You don't meet nice girls in coffee shops

Courage is a remarkable thing. It takes an awful lot to take that first step. And to that one person that has to take that step it always seems like stepping off a cliff into a blackness so scary it actually makes it hard to breath. You just want to shut your eyes and cry until it all goes away.

But let's look at the other side. If you don't choose courage, ultimately, you are going to have to settle on regret. It is all that remains when the cowardly path is chosen. Regret is simply the shame of letting yourself down. Of not taking the path of growth; of not steeling yourself for the unknown, an unknown that is never as bad as you imagined. And regret gnaws at you. It eats away at you all the while filling that newfound empty space with just more regret. The only thing holding it at bay is the self-satisfaction associated with taking the high road. By being courageous.

The thing I fear the most is conflict. Screaming, yelling, anger, physical violence, it all scares the hell out of me. Personal human conflict frightens me. It has forever. You would never guess this by looking at me or the career I have chosen. I have been told I am imposing, even intimidating, but playing 'bad cop' truly scares me.

Now, not to say that this fear hasn't served me well at times. Being frightened of something does provide an heightened awareness to its antecedents thereby allowing one to avoid the resulting something. I don't know how many times I have avoided dangerous situations simply because I could sense a change in a person's demeanor. But this is a minor silver lining to a very dark cloud.

Recently, I had someone in my life that truly helped me without, I think, even knowing he did. He forced me to become a more active participant, to not shy away from those dark places. He wouldn't let me get away with avoidance and for this I wanted to thank him. It wasn't that he was my saviour. No one can be that for another person, because, ultimately, the will to change comes from within. We all have to face those dark places alone, but there is nothing wrong with someone standing behind you, telling you to keep going while aiming the flashlight.

Step to the rhythm; Step to the rhyme

My favourite time of day is between 3 and 4am. It has been for years.

I think I was 18 or 19 when I first realised that I was a night owl. Night owls are misunderstood. People who aren't night owls never understand the idea that maybe life continues after 'bedtime'.

It is a little weird for night owls, as well. They don't have the easiest life. Always being accused of being lazy because they sleep late; having a hard time getting routine things done during the day, like passport photos or paying bills. Strangely enough, I think the internet was initially harnessed by big business to tap into the night owl market. But I digress.

I am a night owl and I love 3-4am. The city sleeps at 4am. Some cities sleep heavier than others, but it isn't hard at 4am to actually feel streets that have been put to bed for the night. In St. John's at 4am, it is quiet. There aren't people on the street. The odd cabbie drives by, but, all in all, the streets are asleep. Side streets more so. You can walk down the centre of the road, enjoying a perspective, generally, not available during the day. Rarely, you will come across a window projecting the intermitant blue flickering of a TV screen or hear the music held close by the remnants of a party to remind you that the city hasn't been abandoned only moments earlier, but mostly all the houses sleep. Sometimes you catch yourself thinking, for a moment, that they all have been abandoned and you are alone. The last. And other times, you stand and try to picture who lives in each little house. Who are they and what do they do?

It is a little different in Toronto. The major streets never sleep. Buses run. Cabbies slow and barmp desperately looking for fares. Some businesses stay open late while others open early. Both need people and people need to get to work. But the side streets, the quiet residential roads, they are in deep sleep. Row upon row, street upon street of quiet dark houses. No sign of life except for the occasional light. People don't walk the side roads, preferring the light and trafiic of the streets that never darken.. It actually boggles the mind, the thought of just how many people are asleep at the exact same time. Mothers, fathers, children; each darkened doorstep holds someone at 4 am and most of them are asleep and dreaming. About what I wonder?

Shout out!

Just a quick shout out. I found this the other day. It seems that Chewbacca has his own blog. Everyone knows my fascination with wookies, so have a look.

Ice Cream!!!

Turn your speakers up and have a listen to what Athena was talking about. Eddie was so funny in his day. Warning: there is some strong language


Click to listen to Audio

I can almost hear Mr. Dormody saying this...

From The Onion:

Franz Ferdinand Frontman Shot By Gavrilo Princip Bassist

GLASGOW, SCOTLAND - Lead singer and guitarist for pop band Franz Ferdinand, Alexander Kapranos, is in critical condition today after being shot by a man identified as the bassist for rock group Gavrilo Princip. "We ask fans to cooperate with Interpol to find the assailant, and call upon British Sea Power, Snow Patrol, and The Postal Service for help," drummer Paul Thompson told music magazine NME Monday. "The suspect had links to The Decemberists and The Libertines, and we are following up on all leads." It is unclear whether the shooting was linked to The Polyphonic Spree's invasion of Belgium earlier this week.

I found this incredibly witty, which is odd because I generally don't connect witty to The Onion.

Devil trucks and demon cones

So the other night I had a MSN chat with a friend. Somehow, during the chat we came upon the topic of ice cream.

Peter says:
In the summer, this retired Greek guy who lives down the street from me drives around the neighbourhood in his killer ice cream truck. He always parks in front of my house with his bell ringing. His blueberry sundaes are like crack.

Plant Lass says:
I haven't seen an ice cream truck since I was a kid. You are very lucky.

Peter says:
No, I am damned. He's got two. His son drives the other. I saw them stocking and cleaning them in front of their specially built garages the other day. That means the season is about to start.

Plant Lass says:
Two trucks! That would involve the kind of self-control I just don't have.

Peter says:
These are primo trucks. He does banana splits, sundaes, slushies, chocolate dip and caramel dip. Not to mention soft serve and regular.

Peter says:
It's nuts.

Peter says:
Every night around 7pm he is parked in front of my house.

Plant Lass says:
Do you think they are doing this to you on purpose?

Peter says:
He knows. I know he knows. It's the easiest $2.50 he makes in his night.

Peter says:
He warms the blueberry topping.

Plant Lass says:
You are making me miss Sioux Lookout. I didn't think that was possible.

Peter says:
He also does milkshakes. All from the back of that devil truck.

Plant Lass says:
It's not the truck. It's your ice cream junkie ways... maybe you need help.

Peter says:
Possibly, but addiction is a disease.

Plant Lass says:
And there is no patch for soft serve. I say indulge.

Peter says:
Now there's an idea; a soft serve patch. Although, all I would really need are cotton balls to keep the devil song of the ice cream bell from reaching my ears.

Plant Lass says:
Do you really want to quit though? All this planning could be for nothing if there is no will.

Plant Lass says:
What is so wrong with a milkshake?

Peter says:
You can only say that because you haven't laid eyes on an ice cream truck in years. It would be a different story if they were stalking you.