bccreative’s posterous

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I once heard or read that recounting one's dreams aloud is the lowest form of discourse, and unsurprisingly the least interesting item one human can hear from another. Or words to that effect. So I was prepared for said boredom when Ian told me he had a weird dream, as I sorta listened while also checking Friendfeed and Twitter. "Huh? Oh, yeah... what was the dream?"

My son, who like most kids loves animals yet has a healthy imagination, was in an animal genetics-type lab, where they had developed a wolf-like creature specifically for the transport of people. Cool, but much to his shock, they also came with cup holders.

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:: bruce ::

Bruce Colthart Creative LLC
http://twitter.com/bccreative
http://bccreative.posterous.com
http://blog.colthart.com
http://www.colthart.com

Ian and his mom are members of the local Unitarian Universalist Society. This morning features a "Coming of Age" ceremony, for which my younger son has been preparing over the last few months. There's an informal ceremony, where a dozen kids will read their personal creedos, a group musical performance, and the chance for parents to speak on behalf of their kids. Each family is allowed two minutes(!!) My wife's "speech" is a little longer.

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Congratulations Ian, on this special day.

Before I address Ian, I’d like to say to the Unitarian Society: Thank you – for all you have given to my son; for you acceptance and attention and love; for providing a place where he can grow and feel secure in his developing convictions; where he can learn the value of his unique journey.

Ian, like your mom, I’m very proud of all you’ve accomplished thus far. And it’s exciting to know this is just the beginning for you; there’s so much more that you can learn and share.

I have a lot of ways that I could describe and congratulate you today, but let me return to a recurring theme, one that to me easily characterizes you: you’re my hero. You are undergoing a transformation as a result of all you experience, but more remarkable is your active transformation, driven by your true self, regardless of challenges or difficulties.

I see strength and conviction but also humility and curiousity. I see character and integrity. And I see a bright future for you and those who know you. And I see the world as being a little better for that.

(download)

Harry and I usually take a 30 minute trot (I have to be careful not to say "walk" around him) around our suburban neighborhood, at about 7:45 am and then again about 12 hours later. Anyone with a dog, or who watches Cesar Millan on TV knows that [as Cesar says] "a fish has to swim, a bird has to fly, and a dog's gotta walk." Add me to that list – I gotta walk too. With almost no other exercise on a typical day, this time is as important to me as it is to him. Walking at a brisk pace, we usually see the world gearing up for its commute to NYC or to any number of other destinations. This time of year though, people in their cars are less casual, now more focused on the road ahead through their partially defrosted windshield, continually reclouding with steam from the coffee trapped in their free hand's death grip. But that's on the busier roads bordering my quiet hamlet.

Each day I'm reminded how lucky I am to have a comfortable home office, a second floor perch with plenty of windows facing out onto a decent swath of the neighborhood. I rarely use my car, sometimes going a week without starting it. I've had some long commutes in my life, and for 6 years now – none. Aside from my cigar-chomping, retired Korean War vet neighbor Paul next door – who just loves, loves to regularly drag his impressive collection of power equipment all about his lawn – it's a quiet place to live and work.

Autumn is a favorite time of year for my pal Harry. Piles of curbed leaves appear regularly, sometimes compiled into imposing chicanes by roving squads of town-dispatched plows. Whatever their size and shape, they're Harry's playground(s). Not to frolic in the way children gleefully do, but to wade into, sniff sniff sniff, then pee on, like children (hopefully) do not do. With no end of big tall trees lining the streets we frequent, our brisk walks are puntuated by yanking course changes towards the newest amusement-cum-toilet.

These mounds of [mostly] decidious detritus are also now sparkling with morning frost, which in the low-streaming early light resemble giant nuggets of sugary, extremely high fiber cereal. I choke just entertaining that analogy.

And that, friends, is a take on mine and Harry's usual morning walk (d'oh!! He even knows when I'm typing that word!).

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:: bruce ::

Bruce Colthart Creative LLC
http://twitter.com/bccreative
http://blog.colthart.com
http://www.colthart.com

Some people pray silently to start off their day. Some do so demonstratively, prostrate, facing Mecca. Some stare intently, while sipping a flavored (gag!) coffee, at birds flitting in a grove of trees outside their kitchen window. Me, I empty the dishwasher, dutifully, as early as I can muster with new breaking day. That invisible domed area around my sink, including several cabinets and part of the kitchen table, is my cathedral. Just me and my various selves, some eager to chat, some still sleeping. I especially prize the one that has the presence of mind to start brewing coffee (no fancy timer on my pot) and I later thank him for not serving up decaf or a carafe of hot water.

Don't get me wrong – I hate seeing the dishwasher full each morning. I have better things to do – including doing nothing – than to sort, relocate and pack away a bunch of warm and fragile items, most of which I didn't sully in the first place. It's just that I've trained myself to deal with it and make it disappear earlier rather than later. And in the process, have taken a zen-like approach to the task at hand. It's now a contemplative and free-thought sort of time where I listen to my personas speculate, discuss and vie for my attention. The result is profound daily insights about me and my life, which I'll try to summarize below.

1. I am a ninja! While I'm moderating the internal town hall meeting, my arms feel multiplied. Like the tentacles of an octopus, I'm reaching into a dimly lit stainless steel cave bristling with sharp blades and thin glassware waiting for the small avalanches that will reveal their deadly edges. All limbs blur with precise reaches, swivels and careful placements. Glasses go here...wet glasses drain there...serving spoons over here...cauldron down there. At the same time, looming above my head, two swung-open cabinet doors lay in ambush, looking to dent my skull and shake the north wall of the kitchen. That I walk away unscathed nearly every time amazes me still.

2. I am master of multitasking. After placing the ice cream scoop in the drawer with one hand, I wheel, reach up and stuff a two-piece glass leftover container – at a precise angle – into a void between other glass vessels with the other hand. As I head back to the dishwasher, an appropriately moderated hip check softly closes the afore-mentioned drawer. Cha!

3. I have no idea what I'm doing. If this flurry of productivity had a soundtrack, it might well be from an adrenaline laden Hollywood chase scene. Now imagine the sound of a needle dragging quickly across vinyl. I find myself hunched over in the pots-and-pans section with a teaspoon in my hand. Whaaaat? The system comes to a grinding halt. And I'm wasting valuable time pondering my flub. Dammit kid – get your head back in the game, and pronto!

4. I am a creative genius! The ideas that flood into my brain cavity range from web 2.0 startups to philanthropic initiatives to quickly executed (and expertly edited) arthouse films. I have what it takes to bring home gilded statues and crowns of olive leaves. There will be network TV interviewers competing for time with me. My children will recount my artistic exploits well into their golden years...

5. I am an idiot! Ugh – I totally forgot about invoicing what's-his-name! I wonder if the shirt laundry will sell or donate my forgotten summer shirts, assuming I'm dead. If I don't hurry up and change that litter box, Steve the cat will pee on the clean laundry! When oh when will you redesign your logo and stationery, you so-called "creative"? And dont get me started on finishing that business plan...arrrrgh!

6. I'm really hard on myself. "Idiot" and "moron" are words that slip into my internal dialogue when I realize or remember that something remains undone, whether a day or 15 years has gone by. Can I really be responsible for checking off every thing on every list? And what's with the name calling? If only I could afford therapy.

7. I'm very forgiving (of myself) ultimately. As I put away the final items, I know it's time to leave the chat room and most all of its personalities behind. That's because I'm determined to cease the introspection – all introspection – and start working. I can't always be thinking now can I... I've got to start doing! I guess I'm only human after all, and gosh darn it, [some] people like me, no matter what. Besides, I can always post my neuroses online. That way I know where they are, but I don't have to entertain them all day long.
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Writing emails to, essentially, myself that is. But when I'm overbooked and overtired, and deep inside just want to avoid working, I sometimes manage to rise above it all for a short spell, and get a glimpse over the hedges to what's important. The latest realization is how blessed and honored that my 15 year old son Ian bugs me to watch Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles on Tivo with him. The program records on Sunday evenings, and because I'm not managing my one-man business that well, I regularly let him down each time he asks if we can watch it together. On top of that, he's gracious in the defeat he too-often suffers. There may be no room for guilt in a healthy life, but in my life I'll welcome it as a motivator to enjoy time with my boy.
Tonight's (last Sunday's) episode was particularly good, especially at the end where Sarah's reading aloud of rather violent passages from The Wizard of Oz (to a rescued child) was matched with visuals of John and his uncle simultaneously ambushing and dispatching a marauding Terminator in the woods, miles away. It was quite poetic, and I'm glad we enjoyed it and look forward to fondly recalling our hour together, at some date far in the future. Without cyborgs.
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Thanks to Graham Smith for mentioning this in a tweet. Hey, not that I'm gonna try everything the dude tries, but he seems like a sharp fellow. I suppose I should have investigated a bit further first; make sure it's not some sort of shifty eat-your-brains-while-you-sleep sort of shenanigans.

Okay, enough time wasted. Ate dinner, cleaned kitchen, walked dog, made a hot drink...it's high time I start complaining about the work I have to do tonite. While I try to watch da bate at the same time...right.

This first test hasn't been all that fun, but not all that bad either. Gotta go!
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