Ode to le Pamplemousse x7

Posted December 2, 2009 by vivelepamplemousse
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50th blog post.  Figured I’d honour it by returning to an old favourite – le Pamplemousse.  It’s been a while.

November came and went.  It made my head hurt.  While it’s still early, December has brought promise and ideas are once again percolating in my head.

Fresh off the news of obtaining a 3 month reprieve from the insanity that was building up in my brain, I once again feel relaxed.  Nonetheless, much work is still to be done – perhaps more on that in another blog.

For now, a salute to a great fruit.

Until the next time…

BL

Soccer skillz

Posted November 22, 2009 by vivelepamplemousse
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I must’ve been 9 or 10, but I could have been 8.  I think it was my third year of playing soccer.  I remember we were playing the London Life team.  I don’t remember what our team was called.  I can look this all up of course – I still have all the team photographs from every year that I played.  However, those photos are a city away and really the precise details are secondary to my point.

Anyway, I remember my friend had come to watch me play on this particular day.  It was the second half, I believe we were losing 2-1.  I was on defence and the ball, one way or another, rolled to me at half.  I kicked it and it soared in the air, down the field, and into the opposing team’s net – 2-2.  If I do say so myself, it was a pretty nice goal.  It was also a break out goal.  I was terrible until that year, until that goal.  After, it was as if I could do anything with the ball.  At least that’s how I felt.

The next year (or the year after that) I was traded as the best player to the worst team.  I remember I cried.  I discovered a competitive spirit existed within me.  I wanted to win and suddenly I was on the worst team.  We won only one game all year.  It wasn’t fair.  Still, the number of goals I scored increased.  I had become a goal scorer.  Although, I also tried my hand at keeper with some initial success.  I was the keeper for my elementary school grade 6 team.

As the years went on and I got older I remember trying out for the rep team in my league.  I didn’t make it the first two years despite the fact that I deserved to (and yes I still maintain that.  I knew everyone on that team).  Once again, I remember crying.  Finally, I made the team, but it was not the same team as it was in the years past when I didn’t make the team.  We were terrible.  We never had practices and people were more interested in other things.  I still feel like I got screwed.

Slowly, but surely my talents would fade.  I went from being the best or one of the best on the team to average.  I could still do some creative things with the ball, but in general I watched as others got better and I merely stayed the same.  It was a combination of not having skill and not ever having a real dedicated coach who could actually help me improve.

Soon I changed positions and went from being a forward to a midfielder.  I told myself, I would be the guy that ran hard and made the plays rather than the one who finished them.  Again, I found some initial success.  I never had a great hard powerful shot, but I did have an accurate long ball and I was able to get people the ball.  However, I wasn’t great defensively – I was scared of the ball, scared to be aggressive.

Finally, toward the end of my competitive soccer playing days I found myself playing defence.  In university I played intramurals, but found myself on bad teams.  If there was one thing I still had, it was an eye for the game.  I always understood the game very well if nothing else.  I was able to recognize effective and ineffective strategies and players.  So, realizing that we kept getting scored on and also realizing I was not having much success at scoring myself I figured I’d apply my understanding of the game to defence.  Here again, I met with some initial success.  I was aware that people weren’t beating me as often as they were beating some of my other teammates.  Nonetheless, it bothered me that I wasn’t scoring.  I always felt most satisfied when I put the ball into the back of the opposition’s net.  Nothing else like it.

University came to an end and seemingly so did my soccer career.  Then I was fortunate enough to be able to play in my housemate’s recreational league.   Having nothing to lose, I decided to reprise my role as a goal scorer.

I was shocked to realize how far I had sunk.  I felt lost.  Basic things I once was able to do were no longer working.  I was embarrassed.   Still, I had fun.

Then last week, I resumed playing after not playing for a couple weeks and scored twice.  It wasn’t enough as we still lost (our team is terrible), but it felt like it did when I was 8, 9, or 10 years old.  I felt like I could do anything.   My first goal I chased down the opposing player deep into our zone, took the ball from him, then went all the way down the field by myself with speed and scored with my left foot to the top corner – I’ve always had a fairly decent left foot though I am right footed.  I was a little angry.  The other team had built up a 3-0 lead.  We had gotten one back to make it 3-1.  Time was running out and I was on the sidelines.  I was tired of losing and angry at myself for missing some earlier opportunities.  I came back on and scored twice just like that.   I felt focused.  I felt strong.  I felt like we we were going to win.  I only wish I could have shared those feelings with the rest of my teammates.

The game was meaningless.  We were playing for 9th place out of 12.  The league isn’t competitive either.  There aren’t even refs.  Yet, playing soccer and scoring goals produces one of those rare moments of sheer joy that is hard to replicate.

I’ve been pushing myself physcially a lot harder than usual in the past three weeks.  It’s helped to keep me sane, but my body is sore in various places.  However, if the reward is feeling like I once used to (such as on the soccer field for example) than I’ll deal with a little pain and feeling a little tired.

BL

Naps

Posted November 15, 2009 by vivelepamplemousse
Categories: Uncategorized

Really, weekends are too short.  When combined with a lack of sleep built up over the week, half the weekend is lost to sleep.

That being said, I had a nap today for the first time in a long time and it was everything I thought it would be.  I used to be the king of naps,  able to sleep at any moment for absolutely no reason.  I’ve forgotten the power that they contain.

The best part of sleep is that no thinking can be done.  Everything is quiet and peaceful.  Naps have the added benefit of passing time when nothing else is going on.

Doubling the length of the weekend to factor in napping would be a wise policy decision.  Not sure on the specifics yet, but should I ever become prime minister I will make it a top priority.

BL

Story Time x6

Posted November 10, 2009 by vivelepamplemousse
Categories: Uncategorized

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Terrible stretch of days.  It’s been hard, but this blog isn’t about that.

Here’s a fairly recent creation:

The Great Debate

“What a moron!”

“He should have known better than that.  Imagine, the world is now irrefutably different all because of a technicality.”

“What are you talking about?  The whole process was ridiculous.  How could they have reached a decision so quickly?”

“Simply unbelievable.”

Four men – scientists actually – were sitting around a table in a dark corner of a local pub drinking heavily and discussing the implications of what had just happened the day before.

Yesterday, a monumental event in the history of the world occurred.  A great debate took place between those that believed in evolution and those that believed in intelligent design.  It was aptly nicknamed, “The Great Debate” and it was quite a spectacle to behold.  On November 20th, 2063, the ten adjudicators gave their much anticipated ruling.

From the 10th to the 20th of November 2063, ten of the world’s leading proponents of evolution and ten of the world’s leading proponents of intelligent design lived in an undisclosed located.  Each day, one member from each “team” presented their arguments.

There was no audience except for the adjudicators and the hundreds of millions – possibly billions – that were watching the daily drama unfold on television.  Indeed, television audiences had never been bigger and television networks everywhere were rejoicing at the increased revenue as both the evolution and intelligent design communities tried to outbid each other for the coveted pre- and post-debate ad slots.

The 20 speakers were an interesting mix of people plucked from all walks of life thus adding to the drama.  Day 1 saw Dr. James Albeta, the famed biologist, talk about his experience living in remote parts of the world with gorillas and explaining the similarities he found between “us” and “them.”  It was truly an inspirational talk particularly when it came to Dr. Albeta describing how he became attached to one particular gorilla and watched as she “died in his arms from a broken heart.”

In contrast, the pro-intelligent design side trotted out the firebrand Rev. Alod Umketta, a travelling African clergyman, whose sermons were renowned for inducing an almost trance-like feeling amongst audience members.  Rev. Umketta talked about finding God – such as when he was rescued by a zebra – and defeating Satan – such as when he killed a Crocodile with his bare hands – on his travels through Africa.

Each subsequent day seemed to raise the bar for the next speakers.  Other speakers for the evolution included people largely from various scientific and academic backgrounds such as chemistry, biology, molecular genetics, philosophy, and physics.  On the intelligent design there were speakers representing all major faith groups as well as a couple of theologians and a popular author/televangelist.

In order to ensure that no undue influence would be placed on the participants, all 30 people involved were picked up at their homes and sent to an undisclosed location.  They had no contact with the outside world and each group was to have no contact with each other.  The speakers spoke one at a time in a solitary room, non-descript room featuring only a podium.  When they were done speaking they were to leave the room and return to their rooms.  Only the ten judges would be present for both speakers though they were not to ask or answer any questions – only to listen.  The idea was that the winner of this debate would be judged solely on the merit and articulation of their arguments.

****

In the years leading up to the Great Debate the world had seen a remarkable upswing in the amount of violence attributed to evolution and intelligent design activists.  The origins remain unknown, but there was a clear upsurge somewhere in the late 2040s that saw this debate move from the corridors of academia and religious institutions to the streets.  Polite dinner time conversation on the subject turned to yelling and verbal abuse as families were broken apart.  From activists handing out flyers, staging campaigns, pressuring governments for funding, or staging small, but peaceful protests to fistfights, to knife fights, to gunfights, to the destruction of scientific and religious institutions, to revolutions.

Governments worldwide would rise and fall with evolution being the culprit.  “Democracy at work!” chanted supporters even when democracy was in fact not at work.

Evolution and Intelligent design militant groups began to form.  The world, from the poor to the rich, were taking sides lining up to be either foot soldiers or financiers.  No-go areas emerged depending on what side people were on.

It was for this reason that in the late in 2050s back channel talks began amongst world leaders as well as various leaders representing both the camps.  Finally, in 1962, it was announced publicly that a debate would be held in November 1963.  In the interim, both sides declared a truce that resulted in an immediate decrease in violence.

It was further announced that the debate would be “authoritative and conclusive” meaning the winning team would have their views enshrined as factual and definitive in international law, while those that opposed the decision would face punishment subject to the laws of individual states.

****

On the very last day of debates, a very peculiar thing happened that forever altered history.  Abraham Abraham, President of the Council for Intelligent Design, had concluded his speech and summed up the arguments for his side.  It was a very impassioned plea in which he highlighted the “moral necessity for the future of humankind.”

Jordan Rondrack, the President of the Council for Evolution, now entered the room to close out the argument for the evolution side.  Just before he began his speech, he taped a piece of paper with the slogan of his organization to the front of the podium. The paper read: “EVOLUTION IS TRUTH.”

Jordan Rondrack then continued with his talk.  “Thank you.  My name is Jordan Rondrack and I want to talk to tell you a story…”  It was truly a fantastic speech in which he discussed his own personal experiences, and at the same time wrapped up his entire teams argument in an ingenious analogy about the brain.  He ended by saying, “I thank you all for all listening.  My colleagues and I were honoured to participate and we trust the judges will make the right decision.”

As he left the stage, the camera cut to the faces of the judges as they stood up to leave toward the conference room where they would deliberate and reach a decision.  Each one of their faces was identical – sheer panic and fear.

****

The judges were chosen not because of any particular expertise, but because they were either completely indifferent or ignorant or both to the issue at hand.  They also had a degree of pre-existing fame that, it was thought, would help in legitimizing the process.

Similarly, for the judges, The Great Debate was seen as an opportunity to gain more fame that would result from them being privy to the largest television audience in history for ten whole days.  However, as each subsequent speaker spoke, it became apparent that they were being asked to decide something that was beyond them.  As the days grew closer to deliberation day, they became aware that their decision would have a worldwide impact of unknown consequences.

“What are we going to do?” asked Glenda Watson, Australian gold medallist in Women’s high jump at the 2058 summer games.

“Surely they must know how insane this is.  If we just explain that we are not experts and therefore can’t be expected to make such a decision then I’m sure they’ll understand and cancel this whole stupid thing,” replied Anna Nuvemka, the star of the latest Romance-Comedy, Love Sucks.

“Yea I’m sure that’ll happen,” said Andy Oden sarcastically, the 19 year old American singing sensation whose latest album went double platinum and was just re-released in French.

“This is madness.  I don’t even care about religion or science.  Why are we even having this debate?” pleaded Anna more to herself than to anyone else.

“You know damn well why.  We could have refused to take this job, but we didn’t.  We can’t back out now anyway so let’s just think of a way to deal with this,” chimed in Bollywood star, Mahesh Nukar.

“Why? Why can’t we back out?” asked Anna now on the verge of tears.

“Who would we ‘back out’ to?  We’re not even sure who hired us.  Who would we talk to?  Besides if we don’t answer there will be riots and violence worse than there was before.  The people of the world are expecting an answer.  They are expecting peace.”

“Mahesh is right.  We need to give an answer,” said Calvin van Ordenbelche, the infamous 68 year old Dutch painter most famous for his Mona Lisa with moustache painting.  He had been sitting quietly with his head in his hands until this moment.  “The trick is to give an answer without giving an answer.  I think I know how to do that.”

“Do tell professor,” said Andy as everyone leaned in attentively.

“The key is in the last speaker, Dr. Jordan Rondrack” Calvin paused and looked around to see if anyway was following his thought pattern.  When he noticed everyone still looked very confused he sighed and continued, “He used a prop!  The sign…”

“The ‘TRUTH IS EVOLUTION’ sign?”

“That’s the one,” answered the Dutch painter.

“So?” asked Nga Lau, the beautiful Chinese actor.

“So props are forbidden.  It’s in the rules.  We rule that Dr. Jordan Rondrack and the evolution side cheated and are therefore disqualified.”

“But I agree with the evolution side.  The intelligent-design argument is just stupid,” said the German basketball star Lars Ulrich.

“What?  No it’s not.  The intelligent-design side was soooo much better.  That crazy preacher guy on Day 5 was insane,” said Andy.

Before this could go any further, Calvin van Ordenbelche cut in.  “It doesn’t matter what you think!” he thundered, “Look, we can argue and argue, but I’m willing to bet we won’t solve anything.  The rules state we need to be unanimous.  The only way to do that is to not answer the question.  It’s the only way to get out of here.  I’ve had enough of the violence, of these two groups, of this whole bloody process.  Let someone else figure it out.  That’s what I say.  For now, we postpone that decision by not directly answering it.  Maybe down the road people smarter than us will figure it out.  However, let us have peace and quiet in the meantime.”

There was silence as Calvin van Ordenbelche’s eyes cut from one person to the next.  As he did so, each one nodded silently in agreement.

****

Two hours after Dr. Rondrack had given his speech, everyone had been assembled together for the first time.  All 30 of them stood there in the room in silence.  The judges stood in the center, the evolution speakers on the left, and the intelligent design speakers on the right as they waited for the green light to come on that would signal the television cameras were rolling.  Finally, it came on.  Calvin van Ordenbelche stepped forward.

“Good evening citizens of the world.  We, the humble judges, have reached a unanimous decision.”  He paused, took a deep breath, and then continued, “Due to the illegal use of the prop by Dr. Jordan Rondrack representing the evolution team, we declare the intelligent-design side to be the winner of The Great Debate and therefore the intelligent design belief to be authoritative and conclusive.  May there now be peace.”

There was a deafening silence in the room as Calvin van Ordenbelche and the rest of the judges stepped off the stage and left without looking at either group.  Then, suddenly there was a cheer from the Imam and then all of the intelligent-design speakers began to cheer as the green light faded to black.  The evolution speakers then too filed out slowly in disbelief as if in a zombie-like trance.  The lone exception was that of Dr. Jordan Rondrack who stayed behind as the celebrations continued around him.

****

The next day, 29 of the 30 speakers and judges were returned to their respective homes from their undisclosed location.  The one exception was once again Dr. Jordan Rondrack who was found hanging from a rope in his room.

World and religious leaders proclaimed hope that a new dawn was upon the world.  There was also a sense of relief from people worldwide as they began to get back to work.  The decades of violence and political strife had numbed them to the reality of the decision.  All they cared about was that the violence was over and that they could now get back to doing what they once did.  There were a few scattered reports of arrests of people who refused to accept the ruling, but on the whole there was peace.  Laws would subsequently be enacted around the world that banned any further mention or study of evolution.

****

The four scientists, now sufficiently drunk, stumbled out of the pub over to a nearby parking lot.

“To science!” said one.

“To the future!” said another as four guns were passed around.

****

From inside the pub, four distinctive pops were heard as a group of four intelligent design activists opened champagne bottles to large cheers.  Meanwhile, the dark table in the corner stood empty as if it were a relic of some distant long-ago past.

Outside, meanwhile, there was silence.

Here’s hoping for better days soon.

BL

Posted November 6, 2009 by vivelepamplemousse
Categories: Uncategorized

The words that ended my night – and my dreams:

“Goodbye and good luck.”

Was there any point in saying more?

I wonder.

BL

Story Time x5

Posted November 4, 2009 by vivelepamplemousse
Categories: Uncategorized

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Just written…

Tell Me A Story

“Tell me a story,” said the boy to his father one night.

“Alright,” replied the father taking a seat on the bed beside his son, “what would you like the story to be about?”

“I don’t know.  It should be a surprise…and happy” answered the boy after a slight pause.

The father laughed and then thought for a moment.  Looking around the boy’s room he was suddenly profoundly aware that two things were missing – books and a bookshelf.  As he turned back to his son waiting patiently for his story, he resolved to fix those two problems.

“There once was a boy named Arthur,” the father began as he tried to remember the story of King Arthur.

The boy listened quietly, never interrupting – despite his father’s stumbling of the story – until his eyes slowly closed and he drifted off to sleep.  The father kissed his son goodnight and left.

The next day, his father kept his unspoken promise to his son first, by building him a small wooden bookshelf and second, by buying him the real story of King Arthur (albeit a children’s version), which he promptly placed on the bookshelf.

That evening, as the father tucked his son into bed once again, the son said, “Tell me a story dad.”

“I told you a story last night,” said the father as he prepared to leave.

“But you didn’t finish it…”

“You fell asleep before I could.”

The son looked at the father and the father looked at the son.  A stalemate had ensued.  Finally, the father conceded.  “Okay, I will finish the story for you.”

“No! I want a new story.  A funny one!” demanded the boy.  “I’ve already read that one” he said pointing at his new book on his new bookshelf.

His father looked at his son in disbelief and sighed. “A funny one?” he asked rhetorically, trying to think back to when he was a child.  Finally, it came to him and he told his son the story of Jack and the Beanstalk.  “There once was a boy named Jack…”

The next day his father went to the bookstore and got his son the book version of Jack and the Beanstalk and placed it on the bookshelf.

Suddenly, a tradition was born.  As the boy got older, the books got longer.  Soon, stories could not be finished in one night.  The father and son reached a deal whereby the father would start a story and the son would finish it on his own.

As the years went on, the boy grew older and his room slowly filled with more and more books to a point where the bookshelf was no longer even visible.  For his 13th birthday, the boy had a big party and all his friends came and gave him wonderful presents, but the gift he cherished the most was his copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea given to him by his father.  That night, as the father was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper, the boy approached him,  “Here.  Tell me a story,” said the boy handing his father his new book.

The father smiled, folded up his newspaper, and began to read from page one as his son eagerly took a seat next to him.

One summer day, the boy – now 22 – got in a car accident and was rushed unconscious to a hospital.  He suffered a concussion and a few other minor injuries, but was otherwise physically okay.  His friend, who had been driving, was not so lucky.  The father rushed to the hospital as soon as he heard the news.  His son in tears at the news of his friend, the father simply sat and listened.  Finally, his son still choking back tears said to his father, “Tell me a story.”

His father stared at his tearful son, nodded, and reached into his bag.  He read the first words from Jonathan Lethem’s The Fortress of Solitude, “Like a match struck in a darkened room…” He would read to his son long into the night until once again, just like many years ago, his son fell asleep.

Some more years passed and both the father and the boy got older.  The boy was no longer a boy.  He got a job, met a girl, got married and moved away.  The father too went through changes.  He sold his house and moved into a small apartment, he retired, and finally, in his later years was diagnosed with cancer.

Still, throughout the years the father and son had a very close relationship.  They talked regularly and the father continued to send his son books though he no longer read any of them to him.

Then one day, the son got a phone call.  His father had collapsed and was in hospital.  “He hasn’t got much time left,” said the nurse.  The son got on a plane that very day and was sitting bedside in hours.

The father, pale and with tubes sticking out of his nose and arm, managed a smile at the sight of his son.  The son took his hand and his father squeezed back.  “Tell me a story,” said the father.

BL

“Tell me a story,” said the boy to his father one night.

“Alright,” replied the father taking a seat on the bed beside his son, “what would you like the story to be about?”

“I don’t know.  It should be a surprise…and happy” answered the boy after a slight pause.

The father laughed and then thought for a moment.  Looking around the boy’s room he was suddenly profoundly aware that two things were missing – books and a book case.  As he turned back to his son waiting patiently for his story, he resolved to fix those two problems.

“There once was a boy named Arthur,” the father began as he tried to remember the story of King Arthur.

The boy listened quietly, never interrupting – despite his father’s stumbling of the story – until his eyes slowly closed and he drifted off to sleep.  The father kissed his son goodnight and left.

The next day, his father kept his unspoken promise to his son first by building him a small wooden bookcase and second by buying him the story of King Arthur, which he promptly placed on the bookshelf.

That evening, as the father tucked his son into bed once again, the son said, “Tell me a story dad.”

“I told you a story last night,” said the father as he prepared to leave.

“But you didn’t finish it…”

“You fell asleep before I could.”

The son looked at the father and the father looked at the son.  A stalemate had ensued.  Finally, the father conceded.  “Okay, I will finish the story for you.”

“No! I want a new story.  A funny one!” demanded the boy.  “I’ve already read that one” he said pointing at his new book on his new bookshelf.

His father looked at his son in disbelief and sighed. “A funny one?” he asked rhetorically, trying to think back to when he was a child.  Finally, it came to him and he told his son the story of Jack and the Beanstalk.  “There once was a boy named Jack…”

The next day his father went to the bookstore and got his son the book version of Jack and the Beanstalk and placed it on the bookshelf.

Suddenly, a tradition was born.  As the boy got older, the books got longer.  Soon, stories could not be finished in one night.  The father and son reached a deal whereby the father would start a story and the son would finish it on his own.

As the years went on, the boy grew older and his room slowly filled with more and more books to a point where the bookshelf was no longer even visible.  For his 13th birthday, the boy had a big party and all his friends came and gave him wonderful presents, but the gift he cherished the most was his copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea given to him by his father.  That night, as the father was sitting on the coach reading the newspaper, the boy approached him with his book.  “Here.  Tell me a story,” said the boy handing his father his new book.

The father smiled, folded up his newspaper, and began to read from the first page as his son took a seat next to him.

One summer day, the boy – now 22 – got in a car accident and was rushed to a hospital unconscious.  He suffered a concussion and a few other minor injuries, but was otherwise physically okay.  His friend, who had been driving, was not so lucky.  The father rushed to the hospital as soon as he heard the news.  His son in tears at the news of his friend, the father simply sat and listened.  Finally, his son still choking back tears said to his father, “Tell me a story.”

His father stared at his tearful son, nodded, and reached into his bag.  “Like a match struck in a darkened room…” his father began as he read the first words from Jonathan Lethem’s The Fortress of Solitude.  He read to his son long into the night until once again, just like many years ago, his son fell asleep.

Some more years passed and both the father and the boy got older.  The boy was no longer a boy.  He got a job, met a girl, got married and moved away.  The father too went through changes.  He sold his house and moved into a small apartment, he retired, and was diagnosed with cancer.

Still, throughout the years the father and son had a very close relationship.  They talked regularly and the father continued to send his son books though he no longer read any of them to him.

Then one day, the son got a phone call.  His father had collapsed and was in hospital.  “He hasn’t got much time left,” said the nurse.  The son got on a plane that very day and was sitting bedside in hours.

The father pale and with tubes sticking out of his nose and arm, managed a smile at the sight of his son.  The son took his hand and his father squeezed back.  “Tell me a story,” said the father.

Post-Hallowe’en unproductivity

Posted November 1, 2009 by vivelepamplemousse
Categories: Uncategorized

Did absolutely nothing today.  For the first day in quite some time I can say I have not done one productive thing.  Also, the first time in about 3 weeks that I haven’t been on my bike.  Also, the first time in a few months that I have been drunk and subsequently hungover.  Hence, my unproductivity.

It’s 4:45 and all I really want to do is go to sleep for the rest of the day/night.  I have nothing to look forward to for the rest of this day.

No doubt, all signs of a good Hallowe’en party (also my first hallowe’en party in quite some time and the first time I’ve dressed up in an even longer period of time).

A day of firsts apparently.
BL

Ambition and Money

Posted October 30, 2009 by vivelepamplemousse
Categories: Uncategorized

Tags:

It’s somewhat ironic that I could be the best, brightest, and most dedicated person to have ever come through the doors of my work (I’m not), but would still be told at the end of the day, “Thank you for your time.  Best of luck.  Goodbye.”

Meanwhile, someone who doesn’t believe in climate change, but was born into a lot of money and is otherwise an exceptional philanthropist could do so much – more than I ever could.

I’m not naive.  I have nothing against this philanthropist – on the contrary, I appreciate that he did so much.  I also have nothing against money or capitalism.

I understand that money talks.  I understand that more often than not one has to work their way up the system.  I understand and view my position as a learning experience and am grateful for it.  Yet, it is incredibly demoralizing to know that I could do everything possible with existing resources and still be shown the door.

Where is the lesson in that?

Given this knowledge, how do I go forward knowing that I am inevitably constrained by funds?  Granted this is not a problem unique to me or to NGO’s, but it is somewhat more acute given the smaller pool from which I/we can draw resources from.

I know I am capable of so much more, but am still searching for the appropriate outlet.  I’ve been extremely lucky thus far, but it would be terrible to one day wake up and realize that all my dreams keep getting interrupted by a message that says: “Insufficient funds.  Please try again.”

BL

Past vs. Future

Posted October 29, 2009 by vivelepamplemousse
Categories: Uncategorized

Can’t decide which I’d prefer right now, but suddenly feel pressed to make a decision sooner rather than later.

BL

Random Photos

Posted October 27, 2009 by vivelepamplemousse
Categories: Uncategorized

Tags:

P6270611P7010721P7020770P7040890P7020383P7050448P7070481P7100557P7110574P7110584P7210612

BL