Rant

Being self-employed is infinitely more fulfilling than working full-time at a well-paid office in an industrial park, sitting in a dusty cubicle, silently wasting the precious moments of what should be my life, as I was doing just over a year ago.



It was just before I quit that job that I wrote this:

I am so bored. There is nothing on TV. Violence is not the answer but it is definitely part of the equation. Sometimes having nothing to be legitimately angry about is itself enough to incite anger in an entire generation of restless youth. The kids today have no Great War, no oppression in this country. We want for nothing, and our only desire is for desire itself. We are numbed by over-stimulation and unforgiving of our undeserved good fortune. So we lash out. We are often aimless, irritable, self-righteous. We are desperate for a reason to paint ugly words on signs to be broadcast on the evening news, to stand up for something we believe in. But we believe in nothing. We are beyond Atheism. It’s not that God is dead, it’s just that we believe that WE no longer mean anything. Perhaps the human race is an abandoned experiment. We want to stand out but we are beige people living in a gray world. There is nothing to clash with. The Establishment no longer pushes back. The Man is no longer a separate entity. It’s way past 1984. We are walking on clouds. We are free. Yet we still long to rage and break away and be the New and Improved generation. To know more, see more, be more. So it infuriates us to realize that posterity will not remember this, our time, as a time of change to greatness. We have no heroes because heroism is irrelevant. Expectations have been lowered. The lights have been dimmed to save energy. Blending in, keeping quiet, working hard – this does not mean conforming, which is no longer even an option. It just is. We want so badly to have our fifteen minutes, to prove ourselves worthy. We whine about self esteem. We are a youth who have still to grow up, but we refuse to until we have experienced our deserved cathartic tantrums, our rebellions, until we can light a fire that will keep us warm well into old age. If we are not given the opportunity, we will start a war to get it. I wish I had been born a hundred years ago. Give me darkness, give me hunger, give me fear and uncertainty. I need something to hold onto. Something real.

I am so glad to be free of the treadmill of corporate nothingness that depressed the hell out of me. I may not be rolling in the dip, but I now have purposeful work to do that motivates me to strive for what seem to be endless possibilities in my career. Without being stuck in a dead-end job, and being independent, and free of the daily bombardment of advertisements, I feel optimistic about the chance to pursue things I wouldn't have even considered last year. Plus I get the benefit of tax write-offs.

A Flood of Felines

I wish I were in need of a cat.

With Petcetera going bankrupt there are more than enough to go around, and it seems that the SPCA can't handle the onslaught of homeless cats in the Lower Mainland. Unfortunately my landlord doesn't allow pets, and to be honest, I don't really want another cat in my life at this point. They can live for two decades and don't like to travel.

Adopting a pet from a shelter is a goal I have because I miss my animals and think that my next one should be in need of a home and not just be a commodity bred for the sole purpose of making some overweight, dirty-fingernailed guy named Angus enough to take an extended vacation this year. The thing is, I'm thinking it'll be a small animal, like a rodent or maybe a gecko if I happen to be living in sub-Saharan Africa and they have a more exotic selection at the SPCA.

No, but seriously, why do people not get their pets spayed or neutered? It is a fairly simple solution to a fairly serious problem. With so many unwanted animals (especially cats) it just doesn't make sense to let your cat or dog procreate, now matter how lovely it is to witness the miracle of birth and enjoy eight weeks of awesome cuteness. And we don't even need to talk about rabbits. If you can't afford to have your kitten or puppy fixed, then you shouldn't get one in the first place. Resist the temptation! Don't look in the sad little eyes! Stop petting the soft wrinkly belly! Walk away! It's not cheap to feed and take care of, and you can't just put it on a shelf when it gets big and you get tired of it.

Anyway, stepping down from my soapbox and getting back to the main point, I realize this would be an ideal time to cross an item off my list if it were a cat I was looking for. If the SPCA had a new shipment of rats I would get one yesterday, but I think I'll keep holding out for a two-month old female Border Terrier, Flat-Coated Retriever mix.

TV-Free

Since June 1 I've been living without a TV set, and I've discovered I am perfectly happy without it. Maybe it's the lack of quality shows, or the annoying noise of commercials that has turned me off cable. Granted, I have been watching the fourth season of The Office on my computer, but without the distraction of a TV I've been doing a lot of other things with my time that I probably wouldn't get to otherwise. Just 11 months to go to fulfill my goal of a year without a TV and it's going to be easier than I thought.

5 km PR - 28:30

Yesterday I ran the Scotiabank 5 km in Stanley Park, and finished with a time of 28:30. My previous 5 km, which was a couple of years ago, was 28:48, so this is a personal best. The route was great - only a couple of very small hills, and it was a combination of gravel and pavement around Lost Lagoon and the sea wall. Lots of people, good weather, and an abundance of Gatorade. Except for a brief period at the end when I was sure I was going to lose my breakfast, the run was pretty easy and I had enough to sprint at the finish. Now I've got to decide whether to sign up for another 5 km and beat my time or move onto an 8 km.

Bull

If you go for a run somewhere new, where you've never been before, say, on a mountain, where there's a big iron gate with a sign on it that says 'NO TRESPASSING' (and some other information about not being welcome), it's just probably a good idea to turn around, as I have recently discovered.

Today I went running in such a place and decided to ignore the sign, duck under the gate, and carry on up the dirt path, the wind blowing my hair, the pale sun shining on the flowers growing willy-nilly in the tall grass. I figured the undulating hills made for great training, and I was enjoying the view of the valley below until I noticed a big ugly brown cow just ahead, chewing its cud. And then another one on the path, and a few others farther ahead beside a clump of trees.

And then I noticed that one of the cows had long frickin' horns! and I freaked out because I know that bulls are not friendly and don't like people showing up all sweaty and panting, wearing shorts, running right through their herd, even if it is a Sunday afternoon. And so, with my heart in my throat, beating like a caged hummingbird, I avoided eye contact with the big horned beast and turned down a more narrow path into the woods, where I hoped I would be able to climb a small-limbed tree should the bull actually decide to charge me.

Without looking back, lest I trip and see my life flash before my eyes just before a horn pierced my back, I bolted over a little foot bridge across a creek and down the side of the hill until I came to a clearing and then a side street where I stopped to lean on the hood of a white Toyota Prius and almost lost my lunch.

There was no choice but to return the way I'd come. I had to idea where New Terrace Way was in relation to the street where I'm house-sitting this week. Realising how precious my life is to me, I vowed to start eating more leafy greens and never watch television again if only I could make it home alive. I ran on, this time more slowly, quietly, and with foreboding.

Creeping around the side of an elm, I saw the cows were in the same formation they'd been in when I passed by the first time. The bull was still there, looking around as if on guard for trespassers like me.

Bloody hell, he was massive. With a gleaming black coat, long thin horns, steely eyes, and a massive chest, his tail flicked in irritation at the flies and his udder swayed... whoa, nelly. His udder? WTF? Uh...

Was this perhaps one of those that have horns whether they be cow, steer, or bull? I guessed so. That, or some other breed of cattle I had been, until that moment, completely ignorant of. Or perhaps, like Chaz Bono, this particular bovine was in the middle of gender reassignment surgery and would still be angry because the hormonal fluctuations were still driving her/him to have massive mood swings (which would explain why he/she was standing alone, off to the side).
Either way, I was cautious as I went back again along the path, trying to look inconspicuous, and wondering whether or not to make soft lowing sounds as I ran.

Well, that was one of the more adventurous runs I've ever had. With exactly one week to go till race day I'm feeling like I just might break my record of 28:48 for a 5km, especially if I picture an angry cow with horns coming after me. Or Chaz Bono.

10,000 Hours

If you want to be proficient, perhaps the best, at anything, the only thing you need is time. A lot of it - 10,000 hours, to be precise. This is the latest from Malcolm Gladwell (The Tipping Point, Blink) who asserts in his book Outliers (Little, Brown & Co. 2008) that the magic formula for mastering a skill like playing the violin or shooting hoops or designing computer software is simply to put in the time to practice, practice, practice.

(Um, no kidding. I think my mom told me the "practice makes perfect" mantra when I was about five, but anyway... I guess experts have now made the practice notion quantifiable and therefore either more practical or completely daunting, depending on who you talk to.)

So it seems you can be the most average chess player and become a grandmaster if you've got about 10 years to work diligently on improving your skills. Gladwell quotes Daniel Levintin, author of This is Your Brain on Music (Penguin, 2006), who said,

"ten thousand hours of practice is required to achieve the level of mastery
associated with being a world-class expert - in anything... it seems that it
takes the brain this long to assimilate all that it needs to know to achieve
true mastery."

If this holds true, then I guess I've been taking the wrong tactic all along with my list of goals. Perhaps I should pick just one and dedicate the rest of my life to perfecting it. Hmn, floristry? Studies clearly demonstrate I could be the best florist on the planet if I put my mind to it... despite the fact that at present I can't even tell a chrysanthemum from a carnation.

Olympic Letdown

So close to getting tickets to the Olympics but we lost them at the last second. Looks like I'm not going to be getting up close and personal with any short track speed skaters in 2010.

My mom was able to log in to the official website for 2010 on Saturday and scored two tickets to the opening ceremonies but was unable to make the purchase before the website logged her out. Major dissapointment on her part, and a snag in my plan to attend at least one event or ceremony in Vancouver next year.

If anyone happens to know of another way of acquiring tickets, particularly to the opening ceremony or the men's or women's gold medal hockey games I would be delighted to know how to make it happen!