Born To Be Special

Say you met three U's, each of whom thought it was superior to the others. You'd say, "That's silly, you're just a few U's, you might be different styles and colors but deep down you're really just U's."

It would seem pretty strange if you saw two dogs comparing tails, or the quality of their fur... or the resonance of their bark. Dogs look at each other and go "Oh, a dog," and then pick from an assortment of reactions like play or run away or sniff.  A dog doesn't care if another dog's nose is four feet long or if they're a six-thousand dollar prizewinning Cavalier King Charles Spaniel with a pedigree as long as your arm. When one dog meets another it just wants to know what their bum smells like.

But it's not remarkable at all when a person compares their appearance, abilities or actions to our own. We expect it. As superior beings we are entitled to have differences, to be special; not only from other life forms but from one another. It's in our contract. To be unique – right down to our fingerprints.

People are unique in, oh, so many ways. It's entirely logical: we are different from everyone else, therefore we are special and therefore valuable. In fact, the rulebook states we're not allowed to just be a human being just like other human beings. There are several potential reasons:

1. As human beings we all have a duty; a role to play. We have a responsibility to make the world a better place, or to conquer our enemies or to be a parent or a kid or to become rich and famous... the list is endless. A role gives us purpose.
2. We need to be distinctive and special. We're white or black or jewish or protestant or catholic or rich or poor or gay or straight or dressed in designer fashions or in rags or plain-looking or a humahuma. Our distinction gives us a history and perspective.
3. We want things to make sense. From birth we're trained not to stop at level one identification (what are you). We take it to level two (what are you good for). Being able to evaluate gives our lives order and understanding.

And if for some reason we were to wake up one morning and forget what makes us unique, why, we'd all definitely be in trouble. We'd be in full-fledged identity crisis mode. Our individual roles and pompousness and expertise and value would be lost to the world. We wouldn't know we were stinking rich or ugly and our winning score in Call of Duty MW3 wouldn't mean anything. We probably wouldn't have religious conflicts or wars about people being better than other people. Money would be meaningless, the economy would tank, banks would crumble, shops would close and we'd just give stuff to each other. No one would starve, be homeless or feel unloved. We'd just be one messy mass of mankind.

And we'd be no better than dogs. Eating, sleeping, playing together and (shudder) having fun.

The Nina, Pinta and Santa Tomato

Recently discovered eyewitness image of Columbus's original departure.

Columbus set sail from Palos de la Frontera on 3 August, 1492 with three ships: the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Tomato. No one really knew what his ships looked like until recently. I am happy to pass on this newly discovered depiction of the famous day.

And so, they say, began the Age of Discovery. Actually the Age of Discovery started well before that with the fall of the Roman Empire and the invention of the printing press (which meant not only rich people could afford Harlequin Romances, IKEA easy assembly instruction manuals and self-help-for-dummies paperbacks) but hey, let's not nit pick. It's up there.

Why all the hubbub about months at sea with stinky men with bad tats? (Apologies to Mike Tyson, Dennis Rodman and Erik Sprague, better known as The Lizardman. No offense.) We all know Chris didn't originally set out to discover the New World, (Leif Ericson did that a few centuries before and surely the word got around). Most of us already know he was actually looking for a trade route to Asia. Which was true. Since the fall of Constantinople to the Ottoman Turks in 1453, hiking across land to Asia became more and more like trying to get from one end of a trailer park to the other unscathed on a hot Friday night after welly check day. Alternative forms of transportation were required and Fed Ex Overnight Express hadn't been invented yet, so sailing ships seemed the logical choice. Competition surged throughout Europe for new trade routes and the riches to be had.

Columbus was certainly a go-getter. He'd lined up investors in Italy for half the money needed and the other half came from a deal worked out over a two-year period with Spanish royalty King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, heady after their defeat of Granada. Pesky Portugal had already laid claim to practically all good real estate along the entire west coast of Africa and their plans to go around Africa to get to Asia's spice store rankled Ferdy and Issy to no end. Columbus's deal, in return for finding the new route and slapping an "Owned by Spain" label on as many new lands as he could find, included being named 'Admiral of the Ocean Sea', governorship of any newly discovered lands and a claim to 10 percent of all related profits. So generous were their promises you have to wonder if they were expecting Columbus to return.

According to historians the flagship was the Santa Tomato; the largest of the three ships. It had a crew of 51.75 men (one guy had a peg leg) while his other two ships had 18 men apiece. The Santa Tomato was so large it was not able to go near coastlines for fear of being turned into ketchup (which it eventually was). But it was able to bob well in bad weather, carried all of the pasta sauce needed for the crossing and was the most tastefully designed of the three. Both the Nina (whose unique mission was to discover the number that comes after 9) and the Pinta (which carried the milk for the crew's Fruit Loops), while top heavy had a shallower draft and were able to explore shallow bays and the mouths of rivers. Maximum speed for the vessels was about 8 knots (9.206235 mph), and minimum speed was zero. So, 90 or 100 miles a day would be a normal day's progress – 200 if the winds were right, they hit all the lights and they wanted to skip Happy Hour (which practically never happened).

Overall, Columbus crossed the Atlantic to the New World a total of four times, finally returning to Spain in chains after some (prolly just jealous) people began tattling to the King and Queen of Spain about his governorship practices. For things like allegedly cutting the hands off of natives for not paying taxes, he was stripped of his titles and profits and his sons had to sue the Crown a number of times in order to have any inheritance at all.

Thus began the habit of people from the New World to turn to litigation – a trend that continues to this very day. The end.

Ed. Disclaimer: While the above is loosely based on historical events, it is a work of lies and fiction. Any resemblance to actual people and events is very, very unlikely.

Pop Bottles And Chinese Doodads

"After Mickey’s that morning I had thirty bucks left until payday and I didn’t feel like trying to figure out when exactly that would be, although deep down I knew my last payday was yesterday. This fact, in modern parlance, sucked and I didn’t feel like sucking just then. If I wanted to feel anything I really should be feeling like getting the laundry out of the dryer before everything I owned compressed itself into one massive wrinkle.

Plus, I had more important things on my mind.

My front door knocked and I stopped thinking about what I should or should not be feeling like and opened it up to find myself standing on the other side of the screen door looking in and asking, “Got any pop bottles you don’t want?”

It wasn’t me exactly but a little-kid-me and I knew that because not only did he look vaguely familiar but I remember going door-to-door asking for pop bottles when I was his age. Pop bottles then were two cents – five for a big one. That might seem like not a lot of money now but back then a wagon full of bottles bought a heck of a lot of 4-for-a-penny mojos. Besides, I recognized the shoes. They were what we used to call gomer boots because only gomers wore them, as in Gomer Pyle. Now they are treasured high-top basketball shoes. Black canvas with white around the soles and white laces. You know the ones.

I thought about telling my kid-self that going door-to-door collecting pop bottles just didn’t work any more. There was no return on your labor. Pop bottles were mostly all plastic now and people recycled them. For free. No deposit, no return – just like life. When they were all used up that was it. They were tossed into blue caskets and sent to plastic bottle heaven and were reincarnated as Chinese doodads.

If I had more time and no laundry in the dryer I would have suggested that he should possibly switch to copper wire. I’d heard crooks kept stealing it so there must be a market for it. Then again, “Got any copper wire you don’t want?” just didn’t have the same innocent resonance.

Under normal circumstances I would have muttered a quick “No,” followed with a decisive closing of the door but I thought, wait a minute – this is me I’m talking to. Finally, I shook my head sorry, dug five of the last thirty bucks out of my wallet and passed it to him before closing the door. It’s what I would have wanted me to do. Besides, I had more important things on my mind. 

My life was in danger. There’s poetry in there somewhere."

(Excerpt... the opening salvo of a work in progress.)

Boning Up On Public Transit

Big city living brings a number of wonderful experiences. If you are new to the city, before long you're bound to witness these huge machines totally packed with people lumbering down the street. Do not panic. These people are not being kidnapped or forced into a ragtag militia against their will. They are using vehicles called buses, a public transit service, and can get on and off at will.

In order to use one yourself, simply wait at a bus stop and when a bus approaches, take a step towards the curb (do not step off the curb) and concentrate like you want the bus to stop. It's sort of a psychic thing. The doors will open automatically – there's no need to pry them open. Buses come with a driver so there is no need to offer to drive for a while. Simply chip in some cash to help pay for gas and grab a seat.

You may notice that people bring along certain items and demonstrate unique behaviors to help make their journey a safe and entertaining one:

Accessories: A helmet is great for inducing helmet hair and reducing the amount of brain trauma associated with engine vibration, sudden stops and potholes. A spotlight attached to the helmet is useful in case of an unexpected tunnel. Sound suppressing headphones reduce the air pollution caused by headbanger music coming from the guy next to you. You'll see people bringing water bottles to keep from becoming dehydrated but you may want to consider the personal IV drip. They're flexible in tight spaces and can also be used to refill your water pistol (good for small brats). Displaying a ceremonial symbol of power will remind others that you don't really need to take public transit but are doing so to help the environment (bonus points if it comes with GPS and an emergency beacon). An accessory Batman-style pouch, even if empty, is impressive. Be sure to bring along your own personal mobility devices (i.e. feet, wheels). You'll need them to get to and from the bus stop.

Attributes: Try to train one eye to monitor the road ahead for your stop and have the other eye watch for shady characters looking to rip off your wallet. And if you can grab a couple of flying bugs while you're waiting for the bus, let them loose after you sit down. This will help keep people from getting too close. Demonstrating an oral fixation with something like a bubble pipe can be useful as well, and a pair of loud honkers, judiciously used, may gain you a seat in a crowded bus.

Properly prepared, riding the bus is a pleasant and convenient benefit of living in the big city.

Notes I Should Have Left My Mother

Remember when you were little and it seemed everyone else in the whole world was bigger and smarter and better at stuff than you (except for babies)? It seemed you were battling just to keep up. And it was only natural to try to dodge nasty consequences of your actions and minimize damage. Sometimes you got away with something and sometimes they saw right through you. Whatever your batting average, it is likely at least some claims of innocence were successful and years later you get to an age where you wish you could set the record straight. Wipe the slate clean. There are millions of apologies I could probably write to my mother but I've picked three that are fairly representative.

These are the three that keep me up at night the most, suffering from with incalculable pangs of guilt. If I'd only stood up for the truth and said something at the time things might be better now. Like maybe those nasty wars in Iran and Afghanistan wouldn't have happened. Or maybe John Lennon would still be alive.

So Mom, if you're up there listening, which I'm sure you are because when you were alive you were able to see around corners and hear things through solid walls... sorry.

Can I have my allowance back now?

Dignitas Perdidit

"Yesterday" Douglas Tavern, Douglas, Ontario

"If in dignitas you include the power of translating those loyal feelings into action or of defending them with complete freedom, then ne vestigium quidem ullum est reliquum nobis dignitatis [not even a trace is left to us of our dignity]." ~ Cicero, 46 BC

Dignitas Perdidit is roughly translated as Dignity Lost. But that's not quite right. While the word dignitas does not have a direct translation into English, the Oxford Latin Dictionary defines the expression as fitness, suitability, worthiness, visual impressiveness or distinction, dignity of style and gesture, rank, status, position, standing, esteem, importance, and honor.

Julius Caesar structured his whole life on his personal dignitas. People in those years were known to send themselves into exile, even oft themselves (RIP Marcus Antonius), and destroy the reputation of others (that would be you, Marcus Claudius Marcellus) in order to preserve or grow their dignitas. Such is the power of a single word.

The use of words carries the ever-present danger of possible cultural, gender-based, racial or political misinterpretations. What was right and just and honorable even in our parents' time (when the term family wasn't so often prefaced by the word dysfunctional) may be a completely different animal today. Antiquated terms, like yesterday's leftovers, have different meanings in the light of a new day. The above photo (taken by my niece Alison), while admittedly quaint, appropriately tattered and obviously sexist was seen back then as a sign of respect. (In the village tavern there was one door for rowdy, dust covered, profanity-spewing men, and another door for a more sophisticated couple out to enjoy a social evening. The fact that both doors most often lead to the same room was incidental.) If you look up the word escorts in the phone book today, you'll find an entirely different meaning (for every want, personal bent and budget).

What was a word just hanging out behaving itself yesterday becomes one with an identity crisis. The word brave was once used to signify cowardice. Awful meant ‘full of awe’ i.e. something wonderful, delightful, amazing. Nice, derived from the Latin ‘not to know’, originally meant ignorant. Gay used to mean light-hearted and carefree. A dick was a detective.

And not too long ago a computer was a person who worked with numbers and did a lot of calculations. Facebook was a high school yearbook. And you heard birds twitter in the merry wood. Bad is now good... or bad.

Grabbing For Moths

There was a moth in my living room last night. Not one of those big wooly ones, one of the tiny guys. For a seemingly awkward, fluttering creature it was extremely elusive and it took my attention for a time. It was like good design the way it changed direction the very instant I grabbed for it. It was fun for a time and then it got tedious. In the end I chose to ignore it because I am bigger than a moth.

I compare the moth to creativity because, well, that's my area of interest. If I were a lawyer I'd probably be relating the moth to other things like what crims have come up with lately to make their lives interesting, or what other litigators are doing with their lives. If my culinary skills extended beyond anything other than a bowl of Fruit Loops or cheese dogs I'd be looking at what chefs are creating to challenge themselves. So I look at a broad range of art that people find interesting because I suppose I'm interested in being interesting occasionally as well. And some stuff makes you wonder if some people grabbed for the moth and missed. Or maybe they don't even know about the moth. Or maybe they do have the moth cupped in their hand and I'm just not noticing. It's a quagmire wrapped up in a conundrum.

This morning the moth has gone to wherever moths go when they're not being grabbed at. I should check the closet but I know I won't. It'll be back on its own. And I'll be grabbing for it.

I hate design.

The Taking Of Nature: One, Two, Three

Oh hell. Here we go again with the warm weather. Along with the onslaught of pesky stinging-flying creatures, dire messages advising us to slather on an inch of some skin concoction so we don't expose ourselves to (horror) the sun's rays and the predatory nature of hardware stores to make us all feel our decks and patios don't have sufficiently stylish weatherproof furniture to constitute an outdoor "living space" worthy of company, comes a warning: There are strange things growing out of the soil beneath our feet.

For those unaware of this menace, here are the basics: 1) Early in the spring these strange growths give off these pretty flowers to fool us. The shots above and below (from my own yard) show the blossoms and their devious nature, 2) Then, the flowers disappear after gaining our admiration and, after centuries of man conquering nature, they relentlessly proceed to take the world back, and 3) We need to get out the flame throwers and cement mixers before it's too late.

There are both traitors and the naively misinformed amongst us. Every year at this time, relentless romantics pop out of the woodwork and, in their dubious wisdom, remind us of a few things: 1) The cycle of creation continues to go on around us (like we haven't heard that particular nugget a couple million times), 2) Sometimes we have to take the time to smell the roses (forget it – the 350 lb. woman behind me in line at Walmart, who bathed in Chanel #5 killed my sense of smell), and 3) One person's weed is another person's flower (oh geez, just shoot me now).

If, for some odd reason, we should happen to like the nasty little flowers that grow out of nowhere (without our asking) and the deviously pretty colors they add to our lives, self-flagellation is an option. Let our appreciation be a dirty little secret. We should all just give our heads a collective shake and remember: 1) Nature is simply an inconvenient byproduct of life on earth, 2) To sane people "nature" means cutting grass and trimming back the jungle so the neighbors don't complain, and 3) There are spotters out there just waiting to see us bending over and admiring a flower. Know that these occurrences will be documented and there is a good chance our competency, if not sanity, will be questioned.

My job is done. I'm off to picket a rooftop garden.

The Hoping Pie

Why should only fancy-pant scientists, academics and theorists get pie charts? Big shots. Why can't ordinary people like you and I get one?

So here. Our own pie chart. It's about what ordinary people do when we do stuff. And, because everything important needs a name and "Figure 3.1(b)" didn't do it for me, it's called The Hoping Pie. It's not just about making pies but it could be. It could also be about building a tree fort, designing something cool, or putting together a video of bad impressions for YouTube. Whatever project we want to do, no matter how small or large; this is the pie chart for us.

Each portion represents a slice of what normal folks do to make things happen. The size of each can change depending on how weird your project is. While I added arrows (at extra cost) for direction, it being our pie chart, we can return to a previous slice at any time without occurring penalty minutes.

HOPING: When you hope it's like saying you're hungry. Hope says "I want pie" and takes our engines out of neutral. Our minds then secrete a special pie endorphin (I just made that up but it may be true) that says "go". We can't start without hope. It can't be added in the middle or at the end. Got hungry? Let's make a pie.

LOOKING: The great thing about waking up hope is the first thing we have to do is something that we normally do anyway – we look. In this case we focus our eyeballs and look at everything we possibly can about what we want to do. It's the cookbook of life. Hoity-toity people call it researching but really it's just looking.

SEEING: So we've been looking at all this stuff and the inside of our brain is full, but messy. Now we have to really see. Seeing is about organizing how certain things belong together (spicy, sweet, tart, yucky stuff). It makes scheming and getting it later a lot easier. Looking without seeing is like eating without tasting. What's the point?

SCHEMING: So what did all our looking and seeing get us? (No, not a slap in the face.) Put on your Dastardly Dan hat and scheme. If we're doing it right, possibilities should show up for the party: in all combinations, shapes and forms. Things that have worked before, things that are just plain silly, and things that haven't been considered yet but could work. So scheme and don't run the risk of overlooking a winning ingredient.

GETTING: It's finalist time. Everything we've done so far leads to deciding the direction to take. Taste, test and play. Our dream is defined, and redefined, tweaked and massaged. Here, we see the most likely solutions born from our looking, seeing and scheming. The winning recipe takes the spotlight. Finally, we get it. Time to do it.

DOING: Time to turn our plan into something tasty. Our mixing bowl is no longer a Cheezie dish, ingredients are measured and the oven is preheated. Skills kick in and we boldly go where no man has gone before using both old techniques and new technologies. The aroma of success is in the air. The cat becomes very friendly.

THE RESULT: Our project is complete. The votes are in. It's okay if it's not a total success. Less than perfect is actually good because it gives us a kick in the pants to do better the next time. We're back to a new start; looking harder and seeing better, interpreting our discoveries and testing our understandings. Even total success is not an end. It leads to new hopes. New wishes and finer dreams.

Make one. There is no failure in The Hoping Pie.

Lord save us all from a hope tree that has lost the faculty of putting out blossoms.
Mark Twain

Six Steps to Successfully Getting Out Of Bed

While growing up, my mother had this quaint habit of storming into my room in the morning, whipping off the covers and throwing open the drapes, all the while gleefully exclaiming in her high pitched shrill, "Ge-e-e-e-et u-u-u-u-up!" The delightful nature of this routine would shake books off shelves, strip wallpaper and leaves me even today with fond memories reminiscent of the scratch of fingernails on a blackboard combined with the whine of a dentist drill.

Waking up is hard to do. There is, of course, a scientific explanation. Something about testing fruit flies and the “twenty-four” gene—one of the core genes of the circadian clock. It's all so... academic.

“The function of a clock is to tell your system to be prepared, that the sun is rising, and it’s time to get up,” says Ravi Allada, professor of neurobiology and physiology at Northwestern University.

“The flies without the twenty-four gene did not become much more active before dawn. The equivalent in humans would be someone who has trouble getting out of bed in the morning.”

But regardless of how difficult or easy it is for you to wake up, getting up is another matter and one full of personal perils. Fear not. You've got this old fart with decades of experience on your side. Try these handy steps:

1) Do not open eyes. No sudden moves. Put one foot on the floor. This tricks your mind into believing your body is halfway up. Never hop out with both feet at once as this will make all your blood rush to your feet, causing a massive shock to your brain and can lead to discordant maladies later in life.
2) Sit up slowly. Put other foot on the floor. Place elbows on knees and rest face in hands. This allows your equilibrium to gently orientate itself to the upright position. Rubbing eyes while still closed is optional.
3) Groan loudly, even when alone. This warms the vocal chords and aligns the molecules in the air around you. People entering your molecule field for the remainder of the day will be less inclined to give you grief.
4) Open eyes. Do not stretch. When opening eyes do not focus immediately. Focusing the eyes too soon may cause eye fatigue later in the day and stretching muscles that have been dormant for six to eight hours can cause over stimulation and may lead to unorthodox activities such as jogging and yoga. You have the rest of the day to focus and stretch out gradually.
5) Scratch something. This is important and is linked back to the beginning of civilization when we had fewer skin moisturizers and more personal itches. The act sends a message to your nerve center that it is about to be subjected to its daily job of letting you know when you hurt. Not doing so and waiting until you actually hurt to ignite your nerve center can cause a delayed reaction. And finally,
6) Transfer weight to your feet by leaning forward carefully. Use your arms to push, and shout something uplifting as you do so. Incomprehensible yelp-growls are an art form here. A Tarzan yell is good. Or something like, "Oh gawd, not another one" is effective as well. Be careful not to lean forward too much. That's how heads put holes into walls. Raise your head slowly. This will cause your back to follow and you should find yourself standing up straight. You have now successfully "gotten up". If you feel dizzy, lie back down and repeat from step number one.

By following these simple steps, staying away from cold showers and early morning exercising, you will be adding seconds, possibly minutes to your life and will ease your way into your day with grace and harmony.

Next week: How to brush your teeth and not look like you have rabies.

The Line

The grace of the single line. The power of a stroke's direction. Straight is the epitome of no-nonsense seriousness, while curved is the loveliest distance between two points. Exploring space, a line can be so unassuming. When combined with others, mysteriously representative of energy, conflict, tension and flow. 

Lines converge to define a story. Space between lines reveals shape and form. Singular lines express collectively; each and every stroke working to tell the story as perfectly as it can be told.

Every contribution adds to the logic and reason of the composition. Every gesture is crucial.

And while this particular work-in-progress isn't perfect, I'm working on it. (rand)

"Line is a rich metaphor for the artist. It denotes not only boundary, edge or contour, but is an agent for location, energy, and growth. It is literally movement and change - life itself." ~ Lance Esplund 

Life, The Interweb and The Toad

"Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve,
Assaying by his devilish art to reach
The organs of her fancy, and with them forge
Illusions, as he list, phantasms and dreams;
Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint
The animal spirits, that from pure blood arise
Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence raise
At least distempered, discontented thoughts,
Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires,
Blown up with high conceits ingendering pride."
John Milton (excerpt: Paradise Lost: Book 04)

(Translation: Satan has turned himself into a toad and whispers into Eve's ear, as she sleeps, tempting her to eat the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge.)

Let me begin today with an apology for rambling a bit (and for mixing my metaphors). I've had some time lately so I've been doing a lot of looking around here in the Interweb. You might say I am an official looker. It's a difficult thing to do, because an official looker has to look at things one likes and things that one would rather not be looking at. It's amazing where some people's heads are at, or where they want you to think they are at. Far from me to judge but if I were to guess motivations I'd say some folks have Mr. Milton's toad whispering in their ear at night. Not a lot, but just a phrase or two each night, every night. Like one of those serial stories where you have to tune in everyday only to find out too late that the ending either sucks or worse, it never ends because it's limitless, like a bad soap opera. One thing exists to prompt another. So this post is dedicated to that as seen on tv site that prompted this post. Just when you think that someone couldn't know you well enough to know that you need something called "Bust UP Cups", there you go. Temptation is in the wind... (and the cheque is in the mail).

This electronic world is not only like eating the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, it's bigger than that. It's like a distorted reflection of life itself, isn't it? And just when you think you're done looking around, bang, they pu-u-u-ull you back in. It gets rather disconcerting sometimes when you sit down at your computer and three days later look up going "Gee, I'm hungry." There should be a twelve-step program. Oh wait. There is.

I don't mean to sound critical because I'm not. Denying the online experience is a good thing would be like saying life itself isn't wonderful. We live with the worthless to enjoy the worthy. Sometimes we just have to look hard to find the latter. John Milton must have known all about that. Blind since 1652, he wrote Paradise Lost by dictating it out loud, while he was often sick and after his second wife, Katherine Woodcock, passed away in 1658.

It may suspiciously sound like the next thing you're going to hear is not to complain about things like how your socks are too tight, that complaining is bad – but it's not. Actually, bitching is not only fun it's extremely necessary (plus, it's the one time in your day that you can be assured no one is listening).

Giving in to temptation often provides sufficient reason to bitch. And the Interweb has lots of temptation for everyone.

Give yourself bonus points if you blame everything on the little toad.

“For we were little Christian children and early learned the value of forbidden fruit” Mark Twain

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Paradise Lost, published in 1667, is considered one of the greatest literary works in the English language. It is the Biblical story of the Fall of Man. In Book 04, Satan, having escaped from hell returns to Earth, is tormented by the beauty of Creation, and discovers Adam and Eve living in perfect harmony in Eden. Hearing them talk about the forbidden Tree of Knowledge, he turns himself into a toad and whispers temptation into the ear of Eve as she sleeps, but he is discovered by guardian angels and, threatened by Gabriel, flees from Eden.

The Low Down On Raspberry Blowing

It happens to everyone once in a while, for some more often than others. Something or someone gets you all wound up and you think nothing will ever relieve the pressure. There are no pharmaceuticals, no years of professional therapy, no distances you can run or number of jumping jacks you can hop that will effectively provide relief. Enter the ancient art of blowing a raspberry, sometimes called a strawberry or Bronx Cheer (US). This simple act, secretly passed down through the ages, is now being heralded throughout the therapeutic world as a miracle cure for brain cramps.

You can do one too! (Demonstration here.) Place your tongue between your lips and blow. Relaxing both tongue and lips so they vibrate is best. It may take some practice to perfect but what you should end up with is a sound similar to flatulence.

Wikipedia reports that blowing a raspberry comes from the Cockney rhyming slang "raspberry tart," fart. Rhyming slang was particularly used in British comedy to refer to things which would be unacceptable to a polite audience, particularly on television.

"The term "Bronx cheer" is used sarcastically because it is not a cheer; it is used to show disapproval. The term originated as a reference to the sound used by some spectators in Yankee Stadium, located in Bronx, New York City, New York."

The act of blowing the raspberry is thought (by some very smart people) to lower blood pressure, reduce stress levels, raise moods and lessen the number of facial twitches one may experience. But as healing as this act can be, it is something that one should use with a measure of self-control. There are times when one shouldn't blow a raspberry. I have assembled my top four don'ts for your consideration.

Blowing Raspberry Don'ts:
1) Close encounters. When one is a microsecond away from kissing your significant other. Big, big mistake. Not only do you end up spraying your lover from close range, but the ramifications (especially if you are in a... ahem, intimate situation) can lead to bodily harm and to denial of conjugal sharing for many days, weeks or even months.
2) Social gatherings. At a poshy wine and cheese event, when one's mouth is full of chewed up cheese mixed with wine (a fine Vacherin Fribourgeois cheese and a dry, red Cabernet sauvignon, for example). Trust me on this one. Not a pretty sight, especially when standing on a white carpet and/or shaking hands with one's host.
3) Board rooms. If you are in a meeting there are bound to be those in attendance who will not appreciate the healing nature of the act. Reactions can range from a simple snicker to outright guffaws and it's bound to be misinterpreted by the leader of the meeting as a rebut. No matter how much office cred you have, making up for a boardroom tph-h-h-h-h-h-htphffft could take some time.
4) Receiving praise. It almost goes without saying. When someone is giving you an award, telling you how much they want to spend the rest of their life with you or thanking you in some way. Letting loose with a fat, juicy one may not be recognized as the therapy it is. Try to save it for a private place after.

So, put away those pills, cancel your shrink appointments, retire that gaudy spandex outfit and put away those exercise shoes. Blowing the raspberry (with some discretion) will revolutionize your lifestyle, exercise your lower facial muscles and give you a new reason why the front of your shirt is damp. Enjoy!

How To Survive Social Media (and be a flower)

Unless you're twelve and/or don't give a sweet patootie, you're probably trying to find your way through this new social media stuff. It can be quite scary but getting involved online can be a rewarding and enriching experience. More and more relationships, contacts, business dealings and daily interactions occur online. But how do we tell if our interactions are as effective as we'd like them to be? How do we maximize our experience?

Relax, I have done a study. After vast seconds of concentrated thought I've broken down four distinct areas that will ensure your online experience will be a rewarding one. I call it "Find your social media flower":

Language. Believe it or not, a full quarter (that's roughly 25%) of online success, and 100% of online failures happen because of the written word. Brush up on your spelling and grammar (for instance, know the difference between we're, were, where and wear). And, you may swear a blue streak with your buds over pints but this type of behavior, where the impressionable amongst us can access our posts, is a definite no-no (and I'm not talking about hair removal). Keep potty talk for your significant other, best friends or unsuspecting colleagues. 

Attitude. Words can be easily misinterpreted; especially the written kind. Things we say in real life can be tempered with a sly smile but there is no such redemption online (BTW: smiley faces don't cut it). The dividing line between being seen as smart and smart alecky is a fine one. Oh, and personal animosities with politics, religion, members of the opposite sex, and/or hamsters with hockey tape fetishes are best kept offline, where people can cover their ears and sing "Lalalalala" loudly so they don't have to listen.

Appeal. Droning on about something that people lost interest in in 1965, making rude or disparaging remarks, writing off-color comments, or constantly quoting famous dead people (including but not exclusive to Mr. Rogers) out of context are major online faux pas. There may not be an ability to smell online (although I have been experimenting with "smell-o-media") but a remembered stink is often worse than the real thing. And besides, no one really wants to know how many times you puked on your shoes last night... except maybe your next date or a future employer.

Focus. Forgetting to wear pants in your daily life or acting dumb on television can be funny and entertaining. But online is a different kettle of fish. People just won't put up with someone who makes no sense, or replies constantly with responses like "LOL, awesome, that's just tooooooo funny". Doing so will undoubtedly affect your online credibility in a see-through manner (and not the good kind). All this accomplishes is to inspire thousands of people to shout "Busted!" out loud in their offices, living rooms and internet cafés around the world.

So now you know. Your online experience is what you make of it. By following the above suggestions and sending me a dollar in small bills, you too can blossom and be a social media flower. (Where's my pants?)

Your New Official Job Review Options

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players..."
William Shakespeare

So let's say one day the world went really wonky and some jerk like me got a day pass from the "home" and came around to your workplace with an official looking clipboard to ask you to rate your work performance like you would a film review. Of course, it's a given your employment history is a masterpiece. But what kind? Let's see. There are several options to pick from...

A) Suave and Debonair. Your job is a wonderful romantic mystery adventure. You accomplish your goals with charm and a glint in the eye. Plans are hatched with panache and only the best in wardrobe fashion and exotic locales will do. It's not what you say while you dine at a table next to Bond, James Bond, it's how you say it – with polish and that disarming smile. When you do find yourself in a tight spot, you're prepared and cool, with just the right gadget, slick move or surprise up your sleeve. And as your caper comes together it might not work out exactly as planned but what the hell, there's always the next one. Or the one after that. You are a cool, sexy caper.

B) Action Hero. Every day at work is a non-stop, seat-of-the-pants adventure of epic proportions, where one thing leads to another seemingly without any plan. Excitement is your middle name and you don't care about what happens along the way, because it all works out in the end. Michelle Rodriguez and Jason Statham have nothing on you. Your stylists have a heyday and out you walk from the firestorm at the end of the workday with torn t-shirt, a few well-earned scars, a messed up hairstyle that your boss would have a conniption fit over and a big, big smile. You are a heart-stopper.

C) Leave 'em Laughing. Perhaps a comedic tour de force is more your managerial style. Madcap and zany with a tinge of insanity thrown in just for fun. Your quirky is simply full of a better quality of quirk. One-liners flow like an old puppy after a eating a bag of prunes. The wardrobe department supplies pants that fall down on their own and the guy from props ensures every gizmo you pick up works a bit differently than it is supposed to. Add a bit of slapstick, a dash of Monty Python and you're such a the hit with clientele that they line up around the block to see you. For hours. With no porta-potty. Yours is a wild and funny ride.

D) Vivaciously Versatile. Maybe you're a person of many hats. Your position is a hybrid, a combination of all genres, a veritable smörgåsbord of workplace contributions. Because something's just not right when things are predictable. What was high drama one day is laughable the next. You dress according to the scenes you need to play that day and at times you'd rather blend in with the extras on the set. You're another Johnny Depp or Meryl Streep and regardless of what role you play, you do so to perfection. People never know what to expect from you next. But one thing's for sure, there's never a dull moment and a quick review of your job performance would reveal it to be totally, outrageously entertaining.

Whatever role you play at whatever work you do, and whatever genre you fit into – you're a star. Give yourself two big'uns (and a raise).

Deeper Meanings: There Should Be A Law

"Nature's first green is gold, 

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

Robert Frost, 1923, Yale Review (earned Frost the 1924 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry)

I admit there have been times I believed I was immortal like Highlander Connor Macleod of the Clan Macleod. Then along comes a voice from the past that irritatingly reminds me I'm part of the natural order of things, like Frost's Nothing Gold Can Stay. 

Just how it does this I'm not quite sure, as I'm not one much for analyzing. (I'm more of the superficial sort.) The analytical process itself reminds me of a story of the time a famous poet was visiting a class and the professor took one of his works and spent the better part of an hour dissecting its deeper meanings, interpretations of specific phrases relating to man's inhumanity to man and hidden messages on the value of moral turpitude (and such). At the end of his presentation, in a total sweat, the triumphant professor turns to the writer sweeps his hands out dramatically and asks, "So, what do you think of that?" Whereupon the writer says, "Geez man, I thought it was just a poem." 

But this work causes me great conflict. There's just so much in there in so few words. I find myself finding (shudder) deeper meaning. Almost effortlessly. Why did Frost insist on showing that a compressed work could weave a wealth of imagery and meaning when the majority of his contemporaries were publishing long, detailed explorations in verse? Does it have to do with his own definition of poetry as a "momentary stay against confusion?" Perhaps. But I think he did it just to bother me almost a century later.

Paradoxes (green is gold, leaf's a flower) – reality versus paradise. Gold – both a color and a instrument of wealth. Dawn – the beginning of a new day and metaphor of birth. The beauty of the moment of sunrise, the potential and transitory nature of awareness and change are all nestled in this special time. The presence of change as a constant in life and the ability to see it not as a loss but as part of the natural process. Seeing moments as special. Gifts. 

There should be a law.

Enough With The Surprises Already

Okay, put the shovel down. It's an expression. Like "Knock me down and call me Suzie." And it's used to express surprise.

The post today is dedicated to addressing this phenomena called surprise and to move that we strike the word from the English language forever. Furthermore, the act of surprising another individual should be outlawed under penalty of a life sentence with constant noogies while under physical restraint. You can tell I'm serious about this.

Surprises are stupid. It's sneaking up behind someone and making them shriek. It's secretly putting cayenne powder in a person's coffee. It's mixing real chicken in amongst the meatless chicken (that wasn't me, Pat). Or it's some jerk telling a false story to someone, getting them worked up, almost to the point of apoplexy, and then exclaiming, "Surprise! It was a joke and I got you! Haha! Don't you look stoopid!"

You've heard the expression, "Oh forgive Mildred, she's had quite the nasty surprise." That was first said after the first surprise was pulled back in 331 A.D. Poor Mildred. She was never quite the same after.

Striking the word from the language would also help reduce sensationalism in the media. Gone would be the surprising news that researchers have discovered that snacking on peanut butter five days a week can nearly halve the risk of a heart attack. That's not surprising, for a guy like me who grew up on the stuff, it's simply reassuring. Eradicated forever would be hype announcing the surprising results of a study that reveals the manufacturing a single pair of leather shoes uses a gazillion gallons of water. Ho hum. Nixed would be announcements of surprising research findings that lemmings are not really suicidal and don't jump off cliffs together. Unless you happen to be a lemming, that's just board game trivia. Come on, whatever these reports are they're definitely not surprising. 

Unleash your Inner Bag Lady! Write your editors and representatives. Demand that we remove surprise from our lives forever! 

“The husband who decides to surprise his wife is often very much surprised himself." ~ Voltaire

A Tool For Tools With Lots Of Pages

Maybe I'm a tool, but I don't want to make money from a few of the personal projects I do – I just want to share. And while I have fun here on the blog, I can't post multiple page documents here, just single images. Until now if I have a book to share I've been forced to print, advertise, process orders, figure out postage, collect money and truck on down to the post office (barefoot and in five feet of snow) to ship. Worse of all, I've had to charge in order to recoup my costs. So I've been looking around this wonderful online world for a way to share for free.

Last week, bless him, a colleague in England mentioned a site called Issuu. It allows you to take a multiple page PDF, upload, publish and share it. Free. You get one of those flip books like you've probably seen featured for e-readers. And you can download the file. Free.

It's like a tool for tools who want to share lots of pages.

So to test I uploaded. It's called The Thing About Things, a book I published a few years ago. You're welcome to have a look. Just click on the name.

(Note: early feedback reports that these don't appear to work on phones and tablets.)

What do you think?

This Week's Recipe: Chien Chaud Avec Fromage

Wouldn't you just love to offer this remarkable French Canadian Chip Truck epicurean delight to your family tonight? Well you can! Such a treat and the whole family will love you for it! Perfect for the on-the-go playoff hockey lifestyle and full of roadside history – with a twist! And it's as easy as scoring on an empty net!

Ingredients:
2 Tube Steaks (all beef preferred)
2 Enriched White Long Buns (Top-Sliced)
2 Slices Medium-Aged Canadian Cheddar Cheese
2 Tbsp. Mustard
2 Tbsp. Ketchup

Remove all items from refrigerator in advance and open all packages. This will save you time in the process later and simplify things when things get hectic and there is a breakaway that you don't want to miss.

Place two tube steaks on a microwave-safe plate (roughly parallel and not touching each other because this will add to flavor and prevent them from sticking together). Place plate into microwave oven (1000 watts) and set timer for 35 seconds (on high). Press "start". You’ll notice that I did not oil the plate prior to cooking. When I first learned this style of preparation I was confused as it went against just about everything I had learned about cooking, but trust me it works (and your wieners won't slip off the plate).

While the plate goes round and round inside the oven, prepare long buns by taking out of the bag and gently separate where sliced. When the microwave beeps remove tube steaks carefully (they're HOT!) and place in gingerly in pre-separated buns, on top of where the tube steaks were originally on the plate. Allowing the juices to soak into the long buns will add to the flavor.

Here comes the cerise sur le gâteau! Place slices of cheddar carefully over the combination, breaking in half and arranging such that, when melted, the cheese will adhere to the meat and run down inside the bun. Replace in microwave and push button called "reheat". Press "start".

This step is crucial to the experience. It will melt the cheese and allow the buns to achieve the steamed bun softness experience that the better kitchens on wheels throughout Canada are so famous for. While this is happening pre-shake mustard and ketchup while still in their bottles (lids closed) to prepare for delivery and open a bag of chips. Check microwave through the window you can't really see through unless you squint. When the cheese is melted, press "cancel".

Remove from microwave and let sit for 3.3 seconds. Garnish with ketchup and mustard and add potato chips (we've substituted popcorn chips just to be a bit risqué). For a truly Canadian experience substitute poutine. M-m-m m-m-m-m!

Et voila! Authentic simulated Chien chaud de fromage just like you'd get from the finest chip trucks! New heights in haute cuisine right in your own kitchen! Gordon Ramsay eat your heart out! Move over Marco Pierre White!

Serves: 1
Time to prepare per serving: 80 seconds

Next week: How to cook eggs in chili just like early Canadian Voyageurs!

Ain't Life Grand?

A break in my regular drivel today.

My niece Manda is an Advanced Care Paramedic who volunteered to train first responders outside of San Marcos, Nicaragua last week. While there she snapped this shot of a young man named Benjamin.

If the value of a photo lies in the story it tells, I really don't have to say anything more.

Enjoy.

Hey, I'd Like To Be Outraged Too!

Inner Bag Lady on the march.

Sorry I'm late this week. Had to calm down my Inner Bag Lady. She's a feisty, grumpy and honest part of me who is always ripe for a scrap, especially in support of the marginalized. The incident followed lots of chatter regarding a celebrity who let speculative comments about whether she'd had work done on her face get under her skin (pun intended). The comments had appeared in March from several sources: the general public – i.e. social media, the entertainment chatterboxes and the legitimate news media; from men and women alike. Her article was extremely well written and talked how she felt about people sticking their noses in where her appearance was concerned. I was impressed she spoke out, I was impressed with her logic and her sense of self and I noticed my Inner Bag Lady simmering.

I applauded this celebrity's desire to have a discussion about how people are subject to malicious innuendo and how that made her feel. I could relate. We're all subject to behind-the-back, jealous and negative gossip. Where she lost me (coincidentally just when my Inner Bag Lady began to make up really cool protest signs) was when I noticed that she peppered the term misogynistic assault on women several times through her article, insisting that the issue is a feminist one. Was my Inner Bag Lady disappointed, deflated and suddenly depressed? You bet your sweet bippy. Not only did I have to look up what misogyny meant but her need to classify her personal experience as part of a bigger fight – an example of the systemic oppression of women by men in today's society made me one of the bad guys – a MAN! She managed to take what I would be ready to identify with and add my outrage to and reclassified the tongue-wagging, trailer park quality, gossipy attacks on her as examples of misogyny (a hatred of women) rather than something I could get my teeth into, like misanthropy (hatred of the human race) or better yet: simple ignorance.

I became frustrated, hurt and confused... and yes, victimized. I had to console Inner Bag Lady. I love her, she's sparky, emotional, full of zest and gusto and ready to shout out her outrage for a good cause at the drop of a hat. But she's very sensitive. Taking a perfectly good reason to protest away from her is a crime. Doing so by redefining a fairly clear personal affront as a societal issue seems unfair. I started out totally in the same room and was summarily shown the door. Because while I really wasn't one of the bad guys, I was judged so simply because I have a Y chromosome. Woe is Rand.

Oh wait, I just found something to be outraged about. "Help! Help! I'm being victimized by misandristic oppression!"

Inner Bag Lady, placards please. And flyers. And a big, big banner. And maybe some cool ribbons – they're hot these days. What color isn't taken?

The Ghost At The Top Of The Stairs (A Story)

Lots of news coverage from the past this week, including the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic and the 95th anniversary of taking of Vimy Ridge - ghosts of times past. Conveniently,  I was reminded of a story.

A friend of mine grew up in an old house in the country. Her mother, who I'll call Maddy, was of the hippy persuasion and she harbored a deference for both other schools of thought and clean laundry. So ingrained was her respect for other living, growing things that she would apologize to potatoes before peeling them. Hippies were like that.

When Maddy and her young family first moved in to the house, she told her daughter years later, she thought she felt there was something "different" about the house but she gave it no real thought.

The washing machine in this house was on the second floor, accessed by a back staircase from the kitchen. Every time Maddy went up the staircase with a full basket of laundry she would feel herself being gently pushed back. As it continued day after day she understood there must be a spirit in the house who was just trying to let its presence be known. Maddy was okay with that. She was quite willing to share the house with a spirit. After a while she got used to having to spend a bit of extra energy getting up the back stairs to the washing machine. And life carried on.

Then one day, Maddy was not feeling well. She had been up all night with a sick child and as she began going up the stairs with a load of laundry she felt an especially strong push back, one that threatened to knock her back down the steps. Perhaps it was her tiredness combined with a momentary fear of falling that caused her frustration to boil over and she quite uncharacteristically shouted, "Oh look, bugger off! I'm tired of your trying to push me back whenever I come up these steps, I'm not feeling well, I don't care who you are or what your reasons are but I just don't need this today. So, STOP IT!" (Actual wording changed to allow publication.) She then caught her breath, felt a bit guilty for yelling and continued up the stairs unencumbered, never to feel the push again.

No great moral here, but since I heard this story whenever I have felt something holding me back I remember Maddy's story. And my friends have gotten used to me yelling into thin air.

This Thing Called You And Me

You. You are a star in the world around you, defined by talents expressed uniquely. You are the beauty of potential, the grace of spring buds. You are youth regardless of age, art of any form, music of any tune and dance of any step. You are possibility: the reason for hope and optimism. You are what tomorrow holds dear.

Me. I am but a tiny, special part of that world around you. I may be one of several. I am lover. I am mentor. I am friend and cheerleader. I may be around for a moment or a lifetime. I am an ear, a word, a hug or a kick in the pants. I am there when you call. Sometimes I don't have to be there at all because you know what I'd say.

You and Me. I help make part of you shine a bit brighter. The part that points up.

In Praise Of Total Lunacy Voodoo

Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of the crazy samurai hidden within us all. Warrior of the almighty food fight. Defender of the right to belt out the blues. Champion of the almighty grunt. Let us bow our heads and repeat after me: Little shiny objects. Little shiny objects. Amen. 

Coping with the especially deranged freaky people sometimes calls for guerrilla tactics. Because these especially deranged freaky people seem to be immune to logic and reason. Controlling them, like zombies I suppose, calls for the very thing they hate the most. Total lunacy. Anything especially deranged freaky people can't figure out turns the contents of their innards into chocolate pudding. And not the good kind.

To save the human race from collateral damage, most who employ the ancient art of total lunacy only allow their lunacy to appear subliminally, like a silent Ninja assassin, just close to the surface enough to pinch heads between thumb and forefinger from a distance. Or, if you're paying attention, you may find they will leer at especially deranged freaky people when they're not looking while allowing a bit of drool to drip from the mouth. Very effective. Like voodoo. Occasionally though, in extreme situations, you'll find very overt action techniques employed. One is whipping out a large polish sausage, whirling it over the head of the especially deranged freaky people three times, then slamming it on the table in front of them while shouting "Boogey, boogey, boogey!" We call this technique Instant Chocolate Pudding. Do not be afraid unless you think you may be the intended recipient of this curse.

"How much for the women? We want to buy the women." John Belushi. RIP. (30 years ago last month.)

Putting Words In Mouths

For those of you who know me, you'll know I exploit this blog as an outlet to keep my brain from exploding. Lots of stuff goes in during the week and some of it swells into other stuff and I need to let some of it leak out.

For instance, I heard this week that Shari Lewis, (the famous ventriloquist) as a kid fooled her father into thinking her sister was locked in the closet. And that sparked a full spectrum of thoughts. I thought about humor and ventriloquists I have known and I thought about people I know now (who I hate) who are so skilled with words they can shape personalities that have the power to change the world.

A ventriloquist was in a pub doing his act, which included a schtick that included a bunch of blond jokes. A few minutes later, a blonde woman thumped her drink on her table and charged up to the stage, shouting, "As a matter of fact, Blondes ARE NOT stupid!!" The ventriloquist felt a little embarrassed and began to apologize. "I am really sorry, Madam. It's just part of the act," he said. The blonde woman replied, "Keep out of it you, I'm talking to the idiot on your knee!

Edgar Bergen and sidekick Charlie McCarthy were perhaps the most famous of ventriloquist acts in the 20th Century. He began his career at a young age on the vaudeville stage, and made his name through radio and television, making fun of himself and countering jibes from his Charlie. His lips might have moved a bit but what endeared his act to the public was his ability to make the Charlie character believable. The impish Charlie could get away with comments that no adult would be allowed in that time. 

W.C. Fields: "Tell me, Charles, is it true that your father was a gate-leg table?"

Charlie: "If it is, your father was under it."

All has not been an easy ride between ventriloquist and dummy. Comedian Bill Cosby tells the story of the drunk ventriloquist who lived above the Greenwich Village coffeehouse where Cosby got his first comedy job, who had gotten so jealous of his dummy “that he beat it up in front of an audience. People thought it was an act. This guy actually quit the business to keep this thing from getting the laughs.” The art of putting words into people's mouths is a tough row to hoe, indeed. It can get messy. We've all heard of writers who have thrown their typewriters and computers out windows. But when it works, it can be magic.

A ventriloquist walks into a small village and sees a local man sitting on a porch with his dog. He stops and says to the man, "Hello, mind if I talk to your dog?" 
"The dog don't talk," the man responds.
The ventriloquist asks the dog, "Hello Mr. Dog, how's it going?"
"Going okay, thanks," says the dog. The local man jumps in his chair.
"Is this man your owner?" the ventriloquist asks.
"Yep. He sure is," the dog answers. The local man's eyes become the size of saucers.
"How does this man treat you?" the ventriloquist asks the dog.
"Real good. He walks me twice a day, feeds me great food and takes me to the dog park once a week to play."
"And do you mind if I talk to your horse?" says the ventriloquist to the man.
"The horse don't talk," the local man said, shaken.
"How's it going Mr. Horse?" the ventriloquist asks.
"Cool," replies the horse. The local man is now visibly shocked.
"How does he treat you?"
"Pretty good thanks, he rides me regularly, brushes me down often and gives me oats every day."
The local man is now totally beside himself and the ventriloquist turns to him and asks, "Can I speak to your sheep?"
"The sheep's a liar!" the man shouted in a panic.

The art of ventriloquism is one that has been fairly lost to time, church basements and the ghosts of kiddie parties. But the art of writing for other lips is far from dead. Every writer who has ever put pen to paper to build a character is familiar with the challenges. Storytellers, speechwriters, voice actors, brand builders, scriptwriters and animators the world over know that if you can create a character, worlds will follow. It's how you connect with your audience that counts. 

Have a great week everyone! Keep writing, have fun and don't worry about people seeing your lips move a bit.