You’ll listen to it twice, on the radio

Hi kids.

Do you ever get the overwhelming urge to just shout out: “What do you mean constantly talking about it isn’t going to make me any less tired!?”

It’s been but a four day work week and I’m totally ready to pack it in for the next seven.

Good grief.

However, fab happenings this weekend include running the Fall Classic 10k on Sunday, and then later that night hosting the Storytelling Show on Vancouver Co-op Radio.

If you cool cats wish to tune in as yours truly burns up the airwaves, please fix your dials to 100.5 fm (if you live in Beautiful BC) or else surf on over here to catch an earful.

Nine p.m. sharp!

Also, tomorrow I have two talks with the United Way, and then later that night, the man with whom I share my home (but so rarely see outside the hours of 11pm-6am – if you wish to equate “drooling quietly while asleep beside his comatose body” with “seeing”) are going on a date.

Meep!

We are finally going to check out Skyfall and see what all the fuss is about.

I actually really like James Bond flicks – whether they’re old-school cheese-fests or Jason-Bourne-only-in-a-tux (as I like to say about the Daniel Craig iterations) – so I’m looking forward to watching Mr. Broccoli’s latest release.

In the interim, Fry-up time!

If you think I’m sexy.

So in my post this past Monday, I published a photo of just some of the sweet records M and I listen to whilst up on the Sunshine Coast.

One of the singers highlighted was Rod Stewart, and as I mentioned to one of my lovely commenters, my love for Mr. Footloose and Fancy Free pretty much knows no bounds.

I bloody well adore him.

Just last night, I was driving home from my weekly meet up with my Little, and this song came on the radio:

OMG this tune absolutely slays me.

For instance, I can remember the exact moment I heard it for the first time.

Summer.

I am dancing to this song at my grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary.

I am twelve years old.

At one point everyone – all of the aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, my grandparents – join hands and start dancing as one big group, moving to the centre of the circle and then back out again, whooping it up, laughing, smiling; just having an absolute blast.

The love I feel in that moment is so overwhelming I feel as though my heart is either going to burst from my chest and or leak out of my shoes. I so badly don’t want to cry, so instead I smile so wide that my cheeks ache and I swear I can feel a softball wedging its way halfway down my throat.

So even though they are good tears, I don’t want to make a scene, as I am sure no one would be able to understand the myriad of emotions that are running rabid about my body.

In the end, I actually have to go to the bathroom to gather up my wits, as eventually no amount of nutty smiling could keep my tears inside of me any longer.

My body is wracked by deep, guttural sobs, and I desperately blot at my eyes with scratchy paper towel.

It’s a strange (sense) memory, I know, but I will always, always long this song.

And Rod.

I will definitely always adore him.

You talk to a log?

So.

Twin Peaks.

Erm.

I just watched the first episode on Netflix last night.

M kept explaining how he thinks the show is a blend of a Kids in the Hall sketch and how he wishes he life could be.

I don’t know how to take this. Like, at all.

Anyways, I know that the people who love this show, love it like I love a Rod Stewart song, so I definitely don’t want to alienate any rabid David Lynch fans out there.

Suffice to say that I haven’t watched nearly enough of the show to formulate a decent opinion, so I will hold my tongue until I have the chance to immerse myself further in the program.

The one thing I will say is that so far is – V.V. WEIRD.

(But, again, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.)

Just a v. v. weird thing.

Onwards!

Sweet, sweet charity.

If one of you could please purchase this and send it to me, boy would I ever be thankful:

(I don’t even need the hat.)

Also, I can repay you in excellent shrimp fajitas and apple-blueberry crisp.

I have references.

What are you mad hatters up to for the weekend? Are you Twin Peaks fans? Also, let me know if you need my mailing address.

Finally, please pray for mojo that the downpour stays away and I’m not washed down the drain on the course come Sunday.

Because if I’m not running like the wind, I’ll be streaming by like the rain.

I’m perfectly calm dude

Today is my birthday.

According to http://www.thisdayinmusic.com the #1 song on my day of birth was “I wanna know what love is” by Foreigner.

Classic.

This year the theme for the day is “no muss, no fuss.” For the last four years I’ve partaken in some pretty wild festivities, so I’m a little relieved that this year’s agenda is defined by two words:

Low key.

Tomorrow M and I are heading up to the cabin for a couple of days – we’ll run, read, rest and relax. (Probably catch some Superbowl action too.)

Two years ago, to celebrate the fact that I’d spent a quarter of a century alive and kicking on this big old ball of green and blue, M and I hosted a James Bond dress-up soirée. We instructed our guests to come costumed as their favourite bond villain, bond girl, or well, you know, bond bond, and then proceeded to get smashed on martinis (shaken, etc., etc.,) play poker and black-jack, and engage is some high-profile, high-hilarity espionage.

I think I ate more olives that night then I could have if I lived an entire year on the island of Crete. (And believe you me, that place is chock-a-block FULL of olives. I spend the majority of my time there marveling at how anyone could ever fathom picking them all – much to M’s equal parts amusement and chagrin.)

What was so great about the evening was how everyone really went whole hog when it came to their preparations for the night. We had many Bonds, a couple of Qs and one Rosa Klebb who completely stole the show.

I dressed as Vesper Lynd, while M decided on Gobinda, the evil henchman from Octopussy. (FULL DISCLOSURE: M is half-Indian so don’t start getting any crazy ideas here).

He looked so fabulous it was unreal. Plus he carried around a set of dice and kept pretending to crush them in his death grip – bloody hilarious and seriously flash. For more info please see:

The party took place just as I was beginning to buckle down and write my graduate thesis, and I told myself that after the night’s shenanigans were through, I wasn’t going to have any fun until after I rocked out on my defence, and finished my master’s.

It was a tremendous “last big bash” – a good lead in to three months of thirteen hour days in self-imposed isolation, spent hunched at my computer, writing about immigration policy and refugee integration schemes.

I’m happy to say that I was successful in both of the before mentioned endeavours, although in hindsight I am pretty sure that those months of suffering would have passed in a much less painful manner had I actually engaged in some light-hearted social fare every now and then.

But alas, as they say, live and learn.

Birthdays are a great opportunity to sit and (subjectively) contemplate where you are in life, where you’ve come from, and where you would like to go.

This week I’ve reflected quite a bit along these lines – trying to figure out the things I am happy with, the things I still have to work on, and the things I have overcome in the past year.

People keep asking me if I am alright, or if something is wrong, particularly when I tell them that this year I’m not interested in doing anything big for my birthday.

While I may not be contemplating my life in this exact spot (I wish!), I am contemplating nevertheless.

I’m guessing that this muted (and therefore I’m apt to guess out of character) demeanour of mine  has led many to believe that I’m either down in the dumps (I get this quite a bit when I’m not my normally boisterous, extroverted self), or sweating over the fact somehow, despite my best efforts, I have managed to age yet another year.

This is not the case.

In fact, I’m having a hard time convincing people that I am downright a-okay. I’m just meditating on the past, and mulling over my future.

Which, at least to me, is a positive endeavor.

One thing I am working on is giving myself credit for the things that, well, deserve credit.

Seriously, it’s a chronic behavioural problem of mine. I am almost pathologically incapable of giving myself a pat on the back.

And although this problem used to be much worse than it currently is, the fact of the matter remains: I have tremendous difficulty truly taking pride in my triumphs, for fear that in doing so, I will come off as a big-headed, conceited jerk.

I’ve learned that the easier way to to combat this fright (and avoid that outcome) is to to ignore my successes, and instead immediately soldier on to my next goal, or activity, without so much as a second glance back.

I’ve been wondering about this quite a bit, and asking myself why I, like so many young people I know, are quick to downplay their accomplishments, almost to the point of parody?

Why do we squirm at the idea of complimenting ourselves, or accepting recognition from others?

Growing up I had a very real, very tangible belief that if I ever dwelled on that which I did well, people would right me off as self-righteous and self-involved. Being labelled “stuck-up” was second only to “slut” when it came to my biggest fears in terms of my (real or perceived) social identity (that second moniker is fodder for another topic, on another day.)

So I never took the time to congratulate myself, or accept the compliments of others (and if I did, it was always handled with a heavy dose of self-deprecation, or an attempt downplay what it was I had achieved), and I pushed to take on more activities, which in turn saw me place endless pressure on myself to excel– only to once again, ignore my successes.

This created an incredibly negative feed-back loop, defined by stress, insecurity, fear, and pressure. That my mental and physical health deteriorated because of this problem is an understatement – this warped, chronic need to over-achieve (but never acknowledge it) took over my life, manifesting itself in eating disorders, compulsive exercising, and long stretches of insomnia.

While I would like to say that I am completely over this affliction, I would be lying if I did. I can say however, that the  place I am today, is almost completely unrecognizable from where I was ten years ago.

I am no longer sick, I am much less stressed out, and I am always working on putting less pressure on myself.

I am still committing myself to numerous engagements, because they make me happy, while at the same time trying to make sure that I can self-validate through this process.

I am learning how to say “good job”, and “thank-you” (with no self-deprecating follow-up).

So while this year, I may not be throwing a grand bash to celebrate my birth, rest assured that I am celebrating.

Early birthday card, delicious birthday cookie.

I’m just doing it a little quieter, that’s all.

And that is definitely a-okay.