Why isn't my life like TV?

I'm currently reading Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman, and in it, he makes an interesting - and I would argue, true - observation about reality television.  To paraphrase, Klosterman argues that reality TV is in fact 'reality', not in the sense of art imitating life, which is the supposed intent of reality programming, but instead life is imitating art.  What I (he) mean(s) by this is that the product of reality TV being culturally relevant is that the audience then tries (whether consciously or not) to emulate the character archetypes depicted on these shows, thus making them an accurate depiction of reality.  It's an interesting viewpoint, and I find it hard to do anything but agree with Klosterman.

In my case, it's not reality TV that produces this effect, but instead scripted programming.  There are certain shows that, when I watch them, I want to exist within their fictional universe; I want to be a part of Cougar Town's cul-de-sac crew.  No, the impossibility of that wish is not lost on me, but still it exists.

See, they're saving me a spot at the end of the couch next to Ellie.

The TV technique that I wish could be utilized in my life the most would have to be the montage.  I will once again borrow from Cougar Town here.  The following video is in my opinion, perfection.  Nothing needs to be known about the show to appreciate this montage:

The song is "Leave Your Boyfriends Behind" by Leona Naess, and is an example of what I consider a montage song.  I listen to it and can picture a montage of events of my life that haven't happened, nor are likely to.  I bring this up because the song that's been in my head all day is another such song.  I was told to listen to The Weepies "Gotta Have You" at around 2 A.M. last night, and it's been replaying in my head since because it's an amazing song.

I then find myself wishing my life could montage (it's a verb now) into a montage (back to a noun), ideally about me and the girlfriend who I had recently been in a fight with, both separately reflecting on the positives of our relationship, either through quick flashbacks of the two of us laughing together in a sunny field or at the beach(silently of course; the music would be over the audio), or by looking at photographs that evoke similar memories.  We would then both realize the need to reconcile and simultaneously set out to find the other, meeting each other somewhere in the middle because that's how TV logic works, leading to the two of us sharing a meaningful kiss that, if it were a TV show, would be referred to by viewers as the 'Tyler-and-[insert name here] moment'.

This is, of course, absurd in oh so many ways.  For one, I don't have a girlfriend.  So when I say that I wish I could experience this situation as a montage, it implies that I wish to have a serious enough fight with the girlfriend I don't yet have to warrant such a montage being situationally relevant.  For another, I wouldn't be able to experience the aforementioned non-existent girlfriend's part of this montage; as I'd be busy what with holding up my end of the montage material, thus making the end product not quite as special from my own perspective.

If you haven't noticed the most absurd part of this though, don't worry, I'll cover it now.  Having my life contain montages would involve, and in fact require,  the moments in between these large, supposed 'important' moments of my life to be skipped over.  I say supposed because it's the little, every-day moments that make interpersonal interactions special.  Consider my imaginary relationship montage above:  How did I meet this girl?  Why do I like her?  Are we a good couple, or are we mutually destructive?  What was our fight about?

I really can't answer any of those questions, as I don't have even the slightest inkling as to the answers.  I don't know anything about this relationship or fight other than the fact that this mystery girl is apparently worth reconciling with.  Our reconciliation and high points aren't even audible; the music is the only sound playing.  So I don't even know what we talk about when we're together.

Back to the importance of the small moments though, one of my tattoos is based off of the song "Life is Beautiful" by Sixx A.M., and the words 'Open Your Eyes Life is Beautiful' are tattooed onto my right shoulder.  I'm not going to pretend this is some deep viewpoint; an identical sentiment can be found in the timeless cliche 'Take time to smell the roses'.  I fully acknowledge and embrace this mantra when I'm picturing my montages. I wouldn't truly want an edited relationship; the little moments, the ones where this mystery girl's presence alone makes me feel happier, will be far more cherished than our time spent laughing on the beach and affectionately staring into each other's eyes, speaking without words due to the music.  I guess that this is the message was trying to get out from the moment I started writing this entry: Open your eyes; life is beautiful.

The nature of responsibility

Earlier today, I drove my two sisters (really I only have one, but the other is an honourary sibling) up to the Horseshoe Bay ferry terminal for their soccer team bonding retreat or something.  I think it's that, but really, there's too many soccer things for me to say it was that with complete certainty.  Normally, it's a drive I really enjoy; the views are fantastic.  In the sunshine, that is.  But no, we got to make the journey in the pouring rain.  Not quite the same breathtaking views when other cars are kicking up puddles into your vision.

As I was making the return journey alone, I had a sudden realization: I am much more cautious when other people are in the car with me.  I feel that this is a good thing; it shows an understanding, conscious or subconscious, that I have a greater level of responsibility when others are in the car with me.  On the way up, our top speed was 90km/h, and that was reached only in the posted area.  That's right, speed limit diligence the entire way; be proud of/for me.  This was of course, mostly due to the fact that it was raining.  I would have been traveling at a bit quicker of a pace if visibility hadn't been so poor (also, Vancouverites have an inability to drive in the rain - an unfortunate fact seeing as it rains 5 months a year, on average - and this makes me inherently more cautious in the rain).  There were even a couple of instances where I almost turned to my sister - the real one - and said "I don't ever want you driving in these conditions, you hear?"  I didn't say this, but I certainly thought it, and if you read this Sophie, then consider it a binding agreement that you won't.

The way back is when I came to my realization; looking down at the odometer, I was zipping along at 110 in an 80 zone.  Not for the mere purpose of going fast - although my invincibility complex was satisfactory satiated -, but because I felt entirely comfortable going a bit faster with just myself in the car.  The entire rest of the return drive, I was thinking about the nature of responsibility.  I've been babysitting regularly since I was 12, so clearly parents felt reasonably comfortable leaving their children with me.  But would I have classified myself as responsible at age 12?  Probably not.  I've heard several of my friends moaning about the prospect of hitting their 20th birthdays, because, to paraphrase their words, "That's when you've got to have your life in order and be responsible and shit."

"From now on, your life is nothing but crushing obligation" wouldn't fit on the cake...

Not only is this sentiment at odds with the general feeling of the year before and turning 19 (more of a "Sweet, I'm going to party so hard now that I'm legal!" sentiment), but I feel that it's incorrect.  You don't reach a certain point in your life when someone turns to you and says "Okay, you're all set now.  Put down the bottle of tequila, it's time to be responsible."  Responsibility is something that just happens.  One day, you'll be babysitting and tell the kids, actually, you shouldn't use all the kitchenware to make a suit of armor and then back-flip off the trampoline (Quick note: that is not based on a real event.  Leave your children in my care!), and you'll come to the realization that you're the adult in this scenario.  For me, this happened sooner than today, it's just that it popped into my head and wanted to be written about.  There's no magic instruction book, and yes, occasionally you'll fuck up.  But if you've reached an acceptable level of understanding that you have responsibility outside of yourself, those fuck-ups won't be too detrimental.

I think that the best way I can describe it is that responsibility, and the exercising of responsibility, is a  privilege, and not a right.  You don't hit age 20 and go and apply for a license for it, as you do for driving.  It's something that, if you've proven yourself, you'll be given; you just won't know it until it hits you in the face.

Why do I find Christmas dinner weird?

So another Christmas has come and gone, and I find myself thinking that there  was something odd about this year.  Not odd in a bad way, or an unsettling way, just odd.  I couldn't place it until now, but of all things, it was the fact that we had a Christmas dinner at my house.  I wasn't surprised we had one; after all, I knew we would be, as my Mum's boyfriend likes to cook.  He made roast beef, mashed potatoes, cooked veggies, corn... the whole shebang, really. That wasn't the part I found odd; he cooks fairly regularly, and quite well too.  Actually, I'm looking forward to seeing bacon becoming a more predominant fixture in future recipes (I bought him a cookbook entitled "I Love Bacon" for Christmas).  I will excuse bacon's absence from the Christmas dinner due to short notice on bacon recipes.

No, the part I found odd (actually, I'm not even certain it's this) was that we had a sit-down, everything-on-the-table, pass-me-this, could-you-hand-me-such-and-such dinner, and for Christmas no less.  I know that a lot of people do this, and I know a great many people who look forward to the holidays exclusively for Christmas dinner, but that's never been something we've done at my place.  The rest of the day was so low-key and relaxed - I didn't even change out of the sweatpants I had worn to bed the previous night - so all of a sudden the event feel that dinnertime brought through my mind for a loop.

Now I know that my anti-social mind is throwing this way out of proportion, but since when did dinner become such an event?  It shouldn't be that formal.  I don't even remember the last time I had eaten at that table before then, and certainly not in such a formal setting.  Normally our family meals are eaten in the living room, on the couch, and I like it like that.  Not that I dislike a more formal dinner, I mean, when my sister and I go out to see our grandparents on Sunday to do Christmas with them, I fully expect to have a similar dinner there.  But in that context, it is familiar; the majority of the time that we go out there is for a food-related occurrence.

Hmmm, you know what, that could actually have something to do with the oddness I felt; I didn't go anywhere or have to prepare for any sort of dinner event, it just sort of happened when I didn't anticipate it.  I suppose that could be it.  Or it could have been simply a bout of anti-social feelings at that particular moment.

Anyway, I want to know what your Christmas dinner tradition is.  Whether you prepare a home cooked meal for 20, or take the family out for a festive trip to Burger King, hop on over to the comment section to share.  In all likelihood, my aversion to sit-down Christmas dinner is entirely in the minority.  In fact I'm sure it is.  While you're commenting, throw in what your favourite gift you got was this year.  That way, when I'm doing my shopping for you next year, I'll have a starting point from which to build!

Merry (slightly belated) Christmas and a Happy Ho-ho to all.

'Tis the Season...

...To read my blog!  Happy winter everyone.  I didn't think I'd actually be able to consistently wear sunglasses through December, but so far so good, and you will hear no complaints from me about that.  Although, I am sort of hoping for a White Christmas; not because I want one, but because one of my coworkers does.  He's from New Zealand, and is used to this whole sunglasses-at-Christmas thing, but with 30 degree weather on top of that.  So, you know, if anyone out there has Storm powers, maybe help him out a little in that department.  On a side-note, Storm's superpowers would be utterly wasted on me, as I would use them exclusively to create spring or summer conditions.

This is what mid-January would look like if I were Storm.

If you're like me, you are not quite done your Christmas shopping.  It's my project for tomorrow, as I can't really push it back any further than that.  Don't misunderstand my last-minute tendencies as me not liking giving gifts, it's just how I normally shop.  Giving presents is actually my favourite part of this time of year.  Again, don't misunderstand that; I don't really abide by the "giving is better than receiving" principle.  I know there are people out there who do truly believe this and I will take a quick moment here to say you are a better person than I am.  I applaud you, I really do.  But me, I like being able to give what I feel is a good gift.  I know that sentence is perhaps a tad unclear, so allow me to tell an anecdote to explain.

Two years ago, I was invited by my friend to go see a Muse concert with him and his sister.  Okay, you're thinking, he had an extra ticket, so what?  Well, the concert was in Vegas.  My friend took me to Vegas for a weekend so we could see Muse.  The tickets were a birthday (Christmas?) present from his parents.  I remember when he asked me if I wanted to go; we were in his car driving downtown to go for a run.
 "Do you like Muse?"
"Yeah," I replied.  "I mean, they're not among my favourites or anything, but yeah, I like them." (Quick side-note: Seeing Muse live will put them among your favourites; fantastic live performance.)
"Well would you like to come to Vegas to see them?"
"Um, yeah!"
"Cool, the opening act is Cage The Elephant, do you know anything about them?"

This is the point of this exchange at which I knew for a certainty that I would be going, as I liked Cage The Elephant more than I liked Muse at the time.

It was a great trip.  Vegas was neat, if a little restrictive (17 year olds don't really belong in Vegas), and the concert was phenomenal.

Fast forward 13 months, and it's the same friend's 19th birthday.  And wouldn't you know it, Cage The Elephant's second album is being released on that very day!  Not only that, but the freaking name of the album is Thank You Happy Birthday!

So his gift was the CD of the band that he has taken me to see a year ago, released on his birthday, whose title both wished him for said birthday AND thanked him for me for said concert.  Needless to say, I was extremely proud of this gift.  It's not as if I had to put any special work into it; I went down to the store and bought a CD.  But it was a perfect combination of everything that made me so pleased to be able to give him that album.

That's the type of gift I like to get someone; the kind where it works because it's from me to you, whether it's because I know it'll be special to you, or if it's an inside joke.  I get my family gifts every year, and as much as possible try to make them somewhat like that.  When I can come up such a gift for a friend, they will find a present from me under their tree that year; if not, there's a chance they won't get one.  I'd rather hold off until their birthday rather than get them a holiday themed gift card to Starbucks or something.

This year, I have two friends who will be getting gifts.  You may read that and think "Wow, he only got presents for his family and two friends?  What a fucking scrooge!"  However, I feel that it's quite impressive that I have two separate gifts that make me super happy to give to friends is quite fantastic.  I'm actually a fairly reclusive person; I have many acquaintances, but much fewer good friends.  Also, you can forget about getting a present from me for calling me a fucking Scrooge; that was rude.

Of the remaining gifts I need to buy, I know what they all are, with the exception of my dad's (That man is hard to shop for!). My last-minute shopping habit is going to come through for me in crunch time again!

If you're wondering what you can get me for Christmas, well, you can tell your friends to read my blog.  It's a thoughtful and affordable gift option.  Alternatively, feel free to get me Doctor Who T-Shirts.

I wear a M or L.

Oh, one more thing:  I mentioned earlier that I would be putting up writing of mine that is actually, you know, writing, instead of random blog entries, and I've decided that the first of such pieces will be sometime soon.  I'm going to re-write a french speech I did years back called "Why Santa's Real".  It'll take me a little bit to do it justice, so just thought I'd give a pre-Christmas heads up as to why I'll be posting about Santa after Christmas.

A Quick Word About Privacy

It's been a few days of poking around this site now, learning how everything works, and I've discovered what will surely waste hours upon hours of my time: The "Next Blog" button.  It's a fantastic idea, bringing me to a blog at random.  But having spent 30-some odd minutes jumping from page to page, I've discovered something about Blogspot; namely that there are a lot of blogs dedicated to people's kids.

I don't mind the idea in general, I mean, if I know you, there is a chance your photo or name may end up here somewhere.  But really, why are you displaying dozens of photos of your young children, chronicling their every move on the Internet for anyone and everyone to see?  Parents, I'm going to let you in on a little secret: Not everyone on the Internet is trustworthy.  There are people who, if I were a parent, I would not want to know anything about my kids.

This kid's chances of being kidnapped increase three-fold just by being pictured here.

By all means, keep a virtual record of your kids' childhoods if it suits your fancy, just make it on a private setting, or on Facebook - something where you can regulate who can view it.  I considered linking to one or two of the more ridiculous examples of this, but then I realized that doing so would contradict my entire point of discouraging strangers from looking at them.  Just trust me, they're out there, and it makes me feel creepy to come across these pages.

Just had to say that, now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go click the "Next Blog" button some more.

Stocking Sentimentality

Well it's that time of year; the Christmas decorations are all up.  Everything except for my stocking that is.  It seems as if I misplaced it during last year's cleanup.  I know that I've seen it about my room, so this seems like the perfect opportunity to do some much needed tidying.  Really, I can't stress the "much needed" aspect of that enough; it was a mild shock to discover I have hardwood floors (Sadly, this is only slight hyperbole).  It's not that I don't like cleaning; I just need to be in the mood for it in order for any significant cleaning to be accomplished.

While cleaning, I realized I have some things from long ago that really, have no purpose being in my room, or even my possession anymore.  For example, I still have my elementary school grad hoodie in my dresser, even though it hasn't been touched since I was 13, and would have no hope of fitting even if I did want to wear it.  Or my stack of tape cassettes; piled carefully and prominently on my bookshelf, with absolutely no method of being played.  That is, unless iTunes has some sort of way to play tape cassettes... Maybe I'll try sticking one into my laptop to find out...

Rick Scott and ACDC; the music of my childhood.  Sadly, I don't have their collaboration album.

These are things from my childhood that for some reason or another, I can't even fathom moving from their current locations, let alone getting rid of.  They serve no purpose at this point -functional, or sentimental- and yet, there they are.  Why do I do this?  As to that, I really have no answer.

I don't consider myself a sentimental person.  It's not as if I pull out my hoodie, think back and reminisce about the good ol' days of Lord Tennyson.  And yet, I have a lot of things from my childhood still.  Even the stocking I've had for as long as I can remember, although I would argue that since it serves a distinct purpose, that's an entirely different matter.  None of these childhood possessions bring about strong feelings to me, good or bad.  They're just there, and I remember them being there when I was younger too.  Oh, and as for sentimentality, my exception is stuffed animals.  I have a soft spot for those.  I've had a doll since the moment I was born called Lala, and I will keep him forever, because just seeing him makes me feel a bit happier.

I think that the reason I keep them is that a part of my mind is holding onto my childhood.  Not in a sentimental way, but rather just keeping it visible.  I'm not sure if that's a normal thing to do, or even a healthy thing to do, but I do know that it is something that I do.  I miss the simplicity of childhood; not having to worry about how much money I have in the bank, relationships, the state of the world, and transferring schools in a year.  Life was much easier when my biggest concerns were regarding how much fun the playground was, or that my corn was touching something else on my plate (I was a very picky eater as a kid.  I'm sure this will crop up again sometime.).

There was a time when this arrangement would have been entirely unacceptable...

Part of this I'm sure has to do with being scared of these changes.  Change can be overwhelming, and it's nice to be able to have some aspect of familiarity around you.  Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't want change, or am unhappy with where change has brought me.  On the contrary, I have felt more mentally stable and at peace with my life in the past few months than ever before.  I suppose that there's just a part of me that needs that security blanket surrogate to be present, and as long as I'm willing to still make changes in my life, then I am perfectly content to hold onto my childhood.

I never did find my stocking, that will be my project for tomorrow.  At least my room is now presentable though, and I discovered something about my nature that I had never even thought about.  Oh, and I put up Doctor Who posters, and you have no idea how pleased that has made me.

Introduction: An Early New Year's Resolution

Recently, a friend of mine began writing a blog.  When I wanted to comment on a post she had written, I found that I needed to set up an account of my own before I could clog up her comment section with an assortment of words that, when read together, had a chance of making some degree of sense.  No worries, I told myself, just set one up, and there will be no need to ever bother with it's existence after that.  Predictably, within a couple of days, I had changed my mind, and now here we are.  Instead of ignoring this page's existence, it will instead be my outlet for the things in my head, however strange or pointless they may be.  Incidentally, you should also follow the aforementioned friend's blog; the writing is far better organised than this page will ever hope to be.  Or, if you need further motivation, there's also pictures of mermaids to be found there (okay, one mermaid picture - that's still one more than you will find here).

Anyway, so as to ensure to myself that I don't just abandon this endeavour after 3 weeks, I've decided to make it my New Year's Resolution to update this blog a minimum of twice per week (hopefully more often).  I never used to make New Year's Resolutions; much to my ex's displeasure.  She used to tell me that it was lazy of me to not make resolutions, seeing as my reason for doing so (or should that be not doing so?) was that, in my mind, if I didn't make a resolution, I couldn't fail at it.  Well, I've come to realize that she was right about that, and this past year, I did make a resolution... But I honestly cannot remember what it was... Oops!  Let's just assume that it was tattoo related, and that I succeeded.

Success!... I think.

Anyhow, this year, I and anyone who reads this will be able to hold myself to this year's resolution seeing as it's now in writing.  Or will be, once I hit "Publish".  But as you read this, that will be in the past, whereas it's in the future for me at this moment.  Hmmmmm, I will have to carefully consider what verb tenses to use...

Other than the twice-weekly update condition I've set for myself, I'm also going to instill a clause that I don't edit the content of my blog entries.  That is not to say that I won't proofread and edit the grammar, because I will.  Grammar is an aspect of writing I refuse to ignore.  What I mean instead, is that if I begin to ramble, as I am prone to do, I won't go back and remove sections of a post.  I feel that this way it will provide a more authentic window into what passes for my mind.  It will also be far more fun for me to read back on.  I do apologize in advance for any excessive rambling, but if you've ever talked to me, there's a good chance you know that this is exactly how I speak; in a string of semi-related thoughts.

Every so often, I will post a piece of writing of mine that I feel is good; or at least worth a read, and those posts will be edited for content.  It's probably because they've been edited that I find them to be good.  Those posts will be the exception to my non-editing clause.

The purpose of this blog is threefold: for me to document the completion of a New Year's Resolution, for me to get into the habit of writing more (and hopefully better), and to allow me to be a bit more honest - both with myself and with you, the reader.  Please leave comments if you feel compelled to; who knows, you too may decide to begin writing one of these because of that.

Okay, I lied about there being no mermaid pictures on my blog.

Welcome; I hope you enjoy reading a bit about my thoughts.  Or at the very least enjoy making fun of them.  Either one.