Darren and I had originally planned on driving up together, but the timing didn’t work out, so we arrived when we could and played it by ear. Bronny was the point of my visit, while Darren was there to see Lindsay. After a driving from pub to pub, each one full of St. Patty’s day partiers adorned with green horns and holding green pints, the four of us ended up at a small restaurant, and eventually at Lindsay’s house.

It was Bronny who made the most interesting comment to me afterwards. “Darren needs to be with someone…deep”, she said, “Someone intellectual”. I still wonder what made her think so. What did we talk about? As far as I could remember, there was no particularly interesting discussion, just a bunch of us hanging out.

But she was right.

Some of this movie comes from, you know, from me, sure. But it’s not, you know, I’m never going to be able to make a movie that doesn’t, you know. Even if I’m making a movie about the turn of the century, I think you’re gonna, it’s always going to be personal. It’s just in the detailed stuff; the horses in Sheryl Lynn’s bedroom, with the ribbons on the wall, and you got sisters or you got a girlfriend who loves to ride horses and all this stuff. And those little details that you remember, I’ve been loving to put those in a movie.

I think, you know what, when I grew up in the valley, I lived there, I was really embarrassed for the longest time that that’s where I lived and that’s where I grew up, cause I knew I wanted to make movies. And I would look back to my favourite directors, and think, okay, there’s Howard Hawks, and boy, he served in the war. And there’s Ernst Lubich who escaped Germany, you know, and all these wonderful sort of things going on in our lives that you could, you’re supposed to bring to a movie, you know. But, I don’t have shit to bring, I was like, I’m from the fucking valley, you know. And, I was really embarrassed about that for a long time, I guess, until one day I just woke up and said, “Well, I’m from the valley, and I remember things like little plastic horses and the blue ribbon on the wall with the fucking girlfriend, and you know, I guess that’s what I have to make movies about.”

—Paul Thomas Anderson, Boogie Nights director’s commentary

A girl and her things.

Memories of burning candles, shampoo scents. The colours and the smells give me a total overwhelming sense of poignant nostalgia.

Admittedly, it’s been a while since I’ve been in a real girls room, and being there, in the middle of all the dainty things and the different fabrics, I didn’t know what was more embarrassing: the fact that I felt like I was 17 again, or the realization of how much I’ve missed it.

And this is all I can write about.

They call it the red-eye for a reason, and although I’m expecting to sleep through most of the ride, I’m not prepared to wake up every half hour. The bus was supposed to be half-full, being 12:30 on a Friday morning, but when I arrive at the station, the line stretches across the hallway, dashing my hopes of a window seat. The guy beside me watches movies on his laptop, while the old man across the aisle works on an assortment of papers with the only light in the bus on. He sits alone, away from the window, a big fuck you to anyone who may want a seat. It’s his light that keeps me up.

The greyhound is supposed to stand for speed, named after the fastest breed of dog used in dog racing, but for me it stands for freedom. The cost is a stranger sitting next to you, a couple hours of leg cramps, and a little over a hundred dollars.

The layover is an hour and a half. As I sit in the terminal, I think of how close my parents are. I haven’t seen them since Christmas, and even though they’re an 45 minute drive away, I won’t be seeing them this time around.

This bus brings me to her.

So I’ve deviated from my previous plan to wait until the new Canon 17–55mm f/2.8 IS came out before making any lens purchases. Aside from the fact that I would have had to wait until the summer for reviews that may be less than favourable anyway, the main reason is that my two dream lenses, the Canon EF 24–70mm f/2.8 L and the Canon EF 16–35mm f/2.8 L were being sold refurbished and used respectively. I make it a habit to check one particular popular online retailer every morning in case of any such deals, since they update their stock some time around five in the morning and most lenses are gone by nine, L glass especially. Although I had no plan on buying either lens (I had yet to see either up for sale until this month), I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. It saved me close to $2000 in total.

Now I have my ideal focal range covered with a lens that goes as wide as 16mm for my environmental and landscape shots, and another one that goes as long as 70mm for portraits. Both have ring ultrasonic motor focusing systems, which makes autofocusing beautifully slick, smooth, and quiet, with support for full-time manual focusing as well. They also go as wide f/2.8, which is perfect since I do a lot of low-light, indoor shooting, and the extra aperture blades provide buttery smooth background blur.

The trade-off is that both lenses are heavy, one heavier than the camera body itself. This comes from the fact that the construction is rock-solid and weather-sealed, being made from metal and ground glass. There are stories of people dropping their L lenses onto asphalt or rocks and surviving with only cosmetic scratches.

After all the money I just spent (more than twice as much than on the camera itself), not including the extra hand-strap/bag/filters that went along with it, I’m trying not to think of my next purchase. In the back of my mind I know that I want a macro lens or a full frame body, but I think I’ll be satisfied for the next little while.

Broken, lookin’ up I see the enemy.
And I have swallowed the poison you feed me.
But I survived on the poison you feed me.
Guilt fed. Hatred fed. Weakness fed.
It makes me feel ugly.
I’m on my knees, I’m burning.
My piss and moans are human.
I set my head on fire. I’m dead inside.
Shit adds up. Shit adds up. Shit adds up.
Shit adds up at the bottom.

—Tool, Bottom

Remember those days in high school, when you couldn’t sleep because of upcoming finals, or the girl you liked told you she didn’t like you back?

Sometimes I miss those days.

Every time I want to say something, complain, vent, I think of others. I never lost both my legs. I don’t have any crippling social disabilities. My parents never left me naked on the asphalt. Hell, Aaron went through shit so bad two years ago that I can’t even talk about it, and he’s one of the last people to deserve it. I really don’t have anything to complain about.

Then I question the timing. And every time there’s another load added, I think, “I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW”. I have deadlines to meet, sleep to catch up on, insecurities to allay. Is this some divine way of telling me that I’ve been having it too good lately? A way of balancing out how well things have been going? No, the timing is good, my friends remind me. This isn’t in the middle of a divorce, or the death of a family member, or massive debt. This is probably one of the most convenient times for all of this to happen. I really don’t have anything to complain about.

So I have to shoulder all of it now. Not to put it all aside, but to deal with it head on when I have to concentrate, to stop freaking out when I’m lying in bed, to stop being absolutely terrified when I’m in an uncomfortable situation. Another rollercoaster ride, another crucible, another bridge to cross.

Thank god I’m stronger now. Thank god I have my friends. Thank god I have a girlfriend I can communicate with. If I didn’t have John, Trolley, Aaron, Pat, Darren, Bronny to call, I’d be going FUCKING NUTS. I’D FLIP THE FUCK OUT. Yesterday, I spoke to every single one of them through the course of the day.

Shit adds up.

And she’s alllllllllllll mine.

After four months, I finally have the perfect picture for my frame. Ordered a 12×18 print that should be in next week.

When I read the order of play to Norm, he laughed. The first grouping was against Hit-And-Miss, and being such an active member in the community, Norm knew them well. Against this team of three middle-aged, white metrosexuals and their buddy Chinese captain, we fared what can only be described as holocaustic. They wore tight-fitting shirts, stylish tearaway pants, and had the strength, and speed to match.

Except for the Chinese guy. He had a bit of a pot belly, a bit of a scruff, and a very feared, well-balanced, pen-holders grip. And he spoke great English.

It was a pleasure to lose to such nice guys.

I asked them about the next team we were up against, and they told us that they trashed the two little guys at the last league meet. Little guys? Kids. But I can already tell that both have improved since last month, the capain told me.

No challenge for four fit men in their thirties plus one Chinese guy (40 give or take 10 years). A little more difficult for me and my teammates, Norm, a calmly passionate Chinese guy in his 50’s, and Andrzej, a Polish man who picked up table tennis this year after a 40 year break, both of whom are better than I am.

I never would have believed that an 11-year-old and his seven-year-old brother could be so intimidating, a very FRENCH Olivier and Laurent. As captain, I had the decision to make as to who was playing first.

In table tennis, as with chess, the strongest player on the team is usually signed to the first match so that the matches may end before the weaker players have to play. Captain 1 signs the play sheet for the order of play for his team, and hands the sheet folded in half to Captain 2 so he can’t see, and use such information to his advantage by pairing up opponent styles against their weaknesses. Out of five matches, there are two singles at the start, a doubles in the middle, and two more singles at the end between the first singles opponents reversed, for best out of five matches.

Confused yet?

Before I signed the play sheet, Norm let me in on a little secret; when Olivier was 10 last year, Norm beat him in the league. Gambling that this would still hold true, and our opponents would follow form, I put Norm first, me second, and Andrew with Norm as doubles. That way Norm had the best chance at beating the older brother, I would have a chance at beating the younger brother, they would win doubles, and that would be it.

Unfortunately, they decided to play the younger brother, Laurent, first. He could only see about a foot over the table, and I could tell his movements were strained from the height disadvantage. He spoke no English, except for the phrase “Backhand?” during warm-ups, and “One mo!” when he was at 10 points. Sometimes he would mimic the table tennis pros with little grunts of satisfaction when he got a point. Eventually, he lost to Norm graciously (for a seven-year-old).

Then I was up against the Olivier, the older brother. Believing that a pair of descended testicles to be my only advantage, I played with a lump in my throat, and he returned like a machine, surprising me at every point. I could never keep him off balance, or run him around the table. He just kept landing the ball on my side.

I lost. Then we lost at doubles, a tremendous upset. My mind was out, and I was forced to play the younger brother next. I lost again, although I won one set after Norm told me to serve to the far side of his stance (they had a time-out and easily adjusted for the next set). By that time, we lost three out of five matches, and they were determined to be the winning team, but Olivier asked to play Norm for the final match anyway. When Oliver won, he walked over and shook Norm’s hand, a look of proud accomplishment on his face.

And this is what Norm loves the most. To see those younger players grow up and improve and become national team players.

I’ve been a jumble of emotions lately. A mix of excitement and worry, fun and stress, unsettling uncertainty and crossed-signals. On top of it all I keep getting all sorts of BULLSHIT from people, when it’s the last thing I need.

I generally don’t like this feeling. To grow, and this is especially true for me, one needs a foundation of stability. Once the basic things are constant, there can be changes and adjustments made to improve. Now I find myself struggling to keep the simplest things under control.

It’s certainly been an interesting year so far.