Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes……

Remember that time when I was somewhere else?

Yeah. Me too. Good Times.

I’m still there, but I’m about to find myself going somewhere else.

Something, something leaves and wind. Time to Face the inevitable. 

Seriously. I just frowned out. No, not really.

I am surprisingly melancholy. I’ve enjoyed my time here, and although I am far removed from all that I love, it has been a real education. I shall treasure it.

Next up, I will find myself in new scenic environs, with all new sights, sounds and coffee shops.

I’m not entirely sure how long this particular “regeneration” of my professional role will last, but it will, I am sure, be another fine mess I have gotten myself into.

I wonder what it will be like?

That’s not  the question I should be asking. 

What I should be asking is What will I be like after it’s all done?

Often, we find ourselves nose-pressed-to-the-silver-plate of unexpected challenge. That’s me when I’m not at home.

So I have elected to utilize my time to reach down, find some gravitas, and discover the person I really think I am. And the person I deserve to be. I “choose” the face I want to wear. 

So stepping to the edge of the diving board, I take a Deep Breath, and jump.

Before I do though:

A moment of Silence for Robin Williams, Lauren Bacall, and Sir Richard Attenborough.

It’s been a hell of a week.

 

Classic Half Empty or Classic Half Full?

I was given the option of writing this entry using the “easy” method, or I could choose the “classic” mode.

Can you tell the difference?

Yeah, neither can I, from here.

Still, I guess it’s nice to be asked.

There has been a lot of that going around. New and improved, with a nod to what was, if you want.

We just can’t seem to let go of how it used to be. 

We need to have that connection, that ongoing tether through the ether, to days of yore.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m all good with classic mode, but it is nice to change it up once in awhile.

Everything old is new again, and there is nothing new under the sun.

I wonder if maybe all our digitized what-iffing goes somewhere to be cataloged, alphabetized and stacked on neatly dusted shelves.

Like some great candy store store of wonder. Colorful jars filled with the soft chewy concepts of our purpose and our intentions…..

Overseen and tended to by a kindly old guy in a pristine white smock……

Woah….

Did I just invent God?

HA! 

That’s hilarious. Me inventing God.

That is Classic Me, all the way.

Resistance is Fruitful

Holy. Effing. Eff.

(I’m trying to curb my substantial swearing habit)

I did it!

I unhooked from the Big Blue Monster!

For seven long years, my main source of information regarding any and all goings on in my neck of the woods, beckoned to me like a Hollywood marquee.

Picture albums. Casual events. Random posts.

Likety Like like like.

Great epochs of time and energy spent as part of the little social engine that could.

But when reality spills over the sides of our little Ark of conformity, and soaks us where we live, it’s time to take stock of what is most important.

And Facebook just ain’t on that list.

For 50, 000 years our civilization survived without it. I think I can manage the next 40 or so.

And like any good addict can tell you, giving up the juice is easy.

Staying off is the hard part.

Here’s to Day One of being clean.

April-priate Foolishness

One Month.

I went an entire month with nothing to say.

A lot happened.

There was more snow.

A week spent in luxury with my good lady wife.

My daughter turned 10.

We overcame some big personal hurdles.

Something something Ukraine. Oh, please.  Crimea river.

New month. New plans. Still no ideas.

Theres a lot in the pipeline heading my way shortly.

Theres been a lot of neurons firing, and pathways forming, and concepts building.

My brain feels like it’s been marathon training.

My body, quite the opposite.

But the mercury is rising. And the big melt is on.

Our space brothers conspire by committee. Fists and fingers wave disappointedly across the aisles, across borders, across the airwaves.

2014 is now in full swing.

We will return shortly to your regularly scheduled blogcasting.

Sorry for the inconvenience.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being Human

Tragedy and Triumph.

Cats and Dogs.

Wookies and Pedia.

Life is all about conflict and the ever evolving sphere of our experiential development.

We are stubborn. And resistant to change.

Mostly we are afraid to ask for help.

Or tell the truth. And be ok with it.

It takes a long and winding road of frustration and hurt feelings before we finally recognize that, upon accepting our reality for what it is, and embracing the fragile, dented reflection in the mirror as our own, we can finally begin to heal.

And maybe, just maybe, give ourselves a bit of a break from the heartache.

We are a cosmos of individuals, all rowing in opposite directions, divided by our fear of being alone.

But we don’t have to be.

I know I’m not. Now.

And guess what?

Neither are you.

Because I got your back.

– BOOM goes the dynamite –

In your face, stupid bad days.

Shout out to HBG @ http://hexbegone.blogspot.ca/

It’s all fun and games til someone loses their dignity…..

Olympics.

Oh-limp-pics.

Oli Mpegs.

I digress. Apparently I have a face that digresses. Again.

So the Olympics are on.

That venerable pasttime where nations pit their brightest and best against each other in the spirit of competition and sportsmanship.

We’ve had some real challenges. Doping scandals. Scandals about dope. Herculean spectacles of advertising and money making. Terrorist attacks and political action.

A true mirror to our long-suffering interdependency.

It’s 2014. And the Olympics are in Sochi, Russia.

Tensions are high. All eyes are glaring. Conditions are less than ideal. The climate is like chilled vodka in a frosty glass.

I see what I did there.

And still, the athletes perform like gods. Amazing feats of dexterity and coordination. Wonderful displays of patriotism and teamwork.

And heartwarming visuals of solidarity across boundaries large and small.

Back home, the political benchwarmers squabble over what flags to fly. Like their opinions matter.

Because, they say, the Olympics are about the very elite of a country’s physical magicians, those finely honed and trained persons of exquisite strength and character.

It’s their chance to shine.

And the powers that wanna-be will tell you it has nothing to do with a persons preferred lifestyle choice.

And you know what?

They are absolutely right.

It’s 2014. The Olympics are in Sochi, Russia.

And what people do behind closed doors with each other, in the name of love, lust or passing fancy, has no bearing on their ability to win gold, silver or bronze.

Or, as it happens, to do just about anything else you or I might have a hankering to do in our everyday lives.

So fly the fucking colours, mate. All the colours of the rainbow.

If you don’t like it, you shouldn’t have put The Rings on it.

Baby, it’s cold outside….but don’t take my word for it!

I have been tremendously lazy. Rant over.

Sorry. I lied.

I actually have been lazy.

I say actually a lot.

As recompense, it has snowed. A LOT. Buckets of sand and ice melt sigh disdainfully at us as we free the pavement from a white, frigid grave. Again.

Life does not currently have a dislike button. But if it did, it would be buried, likely.

Winter and I are currently at loggerheads. Our people are talking. Not to each other, mind you. They are shaking their fists and beating their chests like great hairy apes arguing over the serving of a well-risen souffle.

Yeah, that one kind of got away from me. Which is weird, because where would I get the milk?

Anyways, it makes me lazy. And now I have a cold.

All motivation has leaked out of me like a runny nose on parade.

It’s gross, I know, but we are all human, for the most part, and we leak equally. If you catch my drift.

Its funny how my topics are usually multi-pronged.

We leak fluids. We hemorage emotions. We burst forth with eruptive opinions.

And we spew forth into the ether, our fears, insecurities and our true thoughts. We shovel our heavy burdens out into the world, clearing a path from our hearts to our brains, leaving room to enough to turn and run, should we need to beat a hasty retreat.

Funny thing, about when we think our thoughts, or clear away the frosty remains of a cold night, and blow our noses.

We sometimes forget about what might actually come out.

Speaking of which –

Time to make a tissue dance…….

The Sacred and The Wounded Word…..

This is my blog.

There are many like it but this one is mine.

My blog is not necessarily my best friend, but it means well.

It is a tiny fraction of my life.

I must master it as I must master my life.

Which I recognize is a circular statement with no actual context or substance, but sounds deep and wisdomy. 

Without me, my blog is useless.

Also not as funny.

Without my blog I am just another guy without a blog.

I must write my blog true. Or false. Depends on the weather, i suppose.

I must ruminate more crisply than some other blogger, who is trying to out-funny me.

I must stop using made up words, like geflunka, or Dave. Or wisdomy.

I must publish mine before he or she publishes theirs.

I will. (No I won’t).

I promise. (No I don’t).

I mean it this time. (Not really).

Really. (Wrong again).

Before Eccentrica Gallumbits and Kurt Vonnegut and The Fonze, I swear this creed:

My blog and myself are defenders of the magical land of Tee-Hee-Hee.

We are the Masters of my inner monologue.

We are the Sainted Physician, attending to the Sacred and the Wounded Words of my life.

So be it, or make it so, until there is no more words to write, but peace.

So say we all.

Seacrest, Out!!

Up hill. Both Ways. On the back of a shovel.

Tomorrow we return.

To backpacks and checklists.

Recess. Fun and games.

Home. And work.

The Daily Grind, before our daily grind.

Double shots of espresso, mixed with double-takes and expressions.

A new year. A new plan. A new shift. A new stroll through the same old.

The long slow climb to March Break begins.

Up hill. Both ways. On the back of a shovel.

Emergency Temporal Shrift

Well, it’s that time of year again.

No. The other one. (This we offer in humility and fear. For the blessed peace of your eternal slumber. As it ever was).

Sorry. I took a few days off.

The world raises its glasses in celebration, sending off the year in a manner befitting of whatever cultures or peoples it embraces.

We all reflect and remember in our own way.

We all have plans, dreams, hopes and schemes to unfurl in the coming days and weeks.

From the day we arrive on the planet, and blinking step into the sun. There is more to see than can ever be seen. More to do than – no, hold on… Sorry, that’s the ‘Lion King’. But the point still stands.

We will be challenged. Its not easy, the future.

It tasks us. It tasks us, but we shall have it.

And tomorrow morning, as we slink from ‘neath the lamp shade of indulgence, the first bright new day of a brand new year will shine its unforgiving flashlight upon our expectations.

I know you’re out there. I can feel you now. I know that you’re afraid. You’re afraid of us. You’re afraid of change. I don’t know the future. I didn’t come here to tell you how this..… Facepalm.  – that’s “The Matrix”. Sorry.

Look at the egg on me.

Listen.

When you go forward into 2014, keep this in mind: I have a proposition which was true in old times, just as it’s true today. Be excellent to each other. And… PARTY ON, DUDES!

Oops. I did it again.

Happy New Year. And shit.