Artistic grads shuffle stools
Scratch their ass and wrack their brains
Try their damndest not to try at all
Not at all
Pot smoke wafts from the war memorial
Games simple soldiers never got to play
Could fill our city's hall
It's Saturday and the records are on sale.
I feel as though I don't have much to add to that, really.
I'm in the coffee shop I didn't plan to be in and everyone's dressed like they're bicycling.
It's February, so hopefully these people are just making a statement, which says:
"I want my pants to fit just tightly enough."
I had no idea what Norah Jones looked like.
Turns out she looks like someone I would undress.
That's not hard to do:
My own success has never been a preoccupation of mine.
That's not your fault.
Presumably, it's mine.
Y'know, I never get tired of walking into a place only to feel completely out of place there.
Fitting in is for HR representatives.
I thought about becoming an HR person, once.
However, that would have strictly been for the free 'recruiting' trips to Australia.
I don't know how much recruiting can be done while drunk and/or asphyxiated from a jellyfish sting.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
We're Engaged
You heard it here first, folks!
And remember: 'Tragic Hero' is the number one blog for updated information on the author of Tragic Hero.
And remember: 'Tragic Hero' is the number one blog for updated information on the author of Tragic Hero.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Lonely Planet
Have a good time in Mars.
What happened to sending chimps first, that's what I wanna know.
Animal activists have actually come that far - they'll be damned if a monkey will be shot into space on their watch, so let's send some substitute teachers from Arizona instead.
These poor monkeys have families.
Mars! You don't come back from Mars.
I just watched them interview a Mars One finalist from B.C. on the television.
The reporter asked her the obvious question:
"How do you feel about the whole 'one-way ticket' thing?
Aren't you concerned about landing on Mars and then staying there?"
What did the woman from B.C. say? What else could she say?
What other sort of person could ever be convinced to do something like this?
She said, "Well, sure it's scary, but it's such an adventure."
What an airhead.
If you want adventure, you don't blast off to fucking Mars.
It's much less complicated to rent a hang glider down south somewhere.
I can't even talk about it, it's too frustrating.
They've all been convinced that they're going to be honored as some heroic group of pioneers.
Instead, they'll be associated with going back to the drawing board.
We're talking about colonizing planets. I'll say it again: colonizing planets.
Do these people really think that we're going to get that right the first time?
Please.
These finalists need to research the origin of flight, learn about how many sods plummeted to their deaths along the way.
Nobody remembers those guys, and these (doomed) Mars One people are living out the exact same concept.
It's right in the article, in black and white. This is one of the organizers or commanders or whatever:
"...the organization believes its greatest need is not to find the smartest or most-skilled people, but rather the people most dedicated to the cause."
Apparently, these space cases aren't great at reading between the lines.
"We'll send up the capable people after the first wave of losers set up the tents and die of various causes that we haven't accounted for yet."
I'm not sure how intelligent these people are supposed to be, but anyone as intelligent as one should be to colonize a planet would never agree to go in the first place.
I don't give a shit how many parabolic flights these finalists have been on - how many times they puked in that thing that spins around really fast, you can't convince me that they have really thought this through.
They haven't. If the woman I saw on television had thought this through, she would have been weeping during the interview.
"I'm going to Mars. I'll never come home. I'll probably die within the first year."
Half of them probably expect to see a Subway or A&W immediately after they land.
I can't express how upsetting I find this. But I guess I just tried my best to express it.
And now I'm done.
"It'll be such an adventure!"
Have a nice trip. We'll all be thinking about you until the first week has passed when we'll forget about you entirely.
Alright, now I'm done.
Mars.
Honest to Jesus.
edit: Just to clarify, I'm not upset that these people are being sent in the first place. Sacrifice is necessary for progress. I'm upset that these fools are daft enough to agree to go.
What happened to sending chimps first, that's what I wanna know.
Animal activists have actually come that far - they'll be damned if a monkey will be shot into space on their watch, so let's send some substitute teachers from Arizona instead.
These poor monkeys have families.
Mars! You don't come back from Mars.
I just watched them interview a Mars One finalist from B.C. on the television.
The reporter asked her the obvious question:
"How do you feel about the whole 'one-way ticket' thing?
Aren't you concerned about landing on Mars and then staying there?"
What did the woman from B.C. say? What else could she say?
What other sort of person could ever be convinced to do something like this?
She said, "Well, sure it's scary, but it's such an adventure."
What an airhead.
If you want adventure, you don't blast off to fucking Mars.
It's much less complicated to rent a hang glider down south somewhere.
I can't even talk about it, it's too frustrating.
They've all been convinced that they're going to be honored as some heroic group of pioneers.
Instead, they'll be associated with going back to the drawing board.
We're talking about colonizing planets. I'll say it again: colonizing planets.
Do these people really think that we're going to get that right the first time?
Please.
These finalists need to research the origin of flight, learn about how many sods plummeted to their deaths along the way.
Nobody remembers those guys, and these (doomed) Mars One people are living out the exact same concept.
It's right in the article, in black and white. This is one of the organizers or commanders or whatever:
"...the organization believes its greatest need is not to find the smartest or most-skilled people, but rather the people most dedicated to the cause."
Apparently, these space cases aren't great at reading between the lines.
"We'll send up the capable people after the first wave of losers set up the tents and die of various causes that we haven't accounted for yet."
I'm not sure how intelligent these people are supposed to be, but anyone as intelligent as one should be to colonize a planet would never agree to go in the first place.
I don't give a shit how many parabolic flights these finalists have been on - how many times they puked in that thing that spins around really fast, you can't convince me that they have really thought this through.
They haven't. If the woman I saw on television had thought this through, she would have been weeping during the interview.
"I'm going to Mars. I'll never come home. I'll probably die within the first year."
Half of them probably expect to see a Subway or A&W immediately after they land.
I can't express how upsetting I find this. But I guess I just tried my best to express it.
And now I'm done.
"It'll be such an adventure!"
Have a nice trip. We'll all be thinking about you until the first week has passed when we'll forget about you entirely.
Alright, now I'm done.
Mars.
Honest to Jesus.
edit: Just to clarify, I'm not upset that these people are being sent in the first place. Sacrifice is necessary for progress. I'm upset that these fools are daft enough to agree to go.
Monday, February 16, 2015
Demi-Glace, Semi-Gloss, The Glossary
As of 2015 (what year is it now?) I decided to add a glossary to my blog. This is it.
If you come across an emboldened word, clicking the link should bring you here, where I will explain said word in some cutesy, demeaning way.
Andrea: Married to Brian.
"Around the bay": This is a Newfoundland expression that is actually sorta self-explanatory, I guess. It any context I'll be using it in, it describes leaving the area of St. John's in order to get to another part of the island that involves a bay in some way. Going "around the bay" almost certainly means leaving St. John's in order to drive to my home in Bay Roberts (an hour away).
Brian: Middle brother and all-around black sheep. By the time I was old enough to get in trouble, I rarely did because Brian was generally doing something far more concerning from a parent's point-of-view. Brian was the first male at our high school (and, truly, probably our entire town) to pierce both of his earlobes. Brian has given me several hundred 'charley horses'.
Bridey Malloy's/The Celtic Hearth: This is a combination of restaurants on George Street, housed in the same building and accommodated by the same kitchen, which I worked in for a summer. Read my retelling of the job's interview here (it's about halfway through this gigantic post). The locations are both 24-hour operations, one of the few establishments to boast this sort of open-all-nightery on the street. Consequently, I prepared a lot of nachos for drunk people while working a lot of night shifts.
Charlotte: Married to Colin.
Colin: Eldest brother and card-carrying curmudgeon. Easily the contrariest person I know. Colin enjoys wearing pajama pants and hates/loves a day's work. Colin once captured a lizard while we were vacationing in Florida which he left it in a glass encasement on a picnic table at our campground while we went to Disneyland. When we got home that evening the lizard was very dead and somewhat melted.
George Street: Located in St. John's, the capital city of Newfoundland, this street (allegedly) boasts the greatest number of bars per capita in all of North America. I cannot verify this fact with confidence, but I can assure you that I have vomited there many times.
Mozzy: Newfoundland term. Referring to a specific sort of precipitation, 'mozzy' is not quite drizzle and not quite rain, but it is somewhere in-between. A heavy drizzle would be an acceptable definition, I suppose.
On da go: A Newfoundland expression, this means sex, kinda. To get a woman 'on the go' is to start dating or sleeping with them, or both.
If you come across an emboldened word, clicking the link should bring you here, where I will explain said word in some cutesy, demeaning way.
Andrea: Married to Brian.
"Around the bay": This is a Newfoundland expression that is actually sorta self-explanatory, I guess. It any context I'll be using it in, it describes leaving the area of St. John's in order to get to another part of the island that involves a bay in some way. Going "around the bay" almost certainly means leaving St. John's in order to drive to my home in Bay Roberts (an hour away).
Brian: Middle brother and all-around black sheep. By the time I was old enough to get in trouble, I rarely did because Brian was generally doing something far more concerning from a parent's point-of-view. Brian was the first male at our high school (and, truly, probably our entire town) to pierce both of his earlobes. Brian has given me several hundred 'charley horses'.
Bridey Malloy's/The Celtic Hearth: This is a combination of restaurants on George Street, housed in the same building and accommodated by the same kitchen, which I worked in for a summer. Read my retelling of the job's interview here (it's about halfway through this gigantic post). The locations are both 24-hour operations, one of the few establishments to boast this sort of open-all-nightery on the street. Consequently, I prepared a lot of nachos for drunk people while working a lot of night shifts.
Charlotte: Married to Colin.
Colin: Eldest brother and card-carrying curmudgeon. Easily the contrariest person I know. Colin enjoys wearing pajama pants and hates/loves a day's work. Colin once captured a lizard while we were vacationing in Florida which he left it in a glass encasement on a picnic table at our campground while we went to Disneyland. When we got home that evening the lizard was very dead and somewhat melted.
George Street: Located in St. John's, the capital city of Newfoundland, this street (allegedly) boasts the greatest number of bars per capita in all of North America. I cannot verify this fact with confidence, but I can assure you that I have vomited there many times.
Mozzy: Newfoundland term. Referring to a specific sort of precipitation, 'mozzy' is not quite drizzle and not quite rain, but it is somewhere in-between. A heavy drizzle would be an acceptable definition, I suppose.
On da go: A Newfoundland expression, this means sex, kinda. To get a woman 'on the go' is to start dating or sleeping with them, or both.
Labels/Tags Explained (Finallly)
It's been several years. High time I explained what the tags or 'labels' on the blog actually refer to. If a label listed on the side of the page is not in this list, it is in the process of being phased out.
Feel free to recommend additional labels. Feel free to do anything at all; don't let the man get you down.
Labels. Here they are:
*Glossary: A new addition as of 2015 (as of today, in fact), the glossary is designed to explain blog mainstays (family, friends, pets, shortcomings) to newcomers and old patrons alike.
9 to 5: These posts are those relating in any way, shape or form to me being at work or at a job. Also encompasses posts that involve me getting fired from jobs.
A Postcard Town: Just before Tragic Hero's inception, I had lived for two years in Banff, Alberta (Canada's first National Park). It was a beautiful place at the base of a mountain range full of attractive 20-somethings contracting diseases and doing drugs. These are posts that involve Banff in some way.
Academia: Posts relating in any way to my being in class or completing work for a course. Also includes any posts in which I discuss professors I find sexy.
An Expensive School: After graduating from high school, I went to a post-secondary institution on my parents' dime like so many other white people with teacher-parents. Why not pick the most expensive in your country? These are posts relating to my time spent at Acadia University.
Baby Love: A newer label, this one relates to posts that discuss the new babies in my life that my loved ones are endlessly producing these days. They primarily include my nieces Willow and Holly and the children of my best friends; Rowan, Ellis and Grant belonging to Peter and Turpin (now dead) and Victoria and Isabella, belonging to Robert and Christa.
Calendar Days: Big days as far as my, or the Julian calendar, are concerned.
Comedy: All posts relating to my being a stand-up comedian. Show descriptions are in here. Also includes my thoughts on being a comic and how unsuccessful comedy is at getting me sex.
Da B'ys: A Newfoundland term that men use to refer to their closest buddies. Ergo, these posts are about my closest buddies.
Da Missus: Similarly, a Newfoundland term (I'm sure it's used in other parts of the world, too) that refers to my special woman. This person has remained more constant in the past few years.
Intoxication (formerly 'Drug Use'): Posts that involve me being drunk or stoned. A great place to start if you're a potential employer.
Embarrassing Myself: Any post that involves me embarrassing myself. Sometimes I'm surprised there aren't more that fall into this category. As of my last checking the blog stats, this is the most popular label.
Flirting With You: These are posts written about a specific woman in my head whom I never had the guts to communicate my actual feelings to years beforehand. If you're a woman who spent time with me and you believe I may have been into you, you can sift through these to try and place yourself among the posts, though I would hope that you have better things to do with your time. If not, then you should move on. Forget about me!
Forgetting Something Important: Self-explanatory. This practice often gets me into sticky situations.
Girls I Once Saw Naked: Posts about exes.
Givin' It Out: Another Newfoundland term, this expression means to complain vehemently, or more specifically, it means ranting. These are rants.
God: Giant Man in the sky who bums money off of mortals.
Hurting Myself: Self-explanatory.
I'm Talkin' To You: These are posts that involve me addressing the public in a frank or straightforward way. The public rarely responds.
In The News: Any post relating to current events/recent headlines. That is, recent when they were written.
Insomnia: I have trouble sleeping sometimes. These are posts relating to this. I'll probably get rid of this label because I don't have trouble sleeping often enough to make a label about it.
It's Friday: A label that came into play a few years ago, these are posts that take place on Fridays, which I begin by saying, "Something something something, it's Friday!" It makes sense if you read a couple. This label is more for myself in order to keep track of them. This gimmick is specically and blatantly stolen from The Simpsons' episode "The Simpons Files" (the one with Moulder and Scully of the X-Files).
Just My Luck: This is sarcasm. These are posts about things going just slightly askew enough as to fuck up my day. Unlucky posts.
Lemme Get Serious For A Minute: Self-explanatory. Posts in which I stop fucking around and try to 'get real' with my readers.
Me Causing A Scene: Any situation in which 'normal' people are startled or confused by what I'm doing. Usually involves me breaking something.
Me In The Shower: Just what you came here to read about! Any post that has me in the shower.
Mortality: Any post that has me pondering the flimsiness of my mortality-a subject I obsess about.
Music: Any post in which I pretend to be hip enough to recommend music to other people.
Mustache: Any post that involves me sporting a mustache or growing a mustache. Please note: this label existed before "Movember" was a thing. I fuckin' hate Movember.
My Brothers: Any posts relating to one or both of my older brothers, Brian and Colin.
My Parents: Any post relating to my overbearing, kind-hearted, annoying parents.
Nothing in Particular: Any post that doesn't fit into the other labels. These are usually just musings about cats or whatever.
Poem: All posts that contain any of my poetry.
Proud of the Title: Any post that has a title I'm fond of. I take the titles of blog posts much more seriously than the posts themselves, generally.
Sex: Intercourse.
Stills: Posts that contain more photographs than words. Not a lot of these.
The Dog: Posts involving my girlfriend's dog, Gabby, who is also my dog (for as long as I have the girlfriend).
The Hired Help: Any post that refers to other people at work. These primarily deal with my interactions with retail employees.
The State of the Union: These posts refer to the general state of the human race (or, more often, the state of North American culture).
Turpin: Any post about my best friend Sarah who convinced me to start this blog in the first place. Turpin died of some bullshit cancer on October 3, 2014. It sucked.
Wardrobe: Any post that involves my whacky clothing choices.
Feel free to recommend additional labels. Feel free to do anything at all; don't let the man get you down.
Labels. Here they are:
*Glossary: A new addition as of 2015 (as of today, in fact), the glossary is designed to explain blog mainstays (family, friends, pets, shortcomings) to newcomers and old patrons alike.
9 to 5: These posts are those relating in any way, shape or form to me being at work or at a job. Also encompasses posts that involve me getting fired from jobs.
A Postcard Town: Just before Tragic Hero's inception, I had lived for two years in Banff, Alberta (Canada's first National Park). It was a beautiful place at the base of a mountain range full of attractive 20-somethings contracting diseases and doing drugs. These are posts that involve Banff in some way.
Academia: Posts relating in any way to my being in class or completing work for a course. Also includes any posts in which I discuss professors I find sexy.
An Expensive School: After graduating from high school, I went to a post-secondary institution on my parents' dime like so many other white people with teacher-parents. Why not pick the most expensive in your country? These are posts relating to my time spent at Acadia University.
Baby Love: A newer label, this one relates to posts that discuss the new babies in my life that my loved ones are endlessly producing these days. They primarily include my nieces Willow and Holly and the children of my best friends; Rowan, Ellis and Grant belonging to Peter and Turpin (now dead) and Victoria and Isabella, belonging to Robert and Christa.
Calendar Days: Big days as far as my, or the Julian calendar, are concerned.
Comedy: All posts relating to my being a stand-up comedian. Show descriptions are in here. Also includes my thoughts on being a comic and how unsuccessful comedy is at getting me sex.
Da B'ys: A Newfoundland term that men use to refer to their closest buddies. Ergo, these posts are about my closest buddies.
Da Missus: Similarly, a Newfoundland term (I'm sure it's used in other parts of the world, too) that refers to my special woman. This person has remained more constant in the past few years.
Intoxication (formerly 'Drug Use'): Posts that involve me being drunk or stoned. A great place to start if you're a potential employer.
Embarrassing Myself: Any post that involves me embarrassing myself. Sometimes I'm surprised there aren't more that fall into this category. As of my last checking the blog stats, this is the most popular label.
Flirting With You: These are posts written about a specific woman in my head whom I never had the guts to communicate my actual feelings to years beforehand. If you're a woman who spent time with me and you believe I may have been into you, you can sift through these to try and place yourself among the posts, though I would hope that you have better things to do with your time. If not, then you should move on. Forget about me!
Forgetting Something Important: Self-explanatory. This practice often gets me into sticky situations.
Girls I Once Saw Naked: Posts about exes.
Givin' It Out: Another Newfoundland term, this expression means to complain vehemently, or more specifically, it means ranting. These are rants.
God: Giant Man in the sky who bums money off of mortals.
Hurting Myself: Self-explanatory.
I'm Talkin' To You: These are posts that involve me addressing the public in a frank or straightforward way. The public rarely responds.
In The News: Any post relating to current events/recent headlines. That is, recent when they were written.
Insomnia: I have trouble sleeping sometimes. These are posts relating to this. I'll probably get rid of this label because I don't have trouble sleeping often enough to make a label about it.
It's Friday: A label that came into play a few years ago, these are posts that take place on Fridays, which I begin by saying, "Something something something, it's Friday!" It makes sense if you read a couple. This label is more for myself in order to keep track of them. This gimmick is specically and blatantly stolen from The Simpsons' episode "The Simpons Files" (the one with Moulder and Scully of the X-Files).
Just My Luck: This is sarcasm. These are posts about things going just slightly askew enough as to fuck up my day. Unlucky posts.
Lemme Get Serious For A Minute: Self-explanatory. Posts in which I stop fucking around and try to 'get real' with my readers.
Me Causing A Scene: Any situation in which 'normal' people are startled or confused by what I'm doing. Usually involves me breaking something.
Me In The Shower: Just what you came here to read about! Any post that has me in the shower.
Mortality: Any post that has me pondering the flimsiness of my mortality-a subject I obsess about.
Music: Any post in which I pretend to be hip enough to recommend music to other people.
Mustache: Any post that involves me sporting a mustache or growing a mustache. Please note: this label existed before "Movember" was a thing. I fuckin' hate Movember.
My Brothers: Any posts relating to one or both of my older brothers, Brian and Colin.
My Parents: Any post relating to my overbearing, kind-hearted, annoying parents.
Nothing in Particular: Any post that doesn't fit into the other labels. These are usually just musings about cats or whatever.
Poem: All posts that contain any of my poetry.
Proud of the Title: Any post that has a title I'm fond of. I take the titles of blog posts much more seriously than the posts themselves, generally.
Sex: Intercourse.
Stills: Posts that contain more photographs than words. Not a lot of these.
The Dog: Posts involving my girlfriend's dog, Gabby, who is also my dog (for as long as I have the girlfriend).
The Hired Help: Any post that refers to other people at work. These primarily deal with my interactions with retail employees.
The State of the Union: These posts refer to the general state of the human race (or, more often, the state of North American culture).
Turpin: Any post about my best friend Sarah who convinced me to start this blog in the first place. Turpin died of some bullshit cancer on October 3, 2014. It sucked.
Wardrobe: Any post that involves my whacky clothing choices.
Monday, February 2, 2015
A Soar Spot
Are we all really living out our day's potential?
Are we getting the most out of life?
I think I'm going to spit in a cop's face the next time I see one.
It's high time I started having some experiences.
(detainment's an experience.)
I once began writing a post some...I don't know how long ago it was.
On The Ball With Dave & Paul was on the go at the time.
Some of you don't know what that is.
A true shame.
I believe that this short tutorial video should clarify things for you:
This was produced by Matt Dagley while we were still up and running.
I didn't see the video until months after we had stopped doing the open mic.
And that wasn't Matt Dagley's fault.
Dagley Media, everybody!
Instead, it was mine.
Conveniently, this sort of ties in with our theme here today.
See, when I began this post, I thought it might be the sort of thing that would contain some things I need to say.
I'm a woman, first of all.
I've been a woman the whole time.
I'm changing the subject.
We conducted On The Ball With Dave & Paul on the Dalhousie campus.
While waiting for Davey to arrive before one of our shows, I wandered into the Student Union SUB Quad whatever-it's-called to scope chicks.
Imaginus was having a poster fair.
I used to love poster fairs.
What better to spend my parents' money on than a bunch of wall decorations that depicted my favourite movies and therefore told my story.
On my wall!
"Blink 182? Yes, I love Blink 182 and I'll probably love them forever!
I'll add it to the list."
As I wandered the facades of Tupac and copies of Klimts, a single, blazing quotation caught my eye.
It's from Salvador Dali, if you're squinting to read the speaker.
I photographed it (exhibit A) and found myself a booth and began to write whatever I wrote on a piece of paper that I soonafter lost.
But this was the gist, probably.
That's me. I'm the bird.
I've always been the bird.
Most of the time, I've been the bird.
A wingless, grounded freak, apart and far from all of the other birds.
I've spent a lifetime (and 32, it turns out, is a lifetime for some people) waiting.
"Waiting for what, Paul?" you ask, leaning in, slightly. You're intent. You may have your hand on my knee.
I suppose, in reality, I've been waiting for myself to stop being myself quite so much.
I can't tell you, y'know what I mean? I can't tell you why I don't push the talents I have to the limits I can reach.
I never have, and I've always been okay with it.
As a white, middle-class university by-product, I've been blaming my parents a little more, lately.
I blame others around me sometimes. I blame the media's entertainment sector, and how damned entertaining it is.
I've blamed the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I've blamed the tides.
I blame myself.
And I can play the blame game for another 32 years, I suppose.
Doesn't get me anywhere.
I get introspective like this, from time to time.
I'll come on here and write a post and say, "I used ta be that guy. But no more!"
I suppose that's what this is, too.
For once, though, I'd like to make the claim and mean it.
Comedy. Writing. Whatever.
I'd like to try trying.
However, what usually happens are empassioned diatribes coupled wiith a couple of Google searches.
Within a week I'm where I was and back to basics.
I suppose that's what this is.
The diatribe.
They're becoming more familiar. Easier to spot.
I have no answer for why I am this way. No reason that's the reason, anyway.
Though I can say it's a hated thing, this lack of completion. Lack of conviction.
I'm getting sick of the diatribes too, to be honest.
Do you know what it's like to write something that you really feel only to learn that perhaps you don't really feel it after all?
It's not cool.
I worry about what the first step should be.
That is true, at least.
I do know that an issue relating to the greater problem is that I don't exactly know where to start...
If I woke up and said, "I wanna be an architect."
Well, okay. I grab some drafting equipement, I guess. Find a school that offers architercture classes (probably in Sweden.) Apply (or not apply), pack up my drafting equipment, and board the steamer ship with my steam trunk...
"I wanna be a writer with a book that you go and buy in a bookstore."
Alright.
Well...
...
Write a book, I guess.
That's the only real option I have.
And I've spoken about writing a book here before.
I've spoken about all sorts of things.
But a lot of talk is just something that motivational speakers do.
It's not something that motivates.
I'm not sure what is meant to motivate me.
I thought it was finding the love of my life, but I've done that and the result is just two people wishing I'd do something significant, instead of just myself.
So that's not it.
Then, and I didn't do anything to facilitate this, but I thought that my best friend dying might motivate me.
The jury's still out on that one, but so far the result has been, what I would call, 'cautiously inconclusive'.
And that's a scary thing.
If I can't snap out of it and dust myself after Sarah dying, what in the fuck is going to do it, you dig?
That's the question I have to ask myself: "If this doesn't do it, what will?"
And that's a scary question because the answer is obviously "nothing."
Unless, of course, the answer is "me."
The key to my accomplishments - real accomplishments - can only be through my own doing.
It's always been that way. I shouldn't need a dead friend to tell me that.
Though perhaps she has anyway...
So, this is what the first step is gonna be:
Since the blog is where the book is, I'm going to chisel at the blog for a bit.
"He must mean a new background. It could use some colour..."
I'm going to do the following. I need a list, so let's make a list. There's a bullet button here that must be for bloggers coming to the same conclusions I'm coming to:
I'll let you know how it goes as it goes, and if it goes nowhere I'll be back to making fun of Justin Bieber soon enough and I'll write another diatribe in six to eight months.
I don't know about you, but I hope this is the last one.
If I have fans, I love them all.
Are we getting the most out of life?
I think I'm going to spit in a cop's face the next time I see one.
It's high time I started having some experiences.
(detainment's an experience.)
I once began writing a post some...I don't know how long ago it was.
On The Ball With Dave & Paul was on the go at the time.
Some of you don't know what that is.
A true shame.
I believe that this short tutorial video should clarify things for you:
This was produced by Matt Dagley while we were still up and running.
I didn't see the video until months after we had stopped doing the open mic.
And that wasn't Matt Dagley's fault.
Dagley Media, everybody!
Instead, it was mine.
Conveniently, this sort of ties in with our theme here today.
See, when I began this post, I thought it might be the sort of thing that would contain some things I need to say.
I'm a woman, first of all.
I've been a woman the whole time.
I'm changing the subject.
We conducted On The Ball With Dave & Paul on the Dalhousie campus.
While waiting for Davey to arrive before one of our shows, I wandered into the Student Union SUB Quad whatever-it's-called to scope chicks.
Imaginus was having a poster fair.
I used to love poster fairs.
What better to spend my parents' money on than a bunch of wall decorations that depicted my favourite movies and therefore told my story.
On my wall!
"Blink 182? Yes, I love Blink 182 and I'll probably love them forever!
I'll add it to the list."
As I wandered the facades of Tupac and copies of Klimts, a single, blazing quotation caught my eye.
I photographed it (exhibit A) and found myself a booth and began to write whatever I wrote on a piece of paper that I soonafter lost.
But this was the gist, probably.
That's me. I'm the bird.
I've always been the bird.
Most of the time, I've been the bird.
A wingless, grounded freak, apart and far from all of the other birds.
I've spent a lifetime (and 32, it turns out, is a lifetime for some people) waiting.
"Waiting for what, Paul?" you ask, leaning in, slightly. You're intent. You may have your hand on my knee.
I suppose, in reality, I've been waiting for myself to stop being myself quite so much.
I can't tell you, y'know what I mean? I can't tell you why I don't push the talents I have to the limits I can reach.
I never have, and I've always been okay with it.
As a white, middle-class university by-product, I've been blaming my parents a little more, lately.
I blame others around me sometimes. I blame the media's entertainment sector, and how damned entertaining it is.
I've blamed the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I've blamed the tides.
I blame myself.
And I can play the blame game for another 32 years, I suppose.
Doesn't get me anywhere.
I get introspective like this, from time to time.
I'll come on here and write a post and say, "I used ta be that guy. But no more!"
I suppose that's what this is, too.
For once, though, I'd like to make the claim and mean it.
Comedy. Writing. Whatever.
I'd like to try trying.
However, what usually happens are empassioned diatribes coupled wiith a couple of Google searches.
Within a week I'm where I was and back to basics.
I suppose that's what this is.
The diatribe.
They're becoming more familiar. Easier to spot.
I have no answer for why I am this way. No reason that's the reason, anyway.
Though I can say it's a hated thing, this lack of completion. Lack of conviction.
I'm getting sick of the diatribes too, to be honest.
Do you know what it's like to write something that you really feel only to learn that perhaps you don't really feel it after all?
It's not cool.
I worry about what the first step should be.
That is true, at least.
I do know that an issue relating to the greater problem is that I don't exactly know where to start...
If I woke up and said, "I wanna be an architect."
Well, okay. I grab some drafting equipement, I guess. Find a school that offers architercture classes (probably in Sweden.) Apply (or not apply), pack up my drafting equipment, and board the steamer ship with my steam trunk...
"I wanna be a writer with a book that you go and buy in a bookstore."
Alright.
Well...
...
Write a book, I guess.
That's the only real option I have.
And I've spoken about writing a book here before.
I've spoken about all sorts of things.
But a lot of talk is just something that motivational speakers do.
It's not something that motivates.
I'm not sure what is meant to motivate me.
I thought it was finding the love of my life, but I've done that and the result is just two people wishing I'd do something significant, instead of just myself.
So that's not it.
Then, and I didn't do anything to facilitate this, but I thought that my best friend dying might motivate me.
The jury's still out on that one, but so far the result has been, what I would call, 'cautiously inconclusive'.
And that's a scary thing.
If I can't snap out of it and dust myself after Sarah dying, what in the fuck is going to do it, you dig?
That's the question I have to ask myself: "If this doesn't do it, what will?"
And that's a scary question because the answer is obviously "nothing."
Unless, of course, the answer is "me."
The key to my accomplishments - real accomplishments - can only be through my own doing.
It's always been that way. I shouldn't need a dead friend to tell me that.
Though perhaps she has anyway...
So, this is what the first step is gonna be:
Since the blog is where the book is, I'm going to chisel at the blog for a bit.
"He must mean a new background. It could use some colour..."
I'm going to do the following. I need a list, so let's make a list. There's a bullet button here that must be for bloggers coming to the same conclusions I'm coming to:
- Wait, let's number them.
- Though this sort of feels like a method of distracting myself from the actual task at hand by giving myself fake tasks at hand (kinda like when you have to study for a midterm but then you decide that you absolutely must clean your dorm room first), I'm going to go back to the beginning of the blog and start sifting through posts. Clean it up. Edit. Remove broken links. This process, though seemingly a waste of time, will help with 2 and 3.
- Tag posts without tags. There are several dozen of them. And some of those are half-decent posts that potential advertisers or mistresses could be reading. I also intend to keep the tags the same, maybe, but explain them for international (or even mainland) readers. "Givin' it out" probably isn't obvious to everyone. It means complaining. Bitching. This brings me to 3, which I'm most excited about.
- In a momentary flash of clarity (they always happen while I'm masturbating) some months back, I realized that the blog would benifit greatly from a glossary. Hear me out: I embolden all glossary'd words, and then make a GLOSSARY post and add the words (alphabetically) as they come up. That way, if some rube wanders into the blog, but doesn't know who Colin is, they'll be able to see the listing for Colin by hitting the link, which will lead them to the glossary, thus telling them. Colin: Eldest brother and card-carrying curmudgeon. Easily the contrariest person I know. Colin enjoys wearing pajama pants and hates/loves a day's work. Colin once captured a gecko while we were vacationing in Florida and he left it in a glass encasement on a picnic table at our campground while we went to Disneyland. When we got back the lizard was very dead and somewhat melted. That sort of thing. I think it could be really fun and actually informative. I'm excited about the idea.
- I will collect posts as I go, circling common themes that I believe to be belonging in a book (by me). I will polish these like pilfered gems and start sticking them together. Fill in the blanks, add an intro, and there's the book.
I'll let you know how it goes as it goes, and if it goes nowhere I'll be back to making fun of Justin Bieber soon enough and I'll write another diatribe in six to eight months.
I don't know about you, but I hope this is the last one.
If I have fans, I love them all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)