Ten Years of Zen

Well Happy New Year! ...And Happy Chinese New Year as well!
When the new year hit this year, I found myself thinking about how much some things have changed. So many things about which I once cared so much don't seem to matter to me anymore; others matter more. Friends have changed so much as well, but we can still look back on the past and laugh over all the silly things that happened once upon a time.
Since it's a new year and it's also my 100th post, the occasion warrants taking a look back. I don't really agree with the theology of zen, but today I will borrow the term. It was difficult to choose just one moment of zen per year, but here is what I'm calling Ten Years of Zen.

2000 - The Island
In the summer of 2000 I learned the basics of sailing. It's something in which I never became terribly proficient, but immediately loved nonetheless. Every so often my brother and I still get into a sailboat to prove to ourselves that we remember how to trim a sail or tie a knot. Not only did the lessons seem like a fun idea, it also seemed like the natural thing to do because we were living on an island.
I had been a little bit apprehensive moving there for a four month stretch. Not only did the people seem a little bit eccentric, but suddenly my life was ruled by a ferry schedule. Miss the boat and get stuck for 45 minutes; be back by 11:30pm or be stranded downtown at night; carry all your groceries on your back while regretting having bought milk... But then I think about the times I would come home on cool summer nights and while everyone was huddled in the cabin, I would stand upstairs on the ferry deck and enjoy the night and the view and the peace of feeling that I'd left the bustle of the city far behind.
In the times when I stopped to think about how beautiful and timeless life was that summer, I realized that I was very lucky to have had those four months. I would step off my doorstep every morning to the best view in the city. I sat on the shore one night, sipping a martini and watching the fireworks over the panorama of the city at night, a riot of lights and colours yet so peaceful. The oppressive heat of the city had been left on the other shore and a fresh breeze was coming off the lake. And all that could be heard was crickets and lapping water.

2002 - Traveling Piano Man
I have mentioned previous to this the frivolities surrounding invites to the college Wine and Cheese. Out of all the invites I'd witnessed, my roommate put together what was for me the most memorable one.
How could I ever forget the look on the girl's face when I saw her open her door to be greeted by a whole cluster of guys singing to her, and my roommate, such a quiet guy sitting right there in the hallway at the piano, showing us all how it's done. After seeing that, I knew I had to step up my own invites!

2007 -People You Meet in Europe
When you're far away from home, it sometimes seems that people act quite curiously. In some countries the differences are quite subtle, while in others they are quite obvious. But being a visitor to the country, one must respect the customs of that culture. At the same time one must be aware that sometimes being out of place puts a big target on your back.
For instance, in London it seemed like everyone who approached you wanted to tell you some rambling story that would end in the transfer of funds from your pocket to their own. Like a guy who ran out of gas and decided to beach his car and just wander around the city looking for two pounds. Or an irate (and very profane) Australian who wanted to rant about his embassy. Unfortunately given the British aptitude for hooliganism you have to watch out. If one gives out few pounds here or there, pretty soon everyone knows exactly where one keeps one's wallet and how much is in it.
But there were some pretty amusing people too. In Basel, we stayed in a room with an itinerate Italian. He was so excited to be there that he raved to us for a long time, half in Italian. "Molto bene! Molto gioioso! Euuurope, it's- it's- it's... it's Europe!" We started to get a little creeped out when he kept running into us all over town and hailing us as "hEEEy, CAnadA!" Or a girl on roller blades in France in the middle of the night crossing our path twice in random directions mewling to herself, "Minnou, minnou." We hoped that she was looking for a lost cat. Or the sketchy drunk old man who sounded like he spoke three languages in a single phrase and seemed to be offering to sell his dog.
My last night in Europe was probably the best for amusing run-ins. It was in London, naturally. At about 2am we were standing downtown looking for a cab. It was raining of course. My friend had called for a cab but there was no sign of it. But there were a lot of other cabs around. "No no, we have to use one of the official black cabs; you never know what will happen to you if you get into anything else." Fine. Then a man in a van drove up looking for a fare but my friend would have none of that. "No, no we have a black cab on the way." The man turned to him and said, "well I'm a cabbie and I'm black, so what are you waiting for?" Much later on, we were still waiting for this black cab when a couple of girls came up and wanted to know what bus would take them home. After they realized that I had no better chance of getting them home than I did getting myself home, the one spotted a bunch of rickshaws stationed on the curb. Then she saw my friend standing on the street next to them peering down the street for our long-awaited cab. He was on his cell phone and dressed fairly sharp, looking like the hot-shot banker that he is. I'll not forget the look on his face when she called out to him, "Excuse me, how much for a ride?"
The most notable person I met in Europe was someone I met in Italy in 2006. I remembered her because there were only three Canadians on the tour, my friend, myself and her. I didn't realize how notable it was however until 2007. One day after moving back to head office at work, I found myself squinting intently at someone walking by. She looked very familiar from somewhere. Unfortunately I don't think this went unnoticed. Do you know that bland look that girls give to unpleasant looking creeps? Apparently she's used to giving such looks because as I found out later, she is one of the most pursued girls in the company.
As it turns out, this girl has the same name as the one from my trip, visited the same country at the same time with the same agency... and can't remember spending that week with me at all. Yup, I went to Italy with someone from work and I never realized it until over a year later. Hopefully she now realizes that she never needed to apply her anti-creep stare on me.

1999 - On Your Shore
There is a conundrum of two facts. I feel that a relationship with a life partner will have a solid basis of friendship. At the same time however, there are risks associated with expressing feelings to a friend: not only do you put your pride in jeopardy, but also the friendship. Consequently, unless you take that risk, things will always have to be frustratingly vague and you start to wonder if you weren't better off picking up some stranger at a bar and hoping friendship would develop along with the romance. At least then if you get shut down, oh well, you'll never see them again.
I sometimes think back to when I was young and naive. It was a time when things were so much simpler; a time when you didn't have to draw any distinction between 'I like you,' and 'I like you.' Now it would seem if someone says anything like that, it could mean, 'I'm waiting for you to ask me out. Do I have to spell it out any more clearly, dummy?' Or very likely it means, 'I think you're swell but I like you better beyond five feet.'
I was eighteen years old when a friend of mine took that chance with me. She gave me a CD and underscored some of the lyrics for me.
Strange how I falter To find I'm standing in deep water Strange how My heart beats To find I'm standing on your shore
If one thing has remained the same over the years, it's my inability to catch the meaning of anything less direct than that!

2004 - Grad Frivolities
In good faith that we would pass all of our courses in the final term of University, graduation festivities would normally be held more than a month before the end of the year.
The festivities would traditionally entail going to Value Village and buying the most hideous clothing you could find and parading around campus with similarly-clad classmates. In my year, suggested itineraries were something like this:
05:30 - wake up
06:00 - pour 3-4oz of vodka into a glass of orange juice (breakfast of champions; it's cold outside after all). Quaff.
06:10 - get into your costume
06:20 - look into the mirror and realize you're not yet ready to show your face in public. Pour another juice.
07:00 - wander up the street hopping snowbanks looking for the meeting place
08:00 - Boat Racing and catching up with people from other departments you haven't seen since first year
10:00 - Drop in the offices of members of your faculty with your class
12:00 - Have lunch anywhere public
13:00 - Drop in on some old favourite classes in session with your class. Brownie points if you can answer any questions correctly.
15:30 - Go home, rest and get cleaned up and dressed up
19:00 - Be sober for the graduation ceremony
21:00 - Celebrate in whatever way you wish
05:30 - Go to bed already; you still have classes in the morning!

1998 - Battle of the Lab Partners
Back when I was young and naive and cared about marks, I considered an 80% to be a pass. When the estimated required average for the University program of your choice is over 90%, a 75 on an exam doesn't exactly delight.
It was about that time that a new girl came to my school and became my lab partner. It was like sitting next to Hermione Granger. The girl wasn't even interested in sciences and didn't need the marks, yet she made me look like a complete idiot:
"Hmmm, I got a 90% on that quiz... He must've made a mistake, I think I should have gotten question 10 right... How did you do Rue?"
[Rue scowls and turns his paper over]
"Never mind."
When she started beating me in the Maths as well, I had to put my foot down. With a lot of work and a 100 in calc, I managed to snatch the math award from her at graduation (by a fraction of a percent). She cleaned up pretty much everything else except music which I'm sure I won only because she didn't take that course.
In 1998, the French teacher was encouraging everyone to participate in a county French competition. I am and was a complete klutz with language - even my own, but a day off of school and a free lunch - how could anyone refuse? A while later, everyone was invited for an awards ceremony - more free food, why not? As it turns out, it's a good thing I decided to go or else I'd have missed that year's moment of zen. The winner of the immersion category for the whole county - yup, you guessed it: my lab partner. When they announced the second prize I was sure I had misheard it- "Rue Wallace." Sheepishly I went to the front before a room full of people including classmates who knew just as well as I that there was certainly some sort of mistake. Then I remembered and it all made sense - I always finish second to that girl.

2006 - I Guess I Just Don't Understaaaand the Ladies
At some point I realized that I'd developed a bad habit of getting rejected by girls. No, actually it was a bad habit of getting rejected by girls I hadn't pursued romantically and had no outright plans of doing so. "Well, it's just that you're so nice to me... I thought I should let you know I'm not interested." Simple and direct; I can appreciate that. But it wears you down after a while. True, in my mind I'd rather date a friend than a stranger. Unfortunately, it seems that so many people want to put you into the box of "like," "don't like," or "just-a-friend" as soon as you say, "hello my name is..." and don't want to move inventory from one box to another. I suppose it makes for an uncomplicated life though.
As I think about it years later, it may have been a decision-deferring attitude similar to mine that led a girl to press a letter into my hand. I had never realized until then that a person could be so very direct and yet at the same time completely ambiguous: "Don't worry, this is not a love letter... I have the feeling that you like me and maybe you have given the idea of us being together some thought... I just want to let you know that I'm willing to pray about us if you want me to. I have no feelings for you at the moment and I don't know if that will change... If you like we can meet for a drink or something sometime..."
Maximum respect for the courage required to write that, but I'm afraid the actual meaning got lost somewhere in there...

2001 - Aikijujutsu
Before I first took lessons in martial arts in 2001, I had realized that there would probably be a great deal of pain involved. However, I had not realized that most of that pain would be self-inflicted. With the exception of having to be hip-thrown by my house mate over and over again in quick succession, most of the moves were relatively painless. I have pretty loose joints so when people would half-heartedly (because they were nice and didn't want to hurt anyone) twist my arm or wrist and I would be perfectly alright. In fact, most of the pain came from the acrobatic type activities. 'Roll that way, jump and roll over that thing, jump over this five foot block and land flat on your back, fall on your front (try not to land on your face).'
When it came time for testing for belts the sensei made it clear that you had to mean it when you do a choke hold or a pin or whatever. So merrily we were split off into pairs for the testing. Wouldn't you know it; I got stuck with a girl. You want me to hurt this person without holding back? Fortunately I had an out; she had a broken arm. How anyone can test for any belt of any sort with a broken arm, I do not know. In any case, this was sorted out as follows: I would be her victim, and some other guy would get called in to be mine.
Unfortunately, this girl seemed to have had some anger issues or just some deep dislike for me. When she started in on me, I thought my arm was going to pop. I think it was at the point where I was lying on my face with my arm leveraged so far behind my back that the evaluators started laughing. Something about a garbage can lid (I assume the type you step on the pedal and the lid flies up). It was so frustrating because I wasn't allowed to defend myself and she wasn't about to let up because she knew as well as I that when my turn came to be tested, someone else would stand in for her.
When my time eventually did come, the chuckles I heard became great peals of laughter. I was so annoyed that I went to town on that poor blighter selected to stand in for her.
My limbs may no longer feel dislocated, but it still hurts emotionally that I got beaten up by a girl.

2003 - Football
In the summer of 2003 I was talked into joining an intramural soccer team.
"Come on, it'll be fun!" said the captain.
"But I really don't know all the rules. And I'm really no good."
"Yeah well neither are we."
She was right. The team was so bad that I was the only person crazy enough to play keeper.
Sitting at the bottom of the league, we were outclassed in every game we played that season. Which meant that I was extremely busy in the net. Several games into the season it became quite clear that a score of 5-0 against was a good day. Then we faced the top team in the league. It was a constant barrage on me; we had zero shots on goal the entire game. After missing about ten excellent scoring chances, the other team started to get a little bit frustrated. There were so many 3-on-1 rushes or 2-on-me yet they just couldn't close the deal. All the way to the final few minutes of the game, the score was 0-0 and they were starting to get really frantic. There was a great deal of celebrating going on when they finally put one by me moments before the end of the game to end what should have been 20-0 in a score of 1-0. I think I was the only player on the field who came away from that game satisfied.
The following game I was determined to play it tight and aggressive. The previous game had made me thirsty for a shutout. So it happened that the ball was punted down the field at one point and naturally my defense man was caught flat-footed. The opposing attacker and I found ourselves charging at each other at full speed, the ball resting directly between us. A fraction sooner than me, the guy took a mighty swing at the ball. I planted myself to block. Did I mention he was large? The ball deflected off of me - hard. His kick didn't lose any force after hitting that ball. I don't think it did after following through both my legs just below the knees either. Bone on bone. Vaguely I was aware that I had gone face first into the ground (my jujutsu training prevented a broken nose), but I was more preoccupied by the sensation that my bones had been shattered. Play went right on. It was several minutes of me lying on my face in the dust before someone finally thought to hoof the ball out of bounds.
From somewhere across the field, I heard the ref call out, "hey are you ok?"
Before I could reply, I heard my captain from somewhere in the same direction retort, "naw, he's fine. Get back in net!"
Bless that girl.

2005 - Application Forms are Available
Over four years, from 2002 I performed at an annual university coffee house in a capella boy bands. The support we received from the audience was unbelievable. I don't think it was from the quality of the music, and it certainly wasn't because we looked anything like a boy band. I think it was mostly because people would never have believed that most of us were capable of getting up enough courage to stand up in front of so many people and do what we did. I can remember in my last year, some people made up some billboards saying things like "We love you Scott!" or "SSB rocks!"
The members changed over the four years I did this but a few factors always remained the same: it was always five guys, almost always a capella and always eclectic in the selection of songs. We would do zany pieces people had never heard of, or farcical Back Street Boys medleys, followed by some serious music or mainstream selections.
One thing I really enjoyed was when we would find a really rich song and I would take it home, listen to it, get the music onto paper, and arrange it for five parts. Probably the most gratifying experience for me was not how much people enjoyed the performances; rather it was watching pieces that I'd transcribed come together. My favourite work was Prayer of the Children which took up a large chunk of my last term of school.

It was always pretty challenging to work in such serious music into an otherwise casual setting.
When we were doing our pre-show sound check in 2005, the girl in the sound booth burst out, "Oh no, you're not doing that song again this year?!"
Worried, we shuffled our feet and someone said, "Uh... well we were kind of thinking of it."
"You're going to make me cry again."
I think that was in a good way.
In the year of 2003, the boys decided to write some of their own lyrics for a song about ourselves. That is, about ourselves and women. The verses were about each of us and contained silly stories like the one guy finding love at Home Hardware but lacking the courage to ask her out and instead each time buying buckets of paint that he didn't need. Actually, I take no responsibility for this; I went out to pick up some pizza and when I got back I found that they had written a verse for me:
Rue would like a girlfriend,
He'd really like one soon
He's taking applications
'Til Friday half past noon
If you think you'd like to be the one
Please line up at stage right
If you're the lucky one he chooses
He'll call you Friday night.
Unfortunately the response level was fairly low. OK, well it was non-exsistant. But that was just as well, because we weren't prepared to go through an interview process. In the year 2005 however, we were ready with some joke application forms requesting the most random information from applicants:

* * *

SSB 2005 "More fun than $17,000,000"*

Position (name of band member)________________________
Capacity: (check one) Friend Groupie Girlfriend** Other
Name:__________________________________________
Gender:_____________
Blood type:___________
Birthday (yy/mm/dd):__________
Food restrictions:__________________________________
Colour of favourite shirt:_____________________________
Favourite month:__________________________________
Ideal room temperature:_____________________________
Average sleep per night:_____________________________
First language:____________________________________
Other languages:__________________________________
Favourite book:___________________________________
Best attribute:____________________________________
Ideal place to hang out:______________________________
Ideal place to live:__________________________________
Favourite childhood cartoon:__________________________
Favourite summer activity:___________________________
Favourite winter activity:____________________________
Motto:__________________________________________
_______________________________________________
Honesty... (check one)
-Is a good policy
-Only when it serves
-Can only be experienced with a trusted few
-Is a brutal weapon to be used in many circumstances
-Some things are best unsaid
A long walk on the beach... (check one)
-Is a very romantic activity
-Is such a cliche
-Is cold and gets sand in everything
-Is fun to do alone
Laughter... (check one)
-Is the shortest distance between friends
-Is never heard around me. From me, from anyone around me...
-Reminds me of those people in high school who made fun of me
-Distracts me from studying

*One thing more fun than SSB would be SSB WITH $17,000,000. Amount is subject to inflation. **Offer valid while supplies last. Applicant must be at least 16 years of age to apply for this position.

* * *

The gag seemed to be well-received and people seemed to have had some fun as they rose to the occasion with silly submissions. Most memorable responses included:
Blood type: 007
Food restrictions: any meal not shared with you
Average sleep per night: 12 hours dreaming of you
But I almost fell from my chair when someone wrote as their motto,
"It's getting hot in here, there must be some Rue in the atmosphere!"