Goofs and Gadflies

A Post on Censorship

2011-02-16T06:19:00.000-08:00

This 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.

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.

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.

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.

To the best of our understanding, this activity is illegal. One individual told us he reported that harassment to the police.

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:

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.

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.

Signed,

His Mightiness, Garnel Ironheart (along with many other Jewish bloggers)

If you agree, please feel free to sign in the comment section and post this on your blog as well.

A Happy Medium is the Message

2010-10-06T17:47:00.000-07:00

'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.

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.

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.

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)"

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.

Welcome to my Carlsberg Years.

The Art of Eating

2009-07-28T14:24:00.000-07:00

I have been asked to write about my BBQ Beer Butt Chicken. Cooking is the vibrant combination of temperature, taste, texture, and time. The 4T's as it were. Here are the short tips:

Temperature- I cook with indirect heat on the BBQ, Med-Off-Med are the burner settings and I like to keep the grill around 400F for consistent results. The trick is to keep the Q shut for as much of the cooking time as possible to recirculate the heat. A quick turn every 20 minutes is enough to ensure even crisping of the bird.

Taste- I have tried two distinct flavours and both were successful. Bone Suckin' BBQ and Shwarma flavour. BBQ has notes of brown sugar, paprika, garlic and spices where shwarma spice has primarily a cumin and tumeric base. I find the BBQ version to be juicier, yet the shwarma style accepts the smoke of the grill with a more graceful match than the BBQ.

Texture- Chicken made in this style has flesh that can be described as thus. Supple and buttery (yet not greasy) for the dark meat; Breast meat that is firm with a gentle yielding to the knife. The wings get delightfuly carmelized and neck is best described as decadent.

Time- 60 minutes for Shwarma, and 50 minutes for BBQ. The sugars in the BBQ spice speed up the cooking slightly. I still use a meat thermometer in the thigh to hit 180C. I don't mind going over a bit, as the steam allows for flexibility depending on the crispiness desired for the skin. Going over 60 Min? At your own risk, I say.

I start on Wednesday with a trip to Hamilton Kosher Pick up a Chai Poultry bird of approx 1.5 KG. Thursday AM I wash the bird, take 2 Tblsp of olive oil and apply to the skin to help the rub stick. I then rub the bird good with a generous amount of either spice. Set in the fridge for 36 hours.

Friday night I open a can of beer, pour half into glass. Add more spice to remaining beer in the can. Spray can with PAM, and place inside Butt of Chicken. Place chicken onto the cooking rack and place on pre-heated 400F Grill. (some people cook with out it, but I like the rack for its stabilizing properties later when I cut the bird into 8 pieces) Cook 50-60 minutes. If BBQ style add sauce during last 5 min of cooking. Allow one hour to cool (minimum 30 min). Cut and keep warm until serving.

The Continuing Importance of Me.

2009-03-04T05:53:00.000-08:00

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.

The Culture of Me

2007-07-24T20:33:00.000-07:00

Nothing 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.

There is more, you're just going to have to wait for it. Patience my friends.

Can the Internet send me to Vegas?

2007-02-13T11:51:00.000-08:00

*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*

Dear Readers,

If you have enjoyed reading my blog, and have a minute to spare, I need your help.

I want to go to Vegas and get married. The MIX is having a contest and I want to win.

Finally, I *want* something.

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.

Here is what you have to do: Call the Mad Dog & Billie line at 416-323-5420 or e-mail sweetescape@999mixfm.com and tell them why Erin and Ryan deserve a "Sweet Escape".

Here is the Letter!

Dear Mix,

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.

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.

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.

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.

Ryan

Snapshots and Magnets

2006-11-18T18:11:00.000-08:00

To the Internet and its Netizens:

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.

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.

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.

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"?

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.

I miss this, the pairing of words in this keyboard waltz. I do hope to see you again soon,

Ryan

What you Get.

2006-05-24T17:37:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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".

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.

And by we, I mean "I". 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.

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.

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.

Smooth Surfaces

2006-02-26T16:20:00.000-08:00

Winter 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.

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!"

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.

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.

Silent Lucidity

2006-01-07T12:06:00.000-08:00

The 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?

"It's only when I lose myself in someone else, that I find myself." - Depeche Mode

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"Dreams morph. Dreams get quashed. Eventually she stopped wishing..." Mai.

Boxing Shadows

2005-12-11T07:18:00.000-08:00

New Job
New Home
New Friends

The only constant is change. It's the pace of change that can be unnerving.

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.

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.

"This ain't au revoir, it's goodbye." - Roger Waters, Radio KAOS

Be back in a few to continue being a gadfly.

Pieces of Peace

2005-11-06T04:20:00.000-08:00

The 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.

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.

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.

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".

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."

Amen to that.

New Demons

2005-10-24T16:20:00.000-07:00

"There's so much I need to say to you,
So many reasons why;
You're the only one who really knew me at all" - Phil Collins

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.

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 Comrade Chicken Oct. 2004

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.

Back to square one.

Sometimes things make sense in the fog.

Words Are Very Unnecessary

2005-10-04T16:20:00.000-07:00

I 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.

Ayn Rand is a writer. Sotting through Atlas Shrugged, I am agog 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.

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 oenology 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.

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?

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.

So, why do you write?

Hurricane Relief Part Deux

2005-09-22T03:54:00.000-07:00

One 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 here 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.

War Eagle,

Rye

On Kissing and Sex.

2005-09-20T20:09:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

The one moment where you see the spark, the potential of something undiscovered.

That's not the end, it is only the beginning.

Deconstructing Eggs

2005-09-09T16:20:00.000-07:00

What causes stress? Are you stressed? Am I stressed? Is stress good for you?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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".

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.

Now I am off to Partay in the Yonge and Eligible District.

Til Then!

Blogsponsibility

2005-09-03T22:57:00.000-07:00

Ken made a request for readers of his Blog to link this very important Post. 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.

Also, for those of you who like nifty Icons, please consider this offering from MightyGodKing from the ranks of LJ.

I hope this post secures my rank within the Anti-Hurricane forces.

First Foot Forward

2005-08-25T15:18:00.000-07:00

I'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,

Sweet, sweet burn
Of sun and summer wind
And you my friend
My new fun thing
My summerfling

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.

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.

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.

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.

Now for some blog housekeeping: Please do check out Ken Wheaton's Non-Dating Life He is really knocking them out of the park lately and continues to be a great summer read.

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.

Let's do it.

2005-07-29T19:40:00.000-07:00

In a move that stunned a few people last week, I made a very significant and life altering change.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I'm feeling apprehensively overjoyed.

One is the Lonliest Number

2005-07-05T16:20:00.000-07:00

February Stars
Floating in the Dark
Temporary Scars
February Stars
-Dave Grohl

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.

A record of solitude
The impression stands
Get in a pool of tears
Flexible, fervent streams

Fleeting fame from a sidewalk window
facing North and South for the first time
Compasses galore, with no one to follow
Walk to the place I would never find

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.

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.

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.

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.

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".

Till then.

R

Glass Tears Don't Dry

2005-06-25T09:28:00.000-07:00

Long 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.
--
October 11th. 2004

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.

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.

And that my friends, is how I woke up this morning.
--

Until I blog again, take care.

R

She's Hot, I'm Not.

2005-06-10T20:57:00.000-07:00

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 Mad Spider's 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...

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.

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?

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.

It's like they say in the that book, "Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you".

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.

2005-06-10T18:04:00.000-07:00

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

The Pompitus of Youth

2005-06-06T22:45:00.000-07:00

Pre-Script: When you are down on the ground (or as author Cynthia Gould puts it, laying in the gutter looking at the stars), there is nowhere to go but up. If you are reading this and you feel down or blue, you have to know that it gets better. You are the sole(soul) proprietor of your life based business. Listen to the music.
---

The Bat-Mitzvah of 12 young women in an orthodox synagogue is a marvel in itself. Twelve bright, articulate, and sensible women, giving speeches on the role of Judaism in their lives. One talked of charity, one of trust, one of good deeds, and so on until the last of the mock ice cream cake was served. It's just me complaining here people, but with the invention of the refrigerator, the Jews should have kicked back and said, "milkshakes with your burger is still traif, but if you want a little shot of milk in your coffee after dinner knock yourselves out." That aside, the whole process was just a marvel to watch. A hall filled with loving family and friends. Children running amok in the corridors. Fresh faced youth watching their friends on the daius with reverie. The energy was palpable and I was riveted the whole time I was there.

I may be one of the least observant Jews ever, (sometimes I trip over my Judaism and apologize to it) but tonight was just a marvelous ceremony. My cousin was brilliant and I am very proud of her public speaking skills. Her composure and diligence was exceptional for a girl who was always a little shorter and a little quieter than the rest of the crowd. She has grown up into a young woman with poise and a Hepburn (or Jennifer Love-Hewitt for those of you under 50) like charm.

Myself, I'm glad they served wine at the table. Like Julian of the Trailer Park Boys, I always feel more at ease with a drink in my hand. Preferably a gin and tonic, but a scotch and water will do. I like to drink. It's natural for me to want a Mimosa before brunch. It's natural for me to have a beer with a poker game. Having spent three years in the business of selling alcohol, I know all about careful consumption. I don't like the state of being drunk. I don't like drinking too much because it turns my stomach to shit. If I have to endure certain social interactions, taking a little alcohol to grease the lens is my preference.

I'm glad I had a drink in me, because other wise I may have been compelled to turn Super Nanny on a few parents. At one point during the speeches a kid at my table had become inconsolable. This was quite early on in the evening too. The kid was humming, banging plates and drinking coke like it was keeping him in oxygen. The mother seemed unable to control her some and flitted looks of "oy, what a bundle of energy" around the table. Later on the husband arrived at the table to try and placate the now petulant 7 year old. The mother proceeded to use this opportunity to make small talk with the other ladies at the table. The only problem I had with this was the fact that the women were making their speeches at the time. Now, its a big hall, so its possible to have a conversation undetected, but that doesn't make it right. As the speeches ended for dinner I cracked to the person next to me, "I don't know why she expects her kids to pay attention or be respectful of others when she can't do it herself." The lady told me that was quite a good observation, as she had also been straining to hear the speech through the quiet din of inanity pulsing through the room. The women later said of her two handfuls, "It's gotten to the point where unless they are shrieking in pain, I just ignore them." Sound advice for all you potential mummies out there.

After her speech, I got the opportunity to speak to my cousin. She was all smiles as she made her way through the crowd of friends and family. I told her how proud I was of her, that she spoke beautifully, and that she looks just like Lindsay Lohan. She told me, "Aww, but I *hate* Lindsay Lohan, she's such a tramp". I told her that it is never a bad thing to look like a really famous actress and to enjoy the attention. Then I told her that her I think I have been to a few parties with her Principal. Her mouth just dropped and I am sure she was going to tell all the girls that "her cousin partied with the Principal".

Ahh, kids. I love it when they think adults have no life. Now, I am an exception here because I have spikey hair. Which somehow gains me street credibility with tweener cousins.

As for the fate of this blog: This blog rests upon finding the energy to compose my experiences into salient thoughts. I am a person who finds outlets only when I am in a positive mindframe. Other people write to expel nasty notions or to gain clarity through catharsis. That is not me. I am only truly creative when I am happy and adjusted. So, if I am not around for a few weeks, the reason is I have left again to find my inner happy. So I ask for your patience and your regular Goofs and Gadflies will return ASAP.

Signs

2005-05-30T18:08:00.000-07:00

If there is one notion to cling to, and only one, it is that life is precious. "Don't Panic" comes a close second. (tm Douglas Adams) While it's true that Life is Beautiful (tm Benigni)Holding forth the primacy that life is precious instills a greater sense of personal responsibility to look both ways before crossing the street.

The feet move quickly, with purpose, almost possessed by the quickening pace they have undertaken. The air passes swiftly around the legs as they press forward, lunging and stabbing at the concrete below. The light spring air provides little resistance and allows for a quick egress. The sunglasses provide respite from the bright sun, and hides blurry eyes from perfect strangers. The feet are flying now, passing strolling couples and gauntly sloped seniors. But to where? Destination unknown. This is a walking away from and not a walking towards. There is no rainbow of knowledge at the end of the day. There is only sweat and a beating heart. A heart that beats only to let you know that its still alive. It is not like the winter, where the act of walking is almost in rebellion to the elements. These days were made for brisk walks and it is obviously so by the number of people out there tonight. When I walk in the winter, I walk alone. The whistling of the wind and snow my only companion. I walk for knowledge (a weapon in the fight against fear). Now when I walk, all I see is hope, and hope springs eternal. I cannot deny the nature of change. The water of time that washes away the stings of living. I could take solace in a glass of Jack and Coke (tm Esther) But I have always been more of a merlot fan (especially Pomerol).

The seasons change and yet the song remains the same. I have to stay true to the notion that everything I endure will make me a stronger person. Who needs contentment when you can have adventure? I have to regain my composure and remind myself that my struggles are of relative inconsequence to the rest of the world. I do not have the ability to launch nuclear weapons, corrupt the local water supply, or eat ice cream without getting a brain freeze. If I have a momentary lapse of purpose, life goes on and we all have cake.

I've never understood why people say "I need to change" when we are all in a perpetual state of growth. Is growth not change? I think that all things work out over time. The trick is, they just might not work out in your favour. The best part about experience is that it provides a solution set for the future. The mind is a library of knowledge and every day I am writing the books of my life. It's time to go back into my own private library and check out a few oldie-but-goodies.

So here I sit, crouched with my hands over my head, waiting for the bombs to stop falling. I smile privately, because I know they will. I will survive, and flourish. I know this because I always look both ways before crossing the street.

And love
Is not the easy thing
The only baggage
That you can bring
Not the easy thing
The only baggage you can bring
Is all that you can't leave behind
(...)
And I know it aches
How your heart it breaks
You can only take so much

Walk on
Walk on

-U2 "Walk On"

Seasonal Tidings

2005-05-21T08:44:00.000-07:00

I think it's a little late for spring cleaning, considering that summer has officially arrived with the May 2-4 long weekend. It is maybe one last attempt to put behind us the coming and going of another season. Spring, I mean you no disrespect, but you are the most difficult season to emerge from. How do we really know when we are through with you? The summer gives away gracefully into fall, and winter strides in confidently with its blustery sleeping grace. Spring settles in like a mist and gives a respite from the bitter cold. It sprouts the leaves and brings in the green. It teases cloyingly with heat, only to lash back with a frosty glare. Spring holds the secret of life. The moment of unstoppable evolution that, when put into a fast forward montage, resembles every sex-ed video ever shown around the world.

Patio time. Last night I spent time on a S-Bux patio in Uptown T-Dot. Sucking back a mint mocha, non-fat, light whip, nutmeg sprinkled latte with a few friends. Contagious laughter and sophomoric antics ensued. Nothing better to make a person feel younger than to do the things we did when we *were* young. It wouldn't be inaccurate to say that I am definitely taking a holiday from life these days. I have stopped worrying about the future and started to roll with each day as it comes. I think that happens when you have something in your life that makes you so happy that you can't think about the future. When the days are filled with such passion and calm that thinking about the future becomes a frivolous act. This is what defines contentment. Living in today with no sense of "I should be doing something else". Being in the only place I would want to be at that moment. I can enjoy a lost night in the city where nothing really happens.

So, I will spend the better part of a day cleaning out my personal closet. No, most of what comes out heads straight into the emotional receptacle and will not be seen here. Physically I will prepare myself for a summer of action and accomplishment. I will create an environment conducive to productivity. I will continue to shape into a mold of myself. A mold not of tangible value, but of psychic cohesion. I will be organized and nothing cyclical will surprise me. I will be prepared. I will be foot loose and fancy free.

I will continue to keep this blog devoid of actual content or commentary. This blog is my puppy. I will be content to let him lap at my face and lick his nuts. Hopefully in that order.

When they say "It isn't about the money", you better believe it's about the money.

2005-05-12T16:20:00.000-07:00

A friend from High School sent out an email today, announcing that he and his wife are expecting a baby. Along with the note came an ultrasound picture attachment. Such a peaceful looking fetus. That kid looked like it was holding a spliff in one hand, while grooving to some Portishead being piped intra-uterine. This couple I have known since they met. Two creative, driven, and sociable persons; have just moved into their first house. So much nachas (fortune) for two people who I think deserve all of it and more.

I have friends who were lucky enough to pursue their passions and curiosities unencumbered from the same sorts of financial restrictions that most people live with. That they are successful people is not owed completely to the helping hands and support they have enjoyed. They still work very hard, tirelessly and with great personal stress, to achieve their goals in life. What is notable is that they were able to fail and learn from their failures. Sometimes you can do everything right and still fail. Its easy to learn from your mistakes, harder to learn from your circumstantial failures.

So it can be said that I have friends who succeeded through personal development and their intrinsic belief in success, and friends who have been molded and shaped into a successful life. First let me state that for the purpose of this discussion I am going to define success as the "obtaining the ability to progress through the natural steps of adulthood and citizenry". Having seen both types of success I note some contrasting points of definition between "old" and "new" money. The following isn't based on am analysis of any one person, but it is rather a conglomeration of trends I have noticed.

New money might not have a university degree or a college designation, but has a proven track record of dependable and reliable employment. Becoming a workhorse to compensate for feelings of inferiority to the MBA'ed of the company. Their contributions to the office are technically sound and double checked for accuracy. Their output is dependable and their eagerness to accept extra-responsibility in the company is welcomed (although not compensated for). By doing this "free" work, the under-educated employee gains experience and knowledge. The only downside to the excessive work habits of the earnest employee, is a nagging feeling that they are underpaid and unappreciated. There is also a tendency to have a work "personality" that is cordial and polite, and a "social" personality that reflects their friend choices. This is often less refined and churlish. So while one might see this employee talking "white-collar" at the office, if you heard them on a personal call or saw them outside the work environment, they might display more "blue-collar" tendencies. It seems that every one at the office knows their various maladies and they have no trouble sharing personal stories to coworkers.

Old money has at least an undergraduate degree, and most often has completed some post-graduate work in either business or law. They often seek to start their own businesses, or work at an executive level for a company. The conflicts with old money are centered around finding the balance between work and life. The desire to maintain the existing social position causes an external strain on these people. It's not enough to work hard and make money. There should be an altruistic element to their careers. Through volunteering on community boards or by actively mentoring younger employees or students, old money believes that giving back to the community is expected of them. They don't like to share personal information with coworkers, but might have one person in the company as a confidante. Work is done for the sake of work, recognition is internal and it is not necessary to receive praise from others. If you hear them talking on the phone, they are most likely planning a social event or discussing a future trip. They are shrouded with secrecy and not flashy with their money.

Money. It's not the only motivator around. It's just a convenient currency in which to measure worth. There is no value in money, just need and want. People are raised with certain attitudes towards money. They don't realize how instilled these values are until they are much older and have either made more money than they need, or have exhausted every reasonable line of credit available to them. Money can cause tension and strain among friends and family. Death and inheritance divide families at a time where they need each other most. It's wrong to say money is the root of all evil. It's equally wrong to say money makes the world go round. The truth is that there is no one root of all evil, and gravity is what makes the world go around. Money doesn't lie, and its a fairly good arbiter of authority. Money talks. Money can't buy you love, but it can get you whatever you need to get you through the night.

If its all the same to you, I'd rather be sitting under a big oak tree reading a book and eating an apple. Jill Binder (Stop Smoking Coach) once told me: "Do what you love and the money will follow." Good advice for all, and to all a good night.

Reasons Why I Will Die Alone and Single

2005-05-11T19:11:00.000-07:00

I've got another post in the pipes that I am really enjoying laying out and I hope to have that done for tomorrow. But as I was putting it together, I was interrupted by the following MSN conversation.

C- says:
are you the child psychologist
Just Rye:
nope, I sell souvenirs
C- says:
lol
C- says:
thougth you were someone else
Just Rye:
It's something I often do myself, talk to enough people and they all start to look and sound alike,
C- says:
lol
Just Rye:
I think there has to be a happy medium between not dating at all, and being on jdate....
C- says:
lol
Just Rye:
I'm trying to find it.
C- says:
i would prefer not dating
Just Rye:
true, but when I go for walks, and I see the ducks swimming together, I get winsome
C- says:
what is winsome
Just Rye:
winsome: generally pleasing and engaging often because of a childlike charm and innocence
2 : CHEERFUL, GAY
C- says:
oh
C- says:
listen, i am not in the mood for chatting now. maybe we could talk another day

--------------

Woe is me.

Taking a Mental Holiday

2005-05-08T10:27:00.000-07:00

Usually at this point in the day I would sit and reflect upon the week in my life. Try and make some meaning of the various interactions I've had over the previous seven days. Originally I had set out to write about respect today. It's such a powerfully laden word, a very heavy word with multiple uses. Respect is a mixture of consideration for past performance, a casual politness to people and property, and a solemn obligation to honor the past. Respect is related to perspective, how it is I'm not so sure, not having studied the eytomology of either word. But I get the feeling that respect is about how you consider or look at things in the world. You can show respect for property, people, places, conventions, and posted signs.

But that is for another week.

Perhaps its because the weather outside is delightful. Perhaps its because I had an amazing week personally. For whatever the reason, I am taking a mental holiday today. I'm very proud of what I have accomplised with this blog. It has helped me collect and organize some very disparate thoughts that clunk around in my noggin. It has allowed me to meet some very strange and lovely bedfellows. It is my channel to the world. I can't force myself to be thoughtful and urbane because I want to keep some self imposed schedule. I'll be back later this week when the mood strikes me. I really am having way too much fun with my life right now to even attempt to deconstruct a topical event or subject.

GOOD NIGHT NOW!

Flexibility

2005-05-01T11:28:00.000-07:00

There I am, breathing deep breaths in a sea of lulu lemmings and stupidly flexible women at Yoga on Monday. I decided to start with yoga again because it adds a certain kwan to my exercise routine. I get enough cardio and weights in, but I was missing the balance that Yoga brought to my core strength. There we are at the beginning of class doing simple meditation exercises. Releasing our bodies to the earth, and finding the release valves to our spiritual nozzles. I enter this dream like state, fully consumed by the calm washing over my physical body. I am now in a vision.

The air is cool and crisp, gentle waves of a consistent breeze swirl around my body. The sky is a bright blue, with puffy white clouds billowing high atop the atmosphere. I am in a desert valley, perhaps in Arizona or New Mexico. There is not a soul for miles, just deep canyons and valley peaks with rivers streaming hundreds of feet below. Oh, I should point out that I am also an eagle. I have the vision and perspective of an eagle, as I perch on the ledge of the cliff's peak. Gazing all around, my eyes see the panorama of the valley. The bright red hues of the clay soil on the ground contrast with the sky blue on top. The only noise is the swirling of the wind. I am alone. As I walk about, I puff out my chest and extend my wing span in a massive display that no one will see. As my wings once again clip under my chest, I settle at the peak of the canyon. Looking for something to change or move, I am fully aware of the prescience of everything in my field of vision.

The Yoga instructor has something different in mind. She wants us to imagine we are in a dark cave. Empty, with no light or sounds, but with the gentle cascade of water and life moving all about us. I try to fade my eagle vision and get into the cave, but it doesn't work. To me, knowing everything is the state of calm. For others, they can only achieve relaxation by removing themselves from existence. For me, I can only achieve relaxation from accepting and understanding all that is around me. Later on in the class we were doing a quad stretch that required a partner, so I joined with the instructor. I told her about the difference in my visions from what she was trying to visualize. She was fascinated, and she told me that everyone seeks peace in a different way. It got me thinking about flexibility, specifically about emotional flexibility.

I don't have opinions. They weigh me down. They strangle me with the absoluteness of thought. I have values and ethics to guide me. I trust myself to be flexible like a marsh reed and not rigid like a sturdy oak tree. The person I am doesn't change because of where I am. I don't buy into situational ethics. I will not plunder in a riot, or engage in hooliganism after a soccer game. I carry a little ethos biosphere around me wherever I may roam. I bring my vision, my perspective, to every adventure I find. I am home where I am.

I was at Century Lounge on Friday. Grooving and moving with a drink in my hand and fire in my feet. People were packing the Lounge tight, it seems there was a lot of getting the stink of the week out going on. Loud music, bongo players, ridiculously priced Malibu and pineapple, and more groping then a group of blind people square dancing. I had my drink in my hand when a woman approached me and asked me if I was having fun tonight. I answered in the affirmative. I told her that everybody here tonight was here to have fun and soak up the energy of the music and vibes. She told me that this "wasn't her scene", and that she was just here for the birthday of a friend. She wasn't there to groove, and she rather wanted to talk to me pub style. She was making all sorts of datelike smalltalk when I realized that her aura was out of synch from the room. I had engaged her in a little "so, what do you do?" type repartee. She was right, this literally was not her scene. She had pulled herself out of the collective energy of the room out of protest. As I realized she was uncomfortable, I told her this:

"Here we are, in a room full of people that came here to have fun. To look at people and be looked at. To have a drink, and soak up the energy and music and blow off a little steam. It may not be your scene, but for me, I am going to just roll with it. I'm gonna find the fun."

And with that, I took my drink to the dance floor and got my groove on till what felt like the break of dawn.

The lesson is that emotional flexibility is as important as physical flexibility. We live in an insane world. The only way to keep our heads from exploding is to bring your vision wherever you go. Bring your sanity with you. Carry a little sanity backpack if you have to. Because there is nothing worse than being out of your element. As the line goes from that Crowded House song, "everywhere you go, always take the weather with you".

Getting Your Ducks in a Line

2005-04-23T11:07:00.000-07:00

As Jews all over the world once again start packing for their week long exodus from Egypt (and bagels, for that matter), my thoughts fall esoterically towards the nature of progress. We all have that friend, the one who's day-timer is more rigidly structured than the Eiffel Tower, right? "I'm going to be at this place until this time with these people, then I am going to meet so-and-so for a drink at this place..." People who overschedule their lives are the unluckiest sorts of all. Do you really envy that person who over books themselves worse than a doctor with two ex-wives? I have a chronically under used day-timer. A neglected keeper of the comings and goings of my days. If the truth be known, I am not an organized person. My life contains enough un-filed paper to build a small paper city. The real question them becomes this: Am I risking future success and happiness by not being an organized and super productive person? Is progress achieved through the taking of steps, or through the measuring of those steps?

I think about those Dilbert strips where Wally jokes about having to fill out time cards and say something pithy like "never has so little been measured so much". I'm not a nine to five guy and I don't punch a clock. So I don't know what it would be like to arbitrarily measure the time I spend on an account, or to quantify how much money it is worth to the company. Like Dilbert says, "the hour I spent in bed and in the shower thinking about how to solve the problem don't count. But the 15 minutes I spent waiting to photocopy my time sheet at work does count?" - I'm paraphrasing here, but the point is clear. Monitoring productivity is hit and miss at best. Who really knows if measuring something as transcendental as thought is possible?

It's all about getting your ducks in a line. The ducks are metaphors for the responsibilities and notions of progress one should conceivably want for themselves. This is the plotline for the movie "A Lot Like Love" with Ashton Kutcher and Amanda Peet. Which I went to see with my best friend (who happens to be female), when it opened in Toronto this Friday. The movie is *not* an update on Say Anything or When Harry met Sally. This movie is about two people who find out that life is like that Swiss yodelling mountain game on The Price is Right. You dance to the tune, move up the line, and through no fault of your own you sometimes crash over the side of a mountain. No fear, just soldier on and start over. Find a new passion. Find new ducks.

Well, I don't think I want my ducks in a line. I'd rather have them in a circle. A daisy chain of Quail. Of course that is the justification of someone who is chronically disorganized. One who likes to fuck the duck if you will. At least I am not chronologically disorganized. I have a friend that has *never* been on time for anything, ever. This friend misses wedding ceremonies, workout sessions, dinners, you name it and she was late for it. So while I am personally disorganized, this realm of mess does not affect anyone other than me. I take my responsibilities as a friend very seriously. I keep my time commitments with friends and associates because I respect their relationship to the clock.

On the other hand, we have those people who fly by the seat of their pants. Making plans with them is like playing Plinko with Bob Barker. Even when you think plans are set, at the last minute you go from $10,000 to holding a giant cow-chip in your hands. And we are not talking purely about dating situations here. Ken pretty much has that covered, and I heartily encourage everyone to read the entire series "The Non-Dating Life". It's bad enough getting stood up by a date, as Ken discusses, but what about getting stood up by a friend? What about the friends who are just sketchy when it comes to making plans with them? Not that they act out of casual disorganization but out of a innate discourtesy, waiting for a better plan to appear at the last minute. We all have a friend who has treated us as a "back-up" plan. Those are the people who like to get their ducks in a line, take ten steps back with a BB Gun and have at it.

So, there be the ducks. Work, friends, love, family, they comprise the ducks that we surround ourselves with. I see examples of people who curried favor with the work duck while leaving the love and families ducks to trail behind. I've also known people who lived for their families and held any kind of conspicuous consumption in disdain. The truth is that life is a series of impulses, a connection of motivations. We like the bright and flashing lights of Baby Einstein as a child. We want to drive the big red truck as toddlers, and we all want to be astronauts or Indiana Jones when we are twelve. There are no ducks in a child's life. We create the ducks as we get older because we need to find our own answers. The perspective of our parents ceased to be the end all and be all of the topic. We became adults and we needed some order. That's the nature of progress. Going over the mountain and starting over with a new pair of boots. We either pick up the adventures our parents started (like Indiana Jones and Luke Skywalker) or we go off on our own, to begin the neverending story of our life. Then we spend the rest of our lives wondering if we did good.

Measuring the notion of progress by looking at the ducks in a line. Not by how many smiles we created on the faces of other people. Not by measuring the lessons we've learned. We measure progress in volume. I'm not a half-empty cup kind of guy. I'm not a half-full cup kind of guy either.

I'm just a thirsty guy.

Emotional Compass and Moral Relativity

2005-04-15T23:45:00.000-07:00

I have a question that has been eating at me for a few days (moments really, I am prone to exaggeration). Does music shape our feelings? Or do we choose to listen to music that reflects and echoes our sentiments? Do I listen to Smashing Pumpkins because I am listless, or because I want to attain feelings of listlessness? Do I put on emotions like t-shirts? Or do they emanate from the toxic stew of stress that is my existence? My good friend The Comrade made me a mixed CD that has taken up permanent residence in my car player. Postal Service, Bright Eyes, The Dears, and The Arcade Fire, along with countless other songs that meditate on the directions of life. Here's a little taste of what I have been listening to.

lately i've been wishing i had one desire
something that would make me never want another
something that would make it so that nothing matters
all would be clear then
but i guess i'll have to settle for a for a few brief moments
and watch all dissolve into a single second
and try to write it down into a perfect sonnet
or one foolish line
- Bright Eyes, A perfect sonnet

I think about the compass in my car and how it tells me which direction I am heading in. I think about the compass inside my head and it's not as clear. For the first time in my life I am questioning myself about what I want. Why do I not want anything for myself? Why am I happy? I have stress and anxiety and yet I remain happy. It doesn't make sense. I think I set my standards for what makes me happy too low. Or maybe I was just wired for happiness. I wake up happy every morning. Which is nice, but now I yearn for that compass to kick in and help me find a direction. I need to know what I want. I need to want things, and not fear failing to get these things. I find it ironic that my struggles to find direction should reach an apex while I was visiting the airport today.

Airports are a real interesting place to observe the depth of human emotion. Confusion, relief, desire, indigestion, and most importantly incredulity at having to pay ten dollars for a slice of pizza and a pop. People saying hello and saying goodbye, people lost and people found. Long halls and long haul flights. Lovers languishing in limited moments before liquidity. If you ever need a recalibrating of your emotional compass, try sitting down in an airport lounge and taking your life to task. For some it may take a few minutes. Everything might make sense and you get up and take your luggage and live with it. Some might never leave. The grip of the past can be tenuous and cold. We store memories with the chemistry in our body. That's why the perfume a loved one wore will always stay with us. We store our successes and our failures hidden in our cellular structures. We rely up on our memories to get us through the rough times. I sat in the airport lounge today paralyzed by the decisions that forged my path. Luckily for me my cell phone rang, it was a customer, because I might have been stuck in a parabola of questioning and self-justification. The type of circuitous logic that befalls most raccoons moments before becoming road-kill.

We use our memories to relate to other people. Moral Relativity is something that has been on my mind of late. It's defined thusly:

"The term moral relativism is understood in a variety of ways. Most often it is associated with an empirical thesis that there are deep and widespread moral disagreements and a metaethical thesis that the truth or justification of moral judgments is not absolute, but relative to some group of persons."
http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/moral-relativism/

I know that I don't dance to the same tune as most people. I don't wreak vengeance upon the dammed. I've been treated pretty well in life and I try and pay it forward when I can. I have to exist with people who are very different than me. They chew on the bitter rind of unfulfilled aspirations and they live on the pain of others. They have given up on trust, and they revel in the pointlessness of life. The giant cosmic joke is on me because I choose to believe in the power of positive thought. There is so much in this world we cannot control. But the one thing we can choose is to take a positive view of any situation. To eschew the conflict and focus on the harmony of life. To sit in that airport, watch the world hustle by as you sit still, with the only movement in your growing shadow. Tremble with the maelstrom of doubt as it thrashes in your head. Then be done with it when the bell (or cell phone) rings. When the fight is over, dust yourself off and smile proudly. I've badly needed to recalibrate my compass and redefine my sense of moral relativity. I was starting to believe in others and their judgments and suggestions. The best piece of advice that anybody has yet to give me is to "believe in yourself".

To end this blog I wanted to share another snip of lyrics from the aforementioned CD. The first song spoke to me about the definition of emotional compass, and this speaks to me about moral relativity. Both lyrics use the word dissolve, and I think that it speaks to the universal truth of the impermanence of life. Changing nature of states, eh?

You think your days are uneventful
And no one ever thinks about you
She goes her own way
She goes her own way
You think your days are ordinary
And no one ever thinks about you
But we're all the same
And she can hardly breathe without you

She says she has no time
For you now
She says she has no time

Think about the lonely people
Then think about the day she found you
Or lie to yourself
And see it all dissolve around you
-Keane

Karaoke Sex Addicts and Reality Television

2005-04-08T19:55:00.000-07:00

Everybody knows somebody who loves karaoke. I mean, really *LOVES* it. The same could be said about Reality TV. Seinfeld joked for years about having created a show about nothing, and now we have a plethora of programs all with the premise that: If you follow interesting people around long enough, something interesting will happen. As for karaoke, is there anyone who *hasn't* wanted to stick their head in a gas oven as someone truly awful gets up on stage to sing? Or have to sit through attempts to blast a touching ballad with the deft precision of a Parkinson's sufferer playing Operation? What then brings these two topics together today? Karaoke and Reality TV both tap into our human nature to observe and be observed on a basic level. We are a world consumed with knowing that we are all watching and being watched.

It bothers me that American Idol exists, but it bothers me more that millions of people drop a few coins each week to exercise their democratic rights to listen to bad music. At this point I am tempted to just call it American Karaoke and dismiss it entirely as the result of a nation suffering from artistic rejection. If creativity was an organ, like say the liver, the American public is Larry Hagman with a raised middle finger and a martini. But the hordes of fans voting and discussing the losers each week, makes me think perhaps I am the one who missed the boat. Granted, I don't watch TV. Which makes me hard pressed to compare American Karaoke, to another Reality TV show like the Apprentice or Super Queer Nanny for the Straight Guy who wants to marry a millionaire. I come from a more simple time. Law and Order was, well, Law and Order. There was nothing after the name, just solid drama every week. I hear next year they are coming out with Law and Order:CSI and Law and Order:OC This is the one where the force investigates crimes committed in Orange County.

On the other hand, it doesn't bother me that karaoke exists. It's the karaoke culture that has me mystified. Like Ultimate Frisbee, Amway, and Death Cab for Cutie, karaoke inspires an almost cultlike devotion from its followers. I can see why people could like any one of the above. I've seen Ultimate being played (Did you know there's no referee in Ultimate?) I've tried the dish detergent from Amway. And I have seen the Livejournals of many angst filled young women who claim that DCFC just gets them so emo they could cry me a rivers cuomo. I went to a karaoke bar on Sunday and had a drink and belted out a tune myself. It reaffirmed my suspicion that being good at karaoke can get you laid. The only caveat is that you are getting laid by a fellow karaoke enthusiast. Which means the validation must be constant and plentiful. (That was good, right?) Plus, if you hang out at the same bar for more than a year, chances are you will have slept with a few of your fellow patrons. Why else would you sing karaoke on a regular basis, if not to get with the fellow karaoke singers? Well, why do we do anything for that matter? If not just for the pleasure of curling up with a stranger in the back seat of a Volkswagen? The motivations of life amuse me. As my mom always told me: "Life's a bitch, and then you die."

We like to watch people struggle. The difference between life and American Karaoke is that people want to see failure. They want to be able to have conclusive opinions on the suckitude of others. They want to judge because that means they have power. It's an escape from the 9-5 where the boss is riding your ass for the monthly discrepancy reports to be completed in alphabetical triplicate. More than a water cooler chat topic, Reality TV allows us to feel better about ourselves. No longer is the idiot box the exclusive bastion of the photogenic and lithe. The new reality is that people like Ryan Seacrest and Ben Mulroney pretend to have affection for people they under normal circumstances would be telling how to prepare their capuccino. Just like Karaoke allows dental assistants and real teachers to be transformed into Instant Stars for three minutes and forty seconds, Reality TV is letting the aesthetically challenged have their Warholian moment. In essence, Reality TV is like the Special Olympics; Where EVERYONE is a winner.

It says here that Reality TV and karaoke are fads that will dance with the ebb and flow of the cultural shifts. Eventually art bars and coffee house poetry readings will flourish again like they did in the 1970s'. Right now we are in a time of cultural extroversion. We are so busy watching others and imitating people we have forgotten the importance of content. When we once again have a unifying issue to struggle against, we will resume the culture of introspection. This critical introspective thinking leads to more interpretation, which is released in the form of artistic impression. Or perhaps if my paranoid suspicions are correct and that we are suffering from a lack of thought, we could be in for a long spate of lethargic and untaxing media art displays. Either way, I'll be fine. I've got enough books to sit out 10 seasons of The Bachellorette, Making the Band, and Pimping Her Ride.

Commitments and the People Who Commit to Them

2005-04-01T19:07:00.000-08:00

*This post is not about commitment specifically. Originally it was intended to be, but the author got hungry for something more tangential during the process. You know how it is, right?*

I am sometimes left awash in the turbulent waters known as my mind, and the debris occasionally clogs in the sink. Times like these you want to run and hide, or stand and fight, but with spring there comes a reckoning. The winter worn mental roads fall away washed out by the spring of new possibilities. Change, renewal, and progress is brought forth with the freshest of the seasons. My mind wanders to thoughts of commitments, the mortar blocks of life which keep mortals aware of how flimsy and yet constricting our commitments can be. I was reading the blog of a friend who is taking a new job. Starting a new life with her fiance and moving forward. She has committed to herself, and committed to another person. I was engaged once, but it didn't hold. I am no Adam Smith, but I like my freedom George Michael style. Yes, cavorting with a bunch of half naked supermodels is how I spend my days. Hey, a guy has to have his options open.

"If you want to die in bed forget about your karma. When your life hangs by a thread, don't cry about the fates. Grab a stash of cash and plan a rest'rant in the States" - The Engineer in Miss Saigon

Options imply choice. Choice implies power. The implication is a veneer. We are a puppeteer's society, our marionnette figures dance to the tune played on from above. The author thinks of Moses Znaimer, or Marshall Mcluhan, dynamic thinkers who constructed forms of communication. These models of mass dissemination assist the education of society and bring innovation to marketing ideas. It makes me ruminate on the idea of social engineering. That bringing supply to need has existed since man could establish a fair trade. That is, trade without the threat of Og clobbering you with his mallet should your peaches be less than spring fresh. I was reading a Globe and Mail supplement on the nature of bureaucracy in Japan. Starting a business or engaging in capitalistic enterprise is fraught with enough "Red Tape" to make one think they were in Beijing. The Japanese economy is social capitalistic in nature. The advanced state of their technology blinds us to their socialistic underpinnings. We look at a nation's output more carefully than the structures that produce their Gross Domestic Product. Again, I blame television for that ;P

Options, everyone has them. Stockbrokers hawking pieces of paper on the trading floor. Pretty girls looking over a list of potential Saturday night dinner invitations. You can get any one of six different options with your extra value meal at Wendy's. You can't buy a car without any options. They would just look at you kinda funny like that. Options are about ceding control. Control is power. Where a power vacuum exists, a political entity forms. The politics of change and power, control and choice. I love how those words are Inextricably linked. Change, power, control and choice; These are the forces humanity must struggle with as we organize the world market.

"We'll Pack Up All Our Junk And Fly So Far Away Devote Ourselves To Projects That Sell. We'll Open Up A Restaurant In Santa Fe. Forget This Cold Bohemian Hell"-Collins,Mark, and Angel from RENT

Seriously, what is it about musicals and glorifying the food service industry? It's not an easy way to make a living. Transient, LOUD, and horny staff; more wasted food than dinner at Courtney Cox Arquette's house; add long hours and shrinking profits and you see my point. A Restauranteur is a noble profession. Whether slinging hash browns or proffering profiteroles, the food industry has a fast moving beat you can dance or screw to if you like. You don't necessarily commit to a restaurant, but you commit to the brotherhood of the industry. I've met a few professional wait and bar staff, and you can see the difference making a commitment to the industry has made to them. You can see it in their eyes. It's a sense of duty, of professionalism, a call to hors d'oeuvres as it seems. They make it look so effortless and rational. The abundance of choice in the menu, the multiplicity of experiences, the tapas of it all. Menu, I can't take my eyes off of you... I can't take my eyes off of you.

Much like the coming of spring, this is the time when I wipe my mind of these inconsequential notions. I once wrote "She will never feel for you like you feel for her." on a piece of paper and stuffed it in my chest pocket. A mental tourniquet of sorts, a staple in a heart that was breaking daily. Of course this was in winter time, where the long dark nights with cold breezes freeze tears to your cheek. I had committed to a lifetime of heartbreak, little did I know that spring would wash these notions away. Into the arms of another lover, into a garden of whistling dixies and a bandshell blasting away at the night. We commit to feelings because its the only thing keeping them real. When we waver in our commitment to hurt, to laugh, to cry or what have you, the dreams fade and the day breaks a new.

I can't take my mind off you. I can't take my mind...
My mind...my mind...'Til I find somebody new - Damien Rice

The Silver Spoons Generation

2005-03-24T22:25:00.000-08:00

Who do you live your life for? If you have a child, the answer is “I would die for my kid”. If you are a man in his thirties repatriated to the family home, more than likely you live for your parents. You are affected by their ascent into the octogenarian realm and all the vagaries that aging brings upon the mind-set of a parent. Since the number of adults moving back into, or in some cases never leaving the family home, has sharply increased in recent years in Canada, the question of how this affects the family dynamic is one that is increasingly being asked by academics. The questions of freedom and growth and familial responsibility all intertwine in this new dynamic. Still, there are people who have left the family home who remain heavily dependent on the support of parents, and people living in the family home who absolve themselves of all save the most basic contributions. There appears to be one standard similarity in the majority of situations falling into the multi-generational family dynamic: Today’s young adult seems unwilling to accept a significantly lower standard of living unless it is unavoidable.

Who’s to blame? As always, I blame TV. I blamed TV for my fascination with all things new and improved. Consumed with consumption, I became the vanguard for all new marketing tools. I began to look for products now bursting with more real fruit flavour. I needed the beta version of life. Everything had to be new and improved, even if the old and just plain proved worked unfailingly well. I never thought to save as a child, because saving was an impediment to consumption. How was I able to resist a GIC rate of 17% interest annually for a 5-Year Deposit? Atari, bitch. That's how. The original generation of vidiots, salivating at blinking lights and monochromatic destruction. At least we had to use our imagination with the first genesis of video games. Today's Mortal Kombat allows graphic depictions of electrified human entrails with the correct pressing of about 8 different buttons.

I blamed television for creating a generation of informed political youth. Teenagers who believed they could make a difference, and then went out and stopped a war. This is the early morally sacrosanct television that was a respected tool of education and closeness within the family unit. I liken this version of TV to thin Elvis. Parents may have shook their heads when Elvis shook his pelvis on The Ed Sullivan Show, but they were right beside their kids to tell them right from wrong. Then TV got fat. It grew as the capacity for carrying its signal grew from antennae to a system of underground cables. Unfortunately the content did not match the deliverance. There was as Bruce Springsteen said “Fifty-Seven channels and nothing's on”. This form of television consisted of cookie cutter programming focusing more on the art of the social commentary then the provocation of conversation. This is the fat Elvis, choking on a peanut butter and cream cheese sandwich.

So we are left with a new class of adult, the rise of the affluent poor adult. These are the people who have enough for a weekend of blow filled fantasy or a jaunt to Cancun or Vegas, yet who have a bank statement that is more difficult to reconcile than Elizabeth Taylor's fourth marriage. Asset light and debt heavy, these new adults are spending their days waiting until they can spend their parents inheritances. These are the adults reminding their folks to specify that "no special measures" be taken to extend their lifespan and enrolling their parents in advanced rock climbing courses at the local gym. Granted, these affluently poor adults are a *very* small portion of our generation and it is remarkable that they are even an identifiable sub-class of generation stratum. The people existed in every generation previous except we called them something else. Fuck-ups. Losers. Ne'er do wells.

Because our parents and forbearer toiled for four score and..... screw that, it was the technological age that ushered in this prosperity. We have maximized the utility of human energy and are able to extract and manipulate global resources at a heretofore untold level. The only thing our parents have failed to do is grow with this technological age. It is this generation that is so different that it has created a standard of living so attainable it makes George Jetson look like a Luddite farmer. In this vein our parents are the Luddites and we are the space aliens waving our Ipods around.

Somehow these late bloomers of the boom will find their way out of their parent's basements and into the basement apartments of the home one of their friends just bought. Life goes on. The next generation of slackers will make the former look like a group of bon vivants. These are the adults that will have never known the magnetic mystery that is the eight-track tape. They are the people who live in the Age of Pentium. The people for whom Rick Schroeder was an actor on a cop show, and not the symbol of agregious consumption. That my friends, is the nature of progress. End scene with a sepia toned Bob Dylan walking off frame, guitar slung around neck and a pile of cue cards left fallen on the street.

Friends & Family (In That Order).

2005-03-19T11:25:00.000-08:00

It's a perfectly fair morning. Inspiration is just waiting to hit me like a bean burrito pounding the intestinal tract in a gastronomic Ragnarok. I've been thinking about friends lately. Reading a book called "Just Friends" by E.Rubin. It was an academic study on the changing role of friendships in North America. Written in the 1980s' it illuminates the different roles we choose to fill with either friends or kin. Family is the one place where, when you knock on the door they have to let you in. Family knows you best, accepts your worst, and is an unfailing branch on the tree of life. Friends, besides being a wildly successful TV sitcom, are the condiments and accessories on the leisure suit we call life.

Friends are the flowers in the garden. We appreciate them, they accentuate our life, and we cherish and nurture their growth. But it is not like the Family Tree. Flowers need attention and care to flourish and grow. The tree is a solid reminder of history and responsibility. We tend to rely on family in a way that we can't imagine asking our friends. Friends don't judge or ask questions when they help. They've been there themselves and they know that if you are asking for it they'll do it and keep their thoughts to themselves. Family on the other hand has no qualms about complaining all the way home from the precinct after posting your bail.

I have a lot of acquaintances who I feel very strongly about. I was lucky enough in high school to roll with a very unique crowd. Ultimately, we were the most popular clique in the School and thus enjoyed the perks of that title. Namely, off the hook parties and access to the popular cliques of all the other high schools. Because High School was such a great time for me, I made very strong associations with a large group of friends. 15 years later we still meet a few times a year on mass and share a meal or a game of cards. We all have good jobs, some have wives and children, and nobody really fell off the face of the Earth. Even Al, who moved to Australia, still manages to call when we are sharing a cottage for a long weekend. Even though I see these guys a few times a year, I still consider them very warm friends when anyone outside the "group" would estimate them as acquaintances. I consider myself blessed to know such amazing people with whom we continued our high school association into something of a legacy.

More than the warm fuzzies of old friends from high school, I have a select few friends of whom over the years have entwined themselves into my heart. These are the people I have met over the years whom I have chosen to share friendship with. Not because we had any shared or forced experience; It was a conscious choice to maintain a connection over the years out of admiration of their character and integrity. These friendships touch my heart in a way that my high school friendships can't reach. My high school friends are like extended family. My post-school friends are the ones who most appreciate my personality and qualities. I am not denigrating the tight emotional circle of friends that form the Stonehenge of my emotional center. These guys are my inner voice and have helped me become the social butterfly I am today. Friends fill different needs in our lives and together they complete our need to feel understood and accepted. To fit in this glittering world.

I always tell clients that my father taught me how to sell, and my mother taught me how to care about people. Although I think my dad also taught me that selling involves caring. It's developing long term relationships based on trust and reliability. My mom taught me how to look at people and ignore any negative perceptions. They really get filtered out before they even reach my brain. It's not naivete, its a conscious decision to only see the potential good in every person I see.

From my friends I have learned to listen. People want to be heard. People need to have a voice and express themselves. Luckily I have met and acquainted myself with some highly interesting people. I know some lawyers, doctors, bartenders, ad execs, and Teachers. I like to hear about the interpersonal relationships they have formed and while sometimes it ranges into pure gossip, more times it is just stories about life. It almost resembles a monologue when I watch people tell stories. I disappear from the scene as the stage goes black save for the one spotlight. Their eyes and bodies drift and reshape themselves to tell the story. They contort themselves into the past, recounting the tale as I stand observing the show. I consider myself a patron of the arts. I am an audience. I am not a critic though. I leave critiquing to those interested in the destructive arts. I've always been one more for intent than for the act.

"You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there
You've got a friend"
-Carole King

Thinking about love last week, I was drawn to meditate on friendship and family today because the lines are sometimes blurred. I have a very close connection to my family and they see more of the true me because I understand the rigid nature of familial bonds. The family is my tree and I branch off from their love and support. I love some of my friends dearly. While it seems like some friendships have definite lifespan, I have a couple of friends I can't imagine not being friends with. It;s so effortless to talk to them, they have taken up residence in my brain. I have leased them a small room in the caverns of my mind. To more effortlessly exchange our friendship they have been granted a sort of most-favored nation status. They have crossed the borders of friendship with me, and still the outer shell of our friendship contains these energies and created an impenetrable fort. The space in which we act silly and dish the real stories of our life. Friendship is like my personal cottage country where we have adventures and long days by the lake walking the shores and skipping stones into the water.

There Is No Such Thing As Love

2005-03-15T23:25:00.000-08:00

"Let me give it to you straight." - The Dears

Since I have already covered life, death, and the indeterminable amount of time in between which I call waiting. I would like to direct the reader's attention to that which we spend most of our lives as a product of or looking for, enmeshed in and falling out of, that crazy little thing called love. Far be it from me to suggest that love is a journey, a battlefield, or what happens to people when they least expect it. I am going to go with a macro definition of love and see it as a condition felt more often than it is realized. Love does not light up your life, it is not what keeps people together, and it certainly does not pay the bills. Love is not comfort, food for thought or grist for the rumor mill. Love does not make you cry at sad movies or when the hero saves the day. To thy own self be true. It is so cliche yet oddly important at this point to state, you can't love another until you can first love yourself. But if indeed there is no such thing as love, why bother?

It's when I look at the way others have struggled with love I see how the thorns of that rose do indeed prick. Hate is such a clear emotion. A strong feeling that endures like a painful reminder of loss, shame, or embarrassment. Hate rarely permeates within a person for an extended period of time. Because of its corrosive nature, hate must spill out to the surface regularly. If hate lingers in the heart too long it is transmuted to sorrow. From sorrow we lean towards regret. I think the same is true about hate. We cannot hate others unless we first truly hate ourselves.

"What is Love anyway, does anybody love anybody anyway" - Howard Jones

Love is within you. Love is something that spreads from you and can be spread upon you. You can be awash with love, drenched in the bliss of as my friend the Comrade would say: "Being in the only place I would want to be at that very moment." There are lessons in love I believe that teach us about our capacity for that emotion.

I have a good friend who yearns for her perfect love. I admire her ability to fight her way up the stream to spawn this true love. I have never seen someone so confident that there was a great guy out there for her as she truly does think her knight is around the corner. It's not like she is looking for a Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise looker with the intellect of Keats or Thoreau. She's searching for the ineffable quality we call chemistry. The ability to be an unreserved buffoon infront of your lover without fear of judgment. The partner for a lifetime of adventure and entertainment. The one who at the end of the day can turn out the lights and kiss you gently on the forehead. The way you have always wanted to be kissed since the days when you dreamed of Prince Charming or Mike Seaver from Growing Pains.

I want to be that guy. I want to be Lloyd Dobler. Even though I know its impossible to be movie star perfect; I think I am particularly superficial enough to try.

Lately I have endured the emptying of my heart and mind as I performed a gut check. I looked into my life and I asked myself if I liked what I saw. For the first time in my life I held myself accountable for my actions. I took stock of where I was and where I wanted to be. I set some goals and created the context in which success in one form or another was possible. I'm not about to start to sell you Amway or Real Estate, but I will say personal success is the easiest to achieve. I'm not saying my soul was saved or that I was a real mess to begin with, just that a little self analysis helped me identify some areas where bad habits were starting to hurt my personal development

Chief among the areas that were starting to hurt was the ability to love. I have loved before. I have endured love. Love can test the measure of a person in many ways. What would you do for love? At this point the author realizes he could write a million lines on the subject of love and not scratch the surface of what it means to love so he wonders why he took up the task in the first place. Love makes us crazy and it makes us blind to ourselves. It is maddening because of the heat which it creates. Love is a fever gripping the heart. The fires of love take the clay of our content and kiln it to an unbreakable bond.

"Can anybody love anyone so much that they will never fear? Never worry never be sad? The answer is they cannot love this much nobody can..."- Howard Jones

Because it is so ubiquitous and salient, so formative and abundant, I can safely conclude that there is no such thing as love. Love is life. To love is to live. We breathe love and it surrounds us like the air and the sea. We cannot deny it, or separate ourselves from it, and as such we cannot define it.

Phew. Now I can breathe a little easier. I've conquered love.

Changing the Nature of States is Easier than Changing the States of Nature

2005-03-07T17:58:00.000-08:00

Most nights you will find me walking the streets of the urbia north of suburbia. Since my television is most often used as a staging area for bills; loose change; and the phone numbers of people I'll never call; I like to use the hours between supper and sleep to whittle away at the thoughts stuck in my head. Motion breeds emotional clarity as I literally walk my thoughts into submission. My father constantly repeats his thoughts and the responsibilities that are on his mind. I think he does this because he fears that if he doesn't, he will forget them and be lost for what to do.

It is a sad thing to be lost. Like a child at the carnival who leaps forth into the crowd and soaks in the strange atmosphere recklessly before folding into tears at the thought of never returning to normal. Normal is my favorite natural state. Like a deep breath of crisp winter air, normal is the baseline to which we judge all other states of being.

Thoughts about the power of nature swirl in my head like the crescendo of a blustery winter wind searing a path across my face. Nature never obfuscates. It doesn't practice self deception or rationalize itself. It simply exerts its will upon itself. Flash freezes; ice storms; tsunamis; and other great acts of nature; remind me that I am living on a giant moss covered rock spinning and hurtling through the black mass of space. Nature doesn't have a clue about what we call "crappy weather". So while it can't get depressed, I have heard of tropical depressions and I imagine seeing a storm linger over a bar in a Caribbean beach resort. Reminiscing about early days as a hurricane and staring into their daquiri facing the inevitable downgrade into a tropical disturbance.

It is often said when we wish to understand something, we give it a human face. G-d becomes some white haired actor who dispenses morality with a gentle smile. I think we humans have finally figured ourselves out. We certainly have enough psychotropic drugs on the market today. If you have it, there is a pill to alleviate the symptoms. We have found the map of the brain, and started doling pills out like Happy Meals at McDonald's. We have made it possible to change the nature of states. We can make a happy person sad, and a sad person happy. We can change a benevolent mind into a violent dull actor (just add the right combination of alcohol and rejection). We can make someone who is obese lose weight through pills. We can change the nature of states through passive resistance. We choose to give up the fight. We have quit on ourselves and we have turned our control over to modern medicine.

Here's where I try and mix my metaphors into a noxious cocktail of thought. Maybe we are "the nature". Maybe we are supposed to rock out and mosh and wild through the night. Humans fight war, right? We wage destruction and practice deception every day. We are nature itself. We are the tornado funneling, the hurricane wailing, and the streetwalk ice cracking the hips of seniors around the world. We are the world. No matter how much concrete we throw on this planet, from skyscrapers to sidewalks, we comprise the worlds energy and that's a fact we tend to ignore.

We treat this planet like we're spending a weekend at the Radisson. As we pass this incredible buffet of nature, it's important to stop and take notice of our personal responsibility. Practice conservation, take just what you need and move along. Perhaps when we realize that changing the state of nature is possible, we can stop focusing on changing the nature of states.

Shits and Giggles

2005-03-05T10:50:00.000-08:00

The Silver Saturn Ion whips around the dimly lit streets of Queen St. West. Looking for a party, a birthday celebration of a friend. A trendy friend in a trendy part of town where trends seem to lift the gristly rough streets into a cultured urban stratification. Devoid of any true purpose except to exist. A place to be, where one thinks they shall be noticed or at the very least notice the noticeables amongst those waiting in line to be noticed. You won't catch me waiting in line for anything other than a coffee or a bank machine. Caffiene and dollars make the world go round. Or my world at least. I park and repark three separate times, each occasion inching closer to my intended destination. Funny how when one doesn't know where one is going, its always easier to be lulled into the idea that one is already there. When the brutal truth is, one always has a little further to go. In that vein, I think I am going to request to be buried SEVEN feet under ground. As the car passes by the Queen Street West Mental Health Centre I am reminded of a recent lyric by Steven Page: "They say that Jesus and mental health, are just for those who can't help themselves. But what good is that when you are living in hell on earth?" Tommy, can you hear me? I finally set upon a spot within walking distance of my destination and I disengage my internal monologue as I approach the restaurant. I find its always better not to think around people because if I do, I tend to enjoy them less.

Even though I have left the house without applying a bit of hair paste (to give my coif a matte shine and some spikes) and I am dressed decidedly out of style (relative to the style whores standing in line at the Drake Hotel); I feel strangely confident this evening. I am imbued with the inner strength of a man who refuses to be judged. I wear a smile, clean clothes, and an appetite for pleasure. That should be sufficient to get any man through the night. Though I must add I have always found it prudent to carry some gold coins and jewels in case the local currency collapses. And so, my night officially begins. Comrades, acquaintences, springy youthful fit strangers, all in my purview as I tease my eyes with the gourmet menu of gastronomic temptations.

Birthday parties seem to mirror the lives in which we live. Reflections of who we are and the abilities we have are exacted through studying how we celebrate the passings of a year. When we are young, they are controlled events put on for the display of the parents. We have themes and our imaginations run wild and there is always somebody crying about not getting to cut the cake. Then as we progress through our adult years the parties become less enthusiastic, and a lot more selfish. As adults we use the birthday party of others as an excuse to eat decadently and quaff a few more than the usual. Not a lot of thought goes into most of these parties, except the destinaton usually reflects the style of the said birthday person. No paper hats for the most part, and no adult supervision because frankly our parents are either dead or sleeping. Have you ever been to a birthday party for a senior citizen? I have, and let me tell you that it can be a real drag. At this point birthdays become reminders that we haven't died yet. An occasion to think about all the people who were at your last birthday and didn't make it to this one. Yes, you have won another round in this battle of human attrition. Eat your cake gramps, and lets hope the sugar doesn't flare up your type two diabetes.

It's always about life and death. Life is larger than death we think. Life encompasses everything we do, are about to do, or have done at some point. Death is seemingly the downtime, the final nap, the eternal sleep. I figure I am going to be dead for a lot longer than I am going to be alive, so therefore I want to make the most out of my living days. I begin a new search for adventure, to seek out new lives and engage with them in discourse and illumination. I wish to leap out of this fishbowl and titter across the ocean.

I need something to find. Having a goal isn't what I mean here. It's not a start/end proposition. I can't just be content to live life. That is no longer an option. I need meaning, a justfication other than a mortgage or Desperate Housewives, or The Drake Hotel.

I refuse to wait in the line of life. If I must, it has to be for something that will take me places.

Coffee or money, the rest of it is just days on a calendar.