Well, as most of you probably know, it was sunny today in our fair town of Vancouver, BC. This detail by itself is not amazing but, for those of us who call Vancouver home, it is pretty darn cool. (Oh, and I walked in a shoe for the first time in months. Did I mention that yet?)

Yes, I did. I walked while wearing proper shoes on both feet. I won't be doing that again for another couple of weeks because it hurt like a bastard once I had the shoe on. Hopefully, the surgeons from the St. Paul's Foot and Ankle clinic won't ever read this but -- I assure them -- no damage was done. It was just an experiment for an hour to see how my foot was feeling about the whole "shoe thing" and it told me quite happily that putting on a shoe (is hard) and walking around (is not too bad) is something I need to wait on.

But why would I subject myself to such a torture? (You really need to break your ankle to understand the pain you are able to cause.)  We've had a pretty grey winter (more so than usual) and this town has lacked a decent sunny day for what seems like months. There were a few moments in early December where we didn't feel entirely in the dark but that was such a long time ago we have collectively forgotten. You'd really have to live here to appreciate how much sun one needs or desires.

But it was such a nice day, how could I not entertain the idea of stepping out and getting "some D". I won't do that again, however. The pain of getting the shoe on was crazy insane. I never would have guessed that the process of putting on a shoe would cause so much searing pain.

I think, perhaps, a new set of shoes is in order. Something to treat my ankles with. They have worked over time these past couple of months and deserve something with fur and comfy goodness. Any suggestions?

There is something disturbing about losing control. I don't know about you but I am not a fan of being unable to control my mental state. I am quite good at it. I am able to talk myself in and out of different mental spaces and I like to feel like I am "in control" of myself in any situation. I don't want to control the situation, just how I am reacting to any experiences I encounter.

But not so much these days.

I have mentioned this before about the whole "not being in control" thing. I don't remember when I mentioned these thoughts (even though I know I wrote them down somewhere)...

"I wrote them down so I wouldn't have to remember."
-- Henry Jones Senior

...but I know I have, you know, thought them. This is what I mean. I don't have the control I normally do. It is either pain, depression, or something worse. Maybe i am being infested with alien bugs intent on taking me over.

Yes, that must be it. Of course it is, Shane. Alien bugs. What else could it be?

It would be almost simpler if it were alien bugs. I wouldn't feel down, out of control, or... anything. I think that is the saddest part of this whole situation. I feel useless and I just want to go to sleep until my ankle is solid as a metal-infused rock again. I just can't help but feel this way.

But I am glad I am documenting it. It makes for fascinating reading, yes? NO? Damn you all! Daaaaamn you! But I know I was thinking about writing something else regarding this loss of control but I can't remember.

Oh, yes. Hot nurses. I mentioned the other day about how it would be awesome to have a hot nurse bathe me. Someone suggested that one's spouse do it.

Yah. No.

Let me fill you in on a little secret. When you are grumpy, smelly, and just trying to get through each day with some dignity -- you don't want the person taking care of you all day (cough, all week, er, month long) to wash you. It just isn't in the cards. At this very moment in time, I feel the least sexy individual on the face of the planet. I have never felt so incredibly horrific. I don't want someone I care a great deal about to look upon me any more than she has to.

I want some hot nurses to do it. I want them to look upon my fat, bloated, not-quite-a-corpse to look upon my greatness and bathe me as if I were a Greek god in the flesh. Yes. It is very weird to feel this way about my broken body but, dammit, I want to feel a little more desirable and why not dream about women (I don't have any chance with at all) to wash me down.

Yes. This is what I am talking about. The loss of logic. I hate that. I don't mind a fantasy now and then but can't I have a fantasy where I don't feel gross and broken?

I have been attempting a couple of half days the past two days. But I have failed miserably. I have attempt to do some work this week since last week was a write off but I am still finding it difficult to sleep now.

Oh, did I mention this? I don't think I did. Since I acquired my new cast, my ability to sleep has been impossible. I can't sleep with it off and I can't sleep with it on. I have been getting maybe an hour here or there but fractured sleep isn't sleep at all in my opinion. I don't think anyone would agree with me more. So, I am back to feeling like a useless dork and having to survive on little sleep and what work I can manage. In other words, I am still a bump on a log. Who knew I would become so agitated at sitting still. I guess I am having to learn a new skill. I thought for a while that it would be EASY to sit around and do nothing all day. I quote a famous adventurer:

"You sound like someone who has everything they got and, now, they don't want what they got."

Yah, it is true. I think that deep down, there is a small part of us that wants to just sit around and watch Married With Children all day. I don't see a problem with that. But, now that I am being told that is all I am supposed to be doing -- it is driving me slightly nuts.

Anyway. Today, I got a short treat. I was allowed to go out. I was allowed to leave the house and visit the outside world. Allyson is not happy about this because it has only been a couple of weeks since my surgery and she is not wanting me to injure myself but I think she recognized that I was going nuts at home. I was running out of books. I was complaining like a two year old child. Honestly, I don't think she could take it any more. I wanted attachment. I wanted to see the outside world just once this week.

Thus, I was granted a short breakfast visit to The Edge Cafe. It was glorious! I love that place. The people are great, the food is decent, and it wasn't my sofa. It is the small things we fall in love with, isn't it?

While I was there, I was able to get a photograph on my tablet of me looking very... well, me.

The last week and a bit I have been doing nothing but attempting to recover my sanity. It is very surprising just how quickly we can lose it. Since the surgery, my body has done into crazy repair time. I didn't know this would happen (we've all skinned our knee or bumped our funny bones, we tend to recover quickly, yes?) with such intensity. If there is something I have learned about myself it is that I don't understand my body as well as I think I do.

I have been high on pain medication and attempting to function properly. Have I been able to? Not in the slightest. I don't think I was prepared for this. I don't think I was prepared for any of it.

This is also the issue. My ability to think clearly is hampered by the very drug that is trying to keep me happy.

And confusion.

My word. I don't remember the last time I was confused this way. As a matter of fact, I don't remember ever feeling this confused. I do not recommend it. It is terrifying and amusing all in one tiny package. I tried to enjoy it the other day when I was thinking something stupid like "you should work a bit" or "it would be nice to take a walk".

Both are equally dumb ideas when you try to remember the last time you took a leak. I remember thinking that very thought just a few days ago. I was deep into a book (and feeling guilty that I wasn't working) and finding it impossible to follow the story line. It is a book I've read before but, hey, I couldn't recall any details what-so-ever. I was thinking about putting down the book when I mentally jumped into an internal monologue wondering when the last time I had taken a pee.

Normally, you don't really obsess over things like bathroom breaks but I was intense in my thinking. I was wondering about what time, when I had drank something last, and how would I get to the bathroom without crutches (yes, I had my crutches only two feet away). I spent some time going over the logistics of what surfaces I would lean on, would I need to crawl, or should I attempt hopping on one leg.

It was just crazy thinking. I also hear it is quite normal when you're recovering. I have to say, this sitting on the couch all day long thing is getting old. Guilt is creeping in from all sides (working, helping around the house, creative writing) and I have to keep telling myself that I should be taking better care of my ankle. I need to let it heal properly otherwise there will be problems down the road.

Blarg.

There is nothing like hanging out with people. I have been sitting here for a week now. I have't gone anywhere. I have done anything. I haven't made plans. I haven't had beer. I haven't done a damn thing but feel lazy and out of sorts.

But that is the guilt talking.

But I had some good friends over today and we attempted to play The Game of Thrones board game. I hear this game is amazing once it gets going but we didn't get very far. It took far too long to unpack and I don't think we got through a single reading of the instructions.

It looks great, though. I can't wait to play it. But I have been tired. I think I am tired now. I should go to sleep.

Tomorrow, my friends. Tomorrow.

Surgery is over and I am writing this during a lucid moment. It is early Saturday morning and Mike Vardy just left.

Yes. He just left. The poor guy. More on that later.

The surgery went well (and I think I will talk more about it in the coming weeks) and, over all, things are looking good. I arrived at the hospital yesterday morning and was quickly processed and was naked within fifteen minutes of my arrival. I hadn't thought about the whole "getting operated on" bit of the hospital visit and I was a little shocked that I was having to give up my clothes almost upon arrival. It is standard procedure but I did have a moment of wonder. But only just a moment.

What else? I was drugged right away with some assortment of pills. Anti-inflammatory and pain medication, I seem to recall. I was then wheeled into the pain management area where they assess you and provide you with all kinds of options for sedation. I was surprised to learn that they, like me, didn't love the idea of putting me entirely under. They wanted me to wake up sooner and without the standard groggy experience. This made me happy.

I was told about the "nerve block" procedure. Essentially, you are jabbed with a needle (a bloody long needle) and injected with freezing near the major nerves in your body. It cuts off the feeling in your entire leg for something like sixteen hours. I opted for this and the mild sedation.

Two hours later, I was groggy and waking up in the recovery room. I wasn't groggy for that long, which was a nice thing. The last time I was sedated I was very young. Yet, I remember that experience well. I cried.

Skipping ahead to this afternoon and evening, Mike dropped in on his way to a conference in Oregon. We had arranged his visit some time ago (pre-ankle breakage) and we felt a little bad with me being on the couch and stoned. But it was the early morning where I hoped I didn't disturb him. My nerve block ran out around 4am and I started to toss and turn and make all kinds of moaning noises. Lucky for me, the drugs were nearby and I think I crashed out quickly. I think I am not making very much sense. I am writing this and starting to drift, mentally, anyway.

I am glad he came. It was relaxing to have him around as I was feeling a little off considering everything. But then he was off to the conference I really wanted to go to this year. Hopefully, it will be back next year.

I must sleep.

I am not wanting to sound dramatic but I am scared. I don't like surgery but, more importantly, I don't like feeling a loss of control over my body. I think there must be a number of people in the world (if not, well, everyone) that don't like that feeling. That feeling where you are not in complete control over your body nor your mind.

Oh, right, by the way, instead of having the surgery next week, they called this morning. There was a cancellation on Friday (tomorrow) and I am the next in line. Under the knife I go. Back to this irrational fear. I hate it. I feel guilty for feeling apprehensive about this operation. I wouldn't call the surgery "major" but they still need to knock me unconscious and dig around in my ankle innards.

It is bizarre to me that I feel even the slightest bit guilty. I know that I will have to take time off and I will need to heal up a bit before I get "jump into 2013" but I still feel guilty. There are so many other awful things going on in the world that my little problem seems incredibly small. Yet, I think it is more than that, I feel guilty that I am hurt. Everyone gets hurt from time to time but ... NOT ME. Ack, now that I have written it out, it sounds callous and selfish. To feel guilty about something like this. Guilty for being not careful enough, not being in control enough? I am not making sense and I will agree that, maybe, just maybe I am overreacting.

Then again... apparently, I am going to have to rest up for a few weeks and work from the couch. Oh, no, will I be able to make it up the stairs to our loft? Oh, no. There are so many things that I hadn't thought of. There are so many things I need to do... I can't afford to take time off. Grumble. (I have to suck it up, right?)

I don't know if I will have time to write anything tomorrow. I have been told the next couple of days will be hard and I will need to sleep a lot and get stoned on some pain killers. Weeeeeeee.

I am off to follow the drug addled white rabbit... see you all on the flip side.

Last year, I seem to remember that 2012 would be the best year ever. It was "my year". I can't say it was a stellar year but it wasn't bad. It was fairly average, actually. I did some cool things, wrote a bunch of letters (although, I fell out of that a bit and intend to rectify this in the coming weeks), got back into role playing games with some cool people, and was very busy at the office.

I also topped off the year with a serious injury. Ack. Not the greatest way to close out the year. It is safe to say that 2012 was the year that ended with a crack.

But, now, we're heading back to Vancouver and back into the reality of the world. No more holidays to cushion my ankle in and, since I can't move around a whole lot, I am wondering what the next step on my road to recovery is. My ankle is still broken, you see. I can't lay back and let my ankle heal the way it is. I've been told by two doctors now that I need my ankle bone "fixated" because it will never heal on its own. It is too fragile and I will keep making it worse should I attempt to walk on it again.

I wonder what an injury like this would be like a few thousand years ago. It must have brought lives to a screeching halt. Granted, a the average lifespan of a human male has risen quite a bit over the last number of centuries. The average human male (after having escaped childhood) was only about thirty for the longest time and, if you survived childhood and were living in fairly modern place, you may hit your sixties without much effort. But to break an ankle must have been a trying experience if not potentially life ending.

The doctors have told me that the injury I have is "pretty standard". It is something skiers experience a lot. "It is a common skiing injury. You should tell people that you took air and landed wrong. Hitting that tree in Regina could be embarrassing." The first doctor said.

He said it as a joke, obviously, but I did think for a brief second that making up some dramatic story about how I broke my ankle may be in my best interest. I don't know why. I am not embarrassed about how my ankle was injured but, really, if you have a chance to make up a dramatic story with fire, explosions, and gun fire -- why not? Unfortunately, I was in Regina. I could not imagine doing this in a foreign country. That would have been immensely stupid and potentially expensive.

In either case, I enter 2013 with a broken ankle and a sense that my year is starting off at a crawl. I will be home tonight and I will know more tomorrow.

We are heading home tonight. I don't remember exactly when but I will land in Victoria sometime around midnight. It was a cheaper flight and we avoided some awful "milk run" flight. I have heard stories of such flights where you stop just about anywhere a plane can land to pick up and drop off passengers, mail, livestock, beer.

Oh, yes, beer. I won't be drinking any beer after December 31st, 2012 for a couple of months. I was reading that beer interferes with bone growth or something. I don't know if it is true but I am not going to take any chances with my bones when I can actually encourage them to heal. Oh, yes, I have much to look forward to. I need to get back home and then try and schedule a surgery at the foot and ankle clinic. I am a little worried about when I can get the surgery done.

Did I mention there was surgery involved?

When I was at the hospital, I got a few x-rays done. They looked at them and it was determined that I had broken my medial malleolus. Essentially, this is the internal part of your ankle. You know what bump you have on the inside of your foot? That's what I broke. You don't want to break it. Not a good idea.

In order to fix this problem I have, I now have to have two titanium screws drilled into my leg bone. I realized something after writing my post yesterday. I referred in passing to healing and I thought I was clear about how this process work. (Not the healing process but when I can start this healing process.) I have come to a horrible realization. I can't do this "healing" yet.

I am still broken. My ankle, according to the x-rays at the wonderful people at the Regina hospital down the road, is four millimeters off. I have no idea what that means, actually, but it doesn't sound like a whole lot. In terms of where your bones should be, however, it is a country mile from where my ankle bone is supposed to be.

"That doesn't sound so bad." I said.

"It is a lot in terms of bones." The doctor said.

"Really? Four millimeters sounds like I could just push it back into place and begin the healing process." I said. Feeling a little cocky.

"No. You need two screws in that ankle now to put it back together and maintain stability." The doctor said with a knowing smile.Stability. Do we ever feel stable on our feet? Now, think about it. (Can't you tell? I have been thinking about this for the last few days.) Stability on your feet. It is something we take for granted. It sounds like a Doctor Seuss story featuring a disembodied leg bone hovering around the abandoned halls of a 1970's shopping mall.

"Stability, shmability. I see the floor, it says no more. To walk upon it, don't ever fake it. One little mall cop, tazes your brother with a kiss of electric fire."

Yes, I am bored. There is something to be said for watching television. Oh, did I mention the room I am in has no television? I am happy about this as I won't feel so terrible for not having the ability to do a whole lot. I am checking e-mail and bouncing around the Internet.

Reading. I should update my Good Reads account. It has been a little too long since I was there. Until tomorrow, my friends. Until tomorrow where I am convinced I will be talking about broken ankles and whining like a little girl with a skinned knee.

Oh, how I wish I had merely skinned my knee. That is all for today. I am busy trying to write and then pack. We're heading out very soon now and my trip on the plane will be like nothing I have experienced before. Wish me luck.

I was assigned "couch duty" today. I can't complain too much. In a weird way, this is how I envisioned my short holiday vacation. Sit on a sofa, eat some rich foods, drink some rich beers, and try to unwind.

But, to wish is to something, something, something...

Yesterday, I spent eight hours in the emergency ward of Pasqua Hospital here in Regina. It was the first time in a long time where I had been to any emergency ward as a patient. The last time I recall being admitted into a hospital, I was suffering from abdominal pains. I was either fourteen or sixteen, I don't remember exactly. I was admitted and they did their best to figure out what was wrong with me but, in the end, they never did. My symptoms just "went away". I think it was stress related but I don't remember what was going on in my life then. Do we ever? I don't remember half the things I was doing when I was that young.

Ugh. I feel old now.

The ride from the sledding hill (which is called Mount Pleasant or The Hill) was an adventure in pain management. Unfortunately, you can't avoid the rough ride since the roads are covered in ice and are littered with potholes. The winter climate isn't friendly to the local streets. I tried my best to "keep it together" on the way to the hospital but I don't think I was overly confident in my abilities. The pain was sharp at the beginning but, as the ride wore on, the pain gained more control over my faculties. I wanted my mommy.

Ah, yes, how I wanted my mommy. I have spoken about this before on this blog and I am not ashamed to want my mommy from time to time. I think it is a very natural thing to want to return to the comfort of a mother's arms. It was always a safe place for me and, even as an adult, I find myself just wanting the reassuring cuddle my mother still provides for me to this day. My mother is a strong lady and always was there for my when I needed her.

Of course, as I get older, I find her desire a little smothering and I do get a little "creeped out" but, really, at the end of the day who am I to deny my mother some affection. I think it is selfish of me to deny her. So, I do my best. But, now, having broken my ankle, I knew right away that (as the pain took over) I wanted nothing more than to run back to my mommy and seek a little comfort. (I am sorry, people. You know you do the same thing. If you say you don't, you're an utter liar!)

Face it people, we all want our mommies from time to time. There is nothing wrong with that. I need to learn to suck it up and so should we all. I think the world would be a better place if we all embraced our mommies once in a while and let them baby us even if just a little.

It is late and I have much more to tell you about the hospital adventure. Until tomorrow.

Man, this whole cleaning and sorting business post tearing-the-crap-out-of-your-entire-home is liberating. I keep finding bits and bobs I had made mental notes to write about but never got around to it -- or my mental notes were erased after being overwritten by some useless nerd triva.

Nerd trivia is not useless!

The things I am wanting to write about now are the 3-D glasses I made for Zachary Levi. The story isn't as creepy as it sounds. You see... we were catching up on a show we like called Chuck. The show was cute and quirky and was just a fun program to watch with friends. One night, we were happily watching a couple of episodes back to back when... tragedy struck. We encountered an episode where the broadcast looked all gibbley. The colour was off... the picture was fuzzy.

At first, I thought our television has just given up the ghost. A few minutes later (and a quick trip to Wikipedia) we discovered that the episode had been originally broadcast in 3-D. But we had a problem (as I am sure you've guessed) we didn't have any 3-D glasses. We read that the original airing had been shown right after the Super Bowl and there was some contest attached where you could have sent away for 3-D glasses after having made a purchase of six hundred bottles of Zima (or something like that). After some humming and hawing, we thought we could stomach the episode just as it was. Less than ninety sectonds, it became clear that our Chuck enjoyment was plummeting. Damn you, Super Bowl Chuck Episode!

I was determined to not let this stop us in our tracks. Off to the Internet I went. I wanted to know how to make 3-D glasses, dammit, and I wanted to know now! Like Chuck and Morgan, I am a nerd. Us nerds must stick together and not let issues such as lacking in 3-D glasses get in our way! A solution must be found! No matter how crazy insane or batshit stupid they are! There are NO dumb solutions! NERDS UNITE!

Ahem.

I quickly learned from my Interwebs search that Sharpie pens on clear plastic more-or-less are the same colours used to create the 3-D effect. Off to the local hardware store I went. I will note that, at the time, it was already 9:40pm. There is something oddly satisfying about walking around a hardware store asking:

"Excuse me, do you have Sharpie pens? Do you have them in blue and red? Do you have them in a darker shade?"

"Yah, it is for this show called Chuck. They made an episode in 3-D and I want to make 3-D glasses."

"Why are you laughing at me?"

"I will remember that one the next time I crawl off your mom."

"You're calling who? The police?"

I collected my pens and headed home. The hard part was about to begin. What do I use for the lenses? The Internet recommended flat, clear plastic. Something clear enough to allow light to flow through the coloured lenses but rigid enough to not distort the image. Preferably, there should be no scratches. It was at that moment when a villain in my life became useful. The villain I speak of is that damn, invented by some bastard after he lost his house in a divorce, hard plastic used for packaging. I hate that packaging more than life itself. You know them, I am sure. It normally requires a small army, a guided missle attack, and nude photos of Ed Asner to open them. I have cut my hands on so these evil inventions more times than I can count. But, in this one instance, they became my answer. My answer to watching a 3-D episode of Chuck.

I cut out two bits of plastic, roughly the size of average glasses and used clear tape to attach them to popsicle sticks we have in our art cabinet. A few minutes and several cuts from the packaging later, I had constructed the glasses. I had only one more step. I coloured up the glasses with the appropriate colours and -- bam -- I was watching Chuck in 3-D. I can't believe how well it worked too. I had a suspicious feeling that it would be a failed effort but I was wrong. It worked like a charm.

(Oh, popsicles would hit the spot right about now.)

So, for you Zach, I made these glasses. Crazy, yes -- but bizarrely worth it.

I have been told there is a rule about doing renovations: they take five times as long, cost five times as much, and are usually five times bigger than you could have imagined. I have gone through this process a few times over the years but, this year, I was doing it almost entirely on my own. It all started about six months ago when we heard that a local furniture store was closing. We wandered into one of their locations and found they were selling their stock but also their store knick-knacks like shelving, cash registers, etc. We took one look at the shelving and realized immediately that it would match the decor (well, if we HAD any) of our home.

You see, we have 16 foot ceilings. If you've ever been over, the place doesn't seem or feel all that small. But, when you've lived here long enough, you notice that you can't hide anything. You know those moments. When someone comes over to visit and you want to hide that pair of underwear you had laying around for three days... under that pile of six hundred other bits of junk that you just hadn't put away yet? For a lot of people, there is one place you can toss all that stuff so that guests don't see it -- the bed room.

Yah, we don't have one of those. We have a loft and tossing things out of the way isn't a reality we enjoy.

Back to the shelves.

We had been looking for shelving that did everything we wanted for months. We did the whole IKEA Hacking thing, we looked into custom shelving, and we even thought we may need to build our own. But when we walked into that shop and noticed the shelves they had for sale -- we were hooked. Three car rides and the shelving was in our place.

And then the renovation monster arrived.

"Oh, if we put up those shelves, we'll need to paint that wall."

"What colour?"

"I... don't... know."

"What about what kind of paint? Glossy? Flat? What about an accent wall?"

It has been driving me mental for weeks and weeks. We couldn't agree on a colour, we couldn't decide on if we should do a dual tone thing or if we should just do an off white. We ended up deciding that we should just get the shelves up and ultimately paint at a later time. Enter the ladder, hammer, wood, nails, and glue from hell.

Removal

Wow. I never knew just how much crap we have. It took us three hours just to put everything we'd stored on the previous set of shelves and bits of furniture into a pile for sorting. We decided it was time to ditch a bunch of stuff and we wanted to go through everything. But, three hours? How much shit do I have? Oh. I have books. If you have ever visited me, you'll notice right away that I have a lot of books. I mean... I lot. We're talking somewhere in the neighbourhood of five hundred or so. I hope I never have to move a long distance... I often wonder how much all of my books weigh.

Then came all of the delicate things. Breakables and the like. Let's just say... we lost a few on the operating table. A few glasses and a plate went bye-bye.

Wall 1

We first put up one wall of shelves and, as luck would have it, everything went smooothly. We went out and bought some nice fur wood to use as mounting plates for the shelving legs (you'd have to see these brackets to understand what I am really talking about) and we drilled a few holes, drilled a few more, and, amazingly, they were up. It took another few hours to get all of the shelves in but, sheesh, what a pain the ass.

Wall 2

Then came the second wall. Did you know that some buildings have steel lined walls? Neither did I... until I tried to drill a hole into it. Just behind our eastern wall is some protected area -- presumable to be some sort of communal thing. Wires from the front door for the buzzer system or, maybe the conduits for power -- who knows. But this caused me no end of grief as I wasn't able to mount the damn shelves! We couldn't do a damn thing. I called my dad and he suggested glue. Good hard as nails glue.  Who knew this either... not I.

Sixteen hours later, I could mount the damn shelves on the other side of our loft. More money... more time, more nightmares. I should really act this out again on video... it would be a far more entertaining experience.

Resorting and Remounting

Now that the shelves were up... it took another two days to put everything we decided to keep back on... and sorted. And what more things could we purge.

Anyway... boring notes for the day. I think I ran out of steam on this post. I am going to now go lay down on the couch (that was recently uncovered from under piles of construction crap) and veg out with a book. I may recite more in future posts but, really, how much can you handle of some guy talking about his shelves.

I was talking about Stephen King the today with a Jonathon Narvey. He noted that I had read Cell and he mentioned that he had enjoyed it as well. He has been thinking about zombies of late because he is putting together his next writing project and it may or may not feature a zombie infection. I won’t say anything else about it as he is in the very beginning of planning it out -- but I will say it fanned the flames of a small idea about zombies and exhaustion I had lurking about in my head.

Have you ever heard the phrase: “I am dead tired?”

(I mean, aside from the scene in the action movie Commando where the central character asks an airline stewardess not to disturb his friend because he was “dead tired”. He had just killed the man by breaking his neck and was planning his escape from the commercial airliner.)

Jonathon went on to say that there was something in how the Stephen King zombie-like people could fly in single file but were unable to control where and when they went to the bathroom. I agreed. Even if they are being controlled by some higher being, would they not at least try to find a restroom? The conversation was all very amusing and we talked about what we thought we would do should the zombie apocalypse occur and smell like zombie ass. We decided it would not be very exciting and we would have to kill all the zombies on the Earth in order to prevent a stink-apocalypse.

After the conversation, it occurred to me that the zombie characters were tired. There are a few moments in the book where I thought the manic, crazy people were trying their hardest to regain their composure. They were in the middle of their lives when they suddenly were not. They lost themselves and became mindless monsters. King implies that this may be the case and that the zombies may have some recognition of their situation. They are crazed due to the infection yet are terrified that they are locked inside themselves unable to communicate or control their behaviour.

It is possible I am reading into this but it did strike me as an idea worth thinking about. How would a zombie feel if it had some level of consciousness still intact. Think about it. How would you feel if you were not able to control yourself but were able to watch yourself do and say things that you would not normally do. Zombies eating human flesh is quite extreme but I remember there are other Stephen King books that cover similar territory.

In the novel, Dreamcatcher, one of the main characters fights a mental battle with an invasive presence. He visualizes himself locked away inside his mind. The character’s mind is described as a dusty library-like building filled with many filing cabinets filled with memories. He is able to lock these details away by moving them into the central part of the mind and locking the door, thus ultimately defeating the invader.

The second book of the Dark Tower series, The Drawing of The Three, we see characters being able to inhabit others simply by stepping through a door. They are able to control and experience everything the human they are controling does. It is a very Being John Malokvich kind of thing but the device is used a few times within that book alone.

I was thinking a bit more about this later on this evening. It struck me that I felt tired just thinking about it. But not because my brain was tired -- but because my brain must have been thinking about it on overdrive. I remembered that a Stephen King novel, The Green Mile, is a book about being tired. A major character in that book, Jon Coffey, is a wrongfully convicted man. He has a power where he is able to feel other people’s pain. When the other main characters are preparing him for his execution, one of them says they can’t go through with murdering a man who has been unjustly convicted. But Coffey puts him somewhat at ease with the following:

I'm tired, boss. Tired of bein' on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain. I'm tired of never having me a buddy to be with, to tell me where we's going to or coming from, or why. Mostly, I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. I'm tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world every day. There's too much of it. It's like pieces of glass in my head all the time. Can you understand?

I sympathize with the character because he is being killed for no reason other than he is different. But there is something else sad. The character is in pain. He is tired. He accepts his death but tells those closest to him that, due to his power of feeling other people’s pain, he has felt enough. He has had his share of what people do to each other. He feels the sadness. He feels the anger. He feels the frustration and violence. He feels the exhaustion.

So, like zombies being tired, I think we’re all tired. I think the world is tired. We’ve all been working too long, stressing too hard, and not doing enough to live and enjoy. We’ve filled it all up with things we don’t need. We’ve fufilled our wants but not what it is that really makes us who we are. We’ve all become tired.

For what it is worth... those are my thoughts for today.

So, something else popped into my mind today about the festival. One of those "if you only knew" kind of thing. On July 26th, during the second week of the festival, it is Allyson's birthday. She has been incredibly hard to make Neanderthal a success and has sacrificed her birthday three years in a row. The first we virtually skipped her birthday and acknowledged it about two or three weeks later. Last year, we decided that her birthday should not be forgotten and we caked out the shows the night of her birthday. People got cake and a show! How can that be bad?

But this year, I am thinking that it would be a nice gesture to have birthday cards. Not gifts. Just a nice card with a few nice words inside. You could write out some short message about the festival, you could make your own card (again with a few nice words), or it could be just a short letter saying how much you liked the festival or the show you saw. It would mean a lot to her to have something like that. I see her working hard every single year, pouring her professionalism and her heart into this summer event and it would be nice to have someone outside of the production group tell her how much they appreciate it. I know that it may be asking a lot of some people but I think it is worth it. Hell, I will do a card too. It would mean a lot to me to have a few cards appear on the day of her birthday. If you are far away and can't make the festival, you could mail some! It would be awesome!

It kills me each year to see she pour everything into the festival only to have some poo-poo her efforts. Sometimes even those involved don't seem to be as committed as she is. It is amazing that she survives the six months to help put the festival together. I do my part, of course, but I am just the nerd guy. I am behind the scenes and most of what I do goes unnoticed. But that is the nature of what I do and I have long accepted that the nerds get overlooked a lot of the time. But for her to have her work not recognized as much as I think it should (especially since there is a birthday involved) is almost criminal.

Are you game? Are you willing to show up and give a complete stranger a birthday card? If you think you'd be interested in sending out a card or dropping one by, drop me an e-mail at shane@shanesworld.ca and I will fire off our home address.

I thank you all in advance -- but I also hope you can come see a live performance at the festival!

We lost Ernest Borgnine today. I didn't know him personally (obviously) but I am a little broken up by his passing. I suppose over the last year or two I have become more sensitive to the reality of death. Death has come by and visited (we had tea and a few biscuits the last time) and taken people I love away. I don't hate Death for such visits as I know it is all a part of our experience on this planet and in this universe.

But, Ernest Borgnine - I thought this guy would live forever. He was a rock throughout my life. When I first encountered him, he was in a film called The Black Hole. The character he played was a funny guy who just wanted to make sure everything on his spacecraft was working properly. He was cautious and interested in his survival. Unfortunately, he was also scared of dying and tried to escape from the situation he found himself in. But why did this film stick? Why did Ernest Borgnine stick? The Black Hole always stuck with me because I experienced it both on video and in comic book form. It became real somehow. Even when I was nine years of age I related to the character Ernest Borgnine played. He seemed like an average guy lost in extraordinary circumstances. He acted like he could handle it and adapted to his adventures but, in the end, he cracked under what were some really insane realities in the movie. He was human. He wasn't the hero of the film. He wasn't the love interest. He wasn't the evil crackpot who brought them to his lair. Borgnine played me. He played you. He was the one in the film who got it. He was the Every-man who knew when to cut out when the getting was good. The choice changed the whole direction of the story as well. Sound familiar? I guess it is true that even the smallest person can change the course of history.

Beyond the character he played in that 1979 film, I learned about other characters he performed. He was a military boat captain, a nice guy just back from the war, and the crazy grandfather. Ernest always seemed to play his characters as real human beings even when they were evil and loathsome types. I don't know how else to describe him. He was just the guy next door who found himself in bizarre situations. I always suspected that I could walk into a bar and meet one of his evil characters and say:

"Hey, I noticed you wiped out an entire colony of people the other day to put that space highway through."

"Oh, yes. That was a hard bit of business. Want me to tell you about it?" He would reply.

"Sure. How about I get us a drink." I would say.

I guess I am trying to express is that Ernest Borgnine was always a real guy to me. I don't have any hard evidence to point out why. I've just felt that way for years. His family must have loved this guy madly. Of course, he did have four failed marriages but I can't fault him for that. It takes two to tango and all of that. But what I really liked about him was that he always seemed to "get it". He always seemed to get what life is about. I always had this odd suspicion that Borgnine had lived a full life by a young age. It always felt that his real-world experiences leaked through in his performances. His performance spoke to me at some darker level of myself.

I imagine him saying: "The shit has hit the fan. I saw it hit the fan. I got some shit on me and I don't want to see it again. There is a lot of other things I need to do."

For some reason, I thought he would make it all the way to 100. Or maybe even 200. I hate to use this phrase but he was able to "keep it real". Which makes me wonder what that means. What does "keeping it real" mean? I have seen this phrase in many films and have heard it a billion times - but mainly the phrase is used to indicate that the character using it doesn't "quite get it".

But I think Ernest got it. I know he got it. I saw it. I don't know why but I did.

And then, a few years ago, I was happy to find his interview on (gak) Fox News. If you haven't seen it, the interviewer asks him what his secret to living to the age of 91 was. Ernest was animated and smiled a lot during the interview. Ernest says he doesn't dare tell the interviewer but then he leans in close to the guy and says:

"I masturbate a lot."

I watched that clip a dozen times, over and over. I realized, at the age of 91, did "get it". My suspicions were now proven. We are here on this planet not to save the world. We are here to do what we can. We are here to enjoy the time we have. We are here to make a difference, if not for the world, for ourselves and for those we are close to.

Dammit, Ernest Borgnine got it. He knew what was important. Do check out the video. It will make you smile. I am sorry to see you go, Mr. Ernest Borgnine. You will be missed.

I am here in Ottawa and will be crazy busy today at the PAB 2012 sessions. I dug into my HitRecord.org archive and, for the first time ever, this poem makes an appearance here.

the repeated morning

unusual to see eyes?
not on the day we made ours
through morning glory
years it took climbing the iron
fence beside our tree
oak, from the acorns which
found their way down, to be
thrown by little hands crazy
not aware of what could be
but you
those eyes i see with me
create silently
something we helped create
between leaves but never
to see what the moment
created for each

Enjoy and I will be back either later today or tomorrow. Hope you are all having a great weekend.

Do you know who Steve Dotto is? If you don't, you must have been living under a rock in some deep, dark, dank, and mud-filled hole. Steve Dotto has been a fixture on the technology scene in Canada for a very long time. He had his own radio show (which is now his hugely popular podcast), his own television program, and wickely helpful web site.

He called us up the other day to ask us about Northern Voice and said he thought it was a cool idea. I took Jonathon Narvey over to Steve's studio and we chatted about blogging, podcasting, and a whole bunch of things. It was a blast.

But, I need to admit something (as I usually do here) - when he called me up last week to set up a get-together - I had to quickly get over a little case of the hero worship. I had watched and listened to Steve for years. He made a great impression on my teaching style when I show people technology. The level of patience he has is astounding especially talking about technology that can be a little tricky to get working.

Anyway, check out the episode that features myself and Jonathon. We talk a lot about Northern Voice - have you got your tickets yet?

I ran into my neighbour the other day and I realized something horrible. I barely know the man. I feel incredibly guilty about this because I feel as if I should know him. I feel as though I should be someone he can count on do help him out and vice versa. Should we not know our neighbours just a little bit better than we pretend to? This opens up many different conversations but the one I want to have today is how I got to know the comic book guy next door.

It is crazy how I have never really spoken to him. We've exchanged a few words here and there but nothing substantial. Yet, he has been my neighbour for many years. I am embarrassed by this. I feel like a tool! Yet, I expressed this point and many have told me it does happen a lot (usually, in that "those are the neighbours and I wonder how many babies they've eaten this year" kind of tone). 

It isn't like he is a recluse... wait, what if he isn't a recluse. What if I am the recluse? Oh, no, what if I am the one who has not done my bit for King and country? What if I am the one who has let my social interactions falter and become that dude who talks a good game and... oh, wait, oh, wait. Let me not fall into that trap again. I am not a recluse at all. I am just a guy who works too much and gets tired far too often. I blame the pug cuddles.

Aaaaaaannnnnyway. Back in the town of Shanetopia.

But the other day, we did connect. While he was cleaning out his truck, I parked in my space a few feet away. I got out and mentioned that I had just come from watching the Avengers. What happened next was a half hour conversation about comic books, comic characters, who the next Avengers villain would be, and everything about the world of comic book films

This post originally would have been about comics but what the experience did tell me was that I don't know my neighbours as much as I should. We have a few well known celebrities in the building whom I have run into from time to time - and they were (and are) very normal, cool people. I know them as much as I know anyone where I live and this saddens me. 

Over the summer, we have several building parties scheduled and I am going to join up. It is just a mystery to me why I don't see these people as often as I should. Are we really that busy? It seems like as time goes on, people get busier... actually, no. They are not busy. They are tired. There is something about this world that makes us tired and we don't seem to know what it is. Is it the heat? Is it the schedules we keep? Are we just tired of everything? It almost seems like the entire world needs a holiday.

There is more to this hypothesis. I suspect the majority of our continued tiredness is the simple fact that we are not primed or built to maintain an information overload. Where does this come from? It mainly comes from the multitude of devices we have and carry. But it isn't so much the devices, it is the content on the devices. There is so much being thrown at us that that is considered important that we lose sight of what we should be using our precious brain power on. This "other stuff" is what we have in front of us. We have friends, family, and local causes that need our attention. A whole lot of what is being tossed in our direction and consumed by our brains is a lot of "stuff" that is happening thousands of miles away on the other side of the planet. 

I am not going to say that this stuff is less important, but there is only a certain group of people that goes off to help. The bulk of people are right here in our backyards. We don't pay half as much attention to them as we do to things we see on CBC Newsworld or CNN. These international issues are important but since that is what gets the most play on the devices we use to consume information, we forget about what is happening around the block from us. We forget about who our neighbours are and I think this is a sad situation to be in. I always knew I didn't know my locals that well but, after hanging out with a bunch of them, I have found that I am missing something.

I am going to have to think about this and see what it is that I can do in a local sense to fix my interactions with people I see quite often but don't really talk to.

This is yet another boring web site note but it is something I think quite important. For a long time, I never stopped long enough to pay much attention to how browsers and web trackers worked. It wasn't the technology I wasn't pay attention to, it was more about the "how and why" many web sites track visitors.

Most often, when you visit a web site a lot of information can be collected. Web sites (like mine, for example) only get the basics. We collect things like what browsers visit, what operating systems, resolution of your screen, where you are visiting from; information that helps us to make sure that our sites are working properly and gives me an idea of what content works and what does not.

But web sites (like Facebook) track you even when you are not logged in to their web site. It is potentially something that can be (and is) abused by larger companies and it is scary what Facebook does behind the scenes.

So, how do you fight against this kind of intrusion? A lot of the time, you can't. Mobile devices don't have a lot of choice. Some web sites you want to use require cookies and all kinds of things to be active. Here is something you can do. It is called Do Not Track. It is a way of telling web sites that you don't want them to track you beyond the basics.

Do Not Track is a technology and policy proposal that enables users to opt out of tracking by websites they do not visit, including analytics services, advertising networks, and social platforms. At present few of these third parties offer a reliable tracking opt out, and tools for blocking them are neither user-friendly nor comprehensive. Much like the popular Do Not Call registry, Do Not Track provides users with a single, simple, persistent choice to opt out of third-party web tracking.

If you are a regular reader here, you'd know that I do this little podcast called Dyscultured that talks about this kind of stuff all the time. We chat and debate about Do Not Track, Facebook, and all sorts of technology that ties it all together. We've talked about tracking for the last eight or so months because it has been a hot topic in the not-so-mainstream (and, eventually, got some play in the mainstream media).

What is the point of this whole post? I won't track you if you don't want me to. I respect my privacy on the Internet and I would expect nothing less. If you set your browser to Do Not Track, my web site respects this and will not intrude on your privacy...

Just send me money instead. Cold hard cash.

Fine, fine, there is nothing about cheese in this blog post but I have been working hard the last number of weeks fixing up my poor little web site here. You probably don't care but I did an upgrade, a few fixes, and made sure that everything is "hunky dory".

Why?

I am doing this talk in a couple of weeks and I thought it wasn't fair of me to "represent" without making sure my blog got some love. I won't go into too many details (since it would bore you to death) - let's just say, I caught up on all of the things I wanted to do. I moved them from "gotta do that" to "right, that is what I wanted".

All very boring.

I now return to regular scheduled blog posts.

Actually, I don't recall the first time I saw it. I do remember when I saw the first film. It was at the Royal Theatre in Victoria during (what I assume) was the first run of the movie. The memories I have of that showing are somewhat scattered and fragmented as I was only four years old. Yet, I do remember the climactic battle at the end of the film and bouncing up and down on the chairs in the theatre. I also remember that it was the first time I fell in love with movies and Star Wars. Yes, yes, I am very much a child of that era and, if you had any sense at all, you were a fan of Star Wars.

What amazes me about the video is it brought up a lot of emotions of having been that young. We forget as we get older that we were once that young and things did amaze us that no longer amaze us as adults. It is incredibly sad and I feel a bit of a loss at not being amazed about the world any more. I suppose there are things that we all find on the Internet that still amaze us but I don't feel we are as engaged as we once were. Sharing links is no substitute for feeling that stories mean something and we can still be surprised. I guess that is one of the many things (other than space is dirty and stuff does wear out) I learned from Star Wars. It was my first experience with epic story telling and I am glad I was exposed to it when I was four rather than a cynical adult. Maybe I will try to be less cynical..star wa

As for the video above, the biggest question is if the film is fake. Does it matter? I don't care. I buy into it enough to remember when I was that young and experiencing the George Lucas movies for the first (or second or third) times.

It is that time of year again when thousands upon thousands of podcasters decend upon Ottawa, Ontario to talk about their craft at the Podcasters Across Borders conference. Yes, thousands. Millions, in fact. I think last year, PAB hosted about 156,000,000 attendees. It was a blast!

Fine, fine.

In the reality where you exist (and I may only visit) there were about 100 people. The size of the conference is intentional. They keep it small because, really, how can you learn anything from other people when you are being pushed around by potentially thousands of people? The simple answer is: you can't. PAB is not about just being a conference. It is about actually learning something and sharing with others. I also think it is silly to have a conference of more than a couple hundred. When you are talking about learning, you can't do that in a hectic environment. There is too much going on. Not enough focus is given to the important bits in the name of sponsors or money or whatever. For example, Northern Voice, another conference I am involved with, grew to around 500 attendees but when we assessed the feedback, we were told that people who came had a good time but they thought it was too big. It had lost that "get together" feeling. The personal touch was reduced in focus. This year, we then cut it back to about 300 and we feel awesome about it.

Back to PAB. I went to PAB last year for the very first time and I had a blast. For myself, it was a relief to be in a room with people who think very much like I do (or, at the very least, express themselves in similar ways). I was able to hang out with people I know, meet new people, and listen to seasoned podcasters from all over. We were able to hang out, talk about podcasting, but also get to know people better. You can't do that in conferences when they grow too big. People go to learn, hang out, and break out of their every day. To recharge. Essentially, PAB 2012 should be awesome and I am happy to say just how awesome.

If you're not going, you need to. If you have any interest in podcasting, come out this year and hang with me. We'll record stuff. Check out the sidebar for podcasts I am involved with.

I have been working a lot lately and have written a tonne of blog posts but haven't been able to finish all of them. Since I needed some obvious motivation to get back to my self expression, I took a bit of time to dig out a couple old unpublished blog posts that never made it to the site. This happens all the time with personal writing because there is always something that is either more important to do or life just gets in the way. Below is a lost post from about six months ago.

Do you ever feel like the world is full of idiots? Yah. I am having that overwhelming sense these days. It is like logic and conversation is on holiday.

I wonder what that would look like? What sort of conversation would someone have with logic? Is that even possible?

"Hey, Logic! Where have you been, man?"

"Obviously, I have not been within the sight of your ocular nerve endings."

"Umm, did you have fun... not being in my range of visual range?"

"Yes."

Okay. Maybe that wasn't the best example of how I feel about the world right now but I am overwhelmed with this sense that much of the universe is made up of chaotic thought that, when spoken aloud, sounds much like a feline being squashed but a overweight Dalmatian.

I guess I am being too harsh. I do wish I was not so critical of decisions made without logic proper channels of though being followed - no, really. But I can't help watching (what I perceive as a train wreck) people make assumptions about the world.

I am not saying that every decision I make is the best, I mean, how else to people learn except through trial and error. We can't. And must I let them? Yes. Yes, Shane. You must allow others to make decisions that you think are silly.

It looks like I was thinking about something I don't remember now. It seems I get into these rants (which I have become known for, it would seem) and when I realize I am ranting I tend to redirect them into the realm of the absurd. I think this freaks people out. I got from trying to make a point, vearing into what am I ranting about this for, and then detouring into something about monkey sports and rain clouds. No, really, I have done this.

Anyway, I am going to get back to catching up. So much to do... so much to do.

I love to write prose and dialogue (thus, I have recently concluded) but my first love is poetry. I have always loved poems and the creation of poetry and I found some time to construct a few. Poems rule. If you don't think they do, you will buy me a beer to apologize for your lack of vision. (Where is the lightning I was promised that would shoot out of my hands.)

Here are two pieces that I wrote for HitRecord. They are short works that I wrote and they reflect my style pretty closely.

=[]=

Trading One Place For Another

that drug you made me take that one night
in october
was the night when everything changed
i was suspicious
your lack of a motive to drug me
was the greatest of mysteries
but i went
along
hoping the buried
would break the surface to haunt me

That Little Trip Over There

it cost me something precious
to break free and become
outwardly interesting, still
seeking some
phantom asylum, wanting space
trying to stay hidden
grasping at concepts
where men like me
discover themselves painfully
each night in the quiet of
green hills and broken trees
with screaming voices that echo
just as quiet as yours

This is an exercise for a collaboration called "Dialogue Tales". The idea is you are supposed to write two characters having a conversation. I started off with a simple sentence of "this will only take a minute" and look where it took me.

=[]=

It Is Easy These Days

...and the jerk said all kinds of things that make sense. If you know Travis, he is one of the coolest cats in this town. We had lunch at this sushi/curry/tattoo parlour place in Gastown and had some fabulous conversation. We talked about live, work, being employers, how creativity is made/used/destroyed, and why do our bodies constantly betray us. I don't think I will get into too much detail because some of the stuff we chatted about was "man talk". You know... that stuff guys talk about. Normally, the talks start like:

INT. COOL TATTOO PARLOUR/CURRY/SUSHI PLACE - DAY

GUY 1
Hey.

GUY 2
Hey.

GUY1
So, stuff?

GUY 2
Yah, stuff is awesome.

GUY 1
Boobs?

GUY2
Heh. Boobs.

Thankfully, Travis and I don't sound quite so terrible as that, but we are guys and guys talk about guy stuff. Now, I don't want to give you the idea that the conversation was all about guy stuff but let's just say that there are some moments in my life that will remain offline. Like the conversation I had at the office with some of my staff. We were hunkered down, coming up with some awesome brainstorms to solve a client's problem and it went something like this:

INT. LEFT RIGHT MINDS OFFICE - DAY

SHANE

Hey, you know what would be cool?

STAFF MEMBER
What?

SHANE
You dress up in a pussy cat suit and pretend to beg for a saucer of milk. When the client sees it, they will lose their minds!

STAFF MEMBER
...

SHANE
Did I say something funny?

STAFF MEMBER
Not yet, but I will let you know when you do.

Yes, they didn't quite go for my awesome idea. That is the problem around our office. I toss out gems of awesome and they just look at me like I am from another planet. How did that happen? I thought I was the man-generating genuis around the office. When did that turn into man-generating genius with built in critics? And, yes, it is not lost on me that "man-generating" was used in the previous two sentences but I like it and they will stay right where they are, thank you very much. Even if they are... weird, and slightly disturbing images. Deal!

Back to Travis and the reality of the conversation we did have. We talked about the reality of burn out. One of the major reasons, I have discovered from that conversation, was that the work I do every single day is creative and I love it. The problem is, I come home and my brain is so done with being creative it just wants to recharge and not provide any further output. I have complained a lot about this on this site over the last couple of years and I think it was a bit of a reality check for me to have someone say it to me and not have me think it. I believe we get more action out of ourselves when we have someone tell us the things we already know. How cliche.

This post is becoming a very round about way of saying that having lunch with Travis today was awesome. We shall do it again and talk more and provide you with more insights into how the world works because, if you didn't know, Travis controls the universe. Well, maybe not the universe, but a decent sized chunk of the Alpha and Beta quadrants.

Last year, I was so wrapped up in my own little drama during my birthday, I almost forgot to mention that someone very close to me has a birthday only six days onward. His name is Todd and he and I have known each other since we were born. There is so much I could say about how truly awesome he is but I will keep it brief this year. Next year, when we hit one of those milestones where we are supposed to be "all responsible and shit", the party should be memorable. As for that responsible stuff, we may be responsible but feeling responsible is a whole different ball-type-game-thing. Maybe, like Ultimate.

I think it is natural to feel this way. To feel like we are incomplete somehow. Regardless of our ages, I see the same problem - we all strive to have it all together. All of the bits of our lives are supposed to be lined up and put into some order. I remember reading that it is like that for our brains. We want to keep it all together to ward off the fight/flight response.

But, kids, just remember -no matter how old you get, you never "have it all together". The world is complete chaos (okay, the universe is) and we all pretend to have all the answers. We pretend to have the world sorted out and placed in all kinds of little boxes. The problem is that box is always moving and it tends to phase out into other dimensions once in a while, dropping everything it carried. (Yes, I have been watching too many quantum physics videos lately.)

But I am getting distracted... so, this year, Todd - you rock man. I don't say it enough and I live too far away (which is not all that far) to see you as often as I would like. You amaze me, even today. More so. May this year be one of the best and let's make the marking of our birthdays next year... well, a party to remember.

(PS: Yes, I haven't mentioned people in such details on my blog before, but get used to it.)

For those of you who do not want your childhood ruined, this video is for you. I jest. Yet, I could not resist.

Life's a bitch, isn't it?

Dammit. It was bound to happen. I tried to avoid it this year but, a mere two hours before the hour of my birth, I find I am thinking about my own mortality. Why do people think about these things? I know that another year has just gone by and I have many more ahead to look forward to but - man, oh, man - it also makes me nervous. Aren't we all supposed to be immortal already? Isn't health care technology supposedly going to allow us to all live until we're six million years old? I, for one, will be the first to sign up should that technology be invented in my life time. Unfortunately, the fountain of youth has yet to be discovered and technology can only extend life for so long - and, really, do we all want to be hooked up to computers, tubes, and some form of state run televisions (or visor vision, whatever it may be called in the future).

It is terribly cliche to repeat that we deny our mortality but we all know we do. We don't ever think about our inevitable demise (wow, such negative terminology today). I try not to deny my mortality. I think about it quite often but I think it is because I read too much. People never think about it and we shouldn't have to. All we can do is live the life we should live... and that doesn't mean to live the life that we do happen to live. There is a fine line in there some where but I have yet to find it. Right now, all I am thinking about is family, life in general, and how this coming year will be my break out of the shell year. More blogging, more sharing, more of that whole "get stuff out of my head year" and really connect with people. I fear that my schedule and/or introverted nature has led me to a place where I believe I am not as "out there" as I should be.

I love that scene. Picard says what we ought to think while Riker says what we're all thinking, even if we don't know it. It would be nice to live forever but I don't think we realize what that would mean. I really don't have a clear understanding of why I think these thoughts. I chalk it up to my mind being overly active and having far too much imagination on hand. It is like my mind has a switch that is stuck on "weird" or "shameless". You choose what fits best because we all know that in 100 years, who is going to care. Will we all leave our marks on the world? Doubtful.

Will I? Hell yah. As I said in my earlier post, time to write those cheques.

So, I can't keep quiet about this any further. And, from a brief conversation today about my hardcore ability to keep quiet, I learned that I hold my cards to my chest far too often. Fine. You're right. I do. Isn't there some old saying that if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all? I heard it stems from some idea that if you let someone talk, they will eventually make sense that agrees with conventional logic and their point will become clear. Well, that is why I tend not to say much. I like to listen to people and formulate a response. I apologize to those who think I do this far too long but, you know what you can go do with yourselves... it involves a sharp pointly stick and a bottle of glue. Unsure if I am being clear enough? Need more detail?

I didn't think so.

There is a new Shane in town, mutha-smokers. If my ability to not say something when I have nothing nice to say is bothering you, I now include "not keeping my mouth shut" as part of my 2012 Happiness Plan. A posting about my Happiness Plan List will be forthcoming in the next few days. But, right now, I want to talk crazy. I want to talk about Mike Daisey because I think the world has lost its fucking mind. Why? Read on, friendly visitor because the new Shane is in mother-fucking-town.

First of all, learn about who Mike Daisey is. I have seen some of his work before and it has always been while I was sitting in a theatre. I bought a ticket, sat down in a dark theatre, and watched Mike do his thing. Some of his stuff has rocked and some of it needed something. At least, that is what my brain as a theatre-goer told me. Did I like his stuff? Yes. Did I love it? Yes. Was it good enough to recommend? Yes. Did I ever take anything he did on stage as something that should be written out, verified, and tossed into the New York Times or the Globle and Mail? Fuck no. If you do, I have a sledge hammer available for your mental correction because of two reasons:

• Don't believe the hype around Ira Glass.
• Sit quietly for a moment and think for your fucking self what the difference between "theatre" and "news" is.

So, what has got me so hot under the collar about this? Ira Glass has left the building, walked off a short pier, and fucking allowed the news media machine take over. Now, I am not going to pretend that Ira Glass is sitting in some dark lair and is laughing his ass off at all the press he is getting for verifying a theatre piece...

"Sorry, what did you say, Shane?"

"Verifying a theatre piece."

"Really? Did Ira really do this?"

"Apparently, he did. He saw a piece of theatre and treated it as a news story that required fact checking and whatever else news people do."

"Really?"

"Yah. That is what these news stories you've been reading say."

"Really."

"Yah, really, Shane. Ira and his team did this."

"For a theatre piece."

"Apparently."

I am going to talk to Camera Two for a moment. Ira. Buddy. Pal. What the FUCK were you thinking? Are you serious? You wasted public money (*cough*) on fact checking a work of theatre? Just because the author went to a location to do research for a piece of fiction that is brining an important topic into the news machine - you think it deserved fact checking? Really? Did we take our pills that morning or did you forget? Thanks, Camera Two.

I am appauled at this whole situation. I am ashamed for This American Life. I am pissed off that people are equating theatre as pure truth. (I saw the show and no where did the performer say his piece was non-fiction. He just said his work was meant to talk about real issues in the real world and it was based on his experiences.) This American Life has broken the story on a non-issue and it is now in the news grinder as if something has happened that deserves all this attention. I am also confused why Ira Glass didn't see where the line between reality and fiction was drawn. It wasn't drawn by Ira. It was drawn by the author - and then Ira moved it. I am sorry but that is exactly what This American Life did. I am also not too sure why. Was This American Life under threat of cancelation or something? Is this really something we should all be thinking about?

Actually, I think it it. Bringing attention to the plight of workers in China is something we should all be talking about. It is important. I think Mike Daisey's next piece should be about minerals that a dug out of the Earth in the Congo. These minerals (or rare Earth minerals) are then put in to the very computers and phones that Ira Glass uses. (And, yes, I use the same technology too so don't get your panties in a bunch.) But who digs these minerals out of the Earth. Well, you'd best talk to Kony's masterbating mentor as he, apparently, likes to run around an teach people things. He covers a wide variety of topics too from kidnapped children to public masterbation.

But, my point is, what the hell happened to everyone's brains surrounding this story? Did we all check into a local strip club and not surface for sixty days? Have we all lost our collective ability to think? It is this lack of thought that floors me - especially by people who say that they didn't even see the work Mike did and then call him a liar. Mike is not the liar. The liar I see runs a show called This American Life. He is the one who has started this whole thing and it is shameful. Ira, I want to tickle you until you pee your pants, sir. I am sad for you. I am sad that you, someone who I respect and admire every week have done this. You have duped the public into thinking that your research into a piece of fiction is revealing some sort of cover up or ruse. The reality is, sir, you are the one who has created the ruse. You have manufactured this whole thing. I would like to pretend that you didn't do it on purpose but I can't believe you are that stupid. You aren't. I am forced to conclude that you fucked up and I hope you, eventually, come to your senses and tell the public so. Shame. Shame.

Basically, here is the new me. The new speaking Shane. Don't like what you see? Then suck it. If you like what you read or hear? Worship me. More to come, my readers... the flood gates have opened, Daddy isn't happy, and I took off my leather belt and we all know what that means.

I can't say it any better than this video.

Or if you live outside the USA, below is a lecture/rant from the perspective from someone who lives abroad.

You know, I realized that I never did a Happy New Year posting. It seems to have dropped off the face of the planet. I don't know why. I used to state my resolutions and then review at the end of the year how well I did. That is a little bizarre. Quite unlike me.

This is my New Year posting. But, this year, I am not going to do anything about resolutions. I am going to skip them for one more year and then pick it up again next year. I will even set in my calendar that I am going to do this. It will remind me that I am not a robot and nor am I something for show on the Internet. I don't know why I suddenly think that but something did. Deep within the recess of my highly evolved brain (*cough*) something tells me I need to rethink about how I share information on the Internet.

So, here is to my happiness plan for 2012. Should it be awesome and do very well.

I have been reading through some of the blog entries I have done over the last number of weeks and, wow, what a sad bastard I have been. It must be tiring to have to read stuff like this or, maybe, you want to know how I am feeling.

I hate it feeling like this. I should have been happy about the holidays.

There is something about being perpetually grumpy that annoys me. This grumpy attitude clouds thought while simple common reason takes a holiday.

But here is the thing. I have a lot to be thankful for. I have a family that loves me, I have a blog that people actually read, and I have a great business that does a lot of cool things.

So, here is my New Year resolution. I am going to be a Happy Bastard again. Yes, a Happy Bastard. I am going to recapture the happiness and make something of it. I will document this process and possibly help someone else who is feeling the way I do.

If you have any suggestions about how to go about this, please leave them in the comments or drop me an e-mail. I am sure anything will help.

There is something about what she said this year that makes me feel like she looked me up, read my web site, and then added a few words just for me.

I have been doing something silly today. Every half and hour or so, I have been checking on Santa's progress across the globe. How have I accomplished this feat of amazing genius? Using the NORAD tracking system, that's how.

It is brilliant. It is a system developed to track Santa from the North Pole and all the way back again. Absolutely amazing.

If you didn't know about it this year, try it out next year. They have a mobile application now and the web site has far more cool toys to check out. 

Okay. There isn't much to this posting but this video made me laugh out loud. Do you sense the theme here? I am practically jamming the sappy Christmas antics down my throad. I have never heard of this show but I may need to check it out. It looks decent.

What do you do when you're trying to get back into the spirit of Christmas?

Lights.

I hung Christmas lights.

This is what I did.

Then I played a board game.

I then went out for coffee.

I was then quite tired from all the stress and am thinking about bed.

Sorry if I missed any of you. I will be back next week.

Here we are. Just a week away and we will all be celebrating the Christmas holiday. Well, most of us. There are other religions and belief systems on this planet that don't do the whole Christmas thing but I can't speak for those. Why I bring it up? I have no idea but sometimes that is how my method of personal blogging works. I attempt to acknowledge that there are other people in the world and it messes with my prose. I bounce around like a ball and I make little sense. I usually go further and try to explain why I am lacking focus. It is a vicious circle. Terrible.

Today we had my grandfather's funeral at Holy Trinity Church near Sidney, B.C. It was packed! I was surprised the georgeous little church didn't burst at the seams. Holy Trinity is the "family" church and, from what I gather, should I never choose another location for my final resting place, that is where my mortal remains will end up. It is a quiet location near the inlet and I have always liked it. I don't think I have ever mentioned this publically, not that it is a very important detail, but I think with the run of family passings over the last 12 months, how can one not think about such things. It is a little weird, I suppose, but not entirely outlandish to wonder about where you will "end up". I am in no rush to get there either. I plan to out live everyone I know. I quote I famous Starfleet Captain: "Speak for yourself, sir. I plan to live forever."

The service was decent. We then adjourned to my grandfather's home and shared in some wine and food. It was a positive day.

Now, I must move onward to what is next. Christmas. This year is what I call a "Saskatchewan Year" where we fly over to the land of big skies and celebrate with Ally's family. This year, considering everything that has happened, we are coming back to Victoria for a few days. Luckily, Ally's parents treated us to the Grey Cup and they visited us in Vancouver so we did get to see them. We will miss out on the new baby in Saskatoon but I am sure we will be able to catch up at a later time.

I want to send a little shoutout to some of my close friends who have posted me little pick me up notes. I do cherish those messages and it helps quite a bit.

I have often wondered where the desire to do what I do comes from. I write in my little books, I share my photos with the world, and I write on my blog. But where does this all come from? Where is this desire (for myself) spring from? What virtual well is it all from?

Oh, wait, just watch the video and you'll have all the answers. Good night all.

In an effort to get myself out of the dumps and into a mental pattern befitting of the Christmas holidays, I am going to live tweet a Christmas movie some time in the next week or so.

I requested some suggestions (via Twitter this time) and this is what was suggested:

• Die Hard 2
• Polar Express
• Batman Returns
• Home Alone
• Home Alone 2
• It's A Wonderful Life

Naturally, my instinct tells me to live tweet Die Hard 2 - but I do want to make sure that what happened last year doesn't happen again. When I live tweeted Die Hard there was a surprising backlash from a few of my followers. Some un-followed me, a few sent me random and lengthy e-mails about how I didn't treat Twitter seriously, and others thought I was "ballsy". It is their right to respond how they want but, honestly, I thought it was a little weird.

Anyway, this is your fair warning, I will be live tweeting again quotes from whatever film I am to watch. If you have any other suggestions, please send them my way, leave a comment below, or fire me a tweet. I wonder if this could be some kind of fundraiser and I could take donations. Let me think on that.

If you want to un-follow me, I encourage you not to because I would like you to get involved. Tweet with me, add a quote you think I should have tweeted. Let's start a movie twitter revolution and use this social media device for fun once in a while.

Besides, at the end of the day, it is only a couple of hours and a whole lot of tweets that you can ignore - and I could use a positive attitude injection this year.

My grandfather died today.

I went to see The Muppets because it seemed like something that would make me smile. I hope that you all can hug someone you love. They could be gone tomorrow, an hour from now, or in a few minutes from this moment.

I am sad for my family.

I am sad for my mommy.

I am sad for my sister for this was the second year in a row someone important passed on her birthday.

I am sad about the whole thing.

But life goes on. I wish there was something more profound I could add but, unlike my friend Rosie, I can't use my words that well today.

I will leave you with this:

Pippin: "I didn't think it would end this way..."

Gandalf: "End?  No, the journey doesn't end here.  Death is just another path...One that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all change to silver glass... and then you see it."

Pippin: "What? Gandalf? See what?"

Gandalf: "White shores...and beyond... the far green country under a swift sunrise."

Pippin: "Well, that isn't so bad."

Gandalf: "No...No it isn't

So, I have been fighting this lingering illness for an entire week now. It won't leave me alone and I think that I am going a little crazy. I mean, really, how much cuddling with cute pugs can a person take? I have been bouncing around trying all kinds of things like sleeping, medicine, vitamins to get better. Yet, with all of these promises of "do this and you'll get better" I still am fighting this lingering cough and annoying sniffles.

Of course, I am now going a little crazy.

Do you ever have that experience? You force yourself to rest and, essentially, get bored and then start going a little crazy. Maybe it is just me. 

Thus, I share with you the Internet searches from today:

• Is Right Said Fred essential to the survival of the human race? (The video above is the main result.)
• Why do people vote for people they don't know?
• Is Vancouver going to sink into a Hellmouth?
• Is my brain really this fried?

Well, another week is gone. Welcome to the weekend and I hope that I am going to be alive enough tomorrow for the CFL Eastern and Western Finals.

And, yes, I have Grey Cup tickets.

See? Disjointed thinking has resulted in this post. I hope you can follow... I barely can.

We will remember them. This year some asked me where the "Lest We Forget" comes from. Here you go.

God of our fathers, known of old—
Lord of our far-flung battle line—
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies—
The Captains and the Kings depart—
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away—
On dune and headland sinks the fire—
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe—
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard—
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!
Amen.

-- Rudyard Kipling

I was thinking today about how I could use all of this stress I am experiencing and turn it into a power for good... or evil, which ever comes first, I suppose. I think I would make a grand leader of the planet Earth. I can hear the chanting now... All Hail Darth Fartanus! Oh, wait, that doesn't have the ring that I thought it would. If I ever do take over the entire planet, you can just call me Melvin. Heh. Melvin. 

This blog post was supposed to have some deep meaning to it but then I watched the trailer above and all sense in the galaxy was trapped during a layover in Denver. The trailer brought my typing fingers to a stand still. I was going to write something about how the Phantom Menace was going supposed to be the continued life-adventure for all of the Star Wars fanboys. We were supposed to find out the truth. We were supposed to experience what happened prior to Episode IV and add it to the memories of Star Wars pre-digitial effects.

That so didn't hapen. At least, they got rid of Jar Jar in the trailer.

We have just returned from the woods but our vacation is not over yet. Much fun was had and we talked a lot about vacations and holidays. I have also recorded some of these conversations and they will be introduced as a new fancy weekly podcast called The ShaneCast. I think this will be the last podcast I do because I am doing way too many as it is. (Waiting for the pin drop here?)

I was going to wait and post something tomorrow night but due to the topic of conversation that dominated the last week, I couldn't let this one slide by. The Twitter stream for Shit My Dad Says had this to say the about holidays vs. vacations:

"You can't come...Because it's not a vacation if my family is with me. I could vacation in my fucking house if you people left it."

I will also say this: there is a real difference between vacations and holidays. Who knew... I will clean up some of the recordings and post them soon.

Ack, I always hate writing these posts. Once again, Neanderthal Arts Festival is coming to a close and it is hard to let go. We started talking about the festival about 18 months ago and it is amazing to me that we have done this thing twice since that first meeting. It is a labour of love and I enjoy working on the project.

We hope to continue doing it but we can't do it without your help. If you are not doing anything tonight and you are in Vancouver, you need to head down to the Vancouver East Side Cultural Centre and take in a show or two. We are starting the BBQ tonight for your delicious entertainment.

Hope to see you there!

You can tell when Hollywood is in trouble when they release such a trailer. What are they thinking? I don't undertstand the motivtation to remake a movie like Footloose? Why are they not coming up with new ideas or digging into the script archives?

"You know that movie Footloose? You can't see it again."

"Why not?"

"Because I've heard it is trouble..."

I'd better get back to my script. Sheesh.

I have had some trouble sleeping tonight, so, I thought I would post up a few blog posts with. This video was passed along to me today and I love it.

I hope VW doesn't make me sad by doing something stupid. Why not work on those electric cars we've been hearing about. Oh, right...

I am sure you have heard already but the United States of America has shot and killed Osama Bin Laden. This is one of those moments in history you will remember with stunning clarity fifty years from today.

We have been talking about this for the last hour or so and one of the questions asked is what does this mean to Canada? Ultimately, not very much. We Canadian's will talk about it for a bit, go to bed, and then talk a bit more tomorrow but then head off to the voting booths, fill in a few check boxes, and collectively sigh.

So, I took a quick moment to see what it does mean to Canada. Here is what I found.

1. Arczynski, Mike
2. Bailey, Garnet
3. Barkway, David    
4. Basnicki, Ken
5. Collison, Joe
6. Connolly, Cindy
7. Dack, Arron
8. Egan, Christine
9. Egan, Michael
10. Elmarry, Albert
11. Ewart, Meredith
12. Feidelberg, Peter
13. Filipov, Alexander
14. Gerhardt, Ralph
15. Lee, Stuart
16. Ludvigsen, Mark
17. Mascarenhas, Bernard
18. McArthur, Colin
19. Pelletier, Mike
20. Robson, Donald
21. Santos, Rufino
22. Tomasevic, Vladimir
23. Vincelli, Chantal
24. Williams, Debbie

What else does it mean to you?

I am thirty-eight. It has taken me a few days to get this post out. I don't know why but I suspect it is because I feel like I should have something profound to say. Sadly, I don't have any words of wisdom that I can think of. At the very least, I can say that I am not yet 40 years of age.

I never really thought much about the aging process until a few years ago. I don't feel any "older" and I certainly don't behave any older. One thing I will note is that in more recent months, I have felt a case of the "mundanes" settling in over my life. I hear this is common right before a "big zero" year. I didn't realize it would be common for me. That is something the younger kids would say, isn't it?

"I didn't think it would happen to me. I don't think I am that old."

Ah, well. I am sorry that I don't have any words that will make me seem smarter or less-that-dumb. I guess this year will be a great year but I just don't know why yet. What have I on the burner? Many things. I just need the time to make them all happen. This time next year will be very different.

I am prepping a few things today and getting down to some creative writing. Before I do I am having to clean up and organize a few of my odds and ends. One of the things I ran across while sorting was something I wrote about Mr. Hooper. I was a little shocked that I had written any words about Mr. Hooper from Sesame Street. I thought it was rather odd. But, after scanning the text, I thought I may kick it around again and see if I should finish it (and also put it into electronic form).

So, as you may have guessed, it got me thinking about death but, more importantly, about how Seasame Street dealt with the death of the actor, Mr. Will Lee. I looked it up and it is below. It is heart wrenching.

Yes, I know, I keep spouting off about death around here but I did say that I was moving on in a recent post and my recent discovery of a past writing is not about continuing. I merely think it is appropriate since I am cleaning up and sorting old things and putting them away. I did a little more digging about the Children's Television Workshop and found this excerpt from Sesame Street from 1997. 

It makes me smile to know that Big Bird never forgot Mr. Hooper and he was able to look upon the picture he drew and never have him far away.

Back to cleaning...

I am catching up on some posts this evening. Just some house cleaning type of things. But, since I am trying to get my brain into a new gear in terms of my blog, I thought I would write about my short exploits and practice not writing about topics that seem to be skipping around my head these days.

So...

My blog roll. What the hell happened to it? I have no idea either. It took a quick look around at some other blogs and realized that, hey, have blogrolls fallen out of favour? I don't see as many as I used to. I decided that something must be done about this terrible state of the blogroll - so - I am bringing it back.

Yes, you heard me, the blogroll is officially back, muthalovers. I am going to start posting up some blogs that I think are cool and wish to promote. Do you have the balls or skill to make my blogroll?

Try me...submit, I dare you. Join my blogroll and become cooler than you are at this very moment. Check the sidebar and quake with blogroll fear or join my snake worshipping legion of the undead!

Or just let me know you would like to trade blogroll links because you don't think I am a total freak.

I have been writing about death quite a bit lately. I have even been writing about death in posts that I didn't think were about death. Upon re-reading them and a good friend pointing it out, it appears my mind has been quite busy thinking about it - without my permission! I am finding it quite distracting and am ready to move on and think about other things now. I just returned from a "celebration of life" and it was very touching and not "death-centric". It was very much about what happens during life and how to remember those moments.

At one point, a video slideshow was played and the song Time of Your Life was played. I have heard this song a number of times before but in the context of the day, it had new meaning. I love moments like that.

Another turning point;
a fork stuck in the road.

Time grabs you by the wrist;
directs you where to go.

So make the best of this test
and don't ask why.

It's not a question
but a lesson learned in time.

It's something unpredictable
but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

So take the photographs
and still frames in your mind.

Hang it on a shelf
In good health and good time.

Tattoos of memories
and dead skin on trial.

For what it's worth,
it was worth all the while.

It's something unpredictable
but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

(music break)

It's something unpredictable
but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

It's something unpredictable
but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

I will also send a shout out to PenMachine.com who held a Living Wake the other day. I really wished I could have attended but my schedule didn't let me. I hope it went well and it was as positive an experience as I had today.

There has been far too much death in my life over the last couple of years. I have lost both family and friends to disease and tragedy and I tend not to mention it on my own web site. I have mentioned celebrities passing away but that is about it. I am unsure why I do this. It is quite possible that I don't because I like to keep the blog "light". After a bit of soul searching over the last week, I think I am ready to break my rule: don't get overly personal. It is a stupid rule but it is one that I have maintained throughout the life time of this web site. Perhaps it comes from the "blogger/employer" phase of the blogogsphere but, hell, I have been my own employer for the last six years. I am sure that if I was a little personal on my own web site that I would be able to forgive myself.

I think it began back in 2002 or 2003. A relative of mine that runs a web site called Birley.org (a web site of my family tree) had contacted me to find out about his great-great uncle (at least, that is what I recall). According to what he had on record, his great uncle had passed away in Victoria, BC around 1914. The reason he wanted my assistance was to determine if a rumour true. A rumour had started floating around that his uncle had committed suicide and his aging mother was very concerned. Fortunately for us, it has been well documented and we discovered he had died in his late 20s from an infection that had developed post-surgery. It was a sad tale but it put the rumour to. I sought out his grave and located it in Ross Bay Cemetary and that was that.

Over the years since, the reality of death never really left my mind. I felt like I was realizing that there were "fewer days ahead than there are behind". I kept remembering Captain Picard's line from the film Generations (which, in its own way, was about moving on, loss, and aging) where he says:

"It is our mortality that defines us."

For some reason, that line became more to me than some dialogue in a Star Trek movie. Ever since those early years of the 21st century, I have been trying to live better, less stressed, and with a care to what it meant to be alive and to be a human. Sadly, it seems to have bitten me in the ass once or twice where I was taken advantage of in business or in life because I made assuptions that other people think the same way. I try to take notice of important things that should mean more than they do. These days it is about revolution in the Middle East but, hey, the iPad 2 is coming out in a week or so. I don't know what I am saying. I am trying to form a thought by writing it out in a blog post and, I apologize, if it seems like I am scattered. The truth is, I am. I don't think that anyone can really comprehend this existence we live in. What I am trying to do in my head is make it all fit. We live in a time with great technological revolution and social connections while the simplest things like death can make it all go away in an instant. For those who have died in Libya, for example, they no longer will contemplate these things.

Anyway, I am trying to formlate this thought so that it makes sense and I am really having tough time saying what I really want to say. I suppose all I am wanting to mention is that I miss those who have passed on. By my count, I have had six close deaths over the last two years. Sounds incredibly selfish to put it that way but it is how my brain is sorting this information.

To give this post some meaning, a lesson can be gleaned from this for any bloggers out there. Not all blog posts need to have a beginning, middle, and an end. It is perfectly honest and acceptable to start, get lost, and try to find your way back. There are times with topics like this when it is fine that nothing makes sense. For myself, I have some important and selfish reactions going on in my head about death and the situations in parts of the world I have never been to. These thoughts are colliding together and fighting for dominance, cluttering my words in the process. Maybe it will make sense to some but, really, all I really want to say is that I miss those who are gone and I wish they were still here. It fucking sucks to have lost them and I hate death when he comes to visit once too often.

I can't help but think that the ultimate adventure awaits us, though. I picture death being able to do a few cool things: haunt your friends, spy on any girl's locker room, travel the universe at unlimited speeds, and finally have enough time to read everything ever written.

There you go - a scattered blog post for a Wednesday. But, you know what, it is my blog post and if you don't like it, come back tomorrow, I will try to write something better. I have some family to entertain.

I have been trying to figure what is it that drives my passion for blogging and more so what stops it. I enjoy blogging. If I am not doing it, I am thinking about what my next blog post should be. But, still for reasons I can't fathom, I stop. Days turn into weeks and not one post leaks from my fingers. Does life get in the way or is there something else going on that I am not seeing?

If you're reading this, you are most likely already blogging or are thinking about getting into blogging. It is an addictive hobby that has spread and transformed into other methods of sharing. In the beginning, there was HTML and the creative spirit. You could write text and, if you were lucky, figure out how to post images. I refer to these days as "scratching in the technical dirt". Today, we have blogging software, photo sharing services, audio sharing services, and services like Facebook that take such things to a whole new level. It is in our blood this "sharing addiction". Some say a sense of adventure drives it but it could be anything.

So, what stops it?

Drinking The Coolaid

Yes, we've all done it. You've found something incredibly cool and you want to let others know about it. You become all fired up and start to walk the walk and talk the talk. The problem is, you burn out. Writing and creative expression is hard work and many out there don't believe it is so. I challenge the nay-sayers and want to educate those who think that posting information to the web is an easy task. Unfortunately, there is a down side to being the blogging "guy" and it is the reality of creating quality content. If you sit down and pump out meaningless sentence after meaningless sentence (cough, Twitter) you and your blog become less interesting. I think Twitter is one of those services that has encouraged people to stop thinking and creating and has reduced people's blogs to merely sharing content from other locations and by other people. Not everything is poor, mind you, but Twitter has created a small portion of lazy bloggers.

Finding The Balance

Yet, as exciting as sharing information and knowledge is with others, it can be time consuming and can consume the unwise. I am guilty of this from time to time. I am so busy sharing I can forget what I really should be doing - enjoying the moment! In my experience, I lack a lot of time to blog because I am dedicated to getting things done that I need to get done. Blogging hasn't been one of those things over the last couple of years. Finding the time is hard if you want to create meaningful and useful content for your web site or blog.

New Toys

I suppose it is about the toys. You have toys as a child and regardless of how crappy the toy is or ordinary, it is still the toy you want to play with. Blogging is no different. We get distracted with all kinds of glittery things. We obsess over the different options, features, and fancy shiny things we may configure and place on our blogs. I am always concerned about bloggers who follow this practice. Many don't think past the glittery stage. They blieve something is so cool to look at that it must have some sort of

Of course, I haven't discovered anything new here. This kind of attitude is everywhere. New gadgets, shiny options, and fancy layouts seem to dominate the realm of the blogging world. I am seeing this leak away a bit these days - which may be why I am wanting to return. My voice has meaning and value but it is like the followers I gained over the years lost their way. They were distracted by the new stuff and forgot what it was they got into blogging for to begin with.

Gak

Essentially, I think my biggest issue is that I had lost faith. With so many sharing services, I was personally overwhelmed to "walk the walk". It is very interesting to me as I haven't really gone into this much depth before. I have promised and re-promised that I would return only to get sucked back in to life, confusion, dry mouth, or whatever issue I can make an excuse of. Just when I thought I was out... they pull me back in.

This whole post has not gone where I thought it was going. Enough. Off to bed and more tomorrow.

Hey, tonight is the Vancouver Bloggers Meetup and there is going to be some sexy talk going on. How about you come down and check it out? Here is the low-down:

I am going to have to duck out of the Dyscultured podcast to be there, but if you aren't coming down to the sex romp that is the Vancouver Bloggers Meetup, why not head over there and listen in.

See you tonight!

I hate losing things. I don't think many people do. You either freak out like a crazy person or you are grumpy with yourself or someone else. Today, I lost a gift card and a pug - and, lucky for me, it was only for about twenty minutes in both cases.

The first thing I lost was the gift card. It wasn't a $300 dollar gift card but it was enough to make me want to find it. I had it in my pocket the day before and then - poof - it was gone. A bit of searching and I located the card in my car. It wasn't easy to find but hard enough to force me to contort my body in a few positions that would even make me blush. It was under the driver's seat in the car and I then whisked off to the store to pick up some fancy gifts for myself.

I came home and decided to clean up the backyard of my parents home. It was neglected and needed a bit of a scrubbing. This made the pugs happy as they were able to run around the grass and patio and chase each other around in the brief sunshine. I was busy doing my thing when I realized I only had a single pug in the yard. This would not be cause for concern if Serendipity had escaped as she tends to stick around familiar surroundings. Faith, on the other hand, is an adventurer and incredibly trusting of other people - she also hasn't a clue about why cars are dangerous.

I was in panic mode within a micro-second. I was amazed at the level of control I was able to exert but it lasted only a few minutes until panic set in.

• Grab other pug.
• Toss pug into house.
• Close door.
• Leave backyard.
• No panic.
• Check street.
• Push panic away.
• Check front yard.
• Ask mail carrier if she saw a "stupid pug".
• Call the other half. Request back up.
• Panic laughs.
• No pug anywhere.
• Panic.
• Think about where a pug would go.
• Look in neighbour's backyard.
• Pug wiggles.
• Relief.
• Call off back up.
• Lock pug in house, cursing pug all the way.

There is my quick tale of woe. I am going to get back to the yard now but, wow, I love yet hate that feeling and had too much of both today. I think I will block up whatever part of the fence she discovered was open and inviting.

Many, many years ago, I remember waking up at 4:30am in order to get in line at A&B Sound's Boxing Day sale. It was quite the event and making sure you were in line as early as possible was critical to your (perceived) success. I remember waking up to a friend (the one who had a car) jumping up and down in front of my parent's living room window. We managed to wake up and fifteen minutes later we were in the A&B Sound line. I recall we were the tenth people in line and I felt like I was one of the coolest people in the world. I was filled with Christmas excitement. I was taking part in a tradition that has been going on for years and I was a part of the season - it meant something.

I was reminded of this story yesterday when I was trying to get active and leave the comfort of my parent's home (with pug cuddles) and head out to join in on some Boxing Day sales. I struggled against the warm and snoring pugs but I wasn't able to break free from their tractor beams until the early evening. I made it to a couple of stores and did pick up something useful but the magic was lost. It wasn't cool any more. It was just shopping with a bunch of other wandering zombies. I am sure there were people enjoying the experience but, somehow, I finally realized the miracle was dead. It clicked for me. The season of shopping on Boxing Day was gone and the infection had already spread to the rest of the holiday.

I have struggled the past couple of holiday seasons because I haven't felt excited. When I was seven, the holidays were exciting - I vibrated with anticipation. As the years went by, I was still able to hold on to that excitement. For example, only a few years ago, I remember driving on to the ferry to Victoria and I started to vibrate again! But the last couple of years have been very hard. I have to expend a lot of additional energy to get into the spirit of Christmas and it has taken me some time to realize why - the season of Christmas has lost its' soul. I am sure this is nothing new for a lot of people but, for me, I finally picked up on it. I used to love the holiday and wish I was celebrating with the most joyous part of it but, I can't lie, I haven't enjoyed the holiday to the fullest for a while. I thought it was that I had forgotten the "reason for the season" but that isn't it. It is because the commercial exploitation has tread over other holiday territory. This creep effect has killed the holidays for me.

In October 2010, about a week before Hallowe'en, I witnessed something horrible - a Canadian Tire employee hanging Christmas Tree ornaments on a Christmas Tree display. I mentioned it was October, right? I remember saying to whomever I was with: "Come on! It isn't even Hallowe'en!" I was shocked. I couldn't process how any one would think of setting up a Christmas Tree in October. I could understand maybe setting up a tree display in preparation for the holidays on November 15th or so but October 24th? I finally realized it is this type of behaviour has been eroding the special feeling that one gets during the holidays. I became frustrated as December drew near and declared that no Christmas carols would be played at the office until after December 1st. I thought this would help get me in the spirit when it was it was appropriate. I fast forward to November 10th, 2010 - in a Starbucks near my office. Christmas carols were played over and over again in the store. November? Are they serious?

I don't know what to do about this feeling I have that the world has gone commercially crazy. It has been going on for a long time but, wow, is it really that bad now? Have the retailers felt the pinch that much that they need to start advertising their wares in October? I am sure this is nothing new for a lot of you out there but, for me, it took until the feeling was stomped on one too many times. The sad thing is, when I left the store on the Boxing Day I woke up early, I only bought a couple of compact discs - one was AC/DC's Razor's Edge. I don't remember what the other one was but it was something significant. Most likely, it was a soundtrack to some movie that I love.

This season I decided to force myself to feel the spirit and start formulating a plan to claim Christmas back. One part of my plan is to make sure I blog throughout Christmas. What else can I do? Thoughts?

As I sit here with a cup of tea and a shortbread butter cookie, I am going down my list of things that I need to do before the holiday hits tomorrow.

• Nothing.
• Wrap presents.
• More nothing.
• Sleep.
• Open presents.
• Perhaps more nothing.
• Drink good coffee.

I love it when I come up with a list like that. I have very little to do for the next week (enforced, of course) and will be resting, reading, and doing a whole lot of nothing. I hope you all have a great holiday and are able to take a bit of time to do as much nothing as I am going to be doing.

This isn't a very Christmas-y post but, the other day, couldn't help but notice there seems to be an increase in Firefly references in current television shows. I watched an episode of Castle the other day and there was a blatant reference. I had to rewind it several times to enjoy it and I laughed quite hard.

To celebrate this occasion, I found a few references for you to check out.

And another...

Another...

And, by the way, if you are not a Firefly fan already, you should pick up several copies of Firefly this holiday season and give them to your friends and family. Don't forget the film Serenity either as it wraps everything up in a nice bow. I would also check out Chuck and Castle. I haven't seen Big Bang Theory yet but, if they are Browncoats, it can't be all bad.

I just realized something about one of my Christmas rituals - when I lay down in the snow, there is silence. Not an absolute silence but enough to get my attention. Weird, huh? It takes silence to wake us up from our noise filled lives.

This is one thing I love to hate about the "big city". I think there is too much noise. I can't hear myself think some days when my brain is in overload with typical life things. When I come home and there is a slight break in the noise, my ears will sometimes ring. (It is highly annoying and, from what I have learned, is quite common in cities. I should really go see an audiologist or something. It has been a while and they told me it was normal a few years back.)

But that silence. That silence is amazing. For even a brief moment, I am able to think about what it must be like to live out in the country where city backgound noise isn't a factor in daily life.

Hmm.

Has any one ever tried those sensory depravation tanks? I wonder if there is any in town. I wouldn't mind doing it again. I tried it a long time ago and it was a wild experience. I highly recommend it.

To long for silence. Isn't it true that silence is the mother of truth? Or so says Benjamin.

I received a comment yesterday that reminded me of an old ritual that I had forgotten about: Christmas Lights!

For the longest time, we had a family ritual around viewing Christmas lights. We would all jump into the car and drive around Victoria, looking at people's Christmas lights. I loved it. I don't remember the last time I did go on a lights night. There must be organized routes in town here. I know there is in Victoria every single year. Perhaps I will head out some time and investigate the lights situation this year.

One thing about viewing the lights is being able to check out places in your town you never knew existed. It is like expanding your brain a little bit while looking at creativity on people's lawns. I kind of miss putting up lights. My dad was a fiend and obsessed with making sure the family homestead was decorated. His knees can't handle it any more and I do feel guilty for not being able to help out. Maybe I will put some up this year if we can squeeze it in.

I am glad I remember that ritual now because it was long, long, forgotten. Thanks, Cheryl!

Over the last couple of years, I have gained yet another level of nostalgia around the holidays. Today, I started thinking about where my nostalgia for the holidays comes from. Why do I feel this way? Is it the food? Is the the presents? Candy canes? It could be about the fact I am getting older and beginning to realize it. Perhaps it is something else entirely. The end of the decade has come and we're about to venture into 2011 - so, that may be it. I am not sold on any particular holiday experience being the catalyst. I don't think I ever will truly know as I stopped wondering how my brain worked many, many years ago. I just let it go crazy and do whatever it wants. You should try it some time. You might scare yourself into being happier or something, something, something.

Anyway, when started thinking about it, I came to the realization that I have formed a few rituals in recent years. For example, two years ago, I began listening to Dicken's A Christmas Carol as read by Patrick Stewart. This is not entirely unusual as many people most likely watch or read some form of the story. For me, I put it on my iPod (after a quick jaunt to the library a couple of years ago) and have made sure to listen to it either on the 23rd or the 24th. I can't seem to bring myself to read it after Christmas Day, it just isn't the same. Something else I noticed last year was I always watch Mickey's Christmas Carol even if it is by myself. It is quick and I like it. I am a Disney guy, after all.  I think this year, I will check out the 1938 movie. I saw it years and year ago. I suppose I am due for another viewing of the old black and white edition. I seem to be addicted to that one story. I did look for a collection of Dicken's other Christmas stories (they were quite short, if I recall) but have yet to find a copy. If you have a line on one, please let me know.

Another of my rituals is to lay down in the snow on a cold night and stare at the stars while watching my breath slowly curl into the dark. I find that this activity is required. There is something about taking a few minutes to just do nothing and let your mind wander the sky. I have done this for years. I recall, one Christmas Eve when I was maybe ten years old, going out into back yard (possibly the outside deck) and laying down in the snow with my Star Wars snowspeeder. I loved that thing. I always thought it was so cool that I could put a toy snow speeder in real snow. I think this was how I broke the two main guns off the toy by crashing it into the snow and then pretending an AT-AT was going to step on it.

One more ritual I have identified is also movie related. I like to watch Home For The Holidays and Home Alone. Home Alone is just a good film. Not amazing. It is just entertaining. Home For The Holidays is a Thanksgiving film but I find it astoundingly bizarre and hilarious. It is like someone tore a page out of my life (or how I perceived it at one time) and made it into a movie. I do recommend it because, no matter how many times I have watched it, I laugh out loud. The performances are great and it was directed by Jodie Foster who seems to touch anything and turn it to gold.

There you have it. Three rituals that I have identified. I think to qualify as a ritual it needs to be a very personal reaction. I find interactions with family don't count if they are just the traditional "jamming" everyone in as much as you can during a Christmas visit (that is assuming you don't live near your immediate family). I think of these rituals as quite personal and not necessarily something you share openly with others. With that in mind, do you have any worth sharing?

This year has been a bit rough for my family as we've had a few family members pass on and, as we're getting closer to Christmas, I have been looking for ways to cheer myself up. One of the things I re-discovered today was Bob & Doug McKenzie's 12 Days of Christmas. I popped in the CD and listened to the whole album and was happy to sing along to the "Christmas part of the album".

I then did a quick search online and found this:

Enjoy and let's have a positive holiday this year.

Guess what, people? It is that time of year again and it is time for the Stanley Park Ghost Train! This year's theme is Alice In Nightmareland – how frickin' awesome is that? What would your favourite characters recently back from the dead would you like to see? I hope Alice digs her way out of the grave to kiss my chainsaw blade! Hahaha!

*cough* But, seriously, I am a lover of the train in Stanley Park and it is always a pleasant distraction. I am heading there tonight if you're at all interested to come and hang out.

Here is their verbage:

All this and more is in store for those who dare to climb aboard this year's Stanley Park Hallowe'en Ghost Train. Since 1999, the Ghost Train has been an annual tradition for thousands of families craving thrills and excitement. Reinventing itself each year with new themes, sets, costumes and many more surprises conjured up by the creative team at Mortal Coil Performance Society, the Ghost Train is a uniquely wonderful and fun experience every trick-or-treat season.

Directors Sharon Bayly and Peter Hall of Mortal Coil head up this year's crew of actors, dancers, stilt performers, and puppeteers. Don't worry, even as you venture with Alice into Nightmareland, you'll be out of harm's way in the safety of the Ghost Train…..trust us!

See you boo-night…! Okay, enough, already…

I have been quite busy with the day job of late but I have had some time to get back to writing some new posts.  I was intending on starting this coming weekend but I couldn't not share this song.

For all you literary types, you will really get a kick out of this.