A quick note from NOLA ...

Well my friends, I'm finally here.

My best friend it married, Baton Rouge was fun, and NOLA is a mass of drunk, screaming, heavily beaded people. In short, I love it. I have taken soooooo many photos, I might have to make an online album and link it for you when I get back. And more pictures coming tonight.

I was sitting here a few moments ago, pondering the fact that in my short time on this planet, I have seen some amazing, once-in-lifetime things; The Ducks winning the Stanley Cup, an original first folio of Shakespeare, and Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

I'm a lucky bear!

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Laissez le Bon Temp Rouler!

No, I don't know French. I got that phrase from a Mardi Gras website. But I fooled you for a second, no??

Sneaky, I am!

Well, I'm finally off to the deep south. Louisiana will mark the 37th state I've visited in the US. Most of the states I have yet to see are actually in the South, so I think I'm making some headway ... not that I'm rushing right off to go visit Mississippi or Arkansas. No offense to anyone from either of those states, I'm just not anxious to feel like a walking hate crime any time soon.

That last statement didn't make it any better, did it? Oh well.

As I've mentioned previously, I will take copious amounts of photos. It's truly a momentous occasion when a Polar Bear heads South, and I will not let you down. Megan has promised to feed me things called "King Cakes," which apparently have little baby Jesus' in them? I'm excited!

I'm leaving in just a bit to go to the airport, where hopefully my plane won't have come from some snow-drenched city, and will not be late. From LAX, I fly into George Bush International Airport (yippee), where I will rent a car, and drive the 4 hours to Baton Rouge. Why did I chose this path of insanity? I don't know. I was in Long Island at the time - apparently I needed an adventure. On Friday, there will be much wedding prep; I'll probably miss the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics (a howling bear-scream of pain!). Saturday, my best friend Megan is getting hitched at 9:00 a.m. (repeat howling bear-scream of pain!), with a reception and the Baton Rouge Spanish Town Parade to follow (hooray!). Sunday, we're all going to N'awlins. Monday/Tuesday? Who knows. The world is my Walrus (get it? Polar Bears don't eat Oysters?...anyway).

If I can live blog from either Baton Rouge or NOLA, I totally will.

As for you, my fine and fancy friends, I hope you have a gorgeous weekend, I hope you watch the Olympics (and send me copious updates!!), and I hope you picture me, your ever devoted Polar Bear, covered in hot pink, with beads, eating King Cakes, and drinking mint juleps. If I can achieve that? Well ... My 20's might be complete.
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This blog post brought to you by:

The Louisiana travel board
Continental Airlines
My best friend Megan
The Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics

[writer's note: I really love my friend Megan. There is nothing in the world I wouldn't do for her. I've turned down three jobs just so I could come to this wedding... so as I howl in pain about getting up early, and missing the Olympics, please know, I'm bluffing for comic effect, which totally ruins the joke. But oh well.]

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I'm a twit ... er ...

Last week I did something I thought I'd never do: I started a twitter account. No, there's no need to judge me. I'm doing a fine job all on my own.

Sicker, still? I can link my twits here, to my blog. Look at this nonsense! -------------------------------->

My major aversion to twitter is based in the private sector; why do I need to know what you, or anyone, is doing at any given moment? Why do I need to be alerted? I can be your friend and fully support you without needing to know that you need to go to the store and buy more toilet paper.

I have contested that the ONLY use for twitter, the only possible good it can do, is to help bands, theatres, performers, etc., with free publicity. For example, this morning on my twitter, I found out that St. Vincent was on NPR's Morning Eclectic. Had I been better about checking my twitter, I might have known about it last night. But alack and alas, by the time I got the news it was over and done. See? I can join twitter, but I still don't have to be more informed!

In all seriousness, this twitter account is for the soul-purpose of publicizing my examiner.com column. So I will tell all 23 (plus random guests...hi!) of you, that should you ever find the inclination to read my articles, you can link to them on my blog, through the twits on the right, which are sent out through my examiner account.

I am *way* too connected.

I do get a measly pittance every time I have clicks on my examiner page. Just throwing that out into the universe, and seeing where it bounces.
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This blog post is brought to you by:

Twitter
examiner.com
Quaker Oats Squares Cereal
My own shame

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Luck vs. Destiny vs. Personal Control

I've noticed (through my relatively brief years on this planet) that many people fall strongly on one side of a three way battle between luck vs. destiny vs. personal control. What I'm about to say is grossly over-generalized, but bear with me.

I know many people of various religious persuasions fall strongly on the "destiny" side. God has a plan. Things happen for a reason. Typically that "reason" seems to be related to the aforementioned plan of God. Didn't win the lottery? God decreed it must not be so. Struck down with a terrible disease? It must be God's will. Been wronged? God will set it right. God has mapped it out for us, and that's the path we're destined to tread. In essence, God is the major Insurance CEO and Head Cartographer. Bam.

Now I know that not ALL spiritual/religious folks believe this. Some faiths readily contest that man was given free-will by God; ergo man is readily equipped to fuck up at will. Made a bone-head move? That's all you. But the good things - well that's God, naturally.

Then there are those that believe in Luck; that chaotic gambler of mysterious circumstances. Luck seems to be readily distributed in inanimate objects. Luck is, rather unluckily, a fair-weather friend. Knock on wood, don't change your game socks, wear your lucky necklace all the time - even in the shower. Maybe you win 50% of the time. That's okay; just think how little you'd win without your magic object?! As such, ritual is often involved. Ironically, Ritual is also involved in destiny - it's just called prayer.

There's a heathenistic sub-culture of vagrants who believe not in things, not in prayer, not in anything - except themselves. Often, I've found that these people don't believe in a deity or an idol, but rather they believe in themselves, arrogantly and absolutely. These people make their choices, stick with their decisions, and head right into the storm, come what may. There's an absolute freedom in this. It's also a hell of a lot scarier than Destiny or Luck. What happens if we're not enough? What happens if we can't blame anyone but ourselves? Personal Control is the free unknown, the black hole of the future, the destroyer of insured happiness.

And then there's me. I readily utilize all three of these doctrines. Sometimes at the same time.

Here's an example:

I wore my Scott Niedermayer jersey while watching the Ducks play the Kings tonight. They won 4-2. The last game I watched, I did NOT wear my Scott Niedermayer jersey, and they lost, 4-5. Therefore, I need to wear my Scott Niedermayer jersey for all of the games I watch for the rest of the season. OR ELSE. (They won and lost games when I was in Long Island, but since I couldn't watch them on the television, my luck was neutral and didn't matter... Yeah. I'm THAT powerful.)

I submitted my resume for a PR job late last week. I have not been contacted for an interview, even though I know I'm more than qualified. I'm okay with this; it's for the best. It's obviously not meant to happen. That's all you, G-O-D.

I'm now writing Indie Music articles for examiner.com. Do I have any journalism experience? No. Am I hipster who hangs out at record stores and spends all my money on over-priced bootlegs of obscure and elitist bands? No. Why am I doing it? Well ... why not? I went into college wanting to be a rock journalist for Rolling Stone. I can hold my own enough to write about things that interest me, and hopefully other people. Go big, or go home. I can make this whatever I want it to be. If I suck ... it'll only cost me readers.

One of the books I'm reading right now is a non-fiction account of hiking the Ulster Trail around the circumference of Northern Ireland, written by Will Ferguson. In one passage of the book, Will is told by locals that the Hawthorne bushes that ominously dot the North Ireland farms along the trail are "Faerie thorns," and Farmers won't cut them down, for fear of the wee fay folk seeking revenge and wreaking havoc on the poor farmers, their families, and their farms.

Will asks one Farmer, "Surely you don't believe in faeries and spirits."

The Farmer replies, "I don't. But that may not matter."

And that, ladies and gents, is a sound philosophy in a nutshell.
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This blog post is brought to by:

Will Ferguson
North Ireland Faeries
The Anaheim Ducks
chocolate pudding

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Feelings ... nothing more than.

I go through, as I know we all do, periods of complete neuroticism - I analyze everything, I feel everything, I seem to care about everything. I get serious, I get sullen, I feel greatly inferior to at least 90% of the people around me; and even some who aren't. I've spent the better part of the last month feeling like this - it happens when I spend a lot of time on the East Coast.

I get frustrated. Both with myself, and with the people around me. I've been feeling continually penalized for being a passionate person. This is also magnified by the fact that I'm so damn sensitive. My sensitivity has always been a double-aged sword - it's helped me so much in my life, in my understanding and empathy of others, not to mention my life in the theatre - but the blade is so often turned back against me. I make myself an easy target, and what flimsy walls I've constructed to repel the onslaught, buckle and become useless. It's Macbeth's vision of the dagger before he kills Duncan - is he using it to the kill the king? will it just kill him instead? Answer: Both.

When I care about something, it's not just a mild concern - it's a full-on force-field of feeling, like an X-Men power that's just been discovered, pulsing with raw power. I've spent a long time trying to control it; trying to hone this crazy, erratic emotion to where I can turn it on, and turn it off when *I* want. Sometimes I'm successful. Sometimes I'm not. When I feel like this, I tend to isolate myself - which sometimes just makes things worse.

Nothing specific has happened. I just haven't been feeling quite like myself. I anticipate that as I continue to be on the West Coast, the last rotting tentacles of this ... fog ... will fade away as surely as the snow that I left in New England. I'm writing this down in an attempt to banish it, to clear my brain of these blasted cobwebs that have been growing thicker and heavier over the past month.

As John Irving wrote, "Keep passing the open windows."

I've been listening to this song. A lot.

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Geaux Saints, Geaux!

Was it just me, or did this year's super bowl totally rock?? Between The Who performing at half time, and an incredible second half by the Saints, I'm glad that I actually watched it!

I had not watched a super bowl in many, many years. I am, however, a sucker for a good underdog! and an even better half-time show. Roger Daltry's voice isn't what it used to be, but man-o-man was Pete Townsend wailing on that guitar! And while I'm not the biggest fan of the stadium rock technology, the stage they were playing on (I have to admit) was rad. Just plain rad. I geeked out a little.

It will be interesting to see the Saints aftermath when I make my trip to Louisiana this week.

Yes. I promise: lots and lots of photos.
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This blog post brought to you by:

The Saints
The Who
The Louisiana Travel Bureau

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The Great Blogosphere

I've become increasingly impressed with this intricate and extensive sub-culture of the blogosphere. Here is this self-publishing avenue of massive proportions - there are hundreds of thousands, nay, millions of people who write blogs, blogs about anything and everything.

Blogs about epic fails, awkward family photos, blogs for brides, a blog for off-beat brides, a blog for cake disasters, a blog for crazy cats and even crazier captions - fitness, cooking, culture, how-to, crafts, advice, gay, straight, professional writers, moms, publicists, gardeners, all of the above - Blogs have become the best of what humanity has to offer. They make us laugh, they make us think, they inform, they share - they remind us of how completely linked and similar we are to each other. And in times like ours, I can't think of anything we need more.

Let me give you an example of how interconnected we are.

I started this blog because of this woman, and found a mutual friend who writes this blog. Upon my first trip to Calgary (and consequently falling head over heels in love with my monkey), I met *this* amazing woman, who's recently restarted her blog, and my future brother-in-law who just started this stunning piece of prose. And the blog I've been reading the longest - a mutual friend of many online and real life mutual friends.

We're even more interconnected, as many of you reading this follow more than just one the blogs I've linked above. Holy cow!

So here we all, sending our thoughts, feelings, observations, and quandaries out into the cyber world - soul valentines released into ether, hoping to connect with one other person - one other soul that will say, "Yeah, I know what that's like," or "I think that's funny too!" or "Wow, that touched me." And if we're lucky, it's more than one, and we get to share our soul just a little bit more. And is there any greater gift?
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This blog post was brought to you by:

blogger.com
Food Network
my blogging friends

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