I remember visually where I was standing when I first heard the CBC Radio announcer describing this piece of music he was about to play. It wasn’t so much music like a song, but a tone.

Somebody had invented, or discovered this tone that sounded like it was rising higher and higher, forever. It was a loop that tricked our ears into thinking it was forever rising, when in reality it was just repeating the same number of bars in such a way, humans could not detect the loop.

I then remember hearing it, and thinking it was neat. In much the same way that you can watch the end of a screw as it spins and swear its spiraling down, when obviously it … I suppose it actually does spiral down, which is the entire point of a screw, but the visual illusion is still freaky to stare at, especially on weed.

In my head, I said that in Jon Stewart’s voice, as I believe the movie line he is most famous for, among those who never really watched The Daily Show.

I once described my problem with reading from books with more than about 7 words per line. I would get to the end, but somehow lose my place as my eyes scanned back to the start of the next line. In the instant it takes to find my place, I have seen enough other words out of context that my flow is thrown off enough that I have to skip back to the start of the paragraph again. Each time it happens, frustration builds, which adds an extra emotion into the mix. I search for a new shiny, and stop reading.

In my whole life, I could probably name every book I’ve ever read, but it’s because I’m probably read less than 20. I can count up to 21 on my fingers and toenails. I got 1/4 through some. I got 2/3 through some. I wasn’t counting the non fiction books I seemed to prefer. I latched on to reading scripts because I could do the voices in my head, and the sentences were quite often very well seperated.

I am proud to say that the novel I ever read for pleasure was The Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy. It was easier for me to stick with than most of the books I was asked to read by teachers, because I already knew the story. I had heard the original radio play over the course of a year. It is one of my only happy memories of time spent with my father. We commuted to the big city from the small town every morning for about a year. One of the radio stations played a short edited episode of the original BBC radio series. The originals were 30 minutes each, but I believe the radio edits were made into a daily serial of about 5 minutes a day.

It was a sense of humour I shared with him. Perhaps the only one. My father was constantly frustyrated when the family would be laughing at sometyhing he didn’t get. Often frustration turned to loud anger, so I learned not to be too funny around him. 

However, on the drive in, despite it only being a few short minutes a day, it became a ritual to not only look forward to on the drive, but a safe topic of discussion for the remainder.

Soon after, I discovered the original BBC radio reproduction script for sale as a book. It was a glorious find for me, at what was called The World’s Biggest Bookstore in Toronto. It was a pretty cool store and although it was desputed by almost every foreigner from Europe that ever saw it, it was still a wonderful place to wander and look at all the covers. For a young man that hardly read any books, I really spent quite a lot of time in Book Stores. I suppose even without reading, a bookstore has the most variety and inspiration of any of the mall stores. There is shiney in every direction.

I aquired quite a #prideworthy collection of non fiction humour. If I had ever been a successful humourist that had a biography segment done on me before thye big Interview, my book collection would say a lot about my childhood. I wanted to read. I just wanted to do it in 20 minute segmengts over the couyrse of 3 years, and virtually every book on my bookshelf with a few noteable exceptions, still has my bookmark in it, no more than 2/3 of the way through.

The moment I peak and lose interest in the rest, it’s on to the next book. In the case of some of my early inspirations, the authors had lost fame or died before I finished reading.

I remember reading through every page of Woody Allen’s frst book, and checking the World’s Biggest Bookstore every weekend for his second and his third.  I waited for his fourth for a decade but like me, he’d moved on. Woody’s stand up comedy double album is one of the only comedy albums I still listen to. I absolutly loved his


They also included short plays in amonst the chapters and I loved those as well.

I paused there, deciding where to go next, in the text or in my bed for the night. It’s early Saturday but I did stay up all Wednesday and all Friday. I missed all but 3 hours of Thursday asleep. I should be able to snooze before 3am tonight. I’m hoping. I am writing this from my work desk tonight. I was about to rest when I remembered I had to fix an error I made that broke one of my client’s web sites. Visually damaged by an error I didn’t think to check for, but not actually offline.

It was more like a burt out lightbulb in her site banner. It had lost it’s gradient orange.

I sat here at my desk, fixed it and then clicked the button to enter this. I can’t say I remember why I was telling the story about that tone, but I’m quite used to my titles having little to do with my content.

In a moment of confidence, which may very well have bordered on arrogance, I offered to help a new writer out with anything she might need, in the way of proofing, editing or other suggestions. Given the style I use to write my blogs, it is easy to see how she might even have been offended that someone — I stop. I defend my style of writing in two ways and it maintains it’s #prideworthy status.

(1) The really horriblew ones you can’t read or interpret are written under the influence of various drugs combined with usually strong weed. I make no claims that my high blogs are anything to be used as a teaching aid, or even an example of my work.

(2) The writings I do while sober, like this one I do think are good examples of style. I defend them by saying you’re mainly seeing first drafts, and I don’t do my own proof reading. Nobody should.

I am reminded of an old joke I use frequently in life. I don’t tell the joke, but rather describe it as a proverb style life lesson.

If there are only two barbers in town, go to the one with the horrible haircut.

I offered to edit. I think I do that well for other people’s work. I speak well, and I read in my own voice. I detect a flow that others don’t always catch while writing. I notice over-used words and all sorts of things when I read other people’s work. Sadly I often present it in my old fallback way of stating opinions as facts. I’m not ever sure when I’m being mean, till about 3 minutes later, or when I see it in their face.

Another paradox of me. I am alwasy better for other people than myself. I have no opions or emotions about me, because anything unshared is perfect. Life exists only in the interactions, at least for me. I suppose it’s a burst of pride points when I can help. 

I loved my time as a teacher more than any other time in my life. I hated my time prepairing to be a teacher more than any other part of my life. I came alive in front of the crowd, even if it was a crowd of one. 

An earned smile is more valuable to my mood, than your compensation or gratuity.

When people ask me what would have been my dream job, I like to say; to not have to work, but still be able to teach… with a partner. I still believe I can only progress with a partner. 

Some are active participants in the world.
I exist only in reaction to the world.

Alone, I default to screen saver mode. For me, that means watching TV.

I had two dream jobs really, and to be fair to myself, I have done all of my dreams already, although to a lesser degree. I have been a teacher, published author, presenter, Convention booth socializer, comedy writer and all around cool guy to be around, at least until I peak and then find a wayu to be mean and sabatage a parting.

I like to take notice of setences like that one. I was on a happy cloud describing the dream jobs I would have loved to have followed had the right partner joined. The moment I come out and approach a compliment of myself, I immediatly revsere the tone and kill the joy by the end of the sentence. I describe my happy dream jobs and as I’m explaining that I’ve been lucky enough to have done both of them in various ways, I have to crush that joy and talk about how I drove away most of my friends. Others I drove away from, and never looked back.

In my head at this point, my brain does cutaway quotes from movies that I’ve been using for years or decades. In this case, even as I’m finishing the sentence; and never looked back, my inner voice had turned Italian. The next line, uttered silently was; ” What’sa Behinda me, is not important…”, and then I rip the rear view mirror off my litle Italian convertable’s windshield and toss it over my shoulder out behind the car.

And with that, I will conclude this random trip down memory lane and go drink, drain and sleep.

But wait….  More news to catch up on, journal wise.

I spent two hours on voice chat lines last night till about 2am. I had a great time and probably would have taken it more seriously and actually found a friend or three if I hadn’t been so high. There is a downloadable software tool that lets you make live phone calls and SMS texts with graphics absolutly free on your own personal number. It’s awesome for communicating with strangers. I state that I may do it again, as it was the only way I ever dated. Voice compatability is the best way to click or clash for me.

I say that, but it could be another 3 years before I do, even with free trials on new throw-away numbers. The last time I got hooked, I spend hundreds of dollars. I loved entertaining the women I copuld not see with two minute long pre-recorded voice messages. 

ding. Buiness Ideas. I have often thought there is a real market in NON Internet social fun. The world is asking for — is craving new ways to mingle and meet. These past few years in the alternate universe known as Second Life where I spent almost all my weekends for long binges I have learned a lot about men and women. Such a small percentage of them hook up the way I believed. I was shocked to see how many adult men are still afraid to make the move.

Adults seemed to react a lot more like the school dances where all the boys are on one side and all the girls are on the other except for a handful of the confident kids who are never seen uncoupled for long. I was surprised but somehow relieved to discover I’m not rare.

Then my second voice waves over me with the joy crushing realization that the Universe of Second life is populated by the less popular socially awkward demographic. Myself included.

I end there, and do a sudden Jeff run. 

End of Part 1. 8pm on a Saturday.