Guilty Pleasures and Lost Opportunities

For those who are just starting to get to know me, I am about to admit something that will may cause your jaw to drop or possibly induce heavy heaving. One of my guilty pleasures are certain soap operas.

The main one is British, Coronation Street. I have been following this serial since the 80’s. When I was young, it was Another World. Then it was All My Children and most recently As The World Turns.

But this post is about lost opportunities I’ve seen in my guilty pleasures and the visual media in general. Another World, I don’t remember too much because it was on because of my baby-sitter. I’ll focus on CS, AMC and ATWT.

This post is prompted by an episode I watch of ATWT on Wednesday, a couple of weeks ago. Because call volume is low, I got the afternoon off. I was doing some research in the middle room, and had the TV to see what I have missed over the past couple of months on ATWT.

To my surprise, one of the main young characters, Luke, is coming out. For the briefest moment I got excited and then reality kicked in.

Years ago 1995-1996, AMC decided to tackle gay issues. The plot line started with one of the characters, Michael Delany who taught at the high school, was gay. Because of him being outed, one of the students, Kevin Sheffield came out.

The whole plot line was typical soap opera, but they did tackle aspects of homophobia, and a young man trying to come to terms with his sexuality. It was a valiant attempt.

The problem was, once that major plot line was done, they did nothing with the two characters. Michael Delany faded off into the sunset and Kevin Sheffield went to university and also just faded away.

The same happened on CS. One of the main young characters, Todd, came out, which was a good plot line. They even gave him an on again/off again boyfriend. But once the plot line was gone, the character left the Street.

So now ATWT is starting up a gay plotline. Why am I worried? CS and AMC had meaty plotlines for the primary gay character. But once the plotline was finished, they did not know what to do with the character.

It is as if the only thing that defined these characters was their homosexuality. And once that was explored, there was nothing more to explore. These characters did not have enough dimension to interact on other levels with the other characters. They could not be secondary characters in other plotlines.

I saw great potential for characters like Kevin and Todd. They were young characters which could be active in so many other aspects of the fictional places of Pine Valley or Weatherfield. But the writers wrote themselves into a corner making the only defining feature their sexuality. Yet they had so much to work with.

For course, I am not naive. These shows are run by ratings and the sponsors. And especially in the States, sponsors are generally conservative. They don’t like it when a conservative Christian group threatens to boycott their products.

So the gay character is relegated to a rating sweep, a focal point for a potboiler plotline and then sweep them away. A long term gay character trying to find love does not pull in the ratings.

So now ATWT has jumped onto the gay bandwagon. Over the next few weeks, I will watch to see how the plotline pans out. But I do not have high hopes.

The Luke character is in his late teens. His coming out and interest in another character will be in the forefront for now. How will his parents deal with it? Other family members? The rest of Oakdale, Illinois?

But once that is done, are they going to relegate Luke to the background and then ship him off to a faraway university? Or will there be a voice over announcing a new actor playing the character of Luke and make him straight? Anything is possible in soap opera land.

Yeah, soap operas are over the top, exaggerated story telling but amidst the absurd stories, they do tackle important issues like rape or domestic violence. And I loved some of the silly plotlines. There was Janet from Another Planet. Rose & Lily and the desert island. Derek and his paper-clip car.

Yet soaps like Coronation Street brought in characters like Hailey, who is a transsexual. These soaps have shown the violence and devastation of an act of violence like rape. They have dealt with issues like depression, addiction, suicide and grief because of lost ones. Amongst the silly bedhopping, doomed love affairs, business deals going bad and age long rivalries, real issues are tackled. The missed opportunity still, for me, is someone who is gay.

Now for those who have that slight sneer reading this. Soap operas are not a modern mode of story telling. You want to see a soap opera or two, read Shakespeare. He wrote for the masses and his stuff is no different. Only time and ivory tower scholars have now elevated him to literature and beyond.

Commercial films and TV still have a way to go when it comes to the portrayal of gays in our society. There have been advances and set-backs. We are still not at the point where a gay character is just an ordinary character amongst straight characters.

You get shows like Will and Grace that play it safe. Especially with the Jack character. C did the same thing by getting rid of a normal character like Todd and bringing in a flamer like Shawn.

I suppose most of the straight audience out there still isn’t ready for a normal man or woman who just happens to be gay. But maybe, slowly with guilty pleasures like the soap operas, things might slowly change and echo into the main stream. All I can do is hope.

Writing

My good buddy Jason sent me a link on a site about tools for writers. One section had something I wanted to babble about. Roy Peter Clark wrote:

America is not a nation of writers for many reasons. One big reason is The Writer's Struggle. Too many of us talk and act as if writing were a form of procreation without the sex, all labor and pain, all dilation and contraction, with none of the romance and excitement at the point of conception.

For those of you who want to write well, I'm about to reveal a great secret: The Writer's Struggle is over-rated. In fact, the struggle turns out to be not just a confidence game, but a con game, a cognitive distortion, a self-fulfilling prophecy, the best excuse in the world for not writing.

"Why should I get writer's block?" asked veteran newspaper columnist Roger Simon. "My father never got truck driver's block."

There is much more that resonated in me in this large website. But this brings up an interesting point: the dreaded writer’s block. For some time, this was an excuse I would use when I was not writing. I’ve got writer’s block. Or even worse, I will absorb myself in research to avoid getting back to what I am working on.

This happens often with Tangled Threads. I am creating a whole world, so I want to be concrete with things like faith systems, laws, philosophical beliefs so research is necessary. But it masks something else. I am being lazy.

There are times writer’s block is legitimate. I can stare at a page and my brain freezes. I hit a brick wall and stare at it, dazed. The problem is I let the wall stand in my way and then writer’s block becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

At the same time, though, I am in a situation where I have to work. When I get home, I am tired, often stressed out. I just want to unwind and relax. And weekends, I just want to recharge my batteries. But again I have to be careful because this just becomes excuses not to write.

One interesting point Clark brings up is to get into a habit when it comes to writing. Do it in the morning, when you get up. Take your coffee and spend some time before heading off for a full day to write. He uses running as an example.

When you get up, there are no excuses. So you do your run. But if you put it off until after work, you have all day to make excuses not to run. And they are ready when you get home. You are tired, you have to clean the bathroom, you have to make dinner. And in the end, you don’t run.

In some ways, I have used that strategy for this blog. I have tons of ideas for posts I want to write. I have notes and scribbles for 27 potential posts, most in just point form. I do work on them when I get home, but most of the formation is between 5-7, in the morning.

After I have organized my coffee and checked my email, I can focus on what I want to say for the day and put the final touches on the day’s post. And except for weekends, my posts are faithfully online before 7.

But this has been dangerous. Whereas this blog is important to me, and I have tons to say, some of this time should be spent on Tangled Threads. I have to be careful not to have this blog become an excuse not to write other things.

So what is my point? This blog has helped me start to find a voice, which helps me with Tangled Threads. Many of the themes I am talking about are echoed in my series. But I have to find a balance and let Tangled Threads come forth.

My start here lead to the important step has been urbis, for me. By putting some stuff on, I have been getting honest feedback. I see that I didn't have writer's block but lost steam. My passion for writing had burnt out. My foray into urbis has rekindled my passion. I have already finished a new very short story, that I wrote on Sunday. I have the beginnings of a new short story. I am starting to look at my German journal to see if it might be something for review. I am now reviewing the first two main chapters of Tangled Threads.

At the same time, I am starting to implement some of points Clark recommendations which I will share and paraphrase from Clark's words:

Distractions

Set a work area. I find when works starts to pile up, it affects my flow. All too often, unimportant things attracts my attention, be it messages, research notes, etc. Pulling me away from my writing. So have a clean work area just for writing.

Watch your language. Be it spoken word or thoughts, negative words like "procrastination" and "delay" and "sucks" sets a negative mood. Turn words into something more productive. Call it "rehearsal" or "preparation" or "planning."

Habits

Adopt a daily routine. As Clark points out, fluent writers prefer mornings. Afternoon and evening writers have the whole day to invent excuses not to write. The key is write rather than wait.

Trust your hands. Forget your brain for a while, and let your fingers do the writing. I find just letting go often gets the juices flowing and the words pour out.

Draft sooner. All too often, writers use research to fill up the available time (I should know). Whereas research is important, it can making writing tougher. As Clark points and I am finding, by writing earlier in the process, you discover what information you really need.

Count everything. As Clark points out, for the fluent writer, every word counts. Learn to judge your own work by quantity, not quality. Some days, there may only be a line or two, while others it will be ten to twenty pages.

Rewrite. The quality comes from revision, rather than from speed writing. Fluent writing gives you the time and opportunity to turn your quick draft into something special.

Feedback

Find a confidant. Clarke suggests finding a rabbi; for me it would a confidant. We all need one helper who loves us without conditions, someone who praises us for our productivity and effort, and not the quality of the final work. Too much criticism weighs a writer down. Someone who will be honest.

Find a circle. Classics like Lord of the Rings and the Chronicles of Naria did not appear from a vacuum. Tolkien and Lewis were part of a group called the Inklings. They read parts of their developing stories to get feedback. What is important of this circle is honesty. Tolkien did not like Naria and told C.S. Lewis so. Yet it did not stop Lewis from getting it published.

Journal

Keep a journal. For me, this is a critical point. I kept a journal from 1981. Things like story ideas, key phrases, a startling insight, a character study is fleeting. Something jumps into your mind and then it is gone. Having a journal or notebook lets you write it down for another day.

One of the most painful things with the psycho I lived with a few years ago, is I lost all my notes I had written from 1981 to 2002. Concepts, ideas, studies that might lead to something. I remember snippets of ideas I had written in 1984 lead to a story in 1986. But now all those notes and ideas are forever lost.

But one should not obsess with writing in a notebook. I have gaps in my journal for Tangled Threads as long as a year. And then another spurt comes in. Yet the notes I have written down, at the spur of a moment, has come in handy afterwards.

For me, the journal should be paper and pen. Something you can have in your knapsack or purse. When an idea comes to mind, you can be on a bus, subway, in a cafe, who cares, but you can jot down the ideas and come back to it later.

Be it ideas for dialogue, a character issue or a bizarre thought from having a couple of pints, you don't want to lose them. And using pen and paper makes you focus, unlike typing on a computer.

Writing is not easy. Most people do not see that. Creating art is not just throwing things together and hope it works. I need a kick in the ass every so often. The past couple of weeks has given me that. I forgot why I write. I forgot the sheer excitment one gets when one creates. The amazing thrill when someone gets what you are saying. Be it Clark, or the other influences that have come together the past couple of weeks, I am now back in the saddle. I have not been so excited in a couple of years. And people at work wonder why I want to leave early so I can focus on all of this.

Certainly Politically Incorrect....

Sunday, a day of rest again. Something new from dribbleglass I had to share.

You Know You're Gay When...

1. You wear the appropriate underwear for each of your dates.
2. You understand the subtle differences between at least 20 brands of vodka.
3. You understand the immense importance of good (or bad) lighting.
4. You can be in a crowded bar and still spot a toupee from 50 yards away.
5. You can tell a woman you love her bathing suit and mean her bathing suit.
6. You can tell a woman she has lipstick on her teeth without embarrassing her.
7. No one expects you to kiss and not tell.
8. You can have naked pictures of men you know in your home.
9. You can have naked pictures of men you don't know in your home.
10. You can have naked pictures of men you don't know in your home and on your computer.
11. Unlike your women friends, you can hang out in men's locker rooms.
12. You understand why the good Lord created spandex.
13. You understand why the good Lord did not intend everyone to wear spandex.
14. You know the difference between a latte, cappuccino, cafe au lait and a macchiato. And if you don't, you know how to fake it.
15. You know how to get back at just about everyone.
16. Your pets always have great names.
17. Nobody expects you to change a tire.
18. You're the only guy who gets to do the Cosmo quizzes.
19. You know how to get a waiter's attention.
20. You only wear polyester when you mean to.
21. At any given instant, you can recite who was gay since the dawn of history.
22. You are, hands down, your nephews' and nieces' favorite uncle.
23. You get to choose your family.
24. You can tell your sexual compatibility with a potential partner by the way he holds his drink.
25. You can smile to let someone know you can't stand them.
26. You wouldn't be caught dead in Hooters.
27. You can freeze an approaching bar troll 20 feet away.
28. You're good pals with women other people can't stand.
29. You've always got an opinion, and don't mind sharing it.
30. You've read the book, seen the movie, done the musical.
31. You know how to "air kiss."
32. You know exactly which cosmetic surgery to consider having, and the perfect excuse to give people who ask where you've been for two weeks.
33. You know how to dress strategically.
34. You know when to move out and move on.
35. You are the only one at the class reunion who looks better than you did in high school.
36. You've got at least one framed picture of a pet.
37. You know being called a "cheap slut" isn't necessarily an insult.
38. You wouldn't buy someone a mug for their birthday.
39. You know which wine to bring.
40. Sales clerks don't mess with you.
41. You have a medicine chest stocked for any occasion.
42. You never hold a grudge for longer than a decade.
43. You've just about defeated the accent you were born with.
44. You know the way to a man's heart is not necessarily through his stomach.
45. You choose the most fabulous greeting cards.
46. You know every film ever made with male frontal nudity.
47. You've got sunscreen at every conceivable SPF level.
48. You have the latest International Male catalogue.
49. You wouldn't dream of dressing out of the latest International Male catalog.
50. You can be bitchy without anyone blaming it on biology.

Argh, not Urbis again!

It has now been 15 days since I started my little adventure on Urbis. I was hoping to include a screen dump of my account, but the image is too small.

Anyway, I have submitted four pieces. The first was a poem, the second a short story, the third the first chapter of Tangled Threads and finally a snapshot of a slice of life from my German journal.

The stats can give you an idea how busy I have been. Over two weeks I have reviewed 85 pieces, gathering credits to read the 65 reviews I received. This does not count the different comments (44) and emails (9) I have been bouncing around. Up to now, I have spent 23068 credits.

Yes I am completely obsessed. As I mentioned in a previous post, I have not been so jazzed about my writing in a long time. Let me give you a sampling of some of the reviews on my first chapter for Tangled Threads:

My eyes started to hurt after a while of reading this but, what I read of it and will finish reading of it, I liked

Fantasy isn’t my genre, so please take that into account with this review. I liked the work; it pulled me in right away, especially like the description of his madness.

I’m impressed. I don’t usually go for fantasy but, I really enjoyed this. You’ve done a fantastic job creating very real characters and your imagery brings this world to life.

This was the first novel treatment I was able to read, from beginning to end, without stopping in over a month. It held my interest, flowed, and had no errors so glaring I felt need to stop and type endlessly before I ever finished reading. Mrs. Walla is pleased. Can you see me smiling?

Of course, not all the reviews are glowing or positive.

Some of your dialogue is a bit adverb-heavy. Let the descriptions of what is going on and what the character is actually saying show us how they’re saying something instead of having an adverb tell us so.

Maybe it’s just me, but I didn’t find that the old man and his sudden dialogue had too much of a hook to draw the reader in.

This seems like an interesting story but you didn’t completly hook me. The begining was a bit bogged down by trying to figure out the langauge, like is a cycle a year, a lunar month, what?

I really just felt, for a fantasy novel, that it could use a lot more life.

Yet my favourite review comes from one pompous reviewer, who I believe likes to hear his own words. His review starts:

Let’s focus on the good here. I’m sure you’ve received enough bad reviews on this piece, and if not, you will.

Let’s start a review with a bang, huh? Ah, but wait.

I’m not going over every paragraph as there is too much to fix. I think you have good basic writing skills that you can build on. Perhaps fiction is not your forte. That’s not an insult. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.

Oh, thank you for sharing. But it gets better:

Perhaps you would do better writing features or essays. T.S. Eliot was a bad prose writer, although he was a great poet.

At least he stays positive, by ending with:

Do keep writing; it’s the only way I know how to improve your craft. Best of luck.

Now except for his review, I did not receive one bad review. Many of the reviewers took their time to review the piece and then offer constructive criticism like:

You need to involve more of the senses, because that helps to draw the reader into your piece.

In conversation, your characters lob dialog back and forth like throwing a softball. There are several things involved. First is that you’ve left out body language and facial expression, which comprise nearly half of our communication.

You use descriptions of “eyes” a lot, and I sort of found it distracting.

The hook is there, but it takes far too log to develop.

Of grammatical issue, you are missing punctuation, namely semicolon and commas.

What has me excited is that these reviews are providing me an objective, honest look at my works. It forces me out of my absorption of my stuff and let’s me become objective.

This brings me to a link my buddy Jason sent to me some time ago. It is a series of writer’s tools written by Roy Peter Clark. One of his last tools is on Learn from Criticism. He says:

The right frame of mind can transform criticism that is nasty, petty, insincere, biased, even profane, into gold.

And the trick is:

• Do not fall into the trap of arguing about matters of taste.
• Do not, as a reflex, defend your work against negative criticism.
• Explain to your critic what you were attempting to do.
• Transform arguments into conversations.

With all the excitement generated by some of the reviews, these have been words of gold for me. A couple of times I read a review and went: “Don’t you get it?” But then I use these four points in response. And it has done me well.

The past 15 days have been quite a journey. It has validated that I have a voice, albeit one that needs work. But based on the reaction from people I do not know, people who are not even my target audience, my stuff isn’t crap. The 65 reviews and counting have reminded me to have confidence in my abilities. It has been a while since I believed in myself. It’s time to start believing in my ability once again. Thing is, at times, it isn't easy.

Meat is Murder?

This is one of the most retarded slogans I have ever heard. If you look at the definition of murder in the Oxford Paperback Dictionary, murder is defined as:

The intentional and unlawful killing of one person by another.

It drives me crazy when these zealots try to anthropomorphize animals, try to raise them above what they really are. But what makes my blood boil even more, is the time, effort and money they are willing to spend to protect Bambi and Babe but don’t give a shit about their fellow human. I’ll get to that in a minute.

The real debate should the deplorable conditions animals like cows, pigs, chickens, etc. are kept in for our overindulgent consumption of meat. Here in North America, we are meat crazy, wanting pre-packaged filets, cubes and slices. To feed our meat frenzy, animals are kept in the most disgusting conditions imaginable.

But groups like PETA want to equate a cow to a human. Please, give me a break. I do not think a lion or tiger stops and considers what a zebra might think or feel before it goes for the kill. They do not waste time. It is food, pure and simple.

I was completely disgusted by one campaign from PETA comparing the Holocaust to the conditions animals are found in. That is an insult to the Jews, Catholics, gypsies, homosexuals, etc. that were exterminated by a gross regime. Of course, the salient point is not addressed. The deplorable conditions where animals are being ‘exterminated’ is not an active attempt to destroy a group. It is to provide articles to a fat, lazy and overindulgent consumer. The Nazis were focused on extermination. You cannot compare the two.

Yet from the onset, humans have put themselves above the ecosystem. A good example is Genesis. Over 6000 years ago, we are told:

God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground. [Gen. 1-28]

We set ourselves as masters of the world, not guardians. And look at the result around us. The egotistical attitude of man has brought destruction to the world around us. We have fucked up our world and may not be able to fix it.

But groups like PETA are just the opposite of the spectrum. Animals are no different than us, we should not eat them. We should not use their skins. We should forage for berries, dig for tubers and raise bountiful harvests of wheat and corn. They try to raise us above the animals, as if we are special when we are not.

And they seem to ignore the reality of the animal kingdom. Many animals are carnivores. Be them lions, wolves or jellyfish. They feed on living animals, not on the grasses of the savanna. We are no different.

In many ways, humans are omnivores. Our structure has developed to eat both animal and vegetable products. That is the way we have evolved. Just our teeth structure gives us the advantage of both.

I know there are vegans who would vehemently disagree with me. So be it. But get over the fantasy of the nice, clean order of nature. Be it the wilds of the forest, the African savanna or the depths of the sea, it is fucking nasty. A lion does not contemplate life, philosophy and its navel before going in for a kill. That zebra in its sight is food. Good eatings.

But we must look at ourselves and ask if we are guardians of the world about us. Most people could care less that animals are kept in deplorable conditions just to feed our lust for meat. They don’t care that animals are used to test useless things like cosmetics and hair dye. We are the centre of the universe and everything else about us is here to serve us. And that is completely wrong, misguided and fucking stupid.

Because of our actions, we are causing major extinction of flora and fauna. We have totally screwed up environment, with our SUVs spewing out toxic crap. The litany is long. And sad.

Where groups like PETA lose any credibility in my mind is their single-minded focus on shock to change people. I don’t believe they really want to bring about change. Excluding they would have to close up shop and lose funding, real change comes from education and information. That takes time and effort. Can’t do that with a quick slogan or protest.

Here in North America, people need to be educated about proper diet and eating habits. I love my meat but I also love my vegetables. I have great vegan recipes that I use regularly. But I live in a society gripped by the concept of immediacy. Don’t have time to cook, don’t have time to prepare.

The end result is a gluttony of crap. Every time you eat at a McDonalds or pick up a prepackaged super-lean ground beef, you support the system. If you are willing to buy cubed stewing beef instead of picking up a chuck roast and cubing the meat yourself, you support the system. Every dime of laziness goes to keeping animals in deplorable conditions.

This is what groups like PETA should be going after. But they don’t. Showing a cute seal, a cuddly bear or forlorn rabbit is easier than going to the real problem. Which they really don’t want to do anyway.

And now we get to the biggest bitch I have about these groups. I am stunned, horrified and disgusted by the money groups like PETA bring in. To help animals. What about the person sitting on a corner, freezing, asking for a dime?

I have heard the argument that the homeless have their advocates, have a voice but the poor animals don’t have a voice. Someone must stand up for them.

Sorry, that doesn’t fly and is full of shit. If you don’t have compassion for your fellow human, then how can I take your compassion for a cow seriously?

We are all God’s creatures. To put a pig going to an abattoir above a young person who is homeless is inhuman. A cute seal in Newfoundland is more important than a woman living in a shelter because her husband abused her and she is trying to get away?

Welcome to a world of fucked up priorities. It all comes down to one simple point: if we can’t take care of ourselves, how can we take care of anything else?

And Now For Something Complete Different (3)

Normally I do not have any drunken escapades. Yet in Germany I had two that was completely absurd, typical Loekie style. One in Belgium and one in Erlangen. The Erlangen one is funny, Belgium was just painful.

To set Erlangen up, I went to Amsterdam for my birthday when I was working in Erlangen in 1994. I had an amazing time. And got a tattoo. The train trip back was a bit long and I was tired but I stopped at my local pub, the Dartmoor, for a pint. Yes, they have pints in Germany.

As always, I chat with people. I got to chat with a couple of dart players and they introduced me to weißen, or wheat beer. Deadly stuff. They are smooth and pack a wallop. I had three before I had to go to the washroom. When I stood up, my body seemed to be made of rubber. Whoa!

Of course, this should have been a sign to stop. Nah! I had a couple more and then had a Scotch just at closing. The conversation was great, especially with a couple about German angst. It was a great way to cap a great vacation. And now I let my journal tell you what happened after I left the Dartmoor:

As I went through Bohlenplatz, my alcohol soaked mind started to churn. Did I pay my bill? I couldn’t remember, so I decided to go back and make sure. I didn’t like the idea of leaving without paying.

But I did it so quickly that I slipped and went flying into the mud. It had rained that day, so the ground was soaking wet. I must have looked like a complete fool, sprawled out in the mud. With my baseball cap rolling away from me.

And of course, Claus and Sondra got a laugh, at my expense, when I came back. They were putting the bar stools up on the bar, when I came back in. They looked a little surprised at me. Yes, I had paid my bill, Claus told me between laughs. So I then meandered my way back to my place. Certainly not a ceremonious way to end my Amsterdam trip.

The point is, I did not realize how bad I looked. When I woke up the next morning I saw my clothes. The left side of my jeans and leather jacket were caked in mud. I mean caked. My baseball cap was completely caked. At the same time, I saw my door was ajar. I had left my keys in the lock.

Of course, that night when I went back I became the butt of many a joke which lasted for a couple of days. It’s too bad it wasn’t video-taped. I chuckle when I think back to that time.

Definitely did Canada proud that evening!

And Now For Something Complete Different (2)

In October 1994, I was lucky to get a chance to work in Erlangen, Germany. This was not a vacation but living in a new city and country for over 3 months. I had my own apartment and would have to shop, do laundry etc. All my adventures are in my German journals.
The chuckle of the day has to do with showers. Let me give a brief layout of my place, just as a set up.

I was sharing a ground level flat with a couple of other people. We each had our bedrooms and a common area. The bathroom was shared. The first part of the bathroom was the main tub with the shower and the toilet was a small room past the tub, with a door.

The tub was a large, cast-iron tub with feet. Gorgeous tub. The shower head was put up as an after thought. Immediately, I noticed three things were different.

One, there was no shower curtains. Well, the tub is large so I suppose there isn’t too much splashing when showering. Thing is, the second thing I noticed was there was no ‘hook’ for the shower head. When you took a shower, you had to hold the shower head. Okay. Then came the third thing: the boiler.

We in North America are used to wasting energy so things like hot water heaters are normal. Not in Europe. You have boilers for the shower, in the kitchen, wherever you need hot water. You have to set it and turn it on.

Now the boiler in the bathroom had a stick shift. You use it to set how hot you want the water and then turn on the burner. You wait for the flames to start and the water starts to boil. Seemed simple enough.

Until the next morning. I woke up quite jet-lagged. I did what my friend Elmar had shown me. Waited a couple of minutes and hopped into the shower. To let out a scream because of the freezing cold water smashing against my skin. I tried jiggling the shift stick but nothing seemed to happen so I gave up.

At work, I talked to Elmar and found out I had to prime the boiler. Set the shift stick far to the right, get the flames going and then it would be ready.

So I was set the next morning. Primed the boiler and the flames burst into action. Put the stick in the middle and waited a few minutes before hopping into the shower. To let out a scream as scalding water hit my skin.

It took me a couple of more tries before I got it right. Then came the intricate ballet for showering. One, I had to hold the shower head while I was showering. Two, there were no shower curtains so I didn’t want to soak the floor.

So showering became a ballet of washing and holding, using different hands to do different things. All too often, it was simpler just to sit in the tub, hold the shower head between my knees.

After that, it was hard to look at showering the same way.

And Now For Something Complete Different (1)

The past while, I have been focused on heavy topics so for the next little bit, I want to keep it light. Today I want to regale you with a Monty Python incident in my life.

Back in January 2002, I fractured my hip. Not a fun thing to do and not recommended. I was operated on on a Saturday, where they put a plate onto my hip. By the next day, I was starting to be mobile. And my adventures began.

I had never been in a wheelchair before, so I had a lot to learn. Around the room and the ward, not a problem. My adventure begins with my taking care of my nicotine habit.

So I went to the nurse’s station and asked where the smoking room was. I was told, down in the basement. I had to go all the way down the hall, a couple of wings, take and elevator down and then I would find it.

It was a long haul to get to the elevator. And when I got there, is was a small, narrow one. One that fits about two or three people.

When it came, I rolled myself in. Pressed the button and the elevator when down. But there was no way to turn around. So I had to navigate out of the elevator backwards. To roll out into a grey, dingy basement.

Sacre Coeur is an old hospital and I was in one of the oldest wings. The basement was gray, lighting subdued. And I was alone.

From the ‘lobby’ I had to take a narrow corridor. Above me were ducts and pipes. Down the corridor were gray walls with an occasional gray door. The click-clack of my wheelchair echoed down the empty hallway.

I was just waiting for someone to jump out with a meat cleaver or come up onto the morgue. This was a scene straight out of a bad horror flick. Every thing had an echo and was creepy.
At the end of the corridor was an ATM and a couple of people. From there I got directions and the Monty Python music started.

The corridor to the smoking area was to the left. So I wheeled myself to the corridor to find myself faced with an incline, basically a long ramp. Which ended with a T. To the left was a door, to the right the corridor to the smoking area.

Gingerly I started to go down the ramp. But Newton’s Law came into effect and I picked up speed. I tried to slow myself down but couldn’t.

Half way down, I just threw my hands up and let the fates take care of me. So I barrelled down the last part of the ramp and went crashing straight into the wall. At least I put my hands out and didn’t fall out of the wheelchair.

I never got the hang of that ramp. It always ended with me up against the wall. But every time I think about it, it puts a smile on my face. I have this way of making something simple into a Monty Python skit. I bring along a couple more over the next couple of days.

The credit whore is returns

Now that is a title which would grab someone who just came upon this blog!

Some of the past few posts have already brought up my stepping out and putting out a couple of my pieces onto a writer's forum called Urbis. A major step for me.

Giving stuff you have written to friends and people you know has a safety net. When you give it to people who have no idea who you are has no safety net.

For me, I don't care if people are commenting on the grammer or problems like that. Will people get what I am trying to say? Is what I am saying just a load of crap?

Well that last question doesn't really haunt me any more. This blog has started to stop that whispering demon that haunted me while I wrote. Starting here, I found a voice, realized I do have something to say, and if people don't want to listen, so be it.

But the past few days have been stunning. I have not received a single review saying what I wrote was crap. The most general thread, and I can see it, is the beginning hurts the story. As one reviewer wrote:

It took me a little bit to get into this story.. perhaps because it was narrative at the beginning..

Another example is:

im having a hard time on where to start my review of this piece… at first i was going through nit picking sentance structures and one thing became apparently clear: this story needs a major re-write.

Yet, there was this one which inflated my ego (already a little too big):

I am very impressed with this piece. It flows well, has a riveting plot, excellent dialogue, an your grammar is flawless.

But, one of the major parts of a long review was what got to me:

I was sad each time Four eyes came back to them, and reported another loss, but enthralled at the love they had for King Gwefldn, and for Tryffin.

In that simple line, the reviewer told me he got it. I pulled it off.

In some ways, I needed this. I have been a bit sluggish about Tangled Threads. Up to now, all my writing projects have been short stories which I finish within a few months. This has been a project that has taken up almost 10 years of my life.

The little voices come and go to haunt me, making me wonder who in the hell do think I am believing I can do it? Words from my parents reminding me this is just a hobby, nothing serious bubble up every so often.

Today was a day of taking stock. It started with the hint of a migraine because of nicotine withdrawal. Once I got some cash & some cancer sticks, the start of the migraine was mitigated. But I still have a slight throb behind my left eye.

Because of that, I didn't go to work. I was alone here, to organize what is going through my system. It has been a while that I have been so jazzed about my writing. Far too long. I forgot, in some ways, why I write.

I'm going to ride this wave. The printer has been pumping out pages. I have been revisiting old stories. The goal: get more feedback and prepare The Sacrifice for publication. I've made the first step. Time to organize the next.

Revisiting the Past

The past week or so I have been finally transcribing my notes I had sporadically written when I was living on the streets. The couple of notebooks were always around but I did my best to avoid them.

These pages were linked to a past where I hurt myself and those that cared about me. I was a toxic person that my friends had to put at arms length, even though it caused them pain.

Until recently I did not want to go back to that horrible period of my life. It was done and past. Yet this blog dredged up some of the past when I started the posts on the homeless. I realized I had to go back.

People do not like to revisit the past. They prefer to push it back into the attics of their minds. But it can stay there, just festering. Something in the past become like an open wound which never fully gets a scab. So it becomes breeding ground for maggots, which can be a good thing. And it can be bad.

I cannot describe the vitriol I have for two people who contributed to my descent into depression and homelessness. The anger and bitterness has been eating at me for the longest time, always aimed at these two people. Which is not a good thing.

Yet the vitriol has been tempered by what I wrote. Be it my father or Marie, they are not evil people. What they did was because of things I did. There are always three sides to a story: mine, theirs and the truth.

The past while, emotions have been rampant. I was in tears again when I transcribed the part where I had to put my cats to sleep. I was seething during the part where Marie did not believe my pain was serious when I fractured my hip. I was stunned at the broke promises Marie had made leading her to become a complete psycho and me losing over $20,000 of stuff. I was dumbfounded by the games my father played to get me out of the house from the moment I moved back. Or how he never once tried to support me during my decent into depression, leaving my mother (once again) to be caught in the middle.

And then I had to confront the things I did, the lies I said, the stupid ass antics I did which pissed off my friends and family. Stuff I should not have done but did because I was extremely toxic back then.

Even when I finally got off the street, started to build my life again, there were old habits I fell back into which caused problems and tension in my life. Be it playing a shell game with my money or over-medicating myself with beer to avoid problems.

I have stumbled and fallen the past couple of years. I have fucked up badly. I don’t know how many times I has pissed off my friends like Mike, Brian and Errol. But they have stuck by me, unlike Marie or my father.

Yet the revisiting is letting me see what strides I have made since my nervous breakdown Christmas 2000. I spiralled and ended up living on the streets, mostly at my own hands. But precipitated by the actions of people like my father and Marie. Yet I did get back on my feet and started to reconstruct my life.

I did not do this alone. During this time, different friends helped the best they could but it had to always come back to me. I had to take responsibility. I had to dust myself off when I fell. I had to live with stupid decisions that caused me to stumble. I had to use all the tools I was learning to fight the demons that tried to strangle me with depression and anxiety attacks. And still do.
There were speed bumps along the way, some of my own doing, some not. And along the way making me a better and slightly stronger person.

Someone at work, Teresa once asked me why wasn’t I bitter about all that had happened. Going back to my notes I can see why. Even the ‘villains’ in my story were not evil, just damaged people who could not help me because they cannot help themselves. In some ways, they are more broken than I am.

Except for a short time at the beginning of all this, I would not fall into victim mode. I had put myself into the situations which lead to me living at the OBM. I ignored signposts, playing ostrich until it was too late. I didn’t take control of my life and let others control it for me. The reality is there is only one person to blame in all of this: myself. But blaming and bitterness do not lead to a solution. It adds to the spiral. I could not let bitterness take hold, because it would just feed the depression.

I plan to share more over the next while about some of the things that happened to get me where I am today. It has been hard revisiting the past but it is time to clean the attic.

I am proud of the things I have done to get where I am today. I could have just laid down and given up many times over the past few years but I didn’t. I suppose it is the stubborn Scorpio I am.

At the same time, life is wonderful. It can be vibrant and exciting. I look at some of the people I have met at the church I occasionally go to. Or some of the new people in my life like Bob, Matt or Jason. And my renewed friendships with people like Brian. But there are days where life is pure utter shit. It is a give and take.

So what is the moral of this post? You have to go back and revisit the past every so often. Little demons haunt the dark corners of our past and affect us in the present. You have to go back and deal with them. And see what progress you have made.

Life is a journey, one step at a time. There will be times you fall. So get back up and brush off the dust from the path you are on. Then move on. But don’t forget to look back. The past can drag you down without you knowing, stop you from moving forward. You may not like to look back and see the shitty things back there but you have to. The more the attic gets cluttered, the harder it is to do spring cleaning. After a while, you don’t even try and end up like people like my father and Marie. Bitter, lonely people who know a lot of people but have no friends. Just existing and anything that threatens their safe existence that can’t be control must be discarded immediately.

So the Hallmark comment of the day is: The future is bright only as long as the past doesn’t cloud it.

I have become a slave to my computer

It is Monday morning, and I am bleary-eyed & not too awake. I didn't get much sleep this weekend. I have become a slave to my computer. The siren call floated about the whole apartment and even out onto the street. I could not escape. Then again, I didn't want to.

It started innocently, on Friday. I decided to test the waters and submit a poem I had written in the late 80's for review. Check out my Saturday post for ramblings on that. By Sunday, I had over 25 reviews. Most constructive, some not useful.

Saturday was spent reading pieces, to gain credits so I could open the reviews. And the cost was minimal, usually 20 - 40 credits. At the same time, I was putting the finishing edits on one of the top 5 short stories I have ever written: The Sacrifice.

Sunday morning was the big moment. My palms were a little sweaty and my heart was pounding. I like my poem, but it is different for The Sacrifice. This is one of my best stories and I was about to give to the faceless masses, the "wolves".

It took some time for the first review to come in. And to see it, it would cost me over 600 credits. Ouch! I had over 1000 but a bit pricey. And the first review was extremely lukewarm. As of now, I got 4 more reviews. And much more positive. One had my ego inflated for over ten minutes:

Absolutly a great story! I am an avid fantasy Fiction reader (lord of the rings, Prince of Nothing series, and Robert Jordan), and I would say you are deffinatley on par with most of the above authors.

Then the reviewer dove into some of the problems they had, all legitimate. But as the reviews came in, I needed to earn credits. I have became a credit whore. I have become a review maniac. I am a slave to my computer. My once "normal" life has become a smoking heap of twisted metal groaning in the heat of the all consuming flames.

Well, the last part is a bit of an exaggeration. I am a writer, after all. But it has been amazing. I haven't had much sleep but it has been worth it. I've spent most of the weekend on a high, without doing any drugs. I am still high, but bleary-eyed.

Now it is time to go back and do some more reviews. I only have 27 credits left. Luckily I don't have a review to get yet. But I must be ready. Even at work, I am a slave to my computer and a shameless credit whore!

Billboards We Won’t See

Sunday. Day of rest. Let’s take a break and just be silly.

My buddy Jason sent me some images of billboards we won’t see from a funny site www.dribbleglass.com. So I thought today, I would just post a few so you can have a chuckle or two. No comments, no rants. I'll let the images do the talking. Enjoy!

Holy Shit!

Not this is a not a post about the Pope on the can, or other religious silliness. It is an honest reaction of something that I've done and did not expect the response.

Before I get into the details, there is some background. A couple of months ago, I found this amazing site, named - Urbis: Applied Collective Wisdom. This a site where writers can submit their material for review.

What makes this site interesting is it is based on a credit system. To get reviewed, you have to review other people's stuff. Each review gives you credits, which you can use when you read reviews on your stuff. It is not a passive site where you can sit back and just get people to review your stuff. You have to do some work.

Over the past couple of months, I have been reviewing some of the stories that were posted. Building up my credits. The goal was to prepare my first foray into the site with one of my short stories: The Sacrifice. But on Friday, I decided to put my toe into the water with a poem I wrote back in the late 80's, A Precious Few.

Now poetry is not my strong point. This is a form which requires you to be compact and straight to the point. I have a tendency to babble, so poetry was never an area I explored. But I did write some, which I thought were a little pedantic but they worked in the short story I put them in.

Before I decided to submit The Sacrifice, I decided to test the water with A Precious Few. My expectations were that a couple of people would read it, say it is shit and that would be the end of the experiment. Boy was I wrong.

Within a day, I got 25 reviews. Most were thoughtful and helpful. A couple were just snarky, not getting the point of the poem. But each one gave me insight from different angles.

Yeah, my ego got stroked when I read things like:

This poem made me realize the different stages of friendship. I never considered a difference. I believed that friends were friends, but now I see the real differences. Thank you for helping me realize this.

or

The poem has a lot of truth to it. True and to the point. I like it.

Then I got reviews like:

Okay, I’m going to disagree with your descriptions of friendship. It just seems like you came up with random lines and applyed them to friendship in a short, damn near meaningless poem. These lines describe romantic relationship’s more so than friendship. If you changed it to that I think this would work better and actually hold weight.

or:

Friends are not that. You wrong. But it sound good. If that all for matter – then – good. Else – bad. But it have pretty wordings.

Once again, I am stunned by what I can do. I am passionate about my writing but there is always that little voice which says you are not that good. You don't have anything really to say. You are covering old ground, not being original.

I wish I could fully describe how jazzed I am by this experience. Up to this point, my friends read my stuff. They were honest and blunt. But also safe. This was my first foray into the cold, cruel world where people who don't know me from a hole in the wall were willing to spend some time to read my poem, let alone review it.

And most of the reviews were not just glowing, saying what I wrote was great. Many of the reviews pointed out the flaws, problems, etc. I was told: show don't tell. The poem was cold, make it more personal. Try this instead of that.

Honestly, I did not expect anything from my first experiment. But the result has me flabbergasted. That one review where the reviewer said that they just saw friends were just friend but now saw the difference floored me. My words made someone say that, without asking for it.

This little experiment as just reminded me the power of the artist's craft. Be it words, oils, musical notes or clay, people will react. Some will hear, some will just complain. We cannot please everyone.

The first step is to please ourself. After that, it is all just gravy or icing. That is finally kicking in for me. I have always been proud of A Precious Few, even though I knew it needed work. It was simplistic and cranky. And now, 25 reviews later, I see avenues to make it better.

What a day I have had! It has been a rollercoaster ride where I had to put my pride on hold and let other people comment on what I had to say. And fucking A! I do have a voice. I am not just some hack regurgitating drivel.

Okay, okay! It was just one post and I have more to do. The journey has just started. Right now I am that lizard, basking in the sunlight, belly up, soaking in what is being sent my way. But it feels so fucking good.

So gentle readers, I will sign off but I will give you the twelve lined poem which started this all.

A Precious Few

Friendship
A long and hard road.
Friendship
A rocky precipice.

Real friendship
A naked soul.
Real friendship
A sharp-edged sword.

True friendship
Few and far between.
True friendship
Cherish the ones you have.

A Snapshot

This is going to be a big weekend for me. I am about to set out into the abyss and ‘publish’ one of my short stories. I’m going to post, later, about that. But here, I wanted to share something else I wrote, some ago.

I wanted to share a snapshot of something I saw on October 28, 1994 heading to Belgium to visit a friend. No rhyme or reason, just a moment froze forever in time with my words. Also an snapshot of my writing.

Here I sit, in the Nürnberg HBF, at 10:51. Almost everything is closed, including the reservation desk. So there was no way to get a reservation on the train. Especially for a couchette. I’m not too happy because of that.

The week was frustrating because I was trying to get some stuff, over the net, to here. Things were extremely slow or not working at all. A couple of times, I had the urge to grab a machine gun and shoot some machines. Thus, when it came time to have a beer at 4:30, I had a couple. Just to relax.

Elmar gave me a lift home, so I didn’t have to walk all the way back. Also to discuss a bit about my work here and possible directions. Which might lead to more trips here. After that it was time to pack and grab a bite.

This time, I decided to take an earlier train to Nürnberg. Partly so I would not miss my train to Brussels, but also I would be able to reserve a couchette so I could have a nap. I arrived in Nürnberg about 10:45. Almost everything is closed, save the bar. I’m going to have to take pot-luck on the train. Oh, well.

The “bar” I’m in right now is a study of contrast. A bit like the bus station they show in the John Laroquette show. The travellers, the drunks and the dregs of society. I am a little uncomfortable seeing the denizen of the station around. Be it the hustlers or the drinkers. So I sit, with my back to the wall; my backpack safely stowed beside me.

Two tables down is a man, with medium length, white hair. Head on the table. He is slowly scratching the back of his head. Fingers slowly going back and forth. Suddenly, he is interrupted by an old lady. His head slowly rises, as if gravity is stronger there, to reveal a long, scraggly, white beard. The head slowly sinks back down.

The old lady is short and bent. She shrieks in short bursts of words. Face lined with wrinkled age and drink. She holds chairs to keep steady, when she stops moving; a crutch she needs. Wizened hands waving at people as she ambles about the tables. A slouched walk, slowed by drink and age.

She eyes tables, looking for unattended glasses. The beer of the slumped man is fair game in her sights. A decrepit vulture, circling around the bar. With no sign from the slumped man, she raises her prize to her lips and takes a few sips. Once sated, she starts to search for the next price.

Blank, tired faces fill this smoke dense room. Loud voices echo, in the room, from the various tables, filling the room with a cacophony of sound. Not all are waiting for a train.

The voices convey emotion but say nothing. German floats and bombards me but I don’t understand a word. I hear the spoken sounds but all I perceive is noise. How I would love to catch snippets of the conversation, just to hear what is being said. No matter how banal.

A snapshot of human existence. People coming and going from the bar. Some walk, some stagger, some swagger. And there are those who can barely walk. Time here seems to be measured by a leaving train or closing time.

I come back to the slumbering man, who is now wearing a cap. The old woman has left, in search for her next conquest. And soon, I will be leaving. But will he leaving? Even though the bar is closing, will he be back tomorrow, same time, same position? I know, next time I am here, the picture will be different. Possibly with some of the same images but different. Here in this dark place, as the world goes by.

The slumbering man has just raised his head slightly. To shake it, as if to shake something off. And then he rests it back on the table. He sits there, wearing a long, black coat. Oblivious to the surroundings. Even the sharp cries from people toasting each other, tables apart. He stays there, undisturbed. Slowly breathing, slowly wasting away his time.

Antoni Gaudi

Antoni Gaudi was the son of a coppersmith, born in Reus in 1852. He studied at the Escola Superior d'Arquitectura in Barcelona Even though the university was dominated by neo-classical and romantic trends, Gaudi went into different directions.

Over the course of his career, he developed a design style what is best described as sensuous and curving. Many of his designs are almost surreal.

What made Gaudi stand out was he had little regard for formal order. He would juxtapose unrelated systems and alter an established visual order. For many, they saw Gaudi’s architecture as a warped form of Gothic architecture, which in the end, drew admiration from other avant-garde artists. He died in Barcelona in 1926.

I had seen some pictures of his buildings when I was young and they fascinated me. They even influenced me when I had to design a house for a technical drawing course I was taking in grade 11.

And then there was the Sagrada Familia. This massive church was started in 1882 and is currently unfinished. As one website states it (better than I could):

In an original way, he applied forms of ruled geometry to it. Hyperbolic paraboloids, convex vaults helicoids and hyperboloids only hint at the complexity of its structure which exemplifies the essence of the knowledge and constructive experience of Gaudí. All the elements of the temple, both architectural and ornamental, reveal a symbolic basis from the Christian tradition. [Link: Gaudi 2002]

What drew me to Gaudi was the renegade in him. He went against convention and produced something amazing. He bucked the system. And succeeded.

And for me, now, someone like Gaudi reminds me the power of vision and perseverance. And lasting influence. We all want to leave a mark on society, on people. That is a blinding drive for artists. We have a voice that needs to be heard and want it to be heard.

But all too often we find ourselves against the system. Against THEM. We work outside the system, inside the system and other permutations. And we get frustrated.

People like Antoni Gaudi stand before us as a reminder to keep at it. People may sneer and dismiss what we are doing. It won’t sell. There is no audience. Too long. Way to cerebral. No one will like your characters. And the list goes on. But you have to believe in what you are doing and keep at it.

J.R.R Tolkien started Lord of the Rings in 1939. The first volume did not get published until the summer of 1954. J.K Rowlings had 19 rejection letters before she published her Harry Potter books. Lessons any aspiring artist needs to remember.

In 1994, Christmas time I was able to go to Barcelona and see the sheer beauty of Gaudi’s buildings for myself. Each building built up my excitement and awe until the Sagrada Familia. Which was the capstone of my day.

Often, in one’s own time, an artist is not famous or accepted. It is only afterwards people appreciate the vision and dedication they had. That is often the fate of visionaries. But someone like Gaudi gives us strength to know that maybe right now, many may not be interested but they will. You will live on, even after you are dead. You can leave a mark.

On that note, I will leave you with a few of pictures I took in Barcelona, to let his architecture speak for itself. And a couple of links to see more professional shots of his genius.

• Gaudi 2002
• Antoni Gaudi - Great Buildings Online

A Face of Hate

This is one face of hate in America that gets too much media play: Fred Phelps. He is the pastor of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka. To give you an idea of this person, his main website is God Hates Fags.

This gentleman (and I use the term loosely) pickets funerals of people who have died of AIDs with placards saying delightful things like God Hates Fags. When I read a CNN article Monday about his new protest, I was stunned. He has a new cause: picketing the funerals of soldiers slain in places like Iraq with placards saying things like Thank God for IED's.

Personally, I am against the Bush policy on Iraq and other parts in the Middle East. Yet I support the troops, be them American, British, Canadian, etc. They are doing their job as they are told to do.

But Phelps and his gang are protesting funerals of slain soldiers because:

the soldiers are fighting for an army that represents a country that accepts homosexuality.

What the fuck? Thing is, these soldiers are not gay. They are straight, many married with kids, yet this guy and his gang are setting up protests at these funerals. As if the families and friends of these dead soldiers don’t have enough to deal with.

This guy gives even conservative Christians a bad name. Some of my friends are conservative Christians. One of the church I occasionally go to is conservative. But they would not spew the bilge this guy does. Their belief is that God hates the sin but not the sinner.

And that is the main point. The New Testament reveals a God of love. The whole reason of Christ was:

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life [John 6:13]

People like Phelps are focused, well consumed by the God of the Old Testament; the God that is jealous, wrathful, spiteful and at times, fickle. You look at the books he quotes, they are mostly from the Old Testament, like Jeremiah.

The thing is Phelps is a media whore and a coward. I first heard about him because he and his small gang picketed the funeral of Matthew Shepard, in October 1998. His murder in Larmarie was shocking to many around the world. So he got air time with his vile placards and hate filled speeches.

And for some time, he got quite a lot of national media coverage. But after a while, people stopped listening. So now he is picketing funerals of slain soldiers and is back in the news again. After while, this will blow over and he will find another way to present his hate filled message.

He is a coward because he dare not pick someone who would stand up to him. Picketing a funeral is an easy thing and what confrontation that might occur will be small. You don’t see them picketing large gay gathers, like pride parades.

And only a coward would go after grieving family and friends to push their message of hate. Their focus is inwards. But what makes this especially repellent is most of the people at the funerals aren’t even gay.

Over the past couple of years, I have been exploring the spiritual side of myself. Some of the journey has allowed me to reconnect to Christianity. What I have found, be the people I have met, the courses I’ve been involved in and books from different theologians and scholars I've read, Christianity is not a religion of hate. God is not a God of hate.

The hate comes from the people who promulgate their own interpretation, their own version of the Scriptures. It becomes their word, not the word of their God. And through out the Old & New Testaments, the people are warned of people like Phelps who promote their own belief and not of their God.

And someone like Phelps forgets one of the major exhortations in the New Testament. Christ, when asked about what is the greatest commandment, he said it is loving God with your heart and soul. The second greatest commandment is:

And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’. [Matt 22:38]

All the other commandments derive from these two commandments. Of course, we cannot forget:

Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. [Luke 6:37]

My Christian friends have issues about my sexuality. Their faith says if I have a sexual relationship with another man, I am sinning. And the sin is compounded because I know it is a sin. This has caused them some honest pain and soul-searching.

Yet this is between me and God. I feel, they hope in some ways I will see their point and change (well be celibate). Then again, I am well on my way in that aspect but that is another point.

In their way, they witness and hope people will see that their faith is the way. But what keeps them honest is their Scriptures. They are not supposed to judge. That is not their purvey, only their God can so this. And follow the hardest commandment of all: love your neighbour as yourself. But that is another post.

I am not being naive here. There are strains of hatred and prejudice in Christianity. Be it anti-Semitism in the Catholic Church or homphobia in various groups like the Evangelicals, it is out there. There are conservative Christian groups that picket films and lately the Oscars because of the nominations Brokeback Mountain received.

But nothing like the virulent, nasty diatribes that someone like Fred Phelps spews or his picketing. They wouldn’t write or say something like:

Deal with it! All else is trivial and unimportant. All the fag caterwauling, candlelight vigils, court orders, etc., can't buy these perverts one drop of water to cool their tongues.

Conservative Christians like Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson do attack gay groups, and occasionally a gay person. They have said moronic things like Hurricane Katrina was sent by God to cleanse a modern Sodom. But they would not go after the grieving family and friends of a gay man who just died. And now it is slain soldiers.

And with his hatred, he causes a lot of pain to the living who have nothing to do with his campaign against homosexuality. Fred Phelps does not dare go up against a living gay man. He choses the easy route. In the end, it is the living that are the victims in Fred Phelps' crusade of hate. But he does not care. He is doing God's work. Yeah, right!

Coming Out

In a previous post I brought up the subject out outing. As I mentioned, for a lot of straight people, the concept of ‘outing’ is foreign. They don’t get it. They argue that what someone does in their private life should be private so why go after celebrities, politician, etc. and force them out of the closet? Just let them live their lives.

But they have no idea how damaging and restricting the closet is. And I see the closet as an apt metaphor. A gay person is constricting their personal life to a small space where really no one can come into. And closets become filled with clutter, making space more and more a premium.

I spent my late teens and all of my twenties in the closet. Any exploration of my sexuality was furtive. Clandestine. Something simple like buying a gay magazine was a dance of covert glances, a shuffle between sections to the final grab and snatch to dash to the cash and hope no one would notice.

Sex becomes even more brutal. You are in the mode where you are not seeking anything long term or satisfying. You can’t because how do you explain this relationship that you feel no one will accept. So it becomes a cycle of one-night stands or plunking down money on prostitutes. It becomes an anonymous scene for just getting your rocks off and then feeling dirty because you did.

You have to sit with your friends & colleagues and listen to their adventures with their girlfriends and/or wives. But you cannot bring up your adventures else you will be judged and possibly ostracized. That is the life I lead for close to 20 years.

I am not saying this to elicit sympathy or pity. That is in the past and stuff I have to deal with. But most straight people have no idea how it is to grow up gay.

And I believe that the longer you are in the closet, the harder it is to come out. You are constantly building a house of cards. Your life becomes a series of half-truths and subterfuge.

This becomes so engrained that even if you wanted to come out, you can’t. If I lied about my sexuality, what else did I lie about? I imagined that accusation in the eyes of my friends. So I continued with the pretence and charade.

The thing is that a house of cards is always in danger of falling down. More and more energy is put into keeping the swaying structure from collapsing. It becomes draining, debilitating. You start to close yourself off from those around you.

Where it really hurt me was in my writing. Instead of projecting my energy outwards, it was pulled inwards and my writing started to dwindle. I didn’t have enough for both.

To be blunt, it was starting to kill me. Some may think that I am being dramatic but I’m not. I was starting to have serious mood swings. I was feeling isolated. I would explode for no apparent reason. I was becoming hard to deal with, be it at work or with my friends.

At first, I had no idea why. But I started to realize I needed to come out. I could not live with who I was becoming. I couldn’t live with myself.

I was terrified when I made the decision. I imagined my friends abandoning me. My parents disowning me. I had hear and read horror stories of other people coming out. But it was a step I had to take.

What is sad is I totally underestimated my friends. I had projected my fears onto them. I made assumptions that I should not have.

The first people I came out to were my friends Brian and Jude. They were stripping the wood floors in the new place and I was helping. So I told them I had something important to say. And said it.

They looked at me and said: “And?” Then there was his parents, Blanche and Johnny. I was in the kitchen and again said I had something important to say. When I did, the reaction was: “That’s it? I thought it was something serious like you were sick.”

They were not dismissing what I was saying but for them it wasn’t of any major import. I was still their Loekie. The key thing was that I was happy.

Within a month I came out to most of the important people in my life. It wasn’t all smooth. My friend Errol did bring up the lies and stories I made up. My friend Darren seemed to be fine but was distant and remote for the longest time. Not everyone was quick to embrace me right away. But over time, they saw I was still the same person and could see why I had done what I had done.

Coming out was liberating. Finally I could tell my friends about a guy I was interested in. And when things did not work out, I had people I could turn to and talk about it.

The obvious question is what of my parents? Almost everyone I came out to said not to come out to my parents. They knew the family dynamics and were afraid of the reaction. Especially me the only natural son who was supposed to continue the family name and line.

It was months later, on my birthday. I was out in Chateauguay to see my parents. As I chatted with my mother, she asked me if I was gay. Before I could censor myself, I said yes. Then I realized what I had said. But there was no way to take it back. There was disappointment but, at least from my mother, the sense if I was happy, then it was okay. As for my father, he never said anything about it but then again, we never talk anyway.

But no matter what, the closet is still following me. At work, I am cautious about announcing my sexuality. Some gay activists will be quick to jump on this and say I really haven’t come out. And for me that is a load of tiger manure.

Any friends I have at work know about me. But the rest don’t count. There are people I work with right now I could care less about. We are co-workers that is all. I am cordial with them, chat and joke with them. But they have no influence in my life. I don’t see them outside work and have no reason to.

If they ask, as a couple have, I will answer truthfully. I am not hiding my sexuality but I am not running around trumpeting it either. The world out there is cruel & dangerous and you have to be careful.

Every day is a struggle. Coming out is just the first step. In many areas, homophobia is rampant. And from what I have learnt over the past few years, there are some battles with fighting for and some that are not worth the effort. The key thing is one of the major defining aspects of me does not rule my life. I am not ashamed of being out. Being proud, well that is a work in progress.

The Customer is Always Right (Not!)

One of the most insidious beliefs that permeates our society is that the customer is always right. And this has ended up breeding a bunch of arrogant customers who believe they can get what they want as long as they shout and scream until someone says ‘Uncle!’

I’ve had quite a few friends working in the service industry, specifically pubs and bars. I remember an incident, back in the mid-90’s at my local of the time, Hurley’s Irish Pub. It is was nice summer day and the terrace was open for business. My friend Kate was working the terrace.

I was at my table, writing when I noticed her stalking in with a foul look on her face. Behind her was an obnoxious American. He was insisting that there had to be a house Scotch. He had been to many pubs before and they all had to have a house Scotch. In a tight voice, Kate informed him Hurley’s did not have a house Scotch.

It is important to know that the owner, Bill Hurley, rightfully prides himself of having one of the best single malt Scotch selections in the downtown area. He had 20-30 single malts, over 5 blends and various Irish whiskeys. And there was no Scotch specifically designated as a house scotch. (At that time.)

Kate told the customer that she could make a suggestion of an appropriate Scotch he might like. He interrupted her, again reiterating his absurd belief. Kate tried to explain to him what Bill was doing but the American would have nothing to do with it. He knew there had to be a house Scotch and wanted it.

I wanted to go up and either punch the guy or give him a piece of my mind. This piece of shit had no right to 1) treat Kate that way, 2) assume he knew everything about the world, and 3) not listen to an experienced server.

That, to me, encapsulated the fallacy of the concept the customer is always right. And from then on, I noticed it more and more. The goal is wear down the people serving them until they get what they want, even if their demands are unreasonable.

And I am getting that now. I currently sell cell phones for one of the big providers in Canada. People call me to get information and purchase cell phones.

Now, many of these callers are fine. But over the past eight months, I cannot believe some of the calls I got and how arrogant and rude these people can be. And I will present a few case studies. Sort of the top four I’ve seen so far.

I want what he has
The most popular is someone calls to get a promotion that a friend got. If that is a current promotion, great. But I have received calls on expired promotions.

One example: A gentleman called in at the end of October about a promotion his friend had gotten. The minute I heard it, I knew this was a promotion that had been offered over a month earlier and had expired. And only for people in Quebec and Ottawa.

I tried to explain this to the gentleman and he got irate. His friend got it so he should be able to get it. But, sir, that promotion is expired. And to make matters worse, this guy lived in Toronto which never had that promotion. He tried to badger me into giving him that promotion, which I couldn’t. In the end, he hung up on me.

What do you mean it is expired?
It makes no difference which wireless provider you work for, they all have time-limited promotions. And this is what we tell people when they call us to get information. The promotions can come to an end at any time. And they do. Yet when they call back after the end of the promotion, they still expect to be able to get it.

Agreed, the promotions change at a moment’s notice. One day I might be offering 6 months unlimited talk time and the next day I come in to find it is only 3. Which changes back to 6 by the afternoon. This can be hard for a customer that needs to think about it. But that is not my point.

One example: Just after Christmas, a woman called about a phone we had on special. I went through the features and offered her a plan. She was interested but needed to think about it. Fine. But I warned her that the price of the phone was going up. And the price plans may change.

She called back a couple of weeks later. And yes, the price of the phone had gone up. She got all snippy about it, complaining it was not fair. I reminded her that I had warned her. But that did not count. Her decision had been based on the original price of the phone.

In this case, I always use a grocery store as an example. I asked the woman if tomatoes are on sale this week and you go next week and they are not on sale, can you get them for the sale price? Of course not, she replied. It is the same with our promotions.

But she did not see it that way. It got to the point where she wanted to speak to my manager about this. I explained the policy about the manager calling back. Her response was that she would have to just go to another carrier. I told her that was her right and she hung up.

Give me more
There are callers who, when they have heard all the promotions then start to haggle for more. Which is fine, to a point. But once I have said there is no more, after the third time, there is no more.

That is when the threats come out. I’ll sign up only if you give me this. I can’t. Then I will go elsewhere. Fine. Alright, what about you give me this. I can’t. Well, then I won’t sign up. Fine. Okay, what about this? I can’t. I’m not interested.

I am constrained by what I can offer. I cannot give everything and the kitchen sink. I have had people who want to have for their full term unlimited incoming and outgoing calls instead of the standard 3 or 6 months we give. Huh? My company is not a charity, it is a business.

One example: One late Saturday evening, I got a gentleman. I went through all the details, and offered a specific phone he was interested in. Three times I told him the cost was for a three year plan.

Now once I am done with an order, a verifier comes on to go over things like the terms and conditions and review the order details. This is done for the security of the client because the purchase is done over the phone. When the verifier got to the length of the plan, the gentleman said he wanted a two year not a three year. The verifier explained that would change the order and increase the cost of the phone. He would have nothing to do with it. He wanted a two year term with the three year price. If he could not get it, he was going to cancel the order. Which happened.

Lies, lies and more lies
We have people who call and lie. They can get this phone at a dealer for this price or the price plan they were offered gave them extra goodies. What makes this frustrating is I know they are lying but cannot call them on it.

When it comes to the hardware, the dealers have their own promotions which we cannot match. But there are times, people will call and I know not a single dealer is offering that deal for the specific phone.

When it comes to the plans, the dealers cannot add anything on. They cannot add on Canadian long distance minutes or free call display. Yet the caller will not back down. So what I normally do is tell them to get the deal from the dealer. Which normally ends the call quickly.

One example: One of the most recurring lies is a customer will call up and tell me that agent (say Ralph) offered them a free phone. I know Ralph and know he would never have done this, even by mistake. But we do have deals where you can get a second phone free.

So I will mention this. Yet the customer insists, no it was one phone and he was offered it at $0.00. He wants this deal and wants it now.

What I generally do is in this situation is say that Ralph is available so I can transfer him to Ralph and he can do the order. Usually, at this point, they hang up because they know they will not get what they want.

Recap
Every single company out there is out to make money and in the end screw their customers. I know that. But at the same time there are many people who want to screw the company and get everything for free. Welcome to capitalism gone wild.

People should be able to get the best deals they can. But when they descend to lying and belligerence, there is something wrong. And the arrogance that comes out when they cannot get what they want is stunning.

They could care less that the person behind the counter or the person on the other end of the phone is a human being. They are just an object, a means to a goal. And when they can’t get it, they take it out on the low end of the totem pole. They show a utter lack of respect which has become endemic of our society.

There are times the customer is right but all too often they are not. And increasing the volume is not going to make them more right.

Outing

This is a hot-button topic for anyone in the gay community.

For a lot of straight people, the concept of ‘outing’ is foreign. They don’t get it. They argue that what someone does in their private life should be private so why go after celebrities, politicians, etc. and force them out of the closet? Just let them live their lives.

But they have no idea how damaging and restricting the closet is. And I see the closet as an apt metaphor. A gay person is constricting their personal life to a small space where really no one can come into. And closets become filled with clutter, making space more and more a premium. It causes long term psychological damage.

But growing up gay is very different than to other ‘minorities’ in our society. Be it people of colour or ethnic background, a child growing up has a wide base to grow up in. Be it Jewish or black, there is family and friends. There is a history to draw on.

I will use Jews as an example. They have grandparents that can tell them about things like the pogroms and life in exile. They have exile literature to remind the living of the fate of the dead. They can look to the past and find strength when there are troubles. For the most part, gay people do not have that.

And we do not have heroes. In the 60s, many African-Americans had people like Martin Luther King Jr or Malcolm X to look to. They had advocates or voices that might help during difficult times.

We have never had a force like Martin Luther King Jr. We do not have people out in the public like Morgan Freeman or Sidney Poitier. We do not have a firebrand like Barack Obama in the US Senate.

That is the point behind outing. If we have more out gay people in the spotlight, it would help mitigate the anti-gay rhetoric. Many of the false images the homophobes used to dismiss us could be thrown back in their face.

I know, for myself, something like that would have helped me tremendously when I was dealing with my budding sexuality. If there had been people like Sir Ian McKellen around I could have seen you can be gay and make it. It would have given me a faint sliver of hope to combat the terror I was going through.

That is what drives ‘outing’, often to an extreme. Gay groups target celeberaties like Tom Cruise, arguing that if someone like him was out it was help many young gay teenagers. The straight population pull back in horror, standing on that is not right. What he does in private is his business.

That hackneyed response gets my blood boiling. I live in a society where people’s private life is constantly shoved in my face. I will be on the Metro and see couples giving each other tonsilillectomies. TV and movies portray the most intimate details of their private lives. That is okay but gay people should keep their sexuality private. Don’t ask, don’t tell?

It is okay for me to be bored to death with Bill Clinton’s little escapades. Or who Brad Pitt is with today. I get intimate details whether I want to not.

Our current society is voyeuristic, which disgusts me. Be in the newspaper, TV or in the office, gossip abounds. But it is alright to bring up the private lives of heterosexuals. If you are gay, then you have to keep it private. What kind of message does that send to young gay people?

But on the flip side, there are gay groups that actively try to out people who are in the spotlight, damn the consequences. For the most part, I am against this. Outing can destroy a career, especially in Hollywood. It could cause more damage than the closet does. And the same goes for politicians.

Yet there is one case I stand behind the idea of forcing someone out of the closet. There are gay people in power that use their power to persecute gay people. A good example is Roy Cohn.

He was a man with power and helped Joseph McCarthy during his witchhunts in early 50s. It should be remembered, the targets were not just Communists but also homosexuals. The Senate hearings destroyed many lives and here is a gay man actively persecuting other gay people. Here outing may have prevented some of the destruction he precipitated.

As a gay man, I believe it is important to have gay history, literature and heroes. It will not get rid of homophobia but gives gay people strength and resolve. But pulling people out of the closet is not the answer.

Many of the people I have met that advocate forced outing were guys who never were in the closet. So they have not seen the world through the cracks of a closet door. They are confused why people seem to want to stay in the closet. Everyone should be out.

And they should, but along their timetable. I was in closet for close to twenty years and out of the closet for over ten years. A huge weight was lifted from me when I came out. But if I had been outed, I think it would have shattered my life. It may not have, this is just pure speculation.

But when I came out, it was on my accord. I outed myself. It was an important step for me, because it was something that I decided to do. The sense of accomplishment is hard to describe.

So generally, I am against outing. But I am against the argument that what I do in my private life should be kept private. If I had a boyfriend, I want to be able to walk down the street holding hands. I want to be able to share what happened over dinner at work when my co-workers talk about what they did.

It is a constant battle. And all too often, I find being out a daily fight. I am constantly outing myself. But I am doing it on my own terms and conditions, not someone else’s. That is the difference. It was my choice and my decision. And that is the way it should be.

Changing the World

Something many of thought of at one time or another. A delicious urge to bring peace to the world, end hunger, put a chicken in every pot and a car in every driveway.

I have entertained this egotistical fancy but then when I look at myself, I just laugh. I am screwed up. A fractured man trying to sort through the different demons that are biting at my ankles. Sometimes, I can barely pay my bills on time. And when it comes to any long term, intimate and sexual relation, forget it. What right do I have to think I know better that the ones around me if I can’t keep my own life straight?

In a previous post, I mentioned that when I started to write seriously, it was not because I hoped that subjects that I brought up would change people. I wanted to bring a different voice into the arena so people would stop and think about what I had to say.

I remember a trilogy I wrote of short stories focused on the suicide of a character named Sam Collins. The only character I have ever used myself as a template.

The first story, The Final Act, has his best friend, Myles finding Sam had committed suicide. This story afforded me the voice to speak about my first suicide attempt.

The second story, The Final Confirmation, focuses on Myles dealing with the grief of losing his friend. This story afforded me the voice to speak about the first time I had to deal with the death of someone I really cared about.

The final story, Riding the Storm, focuses on Sam and what crap built up to cause him to commit suicide. Thing is, the character was gay and it was the first time I started to express the pain and anguish of the closet without coming out of the closet, which I was in at the time. So this afforded me a way to express the pain I was going through at that time.

Yet the reactions shook me. Some of my close friends knew of my first suicide attempt, while others did not. The stories allowed me to open up and let them see something they had never seen before. Personal experience can be a powerful tool.

The gay aspect provided me the first steps of coming out. Many of my readers could not connect with the pain Sam was going through. And when I came out, they saw what I had written. It reverberated like a massive wave of thunder.

So what is the point of all of this you may ask. In time, these stories will be in print and hopefully generate some reaction and debate. But I was stunned by my small group what impact I had caused.

You can’t change the world. But as a single individual, you do have influence on those around you. And they had influence with those around them.

Thing is, it is nice to be that tsunami but that it not reality. Change is incremental and slow. But change does happen. I have seen it in my life time.

But the sad fact of reality is to affect change is not easy. As a lone person, you affect a few people about you. But to make the changes more effective, a group grows around you. And that is the death knell of change. The focus of any group becomes inward not outward. Personal agendas become more important that the original goals.

Yet it is frustrating to be the lone wolf out there, trying to point to problems and potential solutions. Nietzsche vividly expresses this in Thus Spoke Zarathustra.

Human beings are inherently impatient. They want immediate results. The idea that what influence you may have may not take root in your life time is not an option. You want to be able to see the change before your final breath.

So that is why all the schemes to change the world are doomed to failure. It is driven by ego. If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, I know that I have made my mark. There have been people in my life that have seen a different perspective or point. And that will carry on.

I will never see the changes I would like in the world. But when I look at my friend Brian’s daughter, Erin, I see what little I have passed on to her will continue to others. My legacy is not change today but change in the future. And it makes no difference whether it is big or small.