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.
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