Saturday, October 30, 2010

Day 304: Pumpkins aren't welcome in Office Town

Pumpkins aren't welcome in Office Town

I miss me
The me that is kind
And true
The me that loves pumpkins
For their orangeness
And vibrancy
For how they put themselves out there
For being the brightest in their field

I miss me
Right now I'm the remnant me
Who gazes at the pumpkin and thinks
Maybe next year
Next year I'll be into pumpkins
This year, I'm just getting by
This year, the grind has me worn down
This year in Office Town
Pumpkins are just another thing to deal with
What are we going to do with a pumpkin?
Let's make use of it
Deal with it
Not let it go to waste
Certainly not enjoy it
Is there a job number for it?
Can we bill for the time taken
To deal with the pumpkin?

We'd better meet about it
In the conference room
Soup, stew or pie
What will bring the best ROI?
The plan is set
Executed and tested
Results roll in
The campaign was a success
So a crate of pumpkins rolls in
And we begin again
Day after day
Perfecting our pumpkin process

Until the time comes
When a whisper eeks out
From the recess of my mind
To remind me that I loved pumpkins once
Before they became too much work
And wouldn't it be nice
To return to a time
To the me
That could love pumpkins again

Friday, October 29, 2010

Day 303: Halloween in Office Town

A day in the life of Office Town. 

Today was Halloween at the office. There was a decorating contest between departments. All the departments were busy all week collecting their Halloween paraphernalia from home. (Yes, paraphernalia is spelled correctly. Who knew it had a "pher" in the middle.)

The place looked like a Halloween pinata exploded.

But then there was the Creative department. As of last night at 6 pm, there was nary a jack-o-lantern. Not one fake web. Not even a mini candy bar. We, the Creatives, reasoned to the rest of the agency that we blow our creative wad every day of the year. We're tired. We're over it. We're not participating. Go ahead and win. We don't care.

Red herring anyone?

Today when people walked through the Creative department, they found themselves in an episode of Dexter. We had a kill room, a murder scene, a Dexter walking around calmly and seriously wearing a rubber apron and carrying a knife, and blood splatter art work. The rest of us dressed up as detectives, FBI agents and policemen so the place looked like a police station.

It was awesome.

And we soooo won the contest.

This little Office Town I work in is usually on the receiving end of my angst and frustration with everything that is wrong in my world, but today it was fun.

It's fun to win.

Even though I was lamenting dressing up at all, when I ignored that aspect of myself and pinned on my shiny police badge, my FBI badge and other policy paraPHERnalia, my inner child smiled.

And that made it all worth it.

Winning helped.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Day 302: A 30 second Halloween meditation

Halloween. Tis the time of year when everyone asks the same question. No, it's not "What are you going to be this year?" It's "Are you dressing up this year?"

Age makes us all complacent... unless you're gay and live in Hollywood. Then, not only are you dressing up this year for the annual parade, but you've been preparing since November 1st of last year. The Halloween parade in Hollywood is like the gay man's Super Bowl. And if you ever get a chance to go, it's unlike anything you've ever seen. If I don't remain complacent and I regain the Halloween spirit, I'll give you a full report here next week.

At lunch today, I went to one of the many "Halloween Headquarters" that have sprung up in empty office spaces all across the greater Los Angeles area to find myself something suitable to wear. I didn't find one thing I liked, but I found a lot of disgruntled office workers that looked stressed about finding something:

a) suitable for an office Halloween party
b) flattering
c) cheap

The best part of my outing was running into this guy:

And then I went home to figure out another costume idea...

Day 301: Cousins exploring a world beyond grandma's house

I was lucky to be born into a big Catholic family.

Family events at grandma's house was always a huge event. Food for days, plenty of noise and cousins galore.

Now our brood is even bigger with my cousins getting married and having kids. We've even outgrown a house to hold an event. We rent a hall.

Everyone lives within a 2 hour drive of grandma's house except for me and my cousin Greg, who lives in Australia. At times, it's strange to be so far removed from the scene. Everyone at home is weaved in and out of each others' daily lives while Greg and I are off exploring the world on our own, patching in with phone calls, texts and Facebook updates.

I like not being the only one removed from the action. I like that Greg signed up for a life beyond provincial limits, too.

And here he is in Australia, being an architect superstar:

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Day 300: Road rage and wanderlust

Already gone (18 x 18 acrylic collage)

Here's another painting I did when I wasn't here posting. I'm sure you were getting up every morning, making your coffee, flipping open the lid of the computer and heading straight to After the Artists Way only to discover that I haven't updated a thing since last week.

Or perhaps you show up once a week and read a week's worth (or less) of posts.

Or perhaps you didn't even notice I was gone.

Not possible!

Thank goodness. I was started to get worried. It an honor to be part of your daily life. I have a few blogs I visit each day and when they haven't posted, I feel a bit of my Impatience Dragon rise.

Impatience Dragon? 

What? You don't have one? Do you have a dragon to deal with? According to this guy, there are a bunch of Personality Dragons to contend with, such as Greed, Arrogance, Stubbornness, Self-Deprecation, Martyrdom and Self-Destruction.

I think all the dragons come out in road rage. I've had some road rage lately. I think it's more to do with my general lack of interest in—and my frustration with—my current daily life than the assholemotherfuckingjackassIDIOT drivers out there. Though, it could be their fault, too. Entirely their fault in fact.

Just as I was writing this post, there was a car accident outside my apartment. Everyone was fine. Plenty of hollering and some scraped metal. Just another day in paradise. 

That leads to the painting shown above. It reflects the loveliness of taking to the open road. No road rage in this art. The USA is perfect for road trips, and I've taken my fair share. It's like the whole country agreed to create towns and cities close enough and far away enough so you could get any kind of road trip you desire. Then someone came up with freeways and that was the end of that.

Now you can go across the country and not see a thing. And everything you thought was there once is already gone.

Day 299: One step forward, two steps back

Carla (18 x 24 acrylic collage)

So where have I been? I've been painting. It seems that my artistic pursuits ebb and flow in my life. When I'm not posting to my blog, I'm painting. When I'm not painting, I'm practicing guitar. And when I'm not practicing guitar, I'm posting. This triad of art affairs is frustrating at times because when I'm ahead on one, I'm behind on two. So to feel accomplished with one is to feel guilty and stressed about two.

I'm working it through.

I'm sure there is some lesson about art in this and how the importance is in the making of it regardless of the form it takes.

The painting shown above features my sister Carla on her wedding day. I caught her in between shots taken by the official photographer. The expression seems to say so much, yet whatever it says is likely different for everyone.

To me, she seemed to be working something through. 

Then I tossed in some drippy paint, a sinister looking autumnal tree, some Vogue dress patterns and of course, sequins. My hope is that the resulting collage says something different to everyone who sees it.

I tried on her dress once. She was on her honeymoon and I was house sitting for her. I looked at myself in the mirror and felt a mix of curiosity, panic, fear and horror. I'm not sure what all that meant but I took that dress off lickity split.

I'm working it through.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Day 295: How to become a travel writer

You can't. You either are or you're not.

Now before all you aspiring travel writers out there argue with me, hear me out...

I'm not calling myself a travel writer either. Never took to the craft. I even went to a travel writers conference to try to become a travel writer. I even joined a travel writers group. None of it took.

Travel writers remember the names of trees and streets in order to describe a scene. They write down the details. I forget the names and locations of every restaurant and monument. And I don't bother learning much of the local history to put in context what I'm seeing as I traipse around the globe. 

Basically, travel writing ain't my thing unless I mostly talk about me being in a place, like I did in Italy. (See Days 146 to 163 of this blog.)

While I'm not really much of a travel writer, I sure like travel writers. Yes. I. Do.


Stories happen to travel writers when they travel. Then they write them down. That seems to be how it goes. If a story doesn't happen to you, you're not meant to be a travel writer. Done. Move on. Write a screenplay or a poem or something.

When I have traveled with travel writers, we've been witness to accidents on the freeway and children getting so stuck in the mud in the park that the firetrucks show up.

We've been interviewed on a local TV show about how we feel about Dr. Seuss (I know... random... they just showed up with cameras) and witnessed forest fires just starting to blossom (Wasn't us, I swear).

Free concert tickets have appear suddenly in our hands, whales have jumped clear out the water just as we cruise by and seals have taken naps on our beach blankets ("Is that your pet, miss?" "No, we are just friends.").

The guy leading us down the hiking trail has a hook for a hand (and a bumper sticker on his truck that reads Chicks dig scars. No joke.) and the snow plops down so fast that a quick visit with friends turns into a slumber party.

We've been walking down a street minding our own business when suddenly, we're swept up in a peace rally, which isn't very peaceful at all, by the way. Scared the bageezus out of me. Peaceful people are scary.

We've been picking out flowers at a garden shop when men storm by with bloody heads, flags and fire extinguishers in their hands, demanding retribution from invisible perpetrators.

Basically, stories happen when I'm traveling with a travel writer.

And when I'm not traveling with a travel writer? It's good, too. Calm. Touristy. The weather is usually nice. I get a few snapshots. It's a fine time. But with a travel writer it's an astonishing time.

Traveling with travel writers is where the juice is. That's where it all goes down so your travel companion can write it down and share it with the world.

I don't know how it works. I don't know what angels are working on the other side to make all this happen, but I've come to believe that it is one of those laws of the universe that says if you're meant to be a travel writer, such amazing stories happen to you that you are compelled to write them down.

If this describes you, then please, for the love of God and for the sake of your future fans write them down.

He just looks dangerous.

 Happy trails! 

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Day 294: If it's Tuesday, it must be Paris

When a friend of mine died awhile back, I went through a crazy grief shock thing. The only music I could listen to was classical (which I'm not even crazy about generally) and the only art I could do was paint-by-number. I'm not a paint-by-number kind of gal either but it was soothing so I went with it.
My paint-by-number masterpiece.

Cut to months later. I'm walking in Paris alone. My travel companion Aine has stopped of at a salon to get herself a Parisian hairdo. I'm wandering around the Louvre and kinda losing my way. I have a vague idea of how to get back to the salon, but I'm not exactly sure where I'm heading.

I turn a corner and stare at the Eiffel Tower only to realize...

... I'm standing in the exact place of my paint-by-number masterpiece.

That is the Law of Attraction at work. Magic. And now a little poem about Paris. Why? Because it's Tuesday.

If it's Tuesday, it must be Paris

If it's Tuesday, it must be Paris
It must be that walk around the corner
And suddenly there she is
The Eiffel Tower
All the hype
All worth it
Until we walk up to her
And are accosted by gypsies
Jingling replicas in tourists faces

If it's Tuesday, it must be Paris
Walks along the Seine
Laughing in the rain
Isn't that how it goes?
A cramped tour around Notre Dame
So polluted with cameras
That only when you close your eyes in a pew
Can you truly see the place
And hear invisible angels sing

If it's Tuesday, it must be Paris
No museums today
The sun is shining
The crepes are steaming
And lippy waiters are in fine form
The locals come out of hiding
And we all sit together at caf├ęs
Watching each other hurry 
Wondering how we ever lived another life

Day 293: But enough about me

Well, I'm not making it all about me now.

Day 292: It has come to this

Fuck I'm bored.

Something must be seriously up for me to use the F word right here in the blog.

It took long enough to get comfortable with the S word.

And you can forget me ever spewing out the C word.


But nothing in particular is up besides the usual dreariness of this dream life I've got myself into.

It's a champagne problem, I realize. To be gainfully employed as a writer in the creative department of an advertising agency, living in Santa Monica and seeing the ocean everyday. I actually saw dolphins and a rainbow on the drive into work today. All I needed was a unicorn for the perfect trifecta picture of paradise.


Yet is a very important word.

Yet, I've grown tired of this straight line. This building of a CV, an account balance, a down payment, etc. I would like to twirl out of this building of things and flit about with a complete disregard for sensible living. To check out of my current definition of self.

My current self was photographed by my coworker at lunch time today while she was pumping gas. The photo above was me being really in my stuff, which is being really done with this straight line.

That's why I'm gazing at Europe these days. It's made up of a lot of squiggly lines. All those countries. All those places to see. All those people to meet. All the photos I could take and the fun blog posts I could write. Ohhhh it makes my teeth tingle. And all that without a plan of where and how long?

Speaking of not knowing where on earth to go... have you got an idea, dear reader?

Let's say I end in Rome. Where should I begin? 

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Day 273: The weekend at Snake Lake

As I began to read Jeff Greenwald's Snake Lake, I realized I had heard this story before.

I had heard parts of it after he and I hitchhiked to a trail head in Point Reyes, California.

And as he cut up an apple with his pocketknife when we sat atop a hill overlooking the ocean, scanning for whales.

When we pulled away from the group of our guided hike of the Navajo National Monument in Arizona.

As we drifted to sleep by flickering candlelight.

He'd pick up the story again at dawn after a few sips of his special cardamom-infused coffee.

He'd continue the tale as we lay under the stars in Flagstaff.

And ended it as we lay beneath a canopy of trees in Central Park.

What happened? 

What always happens. Life.

There were the questions of geography, the future, children, religion and age—and we both had different answers for each. I was just starting out and he was already well on his path. One of us would have had to rush to catch up while the other would have had to slow down.

It just couldn't work.

But how glad I was to walk through life with him for a time and to be one of the first to hear this tale of Snake Lake. Snake Lake, where half of this tale takes place, is named after snake gods called nagas. Jeff's nickname for me was nagini, snake goddess. How lovely is that?

The story unfolds during an uprising between the people of Nepal and its monarchy. While this is happening, Jeff's brother Jordan is back in the states going through his own internal uprising. Jeff is caught in the middle. Do I stay or do I go?

Sounds familiar. 

I have always been a fan of his work. That's what drew me to him in the first place. He's a brilliant writer and, on a personal level, a wise advisor. When I read Snake Lake, I walk through two sets of memories. The first is a walk down his memory of a time before I knew him. And the second is of the time we walked together and he told me the tale. His writing is funny, honest and heart wrenching...
"My brother was not above goading our parents for his own amusement. Swearing, for example, was forbidden in our household. Jordan would arrive at table, protrude his upper jaw, and cross his eyes, like Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany's.

'Who says I have fuck teeth?'
he'd ask, turning to me. 'What's wrong with fuck teeth?'" --excerpt from Snake Lake, Jeff Greenwald
Jeff is doing a book signing on Friday, November 5th at Book Soup in Los Angeles. The site doesn't list the time yet so check back soon and go to the book signing if you can.

With adoration,

Friday, October 15, 2010

Day 272: Josephus and the Wisdom Council

I've been taking this teleclass called The Teachings of
Josephus & the Wisdom Council. It's taught by Laurel Bleadon-Maffei from a company called Illuminating Souls.
For more details on this and other Illuminating Souls' offerings click here.

Teleclasses are fantastic. Here's how mine go: I walk out to my car, dial in, connect the ol' hands-free device and boom! I'm in class on the commute.

Last night, Josephus taught about the importance of rest when we are working toward spiritual development and evolution. We are inundated with thousands of messages each day. With all that stimulus, it's challenging to fit in a meditation.

And if we do fit in a meditation, we're so full of thoughts bouncing around our heads that most of our allotted meditation time doesn't get us where we are aiming to be in the meditation. All this stilts our spiritual development and stimulates crankiness rather than peace, love and all that good stuff.

Rest. Brain rest. That's what I need. I need rest.

Josephus also mentioned that when we don't give ourselves rest, our bodies say, "Listen bud, it's time to chillax. We're going to give you a bad cold so all you do is lay around and watch movies for three days."

As fate would have it, my phone died near the end of the teleclass. I have the most advanced smartphone on the planet and the only thing that it's not smart at is being a phone. 

Just as I was about to get all worked up and considering the risks of dialing and driving, I heard this soft, still, calm voice in my  head say Rest.


Right. Rest. I've been going at it pretty hard this week, what with my rock star friends in town making all their rock moves and rocking my world.

So I unplugged the hands free, cruised on silent mode for awhile and listened to what that soft, still, calm voice in my head had to say. She gave me guidance on with whatever was top of mind and gave me a few ideas for next steps on a few projects I'm cooking up. But mostly, she said Rest. Now is a good time to rest.

When a spiritual entity comes along to tell you to rest, you let go of the need to be constantly productive. You let errands slide. You rest.

So this weekend, if rest were a job, I'm gonna be a workaholic at it. It's bunny slippers, movies, naps, journaling and reading for me... and maybe a few blog posts. 

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Day 271: Constant state of interruption

I am in a constant state of interruption at my office.

It's so bad that my official title should be Interruption Manager because that's all I do all day. I manage the constant flow of interruptions. I do work in between my real job of managing interruptions, instead of the other way around.

At least 75% of my job is dealing with who comes to my door.

And 80% of those 75% of interruptions are non-work related.

I understand if it's work related, but if you're coming by because you need a break and thought you'd take it in my office, that's not cool. Period.

It has come to this:

Since I put up the sign, people stop, look in, go back to their office and call, email or instant message me. Again, I understand if it's a pressing work thing. Shit needs to get done. But if it's not, go away and stay away.

Maybe it's because I'm so nice.

No, that can't be it.

No, it can't. Because when I'm mean about it, I get interrupted the same amount of time. The results are about the same so I might as well not be a bitch about it. I actually cringe like a trauma victim when I hear someone slowing down their gait near my office. That kind of stress just ain't cool. So now, I drown out that sound in my office with this:

I'm hoping that the Alpha Relaxation System can "help reduce the effects of long-term stress" as it promises. Perhaps I'll move from a constant state of interruption to a constant state of peace and tranquility.

Ya right.

I know. Unlikely. What does having constant interruption have to do with a meditation CD? Beats me but I'm hoping something shifts otherwise I'm gonna go ballistic on the asses of my coworkers and no one wants that. 

More on office place interruptions and why you can't work at work:


Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Day 270: The hunger

"The hunger will give you everything. It will take from you everything. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it."
This art is from GapingVoid by one of my favorite artists/bloggers/authors Hugh MacLeod. He also happens to have my favorite last name. Tragically, we are not related. 

Any artist can tell you that they have the hunger, that it will take from them everything and there is not a damn thing they can do about it.

Any true artist will also tell you they don't mind.

They don't mind because that is simply the way they were born and they don't have a choice about whether or not they want to be creative. They just are and the sooner they learn to incorporate creativity into their daily lives and burn that energy, the better of they—and everyone around them—will be.

Why is this?

Because squelching a burning desire to create is harder than not creating.

The lesser of two evils? 

I guess you could say that. 

There are times that I am so very frustrated with writing my morning pages, writing this blog (what am I going to write today?!?!!), writing ads and writing books. It's hard and I struggle through it. I go at it kicking, screaming and punching, and with more than a little ache and frustration.

But then... then I turn a phrase that is just perfect. Then I touch on a truth that makes the world feel understood. Then I write something that makes me a fan of my own work. Those are the moments that make all the other moments worth working through.
"I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special."
-- Shelby from Steel Magnolias
So is writing hard? Sure as shit it's hard.

Am I going to do it everyday for the rest of my life?

Yes. I am. I am because I was born with the hunger. And it will likely take from me everything. And there is not a damn thing I plan on doing about it beyond letting it do with me what it will.

It will be a sweet torture.


Monday, October 11, 2010

Day 269: Connecting the dots to the Viper Room

It started with a book signing where I met Marni. Through her I met Laura and Paul. Through them I met Carl, who led me to Grant, who led me to Austin, Ed and Josh, which led me to the Viper Room to watch The Stuns, who are made up of Austin, Ed and Josh.

The process of meeting all these people took nine years.

Funny how all these random meetings, these dots, connect to get us to one place in time. And those were just my dots. I wonder about all the dots that got all the other people to the Viper Room last night.

There is nothing quite like telling someone you're on the way to the Viper Room to see a band play. It just sounds so cool.

Isn't that where River Phoenix...

Yes. Yes it is.

If you've followed along, you know how LA and I don't always get along. We act like honeymooners about the ocean and the climate but then we fight over traffic and expenses. But one thing we always agree on is that Walt Disney nailed it. This is where dreams come true.

Dreams happen here because someone always knows someone who can get them into somewhere.

They happen here because it takes more than talent, it takes the bravery to move here.

They happen here because those that live here believe in it. Everyone knows someone—or is someone—who has made it here.

They happen here because being here makes connecting dots a lot easier. 
"You can't connect the dots looking forward. You can only connect them looking backwards, so you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something—your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever—because believing that the dots will connect down the road will give you the confidence to follow your heart, even when it leads you off the well-worn path, and that will make all the difference." -- Steve Jobs in his Stanford commencement speech
So I was at the Viper Room last night watching The Stuns play. They had flown from London to get here. They were psyched and they had a great show. I stood there watching them play and was aware that this was one of the dots on their journey. I couldn't help but wonder where those dots will lead.

A few photos I took at the show... 

My wish for you, dear reader, is that your dots lead you to a place where your dreams come true.

As cheesy as that sounds.

Day 268: Before and after hair

My hair is a control freak. No matter how much product or how many pins I put in my hair, it will do what it wants and won't let me argue.

Last night, I got gussied up, whipped out the curling iron and the Super Hold hairspray to create super big hair:
It's a little circa 1988, but that's okay because by the time I got to where I was going it turned into this:

... which is pretty much how it always looks.

I don't know why I even bother.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Day 267: This is what is real

This is what is real

Page, pen, and I
We three who sit in sacred silence
Pouring it out
Where two or three are gathered…

We three, figure it all out before you arrive
We see what we’ve did with our time and talent
We make sure it didn't go to waste
That we caught whatever was drifting by
Knowing that it may not come again

This is what is real, we say
We are a holy trinity that vowed
To write to learn what we know

This is what is real, we say
That some stories are better than others
And we sheepishly ask forgiveness
And permission to continue

Then we stop.

Full stop.

And become grateful for the gift
Because it is a gift
A sacred kindness
In order to share

This is what is real, we say
That we don’t need to know
How to write it or paint it
Prior to writing it or painting it
Or posting it

This is what is real, we say
That everything is a brew of love and fear
The love for the words
The relief at completion
The joy at feedback
The fear is what comes from the words
The truth that we must leap
Into the great unknowing
Knowing it could be a dumb move
Or that our big fat dream becomes
Boredom, loneliness and empty pockets

Something will come up
We must trust in this
Trusting is perhaps the hardest lesson
Trusting that it will all work out
And if it doesn’t work out
Trusting that it will end
Because time takes care of everything
And miracles happen daily
Sometimes even to us

This is what is real, we say

Wednesday, October 6, 2010


It's true!

Now you can buy the electronic version of The Breakup Repair Kit!
The other day a friend of mine was showing me the iPad. Man oh man it's sexy. No more paper. No more weighty books to store and schlep. Just one device and all your literary needs are met.

It's all coming together.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Day 265: My daily journey

There is this guy at work. We have a running joke on Fridays. I say, "It's the weekend. How will you get on without me?" and he says, "It will be tough, but I'll try."

Nearly every Friday for three years. Same silly banter. Somehow he's managed to get on without me all these weekends. I don't know how he does it.

So, with only a 100 posts to go until the end of this 2010 project, I ask you dear reader, how will you get on without me?

It will be tough, but I'll try.

Well played.

I'll see what I can do about extending my stay. In the meantime, keep showing up. I'll keep showing up, too, because I'd like to see this story unfolds, too. I'm a bit in the dark myself.

Speaking of you, dear reader, one of you emailed me yesterday and told me of your 4-year-old daughter who started junior kindergarten this month. The children write in a daily journal, which her daughter refers to as a "daily journey." The reader said it made her think of this blog.

A daily journey indeed.

And where will this daily journey of daily journaling take me? I've got some ideas. Ideas are plentiful. It's the execution that's problematic.

Option 1:  I'll stay here and keep doing what I'm doing.

Option 2:  I'll move back to Canada and live with my mom.

Somehow both of these choices seem like the easy choice.

That leaves me with..

Option 3: Let myself GO. 

Go where? And when? And how???????

These questions have left me curled up in my bed with fear and overwhelm.

Today I got on the horn with a friend of mine who is scheming to throw it all away and move to... well, to just have the option to go anywhere and everywhere, whenever. 

Something in me became undone. The tightness that I felt at having to keep it all together, to know what I'm doing, to be making smart decisions began to loosen. I don't have to know everything anymore. I'm done with that. I'm just gonna let go of having a three year plan or a goal in mind. I've been planning and goal-ing for too long. I'm over it.

I cried a heaving sob after that call. I wasn't sad. I felt relief. It was nice to have a friend in the same boat. Someone else that wants the option to go anywhere and everywhere, whenever.

I released the pent up mayhem in my body that said I couldn't do this, that instead I should be spending time being grateful for what I have, that these are my big money making years and that I should be saving for retirement or a house or something grown-up like that.

But I'm so tired of doing all this. I'm tired of corporate life and the daily grind it takes. I'm tired of dealing with the BANE of my existence, the albatross of albatrosses, my WORK VISA that I have to maintain like a thorny, gnarly houseplant.

I'm tired of traffic.

It's autumn. There are leaves changing somewhere.

So where will my "daily journey" take me? What is my Option 3?

I don't know. Give me your take, dear reader. Where to?

This is my mom. We went for a bike ride when I went back to Canada a few weeks ago. When I asked her "Where to?" She pointed and said, "This way. No dogs."

Helpful but not exactly the answer I was looking for.

So dear reader, where to?

While you deliberate, I'm going to clean out some closets, figure out the cash and grow some balls to make it happen.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Day 264: A burger with Bill Clinton

As you may have gathered from my two previous posts, I went to a wedding the other day. I knew no one except my date and my date knew no one except for the groom. Neither of us is exceptionally social by nature so we made our own fun.

Don't get any big ideas. 

The bride and groom were super cool. They had an In & Out Burger truck come by to feed the guests. This was an awesome idea... but, um, I don't eat meat anymore so my choices were:
  1. Eat a burger
  2. Eat nothing
When faced with these choices I generally opt for the burger to forgo the starving. It's the lesser of two evils. The burger was fantastic, of course. Afterward my belly was yelling "WTF is this? What am I supposed to do with THIS? Didn't we discuss this? Aren't we done with this way? C'mon!"

The ginger tea later on helped.

Why do I feel bad mentally, physically and emotionally when I eat meat? I used to eat meat all the time. I'm not allergic or anything. I just don't agree with the factory farm system in the USA and how it's sucky for the animals, the workers, the environment and our bodies. That's all. No biggie.

I'M JUST TRYING TO SAVE THE WORLD HERE PEOPLE, one veggie Chipotle burrito at a time.

Then I ran across this impressive bit of wisdom from Bill Clinton. He's on a plant-based diet. He didn't say he was vegan. He said he was on a plant-based diet which to me sound like plant BASED means there is room for the occasional burger without feeling like crossing some picket line.

I don't usually like waving the ol' veggie flag, but this makes sense especially when we're talking about health.

But that burger I ate was good. Mmmmm tasty.

If you have to make a choice between meat from one or the other, go for Chipotle. They choose meat from animals that were treated kindly... before, well, you know.

Day 263: Full length tablecloth meditations

I'm obsessed with my tablecloth meditation art. Here are two more. They are a minute and a half each. Watch the tablecloth dance in the wind and let your mind rest.

You'll need to click on the video and head to YouTube to watch full screen. Go ahead. I won't take offense.

James Taylor, You've got a friend:

Coldplay, Green eyes:

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Day 262: A 45 second meditation

What happens when you combine:
  1. A wedding where you know no one except your date
  2. A camera
  3. A table cloth
  4. The wind
A 45 second meditative experience of course:

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