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...

White guys who dig rap get shot on karaoke night

I am a contributing member of a charitable group called Canadian Artists for the Poor.  I will be part of a project they have in the form of Art Walks in Calgary Starting June 4th.  That being said I have been working like a mad man.  Painting as much as I possibly can.  My art has changed recently because the music I have been listening to has changed drastically.  When something changes in my art I don't know if it will ever change back.  My life has changed a lot in a short time.  Most of it for the better.  I miss things, I take things too personally.  I haven't blogged in a long time because I have nothing to say.  Everything that I have to say is on the canvas behind me.  I think I might actually be becoming an artist.  I mean I might be able to call myself that.  Others do, but I don't believe them.

I hope that some day my intention shows better.  I hope the things I've done wrong in my life, I somehow find a way to make up for.  I don't know where I am going, but I just have my head down.  I don't have time to be introspective.  I miss you all, but now is not the time for me to come back to this spot yet.  I am working, and when that dries up the words will flow again.  Until then stop by my studio - you can see where my brain is at, where my heart is at, and where my life is at.  I miss you...

In the mean time I will be listening to rap.  Hardcore rap.  Lots of inappropriate words screamed into my ears at far too loud a decibel.  I don't think I am allowed to listen to this stuff, it is certainly not normal for an old white guy to be so into Drake, but there it is.  I just wish he would rap words I could repeat out loud.  For now I just White Man Dance my way around my studio throwing paint on the walls and occasionally on the canvas.  If someone out there knows Drake let him know he's awesome, but the clean version of his stuff only has about every 5th word so you can't listen to it, and the unclean version makes me feel like I am going to get in trouble and perhaps sent to Politically Incorrect Prison, or maybe just shot.  I dig it though - only a white guy would say that - see what I mean?

Tractors and soiled underwear in spray bomb green.

I'm writing, I'm working out twice a day, I'm painting, I'm playing guitar again (very poorly), I am working hard at my new job, I'm eating better, my head space is clearing.  The year has started well.  My new job is taking a lot of my limited brain power, but it's a good job and I really like it.  I heard an interesting term the other day "golden handcuffs".  It may be old, but it was new to me.  If you don't know, it basically means you are over paid for the job you do, so you can't go anywhere else if you are unhappy because you'll never make the same money for the equivalent work.  I think it applies to other things too - patterns you fall into that are easy, and appeal to the lazy side of your personality, and then you have a hard time getting out of it even of those patterns are destructive.

It certainly applies to me in some ways when it comes to work.  I would love to have the balls to take a major pay cut, and write for a living.  I have been encouraged to do so, but I like my lifestyle.  Right now my new job is very challenging.  I like to be challenged.  I have to set the alarm, and wake up much earlier as my new job is much farther away from home.  I am at my desk at 6:00 am, and before I leave the house I have to workout, so when the alarm goes off at 3:55 am it is earth shatteringly difficult to get out of bed.  The people that own this company are different than any business people that I have ever worked for.  They are so focused on their employees it's like waking up in an alternate universe.  I am used to fighting with my bosses to make sure my guys get what they deserve, and in this company everything is readily given if it is earned.  It makes me want to work harder, but when that happens something has to give.  I can't write as much, I can't workout as much, I can't paint as much.  So basically, I have to give of myself, and forget my needs, not only for my paycheque, but for other reasons too.  When the people you work for actually care about you first, and the success of the company is for the benefit of all including ownership, my needs start to come second.  That type of ownership is so rare, and unbelievable at times, that what I need seems small.  Basically,  it's a personal want/need deal breaker.  I don`t get to be selfish.  I need to be plugged in, I need to get the job done, and I need to cultivate that business.  It just has to be done.  Something like this, is just so rare it has to be maintained and groomed.  It has to be successful.

I have spent my life running other people`s companies, even though I have the skill and knowledge to run my own.  Sorry if that sounds immodest, but it`s the truth.  I have just never been able to find the thing I was passionate about in the business world that would make me take that kind of risk.  Having the ability to do something is only a part of the equation, you need to have the desire as well.  I guess my ability to write and my desire to be a writer has never been equal enough, or I have never been confident enough to take the risk.  It`s too bad in some ways, but where would the world be without guys like me that made sure tractors got built, or that underwear was sewed properly, and in the store on time?  Where would the world be if paint was never made in large enough quantities or didn't come in spray bomb green, what if aeroplanes weren't fixed or unloaded on time (wait a minute, bad example.  Airlines are horribly run and always late.)

The world we know is fueled by people.  Not all of us get to choose what we do to earn our retirement.  That's what the term "golden handcuffs" means to me.  I can start sentences with "I wish" or "I should", but the reality of my life is "I haven't" and "I'm not sure I ever will".  When you've written 3 books, without having gone as far as trying to sell one - it has to mean the ability doesn't match the desire, but sometimes the desire is so strong and deep it burns.  Don't count me out, I don't want your sympathy.  There are thousands of people who would do anything to have my life.  I guess that's why I often feel so selfish for wanting more.

At the end of the day, handcuffs are often used for pleasure, I'll stop here before this becomes a blog about S&M, but from time to time, it does feel like I am getting bent over.  At least now it feels like it's for a good cause.

This isn't about lost hope.  Lord knows I have landed on my feet, and I guess the question is whether I really deserve it or not.  I encourage you all to follow that path you want to be on.  Take lessons from people like me that can and don't.  You can do it.  I have run a marathon, I have written books, I have sold paintings.  None of that happens without something getting done.  Yes, we can always do more.  I will be successful in the end.  Be the pilot, be the captain, don't get tied to things.  I am not saying don't make a commitment.  I am saying that small steps towards an end result are great, but the more freedom you have, the bigger steps you can take.  Don't let anyone tell you - you can't.  That's bullshit.  Take my example and do better, be more true.  Don't take this as me complaining or regretting, my experience can make yours different, and I am not in prison, I have free will, and I am own man.  The only thing that ever held me back was me, maybe I am meant to make sure you don't make the same mistake.  Maybe the idiot windbag moniker from a couple of weeks ago was more apt than I thought.  You decide...

Burning art for warmth

I have just come back from Phoenix.  I have been golfing and enjoying excellent weather.  For those of you live in far off places you won't know that Calgary has had a very good winter thus far.  When I left it was unseasonably warm.  When I got back yesterday someone hit the "normal" switch and the weather is now horribly cold and back to normal.  I hate winter more and more and it more and more makes me want to move somewhere far far away.  I will let you all know that I have no paintings left in my house as I am currently burning them all to keep warm.

I want to talk more about writing and painting this year.  God knows you all have seen far to much about my personal life in this blog, the point of this was to talk art - it seems like the right time.  It never ceases to amaze me how many people in the world are writers who have never published or never finished their beloved work.  Myself I have finished 3 books and never bothered to try to sell one.  When I was in Phoenix golfing and gambling we had the occasion of celebrating a friends 50th birthday.  His wish was to visit a gentleman's club.  It's honestly not the type of place I frequent (twice in my life) but as it was his birthday off we went.  The club itself was rough around the edges as these places are, but unlike the  places I had been to in the past, there was a much higher percentage of attractive girls wandering around talking with the customers.

I will spare you the details for the most part, but I ended up talking with one of the girls for a very long time about her writing.  We talked about what she wanted to do in the future, and I talked about my artwork and writing.  Then I recommended some books she could read.  I don't feel particularly comfortable in this type of place, but I am at a point in my life where I will talk to anyone with ease.  What I have have found is that people always have things they want to accomplish, and it is a common point we all like to share our thoughts about.  Not only was she a writer, but she was also a very good dancer.  She had to leave our conversation to go and do her routine on stage, and for those of you who are prudish she didn't take off all of her clothes, just some of them, and we were all impressed by her beauty, but also she was a great dancer.  We all have talents, and we all have a way we would like to move forward in our lives.

When she came back later on in the evening, I told her how good a dancer she was compared with the others.  She said she enjoyed the dancing, and had always done it in one form or the other.  She was sure of herself and made it known that it was her choice to be there.  She made more money doing that than working a normal day job, so she could travel and do what she wanted to.  If I wasn't so damn ugly I would do the same thing.  The amount of time I spend "working" is what affects the real work I would like to do in my life.  It's not that I don't like the work I do now because actually I truly do.  I just don't have as much time to build my life exactly the way I wanted to, but my new friend, whom I'm sure I will never see again, was working to do just that.  She was using work as a means to an end.  I hope that works out for her.

How is it that I end up in a place where I should just be a guy, and end up having a deep conversation about life?  If this is the way my life is going, I have to say I like it a lot.  Why be some typical horny guy when you can find out something about someones life?  That's what writing is about.  I have often written characters who are prostitutes by choice (Let's get this straight my new friend IS NOT a prostitute - she was a dancer) but I have always thought there were people who found that life and been successful.  People who made the choice to do those types of things for a living because they actually liked it.  I know there is a seedier side which even she admitted to, but it hadn't affected her.  She told me she liked what she did, and I believed her.  She also told me it wasn't going to define her.  She had a plan and a good head on her shoulders.  I guess I was just fascinated.

I plan on asking more people for their stories.  I suppose I should also ask them if they mind if I posted snippets for us all to learn.  I think it's good to learn from other people.  What better to way figure out what works and what doesn't?  There is no magic method that works for everyone, but if you can get some tips along the way it may help.

So lets end on a tip from me to you: If you do live in a cold climate I suggest you remove the canvas before you burn the painting to stay warm.  That way you still have the painting, and more importantly you won't suffocate from the fumes.  Who knew acrylic paint burning would hurt so bad?  It's still better than being cold.  See - you learned something from me just by reading this.

An Idiot windbag repents his sins for the New Year

2011 has been the year when my black and white personality finally started to feel wrong. When I made the decision to shed the polarised version of myself, the only self I have ever know, my world cratered. My self worth vanished and everything I valued began to change. In short I became a crumbled version of myself, and when things were at their lowest I would reach for an ultimatum. I would search for the opposite. In my desperate and sad mind I believed that the only thing that would get me out of my self loathing must be the opposite of what I was doing. It was the old me trying to survive. Kill this, stop that, never, always, must, everything, completely, or nothing, nada, forget it.
That's who I am and always have been. The road to who I need to be, want to be, will be, has taken me to sorrow so deep it deconstructed my being. It crushed me. I have never been so sad, I have never looked so deep, and I have never come so close to setting it all on fire. Maybe that's what I did. Maybe now 2012 is the phoenix rising. My god I hope so. One of the moments I will never forget - when a friend told me to remember that for every mile of road there is two miles of ditch. It's an old saying, but it smacked me in the face. I have lived my adult life black or white. I have lived my adult life trolling the ditches and missing the point. It made me sad, and it made me angry. I thought I was smarter than that, and I didn't realize that by being so far to one side or the other, I was making my life far more difficult than it needed to be. I have not given myself the opportunity to live on a balanced path. I thought making hardcore decisions and drawing a line in the sand without compromise was who I was, and by being that way it was my version of taking the high road. living to a higher standard. When in reality it was me taking the easy road. It's easier to live in the ditch. That may not seem right, but it is. When you only view things one way, when there is only ever ONE right answer, you absolve yourself from living life. You tie your hands and stop paying attention. The hard decisions are easy because there is only one way forward in your small ridiculous mind. What a waste of time, what a waste of life.
2011 was the year I died. It was the year that everything was lost. Everything.
20 years of my life, the part which brought about my mid-life crisis, talent and excess, waste and regret so great it was an atomic bomb that laid waste to a good life. I lived through it. The worst year of my life will eventually be the year I stopped accepting bad habits. The year I decided I was too important to settle. The Year that felt like it would kill me, will be the Year that makes me a new and better version of myself.
2012 will start with a plethora of challenges, but I am looking forward to the first year of my life that I work hard and travel on the road. No ditches, just pavement. It may not be straight, in fact I can't possible see how it could be, but the turns in the road can't be as hard to navigate. The ditches are riddled with landmines. They require a compass and a machete, a shovel and a pair of dark glasses so you can't see the way out. Getting out has not been easy, and throwing myself back in takes but a second of lapsed judgement.
2011 I lost friends, it was my fault. I was callous and self-important. I said things that were ridiculous. I felt things that were wrong. I have no defence. I was a bad person. It doesn't matter what I did, what I didn't do, what I thought, what I said out loud. By my own estimation and admission I was just not a good version of myself. By my own standards I was an ass hole. As much as I tried, I couldn't help it, but it doesn't matter.
To everyone who stood by me - I thank you. To everyone who I misunderstood or who misunderstood me I apologise. If I lost things this year then I needed to. There were no gains. I was selfish and mean, indignant and self absorbed, over honest and ignorant to any ones need but my own. I can't take that back now. I have to live with it all, but that's the point isn't it? I have to live with it. I have to think of me. If I don't fix my mistakes now then it will be too late one day, and I'll still be the one who has to live with it.
My amazing, brilliant wife told me that if I wasn't willing to be true to myself, and do whatever I needed to do to make my life the life I wanted, then I was living a lie, and because there were so many other people in my life, that if I was living a lie, then they were living it too, and that would be on me. That's a big sentence. It was a truth so hard to take, a statement so honest, and an admission so brave, I will never cease to be blown away by it. Said at a time of rawness and insanity (on my part). I still to this day cannot recover from the balls-y-ness, and the candour let alone the accuracy. It was when I realized
Here is the only thing I can say for sure:
My wife is the strong one, the gutsy one, and the intelligent one. I think this year she may have learned that I am more of an idiot than she ever imagined. I am weak and over-sensitive, but I try hard to improve every year. She is an amazing person and a great friend, and I haven't deserved her company since the day we met. I will eternally be the lucky one. I am always in a good place, and one I don't deserve, because I share my life with an incredible person. So there it is, and where it goes no one can know...

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The Friendless Void and the Endless sadness of Echoes

I have spent my life believing that people didn't matter.  I spent my life believing that I was the only one that mattered, and that the opinion of other people was irrelevant.  That was until about about three years ago.  That was when I realised that I had been living my life in a way that had held me back.  So I began a process of change, I began the process that would allow me to live a different life. During that time I didn't always feel like I was being true to myself.  I sometimes felt like I was becoming someone I wouldn't ultimately be proud of.  I always envied people who lived life a little more connected, more willing to be apart of the crowd rather than live in the corner.  I thought I was more myself being sheltered, and true to who I was being focused on myself.  So I made a decided change.  A while ago I felt like I had moved forward, and was becoming a better person.  Someone who lived more in the world like it was meant to be rather than hiding away.

So here I am today, after three years of hard self improvement, and let me give you a report on how rewarding changing your life is at times.  It turns out my initial feelings about people were often correct.  That people who are your friends are often only friendly because it's convenient.  That living with people in your life is loud and inconvenient, and often after you've made an effort they read into your intentions and      misconstrue your intent.  Life is messy and honesty is unappreciated and not appreciated beyond what you are probably prepared for.  Feelings are better when they are minimal and irrelevant.

Yes, some people are true.  Some people are genuinely good.  But when you are out in the world, the few are often fogged out by the many.  Having your heart broken even  in small ways is a common occurrence, and no, people don't always mean it, but without the shield up it happens often.  So is it all bad?  Is it better to live in silence than hear the greatest symphony ever written once and never again?  Are people that lie and leave, better or more true than the ones who try not to lie, but are forced to stay due to obligation? 

I am better as a thief, but I no longer want to steal.  I am a murderer who has never killed and doesn't want to.  This is purgatory and revelation, resolve covered in doubt.  I have too many questions about human nature, and always have, but does that mean my decision to change was wrong?  I am honest and overly sensitive.  I used to be the best liar in the world.  The change is too extreme.  The debt is too large to pay, and the income will never match the expenditure.  I would ask opinions, but I don't get any.  I get what I always do - the echo of my own voice into the void, and there is no right answer.


    

Lou and Louis Guzman Get Married

I don't have to look very far to get inspiration from people in my life.  Perfect example being my Sister-in-law.  Someone who started her life over.  I won't go into detail as I don't really have any, and it isn't my story to tell, but there was a point in her life when she could have made some decisions differently.  She could have made things easy.  Is 'easy' the word?  Probably not.  Maybe I can say that she could have accepted that life wasn't exactly as she wanted it, and then did as most of us do and settled for what she had. 

What I do know is that she made some very brave choices.  Decisions I don't think I could have made in my life.  Basically, she wanted something for herself, and she decided to go and get it.  Linda and I are very different people.  A couple of times we lived together.  My wife, her sister, and the ever crotchety quiet man.  We shared rent, and tried not to kill each other for small periods of time.  Now, we surely have things we do which drive each other crazy, but at the end of the day I think we love each other.  I know I love her.   I am ever impressed with her abilities as a person, and a mother.

Now I did play a rather key role in this life she has attained for herself.  As much as Linda likes to give credit for her meeting Mark (her husband) to my wife.  Let me dispel that myth.  It has very little to do with Susanne and everything to do with me.  I have an uncanny ability to tell good people from bad almost instantly.  On a particular night sitting across from a guy I didn't know, at a work function which was not mine (It was Susanne's).  Linda showed up (this is the Coles Notes version obviously) said she couldn't meet any good guys.  I told her she didn't want to meet good guys, she fit the profile of a young single female, which meant she wanted to meet guys that would treat her like shit, and what she really wanted was a guy to follow around like a puppy dog.  Now I know that's harsh, but I was drinking (oldest excuse in the world I know) and I barely filter what I say at the best of times, and when I drink the filter gets turned off.  She took offense to this of course, and was adamant that she wanted to meet a nice guy.  So I pointed across the table and said 'there is a nice guy, go meet him'.  And she did.

Now she has most of what I think she wants out of life.  I am sure there is a great deal more I am missing, but this is a blog and not a biography, so if you want to know the rest, then become her friend and stop nosing around.  Just kidding.

The point is, two days ago a very lucky little girl was born into a very good home, to two very good people.  Their life inspires others, just as all of our lives do.  I realize more and more that the things we say and do as individuals ripple into the universe.  Be the best version of yourself that you can be, and those actions inspire others.  They really do, even if you don't realize it.  I often feel that responsibility prevents me from following a dream.  Trying not to get in your own way on the path to your goal is diificult at the best of times, and making brave decisions at the right time is the only real way forward that won't lead to regret.  That is advise I've had trouble dealing with.  The things we want often don't seem to mesh with the place we are in, but if you take Linda's example, then one day you too could be in the place you want to be, surrounded by the people you most want to be with.  If only we could all live by the example of others.

I do take credit for everything they have.  Quite simply it is my greatness that built everything they have.  Obviously, I am kidding.  I just look back on these two really great people that found their way into each other's lives, and feel good that I said something, as often I am apt to keep things to myself.  At least at this point in my life, what I said, was completely out of character.  Today, not so much.  Maybe Linda making her first steps to a different life at that time, began the creation of the monster known as ME.  I had actually never made that connection until this moment, but watching her become who she is, has certainly helped to make me who I am today.  Now if we could only determine if that change was a good thing...

Razor Blades and Glue Sticks

I have started to discover my friends are worried about me.  Well... The normal ones are.  The ones who can't believe anyone would put personal stuff out there for the world to see.  And believe me I can understand that, but there are two things you all need to know.  First, everything here is real, and as many of you who get to spend time with me know, I haven't written anything here, that I haven't said out loud at some point.  Secondly, I am a writer, and I often say things for dramatic affect.  Don't get me wrong, I mean it.  But as my wife tells me all the time, I embellish everything.  Metaphorically speaking I sing the contents of the phone book, rather than just say the names out loud.  I read the Sunday Times using the voice of Kermit D Frog.  You need to take me with a grain of salt sometimes.  The core of what I am saying, the root of it, is completely true, but the words are dressed up like drag queens at a gay pride parade.

I have an ever growing group of Favorite People.  It's a list I keep in my head, and the list changes.  As some of you know my life is about to change in a very big way.  I am leaving a job I have long loved (and recently more-or-less hated) for something new.  It's a great opportunity for me.  I struggled with it for the past few months.  I have four people I work with who keep me sane, make my life easy, and let me talk nonsense and make a fool of myself everyday.  I have a team of people who I have long felt a kinship with that goes beyond anything I have ever experienced.  Leaving this behind guts me to the core and leaves me bleeding. 

I have felt protective and proud, laughed uncontrollably and commiserated, and worked beside the best people you could hope for.  Initially, I didn't want to leave because I thought it would all collapse without me, but eventually I realized how arrogant that was.  The truth is I have taught these guys everything I know, and they have taught me right back.  We grew together as people and fought the good fight for a common goal.  Now I have nothing left, and in fact with me removed these guys will go to the next level.  They need me to go so they can learn even more.  Sometimes growth has to hurt a little first.  I suppose you can make the argument that I am telling myself this just to make myself feel better, and I see your point.  I thought of that too, but it's not the case.

I will always have a relationship with these guys.  We will still play poker, we will still have dinner, we will always be friends, and I will always be there for anyone of them.  We just won't work together anymore.  I don't have kids, but I imagine this sadness mixed with other emotions is sort of like sending your kid off to kindergarten for the first time.  All those emotions of fear, excitement, and sadness cutting you to the core, and making you take the next step in life whether you want to or not.  The kid will obviously be fine, but as a parent you want to throw yourself down, and demand that time stop.  You want to be protective and shelter your child from possibility they may get hurt, and then reality slaps you awake again.  You realize - that for the child you love so much to grow - you have to let them go.  There comes a time when holding on only smothers the ones we love.  I honestly think this is the case here. 

I hope that as time goes by I will be remembered as fondly as I will remember them.  I hope they feel like I was a good boss, and an even better coworker.  I have been honoured and privileged to work along side these guys for more than 7 years.  I have fought and struggled against the decision to leave, but at the end of the day if you cut yourself open with a razor blade - you can't fix it with a glue stick. 

How's that for drag queens at a gay pride parade???

Vegas, the dirty underworld told by a repentant man in flannel

I sit in my underwear with little to say.  OK, I don't wear underwear.  I have to confess to you all that I did to go Vegas.  We all know the line which forbids me from uttering what I am about to, but if I were a man of faith, which I am not, and you were my Priest, which you are not, and we were sitting in a little booth...  I would have to tell you everything, and then you could judge me, tell me what to do, and I would be free from my mistakes and misgivings.  No, I am not making fun of religions.  I guess I need to state that as we all know how the entire world seems to have lost their sense of humour about pretty much everything. 

So Bless me Anonymous Internet Person for I have sinned...  I went to Las Vegas to get rich, and stake my claim on the world.  Instead, I took a handicap room (mostly by accident), lost almost everything, had a random person lick my face, and gave money away to people I don't know.  I didn't lose money, I actually gave it away as I won it.  I consumed alcohol at a startling rate, and actually was so drunk at one point I got lost in a casino, and couldn't find my way out.  I ate way too much, golfed horribly, and had a great time overall.  Being as I am old and boring that is about it.  The only vow I broke was the one about getting rich and staking my claim on the world.  Overall, job well done.  The face licking thing haunts me, and generally makes me feel ill.  Although, I do believe the person who licked my face, whom I do not know or remember her name, posted it on her Facebook.  If you know who she is, or have seen the video/picture, please tell her EW! 

Halloween Party Mark I was a great success.  We will be doing again next year - so those of you who missed it will get a second chance.  As for Hall and Oates, well they were a great disappointment to all who looked forward to meeting them.  They kept asking the male guests if 'that was a sock in their pants or if the guy was just happy to see them'.  They drank to excess, and had to be carried into their limo at the end of the night.  They didn't perform, and signed only 2 autographs the entire night. 

I am working on writing something on the fiction front as I promised last week.  However, the two ideas I started were actually too good to give away for free on the Internet so please standby.  I have too much raw stuff going on in my brain to go any further on the personal front.  Good thing I am invisible.  Lord knows no one wants to see a middle aged guy, crying, typing his life story/life issues in his underwear (Reminder: I don't wear underwear).  Oooohhh the perfect over share beginning gets retread with a perfect over share ending...

Face Tattoos and Elder Folk

I have nothing to say that can lead to any good.  There is a stillness where I stand, and yet everything in my life is moving.  Any attempt I make at a comment could end up looking premature or foolish.  So what am I writing?  I get asked if 'I am writing something new soon' quite often.  It nice to have people follow you, but the dangers of expressing true free thought do tend to catch up to you from time to time.  So what do you do?  Do you edit your true feelings?  What if people who know you professionally, but not personally stumble on your inner thoughts?  I suppose the slight anonymity I have created with a pen name helps, but that is a pretty flimsy shield in the world of Facebook.  I'll have you know that I haven't pulled any punches in these posts.  Some of them are a little too close to home, and that hasn't come without a price at times.

I suppose I don't have anything to hide, but maybe I will one day.  Maybe I do now, but I just don't realize it yet.  I don't want to run away from what I have started here, but it is daunting to release your true life stories, unedited into the void.  Especially, when you have an underused talent as a writer of fiction and a driving whim to create absolutely anything.  When you craft words they can sting, they can emote, they can also exaggerate, and outright lie.  I can't imagine any of that can be good for a person's long term outlook.  So what do you do?  Do you go all Rolling Stones and spill your blood all over the stage cause it's only Rock N Roll, or do you retreat to the "normal" world and stay silent?

I had a long conversation about being "normal" today.  I suppose I am normal (now that stings).  I have sought a life of control, and had a distaste for chaos.  Turns out that was a huge mistake in my life.  The safe road is boring, and now I'm old and stuck (how's that for honesty).  I don't intend on staying that way.  I have been quietly chipping away at the bedrock I have created underneath myself.  I am now about to blossom into a beautiful butterfly (don't ask me how).  Basically, I refuse to undervalue myself ever again.  That may be an innocuous statement, but it is a motto I intend to live by and just today I put it into action.  If it means compromising to move forward then I am going to stay still.  No more accepting the normal or the safe road.  I am going to tattoo my face, stop driving and take a pogo stick to work singing It's My Party and I'll cry If I Want To, all the way to work.  Except in winter so that last bits on hold until June (coward).  But the face tattoo that is going to happen.  Maybe a butterfly....  

I have been thinking that I could post a weekly running story of some kind.  Like the serial fiction newspapers used to publish.  Take Sherlock Holmes as an example, except mine would have no crime solving or excitement, just random fictional characters with huge personality flaws and anxiety.  Sounds delicious I know.  Let me know your thoughts.  If you want to read it - I will write it weekly or more if I can.  Why go through all the trouble of selling something when you can give it away for free?

The never ending lure of the fetal position

What I have come to realize is that living a life completely free of regret is basically impossible.  I am sure there are people far more clever than I am, and much younger, who have been perhaps reading my posts and screaming this simple message at me through their computers.  The fact of the matter is, out of the 6 billion people on earth, I would imagine that only a handful would get to the end of their lives and think ‘I did everything right.  I could not possibly have done anything different’.  It is ridiculous to think a person who really lives  their life could have no regrets.  Well I am an idiot, and I have been regretting the fact that I have many regrets.

I realize that many of you may be growing tired of these posts with their tiny revelations (to me these are often full out bomb blasts of unseen reality, scary isn’t it).  All I can say is sorry, and you have full permission to stop reading.  Turn it off for the love of God.  I get it.  I just need to keep plugging away.  How I’ve gone from someone who lived secretly hiding in the shadows and slowly gaining weight.  Successfully hiding away I might add until I reached hermit status and 320 pounds.  Fast forward to a man with a website, a book half done (and not bad), and a guy who posts the intimate details of his life for the world to see is staggering to me.  I’ve accomplished goals (small ones) and in doing so have set astronomical future goals.  In creating this vision I dealt myself an uppercut beyond anything I have felt before.  The weight of the world now resting full force on my shoulders (self-inflicted) I have been stumbling around.  Still, the man I was 3 years ago is gone.  He actually hardly exists anymore save for the ability to think nothing I’ve done is good enough.

Now this has been hard on me.  Its been a series of very high points and very low points, but the man I am now is very different.  It’s taken me the same amount of time to realize that the person this has been hardest on is not me.  Imagine living with someone for seventeen years and for fourteen of those years you knew the person well, and then three years later that person was gone.  The man or woman you lived with and loved is just gone.  What if you don’t like the new person?  What if the new person doesn’t like you?  What if you don’t know how to ask?  What if you really don’t want to know the answer?

So here is this sweet, wonderful, lovely woman standing by, being supportive, conjuring a smile of encouragement, wondering the whole time who the hell is this guy?  What happened to the guy who hated people and sat in a crowd quietly with little to say?  How do I handle a person who was happy being himself,  A man who was comfortable in his own skin, and now here is this over grown child frustrated by everything he has built?  It must be incredibly difficult.

 

I guess all relationships go through their growing pains.  There are people who manage to stay the same throughout their lives, and there are people who change at varying speeds.  I would like to talk to some couples that have managed to weather the storms.  Mostly, I would like to point out that the person I am lucky enough to be married to has been incredibly understanding.  She is honest and true to her word, and she is kind and loving.  There are no guarantees that she will want to be with me forever.  As she is the first to point out - things change and you just never know.  What I can say for sure is that I am 37 and for almost half my life I have been privileged to be with someone who loved me, and there is no one who could call that into question.  The part that remains to be seen as always is where the future will take us.  I can’t stop the changes.  I don’t want to be that person who is stuck and afraid of life anymore.  Perhaps that is a harsh evaluation of my former self, but looking back that is what it feels like.

Still, five years ago I would have told you I had everything.  I would have told you that I didn’t want anything to change, and those words would have been 100% true.  Today, I would say that I have everything, and I can’t see it staying the same.  I don’t know what that means exactly.  I just know that as things keep moving forward when I ask my wife if she still likes me, I just hope the answer is yes.  I also know that there is a very good chance, due to the fact that I have changed so very much, the answer just might be no.

Whatever she decides I can honestly say that when it comes to my wife there are no regrets.  She is crazy and loveable, she is head strong and honest, she has been my best friend for seventeen years and that time cannot be erased.  We have built a wonderful life - that we quite frankly discussed tearing down brick by brick just yesterday.  If she told me today that she couldn't be with me, it would hurt like hell, but it would be forever and always the best part of my life.  Doesn't matter how much you can take life on the chin, sometimes you end up in the fetal position waiting for the pain to go away.  

Dip me in chocolate and eat me

I don't do anything without music.  I write, I paint, I dabble, I drive, I deliberate, I annoy people, everything I do I set to music.  I have decided to set my midlife crisis to music as well.  I haven't set the exact soundtrack yet.  I figure I have time as I haven't grown the disgusting moustache yet.  I don't have any money so I can't buy a sports car.  Unfortunately, on that front, I may settle for a really bitchin' model of an Audi TT convertible and pretend I'm not a total loser while I sit on the end of my bed making vroom vroom noises out loud pretending I'm behind the wheel.   

Yes, it is early spring in the life cycle of my midlife crisis.  I am off to a horrible start really.  No money for a car, and I love my wife and can't imagine having an affair.  I am far too ugly to pull it off anyway.  God, I hate being so predictable.  There is nothing I hate more than being just like everyone else.  This is just like a man who has everything including the  luxury of sitting back and over analyzing his life wondering why you made the choices you have.  Wondering why you didn't follow through on doing the things you really wanted to with your life.  How do you stop it?  It must end on it's own.  For me all this thinking is just about work.  The crisis is my way of pushing myself to do more, try harder, make something more of myself.

What else is there to this thing anyway?  Besides the unattractive facial hair (which I refuse to grow because I may get food in it - see last post), the young bimbo (no thanks), and the car.  What else is there?  I think I am going to sculpt something.  And instead of doing it out of marble or something complicated I have decided to sculpt my image in chocolate.  I like chocolate, and in the past three months my new favorite thing to do is tell people to "eat me".  If I pull this off I can toss the person a candy version of myself.  Besides, my wife loves chocolate and after she reads about the midlife crisis and the bimbos (which for the record I said 'no thanks') it may be the only thing that keeps her from punching me in the face.  She can eat my chocolate face.  Any one else want to eat me in chocolate? 

Bodily Fluids, Vomit, and Other unclean Stories.

I have had the same editor for 17 years.  Sue has been the voice in my head for as long as I can remember.    We worked together at one point in our lives, and she continuously corrected me.  I used to write long winded emails full of grammatical errors and run on sentences.  I think I was about 20 at the time.  I remember being frustrated because the hilarity of what I was writing (in my mind) far out weighed the fact that there were things wrong with the structure.  So why she needed to point out my mistakes, forsaking my greatness, was a severe slap in the face.  I mean I was a bloody genius.  Who cared that there were spelling mistakes, or who really cared that I was in the work place and should have been working rather than dubbing myself the 'King of Coffee Land' and belittling people (including the owner of the company) using the company directory to tell everyone off for taking the last cup of coffee and not making more.  Since that job I quite often still get bored and create emails that are generally not very constructive which highlight the faults of my co-workers.  I have also used my meager writing skills to tell off a supplier or two (or a hundred-ish).  When you slowly become mentally ill the sickness in your head tends to spill out and infect everyone around you.  It's like a leaking tap you just can shut off.

This will be the first book of mine that Sue has edited (she doesn't edit my blog so don't blame her for my mistakes).  She is very particular which is a nice way of saying she is a pain in the ass.  Still, when I was young and rambunctious and the words that flowed from me had sharp edges, she helped me to realize that style meant just as much as meaning.  For the past ten years I haven't given Sue anything to edit.  Life ticks on and I got lazy, but today is not yesterday and I hope in the future she will continue to point out my flaws, I will continue to get my hackles up from time to time, and in the end she will be right and everything I do will be better because she was there to help.

Sue is the voice in my head.  The teacher standing over me tsk-ing away, and I thank her for it.  I am still not a great writer, I still don't have the elements of style down.  I just know I can rely on the voice in my head, the lady with the booming voice and the kind heart to shove my inconsistencies and errors in my face.  Don't get me wrong, she is very nice about it.  She pushes me to be better where often those that know me are just very kind.  When someone in your life has the balls (sorry Sue poor illustration) to tell you when you're wrong because they want to see you succeed, you can wilt or brace yourself.  If you can take the knocks to the ego you come out the other side a much better writer/person.

Now I need to satisfy the other editor in my life, that being my wife.  God knows that the last hundred words were somehow depressing in a way I can't see.  Every time I write a blog I envision thousands (OK 10 or 15) people weeping and tearing their hair in sorrow based on my wife's reaction (notice how well I take criticism).

I feel like the unassuming comedian out for dinner and someone wants him to 'be funny' or 'tell a joke'.  As I have sat here trying to think of a joke that would hopefully satisfy my quota, I have come up blank.  So instead of telling a joke let me tell you something about myself that most people find funny.

I don't like seeing food on people's faces.  You know those commercials where a fast food joint decides that some dude with burger seeping out of his mouth will somehow entice the world to buy their junk food.  I would honestly like to know who thinks this is appetizing.  The entire situation makes me want to throw up.  Someone asked me last week if my disgust for things on peoples faces extends beyond food.  After very little consideration the answer is yes.  If you would like a list of things I find repulsive then include spit, and anything involving children being dirty, soiled, or unclean.  In fact, if you ever need to torture me you don't need pins under my finger nails, you simply need to spit on my face, wait ten seconds, and I will tell you anything you want to know.  

If you can't say something funny...

Anyone else forget just about everything you learned in high school?  A friend of mine recently went back to school so she could enter the health care system and help people. I find that an amazing feat.  Not to mention the act of wanting to help sick people goes against my germ-phobias and my complete lack of ability to think about anyone other than myself.  'Let them eat cake' I say, but thankfully there are good people in the world who want to do good things for others. The thought of going back to school fills me with terror and angst plus the fear of failure.  She is someone who found a passion in life and had the courage to take a risk and find her own way.  She is also the type of person you tend to like so much you want to scrunch her up and put her in your pocket so you can take her anywhere you go.  Perhaps that doesn't sound right - she's just fun to have around - let's stick with that.

Now a writer would have changed parts of that intro, but in this blog I have decided to show the warts of my writing.  You should see how my mind works before I actually edit it.  Otherwise I might sound intelligent and seem talented.  What the hell good could come of that horseshit I ask you?  I have people in Germany and France who seem to be tuning into my little peep show here.  Welcome to you all and would it be too forward of me to ask you if you would like to marry me and have my babies?   Too forward? Why string people along for a whole career when I can alienate them within minutes of them finding me?  Why wait to have a comeback when I can start rebuilding my failed career before it even gets started?

The first draft of my 3rd novel is now complete and this will be my last blog for a week or two as I need to get my head back on straight.  The thrill of being finished and getting a little rest for my meager imagination.  The elation that I finished step one of the process feels good.  I intend on getting down to my studio to throw some paint on canvas.  I suggest we all stand up and do a little happy dance.  I am currently doing a naked Electric Slide.  Unfortunately, for those of you who know me you may have formed a mental picture of said Naked Electric Slide (I apologize for that).

My question for the day is - if you are stuck in a beautiful prison - are you still in prison?  The real prison is a hostile and dangerous place.  But let's say you are in a prison of bright vibrant colours and although you can't leave you can satisfy the occasional whim.  You live well enough, you eat well, you still go on vacation from time to time.  At the end of the day within your beautiful prison you have little contact loved ones, and hardly any access to your passions - is that prison?  If you have half of your free will, but not all of it, does it still count as being free?  Is living a half life really that much better than no life?  Just wondering...

My next blog will be funny.  My wife tells me I need to stop being depressing.  I have been trying to take this advise to heart.  Although one last question - does a woman who revels in the likes of Jane Eyre, a woman who thinks Jane Austen is the greatest story teller whom ever lived, does she really get to judge who is depressing?  My humble answer can only be "yes".  What about you?