All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again

Was Gaius Frakking Baltar right? Delusional, and near death on the renegade Cylon Basestar, he admits his connection with the holocaust to President Roslin, and extrapolates to suggest the cycle of life needs periodic purging for life, spirit and hope to spring anew.

As a parallel to a truism, our existence needs death for life to spring anew.

On a more personal side, many things are coming to an end. Battlestar Galactica is two episodes to it’s close. Watchmen has finally made it’s cinematic debut after a long, hungering wait. In my geek’s paradise of sci-fi, much of what I’ve longed for is ending. Over. Done.

In the realm of reality, much is also drawing to a close. A potential opportunity could spark a significant change for Dawn and I. And a much needed change for the better. Things coming to am end can yeild a positive end.

We’ll also have Caprica. X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Angels and Demons. And frak. In film school, I always wanted to be a writer. I think it’ right time to refresh my approach and effort toward that endeavour.

Death isn’t the end of all things. It’s just the change we need to start anew.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Reasons I don’t need a Wii, a Pederast named Jesus, and other thoughts…

The Dude: Fuckin’ Quintana… that creep can roll, man.
Walter Sobchak: Yeah, but he’s a pervert, Dude.
The Dude: Yeah.
Walter Sobchak: No, he’s a sex offender. With a record. He served 6 months in Chino for exposing himself to an eight year old.
The Dude: Oh!
Walter Sobchak: When he moved to Hollywood he had to go door to door to tell everyone he was a pederast.
Donny: What’s a… pederast, Walter?
Walter Sobchak: Shut the fuck up, Donny.

Nobody fucks with the Jesus. Well, except that fictional eight year old alluded to in The Big Lebowski. But this is not Jesus’s nor the eight year old’s story.

It’s mine.

You know, there’s something to be said about not working in your field of choice. And that employment path is not by choice, but by necessity. And with the current economic climate, real, tangiable alternatives to my current employer are few and far between. But they are there, and hopefully a change is in the works for me very shortly.

As film work is my field of choice, and understanding the nature of the beast of my career path of choice, one can very easily see my disdain for corporate America. I really do wish there were more companies out there that were progressive, that worked both to do well today AND in the future, not mortgaging the future just to show black on the balance sheet today. To run a business in the opposite fashion Pat Quinn ran a hockey team which he was the General Manager would be a reasonable analogy for this. Quinn’s a good coach, but a shitty GM.

Well, work has gotten worse and worse lately. It seems my ‘resolution’ to post daily (or near daily) has fallen by the wayside. The management dictum at work is increasingly dehumanising, and it’s taking a toll both on me personally (high stress levels and higher risk of migraines), as well as physically (as it is becoming more painful to walk, as the physical nature of my work is taking it’s toll on my already damaged knees). I can only hold onto hope that my overall career path will turn the corner, as currently my condition of employment has been all but verified by the powers that be as one of a dead end job. Hope can only hold for so long through a long phase of erosion. Never fear though, faithful reader. Hope still exists, and a practicum is following.

As for my sanity, I am further thankful I recently purchased an iPhone. Not only is it a phone. And text messaging. iPod. Mobile internet. Day planner. Contact book. Road Map. Camera and photo album. Scientific Calculator. Notepad. Clock.

It’s also a portable Wii. I shit you not. I’m sure we’ve seen those ads for iPhone/iPod touch where there are games controlled by wobbling the iPhone. Well, a few nights ago, I trumped the light sabre application. I downloaded iBowl. You actually swing the phone like you would roll a 10-pin bowling ball. Fuck me running. I’ve become instantly addicted to iBowl. Further more, I have some moderate form of stress relief. To make it perfect, I just need two things. A white russian (can someone get me Jay Janower’s number already), and a child rapist named Jesus so I can consistently kick his ass.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Months o­n the run, and what do we have to show for it? Casualties. Deteriorating conditions. This crew needs a rest. It’s finally hitting them, that’s all. Our old lives are gone. The o­nly thing we have to look forward to is this. Introspection part IV.

After making the trek from Onterrible to Vancouver, film work for me was at a high. Fuck me, look at my credits list found here. Most of those came from 2005. Once that winter hit, it was like a Cylon nuclear attack wiping out all but a few of us. Though film work still existed intermittently and the ‘day job’ has now improved from ’survivable’ to ‘livable’, things are still very tight and very tough. Dawn and I would fight very intensely, very consistently, mostly over the lack of resources.

More directly put, we were living to work. Something had to change. Slugging it out at work just to be irritable towards your loved ones because ends are just barely meeting and expendable cash was near nil was all we had to look forward to. That something to change had to be me. The system, the establishment, seemed quite content to and indifferent to my suffering. It was frighteningly accurate to Homer Simpson’s take on life:

‘Life is just one crushing defeat after another until you wake up one day and just wish Flanders was dead.’

That mirror had a way of showing me something. Galactica, like my life, is about hope when all has vanished. Fate is just not a factor in my existence. I must create new hope out of nothing. And it’s not just art. It’s life. One must find meaning, purpose, hope, and spirit from within, not from outside.

And now, the final three aspects of positivity:

They know when to defend what they are doing
Well, I definitely know HOW to defend what I am doing. WHEN, on the other hand, is another issue. I tend to defend myself against all comers. Some of those fights, however, are redundant or pointless. Nothing will be gained. I must hold my confidence high, and realize when I need to fight and when I need to let things just roll off of me.

They are creative
Hells yeah. ‘Nuff said.

They are not afraid to be a little different in finding innovative solutions that will enable them to achieve their dreams
My entire life is about being different, being individual. I have no fear of the different, let alone much of any fear altogether.

Well, that seems to be about it. Starting tomorrow, the countdown to the beginning of the end.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Because it’s not enough to just live. You have to have something to live for. Introspection part III

I could go so far with that title, but I only have just so much bandwidth on this blahg. To put things in simple perspective, there’s a lot that both my old man and the Old Man have given me in the sense of pushing forward and purpose.

My father always stressed positivity. I for the longest time just never grasped the concept of smiling after eating a shit sandwich (though in earlier years I actually figured that was more literal than it was intended). After some more growing, I realized that being able to smile in the face of personal pain, social awkwardness, or adversity was the simplest way for us to stay grounded and focused. I would always let my anger and hatred consume me. You think there’s any reason I really connect to Star Wars at this point?

The fictional Old Man brings a great deal of context. Good art is like holding a mirror up to the world. And when I watch Battlestar Galactica, it’s like I’m stood front and centre in front of it. I’m a long way from home. Many of my loved ones have passed on. There are very few people close to me these days. resources are scarce at best. And so on..

I guess the point of this really is that one cannot just learn to deal with the adversity. One must have true direction and follow that path, and in the wake of a shattered dream, conjure one anew, and work towards it.

Now onto the third of the four part analysis:

They know who they are
Nowadays, yes. I am a highly intelligent socially awkward outcast. And I’m fully accepted of that. The truth is I don’t make a lot of friends. Maybe it’s good chunks of my childhood that will be with me forever, but I don’t make LOTS of friends. I make a few REALLY GOOD, CLOSE FRIENDS. The kind that have your back. The kind that wouldn’t make a move on your girl. The kind that aren’t afraid to tell you the truth even though it’s shit.

I do know WHO I am. Who I SHALL BECOME remains quite a mystery. But I feel that will be revealed. There is a difference between knowing the path and walking the path.

They understand their weaknesses as well as their strong points
Now, very much so. In my younger days I definitely had a Superman syndrome, where I denied my weaknesses. For a long time, I denied my flaws, my weaknesses, my mortality. Since meeting Dawn, and her opening me up to my spiritual side, I am starting to see the great strength in the admission of my natural, imperfect nature.

They can accept and benefit from criticism
Occasionally. It really depends who the criticism comes from. A right stranger I will tell to go fuck themselves without any hesitation. My close friends I am somewhat accepting of their help. I do appreciate the honesty, but I can still be very bull headed in terms of making the change. I must let go of my anger, my hate…

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Tapping the Spenny to get to the Kenny part II

Even though he would use this as a cheesy pick up line, I do think we all have some Kenny in us. Well, most of us. There has to be the anomaly, that person who represents the core of the negative viewpoint, the Spenny in us. As a species, we are quite negative in nature. We are drawn to it. We are sucked into negative gossip about negative people. Our news is highly negative in nature. Negativity sells. Negative news scare us into buying new products to protect us from the evils of the world.

Simply put, we as people, if we are to succeed, must rise above our negative nature. We must choose to be positive. We must find our inner Kenny. In my path, the last few days, I have found myself making a more genuine effort ‘not to sweat the small stuff’. On a stop of mine yesterday, I had to park in an ugly stop. I took a whack of flack from another motorist, who liberally used some expletives about my choice of parking spaces in a small vehicle lot with a five ton. All I could do was agree with the passer by in how it was nice to be able to park where I wanted, and laughed at all his half-assed remarks. I also find myself further separated from some other drivers at work. Some are a really fucking negative lot. I could only imagine a few would be scrounging the alleys of Hastings and Main for used crack rocks on the pavement if they didn’t work a union job. I don’t think they could find or keep anything else at this point. By comparison, my life could be a hell of a lot worse.

But, as promised, this is not a work groan session, but rather a personal introspection. So, how I stack up on the next three qualities of positive thinkers:

They always try their hardest for perfection
I do. I really do. I hate being wrong. I hate making mistakes. Unfortunately, there is a double edge to this sword. I make my bar set for personal perfection. No mistakes. A catch-22 considering that I am a member of a flawed species. I try to look at the concept of perception more as giving my best, where my best is exceeding, even by just an inch, what I feel my maximum capability or skill is. I just have to remember that at times it is justifiable for my flaws to occur, so long as I take the opportunity to learn from them.

They never consider the idea of failing
Having just answered this in a sense in the previous quality of positive thinkers, it is easy to extrapolate the answer to this quality. I hate failing. And when I strive for flawless perfection in the stead of self improvement and personal best, I become consumed by the notion of failure. Hence why I should always push myself to be better at all times, but not draw the hard line on absolute perfection.

They work extremely hard towards their goals
Too fucking right. Dawn always tells me that when I get the bit in my teeth, I never let it go. When there is something that I want, I don’t let go until I get it. I just have to remember to exercise some balance. Other things I care about, like family and friends, can become easily neglected when I get deeply involved in something. Balance is good.

Part three, with a new television theme comes tomorrow.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Tapping the Spenny to get to the Kenny part I

Based on my past history, one would think that I would pull for Spenny to beat Kenny in each of their ego-driven, testosterone induced competitions. Nothing could be further from the truth. I cheer, yell, scream, and use the Force^TM as Kenny lies, cheats, tortures, and ultimately crushes Spenny again and again and again.

Why though? For those who know me (or at least have some semblance of an idea about me), I grew up much more in the train of Spenny than Kenny. I was a geek. Nerd. Dork. High School Loser. The only thing I really could say about myself was that I had a big brain, could skate and play defense, baseball, and ski like hell. It was the latter three that kept me going through high school. I could go on, but I used certain physical skills to fit in, to be (in name only) another high school automaton. It reduced the torment. But something was wrong.

I wasn’t myself. It took me until well into university until I was comfortable in my own skin. Just over twenty years out of the womb to begin the path to self acceptance. Definitely more Spenny than Kenny. But still, why do I cheer Spenny? Frankly, nearing the ripe age of forty, Spencer Nolan Rice still hasn’t started. Watch the show. He repeats mantras obviously given to him by a therapist to keep him rational. I, on the other hand, have learned not to conform to society’s pre-set thoughts, opinions, and beliefs about the nature of existance and my place within it.

I am an individualist, who does have a great deal to offer the world. My morals, values and beliefs are a product of my experiences, not what some fictional doctrine or stuffy rich bastard wants me to think or feel to perpetuate an artificial air of control. Bah.

Still, to look at the positivity of my existence, and to continue my path of self discovery and invoking my inner Kenny, here is part one of four measuring how I stack up on the twelve qualities that positive thinkers typically share.

They have confidence in themselves
At the things I’m good at, I have absolute confidence. Skiing. Hockey. Baseball. Poker. Battlestar Galactica trivia. I truly believe I am the best at my strengths. My weaknesses are a much different thing. I find it difficult to work hard at things I suck at. Like video games that I can’t get the flow of. I’m sure Dawn’s thinking about Torino 2006 at this point. Though I’m good at keeping the razor’s edge sharp, to grow I know I must work at that which I struggle.

They have a very strong sense of purpose
So long as there is a purpose. The last two years, with film work lean and the day job wearing out, I have lost sense of my purpose. But my purpose transcends film. Being a right boffin, I can only hear these words in my mind on repeat. ‘I have a responsibility to use my gifts for a purpose much higher than personal gain.’ I also remember the words of one Joey DeVilla a few days back:

We make a living by what we get; we make a life by what we give.

Somewhere in my future, teaching and sharing my knowledge and experience will be paramount.

They never have excuses for not doing something
I don’t. There are a good few things I tend not to finish, and I just blame myself. No one else. I really need to re-acquire the habit of following through 100% 100% of the time. Not 95% 95% of the time. I also need to get back into the habit of using a day planner daily. A co-worker said not too long ago something about aging. We do not lose our mental accuities or skills, we are just conscious of more distractions. I must discipline myself to maintain my razor focus on the tasks at hand.

Tomorrow, the next three.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

It’s not enough to just live. You have to have something to live for.

Paraphrased from the Old Man, but still doesn’t lose any of it’s punch. Thus is the crisis of the individualist. Not having a fictional or otherwise ‘higher power’ or ’superior being’ imposed upon my sense of self, right and wrong, and purpose in this world, I am forced to find that ’something to live for’ within my own being.

And the downfall is that when shit hits the proverbial fan, there is no sacred text, no omnipotent father (or mother) figure to turn to, whom will provide comfort, healing, or direction. Nothing for me exists but a cold, harsh reality. And when the compass is lost or broken, it is up to me, and ONLY ME to re-associate with my reason to live, that which gives me purpose. And sometimes it takes a fucking long time.

In my case, a time period that is quite nearing one year now. To wit, I took a day job to ensure ends are met. After a dismal 2006 film season for me, I came to a cold economic reality. I needed something more stable in the short term to make ends meet. Hence the day job. Sad thing is that it only kept me barely economically afloat to now. And for nearly nine months, I’ve been ranting, bitching, moaning, and searching for at least something better paying. Then it hit me. Most of the film electricians are also licensed electricians. And the only feasable fix (as I don’t have $9000 plus living expenses to go back to school for four months full time) is to apprentice at BC Hydro. And I can make significantly more training there than I do right now being a bitch in a five ton.

As such, I have the waiting game. Day one was today, with no word as of yet. But that’s not the only thing pressing on the soul. In the last fourteen days, I was in an accident in the truck (though not my fault thankfully) in which someone tried to pass me on the right while I was mid turn going right. What a twat. I had to change my spark plugs (to which I broke one and had to buy two more) and realized still more of my mechanics tools had been pilfered while staying at a shared residence a few years back. So more money spent there. I dropped my mobile in the loo. The list goes on. I really started to get the feeling that someone out there doesn’t want me to get on with this. And not the brain dead gits that I work for either.

It is very easy for me to see there is no hope. Aside from Dawn, Tara, and Adina, there’s not much else out here for me, short of figurative slave labour. In the current state, I pretty much exist to drive the wheels of commerce for someone else, a quite nauseating notion for the individual. A definite contrast to the philosophy I grew up with, having a sense of enjoyment of life. Not much aside from the aforementioned as a positive. I deserve more than this.

So what still brings enjoyment? In the winter, anticipation of skiing and the new season of Battlestar Galactica kept hope alive. Now, I think I’m the only person that is wishing the torrential Vancouver winter’s hasty return. Not that I enjoy the rain, but it will bring both which are missing back into the fold. The reminder of why I’m in this ‘Brave New World’ to begin with. To foster the individual. Once the good of the self is taken care of, the good of others will be that much easier to ascertain.

Giving up is NOT an option. Somewhere, within my troubled soul, I must find hope. Hope that this next step I’ve chosen will come to fruition. Hope that my ability will come to practical fold. Hope that I will finally rise above mediocrity.

“You’re born, you live and you die. There are no do-overs, no second chances to make things right if you frak ‘em up the first time. Not in this life anyway. Like I said, you make your choices and you live with them. And in end you are those choices.” –Kendra Shaw

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six

Crossroads, Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden, Mentally checking out of work BEFORE you get a new job, and other illusions which appear to be fact.

Jeff O’Neil. Captain Scotty. Charis. Please get the fuck back on the air. I didn’t mind Neil Morrison filling in for you (for those from Toronto, the former Brother Bill), and the first couple of days of ‘The Worst of the Jeff O’Neil Show’ was bearable. No longer. I’ve now regressed. I did listen to the Team 1040 in the afternoons (Pratt and Taylor actually have a good show, so it’s not that bad). However, in the morning slot, the fare is not so appealing at times. Yup, we get Jim Rome.

My first glimpse of this ‘man’ was amusing. It was the Chris Everett remark made to the Jim quarterback of the same surname. Amusing for a moment, and that was it. But he has a radio show for himself? What the deuce? Now fair enough, I like sci-fi, and as such I would probably appear to him as ‘clown’ who dresses up to go to a Comic-con. I also like football. As in the variety that most North Americans would misname soccer. Someone so narrow minded and obviously shallow doesn’t deserve my attention. Until today. Pity about how thin this ‘worst of’ CFOX is spitting out is becoming. It’s worn out it’s welcome.

One good thing about Rome today. Big hit on Golf Guy. You know him. We all know him. He has a glove in his back pocket 24/7. He reads Golf Digest, but can’t break 100 without the repeated use of the foot wedge. Essentially, this person had no interest in golf, let alone sports until he got a hard-on for Tiger Woods, or realized it was an easy way out of the office early once per week. I always looked at golf one of two ways. You were either good, as in real good. My uncle, par example. CPGA professional. Otherwise, you’re like me and my old man. It’s an excuse to drink. We like to golf. We’re just not fakers. It doesn’t consume us.

Personally though, I’d rather ski. Golf’s lost it’s flavour for me. It was more a thing my dad and my grandparents did with me. That’s lost. But skiing kicks ass for me just as much today as it did twenty, even thirty years ago. A mate at work would rather golf because you can all year long here in Vancouver, but I’d still rather just ski 4 or 5 months a year. Especially if I live in the interior. And that possibility may become a reality, depending on how the new job prospect pans out. I want to say I have it, as I’ve never felt so sure about a job in quite some time, and it might be dangerous now that I’ve mentally just given up on caring about my current post.

I guess it could be worse though. I could live at Hastings and Main. I could be convinced that my current employer is looking out for my interests. I could actually think I’m making a decent wage. Or worst, I could think that I don’t deserve better. Sad thing is, some people I know at work do.

Pity.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

For that day when we all have the time.

A little over a month ago, I made a promise to myself. I’d increase the amount of posting I’d do here as so to bring me back to the standard of one a day. I kept running through my head, trying to hold onto ideas to post over the course of my mundane workdays to try and hold onto some useful nugget in which I could ramble with, and some days I could, and some I couldn’t. I was content to give it up as a bad job, and in all truthfulness, I would rather have something with punch to it, not just a jumbled thought to fill the space. A friend, ages gone by, told me these should be for me first off, and as such, I shouldn’t let the practice or opinion of others affect my posting. As such, quantity over quality. Still, it has been unsettling.

Roll back four years. In film school, I could post easily twice to three times DAILY. Now it’s a struggle to get three out in a week. As this machine called life crunches on ahead, the amount of time I have to actually enjoy has dwindled. People may laugh each time I say this, but there is a very specific reason that Battlestar Galactica resonates with me. And it’s not having the hots for Starbuck (DAWN!) The show is really a mirror to my soul. And hats off to Ron Moore and David Eick’s creative talents (and their host of writers). They’ve really captured the essence of the human condition. We ALL live in a story that is told again and again throughout time.

Think about it. I’ve lost most of my family. Of the ones that are still around, I’m a continent away, far from home. All it would take would be for my neighbours to dress as chrome toasters to make the analogy complete.

Which brings us to last week. I had just finished taking my airbrake course, the final step from leaving my current, dead-end job employer to one with significantly more promise for the future. Still, one obstacle remained. Taking the ICBC test (yup, I had to take the course to write a knowledge test… uggghhh). Now the hurdle wasn’t being prepared for the test, but rather getting to a location in time to take it. Now throw in one of the most physically grueling weeks in terms of workload, and now that possibility is threatened. Still, I persevered, wrote and aced the test, and now stand to just the waiting game to find out when fortune will finally smile upon me.

It is, however, sufficient to say that the human condition is not without limits. The last few months have been a culmination to this point, preparing, pacing, waiting until the door finally opens. And it’s toll hit Friday. And to put it bluntly, it does not pay to be the sharp, hardworking guy in the 21^st Century. I’m a firm believer in the Dilbert Principle. Only the incompetent get ahead. They need me to DO, not to LEAD. Me LEADING would impact management bonuses. As such, not only do I get my queue for Friday, I have to play clean up for others as well. Employment fairness has gone the way of the dodo. It became too much. I finally came face to face with reality. My job is killing me.

A doctor may argue my conclusion on a physical basis, but the will to live has been stretched too thin. Battle after battle with no hope of improvement has a very unnerving psychological consequence. The passion, the desire, the want fades completely away. I was becoming an empty shell, fighting a losing battle. And if there was no hope for change, it would be all over. Thankfully, it is not the case. But you couldn’t convince me of that on Friday.

“Because it’s not enough to just live. You have to have something to live for. Let it be Earth.” – Commander William Adama, Miniseries.

And there’s the rub. I haven’t been to a film in the cinema, well, since… I can’t even remember when. Shocking from the film student who saw three weekly, plus something on disc every night. What happened to that passion? I sacrificed what was core to my character just to avoid the cost. Mind you, it doesn’t help that 90% of the lot is shit, and the other 10% Dawn and I can’t agree on. Time and money, two resources in great scarcity, have been tearing me apart. Well no more.

Soon it will be that day when I once again have the time.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Number one sign you’re a dork/geek/nerd/whatever… you write a frakking post like this and use the word frak instead of fuck…

Though in that thought, I wonder if Moore and Eick ever considered what word to use in place of cunt? Or better yet, imagine Ricky giving a speech like this:

Frak this court. Frak Jim Lahey. Frak Randy. Frak those two idiot cops right there. Frak suit dummies; as a matter of fact frak legal aid. Frak Danny and Terry’s Buffalo Chicken Wings. Frak all the old wood in here. Frak the moon, frak corn on the cob, frak squirrels. Frak me, frak you, frak everything!

It still has the same punch for me. But again, thus is the life of being a dork. A geek. A nerd. Or any other fucking word to describe someone who is both intellectually gifted and a complete social outcast. The old man (not this old man) tells me I’m just an individualist. Nothing like another signpost to the increasing conformist nature of a freedom depleting society. 1984 here we come.

But anyway, enough politics for now. I’m still seething from the suspension of the Jeff O’Neil Show for buying heroin. Bah. They’re back on.

Rather, as we’re now less than 48 hours from the last new episode of Battlestar Galactica before the ‘writer’s strike’ episode hiatus, I better get to the business of what I was trying to get to last week (though I just had this little introduction).

Since this is obscenely spoiler and speculation heavy… continue on at your own risk.