Tyler Colins's Blog, page 76

Dogpaddling the Quagmire of Debt

I readily confess: I have succeeded in tumbling into the quagmire of debt.  It’s no one’s fault but my own and, as such, I freely accept blame.

At this stage of life, I earn a Comedy-Central salary (i.e. laughable).  In a quest to succeed as a writer, I accepted some “non-challenging” roles, including the current one.  I’d figured it would be short-term, and the last one in the corporate world.  After a decade, “short-term” is a done deal, but the “last” aspect is still possible. 

It’s all good.  A lot has been learned over the years and I’m all the wiser for it.

The one great thing about dogpaddling through a quagmire of debt: I can deal with the stress by eating a whack-load of chocolate.  Nummmmmm!  (There’s always a silver lining.)

You know what?  It may take longer to swim to the other side when you’re dogpaddling, but eventually, you do get there.  

Steam . . . Puzzled . . . Punk

As an aspiring writer, one of the many must-dos of self-promotion is setting up an author profile.  Among other things, from a drop-down list, you select the genres you write.  Easy-peasy.  For moi, it’s mystery.  But what the <bleep> is this—steampunk?  Surely they jest.  Surely it’s a typo.

Surely . . . it exists.  Per Wikipedia, steampunk is “a subgenre of science fiction or science fantasy that incorporates technology and aesthetic designs inspired by 19th-century industrial steam-powered machinery”.  Who knew?  Apparently, not clueless l’il ol’ me.

First note to self: find time to seek out the world and all that transpires within.

Second note to self: read some <bleeping> steampunk!   

Take the Time

Today is about remembering the family, friends, strangers who fought for our freedom, safety, and ideologies.

So why is it so difficult for some to respect PA announcements requesting we take one or two minutes of silence to honor those who served?  A few will even complain that their work or play, or personal time has been disrupted.  My goodness, folks: stop being so bloody selfish and consider where you’d be if others hadn’t offered to sacrifice their lives—for you.

Take the time to offer soundless gratitude for all that you have in your life, because if battles hadn’t been won, you can bet you’d not be enjoying all the things you have today.  Count your blessings.  And offer silent, heartfelt thanks.

Let’s never grow indifferent, and above all, let's never forget.   

Why?

Sometimes, there’s a news story that seems more dramatic than others.  The content is just as dire or disturbing as the others yet, for an explicable reason, it grips you.  And then you begin wondering . . .

Have brutality and callousness, and insensitivity become everyday norms?  What is wrong with people that they can so easy beat up—and kill—another living being?

Do these individuals experience qualms or regrets?  Can they look themselves in the mirror and feel no shame, disgust, or misgiving? 

We truly never know what lies around the corner.  A cheer-filled celebration, simple walk or jog, or long-anticipated vacation could well be the last.  The joy we felt . . . destroyed in a blink.  The hopes and dreams . . . wiped out forever.

It’s been said that media has contributed to desensitization.  Given what’s happening in the world, this seems quite plausible.  But where does it stop?  When does it stop?  Could a “Mad Max” world be far off?

Here’s to keeping the faith, that the world becomes a better place and people are more prone to sober thought than angry or senseless action.  Some may call this a pipe dream.  I call it: optimism.  

Ode to an Arthropod

Mr. Centipede with the multiple feet,

How I’d hoped we’d never meet.

Yet every morning, there you are

Way too close, not that far.

Usually, after a screech and a shiver,

I’d have crushed you into a teeny sliver.

But maybe I’ve grown more caring  

While you’ve become more daring.

As long as you watch your proximity,

I promise not to ensure you’re history.

The Overindulged

Spoiled brats (a derogatory term for some, apropos for others) come in all shapes and sizes, and ages.

By-products of their parents’ upbringing, we can’t really blame them for how they turn out.  We can, however, hope that they’ll outgrow this narcissistic, egocentric phase.

Alas, many don’t.  And, thus, we must be witness to constant raucous tantrums and dramatic limb-flailing, and listen to noisy nattering and jarring whining.  Sometimes, it can prove amusing; most times, it’s irritating.

She said it!  <finger points accusingly>  I’m telling, I’m telling – she’s such a liar!

Mommy and Daddy are rich; I can do anything I want, so na-na-na.  <tongue thrusts forth>

I never did that!  No way.  <several loud foot stomps>  They're all lying!

It’s not about you—it’s all about me!  <face turns radish red>

Familiar?  It’s been said often, in so many ways. 

Ah, for the days of discipline.  No heavy-handed slaps or belt swats.  Merely a swift little smack to the bum.  A stiff little: straighten up and suck it up.

It’s never too late . . . even for those spoiled brats who are (waaaaaaay) old enough to know better.   

Aloha . . . I'm Ba-ack . . .

Big sigggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggh.  

I've returned from the grand land of leis and surfboards, SPAM and mac nuts—my home (somewhere down the great long road of Life).

Had an amazing time, even if I got sick Day 1 and managed to make Mom sick Day 5.  

A peacock-blue ocean glistened and glittered under a brilliant lemon sun.  If it rained, it spat for two minutes; a refreshing little shower.  Trade winds tamed the high temperatures.  Mai-tais were nummy and DQ treats welcome (even when flowing like lava in the midday heat).  People were great, kind and sweet.  . . . And H5O filmed for the new season.  I got to see my two fav characters work on a scene.  How awesome is that, I ask?

Now, it’s back to reality.  Big sigggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggh.

At least there are great photos and pleasant memories to draw upon.  They'll tide me over . . . until the next time.  Already got it planned.  Now, I only need to win the lottery.  LOL

Aloha.  

 

 

 

 

 

Heading Home . . . also known as . . . Taking a (Blog) Hiatus

Haven’t been “home” in a year.  I can’t believe it’s been that long . . . and, yet, it feels as if it’s only been one month.  Time truly does fly--like the Shanghei Maglev.

Another sojourn to Hawaii with Mom begins tomorrow.  For someone so old—sorry, golden-yeared—she’s doing well.  Sure, she’s slower and slighter, and short-term memory is a little, well, short-term.  But she’s in fairly good shape.  Praise the Good Lord.

I do suspect, however, that this will be Mom’s last trip to the great Land of Aloha.  She’s turning 90 in two weeks and the travel time is a bit much (though I must confess that even I find it wearying).

Hopefully, all will go well and, upon arrival, an awesome two weeks will be set in motion.

Here’s to the big 9-0 and being able welcome—and enjoy—another milestone birthday.

Here’s to growing older (and better) with grace.

And here's to just having some plain ol' fun.   

To Post or Not to Post: a Perpetual Conundrum

Every week, it’s a question of what to write.  The options are endless.  Should one post—or not post—about the:

co-worker who’d rather spend (waste) time about “no value added” requests and assignments—the task takes 10 minutes and the lecture (barrage) 20

irony of a veterinarian being an animal abuser, who is now (duly) receiving threats

loss of 14 dogs—beloved family members—at a Saskatoon kennel that perished due to a malfunctioning furnace, which begs the question: was it negligence, ineptness, or insensibility

violence, hatred, biases, greed, jealousy/envy that are as strong as they were centuries ago; time is a teacher, but not necessarily of lessons

hope, faith, and belief that “better” is not merely a word, but a possibility.

U R Loved 2

As previously shared, several episodes these last few months had proven taxing.  

Hissing and spitting—much to my own annoyance and shame—had happened a bit too frequently.  Impatience and frustration—like colds and the flu bug in winter—had run rampant.  Self-control seemed to have gone (waaaaay) south.

Through the madness (foolishness, if you will), my faith had been sitting on a see-saw.  Good/fortunate things seemed to happen to other people.  I felt as if God didn’t love me.

Then, lo and behold, the very day I was thinking that, a car pulled alongside me on a busy boulevard.  A sign on the back read: U R Loved 2.  Off it drove.

A coincidence?  Methinks not.  I don’t believe in them.

The upshot?  Through each new (challenging) day, I must remember: God does indeed love me, too, and that’s really awesome.

I’m going to look at what has so far transpired as the start of a new journey, an education, and an evolution.

And as I’ve oft said (but have been negligent in observing): keep the faith.  No matter what.