The Writing Process: Part 2

So, I am back to continue to enlighten all of you who are still tuning in (is there more of an echo now then last time or is that just the result of all of my vocal training?) about how I write. Note: if any of you are actually attempting to tune in, please stop as it is greatly disrupting my cable and most likely not at all possible unless you have tons of money and then almost anything is possible. For those who missed the first piece about the writing process, these blog posts are my chance to share where my ideas come from and how much it costs for me to purchase them and bring them here from their native Namibia. I am attempting to flesh out how I do what I do without using any actual flesh in the process. I did try to brainstorm how I would use flesh if I wanted to and just couldn't think of a plan that would be overly messy and attractive to ants. There are times when I want to be attractive to ants, but those are some of my dark moments that I don't want to get into right now. No, right now I am thinking of a family in the hills of Germany...and I'm back. That happens to me from time to time - without any announcement, I am mentally whisked away to another part of the world where I will often stay, get acculturated and even be adopted by a family or clan if all things go well. Sometimes the trip is long and heart-warming and other times the people there just want to eat my warmed heart as a tasty pate with a slice of fresh baguette. This time the trip was short, mostly because the German family was at a bratwurst festival (not for eating, but more for the out-of-body experiences that come from eating one too many sausages) for the weekend and also because I feel the need to write.

I also feel the need to decorate my room with various mirrors and colourful drapes for reasons that I have been told by my lawyers I do not need to go into detail about right now no matter how many times I pretend that I am asked. Yesterday it was 5 times. For the record, I don't have any lawyers or even one single lawyer and I have also been told by them to say that as well. Is me writing about me writing sort of like talking to myself while I eat the food I made and telling myself about what a good job I did and patting myself on the back at the same time? Don't worry - I'm not doing that as it is way too challenging to eat, talk and pat myself all at the same time. I plan to do them one-by-one-by-one and that is how I will spend this Sunday! This piece of writing is not meant to sound too self-congratulatory - self-congratulatory too an extent, just not so much so that I make anyone sick or more sick in case they happened to be reading this while sick in the hopes it would either make them better or just distract them from how badly they feel. Either way - I'm good - I take great pride in distracting people from how bad they feel or just how they feel in general. Spend some time around me and you won't have any idea how you feel at all! Not that is a slogan I can live with! It is a gradual process - you will start feeling a lot and then little by little you will grow emotionally numb, some checkers will be played, the wind will howl, the birds will fly south for the winter and a pie will be consumed. All of this for the low cost of having to hear me moan about things - I'm sorry, I wish I could sing better too.

Contrary to popular opinion, writing is not all fun and games. Fun and games is all fun and games - writing is not fun and games at all and I'm not sure why we are spending so much time trying to explain this as it seems pretty easy to understand. Oh, one more thing - fun and games is not entirely all  fun and games, that is just what the powerful fun and games lobby wants us to believe. Occasionally there are tears. Too many tears and the word fun starts to see wrong and quite insensitive and sort of like why don't the rest of you stop playing and laughing and see what is the matter already? I hope we understand each other and I can't proceed until we do or else I will have a nagging feeling sort of like a mother bird when she leaves her nest full of cute little helpless baby birds who are anxious for her to return (is that true - are little birds actually anxious? do they have the ability to feel such a complex emotion at such a young age? and maybe they are happy to have the nest to themselves for a while before boring old mom comes back who only cares about spitting chewed up food in our mouths even when we have had more than enough?)

I know I just said "we" and lumped you into all this when you may have been just passing through and you are most likely thinking "wait a minute! Like woah - slow down, big fellow. Don't get me all mixed up in all of your issues." To which I reply (a) I am willing to take your minute and raise you an infinite number of minutes - That's right! I can wait as long as this is going to take or as long as you will let me stand here on your porch before calling the authorities (ask for Bob down at the precinct, we are on a first-name basis and I know he loves two creams and a sugar in his coffee), (b) I will not slow down (c) "Big fellow?" - have you taken a close look at me recently? That is wrong on at least two accounts and I know I can find at least four or five more if given the time and some chocolate and (d) issues?!?!? What do you know of my issues? Have you talked to Sarah? Did she say that if you read this you could get mixed up in them? For the record I was just bidding time until my "mom" came back to "the nest", if by "mom" I meant "star ship" and by "the nest" I meant "home base" and when I told her that I wished I was a herring who was about to be caught in the net of a muscular, but kind fisherman and his son, I WAS JOKING! Did she honestly think I thought I was a herring??!?! Okay, that actually could make sense - I do get occasionally slimy and have a large collection of all different kinds of scales.

For those that didn't know, I have been caught in nets on two separate occasions - once was my fault entirely as I decided to drape a series of nets in my bedroom the same week I decided that any form of lighting was completely passe and the other time was at a costume party when my best friend, dressed as a net, bumped into me (dressed coincidentally also as a net, only a much smaller one) and we became entangled and lay in a pile all evening long (we believed in not only dressing as nets but acting as net-like as possible to complete the effect) - it was the closest the two of us ever had been and we swore never to talk about that evening again which I am violating right now and feeling actually not so bad for doing. The part about being caught or rescued by a hunky, should-be-in-underwear-ads, fisherman and his equally-dropdead-gorgeous-yet-overly-fish-smelling sons...yeah...anyways...

Easily the toughest things about writing for me are not what you would think of (not that I am pretending to always know what you think, or to ever be knowing what you or any of your kind think. Quite the opposite in fact, I know nothing that you are thinking about as evidenced by my inability to buy you a present or even  a piece of fruit that you don't instantly return. And when I say your kind, I don't mean that in a derogatory way, unless of course it is my turn to be derogatory - for those that don't know, a few friends and I take turns each Thursday from 9am till noon being derogatory to each other - sort of like a snack-bringing rotation except that it usually makes me angry and upset and there is no sugar involved except on particularly creative Thursdays). I can easily find my way to the computer and I get how to turn it on etc etc etc - I am mildly offended that many of you thought that the whole finding my computer and actually getting to my blog would be the challenging part for me. Not totally offended, just mildly, as I said, sort of akin to going walking in the woods and only stumbling upon chanterelles and no wild morels or having two out of five random passersby thumb their noses at me for no apparent reason aside from my decision to wear gumboots to the opera which only shows both my complete inability to anticipate proper attire for many formal events and to read through the lines in my friends texts that were evidently supposed to be sarcastic (I just figured she was quoting some unknown author or authors repeatedly. I did wonder why these quotes were particularly memorable, but I just kept quiet as the last time I admitted to not knowing the source of some seemingly random quotes I ended up having to make egg salad sandwiches for the whole accounting department aside from Fred who preferred tuna.)

No, the toughest problems with writing for me are finding cool and unique names for characters that I am using in my stories. Not that there aren't an amazing amount of awesome names, but I know a lot of people and if I use a name of someone I know they probably think one of the following thoughts (a) should I be flattered or concerned?, (b) let's take a wait and see approach and if he makes money I'll attempt to sue/bribe/threaten him for lots of money over using my name without asking, (c) isn't it weird that of all the millions of names in the world that he chose mine and does that mean that he thinks we are friends? Well, let me put your mind at rest (only literalily of course) - I am attempting to choose names that have zero connection to anyone who may actually read my writing and if I happen to choose your name then it was merely a coincidental slip-up which you should not read anything into. Or if you are in the mood, I suggest you spend hours and hours reading into it and if you find anything interesting, please let me know. Maybe there is some hidden connection that I am unaware of at this point - like maybe I unknowingly used your name because your grandfather once pulled a thorn out of my grandfather's hand when they were playing around that good ol' thorny bush that they spent many an hour playing around as young kids and my grandfather was ever-so-grateful that he just wouldn't let up with the appreciation which usually took the form of cream cheese and jam sandwiches aside from the occasional parfait when his mom just happened to make two of just in case there was someone, anyone, he wanted to thank for some small, seemingly innocuous thing - I'm sure if this happened, my grandfather would have tucked me into bed and told me this story of how your grandfather was such a hero in his eyes and that his eyes had been conditioned to be blind to heros except when thorns were involved and then they were wide open, just not wide open enough to miss the thorn in the first place and usually by this time in the story I was fast asleep, but his story would blend into my dreams and then years later when I decided to launch into some creative writing the name was somewhere in the recesses of my brain mostly because I elected against having that elective and quite-risky-sounding surgery of having the recesses "smoothed" over mostly for cosmetic reasons.

As an aside, I try to do as much as I can for cosmetic reasons outside of buying any actual cosmetic items as I'm working my way up to that, sort of how I worked my way up to hang gliding after just jumping off my couch for years until I both broke the couch and was ordered by both my doctor and downstairs neighbour to get out of the house more often. Note: I've never actually hang glided - I've just worked my way up to it which is akin to saying that I am standing in a line waiting my turn with my prized pineapple to commision a fruit sculptor (someone who carves humourous celebrity faces into fruit) who is currently on "vacation" which means he is in prison for life for mistakenly and repeatedly attempting to carve an actual celebrities face. The names I choose just come to me. Almost like I am still and they are moving at the speed of light or maybe it is the other way around and the names are stationary in space and I am screaming up to them at speeds I am unaware mostly because it will be a cold day in hell before I recognize relativity.

So, to avoid using names of those I know, I am tempted to swing the other way and only use extremely uncommon names, but then people may start to wonder what is up with these names I am choosing and why they all sound African or Korean. That reminds me - I am planning to write a piece about two ex-lovers who decide to move (one to Africa and one to Korea), change their names to fit in with the people in their respective countries and also as a voluntary and totally unnecessary witness-protection program only in this case it was only to protect themselves from each other as the love just hurt too much (all of their friends suggested clipping their nails on a more regular basis and just practicing compassion and stop being so aggressive all the time). After a few years, when they both have become accustomed to their new surroundings, they unveil their plan - to each open up a hair salon that would specialize in straightening afros and perming bangs. These salons would be doomed to fail, which was part of the plan all along, and they would both fly home to the small town in Texas they were from (to be honest, they were from a slightly larger city in Texas originally but I decided against that as I wanted them to have a more small town feel to them, which for me only involved deleting a few key strokes and doing a little extra typing, but for them it involved packing, moving and renting a storage locker to put their huge collection of antique wig stands in just before they were about to purchase their first wig) and meet on the tarmac at the airport only to remember why they left in the first place. They really don't like each other at all and only forget that from time to time because of the fact that they are actually figments of the imagination of a third person who is always mixing up who is who in his head. All in all it is an incredibly bad and intentionally convoluted idea for a story which means that if I eventually write it, it will mostly be out of spite unless I feel that I have already done too much out of spite at the time and then I will do it out of revenge or the need to exercise my fingers in as socially acceptable a fashion as possible.

Along the way, when either preparing to write or writing, I have learned some important things. One thing that stands out is I've learned how important breathing is and also that it is very very important not to touch the burning log in the fire place and also to say please and thank you. It never ceases to amaze me how others are nicer to you when you treat them well and this mostly speaks to how long I've been able to condition myself to maintaining the feeling of amazement. I can go literally for days in this state of awe where I am totally overjoyed and inspired by everything I come into contact with or directly contact head on and I'm also very fortunate when these days ends and I'm not in traction. The word traction almost sounds a bit exciting because as my imaginary friend Joe always says, you can't spell attraction without traction which always makes me smile wistfully and makes me long for some actual flesh and blood friends or at least ones with one of those two criteria, but preferably both as I'm not totally interested in a friend who is solely or mostly flesh and I'm definitely not too crazy about blood.

Another thing I've learned that is worthwhile sharing with you at this time is the importance of looking at someone when speaking to them. The main reasons seem to be that it greatly lessens the confusion of who I am talking to especially when in a busy place like a train station and because in this day and age if you can't look someone in the eyes in makes the other person feel very self-conscious and wonder "what is so wrong with me that he can't even look me in the eyes or even at my nose, which would like some visual attention too from time to time when the eyes have either had enough or decide to get off their high horse and share once and a while". I don't want to make anyone else more self-conscious than me - it is a competition I've been playing in every day since last year went I met that odd lady on the corner downtown with the large collection of stuffed birds for sale. I liked the black and white one the best, and she seemed to be enamored with my shirt collar which I agree was my best feature that day, but just couldn't take it when she offered as my hands were metaphorically full and it was just too confusing to attempt to explain this to the lady who seemed like she would be quite metaphorically-challenged. I do not want to unnecessarily challenge anyone in life, especially since the infamous Balloon Incident.

Lay Off The Pork Already!

When I was younger I really wanted to go out with someone - it could have been almost anyone - mostly because I spent an unhealthy amount of time as an involuntary recluse and needed the exposure to fresh air as well as having the company to share my vague and hysterical theories with.

I once decided to flex all of my muscles at the same time and froze in that position for a few days until thankfully a really strong wind carried me away.

There are many ways to skin a cat and all of them are excruciatingly horrible especially for the cat and for those of us who are forced to watch as some sort of consequence that in no way is appropriate when all I did was take one cookie from the jar.

Sometimes when people yell at me so loudly, I feel like my brain is actually being penetrated but doctors tell me not to be too concerned and I'm actually starting to enjoy it a bit more now.

For all those around me I am a focal point and am growing tired of all of the attention which is making me both self-conscious and wishing I had just read the fine print more carefully.

My mind is unlike a sieve in almost every way aside from one.

I just bought a new raincoat and I have taken to wearing it for solely preventative measures which seems to work until it rains and then I am not so sure it is working as I intended.

I took a shower the other day to get clean, but only the physical dirt washed off and no matter how much I scrubbed and scrubbed I just couldn't feel psychologically clean which I'm pretty sure the soap ad claimed it would do.

I am gradually overtime increasing the number of activities I participate in ironically and, at the same time, I am noticing a gradual decrease in the number of people who will participate with me.

I have come to grips with the fact that I am just more comfortable in the comforts of my own home which is oddly not that comfortable at all as far as homes go.

Contrary to what I have grown to believe long grass does not give me a heightened feeling of security even after I have made myself a new hat.

Meters have been installed, as have valves, tubes and levers - it all works exactly according to plan aside from the fact that I have nowhere to sleep and I am worried that the constant beeping will have long-term negative side effects.

I often feel sad when I should feel happy and that makes me quite happy although I am starting to wonder if it should make me feel sad instead.

Soothing ointments sooth my painful open sores and yet, even I can only handle so much soothing in my day-to-day life before I grow a bit numb to it.

I often feel great pressure to cook my pasta perfectly al dente even though I happen to be one of the 2% of people who happen to love totally over-cooked pasta that I can eat with a straw.

My wife loves and appreciates the clean rugs and carpets at our home, but even she is starting to grow quite concerned about how often I am vacuuming and the fact that I can't stop beaming while doing so.

Instead of calling or texting or emailing you I've decided to write you page after page of emotional and gripping text in large red letters giving the illusion that I used blood even though it is just an old marker and I have decided to plaster these pages all over your bedroom to see if you want to have lunch tomorrow.

I will continue to use the semi-colon how ever I please and am more than willing to return the favour to ensure things remain fair.

Pigs are so cute and if they could talk I'm pretty sure they would say something snorty and adorable with a strong yet subtle message to "lay off the pork already".

Umbrellas just do not keep me dry enough and it makes me so frustrated and the only thing that helps me feel better is a peaceful walk in a heavy rainfall.

An Evening With Jeff

I once was a pedestrian who got struck by a bus. It was totally my fault as my mind was preoccupied thinking about my old friend Jeff who I had not seen in ages. He had always had that effect on me. Luckily for me the bus had been parked at the time and when I say I was hit by the bus it was actually more like I repeatedly jumped into the stationary bus and lay on the ground near its front tire squealing like a pig just hoping a passerby would take pity on me and take me home to nurse me back to health which had always been a fantasy of mine.

Jeff and I had always been best buddies, even when he used to sadistically deflate my balloons and draw colourful pictures of amazing landscapes on my sister. The pictures were incredible, but it took hours to scrub her clean - I still remember the crying as if it were yesterday and that is mostly because I recorded it and was just listening to it yesterday. We grew up next door to each other, attended the same school and joined the same clubs. He was like a brother to me and I was more like a cousin to him - a close cousin, which was fairly similar in reality to a brother, but just not quite the same.

To say that we both loved sports would be entirely accurate. To say that we both loved ancient Greece was entirely not. Jeff was the star quarterback and I was his always-on-queue backup who rarely got to play a snap. I suggested that I should be the receiver so that he had someone to pass to, but he was too busy blowing kisses and signing autographs with imaginary fans that I more properly referred to as blackberry bushes. We would run together and he was always so hyper competitive and usually hid my shoes as well as ripping my socks to threads (which I claimed was excessive and unnecessary) beforehand thus guaranteeing a victory.

I was on my way to his apartment now. I couldn't believe how much time had passed since I last had seen him. The picture I have in my head is of the back of his head as he walked slowly away the final time we saw each other. He was walking so slowly that the image is actually more of a slow-motion video that goes on for at least 10 minutes and I have a really hard time imagining it all in one sitting without taking multiple breaks that involve at least one face washing and a cream puff from the local bakery. He used to have quite the spectacular head of hair and I mentally prepared myself for the inevitability that it will either be as amazing as I remember it thus producing an audible gasp or two from me or it will be even better as he may have invested an understandably large amount of time and money into improving upon the perfection that was his head of hair.

"Don't forget the Mexican spices" Jeff had reminded me on the phone before I left my house in a tone that came across as quite menacing which was a result of his still recovering from elective tooth implants. He had told me he was having larger and sharper incisors put in exclusively so he could increase the frequency and level of enjoyment of his wild boar intake. I was pretty sure he was leading me on as he had led me on relentlessly and continuously from November 4th, 2006 to January 11th, 2007 which was easier to grow accustomed to than if he had taken breaks or mixed things up either due to misplaced pity or actual pity (I wouldn't have been picky) as, if nothing else, it was quite predictable and comforting to an extant as well.

We were making tacos. We were always in a state of making tacos. Either planning to create them, actually cooking them, or laying, belts loosened, on the floor (when he was between couches) dreaming of the next tacos in the near future. I once opened up to him about a dream I had where I was somehow unable to move from my chair at the kitchen table and he arrived on his golden steed, bursting into the kitchen, observing my motionless body and then creating the most delicious tacos imaginable only to eat them all himself. All I received was a kiss above each eyebrow and exposure to a wonderful and dusty cloud of cumin, coriander, cayenne pepper and what I surmised was fennel, a surprise guest to the party, before preceding to hack and cough as he road away thus ending the dream. I loved tacos and I loved that they brought me closer to Jeff, even if the love was atypical to say the least.

After dinner he told me about the crazy adventures of his rock band "15 years Without Parole" and how things were looking up and up and occasionally down just as everyone's necks were quite sore but then up again after a prescribed rest period of looking at, and gaining a new appreciation for, floor tiles. They had a moderate hit that was played on stations in town called "We Are Going To Rob The Bank On 3rd and Brown on Monday the 21st at Precisely 2 pm Dressed As African Gorillas Escaped From a Local Wildlife Enclosure and We Will Be Parking Our Getaway Car Around the Corner Near the Ice Cream Parlour That Makes Those Sundaes That Were Featured In the Lifestyle Section of The Weekend Paper". The ridiculously cumbersome title and chorus were counter-balanced by a very catchy hook and uniquely modern cord progressions as well as absolutely beautiful harmonies during the bridge.

The song had been meant as a read-between-the-lines subtle satire poking fun at those who were trying to enforce limits on the length of popular song titles, but, unfortunately, the rest of the band members (and the law enforcement officers) took the title and lyrics quite literally and they were now actually spending 15 years without parole in jail which, due to their lack of liberal arts education, meant that the irony was also lost on them along with their freedom to create more harmonious and modern rock music for the locals to enjoy. Jeff felt badly, to a point, that they were all in prison and that he was free and that was mostly as a result of his initially not feeling badly and gallivanting around town like nothing had happened and receiving some fairly harsh criticism from the media. He probably felt worse about the negative attention and less about his band mates, but he was willing to spread it around.

It was my turn to share. I told Jeff about how I had hit rock bottom a few years ago and that it all started when I went to Chicago once and I just did not feel safe. I had intended on taking a soul-searching journey where I travelled the world to find myself as well as any other cliches linking travel and personal improvement that I could incorporate into the trip on a limited budget. I left my home one day and ventured forth, excited by the journey ahead and stubbornly refusing to even peer behind me to see what a trip that way could bring. I dreamed of visiting India, the Far East, and the old country (I wasn't totally sure which country it was as I come from a long line of mumblers).

I only got as far as Chicago, which for some would be quite impressive, but for me it was only a short 30 minute bus ride on an air-conditioned express bus with plenty of comfortable seating, as I live just 30 minutes outside of Chicago and go there quite often. This time, the mean streets of the big city, which had previously fallen somewhere between nice and ambivalent towards me, were pretty mean which I guess was their prerogative. I felt viciously attacked, almost as if I were a dirty stained shirt being tossed around and around and around and then having the laundry machine specifically choose not to wash me citing ethical reasons almost as if that made it okay or right. I stumbled around town looking for love, for acceptance, for a really good slice of pizza (which I found plenty of) and after weeks or months (I lost track due to my disorientated state - I later found out that I had either been there for one day or not at all, it is quite unclear) I decided to return home because I was fairly certain that I missed it as that was probably what I was supposed to feel. Turns out I was just a bit gassy.

Jeff rose and gave me the most awkward combination of a pat on the back and a hug that I had ever received which was quite impressive as he had announced that that was what he would be aiming for as he walked towards me and he completely nailed it. We hadn't seen each other in so long, but our friendship was still as strong as it ever had been and I told him how much I appreciated that he was always there for me even when I was unable to find him for years. We took turns expressing our parting words and I left and ventured into the frosty night. Jeff was a good friend and he wasn't pushy at all - he could actually stand to be slightly pushier as a person as I think, what with his good looks, disarming falsetto and charm to spare. He could get away with it.

As I walked through the night back to my place I imagined that I was the lone person walking my way and I was being met by a veritable army of invisible, expressionless drones walking towards me. I had to force my way through them and I felt as if I were Noah parting the sea except that I had to actually part it myself, which made me a tad bit jealous. These drones pushed against me as if to convert me to their cause, their fight, their direction of movement and I fought against this as much as I could without drawing attention to myself as all anyone else would see was a guy walking by himself making overly dramatic and concerned hand and arm gestures. I've always disliked pushy people, especially those that were invisible, showed no emotion and were products of my vivid imagination. I was quite annoyingly precise to what kind of pushy people I disliked and was thinking of pitching that to Jeff as an idea for another mind-numbingly long song title that I knew he was partial to once I got home.

A Crazed Look of Indifference

He would read beautiful lyrical poems of love to her as she lay in the hammock in the backyard until she finally drifted off to sleep at which time he'd resume writing hate-filled tirades to the editor of the local newspaper. 

She bought him a great new dress shirt that she thought not only matched his eyes but also had such a dizzying and epilepsy-inducing set of patterns that it rendered any coincidental eye-matching mostly moot.

He threw her a frisbee on the beach that was meant to not only give her a chance to show off her transcendent athleticism for all present but also to cryptically remind her that it was time to reapply sun screen. 

She had been finishing his sentences for the past few weeks and he was growing tired of it so he started randomly changing the tempo and cadence of his speech to throw her off and distract her.

He awoke with strands of her long, tantalizing hair in his mouth and he was immediately consumed with thoughts of digestive concerns.

She cheered continuously at all of his tennis matches with a fervor and passion that both inspired and disturbed him on many levels.

He was enjoying getting up early on weekend mornings and making her elaborate breakfasts, which she appreciated, but his confounding choice to only serve purposely under-cooked eggs even after she took time out of her busy day to give him step-by-step help was annoying to stay the least.

She surprised him at work with a big hug and kiss that was greatly appreciated considering what a stressful week it had been and he melted into her arms once his heart rate returned back to normal which took an understandably long period of time considering the blood-curdling screams and streams of fake blood that accompanied her surprise.

He bought her a massive ball of red yarn so that she could knit herself some leg warmers and also to demonstrate to her that he could no longer tell when she was being facetious.

She held his hand tightly while walking down the street at night mostly to feel protected but also as a rudimentary means for testing his calcium intake.

He found himself gazing at her back instead of focusing on the term papers he was supposed to be marking and he longed to caress her slender back as well as wishing that he could be shrunk down to a size where sliding on it was also an option.

She moved her pawn and announced "checkmate" with a finality that befitted the dramatic seriousness of the moment and also came across as both demeaning and empathetic at the same time which is a really challenging combination of which she hoped he was at least slightly in awe of.

He was spending far too long on his hair this morning and was at risk for being late to work until she appeared in the bathroom doorway with a crazed look of indifference on her face while brandishing their electric hair trimmer which helped him immediately focus a great deal and make his morning class on time.

She was applying a bandage with the delicate care she was known for to a cut on his elbow, when she was overwhelmed with a strong, sudden desire to cover a life-sized clay statue of him with bandages and then submit it to the art gallery as part of her show on the decay of classic sensibilities. 

He stared at the near-empty refrigerator much like a small, adorable puppy would stare at an empty bowl and very much like the small, adorable puppy that he so wanted for his birthday and she kept saying no for no reason aside from gesturing towards the near-empty refrigerator that just did not make any sense to him at all.

She was enjoying helping him complete a crossword puzzle trying to strike a balance between loving valuable assistance and condescending intellectual dominance at the same time as not forgetting the roast in the oven.

He was proud of himself for remembering to wash the floor as she'd repeatedly asked and he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she first came home from an exhausting day at work and right before she inexplicably decides that now is a perfect time for actual mudslinging.

She blows lightly at his forehead and enjoys watching his remaining baby hairs dance rhythmically and chuckles to herself over what she could accomplish if she had a significantly greater lung capacity as was often her dream growing up.

He was generously helping her into her ski boots all the while trying not to look too alarmed at the irony as he was the only one who was going skiing today and because she was usually the one who looked alarmed and he didn't want to take that from her.

She was joyfully skipping through the open field of long grass and wild flowers while he playfully chased after her attempting to avoid any of the myriad of objects that he was highly allergic too that she always insensitively accused him of being far too sensitive about. 

They fed each other spoons full of homemade soup because they finally both agreed that actions do in fact speak a whole lot louder than words.

Opinions?!?! I've Got Opinions!

I have lots and lots of opinions - not sure why, but I am trying not to question myself as there is a queue. And, I guess the word has gotten around that I have some thoughts and feelings and ideas about a wide variety of things and what has started happening recently is that people are often stopping me in the street or while shopping and are asking me my opinion on things. I am happy to share. This is the first in a series of my opinions on a variety of topics that I have been asked about recently. I hope you find this educational, instructive and definitive, and if you do not, then please consider lowering your standards.

Here is my take on...

...superfoods: So, I have been told that there are these foods that are labelled "super" as they are really good for you. I don't have a problem with that per se, except that it seems like a very exclusive group, or club that is really hard to join and I just happen to have a thing against those kind of clubs. You know the ones I'm talking about - those ones where if you don't have the right clothes, or car or annoying accent, you can't get in. And now some genius thought up one for foods?!?!? Sounds unnecessarily elitist to me - who did those foods (or the more human members of its fan club) have to pay off to get in? And if it was the foods themselves doing the paying off, then "how" is my next question. By now, we all know the members of this clique: the "unblemished" blueberries, the "incandescent" kale, "accented" acai berries, the "bedazzling" broccoli, the "king kong"quinoa. If I was one of those previously-thought-highly-of foods that didn't receive an invite, I'd be fairly annoyed. "Like what is so wrong with me?" I'd think "Just yesterday we were all pals in the garden or the grocery store and now today you are walking around like you own the place. And another thing, how and when did you start walking?!?!" I just don't know if creating a manufactured divide amongst foods is the way to go - anyone remember the caste system? Another thought is once you are a member of this club, can you leave? Are you always super? Do they get time off to just be a regular veggie and visit the relatives? If not, it is more of a prison and less of a club. I want to come out right now and say that I am staunchly against imprisoning food! There is no way that is a good use of my tax dollars. The "super" part also seems to be wildly misleading. It makes it sound, to someone like me who goes out of his way to be as literal and easily misled as possible, that the foods are not only good for me but that they also have powers. I would love for my food to have powers, although it may make me contemplate eating them for their nutritional value or only using them for their powers. And when I say "using", I don't want it to sound like I would be a malevolent master and the food my lowly slave - do I look like I could be that evil and have a slave? Don't answer that! That day, last week, when you saw me I didn't have any beauty time in the morning - doesn't mean I am pro-food-slavery. Also, I may be "way out there" and considered a little "off" and "one to keep an eye on" (only when you aren't in the middle of a two-eye activity - I don't mind you watching, just don't get hurt. Safety first!) but I am way above being an evil master or even a good master to some food. I'm not that weird. Or I guess I should say not that weird anymore. Thank you Doctor Evans and the wonderful Nurse Peters!

...gravel: In one sense gravel is just a field of small rocks and if that is how you see them that is all well and good. Honestly, I don't know how you can sleep at night. Uh huh? Oh really? You put your pillow over there and your alarm clock too? Well, now I know - thanks for sharing! With those images in my head, I don't think I'll be sleeping much for a few nights now. Back to the gravel. Don't you see that if seen very close up gravel is essentially the same as a bunch of big, scary rocks seen from quite a distance? And, if that doesn't freak you out, the next time you walk by a field of gravel, I challenge you to get down on your knees or, better yet, get off your high horse (word to the wise: that ridiculously large horse you prance around on looks out of place and makes you appear aristocratic and hard to approach. If those were your goals all along, kudos to you) lay down and get yourself a bit dirty and what will you observe? Those tiny, completely-innocent looking pieces of gravel look like big old, grown-up rocks and boulders from your new perspective. Either way you look at it, don't underestimate these pebbles we are "using" to cheaply cover our elementary school playgrounds with- they are not just small, less powerful and intimidating rocks (I mean they are that, just not only that). I believe they hold within them the ability to be so much more and if we sit back and relax and incessantly sip our iced tea as our elected officials insist (all-the-while denying us enough requisite sugar to make the drink at all palatable - I don't know about you, but I voted for those officials as I believed they would be a whole lot more liberal in the dispensing of sweeteners) then those pieces of gravel may have the last laugh (or one of the last laughs if I happen to be in a particularly laughing mood that day). It also bothers me that no one holds gravel in high regard or has even attempted to hold it in high regard or any level of regard. It is the least we can do and sometimes it is important to do our least except when there is a potential for free kittens or when there is a potential gas leak and then we should always do our most or at least appear to do our most before fleeing the scene. During elementary school, many a day was spent running up and down the school gravel field kicking balls (or having a series of balls kicked at me repeatedly of which I only partially deserved) both real and imaginary. So much of my youth was spent on or in the vicinity of gravel and though I stood there on many occasions breathing through my mouth (I had yet to learn to nose breath), inhaling in copious amounts of dust and then sneezing and wheezing for hours afterwards, I never blamed the gravel or the men and women from the gravel manufacturing plant or those who made the decision that a grass field was either too aesthetically pleasing or too expensive, no, I blamed my cousin from Philadelphia. What a piece of work that guy is - let me tell you! I'm pretty sure he hates gravel as well.

...glossy photographs: I need to set the record straight, I'm not against glossy photographs at all. I am just not a big fan because, as an already glossily-foreheaded person, glossy photographs just accentuate my already way-too-shiny features making me look more surreal than I can handle. And I have quite the surreal threshold in the first place. I can see how a matte finish is helpful for some of you with a "cloudy" complexion who are looking to appear more exciting in photo albums your descendants may be forced to look at when visiting their grandparents, but for those of us who have no problem with sheen, gloss just seems redundant and quite wasteful and I, for one, am thinking of the little children at home all alone while their parents are slaving away working overtime at the glossy photo paper finishing plant just so little Bobby and Susie can have sturgeon caviar on their blinis or the newest video game where a team of Navy Seals slaughter surprisingly sentient killer whales who are determined to enslave all of our sturgeon and put a moratorium on all blini and other pancake production thus driving up worldwide production of waffles and french toast just after they purchased all breakfast diners. I am sorry if I think it is more important for those kids to have parental supervision so they can't eat all of the frosting or at least spread out the consumption of the frosting over a week or just spread it out on some cake to at least reduce the sheer amount of frosting in any one sitting. I just think allowing too much frosting isn't sending the right message to the youth of today, just like too much gloss is sending the wrong message to whom or whatever beings find remnants of our photographs sometime in the far future. The great-grandchildren of our great-grandchildren will hope that the alien oppressors, who are pretty nice considering they are in the world-taking-over-enslaving-great-grandchildren racket, are impressed with the pictures they find and don't just toss them into the proverbial fire or any actual fire as I often do if I happen to have extra photos stuffed in my pocket when I happen to walk past a dwindling fire that needs something, anything, to keep going. True story: I often stuff my pockets with paper and photographs in an ill-advised, poorly-thought-through attempt at cheap insulation - instead of making me warmer, it makes me just wish I had purchased both the discounted high-powered shredder and the matching leg-warmer/sweater combo that I turned down as I really wanted to impress my friend who is quite against sweaters for reasons that are either beyond me or ones I haven't quite got to yet on this long highway called life.

...reigns of terror: Now don't get me wrong, I hate terror. Actually, that's not strong enough, I abhor terror in all of its forms. Even the word terror makes it sound scary  -good job whomever named it, but bad job whomever came up with the concept and then sold it to the highest bidder. Reigns, on the other hand, aren't all that bad. There can be good reigns, but for some reason they are usually associated with things we don't like: terror, fear, overt politeness. As far as established reigns go, reigns of terror are definitely in my bottom 5 and have next to no chance of moving up unless some of the other slightly more popular reigns take a turn for the worse and drop in popularity (I'm looking at you reigns of maniacal iron workers, bacterial growth, and sweet pickles and their bastardized cousin, relish). One reign that is good are reigns of rain as that is good for the crops. I try to always consider the crops and the farmers who reap them. Although, reign implies that it goes on for a long time and that it is both unwanted and forced on us. I don't love rain, but it is okay. However, if all of a sudden rain took a turn to the darkside and went on for a very long time, stayed when it was no longer wanted and forced itself on us even when we were screaming and crying for enough then I would have to contemplate changing my opinion of it. I'm directly implying that rain would have to be aware of its own reign and I have no evidence that that is at all possible, but I'm not ruling it out either. I have learned the hard way not to rule things out (I actually threw away all of my rulers and straight edges in hopes to avoid this). Anyways, reigns of terror really suck - they make life much less enjoyable (unless you are in charge, but then you have no real friends) and they make it very hard to keep dentist appointments and trips to the florist.Taking a historical perspective, reigns of terror started out on a relatively good note. They were initially very useful in keeping otherwise peaceful, well-behaved agrarian societies from causing too many problems, which they were prone to do - must have been the way they looked at everyone sideways. The reigns of terror came in and they helped create great monuments and other important civic structures by tearing the ridiculously lazy townsfolk away from their kilns, hearths and doll shops and putting them to work with the only known con being lots and lots of sweat and the occasional owie. Now, this was all well and good until reigns of terror were taken over by some really not so great people who took all of the amazingly great things about them and added in all of the killing and the blood. They claimed they were putting the capital T in terror and that before the terror should have really had quotation marks around it, which was quite a novel suggestion as it was at least two centuries before that really caught on as a way of speaking sarcastically. Once lives were lost, reigns of terror lost any chance at being remembered fondly or remembered at all, what with the death and all  -aside from the really amazing clothes and sense of style the rulers had. I'm not sure why there is often a direct correlation between megalomania and power and a knack for choosing the correct scarf/sweater combination. Imagine if they had had better childhoods and were hugged more often - they could have been the leaders of the fashion world and been loved and adored by men and women and been the life of the biggest parties in Paris, Milan, Tokyo and New York. But no, they got just a little too carried away with power and trying to crush everyone. "We didn't want to crush you when we were kids, we only wanted to win the soccer game and take the pretty girl to the dance" we'd say to them if we had a chance  -talk about being misunderstood and having them get a tad bit too angry at a fairly easy to solve communication issue. Luckily, they are fewer and far between these days since we are all so civil and mature compared to our ancestors. They were so uncivil and so grayish brown in the photos that have survived. I'm not saying being grayish brown would make you less refined, but it wouldn't help. But, they aren't all gone - there still are some really really bad dudes in power today subjecting their people to horrors and I wouldn't wish reigns of terror upon anyone except for my second cousin, twice removed. He knows what he's done.

...contemporary dance: I guess it was just a matter of time before we had to either phase out or close the door on the era of ancient dance which gave me the energy to get through some tough days growing up. I may understand this natural progression but I just can't say that I am huge fan of this wave of popularity about all things contemporary, especially dance. I may be alone in remembering the glory days of dance gone by, ones that those ultra-modernist culturally snooty elite that we all see around town these days with a scarily, rapidly increasing frequency would like us to conveniently forget. I made a promise to my great aunts-in-law (or to one of my great aunts-in-law as there is a good chance one had a previous engagement as I left the invites to the very last minute. It just slipped my mind as many activities with my great aunts-in-law do- that is the way it is with planning events involving relatively obscure relations) to curtail the amount of information I conveniently forget as it was growing to proportions that could have been troublesome if my troublesome category wasn't full at the moment with a three month wait list. All items/people/objects/metaphysical constructs that appeared to my receptionist (an alphabetical rotation of stuffed animals with size occasional trumping name based completely on the stuffed animals proximity to me which is, in turn, based completely on my dexterity of the moment which is, in turn, based on a random number generator I accidently stumbled upon when I accidently stumbled on my way to the dry pantry for some late-night crackers. My family has quite a intricate history with random numbers that is equal parts incredulous, annoying and demanding-an-amazing-soundtrack-opening-up-multiple-options-for-off-off-broadway-production-if/when-my-obviously-empty-threats-of-an-endless-stream-of-emails-containing-cryptic-codes-of-numbers-that-are-in-fact-generated-randomly-from-a-great-website-I-stumble-upon-from-time-to-time-usually-when-hungry-with-a-hunger-that-only-crackers-stored-dryly-can-come-close-to-satisfying (they do)). But some of you may wonder "what is your issue with contemporary dancing really, or are you just enjoying a few moments in the spotlight?" To which I answer (after hours practicing in said spotlight which drove up my electricity bill to previously unforeseen heights that make me briefly question if a limelight would have been more cost-effective) it is highly possible that my "issue" (to use your word, and I am trying as often as I can to use other people's words when talking instead of my previous practice of using their numbers which almost always caused them to raise a red flag which was a problem at first because no one had one, but that was quickly solved as it had given me a great idea for birthday presents and allowed me to clear the spare bedroom of all of those extra red flags I was keeping on hand "just in case") with contemporary dates back to my youth when my father, a contemporary dancer's contemporary dancer, was shunned and isolated by a clique of popular, mean contemporary dancers - they wouldn't even give him the time of day! And while it is true that neither them nor he really understood what that meant, it hurt him as did many other abstract expressions when used verbally by dancers and other artists towards him. I was too young at the time to do anything about it, but I remember him coming home, dejected and spending hours gracefully and beautifully moving about the house to somber, yet uplifting music usually featuring the piano, and feeling his pain and anguish and I remember vowing to bring down contemporary dance from the outside as I have always avoided being inside on sunny days.

Searching For a Victimless Crime

I am spreading peanut butter everywhere as I transition to a world where peanut butter is spread everywhere...wow...what a sticky, sticky, rich and tasty mess this is.

You spend every minute of your free time at the library mostly for the easy access to amazing literature and topical magazines but also out of misplaced guilt. Libraries have always been a destination for you when you have a surplus of misplaced guilt.

I decide to abruptly halt my drafting lessons to fly to the African jungle to observe gorillas in their natural habitat only stopping on the way to make a bead necklace for my aunt and eat exactly four egg yolks.

You are always dreaming of a world where the morbidly skinny and the refreshingly-positively obese can live harmoniously side-by-side.

I'm excited by the idea of being a micromanager - just the concept of being really really tiny sounds very enjoyable, although I am concerned about getting lost in the wind and having a hard time earning and keeping the respect of those I am tasked with managing.

You always wear a lot of brown clothes without even a hint of sarcasm, but you promise everyone that you are working on it.

I often wonder if items in the clearance bin are more excited about the prospects of being bought and finally escaping the horrors of "the store" or if they have just given up hope and just want to be eaten already. It's also possible they just love bins and for that reason, I have made a series of my own bins in a variety of shapes and sizes to house the items for the first few days after their purchase, to ease the transition.

You have achieved your goal! Your lips do in fact say "kiss me" while the rest of your body says "that will be $10 please".

I have decided to spend this winter being as irrationally optimism as is safe. It will be a welcome progression from a totally irrationally-spent summer and a ridiculously-optimistic autumn. Who knows what next spring will bring? 

You are relishing your new role at work and it makes you smile ironically as you have always had a strong distaste for relish and those that smile upon eating it.

I have come to the decision that if I am to start breaking all of your rules, I will only do so according to a new set of rules that I will spend hours and hours devising as I am just not ready to disregard the existence of all rules, yet, just yours.

You love my spirit and my soul and to a lesser degree my clothes, which I say are only the fabric representation of my spirit and soul, which you are such a big fan of. You only shake your head and refuse to hold my hand when we walk in public places.

I am totally enjoying my new role as a deal breaker and, if things continue to go well, I may look into expanding into becoming a final straw as well. I've always figuratively wanted to be a straw and am willing to attempt a literal application as well as long as someone else provides the cup.

You are spending a disconcerting amount of time dribbling a basketball outside in the rain without any socks on. Put on some socks already!

I enter my living room and I see a small pile of books on the table and don't think much of it as, let's face it, they look fairly harmless. Later on, I enter the living room again, and the pile of books appears slightly taller and, it may be just me, more menacing. Before heading to bed, I need to grab a book to read and I enter the living room to find one and I that the pile of books on my table has become huge and that is not only intimidating, but also clearly not into the whole me-choosing-one-to-read-before bedtime thing and I swear I feel not only multiple sets of eyes upon me as I inch out the room but also a series of low growls and grunts. Suffice it to say, I went to bed without a goodnight story yet again.

You always let your imagination get the better of you to amazing results and you have been thinking about offering a class on this at the local community centre.

I have been spending a lot of my free time searching for a victimless crime - just in case. The rest of my time is spent grating and occasionally eating carrots.

You are just so exhausted these days. It is cold and flu season, you are working long hours and just not getting enough sleep or exercise. Your imaginary monkey and panda miss you.

A Love in Colours: Pink

The dress was an amazingly stunning shade of pink and it sashayed and swirled around the dance floor. The music blared and couples around the club were virtually yelling to be heard, but the two of them danced, passionately in silence, undistracted by all around them, focussed only on each other, so much in love and nearly engulfed in a seemingly-magical and mesmerizing pink fabric that was practically glowing. 

She was sitting at her desk in her office and was watching the pouring rain through her window. The water was falling with such force that some would have referred to it as 'angry', while she prefered 'misunderstood' as she was certain that no one had bothered to listen to the rain's point-of-view. The constant drumming of the rain reminded her of the constant drumming of her sister while growing up and, perplexingly of how she would stand outside of her window at night, often in the rain, waving and smiling. She missed her sister aside from all of the incessant waving and smiling - it was nice at first, but it got old especially when they got older. As she sat there her mind drifted to him. Always to him, and occasionally to the tree in his front yard. How she loved that tree. Her mind settled on a single image from their vacation that summer and she smiled when the picture of his sandy, muscular body running with reckless abandon on the beach came into her head. She appreciated his recklessness so much more when it only appeared in her head while staring outside at the rain and less so when he was driving them to the movies. Tonight was the night they were to meet her parents for the first time and she was oddly calm and was sort of disappointed as she had been looking forward to being nervous. Having dinner with her own parents made her nervous at the best of times, but his presence relaxed her so much that she often became fairly concerned while cooking. She knew her parents would love him, and that made her happy, but she only hoped they didn't love him unconditionally as she believed that everything should have conditions. The rain continued to fall, and she tried to get some real work done as no amount of pretend work would feel satisfactory in the long term. She used to spend hours and hours pretending to work as a child which made her parents a little worried both because she wasn't just playing like an average child, but also because the work she was pretending to do, was being done fairly haphazardly. The work day was over and she saved her files and put her computer to sleep, only this time without the pillow and blanket as it was starting to draw her some unwanted attention from others as well as making her increasingly sheepish and apologetic around her printer and fax machine.

He was in the middle of yet another boring meeting and had a passing thought about why meetings were usually so boring, but then he partially remembered what his aunt always said in one of her less lucid moments "sometimes I just like being quiet". It was a true statement but it didn't make sense at the time and wasn't really that helpful right now either. He started a new list with the first item being starting to remember more appropriate quotes and the second being fully listening to his aunt when she  was "on". When the meeting wrapped up, he went to the washroom to apply some warm, soapy water to his face and the upper part of his neck all the while making a mental note to apply at least the same level of hygiene to the rest of his neck later on, He enjoyed the face-wash at little bit too much and actually let out a small squeal of joy which was thankfully heard by no one, but even if it had been they were used to his cute animal noises made periodically throughout the day. He was meeting her parents tonight and was supremely confident in his ability to impress them without having to resort to deception and trickery, although he was fully prepared to go there too if he met with any initial resistance. He had viewed a lot of photos of her mom and dad and had mentally given them entertaining and quite animated voices that always made him laugh uproariously and he just hoped that they were somewhat close to their actual voices. He couldn't decide what clothes to wear and had narrowed it down to a choice of either his vertically-striped suit or a pair of casual jeans and a unique and hip graphic t-shirt. The suit made him appear older and slightly taller but also was probably a better fit for a visit to the bank which he was fairly certain wouldn't come up that evening unless they all mutually decided on going to the bank after desert. And the casual and hip outfit, although comfortable, was maybe too relaxed-looking which may have his hosts wondering "Why is he already so comfortable here? Maybe we should apply some more pressure?" He hated having to choose clothes to fit occasions and he blamed his mother for that aversion as he couldn't come up with anyone else to blame at all on such short notice. He promised himself that he would look further into it and after plenty of research, type up a comprehensively exhaustive list of everyone else who may have played a part in his inability to match his outfits with his activities. As he left work, he ran to the car excited to see her.

Who Am I?

So, I am starting a creative writing club at school and before you stop what you are doing and give me a standing ovation, allow me to get changed into something more regal or failing that at least practice smiling for a few minutes first. After a short preamble describing the long set of rules, guidelines and initiation rituals for our club I gave the new members their first writing "assignment" (I am placing that word in quotation marks so none of them thinks that it is an actual assignment and also because I love using quotation marks and often misusing them too just so I don't come across as "the guy who perfectly uses quotation marks" because I know that guy and he is...how do I put this..."strange"). For our introductory piece I thought we'd all write about ourselves (I briefly flirted with the idea that we could all write about each other or write on each other or just hold a pen above a piece of unlined paper and sit at a desk in a white room with no windows and resist the urge to scream). Now, I have written about myself a few times already, but I don't want to skip the task outright or to just reuse something old, so here I am again. How to talk about myself without sounding redundant? Or should I just give in and be not only slightly redundant but incredibly, boldly redundant - so redundant that I should consider editing this sentence at a future date and either bolding or italicizing the word redundant or should it be the word "so" or both? Not sure... I mean while I'm highlighting certain words why not invite them all? I just don't want to bold or italicize too many words because then they start expecting and anticipating it and that doesn't mesh well with how I live my life or at least how I am trying to live my life since the day the crows came. For those that don't know me well, like the students in my club, no crows actually came to this point, but they are always welcome. I have a "crows always welcome" policy at my house and I always will until the crows actually come and then it will only be fair to allow another bird or animal or even my uncle to come visit, although that would mean having to reverse my current "no uncles welcome" policy that I've wanted to lift for some time now what with all of the amazing uncles I come across on a daily basis.

The kids in my creative writing club are probably wondering who am I really and since there is a good chance that I'm reading this to them right now, they may be looking at me as I'm sitting in front of them with my large purple water bottle next to me and wondering why is that water bottle so big with the short answer being that I am thirsty, a lot, and the longer more perplexing answer is being turned into a musical theatre production that should hopefully be opening at a kindergarten class near you at a later date. It is both easy and hard to write about yourself. Easy to hide behind lots of half-truths and transparently obvious falsities and hard to tell the gripping, teeth-rattling, knee-shaking, appetizing truth that everyone claims they crave. Everyone is always craving things sort of like single-cell organisms needing whatever they need for survival (is it oxygen? another cell? all-access cable tv for when the football-loving relatives come to visit round holiday time?) I try to toe the line on my floor all the time as sort of a test of the agility of my toes. I also metaphorically toe the line between what people want to hear and what I want them to hear. If lines had more sides I would also be balancing those two with what I hear while they are hearing things (not much outside of the sound of my voice which is lovely I have to say) and practicing my falsetto as you never can quite predict when it may come in handy - a sing off? my daily performance in front of the mirror before I leave the house? scaring away bears and other unwelcomed wildlife? In my writing I usually settle on starting off with the best of intentions, but then I get horribly sidetracked - horribly is completely the wrong descriptor as I love the sidetracks I walk down - they are far more interesting then the regular path that everyone seems to want me to walk down. Why walk that way, when I can go this way and have more fun, despite all of the mosquito bites and plethora of scrapes and scratches? Even though I go off on weird tangents and never quite get to the point I wanted to get to, I am a strong believer that the final destination is a whole lot less important than the trip to get there and I feel that about writing, preparing a meal and actual trips which is why an intended afternoon at the beach with the family is often spent at the museum of natural history accompanied by girl guides. And another thing, why are original points so important in the first place? My theory is that the word point intimidates us, or at least me and that is why I try to avoid points as much as I can which is why I never win at ping pongs. Not enough points. If those students are still facing me and avoiding eye contact as that may be misconstrued as acceptance then I guess I can take a short break here to enjoy the moment before continuing on.

The question on my mind right now is not important at the moment, so I won't ask it. I also find that asking questions in my writing is a completely unsatisfying experience as I never get an answer, unless I play the game of answering myself almost as if I have multiple personalities with one being the youthful, upbeat questioner and the other being the more grounded, voice of reason who supplies the answers and everyone once and a while a third guy pops in out of nowhere and orders a pizza. I don't expect lots of answers from the public when I pose questions that I choose to not answer myself, but people must either think I'm being facetious or rhetorical, which is easily understandable as I attempt to dedicate a minimum of 25 minutes each hour all day to both of these which is hard enough during the day but really challenging while bathing or sleeping (I never bathe and sleep at the same time not even on a dare unless there is the promise of plum pie  -that's how much I love plum pie. I've never even had plum pie. I will move on now). I would love to sleep facetiously or rhetorically but it is exceedingly hard to nail and usually just comes across as regular, plain old, sleep. Anyways, I do have questions on my mind like "what should I tell these students about me?" and "what stuff should I make up completely to give off the illusion of importance and dignity and tallness?" Let's see...I love my family, but that is pretty obvious- most people do and if I didn't, I definitely wouldn't be writing it in a blog that my family occasionally skims through and groans at. Also, not loving my family would make me a pretty contemptible figure that would make being the protagonist in my works of fiction really challenging and I don't think I have the mental wherewithal, vocal training or collection of shirts to be a villian. I guess I should tell the students about my brain and my heart all the while keeping it vague as I don't really know that much about brains and hearts - it is quite shocking that I've made it this far and know so little about two of the most important things in my life outside of my humanitarian work and my stamp collection. Really - I should make a shrine for each of them and pray before them except that I'll have to cut back on all of the praying I do before my stuffed baby tiger (gotta love that little guy) and the picture of my friends Harry and Frieda that no one can tell them about or else I will definitely not be invited over for the next taco night on the account of seeming creepy and I won't be able to blame anyone but myself and my red sharpie that I just had to draw roses with all over their picture. Outside of my love of my family, I also love being active, I love cooking and I love puzzles. To save time I have decided to condense the three loves into one. So, I am trying to find someway to go for a run while cooking and doing a puzzle or perhaps I am going about this way too literally (big shock) and maybe I need to find someway to make the exercise and cooking a puzzle in and of themselves or make a cooking puzzle that the act of solving would help me get some cardio in. I'm not sure what the answer is, but there is an answer out there somewhere and while I totally get the value in finding answers for myself in life I just don't have enough money for a flight to Bermuda right now. Nope, I'm the guy who saw the other guy about the thing that was not only monstrously expensive but also, long story short, caused me to put a halt to my winter plans that included some industrial strength rope, something those in the know call "whale juice" and car freshener.

I would go on and on for a while, but I am trying to keep this somewhat short as my way of paying homage to all of the pumpkin growers out there right now (I am horrible at paying homage and even when I accidentally get it right, my ability to choose the correct recipients is questionable at best). I guess all that I would like to say before I leave you is that I always aim to write how I talk, so that if you were to read something I wrote while sitting in a cafe it would be an eerily similar experience to hanging out with me at a cafe and it would be even more confusing if the piece of writing you were reading to yourself at the cafe was about the two of us sitting together at a cafe talking about me writing a piece about us sitting together at cafe. I have also thought about trying to talk how I write, and although I believe that after hours of practicing (followed by a really nice herbal tea) I've nailed it, it just comes across as a long series of clicks and I just can't get pronounce the sound the space bar makes. I think everyone should try to capture their voice in their writing and I like to think of my voice as a brilliant red cardinal who once flew so gracefully in the skies majestically drifting in awe-inspiring fashion until the fateful day when the rains came and the cardinal finally listened to his mom and just got out of bed and went to school because that is what twelve year old boys do, they go to school and they dream of training seemingly untrainable wild cardinals, or at least I once did when I was twelve. But then I grew up, as all young boys do, and I came to realize (mostly through an amazing set of educational videos my mom just happened to have in storage that she just happened to have done the voice over work for - I did think it was oddly coincidental that I loved the exact bird that my mom had been involved in making educational videos on and I briefly contemplated my mother's role in this before deciding to take a much needed nap) that wild birds must stay wild, especially the transplendant cardinal, for they are the red dots on the lower case "i"s of the world and to capture them would be akin to not serving a homemade aioli with the grilled veggies at a dinner party. Look I know that doesn't make a lot of sense- I don't make the rules here, I only report them. And you read them. How could you!?!?

So there you have it. I think I've introduced myself, kind of. I think those that have read this now have an incrementally small amount of knowledge about me that they didn't have previously. I'm sure some of them wish that it could have either taken less time or that they could have been eating cookies while reading this. I hope you have found this entertaining and I think the long-term impact it will have on you is almost limitless, all you have to do is dream. Have I inspired you to prepare a traditional Japanese holiday meal? Have I  encouraged you to dig a large hole in your backyard for no apparent reason? Have I convinced you that understanding differential calculus won't keep you warm at night? Have I made any progress in convincing you to knit me some woollen mittens to match my sweater or at least not clash with the rainbow pants I am knitting right now as I write this (okay I lied - I clearly can't be writing and knitting at the same time and since I'm clearly writing who is knitting these pants I am proudly wearing? I promised my grandmother one day quite cryptically to never forget where my lunch is and also who made my pants, but then again I promised my adorably daffy grandmother lots and lots of things - it made up much of our daily conversing). But, most importantly have I answered or explained who I am? For those inclined to say "yes" - thank you! The cheque is in the mail (if by "cheque" I mean "this large handful of nearly-expired coupons that I want to give away in the effort to cover my bulletin board solely with colourful pushpins" and by "mail" I mean "here you go, enjoy"). And for those who feel that the answer is "no", I applaud your brevity and your hard-hitting style - it will take you far in life, hopefully far enough away from me so you don't have to hear me crying from the disappointment of a failed writing activity. But, I'll be okay in the end, your "no" will only strengthen me and toughen me up so that one day I will rise with a new, thicker (and hopefully more durable) skin and hopefully I will find a way to utilize this skin to gain some sort of fame or at least membership in an underground club that I am unaware of at this point. And, lastly, for those of you who either want to answer "maybe" or who were blissfully unaware of the question in the first place as yet another thing you are blissfully unaware of in life, thanks for showing up and continue to enjoy this seasonally warm fall day.

This Beautiful Union

I remember the day they were born like it was yesterday. Two beautiful babies - one a girl and one a boy. From the beginning they were inseparable and were, to use a cliche, like two peas in a pod. As the older sibling, I was often charged with watching them and, though I was cut of the same cloth, there was always a distance. As they grew into young children there was a verging-on-unhealthy closeness that teachers, neighbours and others spoke of in hushed and concerned voices, often while consuming tea and, on one rare occasion, scalding hot apple cider. Mom and dad were so in love with all of us and, in their eyes, the twins could do no wrong. In adolescence, they remained close but also knew all of the buttons to press to antagonize the other. They were still each other's best friend and that would never change.

The past

My brother loved making chocolate chip cookies with mom on Sunday afternoons.

My sister preferred eating ones of the oatmeal raisin variety.

Many of their wounds, figurative and literal, self-inflicted and lashing out at the other, were healed over a plate of mixed cookies.

My sister used to swing on the ol' tire swing for hours.
My brother preferred to keep track of things in either minutes or portions of days.
And yet, that swing became a symbol, albeit a moldy and decrepit symbol, for the bond they shared.

My brother attempted to build historically accurate forts out of the couch cushions.

My sister eschewed the architectural advances of the past and employed only modern fort designs.

Regardless of the difference in style, their forts only served to strengthen our overall home defense yet they rendered our couch nearly un-sittable.

My sister created amazingly detailed fairy tale stories in which she usually played the queen.

My brother constantly questioned the validity of her rise to the throne.

Though they would attempt to laugh about this, her flamboyantly fictional royalty only served to make him question his own creativity and lineage.

My brother designed fairly amateurish and structurally flawed sand castles.

My sister played the role of the forlorn duchess who lost her family when the castle walls came tumbling down.

Both kids grew up with an unhealthy lack of respect for the integrity of all walls leading to much hilarity and mental-health concerns for all.

I remember the day of their high school graduation as if it were yesterday. It was last week. I had always wondered, as I observed them growing up, what sort of adults they would become and whether one could live or be happy without the other. With their bright futures in front of them, family dinner table discussions turned from teenage issues to much more adult topics - college, work, loans, travel and yet, I still saw, in front of me, those same two babies who were figuratively joined at the hip. Much to mom and dad's delight and relief, they decided to stay at home and attend the local community college. I couldn't imagine a future where they weren't together. While their interests and future plans had diverged somewhat and each had really started to act as an individual, they were still eerily similar and a perfect foil for each other. 

The present 

My sister fills notebook after notebook with concentric circles that look like Venn diagrams when viewed with squinted eyes from a distance.

My brother tried, on multiple occasions, to pay his rent by selling these completed notebooks to both circle fanatics and Venn diagram enthusiasts alike.

Many a Sunday evening was spent at the kitchen table debating and discussing the merits of intersections and unions specifically and the political implications of sets in general.

My brother is trying to reduce his footprint.
My sister carries a small pouch of fine carbon powder scattering it where she thinks he may walk next.
They spend hours upon hours drawing pictures of bowls of fruit with charcoal often disagreeing on proper shading techniques and the importance of perspective.

My sister reads obsessively as if glued to her book.
My brother is always trying to sneak around the house gluing things to her, or failing that, using heavy-duty packing tape.
They were always gluing and taping things to each other and yet neither wanted to be actually stuck to the other, unless entered in a three-legged race and then only the highest quality adhesives could be used.

My brother is studying and preparing to be a nurse with a heart of gold.
My sister can't stop mocking his attempts to study medicine, all the while keeping very close watch on the price of valuable metals.  
Secretly they both hope that one day, his nursing skills may come in handy, and if not, they will always have the mocking and, if very desperate, some gold.

My sister fills pages of her private journal with poems about love and loss.
My brother has to continue to come up with ways to both love and lose in his life to feed her fresh material.
The poems become not only a reflection of his life, but also a refraction due to an incorrectly placed set of mirrors in his room.

I often wonder what the future will hold for them. I can only hope and imagine that whatever lies ahead for each, that they will always be intertwined with the other. They will forever be each other's yin and yang. But what, precisely will they do? Will they become a team of doctors who travel to the deep recesses of impoverished countries? Will they host a morning radio show displaying incessant wit and annoying insight on a daily basis? Will they become feared and revered tag-team professional wrestlers with a propensity for choke-holds? Will they pen and illustrate a series of children's books rife with cute animal characters and moralistic messages? Will they dig graves? All I know is that I hope that they never lose their sense of humour, their spirit and their drive and that I am able to experience, firsthand, their futures.

The future

My brother plans to give away all of his worldly possessions.

My sister has been carefully implanting that idea in him for months through a series of homemade subliminal audio cassettes.

They were raised to both respect and uncover creative uses for implanting and all implant-related activities and enterprises (the utilization of audio cassettes was quite a bold move, as our father had forbade that).

My sister dreams of growing a garden full of the freshest, tastiest vegetables.
My brother already has plans to can those fresh vegetables to survive the impending nuclear winter or for profit.
Food in general and vegetables in specific will always be a source of strength for the two of them mostly after they are digested and occasionally as weapons.

My brother wishes that one day he can own his own house in the countryside.
My sister plans to first appear supportive and then swoop in and outbid him and buy the house first allowing him to rent the barn.
Their competitiveness, especially as it pertains to large, shelter-like purchases could be seen as quaint or sweet, but that would be vastly confusing.

My sister hopes to learn to play the alto saxophone so that she can truly express herself.
My brother is okay with her desire to play the sax, but cannot forget the pain he experienced due to her last round of true expression.

Jazz music will always be the soundtrack of their lives. My dad saw to that himself.

My brother plans to teach his future children how to play tennis with his compelling mix of passion, humour and a deranged desire to crush everyone.
My sister appreciates his passion, loves his humour and respects his deranged desire, but is just not supportive at all of plan to have children, especially tennis-playing ones.
Neither of them will ever forget the often understated role that that banged-up, over-sized Prince tennis racquet playing in their upbringing and how it essentially raised them both.

I know this beautiful union must one day end. I dream that, far in the future, we can all be together again, as we were as children. I imagine that I will always feel a little separate from those two, as if I missed out on a long-standing private joke. They will make eye-contact that will tell thousand-word stories and I, always the observer, will watch, both proud and feeling somewhat isolated. As we all near the end of our existence, a new door will open and we will all go through that door to the unknown, and yet, their connection will never waver. At times I wonder what could have been, but I do know that when I look back on this whole thing, I'm just glad I was along for the ride.

When I Stop To Think: The Animal Kingdom

Quite often I take a much needed break from my busy day and I think. It seems like the thoughts I have go in cycles and these days I cannot stop thinking about the animal kingdom. After an initial period of questioning myself and being full of self-doubt, I have given in to being consumed with animals big and small. I like to sit back and imagine what is going through the minds of the animals of the Earth and, if time permits, what is going on in other areas of their bodies as well.

I think about whales, the largest animal on our planet, swimming around dominating the oceans and the seas and swimming aimlessly eating fish, coming up with new, fun parlour tricks utilizing their blowholes and spending much of their existence as lonely as can be as all other marine life are quite intimidated and imagine that they are very unapproachable. I'm sure there are some whales that are unapproachable, but I do feel badly for the friendly whales, the kind whales, the whales that enjoy a nice evening out with some friends enjoying a plate of nachos or sitting by the fire sipping hot cocoa. I feel badly for those whales and imagine they are saying "we aren't all just large collections of blubber, some of us have feelings including a sense of humour as well as having blubber to spare."

I think about the elephant in the middle of Africa who secretly wants to either use his ivory tusks to make knick knacks for tourists with no conscience or keys for a new grand piano. Not that he doesn't love his tusks and all tusk-related activities, but he's had his eye on a new watch for a while now. I can imagine him making up a long, convoluted story for the other elephants regarding where his tusks went and how he ended up with a fancy watch.

I think about the lone monkey who is lying in the peaceful shade of a large tree, away from the hustle and bustle of the jungle and being soothed by the lovely sounds of nature. and, unfortunately dealing with the horrible side effects of way too much potassium and, to top it all off, has stinging cuts on his hands from way too much vine swinging. As he lies there clutching his stomach, I can just hear him mumbling "I swear this is the last time I eat one too many bananas. I know I've said this before, but this time I mean it."

I think about the bunny who is fighting his genetic urges and unwanted advances from all of the handsome male bunnies who are always giving her the eye, as all she wants to do is practice abstinence and also to hop, because hopping is pretty great.

I think about the soft-spoken, shy lion who doesn't want to come across too strongly, or step on anyone else's toes and prefers to speak gently and calmly then roaring which not only draws unnecessary attention but also yields many a sore throat. Plus, all of the other lions already roar and this particular lion is striving to be unique.

I think about the gnat and aside from the spelling, I realize how little I know, how much I could research, how busy my schedule is, how I am trying to give the illusion of intelligence, and how little I care about the gnat. This may come back to bite me, if gnats bite. Do they? Anyone?

I think about the hippopotamus who is just so achingly hungry all the time and who will eat almost anything without shame and who wants to fit into the same muddy hole for purposes of bathing that she did when she was younger. She eats and eats and eats as she is constantly starving and looks longingly at the ever-shrinking hole just knowing that she'll never fit in it if she keeps eating but also knowing that she is a hungry hungry hippo and she doesn't have the willpower to rise above the stereotype.

I think about the sad, mournful hyena whom everyone thinks is laughing and just assumes is in an up mood without even taking a moment to check in to see how he is feeling especially considering his father was eaten yesterday. 

I think about the domesticated dog, the house pet, man's best friend who feels trapped and suffocated by his surroundings and his life and the freedom he has sacrificed for safety, all of the petting and grooming he could ever want and some really great dog food. Enough to make a dog bark repeatedly and also to howl, but he doesn't want to sleep outside in the rain again - life inside is good, but it has made him soft. 

I think about the parrot, always asking for a cracker and I imagine her saying "what's wrong with me? Why do I keep on asking for crackers? I don't even like them at all. Well that's not all true, I do enjoy a cracker or two from time to time especially with some goat cheese, but do I think to ever ask for some cheese or a spread to put on top of the crackers? No. I'll never learn and I deserve this mountain of crackers that are taking up most of the spare room in my bird house. Why do I always ask for crackers!"

I think about the goldfish and wonder if they would love to be a lot bigger- like big and strong enough to break out of the glass bowls that imprison them and cramp their style. I imagine a whole school of these large, stylish goldfish patrolling the oceans, flexing their muscles and looking for other fish so they can lay down a swim-off.

I think about the giraffe who just once wants to win a game of hide and seek, or show up at a party unannounced, or at least find a turtleneck sweater that doesn't need altering.

I think about the eel who is totally self-conscious about its length and would give just about anything to have a hand or a foot or to be able to sit in a chair. This eel in specific is quite paranoid and figures everyone is always talking behind his back which is exceedingly hard to do and actually quite impressive considering he is constantly moving and twisting around and that where is back is one second it is gone the next.  

I think about the skunk who smells relatively good all the time and is the laughing stock of the skunk world and would give anything to stink, like really really smell badly. I also think of his cousin who does smell bad - in fact she has an overabundance of odor and would willing share the wealth if she could, but she has no idea how well-endowed she is in this area as her nostrils are small and constantly plugged leading to troubles breathing and also sleep apnea. She is also long overdue for an appointment with an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist which is a field of medicine that is unfortunately quite rarely pursued amongst skunks. The two cousins often get together to complain and to play badminton as they both are quite fond of badminton. 

I think about the subconscious snail who is always leaving a silvery trail behind it and would give anything to leave no trail as it feels like everyone is staring at him and talking about how his trail is looking a little less silvery compared to how it used to. He wants to look, but also doesn't want to be caught looking as he doesn't want to appear to vain, or at least no more vain than the average snail. He would really love to be more anonymous and to just open a small bed-and-breakfast joint that would serve wonderful brunches or to meet a stunning female snail who would not only accept him despite all of his odd traits and then the two could leave silvery trails together.

I think about the koala who is tired of the constant state of exhaustion and lack of mental clarity that comes from a diet purely made up eucalyptus leaves. This koala wants to snap the others out of their stupor and say "this is exactly what they want us to do! Eat leaves and lie around all day! We can be so much more - oh think of the limitless possibilities if we would just stop lying around, resting on our laurels and being cute and appearing cuddly although we would claw any person who would actually try to cuddle with us. Don't let them win! I know the leaves are tasty! Believe me - I get that - I love the leaves too! I'm actually eating one right now. But, it is a big world out there and no one expects us to do anything - we've got them where we want them! Join me as we embark on a new era for koalas." Unfortunately these words fall on deaf ears as almost everyone else is either asleep or feeling pretty flaked out at the time. 

I think about the porcupine who walks around beaming with all the confidence in the world and yet, all he wants is a comforting hug that he could melt into, but that will never come and he knows it. He remembers his mother telling him that his quills will always be there to protect him but will also create a real barrier between himself and all others that will naturally lead towards feelings of isolation and depression despite feeling safe. And, as tempting as it is to have the quills removed through elective surgery, he remembers how freekish his cousin looked like after having that done and he knows that it just isn't an option.

I think of the wasps who fly around essentially impersonating nature's friend the bee. Those wasps do their very best appearing to many people not as the pests they are but like the bees who pollinate our flowers and bring us unpasteurized flavourful honey that may have hints of alfalfa or wildberry. Those wasps probably wish they had more of a purpose then secretly creating hives in carports and damp outside storages that eventually get destroyed while all they get in return is a sting or two and then death by toxic spray. The wasps would love to be adored or at least tolerated and maybe even invited to join some of the private clubs that are all only open to bees. The wasps have tried to appeal to someone, anyone who will listen, but they never get too far, because no one listens to wasps as a general rule. Wasps probably feel like they received the short straw from Mother Nature - everyone loves their cousin the bee and no one loves them.

I think of the dolphin - hyper-intelligent, graceful and powerful. One of the most perfectly beautiful beings that could ever be conceived anywhere by anyone. Those dolphins have it pretty good, but I imagine that they get pretty frustrated beating their heads against the wall - figuratively of course, they have no walls - they do understand how to construct walls, they are dolphins after all, but gave up trying to build them after they realized that having no arms or hands made it next to impossible to get further than developing detailed blueprints - trying to teach other marine life about currents, hydro luminescence, biodiversity and how to make moisture work for you all the while avoiding any skin ailments. However, life is pretty good as dolphins are so smart they are able to "play" just dumb enough to still get invited to all of the parties and for Sunday morning bocci games and read the situation to know when they are no longer wanted and leave to have their own Mensa nights.

I think of the goose who just loves to honk as it brings her so much satisfaction as she is fulfilling her role in the world and makes her feel not only complete but also happy, because who doesn't love a good honk.