Not Funny

There is nothing more painful than listening to a comic who isn't funny. It's common knowledge that I'm all about the laughter. I can find a chuckle even in the most disheartening situations. Tonight, was something else completely. Tonight, I sat through the worst comic routine I have ever witnessed before. I didn't laugh once. Not once. This was only made more terrible by the fact this was the headliner.

Right from the get go, I was unimpressed with the underwear act. It felt cheap and forced. Not to mention, the faces the man made grated on my nerves and his mere presence made me uncomfortable. My discomfort didn't come from the light he was shedding on the harsh truths of the world, or forcing me to confront my own demons. No, there was no harsh truths or demon confronting. In fact, he didn't tell a single new joke. Don't even get me talking about his impersonations. Horrible. Just horribly hopeless. And a waste of my time.

This was a free show, so I'm not going to rant too much, and the fact I didn't pay probably means I can't complain, but here I am. Disgruntled and dissatisfied. Because the first two comedians were actually very good, the situation swiftly turned unbearable. I expected laughter. For tears to stream down my face. I coveted the ache in my side. I wanted the gasping breaths and sigh of contentment after I ran out of chuckles. Alas, they did not come.

What is more confounding is that other people seemed to be enjoying him. Sure, the lady on my left, Miss Tiff, was in the same boat as I, but the sounds of merriment surrounded us. Baffled, I listened harder, my confusion growing by the minute. Maybe even second. Perhaps I was missing something. Maybe I simply wasn't getting the jokes. Could it be I was too tired to understand? Too cynical to find the hilarity? Too smart to enjoy the stupid?

Okay, fine, I do have a history of hating stupid humour. From Anchorman to Carrot Top, fart jokes to the Scary Movie movies, I can't stand cheap ploys for laughs. These slapstick, flat, boring characters who rely on loud noises and props to amuse only succeed in irritating and angering me. Bill Hicks and George Carlin didn't need such ploys to garner laughs. David Cross and Denis Leary have this down pat. There are even young up and comers, like Jeff Jefferies and Aziz Ansari who are delivering the gold, and amazing chicks like Wanda Sykes and Anjelah Johnson.

The childish, schoolyard jokes put the real art of stand-up to shame. Or maybe it's just not my cup of tea.

Oatmeal Vonnegut

Two of my favourite people collaborating. The Oatmeal and Kurt Vonnegut.

Bus Stop

Things have been hard lately. That's pretty much the understatement of the year. But I always figured if you could laugh during the tough times, then you can get through to the other side. Not unscathed. Never unscathed. But at least in a semi-functioning condition. In a state you might be able to put yourself back together in.

Last Thursday I rode the bus for the first time in over a year. There I was, urgently needing to get from point A to point B, with only the 257 standing between me and where I wanted to be. I didn't even know how much it cost to ride the bus. I remember when bus fare cost a dollar twenty-five. No joke. A buck and a quarter. Since I know it is no longer 1995, I had to ask someone, and the bus driver hadn't opened the doors yet. Also, I hate to be one of those people holding up production for others.

And, in the state I was in, I really didn't need anyone mumbling snarky comments about having my money ready. I might have snapped. And snapping in public never seems like a wise idea.

So, I turned to the guy next to me and asked, "Excuse me, do you know how much it costs to ride the bus?"

He looked at me, dead in the eye, and replied, "Four dollars for adults, but I don't know how much for youth."

I smiled, because I'm fairly certain I look over nineteen. "I'm older than you think I am."

Still, it was a ray of sunshine on a very gloomy day.

To be honest with you, I didn't miss transit. I didn't miss the crowd, the stink, the slowness. All in all, public transit is pretty much disgusting. Some people have enough respect to not be disgusting piglets or rude baboons, others are not so equipped with manners. Still, I got through it. Got to where I was going. And cried.

Today I took the bus again. Twice in the last week. Crazy.

The bus fare over here was $1.75.

That's island life for you. Cheaper bus fare and the scent of the forest when you open the door. Two things I am grateful for.

Just Passing Time

They say you only live once and to live life to the fullest. To cram it with the things you love, what makes you happy, to enjoy every moment and embrace every minute. In theory, it makes a lot of sense, but who has the energy to make every second of every minute of every hour of every day count? While I truly do believe life is far too short for hate and anger and ill will towards others and that you should make the most of what you are given, it is inconceivable to never have a sad or angry or disenchanted moment, to never curl up and say, "Not today."

Life is a beautiful thing. This world is an amazing place. There are gentle, kind people around us every day, ones we know, others we don't. Strangers who are waiting for us to notice them, ready to impress upon us understanding, compassion and empathy if only given the chance. Good things happen, ones worthy of taking notice of, and there is much to learn. We have so much growing to do.  And I am ever so grateful for what I have, where I am, and all the things I can do.

Sometimes I think about all the books I will never read. All the stories I will never write. The trails I will never hike. Sights I will never see. Songs I will never know. Majestic places I will never visit. And when  I think about all the things I will miss out on, I feel this fire to get out and do, to see, feel, hear, smell, learn and experience. To conquer and thrive, to draw deep breaths, and free fall into wonderment. At my most passionate, I don't want to settle down. I refuse to stop. I go, go, go until I've walked through the deserts, danced in the stars and swam to the unexplored depths of our oceans. I want to soak up everything the Earth has to teach me, the lessons of soil and air, of fire and water. I want to burn with the sun and kiss the man on the moon.

But some days, I am not at my most passionate. Some days, I am tired. Some days I am just passing time.

It's so very easy to get distracted and lose sight of what's important. Not food, clothes, and a roof over your head, but what stokes the passion inside you. What turns the cogs in your head and sets your heart beating rampantly. Passing time isn't necessarily a bad thing. It happens organically. We set patterns in our lives, so easy to follow, and focus so intently on getting from point A to point B. Still, I feel it is important to stop the wheels of routine. To check in with our souls and make sure they are getting what they need, that we aren't overlooking them. Life is a hustler, trying to hustle us into forgetting to check in. It's always tell us what to do, when it needs to be done and how to do it. Our lives end up revolving around a clock. What time is it? When do I have be at work? What time do I get up? When is dinner? Do I have enough time to get this done? We go to bed in order to get up and do it all again.

Don't get me wrong, routine isn't all bad. It's comfortable and safe, except when it controls every facet of your life. Then it is uncomfortable and unsafe. We must be willing and ready to step out of our routines at a moment's notice and witness the wonders the world offers us. For it's when we pass time for too long that it becomes normal to just pass time, and we forget what we used to do before we were just passing time. This is what I worry over the most. That I am not living. That I am missing out.

I want to be with the ocean. In the forest. Playing outside. Going to the movie theatre. Learning things I don't have to learn. Growing strong and smart. Gazing at the stars. Reading words, fictional and not. Baking bread and cookies and cupcakes. Eating cake. Holding hands. Being kissed. Kissing beings. Making and maintaining friends. Snuggling with my fur babies. Drinking tea. Knitting gifts. Solving puzzles. And taking on a challenge.

Above all, I want to write. Words are my life. They always have been. I feel so distracted and out of sorts when I am not creating. And I know I haven't been creative enough lately, which is why I am feeling so off and worrying so much and turning my thoughts inwardly instead of outwardly. It is strange when you know something is so fundamental in your own happiness and still you cannot find the time to do it. Excuses, right? We are full of them. These daily posts do help. Despite how it may seem, I put a fair amount of thought into most of these and I take care in writing them. But they aren't fiction and that's what I truly love to create.

Perhaps this is me simply saying, "No" to just passing time.

I'm off to go kill someone. Fictionally, of course.

Musical Memories

Sometimes a song is played and it takes me to a time and place I haven't thought about in years.

Just one song and ...

... I am eighteen years old again. Living in my first apartment. Crushing on that guy from Save-On-Foods. Working at Canadian Tire. Having my tongue pierced at Next on Granville Street. Writing terrible poetry. Being afraid of ants. Laughing with my sister. Going to the Java Joint. Wearing the smallest jean jacket in the world. Buying animal rights buttons and a chain wallet from The Rock Shop. Getting my first tattoo at Liquid Sliver. And my second. Watching the Black Halos play at The Piccadilly Pub on Pender Street. Being taken to see Wendigo. Feeling lost and unsure, and wondering if that will ever go away. (It doesn't) Always being plugged into my discman. Learning the lyrics to a hundred different songs a week. Falling in love with being independent. Finding out the importance of an apology. Wondering when I'll fall in love with a boy. Buying Converse shoes. Setting my hair on fire in the bathtub. Tripping and falling, but getting back up again, and laughing about it. Buying guitars from Long & McQuade. Hanging out with Bella and Sam. Saving Etnie.

Listening to music I will always remember and making musical memories.



I am grateful for those memories and the music that makes me remember.

I Can See My Feet

Perspective.

One of those words people toss around to make others feel poorly when they want to cocoon themselves in a blanket of self-pity and moan about how cruel life is. There are a hundred examples to give someone to drive home the fact they shouldn't be complaining, because it could be worse. How many times have we all heard that?

It could be worse.

And that's the truth. The fact is, my day-to-day life isn't bad. So, I try to stay positive.

I have both my parents. Shoulders to cry on. A job. My body isn't overgrown with hair. People love me. Some of them, at least. I have Oliver. And Dixon. There are mountains and forests all around me.

And I can see my feet when I look down.

I have it pretty good.

I may be stuck under a mountain of debt, feeling as though I'm being suffocated by my inability to pay bills. There are feelings of inadequacy, worrying about letting my friends and family down, and wondering if I've made the right decisions in life.

Still, my day-to-day life isn't bad.

Sometimes it's hard remembering this.

Then a customer comes in and comments on how her daughter is going through chemo.

"How old is your daughter?" I asked.

And her reply?

Four.

Perspective.

It's a son of a bitch.

Love Is

Because last week's post was all downtrodden and uninspiring, I've decided to write about love. But not the standard witty and funny sort of the thing you've all grown to love. No, more like a list. To lighten the heart and free us (me, really) from the shackles of last week's birthday blues.

So, this is what love is to me.

Love is...

- having a sidekick
- catching a glance and knowing it is only filled with affection
- laughing until you cry
- baking sweet treats and refusing to eat them until the other person has had first taste
- listening first and talking second
- music nerdiness
- having a month long horror movie fest
- sending care packages in the mail
- watching the same film at night even when you aren't together
- smiling when you first wake up
- a Sons of Anarchy marathon while doing a puzzle on a rainy Sunday
- kisses for no reason
- doing things without obligation
- never feeling lonely even when you're alone (though still missing the other)
- snuggling for warmth
- running baths and putting the bubbles in (and lighting the candles)
- turning the television off when the other person falls asleep
- and not smothering them with a pillow when they are snoring
- handmade cards
- actually, handmade anything
- spending a hundred hours on the internet trying to find something amazing to hand make
- washing the other's back (while sneaking a peek at the good)
- pirate ship models
- surprise gifts for no reason
- making the bed without being asked
- thank yous (manners matter)
- not making demands or ultimatums
- not minding the stinky stuff
- good mornings and goodnights, respectively
- leaving a note
- planning for the future
- honest moments
- friendship, and being friends
- a mutual zombie respect
- asking 'how are you?'
- the sound of wooden wind chimes
- home cooked meals
- cleaning house
- having a good story to tell people how it all began
- unwavering support, like that of a jock strap or really good bra
- knowing you always have someone on your side
- celebrating the good stuff
- working through the bad stuff
- not holding back
- reminiscing on dirty moments
- sharing the cake (even when you really, really, really don't want to)
- communicating, even when it's hard
- doing, not necessarily saying
- proving it's true

And such stuff.