Woodstoves

I hold that fire is still one of the most beautiful things to watch. As I write this I am staring into the depths of my wood stove watching the lively flames dance and flow to a rhythm unheard. Their shapes are never set, nor are they ever close to boring no matter how long you watch them.

Escape

When I read or watch TV I do it to lose myself. I forget all the little things in my life I don’t quite understand. I forget all the little things that make me unhappy. Call my anti-drug if you will. I call it my bubble. Inside my bubble, my world doesn’t really exist. It’s the world of the show or book that is real at that point. It is the world of Miles Halter, of Harry Dresden, of Maddux Donner that becomes reality at that point. I lose myself in their world and become completely engrossed in their problems and lose sight of mine. I’m carefree, if only for awhile. I’m addicted to that carelessness. I need it. Because I don’t really know where I’m going or what I’m going to be or even who the hell I am. So I hang on to my escape every time I think I can’t go the distance with my problems. When I think they’ll pin me down at the sound of the first bell.
But, a bubble can’t exist forever. At some point it will pop and I’ll have to face my reality and not someone else’s.
I’m not running from monsters, I’m not facing the death of a friend, I’m not trapped in space. I should be able to face the stereotypical high school problem. I should be able to figure out who I am. Right?

Dream Jobs

Ok so one of my good friends is planning on joining the military now. That's just something I simply don't understand.
At all.
I guess there is the allure of the military and all, but I don't understand why you would dedicate your whole life to fighting when there are so many better things out there to be doing!
My personal opinion of dream jobs: make it something you would do for free. No cash, no nothing. Then get good enough at it that people will actually pay you for what you do or make. Be it playing music, baking, writing, painting, singing, drawing... WHATEVER! Anything that you love doing but people will pay you for. That there is a dream job. Doesn't happen you say? Not usually you say? Usually doesn't mean never.
Check this - Sam R-P - The musician brother of one of my best friends. When he still lived at home he played constantly just for fun and it sounded great! So, he published an album and is going to Berklee School of Music! John Green, he writes books and makes YouTube videos for a living! Name a band. They play music to huge crowds! But I'm willing to bet they would play even if there wasn't a soul listening. That is what people should strive for. That is what a dream job is. Don't settle for some monotonous desk job. Go out there and make something of yourself! Show the world what you love to do!

The Month of November

Let’s face it, Peter Pan got it right. Growing up sucks. As you grow older you are forced to take on more responsibilities, work and other things that are just not fun. All these things seem to increase with no other reason than age itself and fun is usually just shoved to the wayside.
Once you’ve reached a certain age (somewhere around fifteen or sixteen) you are expected to begin working. And once you’ve begun you are expected to keep on working until you are either incapable of work or are dead on the floor. No other way out. As a small child however you can run around and have fun and the only work you are subject to is that involving crayons. Beyond the crayon stage the work is still there, it grows a bit, but not tremendously, but the the real whiplash comes from when you are expected to take on a job in addition to new overwhelming school duties. Or, during that sliver of time without them (the dreaded summer job). And these jobs are generally ones that you hate doing. And yet you are told that you should, “Get used to it; it’s what the real world’s like.” Well, for me in this period of time that I’m not in the real world, I would like to savor the freedom I have, and not do these hateful jobs.
See over this summer I was forced to take on one of these jobs. I got the generic first job of dishwasher in a little seafood shack down my street. Not too bad I thought after my first day. Just washing dishes and a few odd jobs. I still had that feeling that you get when you’re doing something brand new. It felt exciting!
That didn’t last.
I don’t know exactly how the decision came about or why I wasn’t notified at the time but I soon became a full lobster picker. I didn’t wash another dish. Lobster picking, for those of you who don’t live in the fish obsessed lands of Harpswell, is getting every last scrap of meat out of lobster so lobster rolls or lobster can be made. It is, one of the most tedious, annoying, and smelly jobs I know of. And I had to do it for six hours straight. And I say with the utmost sarcasm: Good times.
No.
Don’t ever get stuck with that job if you can avoid it.
Now also with growing up, you get something called “responsibility”. Yet again the load increasing with age.
“You get more responsibility!”
Parents and adults always seem to say it like it’s a present! Well thank you Father Time! Now I can get blamed for bad things that happen and am held reliable for the outcome of many events! Whoopty freakin doo. I understand how these things lead to privileges that I desire, like driving, but don’t try and wrap them up in shiny paper, alright?
I’d also just like to throw out there, that there are certain unpleasant things that go along with the literal growing up. Hormones raging, sleep patterns messed up, hunger going crazy, and general confusion all play their part.
I realize I can’t run from growth like Peter Pan, and I realize all these things our necessary to our society (which I am becoming increasingly unsure of courtesy of my own abnormal thought and Thoreau’s). But they are still irksome. And however much I like presents and parties, my birthday, and all others come with a series of cons to go along with the pros.

Crazy Sam

Sam is not the most average of people. He has built more close-to-useless objects than any person I know. Many of these things were built out of sheer boredom and bear the marks of such beginnings. Such ridiculous contraptions as an automated water balloon popping machine. Others were soon denied their intended use by rightfully wary parents. Rightfully since Sam has seemed to have gained a reputation for causing a considerable bit of destruction. These dangerous or ludicrous exploits include but are not limited to: climbing trees taller than some homes, getting stuck under a minivan chair, sledding off cliffs, trying (and failing) to juggle eggs, lighting many dangerous chemicals on fire, rappelling down the side of a house, and burning off a large portion of his blonde hair in an ethanol incident.
On many a day I get a call resembling this,
I pick up the phone and answer with a generic “Hello?”
And generally get a not so generic response, “Hey Patrick. It’s Sam. I’m really bored so do you have anything you want built or, you know, something?”
“Built?”
“Yeah. I mean I finished my other stuff so, anything you want me to build?”
“Look, maybe I should just come over.”
“Yeah, why not. You know what we need to do? Light stuff on fire. We haven’t done that is awhile. Yeah we need to do that.”
“You should probably wait until I’m there before you…”
“You know I’m hesitant about the ethanol but paint thinner could be interesting...”
I jog outside, hop on my bike, the horrid piece of crap it is, and ride down to Sam’s house.
Sam waved at the door as I came in. “Hey Pat. Shut the door.” I did so. Before walking across the rough wood floor of the barn to where he was standing over something covered by a thin blanket. The kind magicians use before they make something disappear.
“Here. Stand here.” He said pointing to a black “X” marked on the floor.
I step onto the X and look at the blanket again. “This seems like a…a horrible idea for me frankly.”
Without a word from Sam a pulley squeals overhead distracting my attention long enough for Sam to whip the blanket off the object just as an empty cardboard box labeled “150 tons” lands on my head. The lack of blanket reveals a boxing glove on the end of a dowel and the dowel to many disks and wheels. An impish grin spreads on Sam’s face as he hits a small silver button bringing the contraption to life. The glove lands me a few quick jabs to the gut before Sam releases the button.
“Wasn’t that great?!” Sam exclaimed, his voice cracking with excitement.
“Ho–how did you make that?” I asked as I got to my feet. It didn’t hurt, but I didn’t exactly expect to get hit by a punching robot.
It turns out Sam had managed to run the entire thing using a basic electric drill. I couldn’t tell you how it works exactly but that is a great example of just how strange things can get when you hang out with Crazy Sam.

Of Inspiration, My Dream, and other things

To make it as an artist or a writer is no small feat in the real world. In my head it’s plenty easy. Just write what I want when I want and get paid right? Wrong. You have to work your butt off to get anywhere. It’s almost impossible! Starving artist isn’t just a term or figure of speech! Despite any of this, some, the powerful few, have made it through. And made it well enough to make it they’re one and only job.

That is what inspires me. Those that have shown that it’s not impossible, not a futile effort for a perfect life. John Green for example, now makes his complete living by writing books and making YouTube videos. What could be better? Nothing you say? Well the feeling’s mutual. And I refuse to give up this ideal. No other job is worth working at. If I’m going to have to do something for my whole life, almost every day I want it to be something I like, no, love! If they can make it so can I.

What other job can you have where you create something entirely new that is completely the work of your imagination and share it with the world? With that description you’re kind of stuck with musician, artist or writer. And that ability of creation makes it ever more amazing! You can begin a world with just a blank page. I love the blank page. The empty openness of it. The freedom in it. I can say anything there. Draw anything there. Relive anything. Become anything. Writing is the unbridled use of that freedom. With writing we have, and still can, change the world. Or not. We can use it just to express ourselves or to move mountains. Release our emotions in ways otherwise impossible or just have fun. Create, Destroy, Shape, Change, View, Show. Writing is imagination. Writing is pure thought. Writing is expressing. With writing anything is possible.

And look at the inspiration around me! There are thousand, nay, millions of books, just as many works of art, and countless songs. All of these people have made it to where I want to be. So with this league of greats as my guiding light I trudge onwards, closer and closer to my goal.