15 minutes or less

I must admit that the concept of fame is appealling on certain levels. The idea that total strangers know about you, and may be fans of your work must be intoxicating and addictive.

I've considered producing webcomics on and off for awhile, and reflected on how promotion of my webcomic would lead to folk who dig what I do (as well as folk who hate it, but what can you do) following my progress. Part of what appeals to me about the act of creation is having some kind of impact on others; making someone laugh, smile, or simply scratch their head thoughtfully after being exposed to something I've written/drawn seems very cool.

At the same time, I don't consider myself someone actively looking for life-altering fame; I enjoy my small, happy life, and wouldn't appreciate the intrusion of interest in me if I happened to attain a level of popularity. That's the paradox of fame: people desire the glory and adulation, but resent the constant attention that comes with it.

I enjoy Big Brother every summer, but wonder what drives these individuals to expose themselves on national TV for the small chance of a cash prize; I suppose ego is a tremendously potent force, but do these contestants consider the downside to total strangers identifying with, adoring, or hating them? Or are they all acting, creating personas to mask their true selves?

I'm not looking for fame, but if it ever happened, I figure I'd continue to be the same dorky, low-key individual I've always been. Then again, who knows?

Mean green

I enjoy money, I really do. I appreciate the crisp paper with intricate design and nifty holograms, and like the way bills line my wallet. But for me, money remains one thing: a tool.

My motivation in life has never been to make a fortune; as a matter of fact, I define wealth by different things besides numbers on a bank statement: family, health, and peace of mind and spirit.

Of course, money goes a long way towards peace of mind, and I'll be the first to admit that monthly bills stress me out. However, I'm proud of the fact that the accumulation of cash isn't an obsession of mine; I've seen firsthand how the desire to create monetary wealth can transform someone into a monster, and I decided long ago that I wasn't interested in following a similar path.

Money is a wonderful tool; it's great to own my house, beaten up car, and moderate dvd and comic book collection; but in the end, cash (and material goods) are simply things, with only the value that we place upon them. I don't subscribe to financial irresponsibility; today's society extolls the joy of credit, ensuring us that a life of debt is absolutely normal in order to purchase the latest gizmo or entertainment that we so desperately need.

Feh. I'm happy that I go my own way, as far as saving and spending are concerned. I certainly wouldn't mind having more money, but it's not an all-consuming drive for me, and for that, I'm grateful.

I choose to accept this mission....

A weird thought popped into my head while hanging out with my daughters at the park this morning: I wondered how many breakfasts and lunches I've prepared for them over the years, and the number seemed outrageous.

If my future self (of today) would've informed my past version (of 9 years ago, heavier and with a bit more hair) that I'd have to prepare such a volume of meals, my past self would've certainly mumbled 'Uh, you're joking; that's impossible!'

It's really easy to become overwhelmed by the prospect of any challenge in life, big or small. When I'm not sure I can handle a particular chore, I put it aside until I feel mentally prepared to tackle it; once it's accomplished, I usually wonder why I considered it such a big deal in the first place. I guess the unknown of dealling with such challenges intimidates me, since I'm uncertain of (and probably underestimate) my mental and physical limits.

I've gotta remember that 'impossible' is only a word, and a sentiment that cripples and holds me back. I can accomplish what I put my mind to, including whatever the future throws at me!

Soothing the savage beast

One of the important constants throughout my four decades of life has been music. As a youngster, the radio became a friend of sorts; I was introduced to pop music on 95.9FM (can't remember what they were called back then) and classic rock on CHOM 97.7FM. I'd guess I preferred the former, since I wasn't really a fan of loud 'devil music' (as my dear Dad would refer to it).

The 1980s was a wonderful era for radio; pop acts (including one hit wonders) ruled the airwaves, alternative songs crept into High School dance playlists, and sing along rock anthems blared from speakers. I have fond memories of walking into Sam The Record Man with my sister, allowed to buy my very own music; I walked out with Can't Slow Down by Lionel Ritchie, and Cyndi Lauper's debut cassette, and played them until the tape snapped.

While maturing into a cranky and misunderstood adolescent, I disregarded Top 40 'junk' and focused on fringe music played by Claude Rajotte during his weekly Monday night new music program. I thirsted for interesting, challenging songs, and was rewarded with tunes by The Stone Roses, Charlatans UK, New Order, and The Cure. I began to frequent Cheap Thrills, a used record shop downtown, and picked up my very first compact disc: Soul Mining by The The (which I still own to this very day).

Music provided me a sense of belonging; I felt like I held a special secret, enjoying songs that the mainstream was clueless about. Songs gave me happiness during rough times, helping distract me from day to day life, or providing a soundtrack for moments, good and bad, that forever remain ingrained in my memories.

I listen to the radio occassionally, but more often to dozens of mixed cds I've created with my all-time favorite songs. My headphones are usually the first thing I reach for when I slump at my drawing table, and I couldn't get through my time on the treadmill without them. My tastes have settled as follows: I don't care if a song is rap, pop, folk or 'alternative'; if it sounds good, I'll enjoy it, without feeling a need to label it. Some current favorite bands include Owl City and Vampire Weekend.

I've always felt that a good song is a journey, with a beginning, middle and end. I find it cool that music has been a part of my own journey through life, and like Queen sang so appropriately, 'radio, someone still loves you'.

Popcorn and sticky floors

The very first movie I saw (my memory is fuzzy, so I may be wrong) was Star Wars. I remember the thrill of sitting in a dark cinema, as fantastic images exploded across the screen, leaving my young mind astonished. I remember creating a scrapbook of newspaper and magazine clippings about the movie, especially Darth Vader, my favorite character (man, was I relieved his damaged ship spiralled to safety ....)

Movies don't have that same charm or thrill me the same way these days. I don't consider myself a big movie buff; I find that the ticket price of a movie has risen to quite an astronomical amount (I realize inflation has had an impact since the 1970s, but still). At the same time, most 'blockbusters' are boring 'cut and paste' of plots and scenes from other movies, with some overpaid actor chewing up the scenery (or smoldering during lingering, unnecessary close-ups). Dramas tend to be pretentious and dull, and comedies are usually aimed at the lowest common denominator.

It's extremely rare that movies come long that live up to my expectations, but two have accomplished that feat so far this Summer: Toy Story 3, and Inception.

The former is a beautiful story about toys that show more genuine emotion than many humans I know. I have tremendous respect for the talented folk at Pixar, their standards are obviously high, and they always deliver entertaining films that are visually appealling. The latter is a visual tour-de-force, a daring thriller that challenges the audience to come along for a wild and convoluted ride.

I find that hollywood has been creatively bancrupt for many years; it's cool that great, entertaining films occassionally pop up, and I'm pleased to have caught two of them this year.

Hopefully, more similar gems are on the horizon.

Then and now.

One of the major differences between younger me and the current 'seasoned' version is attitude.

Back in the wonderful days of the swingin' 1990s (pre Ipad and worldwide economic meltdown), I possessed a fearlessness bordering on the ridiculous. I didn't think too much about repercussions of my decisions, I simply flung myself into situations with a cockiness that things would work out.

I'm not talking about daredevil thrills, just about my approach to life; for example, when the time came to find my first job, clutching my predominantly blank resume, I felt no trepidation that something would pop up. I circled ads, strutted into interviews, and eventually was rewarded with the thrill of my very first paycheque.

I honestly miss that supreme confidence (or was it naivety?); these days, I find myself constantly questioning decisions, trying to play things as safely as possible. It's entirely understandable, blessed with a wife and children, that my priorities have changed significantly. Having others rely on you may be intimidating, but a wonderful feeling nonetheless. I treasure the warm, fading memories of my carefree singlehood, but love my current life as parent and husband.

One common factor linking my two selves is this: hope. Younger me always felt that good times were on the horizon (or more accuartely, that bad times couldn't last forever), and I continue to feel the same. Despite getting older, feeling worn down and often ill on account of my genes, I never let go of precious hope.

I heart comic books!

I really do. Ever since 1983 (or thereabouts) when I discovered a spin rack at a local depanneur stuffed with them. My pulse must have quickened (I'd been exposed to super-heroes on Saturday morning cartoons), and I was inexorably hooked for life.

I remember when I picked up my very first issues (a Fantastic Four and Incredible Hulk, because the covers looked cool) that I didn't feel overwhelmed or intimidated by the fact that these characters had been around for some nebulous period of time (Superman began in 1938, for example). As a matter of fact, I was intrigued by the 'history', as hinted at by thoughtful captions, thought balloons, and editor's comments sprinkled strategically throughout a given issue.

Comics have changed alot over the decades (a reflection of their times, I suppose), and have become souless, slick pamphlets with dense, multi-part storylines, and 'mature' anti-heroes with complicated problems. Bah, I miss the simple, fun charm of the comics I read as a youngster.

Thanks to Ebay, my collection continues to swell (I collect mainly 50s and 60s titles these days, tanned, four-color treasures that smell musty and absolutely wonderful) and I doubt I'll ever lose my passion for comics.

Recipe for 'success'

I was recently reflecting on the ingredients for success: passion, incredibly high standards when tackling any task, and a solid work ethic. Although I've alway never been afraid of hard work, the other two factors have been definitely missing over the years.

My philosophy has always been to deliver a solid shift; in other words, if I was working a 7 hour shift, I'd be as productive as possible within that specific timeframe. The concept of overtime bothers me; it's an admission that either time has been mismanaged or too much work allocated. In my careers, I've always sneered at folk who prided themselves on working ridiculous hours to get caught up (mostly because they spent too much time on meaningless 'meetings', cigarette breaks, or coffee runs) whereas I'd be content to leave the office at the stroke of quitting time.

I wanted to leave because I looked forward to going home to my wife (and later, wife and kids). Work was never a refuge or escape for me; it's always been a means to an end, namely, being able to pay the bills.

Folk would point at my attitude as the basis for my current level of success (or lack thereof), and I would be in complete agreement. I admit my priorities have always been my home life, and work a distant second. Even now, as a freelancer, I love being able to see my wife and kids as often as possible, happily setting aside a given drawing.

I lack the desire and drive to be perfect in a chosen career, because I quite simply haven't cemented my choice as to what I really consider my passion. Once I do, I'm certain the formula for success will prove itself accurate, as it always does.

Getting old

Some profound truths seem so simple, yet make themselves known when we least expect it.

I was mulling things over the other day, and realized that I'm 40 years old.

I know, obvious, right?

Maybe I was treating my age as an abstract number, or I was in denial. But I realized that I no longer feel like a 20 year old because I'm no longer 20 years old! I suffer normal aches and wear of a typical male experiencing his fourth decade; I'm also burdened with extra discomfort on account of my genes, but that's the way life goes.

Realizing that I'll probably never again feel as spry or energetic (or pain free) as I did 20 years ago was sobering and produced a twinge of melancholy. At the same time, I knew that accepting the fact that I'm getting older is a necessary step in order to appreciate the second half of my life to its fullest (being positive, of course ).

In truth, we all are as young (or old) as we feel, and age is an arbitrary number. How we deal with aging is a personal choice, part of the interesting reality of being alive.