Sunday pot luck brunch was a little different this weekend; instead of heading to Tim’s, I was at Pat and Jen’s. It was collection time for a sit-up competition (where Julie destroyed everyone in both the largest total sit-ups and most improved over the last two months, winning $60), and we decided to get together to see how everyone was feeling, perhaps compare a six-pack or two.

There were homemade waffles, fresh fruit, honey bacon, French toast, pigs in blankets, smoothies, croissants, and cheesecake. So much delicious food that I could eat, now that I’m on medication to control food induced flare-ups, and I happily gorged myself.

It was such a lazy Sunday. Long conversations sitting around the table, then hanging out and playing games for hours while the food digested.

Pat later told me he used to come here and read about what’s happening with me, but has stopped reading altogether. The reason — and he paused as he was telling me this so that I understood the gravity of it — was that he would rather hear things from me personally.

While this is far from the first time I’ve written about my friendship with him, it still amazes me. We rarely get any one-on-one time, even when I’m over at his house on the weekends for food and conversation, unless it’s on the phone.

Pat always takes such a concern about what’s going on in my life. He asks all the right questions. He listens wholeheartedly without interrupting. He never judges me. He calms me because everything he says makes so much sense. Just being able to open up, where I’m vulnerable, and have him completely accept what I’m saying makes me overflow with emotion.

I think I’m going through a period where I’m not getting enough social interaction. My friends are too busy, or our schedules don’t work out. It’s left me confused and disillusioned.

Everyone seems to fit somewhere, but I’m not sure where that leaves me. On days like this, when I’m surrounded by people, it makes me think that perhaps I still don’t know where I belong.

It’s times like this I wish I had someone to take care of me¹, because I’m tired of taking care of myself.

1. Pat once told me there should be a person in every group who’s always controlled, calm, and together (in case of emergency, or otherwise), and he tries to be this person. It must be true, because he’s my rock, the friend who has never let me down. I once asked him if this idea extended to his marriage, and he told me that it applied to 90% of the time. But for the other 10%, when he’s tired, unmotivated, and doesn’t care anymore, Jenny takes over, and he admitted to me that he’s become dependent on this. [↑]

Pat doesn’t worry about me. At first, I was hurt, but soon I understood.

And this is enough to make me believe that I’ll be alright too.

It’s almost two in the morning. Yet again, I should be sleeping, but I’m writing now, not because the inspiration is particularly striking, but because I don’t know when I’ll have a chance to write again. So now I’m enjoying my new scented candles and the way the apple cinnamon aroma mixes with the night air coming through my back door.

I needed this long weekend.

Julie and I just got back from Pat and Jen’s one-year anniversary party, in which I was finally able to give them the anniversary gift I’d been saving since the wedding: a collection of video messages left by guests during the reception (recorded on the laptop I’m using to type this right now, no less).

I also got a chance to try their new Wii Fit, learned how to play Bohnanza (a bean trading game), and pigged out on gigantic hamburgers and German potato salad.

Been trying to finish my projects and tie up loose ends.

Been trying to match schedules with people: next weekend is dinner with Misun and Frédéric and their two boys (which we’ve been trying to coordinate for more than a month now), the weekend after is John’s visit, and the one after that is dinner, movie, and Cranium with Dan and his family.

Been buying light fixtures and shelves and candles, indulging my obsession with frosted glass, and making minor house upgrades.

Been spending more than I should.

Been in love with her more than I can help.

The weekends are all I have left. After working 8+ hours during the week, I don’t feel like doing anything but vegging out when I get home. So now it’s already Sunday — or Monday morning, I should say — and I feel like I’ve accomplished nothing so far. Not that it’s a bad thing, since I’ve been able to enjoy myself instead of feeling guilty that I’m not getting enough done. I tell myself that I’ll be productive when I wake up, but who knows.

Sometimes, long weekends are for catching up on doing nothing. And man, am I behind in that.

Sometimes, all I need is a friend to support me.

Even the times when I know I’m stupid or illogical. Especially those times, I just want someone to listen and agree.

I remember Aaron going through a rough patch a couple years ago. He told me he couldn’t let Rob know, because Rob would have jumped in his car and busted open some heads. Aaron confided in me because he needed an objective opinion to work through the situation, whereas Rob may have hurt more than help.

Even though I agreed, I felt like Rob’s ardent personality was a sign of true brotherhood. It doesn’t matter what the logic is, it doesn’t matter what the reasons are, your enemies are his enemies. It’s almost like he’s blinded by his love.

And as much as there are times when Aaron doesn’t tell Rob something, I’m sure there are times when doesn’t tell me things either because he needs an fervent friend. He needs someone who will take his side no matter what. I know I do.

Don’t get me wrong; I have plenty of friends I can go to for an honest opinion. In fact, I go to them more often than not. John’s always there to contradict me and keep me in check, Pat’s there to rationalize the situation, and Aaron’s there to help me find a solution. But every now and then, the unconditional support of an ardent friend gives me strength and courage more than anything else.

Everyone should have such security. To be able to call someone at any time of day who’ll be there in a heartbeat¹. Everyone should have a friend like Rob in their lives.

The ardent friends are just as important as the objective ones.

1. Of course, you have to earn that kind of respect from Rob, because he doesn’t give it to just anyone. [↑]

At the core of our beings, Pat and I are the same person.

What separates us is our emotion, or lack thereof. Pat’s the logical one, I’m the emotional one. I’ve always looked up to him — his strength, his morals, his personality — without really understanding why.

It’s only in the last year that I’ve come to realize Pat is a Taoist. This comes with the realization that I’m a Taoist myself, and explains why I try to be more like him.

The interesting part is that he doesn’t even know that he’s a Taoist — sort of like Winnie the Pooh — which is exactly what makes him a true Taoist.

One of Chuang Tzŭ’s parables illustrates this point. In an abbreviated version, Knowledge seeks a conscious reflection to know the Tao, and asked Silent Do Nothing and Reckless Blurter, before asking The Yellow Emperor (ahhh, the Romantic personification of Chinese fables):

Knowledge said to The Yellow Emperor, “I asked Silent Do Nothing and he kept quiet. Not only didn’t he answer me, but he didn’t even know how to answer. I asked Reckless Blurter, and though he wanted to tell me, he didn’t, and even forgot my questions. Now I’ve asked you, and you know all about it. Why do you say that you’re far from it?”.

The Yellow Emperor said, “Silent Do Nothing was truly right, because he didn’t know anything. Reckless Blurter was nearly right, because he’d forgotten it. You and I are far from right, because we know far too much“.

The same is true for Tai Chi¹, or any martial art for that matter. Dissect it too much, and you lose the meaning. Think about it too much, and you don’t react. As Michael Babin wrote in his article on self-defense training:

It is sad but true that real skill comes from seemingly endless drilling of the basics and then learning how to transcend/forget most of what you have so patiently learned.

In other words, learning structure is essential to learning to react to a complete lack of structure (i.e. a real fight); but if you focus on structure for too long it becomes counter-productive to “being without structure” in martial terms. One of the many annoying paradoxes in the internal arts.

One of the many paradoxes in the Taoist philosophy as well. As much as I try to study it, learn it, and apply it, I find myself thinking about it too much. As a result, I occasionally stray from being centered, and lose my balance.

It’s the conscious reflection which Knowledge is seeking that preemptively dooms his search. This is my problem as well. I buy Taoist books with a thirst for knowledge, but they’re all telling me the same thing now. Not that the books haven’t helped at all, but I feel like I’ve reached a limit. Perhaps even the simple act of writing about this is counter-productive.

I have the understanding, but I can’t apply it without thinking about it first, and it’s the attempt to apply it that ruins the point. I’ve yet to reach a stage of pure reaction and spontaneity, like Pat.

But I’m getting there.

1. Yet another example of how Tai Chi is the physical expression of the philosophy. Or perhaps this could be reverse-generalized, and said that the Taoist philosophy is reflected in everything, such as martial arts. [↑]

Though somewhat hectic, everything worked out in the end for Pat and Jen’s wedding.

Preparations

I missed the wedding rehearsal because I had to close the books for the month at work. I didn’t get to Pat’s place until 9:30 that night, which went late into the morning as loose ends were tied up, and Jason and I stayed up until 3:00 am to finish the slide show.

The girls got even less sleep I’m sure; the last I saw them they were giggling in bed like a high-school sleepover.

Before leaving for Jason’s place to stay the night (leaving the house for the girls), Pat gave me God of War 2 and Ratchet and Clank: Up Your Arsenal as gifts for being in the wedding party.

In the morning we woke up at seven, had some muffins and coffee, decorated the cars, got dressed, and raced to the church.

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The best part of the bachelor party wasn’t the fact that it was Pat’s first time being drunk¹. Or the fact that he was break dancing next to street musicians downtown (the video of which shall not be shown).

It was the fact that he was completely off his guard, too drunk to remember what happened the next day, but he was the same old Pat: fun, friendly, and considerate².

He also said two affecting things, lucid in his drunken state.

The first, in slurred speech, he advised us bachelors, “Find the right one. Just make sure you find the right one. She might not be the perfect match, but she is the right one. Just remember that. If you look for your perfect match all your life, you might not find it. Just find the right one.”

The second was when he was going around the room, and he came to me: “Jeff, you too. You’re going to live a happy life. Sometimes it’s rough on the edges, but you know what’s good for you. You know what’s good for you, you know people will take care of you. Don’t worry, man. You’re going to live a happy life.”

“Life is rough on the edges”, he said. Not that my life is particularly bad, I just don’t handle things very well, and this is often when I turn to him. It’s nice to hear from someone — whose opinion which I respect greatly — that things are going to be alright for me, that people will take care of me when things get bad.

Because I knew in my heart that when Pat said “people”, that included himself.

1. Not that Pat has anything against drinking, as he sometimes has a beer with dinner, he simply doesn’t see the point to drinking to get drunk [↑]
2. About throwing up on Mike’s “natural-oak, natural-stain laminate floor”, or “wasting money” I spent for his halibut dinner [↑]

Part of The Tao Tattoo Series

1. The Meaning
2. The Experience
3. The Background
4. Tattwo

I decided to get my Tao tattoo about a month before I actually had it done. Choosing an artist wasn’t hard. Tiana, who’s awesome broken argyle tattoo reminds me of insouciant kites against a sky, had hers done by Jay at New Moon. After seeing some more of his work, which features finely detailed lines similar to what I had in mind, I decided to go with him as well.

The appointment was short. A quick check to make sure the positioning close to the wrist joint was acceptable, and to leave a deposit.

The receptionist asked me, “What does the kanji mean?”.

“Kanji?”. I questioned her assumption, and she quickly corrected herself. “Sorry, is it Chinese or Japanese or Korean…?”. I explained the character, and how it’s written the same way in Chinese and Japanese, the calligraphy being in a Chinese style.

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Sometimes I feel like I don’t offer anything to Pat. I call him for advice all the time, ask him to give me rides (groceries, furniture, large items on which he bargains), vent to him. He grew up relying on nobody but himself, so he never asks me for any favours, and I suppose he has Jen with whom to express his feelings.

Maybe this is the root of my insecurity. Pat’s friendship with me appears diluted. We’d both take a bullet for our friends, but mine is a far more exclusive club than his.

Pat doesn’t need me.

But I need him.

I laugh when I’m nervous. Especially around girls I’m attracted to — total gigglefest. I also laugh uncontrollably around people I meet for the first time. People lower their guard when there’s laughter, and I suspect my mind subconsciously finds humour in everything to put people at ease around me.

Around people I hate, I’m dead silent. That’s how you know I don’t like you: if I don’t talk. The mere presence of one of these people forces me to fully concentrate on not drilling a 4-inch hole in my temple with a cordless DeWalt.

Pat’s different. He told me once that if you ever see him shake his head and shrug his shoulders, you’re in his blacklist. In an act of faith, he’ll give everyone respect and will even go so far as to stab you in the front, but he gives up if you cross his line of ethics. He’ll never be involved with anything related to you after that. It’s not that he hates these people, like me, he loses all interest. This is probably even worse than my reaction which, because his is cold. You mean nothing to him. I try to let go as well, but I can’t. In the back of my head I cling to the hope that these people can change. Sometimes I also wonder if these people ever listen to themselves and can understand exactly why I hate them, because it’s so obvious to me.

I also cry in emotional situations. It doesn’t have to be anything particularly sad or happy, just a time when emotions are high. Intense sports games, Tim Horton’s commercials, sometimes just because someone else is crying. I can hide it pretty well though; people don’t understand if you start crying in a seemingly innocuous situation.

I used to try desperately to remain cerebral and logical — like Pat — but my emotions would always get the better of me. Now I’ve learned to embrace them. I could only do this after accepting myself and becoming content with who I am. They give me something Pat doesn’t have: intense inspiration. That rush, when your stomach churns, when your head is burns, when you heart flutters.

They’re a part of me, and they make me who I am.

I offered to help Pat and Jen scout out some locations for the wedding photos. They’re looking for the less-conventional urban look, which I think is a great change from the clichéd tree and river shots that have been done to death. Since it’s mostly architectural, emphasis is placed on structures, textures, and colours. We spent a couple hours downtown, discovering areas of Ottawa that we’ve never found before (and Pat’s lived here all his life).

This was probably one of the most productive photo sessions I’ve ever had. I got a bunch of great shots, but there are too many to put into one entry here.

A sense of hedonism has the better of me lately.

I remember feeling this way once. It was about five years ago, soon after I lost my grandmother and job in the same week. I’ve come to understand that such is a passing phase, and that I should simply enjoy such guilt-free things while it lasts.

As a result, I’ve been selfishly monopolizing Pat these last few weekends.

An exorbitant amount of pleasure comes from the motley assortment of foods he prepares.

Over the course of a few summers he perfected his grilling technique, and has now moved onto a mastery of cold salads. We have an agreement when it comes to practicing his cooking skills, where he gets a record of his consumable accomplishments, and in return I get a memorable meal and some great photos. He often mentions that he’ll have to join forces with Karen, an accomplished baker, to provide the desserts. Baking ability is something that’s admittedly eluded him, as he focuses on entrées.

The other, less tangible yet truly sublime form of pleasure comes from our conversations. Pat’s a person who listens and contributes to a topic in equal measure. Someone who doesn’t just wait for his turn to speak. As a result, I’m comfortable opening up to him, something that I shy away from with most other people.

Lately though, it’s clarity that I’ve been looking for. Too often, I over-analyze my life, and it’s no secret that my emotions affect me more than I’d like.

In the end, nothing clarifies and refreshes like a couple mugs of tea and some good conversation.

I’ve been hogging Pat these last few weekends, stealing him from the rest of his friends and family, but I don’t care.

Hedonism is the new rule, and I’m giving in with caprice.

Hey Pat,

I don’t know how serious you thought I was about being the best man or MC if you ever get married. I know it may sound crazy, but you getting married is as important to me as it is to you. I love you, and I know I don’t tell you that enough. You are a true friend to me, and you know that I don’t have many.

I see this as a great opportunity to do something for you, because you’ve already done so much for me. Let me take on the responsibility and support you, to be there for you on one of the most important days of your life. I easily put aside the differences I’ve had with any potential people you may invite (I think that we’re smart enough to be open and discuss this), because it’s about you, not me.

These things are usually planned pretty well in advance though, so I won’t be surprised if you have someone else in mind. I understand that we’re talking about YOUR big day, so you should have the people YOU want involved in YOUR wedding. To be honest, I’ll be happy with whatever decision you make, because I’m happy if you’re happy. Bottom line.

In any case, let me know when you pop the question, and WE WILL FEAST.

  —Jeff

I wrote this two years ago.

Pat proposed to Jen a couple of months later. Several months after that, they bought a house, delaying the wedding until this year.

Last week, Pat asked me to be a groomsman and co-MC.

When I found out that Jason would be best man (as well as the other MC) there was a tinge of jealousy in my heart, followed by an overwhelming sense of guilt about this jealousy.

To feel this way was a bit of a surprise. Jealously has never been one of my prominent emotions. It made me realize that I’m a little insecure in my relationship with Pat. There’s so much good in him, compared to the hatred, darkness, and weakness in me. He’s not my opposite, but he’s the person I’m constantly striving to become. Just being around him makes me feel elated and relaxed.

The frustrating thing is that I know it’s his wedding. He should be able to do whatever he wants. There’s no rivalry between Jason and me. As studier of people, I have every bit of faith in Pat’s decision. The logic has finally kicked in, and I feel a sense of warmth and security about being up there with Pat, a group exclusive to a handful of people out of a seemingly endless number.

It’s only now that I realize how selfish and inappropriate it was of me to ask. Running around, making sure everyone is having a good time, giving toasts, hosting games, the duty of MC isn’t even something I normally want to do. I only asked because it was a way that I could show how much Pat has done for me, a responsibility I’d take on gladly.

I’m scared that I made him feel obliged, and I’m ashamed of being jealous for that split-second.

A feeling that overwhelms logic.

Introduction

Pat once told me that he harbours an inexplicable compulsion to be in space. His belief is that when he’s finally there, he’ll have all the answers. Life. God. 42. The metaphysical implications don’t make sense, yet this is what he truly thinks. It’s a strange hole in the logical being I know as Pat, and only the enigmatic curiosity of the night sky can do this to someone.

I’m no exception. Something borne in us from childhood is a fascination that stems from the unknown. The stars provide enough for us to wonder about for a lifetime.

Unfortunately, for those who live in the city, there’s little chance to see the sky without “sky glow”, the annoying phenomenon that drowns out a large number of stars visible to the naked eye and telescope alike. As a by-product of industrialization, light pollution has taken the sparkle out of the stars, and this is where the HomeStar comes in.

What Is A HomeStar?

According to the official Homestar website, (translated through Babelfish):
“It is the planetarium for worldwide first optical type home. It is possible to exceed several thousand numbers of stars that to project approximately ten thousand thing stars it can see generally with naked eye of the human.”

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