A Bowl of Oranges

 Before sitting down to write this, I searched the Internet for a quote about feeling young. My search yielded no substantial results and after a few minutes I gave up.

So, despite the lack of inspirational quote that so often acts as the lede to a column, I’ll say this; no matter how old you might be, always remember how young you once were.

I realize that those words are not of Shakesperian magnitude, but for the proposal I’m about to embark on, I believe that it’s a fitting quip to capture the essence of my anecdote.

I’m 25 years old now, and while I don’t feel old – at least not with the same tragic connotation that so many attribute to age – I do feel as though the world moves quicker and my decisions in life carry a far more severe impact than those of when I was younger.

I’ve gone from debating how to whittle down my Christmas list of toys to imploring logic when determining if it’s best to ask for a gasoline gift card or simply cash to help pay the bills – so Mom, Dad, if you’re wondering, money to pay the bills will make for a better gift than a G.I. Joe command centre.

However, every now and then, it’s nice to take a trip down memory lane when the days were easier and the weather was the only dictator as to whether or not street hockey or an outdoor rink game of puck was on the docket.

Moreover, rather than taking a nostalgic trip down memory lane, it’s subsequently more rewarding to find a venue to live out those descriptive, joyous thoughts of what once was.

I was fortunate enough, that, for a 48-hour period, I was able to revert back to that 12-year-old kid I was (although depending who you ask, I’ve never quite grown out of it) – although when the time called for it, I was able to put my adult hat back on.

I met last Friday afternoon with a anticipating angst to get packed up from work, head home and get dressed up all warm and comfy, much like the days when I was younger ready to play the aforementioned game of street hockey.

You see, last Friday night I was inundated with tales of ghosts and spirits that walk the land at Fort George.

It’d been a while that I’d heard a good ghost story, let alone hear it from someone dressed up in a black cape holding a candle lit lantern while walking through the dark, musty replicas of a fort that holds so much history in our region.

Yes, the stories were a little far-fetched, and while I didn’t anticipate ever seeing any of the spirits the guide so eloquently spoke of, the kid in me was always on the lookout for the sight of something that perhaps only my imagination could conjure up.

I went to bed with a smile on my face knowing that my weekend with my inner child was not about fade as quickly as the candle flame in the lantern at the conclusion of our ghost tour.

With the fall season providing a pristine background with colours as vivid as the pumpkins that lay in the patch that I perused, I spent Saturday afternoon walking through Howell’s pumpkin farm, walking through a corn field maze, taking a nature walk and wondering if the Great Pumpkin would rise from the abundance of orange spheres that lay on the ground pleading with customers to pick them to take home and carve.

While I left void of a pumpkin in my arms, I rejuvenated the images of all the pumpkins I had carved in years prior.

By weekend’s conclusion I realized just how important it is to take time for ourselves and revert back to the innocent children we used to be.

I don’t know about you, but to me, it’s all too easy to forget to take time for ourselves – whether we revert to being a kid or not – and just to relax and enjoy the moments we’re in.

It seems like there’s always something pulling at our coat tails, constantly reminding us that we have a bill to pay, an essay to finish or a deadline we have to meet.

Think about it; how many times have you heard someone say that they don’t take time for themselves? And upon hearing that exclamation, how many of you encourage that person to do just that?

For whatever reason, we feel as though taking time for ourselves is selfish, and we are so quick to find an excuse to do the exact opposite.

While I don’t expect everyone to appreciate my weekend of adolescence, I can’t help but wonder how many of you out there would equally enjoy taking some time for yourself and totally removing yourself from the everyday tasks that consume so much of our daily routine.

My guess; quite a few.

A Clean Pair of Eyes

Twenty one.

Yes, 21 interviews in the next three days. If you want to talk about a daunting, inexplicably mind numbing experience, it’s that right there.

I suppose this endeavour would prove far more rewarding if people weren’t so boring while being interviewed; if they actually told the truth to the questions they were being asked and relied far less heavily on the cliched answers they know we want to hear.

There’s a reason that the phrase, “I can read you like an open book” exists, and it’s for interviews. I know that, with each question that is asked, generally what type of answer I can expect. Partly, this is the fault of the interviewer, as the answers are often found intertwined with the question itself. However, you can’t place all of the blame in one spot. The interviewee is just as responsible for the direction and tone of the interview – something that, if overly abrasive, can ruin all chances all together at an attempt to gain employment.

But I think that’s part of the problem. I belive that people are so frightened to be themselves during this particular process that they revert back to the answers they saw on the Internet to how to answer the question, “what would you say your biggest weakness is?” Instead of saying that their biggest weakness is being original in an interview, they completely (I’m going to make up a word here, so bear with me) hypocrosize themselves (that’s being a hypocrite in the form of a verb) and answer with….wait for it….

Yep, you guessed it – “I’m a perfectionist”. First of all, you are not a perfectionist. If you truly were, you would not be using that answer and would have perfected something else in order to avoid sounding like an unimpressive monotone, all the while thinking you have just come up with the most original and superb answer – we’ve heard it before, you’re not special.

I realize that up to this point, there is some charged negativity towards the human race, but after sitting through a third of those interviews today, I truly belive that sitting down in the forest and talking to a squirrel would be more entertaining and enlightening than some of the answers I heard today.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t fault these people for their performances today – at least not in the traditional sense that fault is found.

It’s strange. As we progress through the times and liberties become more civil and abundant, we’re gradually becoming desensitized to the vast majority of the taboo genres that plagued the generation before us, and yet, here we are, in the most civil of settings (an interview in case I lost you somewhere in that written marathon) and we’re so sensitive to every issue; whether it be race, religions, sexual preference, you name it. All of a sudden, those social taboo’s that are more accepted each day get the clock turned back on them amidst the back and forth conversing of an employer and a hopeful employee.

I’ll chalk it up to one of the anomalies that we’re faced with today, because really, I have no idea how else to properly categorize it.

Interviewing – on either side of the table – is an incredibly difficult thing to do, and yet here I am, chastising the very people who have to go through the process. What I’m trying to get at is that, while a daunting prospect – that of being interviewed, especially for a job you’re especially hoping to obtain – answering questions about yourself should not worrisome. You are who you are, and no matter what answers you give during your interview, people will be able to read through it – maybe not at the time, but certainly some short time into your term of employment.

I think companies should hire psychologists who are capable of reading the subtle nuances of lies that are embedded in a facial expression or body movement while potential people give their responses to an interview. I’m not saying we need to vet the next kid to work the counter at McDonald’s like an Air Force pilot, but let’s see what people are really about and what they choose to embellish during an interview.

I think the results would prove to be something quite amazing, don’t you?

Until then …

Let the Golden Oldies Station Crackle and Come Through

 I swear to God it’s not for a lack of trying.

It’s been 11 days since I last posted something and for the life of me I cannot figure out where those days went, and how I was able to let them slip by without so much of a glimpse of their affairs.

I had fully intended to post something this past Saturday, as the writing itch struck me after making a quick trip to Virgil and back. I remember driving back with the words being written in my head. At the time they sounded well thought out and articulate – now I’m just hoping that I can remember what it was I was hoping to convey.

So here it was, or what it was supposed to be based on what little memory I have been able to sustain from yesterday’s grind of production.

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As I drove away from the Twenty Bees winery, I couldn’t help but notice the surroundings that were exact replicas of those on the drive in from the opposing direction. Granted, this was the first time in a few years that I had spent any time on the open roads – open in comparison to those of St. Catharines anyway – of the quaint and inviting towns of Niagara-on-the-Lake and Virgil.

As the asphalt disappeared under my tires, my eyes were drawn to roadside attractions that were littered on both sides of the yellow line every few kilometers apart or so.

Each sign set into motion an imaginative description of the very sight, and subsequent goods, that were available for purchase only a few short minutes ahead. From grape pies to fresh fruit, no stretch went unmanned by aged citizens with flowery shirts and hats that were far too large – but that in itself brought about the romanticism of the whole experience.

Living in St. Catharines, an otherwise “big” city in comparison to anything close in proximity, I’ve yearned for the small town feel of what used to be home – never quite being able to establish said feeling in the heart of the Niagara Region.

As I drove, there were a few specifics that refused to go unnoticed by both my imagination and thought process. Despite a cool summer, at least based on the historical temperatures of the area being much higher than they were this year, it was a nice, warm September day – the sun was shining, the sky was an ocean blue and the white, puffy clouds that played tag in the sky were hurried along with the breath of the unseasonably warm wind.

The landscape was picturesque and my iPod seemed to become monopolized by songs that one would associate with the scene that unfolded in front of me as I drove. I can’t for the life of me remember what songs were serenading me through the speakers that morning, but I distinctly remember how they fit as perfect as Cinderella’s glass slipper.

I’ve loathed this city for far too long, and it’s become almost cliche in the ways in which I detest it, but there’s something happening on the outskirts of town that not only pull you into their tractor beam of curiosity, but fulfill that feel of small town solidarity.

I’ve driven down this  very road before, and not once have I had the feelings I had that day beg  and push their way to the forefront. Perhaps this place isn’t all that bad afterall. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still eagerly anticipating the day in which I get to pack my bags and catch any type of transportation willing to take me out of here, but maybe, just maybe, for the next few months, there are a lot more enjoyable things at my disposable than I was originally willing to give credit to.

I think part of this experience is due to the fact that I’m a Northern kid at heart. I’ve always been this way, always told I was this way. I have no problems with it, and I revel in the notion that I belong in the bitter cold temperatures only a Northern winter can provide and the lush green forest that houses some of the biggest black flies each and every summer. I won’t say I’m at one with nature, because, well, for one thing I don’t really understand that saying. But, above that, I do enjoy the amenities provided by urban life. But to speak to my original opening of this paragraph, what I saw this day brought back some strong memories of my youth, driving up to Sudbury to visit family and stopping along the way for fresh blueberries – whether to buy or pick for ourselves. Surrounding by rock formations that would be otherwise intimidating if not for the fact that our creation of dynamite is the sole reason in which the roads we navigated our way on were even there.

It’s a bit strange to compare Niagara-on-the-Lake to Highway 69 which leads to north to Sudbury, but there were similarities that were just to prevalent to ignore. Thinking back on it now I should have stopped at a booth or two if for no other reason than to enjoy the atmosphere and the passing conversation between vendor and shopper. I would imagine that, while my time in this region comes to a close I will make a trip or two in that direction again to enjoy one more day in the sun in the place I’ve called home for the past 7 years.

I can’t help but fight off the “you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone” phrase that runs rampant in my head right now, but I know it holds some truth. When I finally move on there will be aspects that I’ll miss, it’s only natural.

But if there is as much truth to the saying as I think there is, I can’t help but wonder if it’s better to feel that way rather than omit the appreciation for what’s there and never leave.

Until then …

Tribute Day

 

Today is September 11, 2009.

Eight years ago I, along with the rest of the world, was witness to one of the most disturbing and sickening scenes I am likely to see in my lifetime – and it happened in my then own back yard.

I was living in New Jersey at the time of the 9/11 attacks and can remember the day more vividly than any other day in my life.

I won’t rant and document each minute of that day, although I could if I really felt the desire to do so.

All I will say is this: The innocent men, women and children that perished that day are still in the minds and memories of everyone and the brave men and women who fought so hard to save so many are the true heroes in this world.

When people protest the wars that the American government started they are fulfilling one of the fundamental rights that the US’ founding fathers had in mind when sitting down in Philadelphia and drafting the constitution. And while I know their sympathies and best wishes are with those in combat, we have to remember that it wasn’t their choice. They serve their country when they’re told to do so and I have nothing but the utmost respect for the soldiers who are merely doing their job.

I’ll never forget what happened that day and the fallout that came as a result. While it was a dark day in history it is one that shed light on the kindness and overall sincerity of a nation that is otherwise dubbed as arrogant and less than friendly.

Today, if just for a second, we’re all Americans – and there could be no finer day to be proud to be one.

All I Want to do is Play Cards

Oh, yes, I remember this blog – the one I said I would post on everyday.

Needless to say, that’s gone by the wayside quicker than a tumbleweed on a Texas summer highway.  That being said, I’m allowing myself to skim through the deck and find a get-out-of-jail free card for the last week or so.

I won’t get into every detail about the restraints that have been present- withholding any writing other than for the newspaper, and even that has been a struggle as of late.

School is back in session and the campus has a renewed energy, one that has lay dormant for the summer months when students spent their hours trying to make a few bucks to pay for the classes they currently attend. It’s a more than welcome change, albeit one that I have to get used to – waiting in line at the Starbucks upstairs is something that will take some adapting.

But that’s hardly even something to complain about, because with September comes the regular grind of the newspaper, and as strange as it may seem due to the sleep deprivation I’ve endured this week – and undoubtedly the weeks to come – those 16-hour production days are peaceful and comfortable.

Our first September issue, or at least the one that I’ve dubbed “Our first issue of autonomy” went fantastic. Granted there was a large learning curve for many people, myself included, it went off without a hitch. Sure, it took a little longer than usual, but I can honestly say this newspaper is now our own. No longer is it a monopoly of one designer, it’s a collaborative effort of every editor, photographer and staff member. I now feel as though we’ve reached a point where we are literally a campus newspaper put together by students who are learning the tricks of the trade – not pseudo professionals who are set in their ways and trump every idea by others because they don’t agree with it.

Yes, our quality may have gone done a titch, but hardly enough to notice – and quite frankly, I like it better for the reason stated above.

The normalcy I yearned for in previous posts has returned and seeing the editors each day and having a chance to interact with them on a level in which journalism dominates the conversation and I’m back amidst people with similar ideologies and social structures.

My summer hours are over, thank God, and am back to the 50-plus hour work weeks. The best part about that is that I am void of complaints in regards to it. Sure having a lot of free and flexible time is nice, but I now feel as though I can incorporate a routine that had been ever so elusive during those excruciating summer months.

Once again, time is flying by. By the time the second issues finds its home on the racks around campus and the community it will be mid September and I know for certain that Thanksgiving, Halloween and Christmas will be imitating Cousin Eddy – knocking on the door without a hint of warning. Editors Note: Cousin Eddy is from National Lampoon’s Vacation series – in case you were wondering.

I’m hoping that today I can muster up some sort of idea for my weekly editorial – one in which that will be encapsulated in not only solid, witty writing, but also of a topic that has some type of relevance to something while still remaining within the realm of something I actually have a strong opinion about.

It’s almost lunch and that means farmer’s market date time with my one and only – best way to spend a friday lunch hour by the way.

Until then …

I Don’t Need A Single Book to Teach Me How to Read

It’s strange, but yet, some things are just meant to remain a mystery.

There are times when you try to help people, give them some time and space to try and right their own ship before intervening – and yet instead of seeing a return to the normal course, you see hurricane force winds take them in the absolutely wrong direction.

Patience is a virtue - or so they say - but it shouldn’t be an arduous task that ends up taking more time and effort than passing a NASA test – but I digress.

Maybe it’s just my own personal chemical make up, or maybe its some twisted wire in my head that has shimmied loose, but there’s a sense of protection – to not let people know exactly the reasoning behind certain moves.

There are two sides to every story – or so they say – but when those sides are being told, shouldn’t each side be the truth, even in interpreted differently? I can only imagine the spin that is going to be put on a certain situation that is in the midst of happening right now.

The sad part is, I can squash it, right now. But I won’t. In a way, it’s like a secret everybody already knows. However, there will be minions who’ll latch on to the first version they here and chastise the innocent.

Truth be told, I don’t think I’m capable of squashing it – I’m not that kind of person. I’m not the kind of person who would go out of their way and spend a great deal of time contemplating the demise of others – or wishing it.

The frustrating/funny part is that I know the other side of the story feels as though they have been done such a great injustice they will stand upon the rooftops and cry for sympathy.

I’m OK with this, for the most part anyway. I know the scenario and I saw how it played out and I saw how the whole thing caused such great emotional distress on others. I suppose only the truly sick and twisted would revel in such a sight, but I do not.

I’m sure the term “coward” has come up at least once, and that’s fine – however, there would have been no finer retribution for me to simply do it myself – face t0 face. But once again, for some reason unbeknown to me, I felt as thought this would help act as some type of protecting agent.

Ah well. I just felt that, as cryptic a post as this is, I had to get some of it out of my own mind and onto paper – or screen.

Until then …

Life’s a Dance, You Learn as you Go

Holy shit.

August is coming to a close and September is closing in quicker than a bee on some open honey – but that’s a good thing. My momentary wishes of time speeding up is apparently coming true, and just in time.

I can’t wait for next week. It’s a lock to be busy and filled with everything I’ll need to take my mind of the minuscule things that have seemed to encapsulate themselves in my everyday life. However, that being said, work is actually a welcome sight. It won’t be too often that those words appear – but when you love your job, it’s not such a bad thing.

Baseball playoffs will actually begin next week, after being rained out a week prior. I’m excited for playoffs to begin, give me a time to shine.

My sister is about to give birth to her first child, and while I’m not terribly excited on a personal level, I’m very happy for her and her husband to start their family. My guess is that it will be a boy, but it’s a toss up and in the end won’t matter as long as it’s got 1o fingers and 10 toes and is healthy.

I’ve had the weekend to myself as a result of this and have been able to enjoy my parents house with some solid a/c and way better food than what currently has taken home in my fridge at my apartment. The nice part though, in reference to my fridge, is that it’s finally filling up and looking like two adults actually live there. Long gone are the days when the only things it contained were a few condiments and a jar of pickles. It really did resemble the kind of fridge you’d see in a television show where a couple of twenty-something males lived and would scarpe the side of the mayo jar for a meal – thank god it never got to that point.

I love my apartment though, it’s spacious and feels like home, which I suppose in the grand scheme of things is the most important. That being said, I can’t wait to move out, as when that time arrives it will signal the true beginning of the next chapter of my life. If things go well, the setting will include a place out east that I will be able to truly call home. We’ll see how it all plays out though, as you never know what may lay ahead.

I’m holding on to that dream, if you will, with a the type of grip you’d use if holdling on to the monkey bars in hurricane force winds. I think it happen, as I have to make it happen and it’s a challenge to do so. I enjoy challenges and revel in their complexity and adversity.

Ahh yes, the times are a changing and I can’t wait to change with them – at least change with them in the sense I don’t get left behind.

Until then …

All the Lights are Changing Red to Green

Ahh, a day off – kind of.

If but for a few hours spent in the office this morning, today belongs to me. It’s nice to be able to clear the conscious, sub or otherwise, of all the hectic turmoil that has gone as far as to plant its roots in my day-to-day life.

But sitting here now in my apartment, which is surprisingly cool considering the time of the season, I’ve come to accept that old adage that adversity will only make you stronger.

While I’m a firm believer in said adage, there are times when I question its motives to the core. Nonetheless, things are shaping up and taking a turn for the better.

I feel as though I’m still in high school – at least in the sense that, as an adult of 25 years of age, I’m inundated with countless conversations that should be reserved for the cafeteria over a sloppy joe and a carton of milk, but I digress.

I’m meeting each day with an overwhelmingly eager anticipation to truly start focusing on work. The September rush has gone from a trickle to a full fledged flood over the dam, and oddly enough I’m ready to swim.

For the last, well, basically all summer, I’ve had to deal with some of the most ridiculous and juvenile HR issues you could ever imagine. Granted they are mainly due to the notion that people are somehow far more important than they are – in their eyes, no one else’s.

It will always amaze me the sense of entitlement some people have, as if they themselves were some type of Deity walking the earth to share their wisdom with all of the stupid people they encounter on a daily basis.

Don’t ge me wrong, I love my job. I can’t think of holding a better job at this point in my life. But, as with anything, the grass is greener somewhere. While I’m looking forward to finding out where, I’m also quite content with the pasture I graze each day.

I’m going to say something that makes me a hypocrite, but I feel as though I must. I often wonder if things in the proverbial “real world” will be filled with far fewer adolescent exchanges. Now, the part that makes me a hypocrite is that I’m in the real world. I’m largely responsible for a company that operates on a budget of more than a quarter of a million dollars and every decision I make will effect the bottom line. But there’s a sense that because we’re locked down in the confines of a university, it’s not quite the real thing – all the while knowing that, full well, it is.

My desire to expand my writing capacity and capabilities are on the horizon, and I’m looking forward to trying my hand at a few new things this year. Of course sports writing will forever be my passion, I’m anxious to get my foot in the door with other types of ramblings – another reason I’m eagerly anticipating the calendars flip from August to September.

I suppose I shouldn’t be so quick to ask father time to speed up his pendulum, as I know one day I will regret it, but for now, just get me to September, to normalcy – a small request.

Until then …

I Feel Like a Quote Out of Context

 Life will return to normal.

It has to at some point and I think it’s coming soon. September is knocking on my door like an annoying salesman at dinner time and I’m happy to turn the knob and hear everything that he has to say.

Editors will be returning soon and will be going about there days lacking the awareness about all the hassle that it will take to get through each day in the next month – and that’s how it should be. How else can I expect them to produce their best stuff if they have to worry about the problems that exist in a quasi non-professional sense.

Granted, I’m going to try and do the same, it’ll just be a bit more difficult. Then again, it’s supposed to be, I’m the guy sitting in the metaphorical chair. It’s almost noon today and the day has flown, despite waking up at around 7 a.m. I kind of enjoy that feeling of time flying by, all the while cursing the clock for seemingly skipping seconds.

None the less, baseball playoffs start tonight and it will be good to totally let go office thoughts and focus on something I love – even if it’s not quite the World Series.

I really don’t think I have a whole lot to get off my chest right now, as a lot of it is still trying to mould its way into some type of coherent sentence structure. I’m just very thankful for the support system I have around me and can’t imagine having those people void from my life. I know that no matter how tough the times may get, I have people whose shoulders I can rest my head on and feel the comfort that is necessary.

Today I feel like going to the mountains. Don’t ask me why, I just do. There’s a type of serenity for me, tucked somewhere between the tress and the sloping grey rock – and if the peaks are dusted with some white snow, all the better. I also wouldn’t be opposed to a gently flowing, meandering river navigating its way between its shores with the gentle hum that only mountain rivers can sing.

If I had a glass in front of me I’d raise it up for a non-sensical toast to what lays ahead and the journeys that I will travel.

Where’d You Go?

I went to a place called “say it, say it, say it”.