Idiocy, MBA's, Brain Surgery, and Crude Behavior.

When I finished teaching my class today I felt my brain decompress as it normally does after a long session.  I enjoy teaching, although I prefer it when I feel like people are actually learning something, and today was a good day for learning.  I am writing this blog to check in with everyone as it will be awhile before the next one comes I fear.  I have been relearning algebra to write my MBA entrance exam which for those of you who are smart enough not to bother with business school is called the GMAT.  The GMAT test is essentially some sadistic academics way of testing you with 200 hundred riddles in 220 minutes, for the simple purpose of testing your head's ability to not implode in the ridiculousness of it all.  And that previous sentence is a GMAT tests worst nightmare, and the reason why I am so bad at it.  I have only just started liking school for the first time in my life, and this test is mostly testing my patience with this new love affair I have for seeking knowledge.

Now you may ask yourself why an artist would waste time going to business school, and wonder if it had anything to do with the commercialization of my art.  The sad truth is that they are mutually exclusive endeavors, although one never knows when the tools you learn in life will become useful in a way you never imagined possible.  I need the schooling because I have been lucky enough to have success which I feel means the need to improve myself, and as it did start with a need rather than a want I have been surprised to find myself liking about 80% of it, and I want to continue on for more substantial reasons that just because I have to.  It has turned into a pleasure more than a pain.  Well... until the GMAT thing.  At this point I am going to try my best to pass this test just because I'm so pissed off that someone out there actually thinks its useful.  I call bullshit.  I can manage circles around any egg-headed, spreadsheet based wiz kid with one hand tied behind my back, but that egg head can remember algebra and likes riddles so who wins that battle?  

It will be 2016 before I get my MBA, and that is if the stars align and I find myself able to pass the test, get accepted, and then find the money, and then find the time to do the work.  Seems impossible, but so did the marathon I ran four years ago.  The first time I ran 6 miles it felt like a marathon so the idea that when my training was complete I was going to find a way to run 24.2 miles seemed like a pipe dream.  It hurt like hell, but I did that so I guess I am looking at this as the same type of challenge.

If you are wondering about my art life, well that is dripping like an old tap, but there is movement.  In fact I can promise you that when my next 20 paintings are done they will be made with gallery quality material (not to assume they will be gallery quality paintings), I have enough material (minus paint) to keep me busy for a couple of years.  I promise to try to check in once a month for the next little while and give you an update on where I am at.  In the meantime if there are any Wiz kids out there that can tutor an old halfwit on the intricacies of algebra, geometry, and combinatorics (yes that is a real word even though this spell check doesn't know what it means) please call me.  The fact I had to look the last word up is just a sad reminder of how much work I have to do in the next two months.  In case my head does explode you can donate what's left of me to science.  Perhaps they will finally solve the riddle of why everything I decide to do is so damn hard, and then explain why I can't choose to do something easier like run a mile rather than a marathon. Perhaps I can take up brain surgery next or maybe I can eat a whole cow in one sitting.  Maybe I could become an overweight FBI agent or build a swimming pool in my backyard with a spoon.  Maybe my faithful audience can give me a few hints of what I should do - it could end up being a show like "Dirty Jobs", but in my case I can show up and climb the Calgary tower with my tongue or memorize and recite Moby Dick in a volcano.  Now that's entertainment...

Marry me Miley Cyrus and other stories.....

I know this normally isn't a social comment page.  It's more a page where things rattle around in my brain and spill out to the world. My topics are generally egomaniacal and make me look good.  I feel like I need to say something to the idiots of the world: "Miley Cyrus is a kid with a camera pointed at her - if you don't like it look away".

I don't like Miley's music, in fact I had to look up how to spell her last name, but she's 20, and 20 year olds are stupid when they are poor and unknown so throw money and fame into the mix they turn into morons.  So rather than having prudish media people spout on about the way the puritanical world should work, where we all live in a guilded cage of innocence, how about just shut the hell up about it? Even me, why does it matter what I think? I can tell you right now it doesn't and it shouldn't one bit.

As an adult heterosexual (metrosexual as well) I have a hard time believing she is 20. She still looks like an undernourished 14 year old to me, but I'm a year away from 40. I am not being an atypical male here or pretending I don't find 20 year old women attractive. So to prove it I offer to you that Selena Gomez is just more my type. I guarantee you I am not hers.  So Miley and I just don't connect, but I respect her right to be fabulous and marry someone else.  

In the good old days A journalist's job was to fill newspapers with hard facts that were hard fought and uncovered truths about a myriad of worldly subjects.  Now all they seem to get paid to do is take pictures of young girls that don't wear underwear, and 'the public', the sheep of the world, gather around at the mothers teet of what passes for hard news these days to lap up the stupidity.

If you think Miley was the first 20 year old chick to grind up against a 35 year old man in the history of the world, then you're and idiot. If you let your kids watch it and you think they shouldn't have, then you're an idiot. If you think the world is all fairy tales and roses, then you're an idiot. Tell your kids what's right and wrong, don't hide their eyes, let them make decisions for themselves.  The lowest common denominator does not always win, but they do often get attention.  Good and bad exists and if you learn from the right people in your life you will understand that.  Give a kid an iPad and never have a conversation with him or her (which is mostly what happens today) then expect your kids will be overly sexualized idiot robots when they get older.  There is no secret here people, and at the end of the day some people ARE JUST BAD, and it doesn't matter how well they were raised or how much they were sheltered.

Miley is not stupid, she is not on drugs, she may even be a prude in real life (sincerely doubt that), but she is a business person in a bikini. Every 20 year old idiot in the world wants to be her and 30 plus wants to vilify her and let's go to the iTunes scoreboard..... Album released and its number 1. If you didn't want it to be then the supposed good parents society should have shut your mouth and let the televised sex scene disappear into the worldwide abyss. Instead you wouldn't shut up about it and now even I'm chiming in.

Remember Cher? Remember Madonna? Remember Brittany? Remember Janet and Justin? They did the same thing dumbass, and it was just a couple of years ago.  God I wish the planet of idiots would wake up to the commercialization issues in this and not the bump and grind. People don't grow up to want to be sheep.  When you are 20, as a general rule, your tiny disfunctional brain does not want to fit in, so why would we expect her to wear a parka and snow pants (although I'm sure the PR wizards in the music business are concocting the Anti-Miley aka the Avril of this generation right now). If you are going to give kids the platform, the microphone, and the money then what do we expect, and why should it surprise us?

I was an idiot at 20, and so were you. Get over it!

Maybe a punch in the gonads is better than ice cream

It’s a message you hear all the time in some form.  It’s the sentiment that’s important and often forgotten although the words will change depending on the situation.  Basically, you should take time to enjoy what you have today because tomorrow it may be gone.  Life changes, and although that isn’t a bombshell, it is a deep thought if you choose to ponder for a moment or two. 

Who do you have in your life today that may not be here tomorrow?  Maybe it isn’t a person, but a job, or a hobby.  Just because today is today doesn’t mean tomorrow will be as good.  In life we gain and we lose, and I have been reflecting on loss because it seems I am surrounded by it.  I am lucky in life and have gained far more than I have lost, but I am on the opposite end as of late.  My losses have been deep and ongoing for a while now.  With the floods and the subsequent events it causes reflection.  My voice is small in all of this, but I am going to add it to the chorus anyway.

I know we can’t wait around for the other shoe to drop.  You don’t want to live in fear of what might come.  I would recommend the opposite, and that you love everything to the fullest extent possible that you have today. Your wife, your brother, your dog, your job, your day on the golf course… Whatever it is that is right in front of you to love, just love it more.  Hold on to it a little extra while it’s yours to hold onto. 

I have been through an incredible long term steady incline in quality of life in the past little while.  Reflecting on the last ten years (minus hiccups) I have reaped far more than I feel I have sowed.  Perhaps that’s the reason for the change, perhaps not.  I don’t want to question the deep philosophical side of this.  I just want to send up a smoke signal to all my readers around the world (and amazingly you are all around the world).  I want to let you know that I am loving you all extra today, and tomorrow I intend to do the same.  Thanks for wanting to get into my head and have a look around; Thanks for listening when I rant, and not switching off when I go too far; Thanks for making me feel good about myself.  It truly means a lot to me, and I realize more than ever that I have only one chance to say thank you because tomorrow is tomorrow, and I only have right now.

So carpe diem, or smell the roses, or live in the moment, or whatever words you need to hear, but when life changes for better or worse you need to know that the day you had today you loved it to your fullest capabilities.  That you won’t be remiss or regret what could have or should have been.  I have been trying to love more everyday for a few months now since I lost a dear friend.  Trust me, when it happens, you spend too much time thinking about what you should have done differently.  Thinking about things you could have done or should have done.  You wish for what you can’t have, and try to move forward knowing that life will just always be, pardon the lack of eloquence, less good.  The trees are not as green etc. etc.  Maybe it doesn’t last forever, and I am not saying that life will never be as good.  Life will just always be different, and you will miss something you can’t have back.  So love what you have right now, love who you are, and love everything you love more. 

Well you don’t have to actually.  The result will just be you end up like everyone else, and at the end of the day what is wrong with that…  

The rusting metal on the genitalia

I can notice I am getting older by the distinct lack of words that are flowing through my head. There was a time when words were my only true friend.  They were there for me when no person was.  I leaned on them, there was comfort in the way they flowed. I took refuge from life in joining together sentences that were too long, and often overfilled with emotional garbage tempered by lyrical and dramatic flair. In other words, I was a teenager who was wrong done by life and I was passionately angry that I had been singled out. I was angry that I was strapped with a dysfunctional family and how dare the world treat me so unkind when everyone else had it all so easy and carefree.  Sound familiar?

I'm not sure that I've grown up in maturity the same way I have packed on the years and the pounds to my body/brain. I find it harder to come back to this blog and spin words about the state of my mind. Perhaps because my mind is in such a state of disrepair. I am choosing to blame it on my age. My age makes my life boring. The scandalous unfairness of the world belongs to us all. This isn't a startling revelation I know, but it would be to most teenagers who are wrapped up in a selfish womb of self importance and arrogance. 

I am realizing now that my dream of writing in retirement is just that.  I will certainly be able to paint, but I'm not sure the sharpness for words I once had will remain. I guess I'm old enough now that this realization doesn't cut me to the bone the same way my lack of a writing career cut me down in my twenties. The famous lines 'I could have been a contender' seeped from the marrow in my bones through my twenties. Now that I am in the final year of my thirties I sit here reflecting on the death of my ego. Unfortunately for whatever talent I possess my laziness won out, or life won out, or I sold out, or I never came out, or put out, or threw it out.  Insert whatever 'out' that applies I am not the only one who lost a dream. Oh man! I haven't lost the ability to express my woe have I? The eighteen year old me would be so thrilled.

Let me state for the record that my writing may be falling off, but my painting has been taking off.  The stuff I am creating right now is beyond my expectations.  I am impressed with myself. I have happened to end up at the right place at the right time twice and been given some sage advice. I am excited to see where it takes me.  I owe a debt of gratitude to Stan McKenny and Nick Rooney, two very talented artists who took some time to coach an old guy along and make me better. When I knock the rust out of my brain and some words fall out I hope to find you all back here again for another journal entry from an angry old man.  My crustiness has only just begun to form. 

Wait... That sounds gross... Uh whatever!

Suck it life - I am made of steel

Today will not define me.  It can cast dispersions or grow regret.  It can be the start and may be the end, but today will not define me.  I can sing praises or bellow threats, I can see disaster or breath life. I can discount relevant theories or I can ask for forgiveness for rash decisions, but today will not define me.  I have not fought in wars or been compromised by others. I have rarely followed suit, and I try to follow as well as lead, but today will not define me. I have been discouraged to follow my truth. Lost my way before I left the house. I have persevered and I have almost crumbled. I have been a boy child and a man, and I have made mistakes I would like to take back.  I am prone to pompous pride and I feel inadequate in the ways that lead to success, but today, I must say, will not define me. I have boiled truth down and I have told brilliant lies.  I have pretended that wounds have healed and I have given praise to boost a friend. I have climbed a mountain and ran a marathon, and have looked agony in the eye without backing down, but that day will not define me. I have allowed my withered soul to lay thread bare in the wind, attempted not to find repair, but found it easier to just give in. I have dug a hole, and trudged the ditch. I have run my mouth and shot the shit, said things that ought not have been said to entertain or raise the dead, but those words, no those words, will not define me. I have revelled in a stinking funk, left the chamber fully cocked and walked away to see the result. I have herded kittens into a box and stuffed envelopes to champion a cause, but those actions do not define me. I can be a staple or the weakest link, be the power and handle rage. I will deal with humble and I will deal with past, hear the stinging words that I barely grasp, but those days are not the days that will define me. What does it all mean, maybe nothing or maybe all, that is for you and not for me, I merely pierce the words and watch them bleed, but today - cannot be the day that will define me.

A manifesto without a cause
a brilliant poem written in your head and not written down
a half a story - a half truth - a curse
a way of living without need for lyrics or verse
enabled spell check with predictive text - someone else's words that utter threats

Evil is a clown face with a popsicle

As an artist you are constantly feeling broken.  You feel torn between the world that everyone else lives in, and the one where you create.  That may sound condescending, but it isn't meant to be.  It's the opposite actually.  I have met some truly great artists that create beautiful work, and yet they doubt themselves daily.  You feel inadequate, over-exposed, too emotionally invested in pretty much everything.  So to defend yourself against the world, at least in my case, you end up outwardly portraying the exact opposite.  You come off as aloof, withdrawn, and uncaring.  Its a required defence mechanism, or maybe that's just me again.

I was asked to write a bio for an event that I did on Friday.  In the bio I described myself as the faceless businessman.  I described myself as a person whom you may believe had skeletons in his closet, or secrets hidden under the floorboards.  The more I thought about it I realized that it hits on a truth.  When I blog about being upset, unhappy, angry, etc. I end up having to defend myself.  I end up having people constantly asking me if I'm OK.  And it's not that I don't appreciate having friends or a spouse that cares enough to ask the question, but as an artist sometimes you just want to be, to expose words for their raw meaning, to let out some of the demons from underneath the floorboards.  Those demons will never disappear.  The art I create will never be good enough for myself.  So from time to time the thoughts will escape, and once words are spoken they cannot be returned.  I will once again be over-exposed.  Sometimes you want to throw the words out there for people to marvel at without judgement, without concern for your welfare.  When you write a novel you don't want people to look at you like what you've written is about you.  You are supposed to be allowed to create, and for those who don't know you they will allow you that expression, but those people that do know you will look for themselves in the words, or look for glimpses of the author.  It would be hard for them not to.

I don't think there is a resolution to this dilemma, just like the demons will never leave the faithful artist.  We would be dull without our demons, and probably wouldn't be very good artists.  I realized that I am more of a performer than a true artist.  Quite frankly my art is in the music, then the words, then the paint.  It is all 3 that make me who I am, and mostly I feel mediocre.  I cannot change that, and it is far from false modesty.  I will never be good enough for my biggest, staunchest, loudest critic - myself.  Others think I'm OK, and that is the first thing my inner critic likes to point out.  I do give myself credit for painting in front of 250 unknown people (mostly unknown).  I guess my view on my art is it lives in the realm of performance art.  That's what makes it stand out.  I am calm in front of a crowd, and I lack the good sense to be concerned about the outcome.  I suppose I lack good sense in just about everything I do, but I do allow myself one thing I never thought I would.  I allowed me - to call myself - an artist.  I can honestly say I didn't ever think that would happen.  So tonight there is one fewer demon taking up space under my oak floor.

Thanks to Steve, Nicolette, Bryan, Allan, Devo, and Angie from the F2 Furnishings, Calgary Creative Arts and Culinary Foundation, Lux Marketing Solutions, and Cab City for a great night.  It took me two days to wash the paint off my hands and I still don't have my voice back, but a good time was had by all.

Cigarette butts, empty bottles, and a side of stupid

Hello, hello, hello, echo, echo, echo.

So this strange dude with a potbelly and a hair shirt (that's me) walks back into a room (this blog) and although the dude feels at home there is six inches of dust on the counter tops and no one bothered to take the mail out of the mailbox for six months and instead just let the postman cram what he could into the box and let the rest just fall on the floor.  Really people if we are going to be neighbors it's the least you could do. 

Where is your head at?  I know I haven't been here in months, but I come back and it's like you've thrown a massive party and destroyed the place.  The least you could have done was invited me to the party.  Hey man, what the hell is with the used Q-tips everywhere and is that a pile of rubber underwear in the corner of the bedroom?  Look, I like to drink and destroy things just as much as the next guy but that is just sick.  If we are going to be friends we have to get one thing straight - I am going to come and go like a junky and you're just going to have to wait around for me until I need my next fix.  I mean you didn't really think this was going to be a two way street.  You can hang out here and treat the place like a bus station bathroom, but when I get back I expect to be able to eat off of that toilet seat buster. 

Don't expect me to be all happy to see you, and don't ask me questions about where I have been.  I am a ghost and an invisible man who just so happens to like to run naked down the middle of a crowded street in broad daylight occasionally.  This is exhibitionism and torture shaped like a bullet and surrounded in a gooey chocolate and toffee coating. A guy needs space to run around like a wild dog, but dogs do like to have their bellies scratched from time to time, so here I am.  My belly is up and ready to be rubbed, it is ample, and it won't be that hard to defuzz yourself after. 

It really went off the rails in the middle somewhere, but in my defense I am completely insane, and I never said any of this was going to make you any smarter.  If anything the most you can hope for is to not end up brain damaged.  I pride myself as being a man that can prattle on with the best of them.  Yes I just used the word prattle - I do occasionally like to think I live in the 1950's.  Back when women were broads and  booze was in every desk drawer. 

I know at some point in my life I'll pay for that last sentence.  Probably some broad with an attitude problem.  Oh boy!

9 people in Israel read my blog this month.  If you've been following the news then you will understand why I was floored by that.  People with bombs bursting and lives being lost around them reading my mental drizzle astounds me.  Thank you to whomever you all are.  I hope if anything you were able to ignore reality and keep entertained by my idiocy.  It makes you realize blogged words are not hollow.  It often feels like what I write should just echo off of the walls of the web and return home unread, but the reality is those words find eyes in the most unlikely places.

Peace...