another year again, time to move the goal posts

Let the invention begin, hopefully "existence [really does] proceed essence."

It is customary at the beginning of each year to set goals that will last as a target in your brain for anywhere up to an astonishingly prolonged period of 2 weeks. Thanks to the wonders of the internet I have a clear and present record of last years unrealistic designs for awesomeness...

Write and publish stories: epic fail

Self explanatory. It never happened.

Train to fight: meh (I hate that word, but it fits)

What began as an innocent foray into the brutal world of face pummeling ended in my becoming an alcoholic. Actually, causation was not a statistically significant factor in the relationship between the former and latter. But the latter did derail the former.

Be more social: win (just barely)

All the odds were stacked in my favour on this one. The act of greeting 3 people would out do the previous years total. In this area of life excess alcohol actually helped. Yeah for me!

Begin altruistic endeavors: fail

When you're walking the tight rope that is the poverty line yourself, does it make sense to try and save your fellows if it means you lose your balance along the way? It would have been nice to at least give it go. That's what the future's for, I guess, nursing away your regrets.

Guess what? I didn't make nearly as much progress as I was hoping. Guess what again? My goals are exactly the same this year, with minor modifications. Just by telling the internet this I've lowered my chances of achieving them.

In fact beyond violating the "do and don't say" rule of psychology I have also fallen victim to the classic dysfunction that manifests itself at this time every year: Self-Control Hubris. Turns out that people grossly overestimate their ability to change. The human race has designed ways to overcome the earth's gravitational pull, we can manipulate the building blocks of matter to explosive affect, but getting fat-ass Johnny up off his lazy fat ass remains one of the most daunting challenges known to wo/man. We've all got a little, sometimes a lot, of fast-ass Johnny in us.

Guess what again again? I don't care. Resistance (i.e. self sabotage) will not defeat me. Posturing doesn't count for much, especially on the internet. I don't care. I'm going to win. The goal posts stay. Time for one last march to glory. 'Til next year comes round again. Now go and tell that...

talent. overrated or under appreciated?

Talent is a wonderful, wonderful thing. I know because I've got bucket loads. Maybe I mean potential, but what's the difference really. I look at my mirror -- which takes up an entire wall -- and I empathize with what Narcissus had to go through. Except I'm real. If I didn't look like a neanderthal, I'd be the sexiest man alive, I'm sure of it. In the rare moments when I can reclaim my gaze from my self, I think: wowzers I eat shit on a regular basis (not literal), drink like I'm a fish, sleep 4 hours a night and I think my six pack just became an eight. I don't tell you this to brag. Well, maybe a little. Alright a lot.

Neanderthals, so hot right now

I go through cycles, reading up on different topics, because it's nice to be able to shut people down when they start discussing the finer points of what a quantum theory of gravity might look like. Disabusing people of their natural inclinations toward ignorance is just one of those many talent things I've got that I was talking about earlier. This time round I'm recycling my decade old self help book phase, which is probably why I sound so up me self right now. It's good for the self esteem.

A friend of mine, and not just on facebook (does it surprise you that I have some of these? Me too. A man cannot live by talent alone), was telling me about a cool book: Talent is Overrated. I live in Australia which incurs some kind of copyright violation in regards to this title so I read the internet equivalent of the cliff notes version. What separates super duper successful people from the average frustrated chumps out there? The answer will surprise and disappoint you.

And here it is... Work. Wasn't that a curse from god for eating an apple or something? But not just any work will do, we can all hold down a job if we're hungry enough. People who are better than good, like nigh on elite at what they do all appear to engage in an activity called "deliberate practice." Yes, it's as boring and monotonous as it sounds. Instead of just setting outcome goals, these uber overachievers also set specific goals related to the process of their desired outcomes. Usually in areas of their game where they're noticeably lacking (even if the focus area is not a commonly encountered event) and then practice in that uncomfortable region where their weak links reside for hours and hours and hours. 10,000 minimum. Fun times.

This recipe is probably equally capable of producing insanity as it is success. I'm reminded of a tiny excerpt from The Magicians (talking about the protagonist, Quentin, who's preparing for an interview) "now that the ripened fruit of all that preparation was right in front of him he suddenly lost any desire for it. He wasn't surprised. He was used to this anticlimactic feeling, where by the time you've done all the work to get something, you don't even want it anymore." If you almost despise the activity you're doing because of excess repetition you're on the right track. To exalt yourself, you must debase yourself. A little masochism goes a long way. I mean what would Jesus do?

Umm, I knew there was a reason I brought up my abs for the nth time here. But why stop there, I'm a natural born athlete. I'm white (sort of) but for some reason I can dunk like a mother fucker. I'm naturally stronger than most people I know, something to do with those throw back neanderthal genes I think. I find it hard to believe that if a usually over weight person trained hard enough that they'd ever be able to catch up. I know people who train way harder than I do and eat way better and who still look they frequent the local pub 7 days a week. Some people are just naturally predisposed to be better at some things than others. This is were I and the book part ways. But then I remember that I've never done anything useful (like making ridiculous amounts of money) with my athletic ability. Maybe Talent is over rated after all. For the best possible results though, it's probably best to pair your talents with activities that will give you the best possible return on your time investment (like I should never try to learn to sing). Why didn't I think of this 30 years ago?

In the end there's no royal road to self-actualization/bundles of cash money. Talent can take you only so far. Eventually you gonna have to work your butt off. If you're willing to pay the price, you might win. Or you might not. Go all in and you might find yourself sleeping in a cardboard box somewhere down the road. It's better to have loved and lost though, that's what the poets say. This is going to suck.

in search of pure awesomeness

There are the 10 commandments, the 8 fold path, the 4 obligations, the 7 habits of highly effective people. It's a hard life choosing.

I'm up to step 4 of the 12 step program. I'm a recovering Loren. I'm addicted to myself. Time to make a searching and fearless moral inventory of me.

Well, if that's the case do I even believe in morals? Barely. I just watched Kick-Ass, it fetishizes (among other things) a 10 year old girl cum psychopathic serial killing super hero, was by all accounts totally irresponsible, and I loved every minute of it.

In saying all this, I believe that there is a Right and a Wrong, even if the divide isn't easily definable or scientifically verifiable. Maybe, I'm just a solipsist, it's all in my head.

Regardless, I'm finishing what Aristotle began thousands of years ago, not to benefit the greater part of humanity, my motives are completely selfish. I'm seeking out the Good Life. If there's a Platonic Form of Transcendental Awesomeness floating out there in the ether somewhere, I want in.

There are certain parts of my character, many in fact, that I find less than ideal (reprehensible even), but tread carefully grasshopper, idealism has been the death knell of many a would be Ubermensch. All I have to do is look at my room to know that things are messy; there are few tidy solutions to many of life's challenges.

One day I'll look back and laugh at all this self-improvement nonsense, realizing that I was part of the Buddha Nature the whole time and vice versa. I was a pig swimming in shit and I didn't even know it, until I stepped outside of the shit.

I want to transcend the unpleasant aspects of life, maybe even the pleasant ones, and wrestle toward enlightenment in a gentle, tenacious, whimsical way. I'm an Omega Male at the moment, I'm so glad that there will be other moments where this might not be the case. I want to be the alpha and omega, but wanting might be bad.

So, what am I doing to implement this vague attempt at self-actualization, you may ask? And now, my contribution to the world's wisdom literature...

The Currently Undefined Number of Tender Suggestions or CUN(o)TS:

• Sort yourself out mate, you're fuckin' 30 years old. What direction are we going?
• Wo, calm down.
• Meditate daily. Please.
• Also, don't get too new agey, OK?
• Some people are dicks, but be nice to people anyway.
• Write/Draw/Create. Use these things as an excuse to explore your existence.
• 8 hours of sleep would be nice once in a while.
• As these start taking motion, feel free to add to or take away from this list.

my origin story

goals for 2010 and beyond...

At school I had a running policy, which precluded any excess expenditure of energy on my part.

Emo's weren't even invented (more correctly popularized) until a decade later. I'm not crazy, I'm just ahead of the curve. Oh to be 10 years younger and bask in the demure light of my fellow melancholies.

It was 6th form English and we had been given a rather pedestrian short story writing assignment. This could mean only one thing: Plagiarism. I hadn't yet been introduced to the concept, but I took to the practice quite naturally. After University I now realize that this was akin to academic murder, but I was young and what's the antonym for precocious? Oh that's right, stupid, so I borrowed heavily from the plot of an EC comic that I had recently read about.

Once completed I determined that this was doubtless the single greatest piece of literature composed by a high school student. Ever. My expectations were off the charts, I could see the teacher, whose name presently escapes me, reading my story to the class as an exemplary beacon of 6th form English excellence. This was a rare occurrence at that period of my young life, I had done something. And enjoyed it.

A few days later I'd given myself the day off school. The conservation of energy card had been played yet again. Didn't want to strain myself. Upon my return, what was my surprise but to have reports that my story had indeed been read out in honor of my literary genius, the previous day (during my absence), make their way to my ears, fulfilling my recent prophecy, and confirming that scientific fact to which this sentence bears achingly immutable testament.

It was official, at least in the eyes of the teacher and perhaps even some of the students. I was good at writing or at least had the potential to be. Things have gone down hill considerably since then (I suck), but hope is a gift from the gods to the irrational, and I still wait with extended arms and empty hands for the reception of good graces from my imaginary sky riding colleagues. However, I was a write off (ha), all hope for me then and there was lost forever upon recognition of my *ahem* burgeoning mercurial talent. That's when I was kidnapped by my muse, Alfredo the syphilitic scimitar wielding elf of faery land, and no ransom amount would ever satisfy the terms of my release.

There have been several clumsy attempts since that time to write more stories (mainly in text form). I've yet to complete a novel, probably because I find them long and hard just to read, writing one would require a level of perseverance that I am currently unequipped for. I came to the novel late anyway, there's not a burning passion there. My first love, my true love is comics. I thought writing novels would be more respectable, but you've got to go with your heart. All signs are that comics will die one day - their popularity is fading - but so will I. You don't just give up on something because it's impermanent. This year the goal nearest and dearest to my heart is finishing some comic scripts and getting them published.

Looks like my energy policy needs an amendment.

related posts: introduction

it's not all about me, which is surprising

Goals for 2010 and beyond...

Generation X, Generation Y, Generation Z. Generation it's all about me. I talk about myself more than Mike Jones and Slim Shady combined. It's all very Ayn Randian. I'm wonderful and amazing and they're all jealous and petty and don't understand (my brilliance). Self obsession is a disease that I've willingly contracted. I think it's time to set a goal that doesn't involve my self-aggrandizement, before it's too late and my ego explodes like a supernova and all that's left is a black hole where my soul used to be. Since I'm making it public my motives automatically come into question, either way I shall have my reward as the good book says...

Once upon a time I was a Mormon, a devout one anyway, now I'm just a Mormon who makes up his own rules. That said I still have a tender spot for some of my former beliefs, more the morals than the metaphysics and then only some of them. Sitting atop the pile is the golden rule, hardly an exclusive Mormon teaching, but that's where I first experienced it so I'll give them some credit. What if I were to take this most beloved precept and combine it with one of my most loathed (and have it be good)? Defying the old saying 'can anything good come from tithing' , that's right tithing I'm calling you out. Giving What We Can presents an effective way of doing just that, consequently I'm preparing to sign up. This organization sorts out which charities work most effectively, gives you an idea of how many lives will be affected through your donations and the rest is up to you (there's a lot more info on the site too, check it out). It'll be nice to see 10% of my earnings going toward something that I know will be making a difference.This is a good start, but I'd still feel detached from my attempts at altruism, I've got to find a soup kitchen or something.

Let the charity begin.

the great white hope or more unrealistic goals

goals for 2010 and beyond...

I'm not ripped enough. There I said it. I look in the mirror and after I subconsciously block the nagging awareness of my always unreasonably dissatisfied complex, then and only then can I begin to deconstruct my semi-accebtably passable build. I'm unabashedly fond of adverbs, the literary world can suck the head off of the metaphorical boil that is my escalating rage.

It's strange the little goals we set ourselves, just to keep life interesting. I mean imagine if all we did was the same thing everyday, day after day, what would be the point? ... Wait a minute? Always setting goals, yet always doing the same thing. I think I just plunged to my death off the cliffs of insanity. Einstein, who is no longer alive, is not shaking his head, but he would be if he was, unless I'm wrongly attributing a quote that I've mashed up with the Princess Bride, to Mr. light fantastic himself. That would be most unfortunate.

As I was saying, being cut like the neck of a victim of The Terror from 18 century France (that just rolls off the tongue) is the objective. In and of itself it's not more than a side-effect that I'm after. Allow me to explain...

It began at the end of 2007, I quit my job with the intention of moving to Australia to play Rugby League and get paid for it. Did I mention that I was 29 at that time. No sane man would do this. Well, I ended up playing minor league rugby league on the gold coast for a pittance. Mission accomplished.

I feel hungry. I also have an incredibly short attention span. I officially retire from Rugby League, it's not violent enough. This year I'm thinking MMA or boxing, but most probably boxing because it involves learning one discipline, where as MMA would require at least two. "How much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight?" Now I don't advocate violence except in self-defence or for millions of dollars. Is it possible to defy the aging process. I'm about to find out. Attempt only the impossible, that's what they say.

I'm not ripped enough yet because I know once I'm boxing fit I'll be carved out of stone. I've done the (kinda) improbable before, hopefully history repeats itself. Watch out 8 pack here I come.

In sumation: This year, learn to box. As an aside, while we're on the topic of physical goals, I've always wanted to do a through the legs dunk. I'm on clock.

Me not being ripped enough

Me in a year

rhetoric and resolutions

On the return flight to my new home land, that vast brown expanse we call Australia, I had a minor tripartite life crisis. It began with a man's arm which is no better or worse then any other beginning I can think of. There it was before me, a forearm sized And 1 tattoo, on an arm, attached to a man. I bet he regrets that now. How many weird and wonderful things do I regret doing? I wish in some ways that there were many more. It's been a quiet and dutifully passive existence thus far.

I am some kind of weird Bizzaro Benjamin Button, I didn't start doing childish things until I was 30 and behaved like an octogenarian when I was younger. It's funny how life works out.

I'm sitting on a plane watching Juno and reading the Alchemist (both for the first time). There aren't many things in this world that make me wish that I was a 16 year old girl, but I think I've found one. I am the anima to Juno's animus except not as witty or pregnant, but I can come up with some random ass shit for sure, there's a colossal pile of random ass shit that I can dig into when needed.

At 30,000 feet you can almost hear the sound of the universe strumming its super strings. I'm looking for a chord inside that resonates with creations subtle tune. I need a new grand narrative, a new personal legend, a regenerating hair line.

This year I'll cause a ruckus. This year I'll actually do something. This year my resolve will last longer than two weeks. Three would be nice. The only thing that matters now is legacy.

next: what exactly it is that I'll be doing

what if...

I woke up everyday and felt like getting out of bed? This is what I dream about when I'm sleeping. This is theoretically attainable in a no-fuss type of way. Here's what to do, limit myself to only one weakness: chocolate and ice cream; which I will only eat ever again on Sundays, and only if I've been good and not ingested any other naughty things throughout the week. This sounds only partially as ridiculous as I intended. If you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything. I will get no less than 8.5 hours of lying in bed at night, most of which I hope to spend sleeping. I will also  make mental notes of each time that I blog about making sweeping lifestyle changes that will once and for all redeem me from a misspent life, so that I can make encouraging gestures at myself in the mirror as a facade to cover what I fear may be the underlying truth. Proverbs teaches us that smiling makes us happier. Most importantly, no matter how devastated by the ravages of tiredness, I will continue to go to the gym:

bench 85kgs/3*8

chins, n-grip me/3*8

high row, rope 45/3*8

hu-rrah!

the closely examined life.

Tomorrow week, less nine days, we had our annual Christmas company pump up day. I was profoundly moved. I kid you not. You go to enough of these and you can come away with the feeling that nothing significant will ever happen. However, during this iteration an anomaly of noteworthy proportions occurred.

The devil is in the details, and often the boredom is too. I'll spare you the 'i' dotting and 't' crossing and instead bore you with the results. Actually, they're still under construction. Whenever I'm stuck for a solution, my first port of call is the internet. The internet knows pretty much everything. So there I am right, innocently surfing cyberspace (does anyone even call it that anymore, seriously) and I stumble across Daytum, a site where you can record in excruciating detail any compartmentalized life unit of your choosing. I felt this would be useful even before I needed it. Call it manly intuition or something. Then I go to this work do thing, and they tell me to write down my goals, like that's news or something. Except this time I do it on you guessed it: the internet (well not all of them, but if you're still reading this, that means you didn't click on the link, go have a look, the absurdity of the things you could record there are endless, and if your lucky you may even manage to extract some utility from your anal retentive stat keeping, I know I will).

My evolution from sloth to healthy contributing member of society is bound to be fraught with mighty perils, endless back sliding, and explosive diarrhea, of the mouth, of the mouth. Everyone take a deep breath. Ahh, was that the cheapest non-funny joke of all time? I can't even tell anymore. According to sources mastery of any skill takes 10,000 hours. That's a long time, but every journey starts with movement. The count down is on, very, very slowly, but it's on. Like a wise young Jordan once said "take one step at a time, there's no need to rush it's like learning to fly or falling in love." Another older Jordan, also had words of wisdom: "Desire makes the difference." *read in 80's struggling cartoon character voice* Steps increasing. Desire growing. Must. Soldier. On.

working out stuff

Oh, that's a good question. Now is probably a good time to get the jump on new year's resolutions. They'll never see it coming. With that in mind here goes: I'm going to start for an NBA team, any one will do, I don't play favourites and in my spare time I'll play linebacker for the Dallas Cowboys.

Realistic goals? What are you talking about? What's the point then?

OK, I admit I've got a few things to work on. I seem to be missing a jump shot, but once I find it, I'm sure there's one around here somewhere, I'm a top 10 draft pick for sure.

What's that? Yes, that's right I'm not black, I don't live in America and I'm old. That just makes it more interesting doesn't it. Look at Arnie he's all of those things and he's doing just fine.

Well, if you insist on being boring here they are. I'm going to get ridiculously ripped, I'm going to do a between the legs dunk within a year, power snatch my own body weight, and I'm sure I'll think of some more arbitrary motivators once you get off my back. Any more questions?

Yes. I did work out today.

bench 80*10,8,8
chins 97/5*6
inc bench 50/2*10
seated row 77/2*6

volume: 6194kgs