The Rules of the Game

    They never said it would be easy and it hasn’t been. On the weekend a friend told me that I need to start playing the game more here in Toronto. I do know what he means, but at the same time what if the game doesn’t align to my own scruples? Sometimes, I wonder about just being a martyr in my own life... not conforming and just going with it. That’s what so many interesting artists did (not that I put myself in their ranks) ; they had the ultimate courage to live their lives as they wanted and accept the consequences for those choices.

     Things can be tough at the best of times. Both of my housemates are in constant fear of being fired at any moment from their jobs. Forget the carrot, their bosses have got the stick out and are ready to give them a whack. I don’t like seeing people under constant fear in that way, it’s very unnatural and a figment of the new economy where employers wield such unyielding power in the name of corporate flexibility. To make matters worse, in my experience, so many middle managers are type A drones who react with fear and active resentment to intelligent people. Middle managers are the cookie cutters and unless you want to be like my roommates, living in fear, the best thing to do is just give up, conform, and fit in. This I have been told is what is called: paying your dues.  Paying your dues for what though?... so you can ascend to middle management too.

    I see some people around me interested in dominance and social power. Fredrick Nietzsche said that in his view the major human desire is “the will to power.” The idea asserts that our humanness makes us strive to want power first over ourselves then also over our environment and other people. I don’t think that view can be refuted when one considers our shared world history of war, genocide, and brutalization of our environment. I chatted recently to some people who spoke longingly of their desires for power.  Listening to their cavalier blabber about dating, woman, and success could roll anyone’s eyes.  They talked about girls as interchangeable parts or objects, not having feelings or empathy for other people, and the central importance of networking. I’m not denying that dominance can create a euphoric mental reaction, why do you think so many people are addicted to pursuing it, but at what cost is one willing to chase that? Personally, I still won’t step away from my intrinsic hope that everyone I know will succeed and be happy – I don’t want to feel superior to them.  My recent conversation partners don’t seem to get that, for them it’s about putting your foot down on someone to move up rather than helping them up with you.

       I would prefer company on my journey through life, but I’m not terrified to walk the path less trodden.  People will come and go, but each day I will be the one that looks into the mirror. I just want my friends and the people I care about to really know who I am and me to be able to show them I care about them the best that I can. I won’t create a smoke screened facade of myself to generate maximum benefit in a world based around accumulation of things, pseudo relationships, and envy in others.  I’m playing a game, we all are..., but I need to have some control of what the rules are. 

The Ant of Copenhagen

   The front entrance at the Drone Bar in Copenhagen doesn’t stand out. It’s located in Copenhagen’s ethnic/ bohemian neighbourhood of Noroborro nestled between discount mobile phone shops run by haggling middle eastern men with bad teeth; dingy Turkish grocers that somehow slash their prices for vegetables to half what you pay at the supermarket; kebab shops – with varying levels of grease, and the colourful, lively street art that decorates Noroborro’s alleys and buildings. Friday night Drone has a buzz, it’s a hipster haven and a good night out.

    

   For any party goers looking for drinks, laughs and a good time there was just one small hurdle to clear – getting past the Drone’s door man.

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Scenes from Drone 1:

          Standing beside the bar downstairs in the Drone was a tall Canadian with brown purposely messy hair, black plastic frame glasses, and a black corduroy jacket. After a night out in the city, he’d decided to stop in for one last chance to talk to some girls on his way home. A tall thirty something guy wearing an H&M blazer and fake italian leather shoes was beside him talking to a much younger, pretty girl.

    Considering himself a writer and a people watcher the Canadian kept vantage. His first impression was that this guy was trying way to hard. Her body language was definitely saying no. Instead of walking away and trying elsewhere try hard, as the Canadian came to think of him, would not relent. It was fairly obvious that he didn’t like the taste of defeat and he was going to let her know about it.

    To her startled reaction he grabbed her shoulder to hammer in his point.

      

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The Ant 2 

    Hipsters queued up with their slightly ironic haircuts, skinny jeans, and varying degrees of facial hair each waiting tentatively to see if they would get the nod that signified entry.  Even pretty Danish girls in their black miniskirts and leggings didn’t walk straight past the doorman. Anybody could have him say: "Du er desværre for stiv til at komme ind.” which meant you are not coming in here. Each person needed to survive his stare down; a field sobriety test far more effective in his view than any breathalyzer. Occasionally guys would protest and he would rise off his stool showing that he only stood about 5 feet and 3 inches. (160 cm) . He stood there defending the door with his diminutive size like a warrior ant.

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Scenes from a bar 2:

     They were speaking English. The Canadian still couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. He sat back watching. Danish girls when incensed were not afraid to really stand their ground. She was a foot shorter than try hard, but she was not intimidated and seemed to be revelling in her obvious conviction that this guy was a douche. 


    Just as a crowd was starting to gather the little cock sure bouncer the Canadian noticed, and had thought looked like an ant, when he arrived grabbed try hard from behind by the collar. The bouncer seemed to materialize from nowhere as he so effortlessly mingled into the crowd.

    Try hard turned around to face nothing... that is until he looked down a foot below him.  

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The Ant 3:

   Being short could have made the ant two ways: quivering and invisible or larger than life. He choose the latter and acted as if his real height was the shadow he might cast upon the wall. His eyes were big and leering and like the Mona Lisa always seemed to be looking at you. Though his height forced upon him the reality of looking up he never seemed to look down or away either. He had lily white skin that looked like it would burn on a cloudy day. His hair was short, almost in buzz cut, and styled conservatively. He tried to fill his voice with masculinity, but was held away from this aim in a near mockish ways by the limitations of his vocal apparatus. 

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Scenes from Drone Bar 3:

   The Canadian used the anonymity of this disturbance to lean a little closer to watch.      

    The bouncer spoke Danish first, but quickly ascertained from the glazed look on try hards’ face he didn’t understand. Changing to English he continued: “I don’t like this. You will leave now!”

    Try hard, drunkenly resisted his face visibly showing disdain. “Hey, I’m just having fun. She ain’t as hot as she thinks she is. She’s just a c&*t!”  

     Hearing that, and now backed up by the bouncer, the girl started yelling even more vehemently than before.

  The bouncers hand had not left try hard’s collar. With a feverish look in his eye he reasserted: “you will leave now!”

“Fuck you, no I won’t.” Try hard replied.

     

    Having been a youth in the 1980’s the Canadian had been privy to the craze of ninja movies from that time. He knew from the resolute stare on the bouncer’s face that was not the right thing to say. He might look small, but there was no way he could be this confident without some secret ninja skills at his disposal. This was going to be some David versus Golliath shit... he thought.

    With lightening speed and startling force the ant punched try hard in the stomach then grasped his arm in some kind Ji-Jistsu hold. Immediately the smug arrogance on his face melted away being replaced with childlike deference. Withinn seconds he was pacified.The Ant escorted him across the bar as hipsters looked on quietly, but attentively. 

    The Canadian took another leisurely sip of his pint of Tuborg. From his view what had transpired had looked like a son forcefully taking his dad to his room – not vice versa.  He thought in boozed soaked candour maybe I’ll write about that tiny little bouncer someday. I'll probably forget though... ...

Canadian Meanness

     “So my vagina is like the UN.” She paused for effect, not noticing everyone looking cautiously at each other: “because, I’ve had so many different guys from different countries in it.” She proceeded to list the guys by name and their nationalities. Last time I looked vaginas didn’t have massive buildings and conferences about global warming inside of them - at least the ones I’ve encountered. Now for a little back story. Vagina girl, the name I’ll use for her, wants to become a stand up comedian. She was testing her material out on people she knew. Other countries that might be a good idea, but in Canada I’m not so sure.

   A few days later I arrived late for a New Years Eve party.  The early buzz topic was Vagina girl’s comedy routine.  She had done a dry run, no pun intended, before I got there. When I talked to her she was glowing from the positive appraisals she had received. Now imagine my surprise as I mingled around the party only to hear a very different account of the routine. People were saying how cringe worthy it was and how they had been only politely laughing. What I couldn’t understand is how none of this reached vagina girl at all. No one had the courage to actually tell her how to improve the act, they just gave her false comments about how great it was... exactly what she wanted to hear, not what she needed to hear. I think this is the very meanest thing people could have done.  Sure they’re building her ego/confidence, but the problem is what’s being built has a very shoddy foundation.  

    I’ve seen this before growing up in Canada, people being nice rather than saying anything confrontational or slightly unpleasant - it’s a unique Canadian meanness. Why meanness, because it’s disingenuous and creates a false impression. People should try to represent themselves as honestly as they can including admitting viewpoints, especially view points, that might not be liked by others. That’s the only way open, authentic dialogue about things can be adopted as a starting point. If that’s not established as a norm how will you know if people are being genuine? An inquiring mind might actually begin to question the validity of any type of critique received – was I good, or are they just being “nice”?

      The Netherlands is the home of the eccentric, at least to North American eyes,  because they are just so damned honest all the time. I remember once two Dutch colleagues in Amsterdam saying to each other: “I can’t work with you. You’re style infuriates me and in my eyes it’s stupid. BUT – we can have a beer after work and a laugh.” Could I imagine that happening in Canada – NO! Dutch society is based on being totally candid, something Canadian society could learn from. Sometimes they put their foot in their mouths as they talk from feeling, but at the same time they certainly don’t hide their thoughts.  There is transparency of character in the Netherlands.

    Back in Toronto, and when I say this please know this isn’t “everyone”, the non confrontational thing rears up often.  When discussing controversial subjects (politics, art/culture, religion) a lot of people tip toe around establishing a firm view point – they wait to see what the other person’s position is then more or less agree. The question is do they agree though, or are they trying to be socially benevolent? I say this, because I have seen the same person on occasion seemingly hold two mutually exclusive positions depending on who they are talking to. Personally, I don’t like it... that lack of position cloaks a person’s real views. Social dialogues shouldn’t be viewed as confrontational rather as moments when ideas are forged and people grow beyond their perspective. A weak person gives up on their views , or hides them, at a moment’s confrontation, but conversely, and worse still, a fool holds on to their views no matter what. To me it’s kindness to question rather than agree. That’s what I want for myself, people to show me that they respect me by helping me push my ideas further and challenge them.

     Now I wish people would have done the same for vagina girl. At the end of the day in regards to comedy, or art, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. She could have found an audience that liked it somewhere, and more importantly improved what she had.  Being nice, just for the sake of being “nice” is anything but. 

Amusing Ourselves to Death

     My present way to spend free time at home: the TV on while having interspersed conversations with my housemates; my lap top open beside me checking out factoids related to what I’m watching ( I usually have about 6 – 10 browsers open); Facebook and Skype open so messages and IM’s are coming through, and my cell, old faithful, bleeping out texts and calls at any given moment . Seriously, I’m not fully invested in any one thing I’m doing because there’s so many options at once. Now first things first, I do like constant access to information, but I do remember life being simpler. The present day subdivide of attention has me wondering whether present technologies are creating a new variant of attention deficient disorder?

    The reality is it’s getting harder to do solitary things when you’re never really by yourself. Growing up outside of the city without cable we had three channels. I talked to one person at a time in person or on the phone.  My attention was directed to the moment.  Now the possibility is always present to contact or be contacted by someone else that isn’t there. I blogged sometime ago about the change of hostels and the travel culture because of lap tops and Facebook, now that effect is even more prevalent. (link:  http://iwasjustthinkingsomething.blogspot.com/2011/05/changing-face-of-travel.html) For a brief recap,  I mentioned that travelers were choosing to communicate with people back home rather than engaging with other people right there in the hostel.  Outside of travel that phenomenon is happening more often when people get together socially. Ever notice how people react when a lap top is around? Usually at one time or another during an evening everyone will make their way to the laptop at least once, maybe more, to check messages. That's not even commenting on smart phones. People seem held away from in person connection by pseudo conversations with people not present.

    2011 definitely was a hall mark year in terms of information dissemination. This was the year when the internet and social media led to the overhaul of many repressive Middle Eastern governments. These were meteoric events and filled my heart with pride at the possibility of overcoming top -down repression.  Never has there been a time when more information was available at our finger tips. The world is opening up to us and changing because of this accessibility. However, the inquiring mind must at least wonder if the information available is becoming somewhat trite do to the sheer amount? If there are mountains of potential information to sift through then what is the barometer for uncovering whether that information is important? Instant information availability is becoming another entertainment commodity and is having the effect of defocusing our attention...  Ten years ago, I remember siphoning through the same 80 channels again and again when I was bored – like a never ending Sisyphean circle. Now sometimes I find myself siphoning down a Facebook news feed only to do it again minutes later, or checking web sites for content updates that haven’t arrived yet... the phenomena is similar to aimless channel surfing.

    We’ve stepped into the ultimate sound bite information age. Previously whole books were digested to expand ones view of reality now it’s so much more common to collect internet factoids. Information is gathered by checking something quick on Wikipedia, IMDB, or seeing how people’s lives are from their Facebook page. To steal one of cultural theorist Neal Postman’s catch phrases – “Are we amusing ourselves to Death”? When are you focused on doing any one thing when there are quick information fixes that could pull you away from that task? One sound bite of information is in battle against the next. Surely, I’m not alone when I feel that pull? I read fewer books now then I use to and sometimes even have trouble watching a full movie or program without checking something else in the middle. My attention feels subdivided between two to three trivial things and held at arm’s length from the moment. That is what I see as my new type of ADD; an inability to focus on any one strand of information when others are so immediately accessible. 

The Dreamer's Disease

      I just watched John Hughes “Sixteen candles” again the other day. Despite being a person who’s reputed to be just into serious, dramatic films, I’ve always had a soft spot for the 80’s teen comedies too. Who wouldn’t like the fairy tale notion that just by completely loving a person, probably who seems unattainable, they will love you right back? So what if in reality John Hughes movies probably offer a blue print for disaster. The fantasies still fun...

 

    Here’s a lightening quick plot run down for those that haven’t seen it.  Really cute, though not “hot”, girl next door type Samantha turns 16 and is in love with the most popular guy in school Jake. Despite all his friends being douche bags and Jake dating the hottest and most popular girl in school he secretly is a nice guy. The story unravels with lots of great politically incorrect humour (for those that have seen it, who doesn’t love Long Duck Dong? )  and of course, spoiler alert, Samantha’s prayers are answered. Jake loves her too... despite only realizing she existed that day after inadvertently seeing a note saying she wanted to lose her virginity to him.

  

   Okay, so time to just think about it all a bit. Why a blue print for disaster? Well this for starters. The western world is a marketplace for all commodities and what bigger commodity than love? Relationships, especially the bad ones, often are a bit like commodity exchanges. People promote themselves, play up their best attributes then try to sell to the highest bidder.  Sadly people can, and do..., abuse the purity of unhindered, naive love rather than celebrate it. Really, it’s not uncommon that a person who has just been broken up with might use someone who is absolutely doting on them to get their swagger back. It’s like emotional vampireism - drink up another person’s confidence and apply it towards what one “really” wants. This often works in a chain. Suck the confidence of someone below you to apply it to someone above you. While the person above does the same thing and there you have a cycle of people looking higher then looking lower, and repeating... If you go into that "game" unprepared, or John Hughes' deluded, you could end up pretty jaded. 

   There is irony at play when you think of the stars of John Hughes' films and even Hughes himself. Molly Ringwald, Judd Nelson, Anthony Michael Hall, Ally Sheedy... they all got branded as the “brat pack” then type cast and their careers all died unfair deaths. The same happened to John Hughes himself. After SO much 80’s success his style didn’t translate to the glibber 90’s and he became a recluse. In a way Hughes had to face reality and not the fantasies he had got rich selling. Still though, such great laughs and heart warming conclusions. Maybe some people got tarnished a little by the dreams he tried to sell, me included..., but they were fun dreams. And personally, I’ll never fault a dreamer.    

Flirting with Toronto

      There has to be something said for the feeling of being home. You know that sensation... understanding how things work, how people will react to you, and being one of the people that can actually claim to be from a place. The last ten years, I have made a life of being the foreign guy; being the guy that learns about a new place and molds myself to it. With that said there is a certain comfort in being back in Toronto. I know things. I know the faux pas and how to get a smile; I know what everything costs in the stores and in social relations; I know the people...  If I say Stephen Harper or Rob Ford is a twat everyone will know what I mean. We all have a shared narrative in common.

      I took my chances travel wise: I went for it, and then I went for it again, then again... I had to see what it was like away from where I’m from and I have. Now the time is for me to take the accumulated wealth of my travels and forge it into something tangible here. The more I think about it Toronto is an ideal base of operations. It’s BIG, but you can get around; it’s cosmopolitan, but not so much that you feel like a stranger in your own city; people are aloof, but hey if you have your own doses of sarcasm and self defacing ironic candour to peddle what else would you want; people are competitive, but they always are in big cities where cool stuff is happening. All in all Toronto has a lot more positives than negatives, with the most overwhelming positive being that I can actually stay. They aren’t going to kick me out in 12 months and there’s comfort in that.

    Does that mean my travel days are over? Not by a long shot, however the days of just having a backpack and being able to leave with 20 minutes prep time might be. People might see it as insane, but I had that flexibility for the last ten years. I got more in me then being defined by my one dominant moniker: “traveler”. The time has come, now that I like the place I am, that I’m going to nest a bit. Maybe I’ll even do what a few years ago I would have been blasphemous to the travelers’ pathos and buy an actual bed, a couch, and a few amenities – maybe a plant... why not, right?  

    Truth is I’m still not a Canadian with a capital C. My life style choices have made me a touch incognito in my own country. There have been nights out back here in Toronto where girls thought I was from Europe. Milk it right...??? Probably should, but I don’t lie to them, I just say that I’m an Alberta guy (though I wish I could lie about that... :P )  that has been around a lot and that a mixed accent is what happens when you REALLY travel a lot. They like it... and it’s just the truth. I guess, it allows me to be slightly foreign even though I know this place well, which is kind of cool in its way.

     I figure the greatest challenge of all is re-definition of oneself.  I won’t give up my lust for difference and the unknown. However, I need to apply its vigour towards a different medium now - building my life here. Having a holistic life of good friends, having a comfortable place international friends can stay when they visit, a job - or better yet a career - I like, and hopefully at some point a relationship are where my new challenges lie.  Adventure can be where you are, if you allow it.  I’ll go as far as my ingenuity will allow. The hope is that after being a dark horse for such a long time that I can finally grasp my "poetential" and be the phoenix that rises from the ashes. I will build a quality life for myself one brick at a time. 

Castle's in the Sky

    I’ve been in London an extra week. In a scuzzy library right now with no Wifi... waiting for my mate to finish work. I have a collection of bags with me; an amount of luggage that a friend pointed out with gleeful sarcasm: “was surprisingly little.” Honestly though, just like when I started travelling 11 years back, I hold what I need with me. Most of what I have is stored in my heart and my mind. So many experiences have accumulated; so much more than my little backpack could hope to hold.

  

    Many people say the reason they don’t travel is fear of the unknown. For me it was always the opposite. My greatest fear is the known – the routine. When other people see stability and comfort I see prison like bars staring back at me. I’m terrified of being subjugated to the same required daily action. The idea of relationships formed over time that could actually chain me into one single, expected way of presenting myself makes me tremble. I was never good with expectations or conforming myself. I've had an issue with committing myself to a definite plan, or person - maybe that's why at this point I still don't have a career and I'm single. Maybe it’s time I start seeing the best of the other side? I have to admit that the fool is the one that hold their ideas to tight to their chest without challenge. The ultimate sin for someone “claiming” to be open minded is making the abstract dogmatic and real. Even this present trip was in large part to get beyond something that happened in Edmonton. For as long as I can remember I have avoided the uncertainties in my life by itching my travel addiction.

    I have yet to meet a person that didn’t on occasion need to be jarred out of their own thinking. On this, the eve before I fly to Toronto, I'm holding a wrestling match with my own flock of golden geese... those limiting ideas that I’ve made real. Whereas before maybe I felt fear and an uncertainty of whether I could stand firm against the competition and the uncertainties of life – now I feel defiant. I had tricked myself out of trying by being contemptuous of those that strived for success. I pretended that not trying was evidence of a courageous, artistic spirit that turned its back on the capitalist mantra of competition instead of what it was - a buffoonish, self fulfilling prophecy of failure. I will not be held away from my own destiny based on the residue of thoughts that were non adaptive; thoughts that were built from the seedlings of personal neurosis. I will try, and if I fail, I will try again...

    I need to employ that Danish/Dutch honed openness I profess to have. I need to stretch myself and be open to different ways of life and know intrinsically that though I may accept stability in position, I still will not stop being open and seeking others like me. My friends are the ones that have allowed me to grow. They were the ones that nodded in approval when I was my best, most open self, and gently, but yet firmly enough, let me know I was descending into the murk of selfishness and ego. No amount of money, status, or power will ever come close to the love I feel for those people who have, and will, stand by me. All they ask in return is what I give easily - that I do the same for them.

    Previously, I felt that the only path to success in life was the singular one. A path that would open up like Moses parting the seas; a path not so much found but just followed without issue or obstruction. Maybe that’s what saw me hold on to my own biases so tightly. The detours and discomforts are where the growth takes place. I want to grow still, I want to learn....  Sometimes life and the expectations we put on it will trick us, those expectations become our own castles in the sky, they pervert what we see till everything is just a reflection of those perversions. Above that though, the pure spirit; the idealistic spirit; the resolute spirit will always stand its ground and push back. For those us willing to fight it, life will never hold us down it will make us stronger and more resilient... not to do such however is to cower away from the splendor of what could be.