In retrospect, caution may have been the order of the day. That is, when ordering lunch in a Toronto Tex Mex eatery with a reputation as dubious as it's name, Henando's Hideaway, one would do best to avoid the mussels. The way I am feeling today makes me think I spent the entire lunch hour licking that dirty Hernando's ass! Rude, yes, but oh so true.

So at home I sit, popping immodium, tums, and eating brick cheese, in the futile attempt to bind me up and prevent by the re-enactment of the title of this post, occurring like clockwork at fifteen minute intervals. As if that wasn't enough, I still have no phone, as a gardening accident gone out of control with a digging machine has rendered my entire building without phone lines. Since last Thursday. No, I am not impressed. And yes, I am saying what I swore I would never say. Tomorrow, I'm getting a fucking cell phone.

We hope you have enjoyed this update from Al's bowels, and that you come back soon.

I have always been a fan of Ann Richards, that big haired and equally big mouthed former governor from Texas. When I say big mouthed, I am in no way saying it as a pejorative; the woman always spoke her mind and I had great respect for her. Time and time again, this unabashedly liberal woman's opinions hit the mark.

The following is something I came across when looking for daily quote inspiration. As you will read, it was too good to simply be a daily quote, so it has become today's post. Enjoy.

Had a conversation with my mother this afternoon that was very surprising, and in many ways, supremely touching. Discussing my parents plans for Mothers Day, the discussion eventually worked its way into some generalities on the day we culturally celebrate mothers.

A day that in the past, as well as today, would always see me remember mom with a card, flowers, and phone call, no matter where I was in the world. Two hours away in Montreal, or half a world away working in Sudan. Happy to say that I never forgot one of those days, though there were times it had been close.

So it was more than surprising to hear the things that mom remembered as central to her experience of that day. It certainly hasn't been the cards and flowers. And actually, not even the phone calls. Strangely enough, it was one card, sent three years ago. One  I had completely forgot about it.

In December of 2006, our family celebrated my mothers graduation with a BA in Canadian Social Justice Theory, from The University Of Ottawa. For several reasons, it was a very special day. Mom had always been a socially active woman, and had been a crisis nurse prior to my birth. Though after that event, her focus was nowhere else, and she was first and foremost, in every way, a stay at home mother. I couldn't have asked for better parenting, and she does not regret a day of doing that. But as so often happens, when her reality became one of this only child leaving home, my mother came to the startling realization that somewhere along the way, she had somehow lost who she was.

The card that I gave my mother on Mothers Day three years ago, the one prior to her graduation, had a simple message.

Dear Mom,

Happy Mothers Day to a woman I am proud to say is in every way a wonderful mother, and at the same time so many other things, above and beyond "my mother".  As your son, the integration of those two realities is what I am the most proud of.

Love,

Al 

Interesting isn't it, these small things we don't give a second thought to. Often they are the ones that others seem to never forget.

To all the mothers out there, happy mothers day. You are everything a mother is, and so much more. 

Because I want to head into the weekend with somewhat better energy and a slightly more positive vibe than the tone of my last post suggested, I offer two selections from my retro eighties teenage years.

The first, a favorite from my days of being fascinated with David Bowie and his hair, and a great song to do that typical eighties "straight guy at a wedding" style of dancing.  Hell, that can be fun for literally hours with the right people.

The second, the theme from the 1983 movie Valley Girl, and a hit from the British import, Modern English. 

In response to yet another "I just can't understand why the fags can't be responsible and use a condom every time", article on the topic of our failed HIV prevention strategies, consider this my response.

Though I should offer a warning.  If you are the type of individual to steadfastly ignore the evidence in front of you, and instead retreat to a position of relative emotional insularity, this may not be the read for you.  As it tends to begin at the place we currently are. I know, what a novel concept.

After twenty six years of a disease, there are some things we can say for sure, and we can be totally at peace with the facts of those assertions.  Lets look at a few, shall we?

Shame, blame, and moralizing ridicule may be wonderful tools to aid in ones perception of personal importance, however as a prevention method for a global pandemic, they actually do little to help.  Many argue, myself included, that they may in fact make the problem worse, by helping to set up dynamics of entrenched and marginalized sub culture, where what eventually manifests as norms in response to unrelenting persecution, are examples of discordant personal and community responses to crisis.

What else have we learned from twenty six years of a plague that has affected the gay community on a scale similar to war time?  We have learned that people are going to continue having sex in the face of a crisis, or under threat of death, or even with great personal risk.  In fact, under these circumstances, many will have more sex than they would in normal conditions.

Another lesson from the past quarter century of public health and epidemiological data?  Abstinence is a rock solid theory on the prevention of HIV, but, like Communism, it just never really works out as planned.  Uganda, for example, has been heralded as the modern example of  "old fashioned values at work".  President Bush gave an unprecedented figure in the high millions to help in that countries fight against HIV.  With of course, a catch.  That condoms be used as only a third line resource; never a first or second line intervention. 

In a country where well over fifty per cent of its female victims acquire HIV through a non choiced sexual encounter, either rape or prostitution out of necessity, the public health professionals would have told you that approach was a recipe for disaster.  It was the correct assumption.  The last stats for the region show HIV infection rates to be up by more than 86%.

I'm going to propose something radical. Radical as in, like radical feminism, relating to the root.  Read it twice if you so require.

If we expect a community, an individual, or a planet for that matter, to respond appropriately in the time of extra ordinary circumstance, then it would be a logical extension that we offer that culture, community, individual, and planet, a standing in society that mandates equality.  That is humanity 101, and is central to the human nature of moral individuals.

This point is so key in this crisis, I cannot understand why we have not been dealing with it from the start.  The gay community of the early eighties was a young and a culturally immature community.  It was also less than five years out of the era which saw Anita Bryant and the Briggs initiative, teachers fired from their positions for being gay, landlords, employers, even stores, routinely deny service to gays and lesbians.  Untold examples of families rejecting their gay and lesbians sons and daughters, brothers and sisters.

July, 1981

Consider what happens when, cruel irony being the bitch that she is, makes her entrance:

Bringing with her a new, fatal in all cases, very disfiguring gay cancer. 

It happens to target a community not accepted in most ways by a very fearful, hostile and intolerant greater society. 

Add on a good fifteen years of unrelenting death.

Don't add in a cure, because there was none.

But please, add in more death. 

Add in grieving and more grieving, eventually experienced as a learned art.

Entire circles of friends - gone.

Cut to 1996.  

For the first time since this crisis began, people start to whisper about hope.

The whisper turns into an official announcement.

New medications. 

People stop dying in massive number.

And, like human beings are known to do, people react in very human ways. 

Many say thank God, I can now forget for a while. 

Many see the beginning of an end they dream, hope, and pray for. 

And a few, see it for what it is....

Cruel Irony: Act II

Rinse, repeat.

Cut to 2008.  Well, what do you know? We have a prevention crisis in the gay community!

Now, please ask yourself:  Is it not possible that the dynamics I describe very briefly above, could have helped in part to create a less than optimal environment in which to self advocate for personal health?  Or, a less verbose way of saying it;  the past two and a half decades have been one hell of a twisted mind fuck for an entire community.  It has known more loss, with an equal amount of non acknowledgment, than most people could ever conceive of. 

Some may ask why the intense detailing.  Because, it shows that our community response to this crisis is not the norm.  The actions people counter with, are, in many ways, only adding to the problem.  Whether it be the right wing fundie, or the puritanical gay man still not over his sexual shame who harshly condemns, or the "not a care about anybody else in the fucking world" methed out party boy who has unprotected sex with everyone from Toronto to San Fran.  Our responses culturally, and our responses personally, are often making this situation worse. 

Strange?  Ironic?  Evil?  Flagrant disregard for life?  Suggesting a lack of humanity?  Hardly.  What these responses demonstrate, are the textbook markers and clinical identifiers of community acquired post traumatic stress disorder. Reacting out of the range of what "should be done", is an entirely normal response given the current context.

As I have had several questions via email regarding The Letters Project, the joint fiction serial that Tater and I are writing together, I thought I would take this opportunity to explain how specifically the project is being posted, both here and at Tater's site, and why.

As Tater and I have indicated already, The Letters Project is a co authored, ongoing fiction series, that is using a dual site format. In other words, one week the entry will be at my site, the next week the entry will be at Tater's site.  The reasons for this are several. 

One, it is a way of writing and publishing fiction that in the blog world, has not been done before. We both liked the idea of a common story being posted at our respective sites, taking advantage of the individual authors site's tone and characteristics, thus helping to mold the piece which that author has written.

Another reason for the posting at different venues is in the idea of future publication. It is important to us both that in the event we decide to publish the work elsewhere, that it not be considered to have been a fully published piece. By keeping the parts separate and individually archived on completely different sites, the publication options with respect to first rights of publication remain ours to dictate, should we decide to publish the work, in whole or in part, elsewhere. 

Since Tater and I both use the same blogging software, one thing we did with regard to site structure, was to write and archive this project in a separate journal than the main page of our blog.  Once again, the reasons were numerous.  Easier for archiving, for access, and it has the benefit of keeping the entries separate and distinct from that of our regular online journal.  We understand this was not explained well from the outset, and we apologize for any confusion in accessing any of the entries thus far.  We have realigned the site structure of both of our sites to make access easier.  From today onward, the following format will be utilized at both our sites.

In the sidebar of each of our sites you will find a link entitled The Letters Project. Clicking that link will bring you to The Letters Project journal where all the entries that either Tate or I have written, are archived and stored.  The first contribution to the project will be the entry that is displayed.  The next page will hold the next entry posted and so on, until the last entry displayed will be the current entry.  A reverse chronology if you will, than is used on most blogs.  We are going from oldest to newest, not the other way around.

How to find previous entries? By clicking The Letters Project link in the sidebar that I mention above, a drop down folder will open in the sidebar, and all previous entries, part one to the current installment, will have corresponding links to that entry, whether it is on my or Tater's site. Those links are now active in the sidebar of both our sites.

One thing that we do ask, is that if you are going to make comments on the entries, please use the comment field for that specific entry. If you have any further questions regarding structure and how to access the individual entries, please leave a comment on this entry and we will address it immediately. Thanks for your patience and once again, we apologize for any confusion regarding how to find and access the entries for the fiction series, The Letters Project.

It's that time again. Tate's turn with the fiction series, part four of our collaborative writing project, The Letters Project, Part 4, Corridors, is now posted at his site for you to read. Click here to read and see what he has in store for you this week.

Links to the previous three episodes can be found on The Letters Project page (linked in the sidebar) on both of our sites.

I thought today would be a good day as any to offer a few updates on the goings on of Karen, Dan and the clan as they settle into a routine in London, and the new resident who is sharing my living quarters: Abercrombie the dog.

First off, I am happy to report that Karen, Dan and the twins arrived safely in London, and have enjoyed a week just getting settled in, and spending time with Karen's younger sister, Emma, an art therapist for the London school board. Originally they had planned on staying with her sister and her fiance, but weren't sure about living in such close quarters for an entire year. Evidently, those were needles worries.

Suffice it to say they were pleasantly surprised to learn that the fiance was significantly more "resourced" than Emma had let on, and they were relieved to discover the size of the flat they were to share was, as Karen put it, "more than large".  I've seen pictures, and trust me, it is a bloody mansion! They have a fully functional separate two bedroom suite with its own entrance, kitchen, "parlour" and two bathrooms. Of course making my decision to visit, one that may see multiple occurrences over the next year.

Dan started his position with the air ambulance helicopter service last week, and it is apparently been quite the transition. While the basics of paramedic scope and practice are similar, he is finding the orientation and all the local specifics to be quite the learning curve. In many ways I miss the clinical elements of paramedic work, and this position is one I really envy. I have no doubt that after the initial "newness" wears off, Dan will be hitting his full stride and be having a ball.

Karen is planning on adding a once a week entry to the blog, writing on something local and specific to London. She has asked me to put out the word for any suggestions readers may be interested in regarding postings she could write about. So, anything you want to know about London first hand, now is the chance. Leave your suggestions in the comments.

Abercrombie, the Lab / Poodle cross is actually quite the model canine I am finding out. He is more than mannered, is quiet (relatively), and thankfully, is the latest object of Singher's undying affection. So far, so good! Though as I am finding out, walking two dogs this size has proven to be a bit of a unique challenge when doing the old poop and scoop, but I'm learning quickly.  Overall, I have to say that things are going well with two canines in the house, though I am not naive enough to think this is anything but the honeymoon period. A nice way of saying; expect a ranting update sometime soon.

With my thesis defense set for less than two weeks away, posting will be relatively light until then. I am using it as a chance to finally fill up the archives with older posts. On that note, here are some ruminations from last year on the concept of North American success and celebrity.

*** 

We North Americans are a funny bunch. The power, the trust, and the loyalty we give to mass media and pop culture opinion, is, given our relatively high educational levels and capacity for independent thought, rather perplexing. Nowhere is that dynamic more pronounced than in our perception of celebrity and fame. Just as fast as we catapult an unknown to fame, one supposed transgression will see them in a rapid descent. And expectedly, much harder and faster than the ascent.

Below, I take a look at two recent events which ask some insightful, and ultimately disturbing questions around the idea of personal domain, and the expectation of safety, for those we place on a pedestal. Before aggressively knocking them off.

The Grammy Awards is a show that, if on when I happen to be channel surfing, I'll give a cursory view to.  Not being a major fan of up to the minute popular music trends, I can take or leave the awards and self congratulatory recognition fest.

I know, I know, one should never say never.  Since last night, for a few moments anyway, I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere but sitting in front of my TV, watching The Dixie Chicks take home an unprecedented five awards.

Seeing three talented, strong, and proud women, achieve excellence and peer recognition, in spite of the PR nightmare the last few years has been for them, was inspiring. It wasn't long ago that their CD's were being burned in public venues. And while the press was engaging its arrogant mode of justified vilification, and the women were subject to relentless harassment, actually culminating in death threats, the reality based among us were left asking why.  And how, in a democratic America, could that be the response to three individuals expressing sincere, albeit harsh, criticism of our leader.

As the tide has slowly turned in our collective response to the situations we find ourselves in half a world away, public consensus has experienced a paradigm shift. If you reference what I described in the opening of this piece, and apply The Dixie Chicks five time win, broadcast live to millions, the true nature of how we form and shape popular opinion can be seen as the fickle and inherently flawed application it often shows itself to be.

In closing this thread, as far I'm concerned, The Dixie Chicks can "make nice" whenever the hell they are ready, not being guided by the current tide of popular opinion, but rather by their core beliefs. I don't really know what can be more American than that.

A more sobering example of fame, expectation, and the culpability of popular culture and media can be seen in the recent events leading up to the death of Anna Nicole Smith. In a culture that elevates one to celebrity, not on talent, but on a"market share of the minute" mentality, what role do we have, if any, as consumers and providers of that quest for the elusive fifteen minutes of fame?

As sudden and tragic as her death was, a retrospective view would suggest a woman in a serious state of unbalanced crisis.  The death of a son, the paternity of a newborn still in question, rumored heavy drug use, and the ever present on cue media intrusion add up to quite the heavy emotional tole. True, the limelight is where she wanted to be, in an almost obsessive fascination with her own celebrity. But I think the question becomes, when do we, once again as consumers and producers of that celebrity, say enough is enough?

A recent edition of Larry King Live had an almost incoherent Anna Nicole, attempting, and I stress attempting, to talk about her departed son, as well as her recent troubles. In one particularly visceral moment that was clearly not meant to see air time, a stage hand adjusted her microphone, and attempted to "prop her up", as she was literally sliding off the chair.

Do we ever reach a point as a culture, that we view examples such as these with a genuine concern, not only a morbid fascination with personal troubles? In an environment of ratings, and harsh competition for the "exclusive", is something getting lost? Would it have been so difficult to take a stand, and not provide a platform for this troubled woman's public self destruction? In a popular culture where many want a piece of the gold known as celebrity, the human in that equation is often sadly overlooked.

As consumers, questioning, looking beyond the glossy stills and sound bites, then articulating our own ethical standards in relation to what is mass marketed down our throats, is a practice that we will hopefully engage. As sensationalism at all costs, has levied quite the price.

It's fat-free, comes in a ton of flavors, and it's for ... dogs.

Introducing "Dogissimo" — an ice cream created specifically for canines. Which, as of this weekend, has gone on sale at my local high end coffee shop.

Sitting on the enclosed patio at Terez, the Yorkville coffee shop and bistro, Allison and I had blood orange smoothies, while Singher had a one cup serving of Mint Mutt - evidently her favorite, as she passed on the Snicker Poodle.  Judging by the way she attacked her cup of the green stuff, and is now sporting a fashionable green moustache, this new find has the potential to become a hit during the dog days of summer.

Every once in a while, probably more than I care to admit, I have the ability to shed my Gen X cynical skin, and revert to an embarrassing state of sentimentality. Today was no exception.

In my constant attempt to down size and become more echo friendly, I am slowly purging unwanted and unnecessary "stuff". Never underestimate how difficult this is for a pack rat. Going through some old papers and letters, ones that have been occupying space for longer than I care to remember, I stumbled across the following passage. It was printed on old parchment paper, worn and yellowed from decades of age. I was immediately brought back to a day a little over twenty years ago.

My Uncle Jack had always been my favorite uncle. Brilliant, engaging, in his presence I felt I could conquer the world. A tenured professor at The University Of Alberta, he possessed doctoral degrees in philosophy and anthropology, and had a voracious, almost living thirst for knowledge. Not only a respected academic, my uncle's late teen years found him defending his country in WW 2. I recall being captivated with tales of that time. Not of the war, but of meeting, and falling in love Katherine, the woman who would become his wife, then only a teenage girl living in London.

When I was fourteen Jack died after a long battle with lung cancer. This had been the first death of someone not only close to me, but one I idolized. I remember after the funeral, after the guests left the reception, my aunt Katherine pulled me aside. Through tears, she told me how, at the end of the war, Jack's Army unit was the first to arrive at Auschwitz, helping to liberate the prisoners of that horrific place.

An elderly Jewish man, gaunt and barely able to walk, handed Jack a piece of paper. Through tears he thanked my uncle, explaining he never let himself give up, even though hope often seemed too painful. The man then reached into his shirt pocket, handing Jack a worn piece of paper, explaining that without fail, the words on the worn sheet were words he read every morning of his imprisonment. When my uncle asked him why they were so important, he answered simply, "they made me remember I mattered". The man requested that Jack keep the piece of worn paper, explaining that to him and many of the other prisoners, Jack represented the hope this man had never let themselves give up on.

My uncle had never told that story to anyone but my aunt, though he faithfully kept the paper in his night stand for almost forty years. As she handed me the parchment paper, I was told Jack had planned on giving it me for my eighteenth birthday. Katherine relayed how the words had been an inspiration for Jack's many pursuits and accomplishments. He had wanted to pass it on to me, as she said I reminded him of himself. I was profoundly touched that he had wanted the same inspiration, the same opportunities for success he had been given, for me.

Before going back to join the others, my Aunt Katherine looked at me and smiled, "You know, he wanted you to have this because he was sure you wouldn't let him down. Make sure you don't".

When I look at the events in my life, the many pursuits, the more than a few failures, the many successes, that gift from my favorite uncle, and the legacy of human spirit it represents, have always played a part in my motivations. I never forgot where, at least in part, that resolve has stemmed from.

I've reprinted the words from that page below. The passage is unattributed, and is a simple but priceless message, a reminder that yes, we do in fact matter.  All of us.

Every person born into the world represents someone new, someone who never existed before, someone original and unique. It is the duty of every person of Israel to know and consider that he or she is unique in the world in his or her particular character and that there has never been anyone like him or her before, for if there had been…there would have been no need for him or her to be in the world. Every single person is a new thing in the world, and is called upon to fulfill his or her particularity to the world. That is the honor.

While the once weekly 80's gay dance fest at Zippers bar is most often tons of fun, and has become a staple event on Sunday nights for myself and several friends, sometimes the musical selections from my favorite decade are, well, let's just say, to be expected. While for the most part it's all good, there really is only so much La Ista Bonita, Girls Just Want To Have Fun, and Prince that I can take.

Having been the ultra preppy kid who listened to alternative and punk bands most of my high school life, even my favorite 80's hits are slightly alternative. So in what is a double edition of Friday videos, here are two eighties hits that need to be played more at our local Sunday night dance fest.

First up, The Cure. With the specific selection that is best danced to with that snobby attempt at a bored indifference, and a mild snarl / pout that says you really do understand what this song is about, because no one else does. So there.

Your bonus track today is from The Cult.  Another selection sadly missing from the Sunday night line up. Though I have heard through the grapevine that the reason this last selection is not often played, is that management didn't appreciate the faux slam dancing that ensued from a few of the more "energetic" patrons the last time. What can I say? Oops?

Chris from Creek Running North made some interesting and relevant observations recently regarding the idea of online discourse. Is it even possible for us to have a truly humane discourse on line? Chris said:

Sometimes the negative links direct attention to things that need to be addressed, to offenses that would have flown under the collective radar in offline life, and sometimes the mass uproar that follows educates people who would not have been reached by position papers. As a glorified phone tree to alert people to actions that need to be taken to combat short-term horrible, the net is a wonderful thing.

It’s just that it seems to me that there’s a threshold of linkage beyond which political discussions, as opposed to political alerts, become less than useful over time. I’m not suggesting any hard and fast metrics, but I do know that some of the most useful, challenging, rewarding and worthwhile conversations I’ve read online have taken place among regular readers of the blog in question, and I know that I’ve seen outside linkage derail more useful and enlightening conversations than I can count.

I like how Chris points out the duality here. That for every negative conversation in the blog world, there are ones that reflect the opposite point. Balance then, is key. However as many of us know, balance, is very often hard to maintain. Given what occurred yesterday on Joe.My.God via a small number of comments leaving some real vitriolic sentiment for a gay father, and then keeping up the attack at the guys own blog, this is a discussion we as a community really need to have.

The outcome yesterday wasn't good. To be fair, I'm sure it was not Joe's intention to cause this individual any damage, and he has issued a heartfelt apology, but the fact remains, the man in question took down what was his very inspirational and high quality site. I think we need to ask ourselves, ultimately, who plays a role when those things occur?

It's an important question, as silencing voices, is the opposite of what we are supposed to be doing here. Isn't it? Thoughts?

Sometimes I really have to wonder. Do people actually read anything anymore? Ever? The catalyst for my query arrived last night in the form of the email below. For that extra treat, I've maintained the original spelling.

Dear Alen,

How is your day i belive all is well, good.

My name is jenifer, i saw your profile today and became intrested in you, am looking for a nice man that knows how to take cara of a woman that can take cara of me in anything. i will also like to know you more, and if you can send an email to my email address, i will give you my pictures here is my eadras. I believe we can move from here! Awaiting for your mail to my emaila address above

jenifer.

Not to be an asshole, because I'm sure Ms. Jennifer is a wonderful and charming woman, but I'm curious. Is "Has quite the soft spot for big, rugged, unnervingly intelligent men with facial hair and expertly honed kissing skills", excessively vague? Exactly what part of that does "jenifer" not understand?

Once again, not to be cruel, because it is obvious that English is not this womans native tongue, but the fact remains that if the task of spelling one's first name proves difficult, whatever the reason, then expecting one to be a pro at perceiving more than subtle nods towards sexual orientation; might be somewhat of an unreachable expectation. Or, maybe I'm just too damn demanding and need to stop being so bloody critical all the time. After much thought and consideration, I'm going with the unreachable expectation option.

Am I the only one who gets this stuff? Because now is your chance; tell us your weirdest email story. Please someone, top this! The permanent host of crazy is not what I'm gunning for.

Just a quick update to ask that if anyone has any problems reading the site in any specific browsers, just drop me a line and I'll take a look. Yes, I have changed the site design, yet again. For the most part the changes are very small in nature, and you shouldn't find any major differences in your reading experience.

I decided on more of an old typewriter look for the style of the pages, which is supposedly more user friendly from a readers experience. Or so says my latest inspiration, Elements Of Minimalist Style: web designers discuss form.

Thanks in advance.

It's when I realize that scenes like the above are not the exception, but the rule, that I am thankful I live where I live. From our front door, Singher and I are a five minute walk away from a ravine home to all manners of wildlife.

Five minutes in the other direction, a scenic walk to the heart of downtown Toronto. On our walks, Singher and I will often see many like the cute cub above. Who, I have decided, we will call Whitebeard.

Picked this up over at Theriomorph's site. A site and an author that, apparently, are much more restrained than myself and my site, coming in at a very low 5.5% cussability. Our result you can see below.

The more relevant point of how I am supposed to use this critical piece of information is beyond me. I think I'll just chalk it up to one of those file useless information and save  for a bored meme day. Or something similar. 

Now your turn. What is your sites cuss factor?

Was talking with a friend today, one who I haven't spoken with in a while. Brian is living in London at the moment, having taken a temporary contract. I was pleased to hear that it was something he was enjoying, and on some deeper levels, he was finding himself closer to where he wants to be in his life.

Which for a change, I was glad to hear. Very much like I am, Brian has been known to occasionally over analyze his specific situations to an unhelpful degree. The problem with that for both of us, has been an inaccurate focus given to whatever it was we were analyzing. Thus, perspective is often skewed, and often wrong. This time though, he seemed content; happy with how things had mapped out.

Our conversation eventually drifted into the idea of happiness being best achieved by a personal willingness to live a few self defined, core beliefs that we come to an awareness of on our own. Specifically self referential, the reward that may be garnered from these beliefs, comes in the ability to know a life lived with consistent principle. That's one thing I believe most of us want, and if I look at the people I respect and view as really having their "stuff" together, they all usually have that element at their core.

So branching off from that theme, here's quite the meme. What are your three major themes that you try to live your life with an awareness of. I don't mean "rules" or things with a very narrow focus, but instead ways of looking at the world and the things you view as important in it, that influence how you interact with yourself, and others?

The following are my top three.

1. What I've talked about a few times before, that being the concept of "directional flow", is something that is hugely important to me. The idea that our general intent, and our way of realizing and experiencing the world and others in it, is coming from a positive and genuine vibe, not an insincere and constructed one. Obviously there is a lot more to the concept of directional flow, but at its core it recognizes that if we act with positive intent, building up instead of tearing down, then our actions are aligned with a karmic good, and fundamentally incompatible with negative harm. Update to #1. This always has a tendency to sound similar to "we create our own reality, thus we decide what will happen". No, that is not directional flow. That is a philosophy that I don't put a lot of stock in, as ones choices and decisions are always, to some degree, dictated by circumstance. Therefore we are not always responsible for the creation of our own reality.
   
2. Having the most authentic and personally beneficial relationship with family and friends as I can. Being a good friend and family member in not only intention, but demonstrated action. As I've gotten older the number of friendships I have maintained has decreased in amount, but largely increased in quality as well as the ability to know a deeper and more authentic relationship.
3. Lastly, what has become more important the older and more mature I become, is to recognize we all arrive where we are by our own navigation, that is entirely dependent on our own timing. And that is based on a whole set of complicated experiences and life events that I, or you know nothing about as it applies to anyone but ourselves. So I really try not to judge things so harshly. Except, and this is a big one for me, except where there is damage occurring to another, there is no use or benefit in judging others experience, as they need to know the experience for what it is to them. Not what it is to me. I think in 2008, this concept is key in both a personal context, and more importantly, a societal and global one.

Not specifically tagging anyone, though if anyone does want to tackle it, I'd be really interested to know what you view as your important themes you attempt to live life by.

A central reason that I view the show Six Feet Under as my favorite show of all time, besides the brilliant writing and the general philosophy of what that show attempted to do, was because of Lauren Ambrose, the actress who played the role of Claire Fisher. Beautiful, enduring, funny and a little bit tragic, she was the teenage girl that I was sure I would have been, if, you know, I had been a teenage girl.

Okay, moving on. Though there are many favorite scenes I can recall from that show, the following is one which depicts Claire higher than God in that X touchy / feely kind of way, and the first time I saw it, it caught me completely off guard.

The punch line of the following scene had me rolling on the floor in laughter, as it really was so ahead of its time. The events of the past few weeks in white, liberal progressive blog land, only serve to highlight the irony of my posting it now. Enjoy.

Because there really is no sense in feeding you a line of bullshit over it, yes, this is a particularly tough entry to write, Since I have to admit, today has been a particularly tough day. The extent to which, has both surprised and humbled me.

No, nothing is wrong, no one is sick, and Singher is as crazy as ever. What has me more than a little bummed, is that tomorrow evening at this time, two of my best friends and their twin boys will be on a plane to London, ushering off their year of living and working abroad.

But I need to be clear; I am more than happy for them, truly. Dan has taken a position that if I was still working for the flight medic program, I too would have jumped at. Not to mention the opportunity for Karen to spend a year with her sister, and be able to enjoy what will be the third year in the life of their twins, in one of the most exciting cities in the world.

Though when it comes right down to it, I really don't think that I ever considered just how much of a role those two people have played, and continue to play in my life. It's beyond friendship, it transcends the limiting boundaries of straight and gay bullshit, and it's something I have been supremely blessed to enjoy in my life. I think perhaps I feel a little guilty that it has taken the fact of them moving away, to make me see exactly how important that has been.

So, not to draw this out anymore than is necessary, and because I steadfastly refuse to turn this into a painful, ritualistic goodbye, and thirdly because when Karen gets settled she will do a once weekly update from across the pond, for all those reasons, I will close. So, to Karen and Dan, two of the best friends I could hope for, I love you both, take care of each other, and be safe. I will see you soon.

PS  And just remember, you have to come back because I'm the sucker who is feeding and boarding your mangy flee bag!