where you see the spark, the potential of something undiscovered. <br /><br />That's not the end, it is only the beginning.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1126317231602218402005-09-09T16:20:00.000-07:002005-09-09T18:53:51.646-07:00Deconstructing EggsWhat causes stress? Are you stressed? Am I stressed? Is stress good for you? <br /><br />Considering the state of the world these days (unraveling it would appear), I took delicious pleasure today in stepping back and finding some fun in my life. I have really pushed myself too hard for the past few weeks. Looking for answers to problems that took years to form, thinking that solutions will be quick and enduring is pure folly. I wrote in March 2004 that changing the nature of states is easier than changing the states of nature. I think that still holds true. <br /><br />I was told to take some time off to reflect about why I have been pensive and nervous about my new position. I have all the tools required to succeed. I have all the support network a guy could want from a company. But I really was putting a lot of pressure on myself to perform at the same level as my old job. Irrespective of the fact that in that position I had 7 years experience and a warm territory. I move into a cold territory with unfamiliar product. I told my manager today that "when I feel I don't know everything, I feel like I know nothing". I know that knowledge is not an absolute concept. It is possible to be somewhat proficient in certain areas. The personal struggle for me is whether I can accept not being the "Master" of my domain. In some respects I am forced to relearn how to do my job. Which is fine in a technical or professional job, but in sales it can be devastating to the confidence.<br /><br />I sat in the sun and soaked up some rays. I listened to Genesis playing Turn it on Again, and sang along with the windows rolled down. I smiled widely and breathed deeply. I came online and chatted to some new people. I did things just outside of my comfort zone. I changed it up and spun it around. My mantra was "Monday is the *first* day, so make it count." I am letting go of all the questioning and fears and restoring the aggressively honest personality that I made my calling card with.<br /><br />When I worked with my old company, I used to believe I had a "right" to open my catalogues and "get" the order. My customers _need_ this product and I had a sense of urgency that got results. Now I need to find that spirit in my new position and get my confidence back. Which in turn brings me back to the pressure. I have been twisting inside, searching for answers and feeling ineffective for the past 2 weeks. I was starting to lose focus and get into bad habits again. But with one 3 hour meeting and a half day off in the sun, I feel a revitalization. I sat with my DM and went over all of the reasons why they hired me. He talked about how well I have done so far, and that what I was experiencing was a normal part of a career switch.<br /><br />This blog recently celebrated its 2000th Visitor today. Thank you all for reading and commenting. I hope that you will continue to be amused and amazed by the shapes of letters and lines that define this rhythmical diatribe.<br /><br />Just finished reading Chuck Klosterman "Dying to Live:An 85% True Story". Brilliant and fun read, he is a master of pop cult deconstruction. Highly recommended to those people who read "books".<br /><br />Please check out some of the new additions to the "Blogs that don't suck list". I have been told by a few readers that you are all very good writers... So if you have a blog on that list, well done! If you would like to be linked on this blog, please send a comment or email.<br /><br />Now I am off to Partay in the Yonge and Eligible District. <br /><br />Til Then!Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1125814026333388602005-09-03T22:57:00.000-07:002005-09-03T23:07:06.340-07:00Blogsponsibility<a href="http://kenwheaton.blogspot.com">Ken</a> made a request for readers of his Blog to link this very important <a href="http://kenwheaton.blogspot.com/2005/09/adopt-refugees-in-st-landry-parish.html">Post</a>. He has blogged tirelessly to increase knowledge and understanding of the issue and I appreciate his efforts. I dropped a few coins in his paypal fund because I believe that his people will do some major good works with any donations. <br /><br />Also, for those of you who like nifty Icons, please consider this <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/mightygodking/204885.html">offering</a> from MightyGodKing from the ranks of LJ.<br /><br />I hope this post secures my rank within the Anti-Hurricane forces.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1125009107014305132005-08-25T15:18:00.000-07:002005-09-01T06:04:43.493-07:00First Foot ForwardI've learned something about love, my friend. It's not how they make you feel when you are with them, it's how they make you feel when they are not. Love sustains a man in the desert. It bridges the gaps of the widest oceans. That's off the top of my head, don't let me get started. Because when it comes to the wellspring of emotional currents, my river runs deep. The summer brings its act to a close, and the long hot days start to share the stage with cooler nights. The anthems slowly start to pour in, recounting another passing season in a way that only Green Day can. "Wake me up when September ends" indeed Billie Joe, touche. "Summer Lovin' had me a blast", chimed in John Travolta. But the last word in summer romance belongs to the great k.d. lang,<br /><br />Sweet, sweet burn<br />Of sun and summer wind<br />And you my friend<br />My new fun thing<br />My summerfling<br /><br />Summer love is like a romp in a Victorian dance hall. Pomp, elegance, circumstance, going through the pre-ordained motions in concurrence with the other dilettantes and their gents. It's very surreal and affecting, when the tune ends its much like a shunting into the real world, blasting on the anachronistic shuttle 300 years forward. We have certain unconscious habits. After seeing March of the Penguins I came to realize that humans too are affected by this habit of nature, this predilection towards temporary coupling in the warmest and most social of seasons. <br /><br />What can't be discerned from our winged wonders of the hinterland is the emotional cost of this surreal life. Penguins are compelled to do what they must to survive. Humanity is often the other way around. Humanity revels in the drama of life. It diffuses the focus of reality and allows us a momentary reprieve from the responsibilities of like, say, sanity? People get swept up in the optics of interactions between people who share relationships; Friends, fuck friends, lovers, and most importantly the relationships that at one point have spanned all three. Defined by intense and consuming thoughts that seem disproportionate to everyone elses intake of the situation. Mostly involving sentiments like shame, embarrassment, and desire. Drama occurs when the actual result is so unpalatable that it appears rational to throw the baby out with the bath water. <br /><br />As per usual, I have no story to tell. My words spill out as thoughts unformed by any specific event or story. I'm like a stew, I embrace experiences and exposures and absorb their essences into a melange I call "me". Yes, it means I don't have a particularly strong self-identity, but it also means I'm rarely bored with myself. <br /><br />I am extraordinarily blessed this summer to have met some incredible people. Each with a different strength or talent that I could learn from. As usual, it was my closest friend who provided the greatest spark in my life. I can only hope that everyone has one person in the world who they can share everything with and speak honestly on any matter without fear of reproach or rebuke. The advice of a trusted confidante is best when confined only to the things that really matter. The truth is we learn the most from the people we listen to freely. Asking a question is the best way to narrow the scope of the answer. Finding answers in the advice offered without solicitation, that's where the nuggets of golden truth lay.<br /><br />Now for some blog housekeeping: Please do check out <a href="http://nondatinglife.blogspot.com/">Ken Wheaton's Non-Dating Life</a> He is really knocking them out of the park lately and continues to be a great summer read.<br /><br /><br />Stay tuned for blog updates. As life continues to roll along, posts and thoughts gather and evolve. Work post coming up soon. Until then, thanks for reading and good night where ever you may roam.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1122694052681698362005-07-29T19:40:00.000-07:002005-07-29T20:30:51.903-07:00Let's do it.In a move that stunned a few people last week, I made a very significant and life altering change.<br /><br />I quit. I resigned my position at the company I have worked for in some capacity or another for the last 16 years. I gave my two weeks notice and I am moving on to a similar position in a similar field. <br /><br />That's where the similarities end. I asked myself what I didn't like about my job and what I felt it was missing. Then I went to apply at a company who could offer me those qualities in a job. Three interviews later I am hired, and I am now beginning the exciting new solo adventures of a sales guy in a large corporation. <br /><br />Doubt springs eternal. Can't let it get you down though. Have to soldier on in spite of the fear of failure. For what is failure but another opportunity to learn and eventually succeed. Indeed this blog post is probably the result of a past failure to write something someone would find vaguely interesting.<br /><br />Why did I do this? I was getting a stale taste in my mouth. I was beginning to feel like an order taker and not a salesman. I was functioning in a repetitive loop that wasn't bringing me new challenges or successes. Life became about maintaining a bunch of plates spinning on sticks. I wasn't learning new skills or addressing weaknesses in my performance. I had no goals or measurements for success. I needed a mentor, some structure, and a defined territory in which to develop the skills that I lacked. What good is an abundance of opportunity if there is no one to teach you how to reach for the golden ring?<br /><br />This is also the chance for me to get out of the shadows of my father. He is a brilliant salesman who is highly regarded in the industry. It never was a case of nepotism or favor incurred on his behalf. Every deal I put together or assisted on bore the mark of my efforts. There was nothing given to me that I didn't add to and make into something better. But the politics of having a famous father in the business meant that sometimes the questions were raised. Fair or not, my position and success were always measured in the terms of who I was the son of and not how I created business from vision and effort.<br /><br />I go on to my new position feeling like this will be the true test of my abilities. I will see if I am meant for a life in sales because this position is a pure sales job. This is a force of professional sales people which I am joining. I have to control my rogue instincts and learn to function in a supportive environment. Too often I would say "screw it" and do things myself, holed up in the office until darkness fell. I have to learn to trust others to work on my behalf. I have to learn a thoroughness and attention to detail so that I may communicate effectively through my work and not through my words. I must plan my day ahead of time, and be prepared to accept new challenges without disrupting the goals I have set.<br /><br />The journey is to become a complete and skilled individual. I'm excited because I have always dreamed of working for the company that hired me. Ever since I was a kid, this company represented the gold standard for professionalism in my industry. People aren't surprised I made the jump. Its a good fit for me and the resounding opinion is that I will be very successful in this organization. <br /><br />But will I be happy? The job change was one of three key areas I needed to adjust in this new era of personal responsibility. This trio of personal improvements were conceived of in a moment of clarity onset by the descent into madness. I said to myself "If I could just do these three things, I could be happy" Well that's only half true. I said it would allow me to do something that would make me happy. What are the other two areas? Not really something I think would make for an interesting blog, but if I ever get to the point where I have accomplished these further two goals I wil revisit their appropriatness as topics for discourse.<br /><br />What's my motivation? It changes. I don't cling to notions. That would just keep me hanging on. I'm here, feet planted firmly on the ground, ready to take some steps on the moon.<br /><br />I'm feeling apprehensively overjoyed.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1120588330575198132005-07-05T16:20:00.000-07:002005-07-05T12:18:29.450-07:00One is the Lonliest NumberFebruary Stars<br />Floating in the Dark<br />Temporary Scars<br />February Stars<br />-Dave Grohl<br /><br />There are some places in my head which are truly isolated. Spaces which are rarely tapped into but convey the true nature of my existance. I have this connection to the world that defies explanation. It reveals itself as a predispostion to kindness and sensitivity, but it is born from a collective unconscious that I belong to. I feel a connection to others that could be described as deeply magnetic. I am drawn to people and the stories they tell in their eyes. So when I get to tap into that isolated area, the area of my mind I keep just for myself (a secret garden), it offers me a vision of where I am in relation to no one else but myself.<br /><br />A record of solitude<br />The impression stands<br />Get in a pool of tears<br />Flexible, fervent streams<br /><br />Fleeting fame from a sidewalk window<br />facing North and South for the first time<br />Compasses galore, with no one to follow<br />Walk to the place I would never find<br /><br /><br />I took some time on the weekend to meditate on the concept of singularity and isolation. I attempted to disconnect myself from everything and everyone in an effort to be reborn into myself. I turned off the cell and the chat messengers. I walked, shopped, and exercised some more. I was with other people but isolated in my mind. I was in a trance like state, oblivious to all that I had ceased any emotional connections to the world. This was a test of my inner strength. <br /><br />As I drove home from the gym, I focused a set of thoughts in my mind. I created a mindset to map a logical order of the systems in my life. I shut down my consciousness and as I drove (slightly worried about getting into an accident because I was vanishing in spirit) I felt my essence disappear from the collective energy I feed into. My sense of belonging and identity went out the window as I drove in complete silence. I felt a darkness and silent lucidity overcome me as the wheels spun against the cracked pavement. Nothing is perfect, and there is nothing left to lose. My heart contains a fire that is fueled by the breath of others. The fire runs dim, it needs nourishment to regain a healthy glow. It is easier to slip into these moments of isolation than ever before. These are the thoughts I shared with myself as I drove myself home.<br /><br />I finished the exercise in failure. I could not refrain from connecting to the comfortable safety of others. I reached out. I yearned for a connection to the outside world that sought me as well. My own company was insufficient. That is something I would like to work on. I need to find validity in the essence of self. I had set out for a day of isolation, but found that I was sick of myself. I think that if nothing else, that observation made the entire exercise have some value. <br /><br />I saw the movie "Crash" last week. Written by Paul Haggis (Million Dollar Baby), it recounts the supercharged atmosphere of Los Angeles as experienced by a number of radically different people. But they are all connected, and that is what I was trying to do, find myself among the connections I have made in my life. Capture my essence in the ethreal elements of a friend's smile. See myself in someone else's eyes. I needed a paradigm shift and a affirmation that I am what I say I am.<br /><br /><br />The day also led to furious bouts of writing. My thoughts clicked through the keyboard like a torrential rain on the Gulf Coast. Most of it will never see the light of day, but may be the start of a fictional book I've been writing in my head. Unfortunately, "Are you there G-d, it's me Margaret" has already been written. The book I want to write would read like a collaboration between Judy Blume and Hunter S. Thompson. I actually have about 5 posts sitting in the Draft Folder waiting to be pieced together. Unfortunately I seem to enjoy the summer heat and the beat on the street, so the blogging outlook will continue to waver between "half-assed" and "negligent".<br /><br />Till then.<br /><br />RRyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1119706517056422832005-06-25T09:28:00.000-07:002005-06-25T06:36:26.750-07:00Glass Tears Don't DryLong time no write, eh? I have a few posts sitting in the drafts folder waiting to be edited and focused. Until then I'll share this with you. I woke up this morning with a certain feeling. A thud, a jolt, a sense of deja-vu. As the feeling warmed over me I knew that I had blogged about it before. I went to the computer and checked my old livejournal for it. I'm going to repost the blog here, sans comments. Note that it was about a different girl, but the feeling is exactly the same. <br />--<br />October 11th. 2004<br /><br />Sometimes dreams are sexy, and that makes me happy. I wake up contented and refreshed. Sometimes dreams are scary, and that makes me nervous. I wake up confused and uncomfortable.<br /><br />The worst is when you dream about being with your one lost love. The person you never raised the courage to tell, "I think I love you". I don't think there is a feeling worse than that somber melancholy.<br /><br />And that my friends, is how I woke up this morning.<br />--<br /><br />Until I blog again, take care.<br /><br />RRyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263126.post-1118451097346283352005-06-10T20:57:00.000-07:002005-06-10T17:54:03.603-07:00She's Hot, I'm Not.It's hot. Paris Hilton hot. Crank up the A/C in the car and your shirt still sticks to the back of the seat hot. Still, I feel good today. Maybe its the time passing in that cute little chronological way, looking all temporally fine like it does, but I am just feeling generally amourous. I'm checking out everything in my path, like a bee searching for pollen or a squirrel seeking acorns. My eyes are once again open and seeing that rainbow of life. I wouldn't even be able to explain what I am feeling had I not been fortunate enough to spend a few moments catching up with <a href="http://madspiders.blogspot.com/">Mad Spider's </a>recent adventures. Reading about other people and the bumps in the road of life is not only comforting, its inspiring and affirming. And that's not even the reason I'm writing today...<br /><br />Here we are, it's quitting time and I am out of the office and into the car to crawl home. I am doing the rush hour dance in my Saturn when out of the corner of my eye I spy some highlighted blonde locks. There is a hand running through them, a tanned and toned arm works its way to the side of her head, toying with her tresses in an innocently subtle manner. I jostle my car into another lane to get closer to her. She's driving an SUV. A red X-Terra or something. She is drinking one of those expensive POM juices. I catch a glimpse of her face. I am struck by the composition of her facial features and the utter lack of stress on her face. She picks up the phone. She starts chatting, and then I see it. Or rather I am blinded by it and almost turn into the median. She was sporting a rock that sat on 4 diamonds that other people would kill to have as their entire stone. She wore a wedding band that was so encrusted in diamonds one wondered if there was any gold used at all.<br /><br />It was then that my mind started making all of these unfair assessments. Trophy wife. Married some guy for money and all she has to do is feed his ego. Traded on her genetic lottery ticket to win the jackpot. All of a sudden she wasn't so attractive to me anymore. The innocence now looked like simplemindedness. The relaxed and demure attitude now constituted callous regard for others. Then I turned that negativity on myself. Why was I becoming critical of someone I found attractive because of the size of her ring? Why can I not choose to believe that she might have come from family money herself? Maybe she was an industrious young woman who made her own fortune? Even if she married money, why must I assume that she didn't love him for other reasons and just accepted the money as a condition and not a qualifier?<br /><br />All of this gave me pause and thought about lingering questions of my disposition towards people who are naturally and universally considered attractive. I've always tried to look past beauty to reach for the person inside the features. It's a personal pride that I have when I notice my relations with people are based on the content of their character and not the tone of their skin. So why is it what when I don't know people, have these random car interactions, that I am so frankly honest in my assessments? I painstaking try to only see the best in people that I know, even to the point of disillusionment. Yet with strangers I am so inclined to be acerbic. It's not hostile or aggressive and I know its only superficial and personal. I would never say these things out loud. So when I see some really heavy guy with a supersized double big mac meal, why can't I stop myself from thinking "Geez, maybe that guy should mix in a salad once in a while"? I have very close and personal friends that are bigger than the average, and I would never think of asking them to change one bit. I like them just the way they are and would want them only to be happy in life. If a Big Mac with supersize fries is what they want, I'd be happy to walk it over to their door. <br /><br />It's like they say in the that book, "Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you". <br /><br />Ps, I found my happy. That was super quick. I don't think it ever went anywhere. Happiness lies somewhere between responsibility and success in the sandwich of life.Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125205253154768788noreply@blogger.com0