Randoms - July 21 2010

Class Hatred:  I just finished Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club. Fucking amazing book. Much more to it than just fighting, and you know what, it’s explained why I’ve been feeling the pressure from my hometown lately. I’m feeling a Durden-esque class hatred on right now everywhere I look. And it’s true: to a certain degree, I’ve bought into what society and advertising says I should have, not what I actually want, and that I don't have. No wonder I'm so grouchy lately.

The malfunction many of us working stiffs feel is that simultaneous desire for the high standards of living and life experiences that wealth brings – the exotic vacations, the nice living spaces, the hot cars, the mansions with furniture that’s so fluffy I'm gonna die – and disdain for how much of a self-important dandy you really become when you get caught up in the brand names and the elite memberships and the Michelin stars. It’s the status symbolism of the wealth and not the money itself that becomes more important, and that’s where I’m conflicted, because well, I ain’t no dandy, and I could give a shit about status. 

Recommended troubleshoot: accept that it’s possible to have da moneys and not become a bourgeois clone. Get rich to do what you want, by doing what you want, and though you might live in nicer digs and visit cooler destinations than Cuba or Florida, you’ll still buy your boxer briefs at Zellers and sit in the 100 section at the Jays games like the rest of us.

Quick aside: the imagery of the IKEA catalogue replacing porn as the standard single guy’s bathroom read is also something compelling. We truly are a generation of men raised by women, according to Palahniuk, and we’ve been effeminized to such a degree that we adopt the same nesting instincts as women. And yet, maybe this is only true if you're living with a girl?  Shopping at IKEA used to have much more appeal to me when I was in a relationship than now. As a single dude, I’m finding it's not nearly as appealing as before, and I could give a crap about what kind of TV stand I have, not like before when my ex would lovingly point out the flaws in my colour co-ordination.

However, I do stop in every now and again for the $1 breakfast and lingonberry juice. That shit is scientifically proven to put hair on your ass.  I know, I've run tests.

Reality Check:  Returning to Chuck Palahniuk for a moment, I was surprised to learn that when he pitched Fight Club to W.W. Norton and Company in the 1990s, the major publisher only offered him a $6,000 advance. The offer was what other writers called a "piss off" bid from W.W. Norton, an insult in the modern publishing industry.  By comparison, Stephen King's advance for Carrie was $2,500, but that was back in 1973...I have no idea what the inflation would be, but it might be comparable.  Either way, it made me realize: I've been resting a ton of hope on selling my current MS, even though I may not get much for it at first.  I'll still have to work a job until the royalties kick in, and then only if the book sales exceed a certain amount, typically $100,000.  I may also have to write another one, and that could take another two years, depending on the concept.

What does Palahniuk's example tell me?  Barring a meteoric rise to fame and film adaptation thanks to the brilliant and compelling nature of my writing debut, the future's probably going to look much like my present life. That means I may as well start acting as if I've already made it.  Palahniuk said yes to the initial offer because he saw it as six months' worth of rent right there.  Not gonna lie, six grand would be a life saver at present, and if it leads to the fame and fortune that Palahniuk and King now enjoy, it'll be worth it in the long run.  Until then, I can act as if, and be happy. 

Hmm....what would your day look like if you already had what you think you needed to be happy?

Random Fandom: Katee Sackhoff. 

Oh, Katee Sackhoff, how I miss thee!  BSG didn't end as well as I'd liked, but you were always amazing on it.  I remember many a conversation with my buddies about who we'd want to hook up with on the show. Most of them chose Tricia Helfer' Six, others preferred Grace Park's Boomer.  But I have a thing for beautiful, strong, aggressive women, who aren't built like sticks, who have that hint of artistic crazy and that unpredictable temper, and that was always Starbuck.  Katee turned 30 this past April, and she's incredibly smokin'.  That means there's some hope for me yet, as my 30th is only months away.  Who says you always have to be 21 forever? I caught a few glimpses of her on the series ender of 24, but hopefully we'll see her come back to TV full time soon. 

Unnameable Randoms - July 14 2010

Happy Bastille Day!

Two centuries, three decades, and one year since the birth of the French Republic, and scholars still argue over the merits and detriments of the Revolution itself. 

Regardless of the typically anglophonic stereotypes surrounding the French people, institutions, and culture, we all owe much of Western civilization's heritage to la belle France, so here's a tip of the hat to mes amis francais.

"Vive la France....Vive la Liberté"

What It Takes

What's the timeline for success, anyway?

It took me ten years of hemming and hawing to find myself on my path, and you know, even I wonder if that time was still wasted.  Even still, despite previous entries and, frankly, just flat-out knowing better, I sometimes feel that I'm behind the 8 ball to get this life started.

As I mentioned last time, living in this city is tough sometimes.  Surrounded by all of this success, and I'm still not good enough, for my own standards, that is.  I guess nothing's ever good enough for anyone in our society, and given that Burlington is a city given to symbolic wealth as well as the real deal, I shouldn't be surprised that I'm feeling the pressure. It isn't necessarily a bad thing, getting a kick in the ass on a daily basis to get your life in order, though it stings afterwards and makes sitting down rather uncomfortable.

I'm starting to get what Jack Shephard goes through on LOST.  My actual parents are overwhelming supportive of me, always have been, but imagine having a dad who looks for any excuse to tell you that you don't have what it takes. 

That's basically Burlington, Christian Shepherd in city form.  It's tough on you.  It sacrifices your ability to really develop a relationship with it.  It causes some collateral damage and makes you "walk among them, but not be one of them".  But in the end, it turns you into the hero.  It's an instrument of destiny, this city.  And on a basic level, I love it like a father.  Twisted, I know.

It wasn't like this when I was in Westdale. Hamilton doesn't have daddy issues.  Hamilton's more like a divorced fiftysomething that's seen better days trying to figure itself out, and is just starting to make some brilliant progress.  Until it cleans up some of its own mess and goes through a few more years of therapy, you'll never see Hamilton giving you a lecture on success.  Hamilton is no hypocrite.  Then again, Hamilton won't expect you to do better, either.

Enough with the anthropomorphic city metaphors.  You get the picture. 

I keep adjusting and re-adjusting my constructs to suit my moods and emotions.  Truth is, I've been in a crisis/opportunity mode for a while now, and not just because I got a divorce at 29.  This is my quarter-life opportunity, as yet unresolved, in fact having moved two steps backwards in the past six months because I'm now single on top of everything.  Make no mistake, though: the crisis/opportunity was there before.

I've written about that already a lot, but the new revelation is simple: I have to do better at what I love doing.  That means making it make money.  That means recognizing the one simple truth of my life in 2010:

The only thing that truly matters is the book.  It's the key to everything that I'm missing out on.

Without a completed MS, there's nothing to pitch to an agent.  Without the agent, there's no credible solicitation to a publisher for the rights, and thus no advance. Without the advance, there is no success in my chosen career.  Without this success, I am worthless, just another cog chugging along in the public service machine.  An overly sensitive, original and creative dreamer with nothing of value to give outside of being exceptionally personable, quirky, and sometimes funny, telling new stories, and pushing paper behind a desk. An overeducated peon. 

People skills are good, spiritual values are sound, intellect matters, creativity is God in the pen, but if this city's taught me anything, they're all meaningless if you can't translate that into material success, to demonstrate that you're a man and can be a provider and a king. 

Drew Baylor says it best in Elizabethtown: "Success, not greatness, [is] the only god the entire world worship[s]."  Then again, maybe I'm learning the wrong lesson?

I'm sick of being told by others that I have potential, that I'm going places.  That's something you tell doe-eyed university grads, not 29 year olds starting to show gray in their hair.  I want to start manifesting my potential.  I want to actually go places instead of talking about it all the time.  This is the realization I should have had ten years ago.  I have to recover a decade.

That means getting my shit done.  And I'm doing it.  1,300 words added today to my story. Current word count as of when I started this entry: 109,403.  More to go.  Way way more.

I'm gonna do it my fucking way, without being a banker or an accountant or other suited clone of some evil corporation.  Without becoming one of those snot-nosed WASPish country club members in preppie scarves and polo shirts. 

I'll show you, Burlington. I've got what it takes.

"Girls don't like boys; girls like cars and money."

I dunno, maybe I'm becoming cynical, but this seems to be the rule rather than the exception when it comes to twentysomething Canadian girls.  Then again, once again, maybe it's just where I live. 

I can't completely fault girls who affirm this Good Charlotte lyric.  Who wants to date someone who has no job and no ambition?  No energy?  No creativity?  He'd better have either a great personality or a very big penis, 'cause really, chicky, that's all you're going to get out of that relationship. 

On the other hand, those girls are gonna spend an awful lot of their time alone at night with Haagen Daas containers and Sleepless in Seattle reruns....

There are exceptions, of course, and some are very exceptional exceptions, but it seems that if you don't have the toys, you ain't got shit as far as the vast majority of high value single ladies are concerned.  This is a very old discussion, I know.  It seems guys have been bitching about this one for years, but it's new to me, and I'm running into it more and more each day, mostly regarding online dating.  Putting "Writer/Government" as your job in your profile seems to be as effective a deterrent as saying you're the "D" word (divorced).  And I have both.  I might as well beat myself with an ugly stick and stop bathing.

Then again, am I wrong?  No bullshit here, single ladies: are you for real?  Are you independent or aren't you, because, really, I'm having trouble figuring out just what it is you want out of life?  Because if you want to be treated like a princess, then that's fine: I'll work my way up and spoil you rotten.  But if you want to be independent, then what the hell does it matter to you what I do for a living?  Maybe you haven't quite figured yourselves out yet?

Hmm...re-reading that now, it looks bitter, and I guess there's some venting here (it's my blog and I'll cry if I want to), but this is some serious discussion material.  It's frustrating both on a personal level and one of sheer intellectual curiosity, so I'd really like to know.

Where do we draw the line between realistic expectations and wanting what we want?  Discuss.

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Be Castle

***

Downtown Burlington in the summer feels like walking into a living, breathing Old Navy commercial. 

All these attractive, well-groomed, well-dressed, well-heeled and sandaled kids of rich parents, walking around the Second Cup or Spencer Park.  I've already had a few conversations now with some local friends about the pressure - subtle, somewhat insidious - that this environment puts on you, that makes you feel that you're not quite good enough, that you need to better yourself.  And yet, the living standard here is immensely greater than anywhere I've lived before, and I'm only renting.  Ooorah....

But I keep seeing the young couples, the ones who look like they could be perfect Old Navy or American Eagle Outfitter poster children.  Blonde, blue-eyed, tall and slim, wearing the new clothes, great features, and looking at each other like they're in love, because, well, they are.  The sight of young couples used to inform my model for the experience I was looking for, and it used to make me sad, thinking I could never have what they have. 

And yet, I did have that, at 19 years old.  Cross "experience young love" off the bucket list for Jody.  And again, oorah....

I mentioned in my last that I'm throwing out my romantic model.  That's to say, I'm abandoning my desire to actively seek out the Female Me.  That's not what I need as a top priority right now.  In any case, she'll meet me halfway. 

What I need is to become, as Neale Donald Walsch says, the next greatest version of the grandest vision I ever had about myself.  That means embracing the "new".  I can't do that if I'm employing plans, boundaries, paradigms, and ideas about myself that no longer apply to the dude looking back at me from the mirror. I can't attract newness when I'm framing it based on past experiences.

It's time to become a success worthy of my surroundings. It's time to become one of the wealthy denizens of my hometown.  To become someone who contributes to the stature and prestige of where I live. Someone who can bring some authenticity to this living commercial.

In short, it's time to become Richard Castle.

I've already written about how I use Castle as one of my personal avatars.  But I was watching Season One on DVD the other day, and I realized it's time to step up my game.  In the episode "Home is Where the Heart Stops" (not the best episode title, I know), Castle and Detective Kate Beckett attend a charity gala undercover to try to flush out a gang of thieves who use these occasions to case their targets: wealthy socialites with expensive jewelry.  While Castle wanders off to chat with another guest, a woman approaches Beckett and says the words to this effect:

     Rich, famous, handsome, and single.  We call him the white whale.

And when I heard this line, I knew this is where I need to be focusing my energies.  This is who I have to become.  The white whale....not Moby Dick: even Castle was worried about that one when Kate told him about his moniker.

It's the Scarface thing: get the money and the power, you get the women. 

The trick, though, is just focusing on getting the money and the power....

Power kinda sucks, though, I'll take money, especially if it comes in for doing something that I enjoy doing.

Of course, with the MS now at 106,000 or so words - I added a few before starting this blog - I'm closer than ever, but there's tons more work to do. 

But back to being Castle.

He's funny, charming, witty, good looking, and successful.  He isn't used to losing - which he finds out the hard way near the end of Season Two - and has a reputation for being a ladies' man because, let's face it, the honeys ain't no golddiggers, but they ain't messin' with no broke (broke).....

And yet, Rick Castle's also got a daughter whom he loves and looks after very well, and had his mother move into his Westie apartment.  His actual lifestyle is far less racy than his reputation indicates, and he is driven by far higher ethics than he otherwise gets credit for.  He's saved Beckett's life at least twice at significant risk to his own, and he's helped put away real criminals using his lateral thinking skills and finding the story behind the crime that academy-trained cops don't often see in their cases.  In short, contributing to the well being of society, in his own fashion.

This is the type of lifestyle I need to create.  There are a million wannabe writers out there, and though I've written a book and technically published it, it's not with a publishing house.  That's my measure of success.  Self-publication lets you hold your book in your hands, with your name on it, lets you know that you can be an author.  Publication with an agent behind it and the full distribution and promotional machine of a publishing house lets you know that what you've authored is good. 

It's like Bret Maverick in the Mel Gibson movie taking part in the poker tournament: he won't know how good he is until he puts it to the test.  That's my ambition with my novel MS.  I'm going to see how good I truly am.

That's my only real goal as of now.  That's the one thing that justifies the daily mediocrity.  Government work is good, and if I pass my probation at month's end, I will be, for all intents and purposes, bulletproof.  I'll be a permanent government employee backed by one of the most powerful public service unions in Canada: I would have to put poison my office cooler in order to get fired. And yet, as grateful as I am to be employed, the job is mediocre.  The money is good enough to get me significant luxury and pay the bills, but not to the stratospheric heights I'd like to reach in my life.  My job can send me to Florida: my writing could send me to Monaco or Dubai or the South Pacific. And each day not spent adding even a little to that writing puts me one day further back from those adventures.

That's where I'm at.  Castle will be my final avatar, I'm sick of using them. After this, I've got to make Jody Aberdeen the guy that others want to be.  And the only way I'm gonna do that is to keep writing.

Here's a clip from the pilot, if you haven't already seen it.  FYI, my book launch will look very much like this one (with equal to lesser frequency of chest signage....most likely lesser).

P.S. Writer's Block, consider yourself pwned.   See the image on the left. 

Unnameable Randoms - July 7th, 2010

I have three alarm Writer's Block.

No movement on the novel.  No movement on "From the Battery to the Heights".  Not even on this blog.  Must be the humidity...

Gah!

Time for Declaration Salad. 

Declaration Salad

This is a new game that is precisely twenty seconds old as of the original draft of this sentence.  In it, I make single paragraph declarations about anything that comes to mind, accompanied by pictures.  Game on!

G20:  This is one of those things I've been trying to blog about, but can't, only because there's too much to write about.  So, here's my main beef: police who knowingly mislead the public.  My conservative buddies, naturally, side with the cops, saying that misleading or omitting the fact that the so-called "five metre arrest rule" around the perimeter of the fence didn't actually exist was a means to an end.  To what end? Giving the police greater perimeter control over the violent protesters.  Protecting property.  Protecting "the people". 

Sadly, the police, indeed all democratic institutions in the First World, cannot be a "means to an end" type of entity. The "means" portion very much matters, because the "means", in this case, is a little thing we call "due process".  This ain't Mexico, and it's very much a valid slippery slope argument to ask, once you start skirting the law to enforce the law, finding loopholes or just flat out ignoring existing statutes, what's to stop you from doing so in other situations? And if it came as a directive from Queen's Park, then I see no logical difference between this and the investigation of former Premier Mike Harris and his connection to the OPP killing of protestor Dudley George at Ipperwash.  You'd think any conservative worth the blue in his blood would get behind investigating a Liberal premier on this matter, instead of automatically retreating, sheep-like, to the default ideological position of police worship.

Ironically, for conservatives to reflexively side with the police force and the government in this matter is to compromise another fundamental tenet of their own ideology, a basic belief goes beyond this ideology, that has gone out the window in the Harper era, and that hasn't been a practiced part of the lunatic Republican scene States-side for two decades: government accountability.  I look forward to seeing the independent civilian inquest of Toronto Police Services in this matter. 

(And because this is such a dicey topic, prone to distraction and sleight of hand by the Limbaughs and Becks and Parentes of the blogosphere - yes, Julius, I'm calling you out, buddy - I will repeat: I am not criticizing individual police officers or government officials.  When I say "police", I am referring to the institution, not those who serve them, and by extension, us.  I'll leave it to the inquiries to find out which individual officers conducted themselves illegally during this event.)

(And yes, I realize I just broke the single rule of Declaration Salad: one paragraph only.  Call me hypocrite if you wish, but at least I'm not in command of people with guns and batons and jails.  I trust my point is clear.  Moving on.)

Personal Boundaries and Rules:  They suck.  They serve you at times when you're not comfortable, but when you're looking to grow as a person, they just hold you back. They become habits that prevent us from growing, and when we do try to look for new experiences in life, we run up against them and we have no idea why we're feeling unhappy, or not having those new experiences  Paulo Coelho writes in The Valkyries that many people are like trained circus elephants: we're given shackles when we're younger, then chained to a massive tree that we can't escape with all of our strength.  Eventually, we give up, and we grow up chained, except when our trainers say it's okay to wander, or when they need us to perform. And even when we're clearly strong enough to get away, our trainers can shackle us to a twig and we'll still sit there, just because we got used to it. This is what's been happening to me lately.  I've got boundaries and rules for everything: love, sex, jobs, exercise, diets, politics, attraction...and they're no longer serving me.  Almost none of them.  Revelation the other day: the only reason I keep them around is because I worry about what someone would think of me if I broke them. 2nd Revelation: these rules and boundaries in question come from a time when I was a different person looking for different things.  Like the GST, they no longer apply, so I've junked them.  I can't write about the changes happening inside Jody's life - I've tried - because they're ongoing, and they're new.  I don't know what to make of them yet, but I'm watching the flow.  Stay tuned.

(And yes, I realize that I just adhered to the single rule of Declaration Salad. Call me a hypocrite if you'd like, but at least I'm breaking a rule that I made up. It just didn't serve me anymore. I trust my point is clear. Moving on.)

Planning: My former mother-in-law who reads this blog - hey, Pat - used to say that "people don't plan to fail, they fail to plan."  Tellingly, though, I think some people do plan to fail - a few health and safety officials at BP can testify have testified to that - but really, success or failure is entirely contextual.  In plain English, if all intended to do was run a marathon, then as long as I kept running from start to finish, I succeeded.  If I intended to win said marathon, though, anything less than coming in first would be a failure.  Would the latter force me to do more, be more, push myself more?  Sure, but that's the point: it's not all about what you want to accomplish, but who you want to become in the process of accomplishment.  That means, on occasion, abandoning the plans you had if you're not happy with who you are in relation to them.  That's not to say you can't have goals: they're two different things.  One is the thing you're after, the other is the way you accomplish it.  And really, the goal is to feel joy and happy, no matter what specific thing we feel we have to do to get it.  I'd love to be a bestselling author in my thirties, that's plain to read, and that plan is simple: write the damned book, start networking and speculating for an agent. Beyond that, I have no clue.  According to the original life plan, I'm failing.  No house, no more spouse, no six figure income, no kids. Like the boundaries, though, the plan doesn't apply.  It's getting junked, too, along with, interestingly enough, my romantic plan.  Yes, indeed, it's a Jodyist Revolution around these parts....

Momentary Living: Because I've been having a lot of different conversations about living in the moment.  It's such a platitude, it's beyond a cliche.  What the hell does it really mean?  Logically, it seems to set up a dichotomy with planning, conjuring up images of idle loafers who never figure themselves out, but who indulge every second in something deeply pleasurable versus noble denizens of Squaresville who never have much fun, but who brush their teeth precisely thirty-three times per session and run their lives with the efficiency of a Pratt and Whitney turbojet.  It's clearly a false dichotomy: no one is a precise "type" of person.  The solution is to just have a single goal and then release it to the universe, and then....live your life, day to day, moment by moment. Quit overthinking things and just do epic shit if it feels right in the moment and it won't hurt anyone else or yourself.  Kiss that girl - or just ask her out - even if she isn't your stated type: don't give a shit what you said or what your friends will say.  Take wrong directions on purpose, play hooky for no reason except for a day off to do whatever. Apply for that Hail Mary job, take up karate even though you're 300 pounds overweight.

Do a flyby on the tower, even if the pattern is full.

Whatever.  And just know that every action, legitimately savoured as it's happening, will lead you there.  Don't abandon a dream and a goal: just get rid of the addiction to the plan.  Abandon the model.

Buckminster Fuller said it best:  "You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete."  Be a little stoopid.  Nuff said.

XKCD: You ma-ma-ma-make m-me h-haaaaaa-py......

Aaaaand....blockage is still there.  Shit.  Must be the humidity after all....

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