A date that hasn't happened yet

We went to dinner and I was nervous. The alcohol didn't help.
I saw my koan, 'relax', fall over like a rigid board; ponderous and with a flat thud.
Caressing the ground rather than slapping it.
Maybe you didn't hear it because you were calm and expectant.

You chose the wine and said some words like 'nutmeg' and 'rosemary' and I said 'white'.
We talked about music and family and tried each others food.
The eggplant was my favorite and the fish in the buttery sauce was yours.
I noticed I like the way you had your hair cut and when you smiled I felt I'd done something right.
I started grinning in sympathy.

I told you about the time I was bombarded by a Salmon, you told me about how you broke your kid brothers arm.
I can't remember how they're connected.
We decided to have desert down at the pancake place.
I took your hand to lead you through a crowd waiting outside a pub.
We kept holding hands as we walked.

Where to tread?

Being neurotic in Sydney is interesting. I have at least 10 opportunities every day to meet new people. People? Excuse me, I mean women, male applicants may apply elsewhere. Anyway, 10 opportunities... and I pass every single one of them by with a blank, indifferent stare. And why? Because who wants to be that crazy guy who makes eye contact with people on the street?

It's second person time... You're walking along, minding your business, thinking about that chicken that needs cooking, or that time you stuck your finger in a blender and then BAM! Someone is looking at you. Into your eyes so it catches your attention. You look up, ready to greet some old mate you've bumped into on the street, but then... nothing... a complete stranger is looking you in the eye wearing a funny grin. It is at this point that you start shaking your head to refuse whatever it is they're selling. Or maybe you turn into a wolf and tear their fucking throat out for challenging your authority. Yeah... do that.

So, instead of talking to people on the street, I'll be that awkward looking guy who you can feel staring at you, while somehow, never quite actually looking at you. I really do have this down to an art-form. Yesterday I was standing at the bus stop with a bored expression and a thousand yard stare across the street, the girl standing next to me did a double-take twice to check my eyes and I almost wet myself. It must be pre-tty creepy.

So other options? Meeting people at the pub... This is next to impossible. Pubs are for hanging out with your mates. If a mate introduces you to someone then all to the good. But otherwise people just don't want to know. And I understand this, were I at a pub with friends and some dude tried to latch onto us we'd probably bar him faster than Kan-tong cooking (okay, maybe not that fast) unless he was the perfect blend of humble enthusiasm, style and chemistry. And people like that do not talk to people like us.

Clubbing? People don't meet clubbing. Not the people I want to meet anyway.

This leaves sport, dancing, cooking classes, random recreational activities (eg. parkour or orienteering) or book clubs...

I'll let you know how they turn out.

Deliverance

I just got back from the gym.

Let that sink in for a second.

It is a completely mundane sentence describing a completely mundane event... But to my ears it is sweet, sweet music.

Don't get me wrong. I hate the gym. It is exercise devoid of any purpose other than aesthetics. There is no fun to be had there. It smells of old sweat, new farts and ever-present armpits. Plus the people are all fitter than me, and those that aren't are stronger. And I'm weak and scrawny, where I'm not round and bouncy... and there are mirrors everywhere! In short... it rates slightly higher that an orange-juice enema on my personal list of fun things to do.

So why am I so pissed off that I haven't been able to go for the last 6 months?

Because the afterglow is awesome. Being there is like finger-nails screeching down the black-board of my soul. But afterwards I feel like I've done something. Something worthwhile. For my entire teens I ignored my body. I did what I wanted (ie. nothing), ate what I wanted (ie. crap) and was oblivious to the fact that there even were consequences. "I'll get fit eventually" was an often coined thought. Well, my friends, "eventually" arrived some time last year and I was playing sport, gyming regularly, eating well, losing weight... then BAM... "You have Ankylosing Spondylitis" says the good Doctor.

That, for those of you who don't know (I didn't), is this cool kind of arthritis that slowly fuses the bones in your spine together over a period of about 30 years until you are eventually walking around with a bamboo pole in your back. Yeah, I was pretty excited too. Early stages manifest themselves in back stiffness, massive loss of sleep and basically a whole butt-load of pain. I was considered, and I quote, "a textbook case". Mmm promising... Traditionally the condition has been treated with steadily stronger anti-inflammatory drugs, and this has met a limited degree of success. I have been on some pretty heavy ones for about 6 months and while they actually let me sleep, I still couldn't get out of bed without some serious elbow leverage.

But then an Angel, in the form of my Rheumatologist Professor Patrick McNeil, said unto me:

No, that is not the way.
We shall put you on this new improved drug
that has only just come out and is really good.
You'll need to fill out all these forms
and do exercises for 3 months
and do all this other nonsense.
But persevere, have faith,
and your time will come

And I did all of these things and lo, a prescription arrived. And Humira was its name.

6 months of pain. Starting in my back. Moving to my shoulder and then my neck. No sleep. No mobility.

How long did it take to fix this?

2 DAYS!


So now I'm going to get fit again and try Parkour... and possibly break myself all over again.
But if I don't try now I may never get another chance. And I know that I will try everything I can while I have a body that works.

Sometimes, as clichéd as it sounds, you really don't know what you have until it's gone. So I suggest you go out and try something that you have been meaning to. I'll see you there... unless it's at the bloody gym.

You're unique. Just like everyone else.

Around 8 months ago a friend of mine, the Gent, joined an online dating service. He went on a few dates here, a few dates there. If he'd really wanted to I'm sure he could have shagged a different girl every weekend but that wasn't his game.

I discussed his progress with him pretty regularly as the whole idea was a bit taboo to me. I thought internet dating sounded like the last refuge of the desperate, but he lent the whole process an air of dignity that I had not hitherto associated with it.

Like a sheep I decided to jump on board. What, really, was there to lose? Okay, maybe a little self-respect when I admitted to myself that finding a girl through more conventional methods was a little difficult. But I already knew that. And at least I was doing something constructive about it.

I went on a couple of dates. The first, a little uninteresting. The second, the girl sounded like a legend online and so I mind-spasmed when I met her... yah... it wasn't pretty. Oh well. Then I crippled myself about 5 months ago and decided I didn't want to meet anyone while I was moving around like an old man. So I turned off my profile.

...

I never said it was going to be an interesting story.

...

I did learn a few interesting things though.

The online dating game has a whole subset of language associated with it, much like the real estate game, everyone is trying to sell themselves, be quirky, be edgy, be cool. Be completely fucking generic! It's painful to read some of this stuff. Like "I am a compassionate, open-minded person who likes hanging out with friends and having a good time"... what does that mean exactly? How is that helpful in differentiating you from, hmm say, every other 20-something on the planet? I despair at how completely and utterly unimaginative people can be when talking about themselves.

And yes, I understand that it's just a stupid tiny little insignificant blurb on the gigantic network of daily interactions, emotions and woven grace that is a human life. I get the fact that people don't want to give too much away, scare off the customers by pointing out the dents, leave some mystery to be explored later. But you have to give something. I don't care how smokin' hot you are, a picture of yourself and a list of music you like¹ will not generate more than passing interest at a reasonable glam shot² and disappointment at how boring you are.

The whole point of using an online service is that you can interact with others virtually anonymously. So everyone can see a photo of you and a user name... so what? The chances you'll randomly run into or even recognise each other on the street are infinitesimal! And unless you choose otherwise, someone you contact may only ever learn your first name. The problem is that many users don't seem to realise that this anonymity exists or the wonderful gift it grants them. And that is the ability to be totally, ruthlessly honest about themselves.
Lets say you're a little crazy (and if you're reading this I'd say it's a safe bet) but you edit this out of your profile, 'everyone does it' you tell yourself. And you are correct. This is the path to true facelessness. You are exactly the same as everyone else. Or at least you appear to be. And the world is a poorer place for it. Self-censorship and conformity are the enemies of originality and distinctiveness, and they're winning the fight on this battlefield.

The character Dash, from the animated movie The Incredibles, when told that "everyone is special" replied with the rather astute observation "that's the same as saying no one is." And he's right. I hadn't considered the possibility that people aren't censoring themselves... maybe 80% of people are just boring as hell. How depressing. I'm sticking to the original theory because it's more optimistic.
I say 80% because there are a few troopers out there who truly throw caution to the sharks and really unleash the inner ninja-penguin. These people make me smile. To you, brave souls I throw out a big "I salute you!"

¹ interestingly, no-one in the world will admit to liking country or metal
² Unless the pic is shown here

Derwent River Star

Oren, Azz, Tom, lil' Bro and I all went to see Derwent River Star at the Hopetoun Hotel last night for their album launch. Its been several years in the making but 'The Winter Dark' is finally available for sale. I made shirts for four of us with the above image printed across the chest and the guys in the band seemed to appreciate it, which was cool. I was slightly devastated to hear that Alex is getting married soon but wish her all happiness just the same.

Jude is going back to America soon so it'll be a while before they come together again to create their sweet sweet tunes. I hope we made you feel wanted guys.

The Spoon of Destiny

Forged in the fiyars of Mount Awesome,
in the beginning there were 10.
5 were given to the Metatron and his Arch-Angels,
to carve out the planes of existence.
3 were given to the Grecian Gods,
to sup upon their ambrosia.
2 were lost,
one to the all encompassing chaos
and the other swallowed by the third draw down.
And one was left on Earth,
left hidden until such time as it was needed.

I was digging through the cutlery drawer at work last week, making my ritual tea before facing a day in the office, when it happened. Its perfect weight slipped into my hand like any other, and suddenly some fuck-tard cranked up the goddamn Enya music. There was light everywhere and I squinted around, looking for a choir singer to slap. A strange tingling sensation was creeping up my arm. "What the hell is this?" I thought "I feel lighter, stronger, faster... slightly less hungover. Can it be? It IS!!! I have found the Spoon of Destiny!!!" (Enya paused for a dramatic Da da daaaaaahh!!!)

As the light dimmed I saw that my surroundings were different. They hadn't changed. I was still in the drab little kitchenette, but it was as if I had been staring at the candlestick when suddenly the talking heads snapped into focus. My perceptions had shifted. I could now really see what was around me. All 40 ninjas!!!

We stared at each other for a moment then the lead ninja stepped forward and gestured. He wanted the Spoon. He did not need to say "or you die" because it was pretty obvious he would have said "and you die". The air quivered with their murderous intent. I stretched the Spoon out towards his hand, thinking this my only chance, but at the last instant I added a small flourish to sayonara the Spoon from my life. A simple flick of the wrist... Clang! A still spinning shuriken deflected from the Spoon and into the leaders eye. He fell dead instantly. The ninjas stared at me. Then leapt.

"Aw crap" were not in fact my last words, but I felt they would be at the time.

The Spoon completely failed to take over my body and dance death like you've never seen. Great spurts of light, as if from lasers with the word 'UBER' printed on them did not blast great holes in chests or incinerate my opponents. A defensive shield, like a perspex dome, sprang from the floor to protect me... no wait. It didn't. Nope. I was alone.

I had nothing to lose. I attacked.

My first blow with the Spoon struck near the base of a ninjas sword as he swiped at my legs. This deflected his swing much further than it should and his blade swept under my outstretched foot to take off his brothers leg mid-calf. The second random swing connected with a stab aimed at my torso and the blade slipped past to bury itself in the chest of another about to lop off my head. Another overbalanced a black assailant into the path of a vicious swipe that would have opened me shoulder to hip. I whirled and spun and fought just like you'd expect an unfit computer geek to fight. Flailing wilding with no skill whatsoever. But despite nonexistent style the Spoon always connected. No direct hits you understand. It was a spoon and their swords would have smashed it. But the Spoon seemed to have more mass than was possible, it was light yet its momentum carried it further than it should.

This continued for a time and the bodies mounted around me. I was standing in a circular firing squad letting their bullets rip by me. The Spoon was always in exactly the correct position, no matter how madly I danced. More than half were down when they finally withdrew. I carefully climbed out of the cairn of bodies. They stared at me, then the Spoon, then back to me. I took a step. In unison they threw smoke bombs at the ground and vanished.

I put the Spoon back in its draw. Its time had not come but I would know where to look when it did...

Kittinger is my Hero

You know that feeling you get when you stand on the edge of a cliff? Especially when there's a railing but it sits just below your hip. You can lean out over the abyss with a moderate impression of safety, but you still have all your weight low to the ground in case of earthquakes. You know the feeling I'm talking about. Something tugs at your centre, pulling you towards the edge. It's the void sucking at you. It's not vertigo and it's not entirely a fear of heights either. Why are we drawn towards something we have an inborn¹ visceral fear of? What is it?

Read on dear reader, and I will tell you... in a bit.

Extreme sports can be placed into two categories: those that involve a great height and those involving some form of acceleration brought on by an outside source (e.g. a wave, a mountain, the lack of a plane floor). The general consensus for why they are considered enjoyable is that they give either an adrenaline rush (brought on by a heightened sense of danger) or a sense of emotional achievement through completing a difficult task via the use of l33t skillz. These reasons are partly true.

Of the x-sports, climbing belongs in a league of its own. Like the others it requires utmost concentration and precision, but unlike them it must be completed slowly. It is also the only one that provides you with the aforementioned sucking sensation continuously, without pause, for the entire experience². So why do it? The sense of achievement, sure, but also to stand on the roof of the world. To sit in the sky.

Other x-sports use a smooth, controlled, high-speed descent to create an experience that adrenaline junkies will scour the world for. The emotional rush mimics the physical rush that the body is put through. Surfing, skiing, rafting, sky diving, jet boating, bungee jumping, even car racing or water-slides (to stretch the definition) all share this smooth, near frictionless quality. The whole body moves in a vector rather than being jerked around by the comparatively cumbersome striding motion.

So why do we feel (and suppress) the need to throw ourselves from cliffs or buildings? To glide down mountains of rock or water? To throw ourselves from bridges and planes? To sit in the sky?

We do them because we yearn to fly.

You know it. I know it. It's not a secret. It's not even important. It just is...

Maybe somewhere, way back up the evolutionary chain, we were birds. Or reptiles with wings. And that snake in our spine remembers what it was like to fly. And occasionally, if we are very lucky, we get to go there again. In dreams.

People have dreamed of flight for thousands of years. Some scholars even argue that the ancient Indians and Egyptians³ succeeded in building flying machines. But as the evidence is written in Sanscrit it is a little difficult to verify. Probably the most famous 'modern' flight-tinkerer was Da Vinci, who spent much of his life examining the flight of birds and designing machines with which to mimic them. I'm sure there were many others but two bicycle making brothers are usually the next quoted, and after Orville and Wilbur Wright everything escalated (historically speaking) quite quickly.

But I am not talking about flying a plane. The plane flies. You just sit there. I'm talking about flying, superman style. Just you. In the air. And this is where dreams come in.

Did you know that a third of the dreaming population dreams of flying? My own are something akin to the perspective of a Kangaroo, if it were the size of a bus. I'll sprint along the ground until I can feel the wind pushing against me then bound into a floating long-jump that is straight out of Naruto, on landing I'll bounce into a larger arc, then finally rebound into an leap the size of the Sydney Harbor Bridge. The closest I've seen to the experience is the Hulk jumping around in the 2007 movie.

In fact, sometimes, as I'm drifting off to sleep it's just possible that I'm making my dream a reality. I've read that the feeling of falling is quite common when going to sleep but just hear me out... I sleep on a reasonably thin but firm foam mattress over wooden slats. A couple of months ago as I drifted off to sleep it happened. I literally crashed back onto the bed. "Old news Benny" I hear you say "happens all the time". Not like this! It was hard. It was loud. And it freakin' hurt! It was so loud that, and I swear that this is true, I actually had to lift my mattress to check that I had not broken a slat on landing.

But enough about my awesomely cool super-powers. I need to mention one last thing. One last person in fact. The only man who I feel deserves the moniker "The Man Who Flew". Because he did. No plane. No pansy wings. No weak-ass 10,000 feet scared-shitless jump out of a plane. He actually flew.

Before Armstrong or Uri there was Joe Kittinger. Joe Kittinger did something so unbelievable that he makes Chuck Norris look like Taylor Hansen. If you take nothing else from this mad ramble you must at least WATCH THIS CLIP. Watch it now... I'll wait.

Have you watched it? You aren't allowed to read more unless you've watched it...

Okay... Joe Kittinger (henceforth known as Captain Big-Rocks), from a height of 31km, looking down at the entire planet... jumped. Jumped onto the Earth! He reached super-sonic speeds (989km/h) with nothing but a flight-suit and a set of adamantium balls... and he lived. He walked away! He flew. For real real. Not for play play...

I need to say something to sum things up here but I can't. My mind is numb. I am just filled with awe...

¹ Experiments using what are known as "visual cliffs" have shown human infants and toddlers, as well as other animals of various ages, to be reluctant in venturing onto a glass floor with a view of a few meters of apparent fall-space below it. Read more here.
² Sky diving would only provide this sensation when you are about to step out of the aeroplane.
³ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ancient_astronaut_theory