10. Not tipping: If the person deserved a tip and you didn't tip, your karma has just dropped.
9. sleeping in till 11 on a weekday.
8. speeding through a crosswalk in yor car/not stopping for the TTC of school bus.
7. not cleaning up after yourself/being messy
6. cheating on your girlfriend/boyfriend
5. not doing your taxes
4. lying to your parents no matter what your age.
3. cocaine
2. not fullfilling a promise.
1. not making your bed.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Ying Yang
-Hey. Bro. Sorry to hear about your job eh.
-Oh, yeah thanks man. It's whatever. I saw it coming I guess...
-Really eh, you got fired or was it like a lay off situation? or...
-No. They were kind of a sketchy organization. Like promised a lot of things to clients that they couldn't follow through with. Their assets were all tied, and like the economy now, they had to get rid of a few people.
-Crazyness.
-Yeah. The company is going under. The worst part is I can't put them on my resume as a past employer because that would give me a bad rap.
-Really?
-Yeah. Not exactly the place you want to tell people you were just working at.
-So they were like illegal?
-They were not following through, hahah, let's leave it at that.
-Yeah. Fradulent. I hear ya. That sucks.
-Yeah. Well, whatever man it is what it is.
-Yeah. Yo, so that date I went on yesterday was 'disorganzied' to say the least.
-Hmm. What, do you mean?
-The girl, hairdresser, was out of control. Alcoholic, super sketchy. She passed out while we were making out.
-Really, that's. Like where did you guys even go?
-We were hear, and then we were there, ended up at the Beacer and then back here. So many drinks. It was, it was sloppy. But who really cares about that, your situation man, I hope I can help.
-Yeah thanks. I am going to take a week to collect myself, find out where I'm at. I had a lot of investments riding on my future income. Was spending a little too luxuriously. So I'll be here most of the week just trying to put together a plan to save some money.
-I will be around all week too. I have a date today with that new girl I met last Friday night, but other than that. She's a 3 year Yoga... person eh! But, yeah I'll be here dude, so if you need me...
-Thanks. When I heard from my boss that he wanted to meet with me Friday afternoon, on a thursday, I knew, I knew something was up. That's exactly how they fire you. And we got along so well, so I could sense by his face something was up.
-Yeah. I knew something was up with this hairdresser I went on a date with last night. Hairdressers are on a different schedule. Sunday night is there Saturday. Monday their Sunday.
-ha, yeah. Now I have to some how establish a resume. No college, or university, because I left Windsor to work for them.
-Maybe just lie on your resume for now. That's what my buddy does. They check references but rarely are they doing 'factual experience checks'.
-Haha.
-I swear I wouldn't be surprised if that's how the hairdresser got her job. that's why I'm so happy that the new girl, from Friday, the yoga, is a little bit older than me. Has her head on her shoulders, a good job. Ya know. Won't pass out in the middle of a hardcore make out session.
-so I'm confused. Which one is better the yoga or the hairdresser?
-Yoga man for sure.
-I'm going to go lay down, then get started on my job hunt.
-Ok, let me know if you need me for anything bro. I am here till about 530 then a date with mrs. Yoga.
-Oh, yeah thanks man. It's whatever. I saw it coming I guess...
-Really eh, you got fired or was it like a lay off situation? or...
-No. They were kind of a sketchy organization. Like promised a lot of things to clients that they couldn't follow through with. Their assets were all tied, and like the economy now, they had to get rid of a few people.
-Crazyness.
-Yeah. The company is going under. The worst part is I can't put them on my resume as a past employer because that would give me a bad rap.
-Really?
-Yeah. Not exactly the place you want to tell people you were just working at.
-So they were like illegal?
-They were not following through, hahah, let's leave it at that.
-Yeah. Fradulent. I hear ya. That sucks.
-Yeah. Well, whatever man it is what it is.
-Yeah. Yo, so that date I went on yesterday was 'disorganzied' to say the least.
-Hmm. What, do you mean?
-The girl, hairdresser, was out of control. Alcoholic, super sketchy. She passed out while we were making out.
-Really, that's. Like where did you guys even go?
-We were hear, and then we were there, ended up at the Beacer and then back here. So many drinks. It was, it was sloppy. But who really cares about that, your situation man, I hope I can help.
-Yeah thanks. I am going to take a week to collect myself, find out where I'm at. I had a lot of investments riding on my future income. Was spending a little too luxuriously. So I'll be here most of the week just trying to put together a plan to save some money.
-I will be around all week too. I have a date today with that new girl I met last Friday night, but other than that. She's a 3 year Yoga... person eh! But, yeah I'll be here dude, so if you need me...
-Thanks. When I heard from my boss that he wanted to meet with me Friday afternoon, on a thursday, I knew, I knew something was up. That's exactly how they fire you. And we got along so well, so I could sense by his face something was up.
-Yeah. I knew something was up with this hairdresser I went on a date with last night. Hairdressers are on a different schedule. Sunday night is there Saturday. Monday their Sunday.
-ha, yeah. Now I have to some how establish a resume. No college, or university, because I left Windsor to work for them.
-Maybe just lie on your resume for now. That's what my buddy does. They check references but rarely are they doing 'factual experience checks'.
-Haha.
-I swear I wouldn't be surprised if that's how the hairdresser got her job. that's why I'm so happy that the new girl, from Friday, the yoga, is a little bit older than me. Has her head on her shoulders, a good job. Ya know. Won't pass out in the middle of a hardcore make out session.
-so I'm confused. Which one is better the yoga or the hairdresser?
-Yoga man for sure.
-I'm going to go lay down, then get started on my job hunt.
-Ok, let me know if you need me for anything bro. I am here till about 530 then a date with mrs. Yoga.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Coulier's first mission: Mission log
Captain's log: Year 2024 AD. Today Vessel "Float 47" commence our mission to follow out a Canadian flag staking and raising on an unidentified rogue moon in sector 54. Formerly of the O'Malley lunar clusters, the baby moon appears to have deviated from orbit and is floating aimlessly through space. A feeling I only know too well. By claiming the moon Canada will take ownership of it along with all its nutrients and land potential. For the most part moons are a dime a dozen. Every planet has them, and they make better decoration in the sky than anything else. Staking a moon is like making a good short film. It's cool but you're not going to get laid because of it. We only hope that there are some angry moon men on it to fight. Maybe that will give us some adventure...
Monday, April 13, 2009
Getting to know Alcohol: the Irish way
Warning
If you're not careful Alcohol can make you feel isolated and completely aware of yourself. It can create an 'Outside looking in and not impressed' feeling. An awareness of your flaws and your secrets. Alcohol can secretly suppress your compassion and innocence while exposing your putridity and desperation. A retreat into self sloth-ery and glutton which results in heavy sleep and late night food.The blackout: When too much alcohol casts you away into a darkness that doesn't record time or judge behaviours. A darkness that flickers with colours and alternate images. Pillowed with emotions but safe from tactile memory. What you don't touch or breath isn't remembered. What you hate is never forgotten.
Drinking makes time feel better.
We live in a society completely functioning on a structure of time. Time is so present that we can actually feel it in the tactile sense. Drinking changes the feeling of time. Society even uses time to get us to drink by making certain times feel better in relation to alcohol. Time before spent waiting in anticipation and excitement to enjoy it. Time after, reminiscing with a grain of salt about it. It tells you that the time spent behaving and being productive justifies time spent escaping and being destructive. Time worked allows for time indulged. It reminds you that at this certain time according to your calendar it's socially acceptable to do it. In fact many times are the right time to drink. Time of celebration. Time of reward. Time of promotion. Time of love. Time of companionship. Time of misery. Time of stress. Time of sun. Time of ski. Time of beach. Time of St. Patrick. Time of long weekend. Time of discussion. Time of business. Thursday Time. Time of killing time.
It wasn't me it was 'drunk me'
Most of all it controls us by making us act out of our character; or at least, what we would call our character. It actually takes over our body and 'changes' us. It makes us 'different' by our own definition. Thus, it creates a relationship, or a dichotomy. A sense of more than one. A 'Me' And a 'me when I'm drunk'. We create a relationship, a hierarchy between 'me' and 'drunk me'. A hierarchy of who is better at what and in what situation. the relationship between self and 'drunk self' is a micro chasm of society. The relationship explains why we segregate, specialize and judge each other in society.
'Drunk me' is the fun blue collar worker that enjoys life but has made some wrong decisions. 'Sober me' is the tight ass white collar that is getting back at drunk me for insulting it in high school. The 'sober me' is 'drunk me's' boss and when a problem at the company arises, blue collar gets the blame. Who made what poor decision? that wasn't my fault, that was 'drunk me'. I never should have let him out that day. I can't control him.
We always give 'sober me' the excuse of innocence. The lesser of the two evils. The sober self gets mad at the drunk self, but the drunk self doesn't get mad at the sober self. He would rather go for a beer. With the dichotomy of drunk and sober there becomes potential, as with anything is society where there's more than one, for a blame game. Or rather, that wasn't 'me', that was 'drunk me'. People with drinking problems blame either a weakness in their ability not to drink, or on a 'drunk me' that is uncontrollable and is separate from them. "'Drunk me' isn't 'me'. In fact, we have completely different opinions on what is right and wrong. I should not be blamed for the behaviours of drunk me. The real me is a good person."
Why 'drunk me' then?
The 'sober me' is in constant pursuit of a 'better me'; whatever that may be. However due to the impatiences of human nature 'Sober me' realizes that 'Drunk me' does feel good, even though it is an easy quick 'better'. Plus it gives us a good night sleep. And isn't that what life is all about. Life and death; the ultimate dichotomy. Sleep is the closest thing to death, and we love sleep. Yet we fear death. We say, "I hope death isn't like sleep because after a while I would get pretty sick of it", but I don't think I have ever interrupted a dream with requests of returning to reality. In fact, I have done much the opposite.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
marco's morning
7am
Marco Ansipidisque, bereft from the mystical neuro-fog of his dreams was again slated to start his day. He cocooned alone in bed, relaxed, breathing slowly his first breaths, reflecting on his dream. He had dreamed of orchids and lillys and friendly bears and ice cream and sunshine and hugs and women with jet black hair. They were all at an underwater bar and to his complete dissaproval Marco was awoken suddenly when the underwater fish bouncer had told him he wasn't allowed to bring flowers into the bar because he was a 'jerk off'. Quondamed from his dream world Marco wanted desperately to go back to sleep and give this numbskull door jockey a piece of his mind. He checked his clock to see if he had time and, semi-luckily, he had five minutes. But Today he was going to sleep in and not go to the gym before work. He had to go back to the underwater bar. This was too good of a dream, and he would be dammed if he was a 'jerk off'. He pushed his snooze forth an hour and got extra snug. Marco layed his head down on his pillow and began thinking of clever comebacks he could hurl at his nemesis bouncer. The anxiety associated with this process overwhelmed Marco, causing him far too much excitement to drift back asleep. So he laid in bed awake for an hour unable to decide on the perfect insult, missing valuable time that couldn have been spent on the eliptical machine.
Marco Ansipidisque, bereft from the mystical neuro-fog of his dreams was again slated to start his day. He cocooned alone in bed, relaxed, breathing slowly his first breaths, reflecting on his dream. He had dreamed of orchids and lillys and friendly bears and ice cream and sunshine and hugs and women with jet black hair. They were all at an underwater bar and to his complete dissaproval Marco was awoken suddenly when the underwater fish bouncer had told him he wasn't allowed to bring flowers into the bar because he was a 'jerk off'. Quondamed from his dream world Marco wanted desperately to go back to sleep and give this numbskull door jockey a piece of his mind. He checked his clock to see if he had time and, semi-luckily, he had five minutes. But Today he was going to sleep in and not go to the gym before work. He had to go back to the underwater bar. This was too good of a dream, and he would be dammed if he was a 'jerk off'. He pushed his snooze forth an hour and got extra snug. Marco layed his head down on his pillow and began thinking of clever comebacks he could hurl at his nemesis bouncer. The anxiety associated with this process overwhelmed Marco, causing him far too much excitement to drift back asleep. So he laid in bed awake for an hour unable to decide on the perfect insult, missing valuable time that couldn have been spent on the eliptical machine.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Tears 6: the Crying Window
Children can handle pain just as well, if not better than adults. Since pain is such a new experience to them, they are still not sure what to make of it. It is more of a total shock than a reason to cry. They just know that pain hurts, tears feel good and a big cry can help over ride the pain rushing through their little body. A good healthy cry can mask the pain of a scrapped knee almost instantly, and potentially score them a hug. But the last thing you want to do is hug them or empathize with them right away.
When a little girl scraps her knee a window pops up. Like an emotional quarterback it is up to an adult to throw a positive energy spiral through this window ASAP in order to avoid the loud epic tears that could emerge. For example.
When a little girl scraps her knee a window pops up. Like an emotional quarterback it is up to an adult to throw a positive energy spiral through this window ASAP in order to avoid the loud epic tears that could emerge. For example.
Little Jennifer, Velcro shoes and summer hat, scampers in the park with a sand shovel and toothless smile. She is joyful and jubilant, clearly in paradise; one with the park. Her left foot, in an attempt to keep up with the dominant right, drags and begins to wobble. Just then Jennifer hits a little dip in the sand and falls face first smack down in the dirt. She immediately looks up dazed and shocked. Where is mom? There? No over there? No. Anyone older than me around? No... she frantically glances around to see if anyone saw this happen. Her face swells up with tears as she searches for a parent or fellow friend to rescue her from this pain. Jennifer cannot find anyone as her lip curls one last time. Realizing it's just her versus this event, she wipes herself clean and continues in the direction she was running. No tears.
Now if little Jennifer had made eye contact with mommy or an adult, she would have started to cry frantically. Unless, of course, the adult Jennifer made eye contact knew how to turn these tears into laughter with a positive energy spiral. See below example of a positive energy spiral pass completion by Conor....
Same scenario as above. Jennifer makes eye contact with the older Conor. Noticing that Jennifer is caught in a crying window, Conor acts fast. Jennifer's face explodes and tears begin to gush. Conor immediately smiles at Jennifer ear to ear!
Conor: Safe! Safe!. In baseball that was just the best play I have ever seen!!! WOW! You are so awesome. Can you teach me how to do that Jennifer, wow first place for you!!!!!!
Jennifer instantly falls back to dazed and confused. She focuses on Conor completely dumbfounded. (really? I thought I just did something wrong because of this pain?
Conor: give me five! Did you see that Greg? Did anyone see that?!! So awesome!
Little Greg: she hurt her knee. It's bleeding.
Conor: Oh my god blood! I wish I had blood, that's so cool. You know what would be totally fun right now?if we put some water on that!!! Man I am so excited right now!
Jennifer looks at Greg as if to say 'what is going on here?'. She touches her boo boo and looks at her finger.
Jennifer(tears about to begin again): it really hurts.
Conor: I bet. you're so lucky, because now you're so much stronger and prettier than all of us. DAM, I bet Greg wishes he had a boo boo.
Greg: no!
Conor (laughing): Good one Greg. You're funny. In fact you're both awesome! Come on lets go get some water. But first I have one thing I need you both to do.
The two kids are now completely focused on Conor.
Jennifer and Greg: what....
Conor: It is really important and I don't ask a lot of people to do this, but I need you both to really help me out. Can you both, Jennifer first because you just did something awesome,--
(Jennifer's cheeks perk)
Conor: I need you to give me a super low five.(Conor extends his hand right to the ground) I call this a worm five!
After a long wait Jennifer begins to smile. She slaps Conor's hand. Tears avoided! Pass complete!
Greg: My turn now.
Conor: I don't know. Jennifer is it cool if Greg gives me a worm five.
Jennifer nods her head. Greg winds up like a windmill and executes the greatest five ever.
Jennifer: my turn again.
Jennifer drops another great five, and another, and another.....
Conor: Wow! you guys are so strong. *2nd best worm fives ever!! Lets go get some ice.
Jennifer: Wait! I want to do another worm five.
Greg: Me too.
Conor: Fine, but you have to catch me first.
Conor runs off in the direction of the water fountain. Jennifer and Greg giggle as they chase him. Blood trickles behind....
* kids love world records. They won't believe you if you tell them they are the best in the whole world, but second best they will completely believe. And then they will be well behaved for hours trying to break your 'fake world record'.
The state of the world: A side effect of Society
I was creeping along with the traffic in my car this morning on my regular route listening to my Stanton Warriors CD and rapping along. There was slightly more traffic than usual as a new construction site started today and was holding up both directions in the city residential area. As I slowly drifted along behind the street car I glanced to the traffic in the opposite direction and to my total surprise I saw an old friend driving the other direction. Not a best friend but, at worst, a good aquiantance, that I haven't seen in about 3 years. He was talking on his cell phone and creeping by slowly in the other direction. I instantly rolled down my window and began waving my arms at him. He didn't notice me so I honked the horn.
'Kennedy!' I yelled.
Kennedy looked at me in the middle of his conversation and gave me a lifeless head nod. The type of head nod you give someone you see everyday and have no interest in talking to. This is a guy I have known my whole life; since I was 10. Never a falling out, never a fight. I kept waving my arms and smiling.
"Yo guy!"
Finally, as we were slowly passing each other Kennedy, rolled down his window half way. He cupped the mouthpiece of his phone.
'Work call'.
We slowly drifted past each other.
'Asshole' I quietly yelled back after we had passed each other.
I doubt he heard me. But if he did, I bet it ruined our relationship. Up until that point we were good memories of each other. Because of that, our complete memories are ruined and we are now both total assholes who hate each other.
In fact, almost instantly, I remembered all the times when I thought he was a jerk but had given him the benefit of the doubt. I rewrote these memories as if I had decided we was a jerk
'Kennedy!' I yelled.
Kennedy looked at me in the middle of his conversation and gave me a lifeless head nod. The type of head nod you give someone you see everyday and have no interest in talking to. This is a guy I have known my whole life; since I was 10. Never a falling out, never a fight. I kept waving my arms and smiling.
"Yo guy!"
Finally, as we were slowly passing each other Kennedy, rolled down his window half way. He cupped the mouthpiece of his phone.
'Work call'.
We slowly drifted past each other.
'Asshole' I quietly yelled back after we had passed each other.
I doubt he heard me. But if he did, I bet it ruined our relationship. Up until that point we were good memories of each other. Because of that, our complete memories are ruined and we are now both total assholes who hate each other.
In fact, almost instantly, I remembered all the times when I thought he was a jerk but had given him the benefit of the doubt. I rewrote these memories as if I had decided we was a jerk
THE FRIENDLY NEWS
Warning! Please do not stand still
Of all the goals in life it appears that survival is the ultimate goal because we are convinced it is, above all, the most important thing to do for our well being. To put ones self in a position where survival is at risk is unhealthy and potentially painful and nobody wants that. It is a position of true vulnerability; where failure is a huge possibility. Intentionally putting one self in these situations is seen as anti survivalist; anti-progressive or, alas, anti-society because it draws too much attention to the pack. Since we are pack animals it is as if we are all walking around like wounded dogs pretending not to be wounded because we don't want to draw attention to the pack. This is not to say we are all depressed, but rather, we are ignoring each other because we think it's better for everyone else if we did so. After all, we don't want to look vulnerable. To appear like the weakest link in the societal chain that is 'insert catchy suburb named after one person here'. On the streets people rush urgently past potential friends, enemies, victims, collaborators and lovers on a super important mission to Pita Pit or where ever else they have to get to really soon. Everyone is in a rush, because not being in a rush is not being a productive team player. Even projecting 'no rush' means one is compromising other people's well being. Therefore, one could deduct that vulnerability is as simple as the ability to stand still on the sidewalk at 5:15pm. True vulnerability would be to do so without looking at one's watch. Just standing relaxed and alone not faking as if you are late or waiting for someone or asking for money. Just standing still existing. Being anti survival. Vulnerability is having nowhere to go in a hurry.
Where are you standing these days?
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
the moment my heart stopped working
I used to be the most romantic kid in the whole world. From grade 1- 11 I always had a beautiful girlfriend or love interest. I would march right up to girls and tell them how beautiful they were and then we would become lovers. To express my love I would use scented magic markers to draw caricatures of them that not only smelled like them but also accentuated their strengths. My favorite where the girls with black hair, because it gave me an excuse to indulge in my black licorice marker.
I would always let girls know how they made me feel and just how vulnerable I was to their magic. In fact, if I liked a girl older and completely out of my league I would still pursue her. My methods were poems and kind gestures. Vulnerability and creativity; the deadliest combo.
When I turned 16 something happened; I lost my ability to love. For the next 10 years I was still able to engage in meaningless sexcapades (although few and far between), some worthy of memory, but many that were unfullfilling and with partners that didn't rival the ones I had in the past. At 16 things went cold.
As the oldest born, I was first to transfer out of private elementary school into a public high school. Needless to say this wasn't an easy experience. In fact, for grade 9 and 10 I went by virtually unnoticed. I skateboarded and still romanticized with girls from my old school. During this time I had a few girls try to pursue me, and I even had a brief stint dating the coolest girl in the grade, but I was dumped by her when she was told I wasn't 'cool'. We had nothing in common anyway, so I wasn't hurt by this lost love. I was however hurt by the idea of not being cool. In fact, it hurt too much. This would prove to be pivotal.
Then the beginning of grade 11.
My heart began to flutter like a helicopter seed falling from a tree in the autumn wind. A beautiful girl had caught my eye in the cafeteria. She was a 9er. I was instantly in love.
(Also this year , I had began to get cooler as I started to smoke weed, and it was discovered that I was really good at drawing pictures of people.)
I went home that night and wrote my new target a love letter. The letter to end all letters. I spilled my heart. I told her about her eyes, and her nose, and her mouth. I mentioned how all three clearly enjoyed working with each other because they displayed such a collaborative symmetry. Almost as if they completed each others senses..es. I told her about how she moved. How she slittered and shifted gracefully like a serpent. In fact almost exactly like a serpent.. The letter was in hand writing on 1995 lined paper and placed strategically in her locker, folded with the precision of an oragamyist. Knowing the power of my love letters, I simply sat back confidently awaiting her response.
She liked me to. She told my brother, also a niner that she liked me, and that she would indeed meet with me at the same spot we had first made eye contact. The wheels were in motion, and all I had to do was sit back and wait.
I sat outside the cafeteria, too excited to go to class. 20 minutes before we were to meet something happened. One of the coolest guys in grade 11 had found out about my letter. His younger sister, was friends with a friend of my 'soon to be love' and she had recited a few lines from the poem to him. Like a town cryer, he ran through the school yelling about how I am a 'Fag'. Almost instantly people were pointing and laughing at me. "What a loser" "How could someone write a love letter to a niner?!". I was instantly bombarded and almost beat up. I had to make a decision. Do I keep my coolness or do I fall in love????
Luckily she was a good girl and had gone to geography class that morning and had missed the callings. I waited at our spot in turmoil. She approached again like a serpent, only this time I was going to be the snake. Our eyes remained in tack as she approached. She had the letter in her hand and instantly told me how sweet it was. I stood in silence.
'Yeah, about that letter...
I preceded to slip into darkness. I told her that I had been blinded by the moment, and had not really had time to let my emotions sink in. I did still respect her face's team chemistry, but I couldn't go through with the rest. I told her a grade 9 and grade 11 could never work. I broke it off and we went our separate ways.
The next 3 years of high school were a romantic wash. I couldn't love. But my coolness grew exponentially. University I was even cooler. Every year that has gone by I have become cooler, but have grown less in tack with love.
I made a deal with the devil. Coolness for love. I can become best friends with any guy, no matter how cool her is, almost instantly. At Ohio State my best friends were both on the football team (which to anyone who has been to Ohio knows they are cooler than celebrities)
The worst part of it all is that the guy who ran through the school blabbing about my love letter, ended up dating that girl. In fact he was her first love.
BUT. 11 years later I have finally felt a pulse....like a hand out of the mud.
I would always let girls know how they made me feel and just how vulnerable I was to their magic. In fact, if I liked a girl older and completely out of my league I would still pursue her. My methods were poems and kind gestures. Vulnerability and creativity; the deadliest combo.
When I turned 16 something happened; I lost my ability to love. For the next 10 years I was still able to engage in meaningless sexcapades (although few and far between), some worthy of memory, but many that were unfullfilling and with partners that didn't rival the ones I had in the past. At 16 things went cold.
As the oldest born, I was first to transfer out of private elementary school into a public high school. Needless to say this wasn't an easy experience. In fact, for grade 9 and 10 I went by virtually unnoticed. I skateboarded and still romanticized with girls from my old school. During this time I had a few girls try to pursue me, and I even had a brief stint dating the coolest girl in the grade, but I was dumped by her when she was told I wasn't 'cool'. We had nothing in common anyway, so I wasn't hurt by this lost love. I was however hurt by the idea of not being cool. In fact, it hurt too much. This would prove to be pivotal.
Then the beginning of grade 11.
My heart began to flutter like a helicopter seed falling from a tree in the autumn wind. A beautiful girl had caught my eye in the cafeteria. She was a 9er. I was instantly in love.
(Also this year , I had began to get cooler as I started to smoke weed, and it was discovered that I was really good at drawing pictures of people.)
I went home that night and wrote my new target a love letter. The letter to end all letters. I spilled my heart. I told her about her eyes, and her nose, and her mouth. I mentioned how all three clearly enjoyed working with each other because they displayed such a collaborative symmetry. Almost as if they completed each others senses..es. I told her about how she moved. How she slittered and shifted gracefully like a serpent. In fact almost exactly like a serpent.. The letter was in hand writing on 1995 lined paper and placed strategically in her locker, folded with the precision of an oragamyist. Knowing the power of my love letters, I simply sat back confidently awaiting her response.
She liked me to. She told my brother, also a niner that she liked me, and that she would indeed meet with me at the same spot we had first made eye contact. The wheels were in motion, and all I had to do was sit back and wait.
I sat outside the cafeteria, too excited to go to class. 20 minutes before we were to meet something happened. One of the coolest guys in grade 11 had found out about my letter. His younger sister, was friends with a friend of my 'soon to be love' and she had recited a few lines from the poem to him. Like a town cryer, he ran through the school yelling about how I am a 'Fag'. Almost instantly people were pointing and laughing at me. "What a loser" "How could someone write a love letter to a niner?!". I was instantly bombarded and almost beat up. I had to make a decision. Do I keep my coolness or do I fall in love????
Luckily she was a good girl and had gone to geography class that morning and had missed the callings. I waited at our spot in turmoil. She approached again like a serpent, only this time I was going to be the snake. Our eyes remained in tack as she approached. She had the letter in her hand and instantly told me how sweet it was. I stood in silence.
'Yeah, about that letter...
I preceded to slip into darkness. I told her that I had been blinded by the moment, and had not really had time to let my emotions sink in. I did still respect her face's team chemistry, but I couldn't go through with the rest. I told her a grade 9 and grade 11 could never work. I broke it off and we went our separate ways.
The next 3 years of high school were a romantic wash. I couldn't love. But my coolness grew exponentially. University I was even cooler. Every year that has gone by I have become cooler, but have grown less in tack with love.
I made a deal with the devil. Coolness for love. I can become best friends with any guy, no matter how cool her is, almost instantly. At Ohio State my best friends were both on the football team (which to anyone who has been to Ohio knows they are cooler than celebrities)
The worst part of it all is that the guy who ran through the school blabbing about my love letter, ended up dating that girl. In fact he was her first love.
BUT. 11 years later I have finally felt a pulse....like a hand out of the mud.
Tears # 5: you go girl
When the reality TV show 'contests' first came out everyone wanted to know what horrible insult the third judge was going to throw out. People wanted to watch the bad performers get insulted probably because it validated that they too could be a critic. However, as is life, things evolve. Now when I watch the show I prefer to hear the judges congratulate a contestant.
For example.
Conor sits at home and watches 'So you think you can dance'. On TV, Contestant Sarah moves with extreme grace. Her face swells with emotion as her body contorts and floats to the Cello. She lands, she jumps, she flips, she spins, she wins....
The music ends and she takes a moment to compose herself then approaches the front of the stage to be judged clearly emotionally moved by her performance.
Judge number 1: WOW!!! WOW WOW!!!!Girl, SARAH SARAH SARAH you are truly what this competition is all about. You had grace, you have beauty. The way you moved reminded me of a young Jane Rivera. I am, truly moved right now.. Just, just wow.
Sarah: thank you, thank you...
Conor (watching at home): good job Sarah! God you're beautiful. This guy is going to love her as well...
Judge 2: I agree WOW. Sarah you are amazing. The way you maintained your balanced and poise. We have had a lot of dancers today that just move, and where technically sound, but you girl, you made up your own technique. And look at your legs.
Conor: incredible.
Judge 2: They are amazing. Girl, you go!
Conor: (tearing up) you go Sarah! you go!
Conor and Sarah both wait in angst as the 3rd judge (nasty British dance mogul) clears his throat.
Judge 3: Sarah darling. I am going to have to say. I have seen lots of dancer. Some with talent, some with incredible work ethic. And to be honest, you have really left me no choice but to TOTALLY AGREE WITH MY FELLOW JUDGES YOU WHERE EXACTLY WHAT THIS COMPETITION IS ALL ABOUT. A STUNNING BEAUTY AND WOW WHAT A DANCER!
Conor: (fully tearing now) Fuck yeah she is!
Judge 3: I mean really brilliant.
Conor and Sarah both shed tears together.
Judge 3: I hope to see more dancers like you in this competition. I look forward to following your career, because it will be a good one. Great work girl. See you in Vegas.
Conor and Sarah (both wipe tears): Thank you !!!
For example.
Conor sits at home and watches 'So you think you can dance'. On TV, Contestant Sarah moves with extreme grace. Her face swells with emotion as her body contorts and floats to the Cello. She lands, she jumps, she flips, she spins, she wins....
The music ends and she takes a moment to compose herself then approaches the front of the stage to be judged clearly emotionally moved by her performance.
Judge number 1: WOW!!! WOW WOW!!!!Girl, SARAH SARAH SARAH you are truly what this competition is all about. You had grace, you have beauty. The way you moved reminded me of a young Jane Rivera. I am, truly moved right now.. Just, just wow.
Sarah: thank you, thank you...
Conor (watching at home): good job Sarah! God you're beautiful. This guy is going to love her as well...
Judge 2: I agree WOW. Sarah you are amazing. The way you maintained your balanced and poise. We have had a lot of dancers today that just move, and where technically sound, but you girl, you made up your own technique. And look at your legs.
Conor: incredible.
Judge 2: They are amazing. Girl, you go!
Conor: (tearing up) you go Sarah! you go!
Conor and Sarah both wait in angst as the 3rd judge (nasty British dance mogul) clears his throat.
Judge 3: Sarah darling. I am going to have to say. I have seen lots of dancer. Some with talent, some with incredible work ethic. And to be honest, you have really left me no choice but to TOTALLY AGREE WITH MY FELLOW JUDGES YOU WHERE EXACTLY WHAT THIS COMPETITION IS ALL ABOUT. A STUNNING BEAUTY AND WOW WHAT A DANCER!
Conor: (fully tearing now) Fuck yeah she is!
Judge 3: I mean really brilliant.
Conor and Sarah both shed tears together.
Judge 3: I hope to see more dancers like you in this competition. I look forward to following your career, because it will be a good one. Great work girl. See you in Vegas.
Conor and Sarah (both wipe tears): Thank you !!!
Monday, April 6, 2009
Tears #4: Nostalgia
two years ago I sat down to watch 'Transformers the movie' in a small cinema in Barrie. It was exciting enough that this film was going to send me back to my youth, but to do so in an 80's style cinema was truly special. I was a huge fan of the cartoon growing up, particularly the main character Optimus Prime. Other than those very vague years between the ages of 4 and 8 years old I have no other attachment to the transformers world but, nevertheless, it holds a place in my heart. Sitting down to watch this movie, I was most excited about what the robots where going to look like, having already discredited the movies as another blockbuster heartless piece of junk. After all Michael Bay is better at giving his audience seizures than pleasure.
the movie proved to be boring and almost incomprehensible. Halfway through the film, Optimus Prime was unveiled. He steps out and the sound effects and rumbling instantly brought me back to my living room as a child. He spoke one sentence and I began to cry. I was truly overwhelmed with memory as I transformed from tough guy to little kid. The nostalgia was too much to bear.
Nostalgia is a feeling we get when we remember something from our youth. Good nostalgia
(positive memories) is a warm feeling of 'better days'. Even the smell of plastic reminds me of the 1980s because of my array of plastic action heroes growing up.
Optimus Prime was my god. He made sense to me when I was a kid. A robot that saved universes is a total fathomable thing for a child. It makes much more sense than a down on his luck investor who wants to supply for his family. Knowing this about children will help you deal with them greatly. Also knowing this about ourselves, and how powerful nostalgia is, can help us understand each other. We want to go back to a time when it was realistic to be completely unrealistic, because reality was too hard to grasp. As children we go through a time where reality doesn't make sense. It's too hard to comprehend. What makes more sense is the mystical abilities of robots. The stuff we really want to know more about.
It is as if we are introduced to this planet. We experience it and then right away begin questioning our limits. Immediately we are attracted to everything we cannot do. Eventually, we have to come back down to earth (most of us) and live within the boundaries of reality. Many people grow to accept this so much, that they discredit themselves as non creative and decide to ignore children for the rest of their lives.
when we are children we ask questions. Why can't I fly? What is it like on the moon? How can I somehow get a million dollars build a rocket ship and then fly to another dimension?
We follow statistics of superheros. Gambits stamina: 8, agility: 7, creativity 8.5.
Nostalgia is an admittance of a vulnerable time. A time we wish we lived in and are truly sad to have left. whether we were vulnerable or not, we feel vulnerable in retrospect. Probably becuase we learned from that experience. Since we, as humans, secretly admire vulnerability and wish for a return to vulnerability, when we get overwhelmed with nostalgia we cry. It is an excuse to become vulnerable. Thus, I was truly vulnerable to Optimus Prime at the age of 25, because I was truly vulnerable to him at 5. Strawberry shortcake the movie will surely make me ball.
the movie proved to be boring and almost incomprehensible. Halfway through the film, Optimus Prime was unveiled. He steps out and the sound effects and rumbling instantly brought me back to my living room as a child. He spoke one sentence and I began to cry. I was truly overwhelmed with memory as I transformed from tough guy to little kid. The nostalgia was too much to bear.
Nostalgia is a feeling we get when we remember something from our youth. Good nostalgia
(positive memories) is a warm feeling of 'better days'. Even the smell of plastic reminds me of the 1980s because of my array of plastic action heroes growing up.
Optimus Prime was my god. He made sense to me when I was a kid. A robot that saved universes is a total fathomable thing for a child. It makes much more sense than a down on his luck investor who wants to supply for his family. Knowing this about children will help you deal with them greatly. Also knowing this about ourselves, and how powerful nostalgia is, can help us understand each other. We want to go back to a time when it was realistic to be completely unrealistic, because reality was too hard to grasp. As children we go through a time where reality doesn't make sense. It's too hard to comprehend. What makes more sense is the mystical abilities of robots. The stuff we really want to know more about.
It is as if we are introduced to this planet. We experience it and then right away begin questioning our limits. Immediately we are attracted to everything we cannot do. Eventually, we have to come back down to earth (most of us) and live within the boundaries of reality. Many people grow to accept this so much, that they discredit themselves as non creative and decide to ignore children for the rest of their lives.
when we are children we ask questions. Why can't I fly? What is it like on the moon? How can I somehow get a million dollars build a rocket ship and then fly to another dimension?
We follow statistics of superheros. Gambits stamina: 8, agility: 7, creativity 8.5.
Nostalgia is an admittance of a vulnerable time. A time we wish we lived in and are truly sad to have left. whether we were vulnerable or not, we feel vulnerable in retrospect. Probably becuase we learned from that experience. Since we, as humans, secretly admire vulnerability and wish for a return to vulnerability, when we get overwhelmed with nostalgia we cry. It is an excuse to become vulnerable. Thus, I was truly vulnerable to Optimus Prime at the age of 25, because I was truly vulnerable to him at 5. Strawberry shortcake the movie will surely make me ball.
Crying into a Beer
2 years ago I went to London England. I spent 10 days with my best friend and we partied as hard as we could for 10 days straight. Really late nights. Sleeping on an air matress. Rain. I ate poorly, I drank a ton, (indulged in some foreign substances) and didn't work out. By the 10th day, I think it was safe to say my equilibrium was way off. My skin was greasy and bumpy. My face was swollen and fat. My hair was falling out. My belly ached and protruded. I had heart burn and razor burn. My hands were chapped and my teeth hurt. I was a complete mess. On top of this I have a fear of flying and had to wake up for an 8 am flight home. Needless to say I was a complete ulgy inside and out on the tenth day.
It was 530 in the morning and I found myself mixing Kaluha with a 5 dollar coffee as I slopped through customs with my sunglasses on. As if 10 days of madness wasn't enough, I was now drinking before I got on an plane before the sun had come up fully. As I was walking through customs an older couple, who were clearly Canadian made a comment along the lines of "Hey how are you" to me. For no reason other than because of my Canadian ginger hair I presume. I smiled and felt my eyes water up. The couple reminded me of parents. Not my parents, but they possessed a feeling of wanting to nurture me. This projected nurturing feeling made me feel helpless and cared for.
Now, in London people are mean. they don't say hi, they don't let you go ahead in line, and they have no patiences for slow walkers. I, being a slow walker, got kicked (actually kicked) a few times by people behind me in a rush. This Canadina couple walked slower than I did as we passed an Air Canada sign. At this point I began to cry beyond my control. I tried my best to stop the tears. It was similiar to throwing up. I rushed to the bathroom and let out tears in the stall for 5 minutes. At the time, I interpreted it as tears of joy mixed with a weak mental state related to my 10 day binge. I went to the airport bar, face even more swollen, for a few beers.
While sitting in O Neills bar I had 3 beers, put my sunglasses on, and cried for 1 hour straight. I had no idea why I was crying and I couldn't control it. I was going along for the ride. I had no thoughts racing through my head and no desire to stop the tears. I was emitting emotion. I just sat there drinking while my eyes cried. There of course were endomorphins racing through my body, causing euphoria. It felt as if I was cleansing.
I have to call these nurturing tears. I was admitting defeat, but was OK with it and my feelings of nationalism were nurturing me. The friendly moment with the canadian couple made me feel like a 5 year old kid lost at the shopping mall. Defeated by the world, but at the same time boggled to be a part of it. As a Canadian, I was happy to be from a country that had space; had room for me. A place that I knew and could return to and walk slowly.
Tears #3: tears of helplessness: accepting your past and aknowledging an uncertain future.
It was 530 in the morning and I found myself mixing Kaluha with a 5 dollar coffee as I slopped through customs with my sunglasses on. As if 10 days of madness wasn't enough, I was now drinking before I got on an plane before the sun had come up fully. As I was walking through customs an older couple, who were clearly Canadian made a comment along the lines of "Hey how are you" to me. For no reason other than because of my Canadian ginger hair I presume. I smiled and felt my eyes water up. The couple reminded me of parents. Not my parents, but they possessed a feeling of wanting to nurture me. This projected nurturing feeling made me feel helpless and cared for.
Now, in London people are mean. they don't say hi, they don't let you go ahead in line, and they have no patiences for slow walkers. I, being a slow walker, got kicked (actually kicked) a few times by people behind me in a rush. This Canadina couple walked slower than I did as we passed an Air Canada sign. At this point I began to cry beyond my control. I tried my best to stop the tears. It was similiar to throwing up. I rushed to the bathroom and let out tears in the stall for 5 minutes. At the time, I interpreted it as tears of joy mixed with a weak mental state related to my 10 day binge. I went to the airport bar, face even more swollen, for a few beers.
While sitting in O Neills bar I had 3 beers, put my sunglasses on, and cried for 1 hour straight. I had no idea why I was crying and I couldn't control it. I was going along for the ride. I had no thoughts racing through my head and no desire to stop the tears. I was emitting emotion. I just sat there drinking while my eyes cried. There of course were endomorphins racing through my body, causing euphoria. It felt as if I was cleansing.
I have to call these nurturing tears. I was admitting defeat, but was OK with it and my feelings of nationalism were nurturing me. The friendly moment with the canadian couple made me feel like a 5 year old kid lost at the shopping mall. Defeated by the world, but at the same time boggled to be a part of it. As a Canadian, I was happy to be from a country that had space; had room for me. A place that I knew and could return to and walk slowly.
Tears #3: tears of helplessness: accepting your past and aknowledging an uncertain future.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
40 ways to cry : number 1 and 2. Vulnerability and Admiration
I cried 2 times this week. They were amazing experiences.
Vulnerability: true beauty has beautiful intentions.
The first time I cried was on Thursday with my dog at the 'animal hospital'. She is 13 years old, which translates to 91 in dog years, and I had to bring her in because she wasn't moving. She was just lying on her matt, doing her best 'I am hiding the fact that I'm injured because I don't want to draw attention to potential predators and threaten the pack' routine. What made me cry was not the fact that we were discussing the possibility of putting her down. I wasn't sad about her dying. She's old, she's had a great life, it's her time. In fact, at first I was upset with myself that I wasn't crying. "Why aren't I being emotionally effected by this situation?" "I should be crying, fuck, I have no emotions." "I am a robot" I almost went the whole time without crying, but when the doctor asked Maggie (my dog) to step on the scale and she co-operated with zero restraint I began to cry. He simply pointed to the scale and she walked over to it, panting and limping, stood right in the middle of it and waited. It was such an amazing event. Here is an animal showing no fear of death. doing what she knows best; helping the pack.
Looking back I think these were tears triggered by her sense of dependency. She is so dependant on me and the fact that she doesn't talk, all mixed with the moment made her so honourable. She is accepting of life. She trusts me. She loves me. I love her. I was crying, but I wasn't sad. In fact, I think the word sad is a generic word that has put a governor on our emotional perspectives. Like Inuits with 40 different types of snow, there are 40 (at least) different emotions that can make you cry other than sadness. I don't even know the emotion I was experiencing. There is probably a word for it. Here is an animal that acts on it's instincts and wants nothing more than to for me to be happy.
The tears felt amazing, it was a euphoric sensation. A sense of relief and a catalyst for true love and emotion. A release. Not to sound sexual, but almost orgasmic. I was crying, and showing her respect by doing so. I am so lucky that she is still around and that I am allowed to spend everyday with a ball of love like her.
Admiration: embracing strength.
The second time I cried was today. I shed a few tears. I was at the Toronto Raptors basketball game and I met a woman and her two young girls. Her youngest daughter, probably 10 at oldest, is addicted to reading. A cute little bookworm, clearly dressed by her mom, and clearly in her own world. She reads books over and over again, (Twilight 21 times!)and she's reading at a 12th grade level. Her mom was actually concerned about this addiction claiming teachers have to confiscate books because she can't put them down. I, of course, found this to be the coolest thing ever. I told the girl that she looked cute in her 'scarf' and that since her hands where full (with food) that rather than shake hands we should just think about shaking hands and that was enough. about a half hour later the little girl sprinted over to me, put a key chain in my hand, and sprinted away. The key chain said 'Connor' on it and it was a piece of Raptors fanfare. I glanced at her mom, who was across the room, and she mouthed 'You have an admirer'. I watered up and actually shed tears. A few actually. Her actions were so cute. so innocent. And the fact that she was addicted to reading books, made her the perfect person to show me acceptance. It was as if a true literary was telling me I was ok. Someone who spends most of her time lost in science fiction fantasy and made up realities, was expressing kindness in the non-fiction world. she wasn't adhering to the emotional governors that society has blocked us with. The social awkwardness of doing something genuine is a side effect of a comparative environment. Comparison is rooted in displeasure (ANYWAY). She wanted to do something nice and she did. It was so pure and the fact that she was so embarrassed, but would endure all those nerves and risk embarrassment made it an amazing experience. Truly admirable.
Two situations in which crying gave me a sense of closure. In the presences of sincerity one can really enjoy tears. Tears of admiration is one of the best feelings I have experienced. I admire vulnerability. Letting yourself be vulnerable is repressed in today's society, but it is one of the most beautiful things about being human.
This is the intro, to my newest subject. Crying. I will generate 40 different ways to cry that aren't related to the cliche 'SAD'.
40 Types of tears: first 10
Admiration,Trust, vulnerability, innocence, sincerity, honesty, empathy, creativity, humility, resilience.
Vulnerability: true beauty has beautiful intentions.
The first time I cried was on Thursday with my dog at the 'animal hospital'. She is 13 years old, which translates to 91 in dog years, and I had to bring her in because she wasn't moving. She was just lying on her matt, doing her best 'I am hiding the fact that I'm injured because I don't want to draw attention to potential predators and threaten the pack' routine. What made me cry was not the fact that we were discussing the possibility of putting her down. I wasn't sad about her dying. She's old, she's had a great life, it's her time. In fact, at first I was upset with myself that I wasn't crying. "Why aren't I being emotionally effected by this situation?" "I should be crying, fuck, I have no emotions." "I am a robot" I almost went the whole time without crying, but when the doctor asked Maggie (my dog) to step on the scale and she co-operated with zero restraint I began to cry. He simply pointed to the scale and she walked over to it, panting and limping, stood right in the middle of it and waited. It was such an amazing event. Here is an animal showing no fear of death. doing what she knows best; helping the pack.
Looking back I think these were tears triggered by her sense of dependency. She is so dependant on me and the fact that she doesn't talk, all mixed with the moment made her so honourable. She is accepting of life. She trusts me. She loves me. I love her. I was crying, but I wasn't sad. In fact, I think the word sad is a generic word that has put a governor on our emotional perspectives. Like Inuits with 40 different types of snow, there are 40 (at least) different emotions that can make you cry other than sadness. I don't even know the emotion I was experiencing. There is probably a word for it. Here is an animal that acts on it's instincts and wants nothing more than to for me to be happy.
The tears felt amazing, it was a euphoric sensation. A sense of relief and a catalyst for true love and emotion. A release. Not to sound sexual, but almost orgasmic. I was crying, and showing her respect by doing so. I am so lucky that she is still around and that I am allowed to spend everyday with a ball of love like her.
Admiration: embracing strength.
The second time I cried was today. I shed a few tears. I was at the Toronto Raptors basketball game and I met a woman and her two young girls. Her youngest daughter, probably 10 at oldest, is addicted to reading. A cute little bookworm, clearly dressed by her mom, and clearly in her own world. She reads books over and over again, (Twilight 21 times!)and she's reading at a 12th grade level. Her mom was actually concerned about this addiction claiming teachers have to confiscate books because she can't put them down. I, of course, found this to be the coolest thing ever. I told the girl that she looked cute in her 'scarf' and that since her hands where full (with food) that rather than shake hands we should just think about shaking hands and that was enough. about a half hour later the little girl sprinted over to me, put a key chain in my hand, and sprinted away. The key chain said 'Connor' on it and it was a piece of Raptors fanfare. I glanced at her mom, who was across the room, and she mouthed 'You have an admirer'. I watered up and actually shed tears. A few actually. Her actions were so cute. so innocent. And the fact that she was addicted to reading books, made her the perfect person to show me acceptance. It was as if a true literary was telling me I was ok. Someone who spends most of her time lost in science fiction fantasy and made up realities, was expressing kindness in the non-fiction world. she wasn't adhering to the emotional governors that society has blocked us with. The social awkwardness of doing something genuine is a side effect of a comparative environment. Comparison is rooted in displeasure (ANYWAY). She wanted to do something nice and she did. It was so pure and the fact that she was so embarrassed, but would endure all those nerves and risk embarrassment made it an amazing experience. Truly admirable.
Two situations in which crying gave me a sense of closure. In the presences of sincerity one can really enjoy tears. Tears of admiration is one of the best feelings I have experienced. I admire vulnerability. Letting yourself be vulnerable is repressed in today's society, but it is one of the most beautiful things about being human.
This is the intro, to my newest subject. Crying. I will generate 40 different ways to cry that aren't related to the cliche 'SAD'.
40 Types of tears: first 10
Admiration,Trust, vulnerability, innocence, sincerity, honesty, empathy, creativity, humility, resilience.
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