Filling my Idle Mind

As my Funemployed days drag on, I'm left to wonder what to do with my boring life. I've decided not to wallow, but rather I have reverted to some "different" habits and hobbies to pass my time.

For example, today I watched the Bachelorette at 1pm in the afternoon with my curtains shut while eating old shortbread cookies I found in my cupboard from a trip to London a few years ago.  Disgusting, yes, but my kitchen is being renovated and I don't have appliances or food.  Desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, they are from Harrods and something from Harrods should never go to waste. If I get food poisoning, I'll let you know.

I've also reverted to wearing Crocs.  You know, those ugly shoes (if you can call them shoes) people aren't supposed to wear anywhere outside the confines of their garden? Well, I wear them everywhere and I mean EVERYWHERE, much to the dismay of my very fashionable Virgo husband.  I claim, "they're comfortable" which really means, "I'm too down in the dumps to find nicer shoes to wear." Heels hurt when you are feeling blue, people.  I probably own about 100 pairs of really nice shoes, though, and they are all going to waste while I wallow.  It's a temporary detour until I get my dream job.  I've even been called the Imelda Marcos of Vancouver, but all I want to wear now are these ugly CROCS.  I love them, I really do.  They make my feet feel comfy which warms my wounded, feeling sorry for myself, heart. Ain't nothing wrong with that, right? RIGHT?

I've also been looking up dog breeders, because now I feel that if I'm home alone all of the time as an unemployed film industry couch potato, I need some living, breathing entity, besides my independent cat, to keep me company.  I suppose a goldfish would suffice, but a dog sounds so much more time consuming which is what I need right now.  An idle mind is the devil's playground, so if I can fill my idle mind with training a dog, I figure I'll be okay, or I might go crazy.  Either is OK with me.  Crazy people are usually pretty interesting.

So there you have it.  I've filled my days with junk.

I do have two job interviews next week.  Okay, that's a lie.  What I've really done is pushed myself into companies to take a few of the employees for networking lunches.  I see it as interviews, they see it as free lunch.  It's a win-win situation.

Well, back to wearing my crocs.  I think I want a purple pair, now.  Maybe one in every colour.

Yet Another Career? Sure, why not?

Recently I've wondered if I can start yet another career. Yes, yes, I know what you are thinking, "Don't you have enough fingers in a few pies?" My answer is, "Never!" Sure...multi-media exec, writer, comic...I just need a few more things to put on my plate, don't you think?


My husband just bought me this fabu instrument called The Snowflake where you can record your own podcasts, voiceovers or what have you while travelling on the road. Much better than my imbedded microphone on my computer. I've been pretending to be a high-flying podcasting master now for years, but boy is this microphone fun!  I just find this gimmick very freeing and I absolutely love editing together the newest technology into my voice. Here is a sample of something I just recently recorded.  Please excuse blogger technology as this site is not the best for podcasts (far better ones out there, but this is just for fun :).  Here is a small sample of a scotiabank ad which I have copied, yes COPIED.  Scotiabank, you can come after me, or hire me...whichever.  Laugh, cry, do whatever, but I would sign up for an account at Scotiabank after hearing this lovely ladies voice. Wouldn't you? ;)

City Slicker Bound for the Yukon Gold

My what a crazy life I lead. One minute I'm working in LA and the next minute I am working in Whitehorse, Yukon. Yes, you read that right. Whitehorse in the winter. What next?

Of course, it is film related work and I am ecstatic about this particular job, because industry work has been a bit sloooooow lately. So slow, I've been working in a completely different field just to keep my mind occupied. That is why I can't complain about the Yukon, no matter what the weather.

I arrive on a two hour Air Canada flight from Vancouver. That’s the equivalent of Van City to San Fran! To my surprise, it was surprisingly short. When you hear you are being sent to the North, you immediately think seven long hours with two grueling stops in-between, but this felt like a luxury first class trip to Los Angeles! Lucky me!

I step off the plane and frantically wonder what -24 C really means. You know what it means? You are going to freeze your pretty little yoga buns off. That’s what it means. So, naturally, I go outside. Smart.

I wait in the frigid air for a taxi, but there are none to be had. Apparently, there are only one or two flights a day to Whitehorse, so the taxis don’t bother coming around until those official times of arrival approach. Well…my flight was early, so do I wait outside? Ya, I do, because I want to be a “cool” Yukoner and brave the cold like the rest of them, until I look around and realize no one else is dumb enough to wait outside like me.

Finally, after about twenty minutes (I went inside, don’t worry) a taxi arrives. Yes A taxi. I bolt towards the lovely soft-faced looking driver who is wrapped warmly in a very similar jacket to the one I have on! Yeah! I look like a local. I am proud of myself.

I start talking to the lovely cherry cheeked fellow and decide to get straight to the goods.

“So, are you from the Yukon?” I ask.
“Nope, I’m from Tuktoyaktuk.” He says with a giant smile.
“Really?” I say shocked as a wrack my brain for any former knowledge I may have retained from my grade 5 social studies class…uh…twenty years ago. Where the heck is Tuktoy-what-what? I’ll look it up later.
“Yup. I passed through here twenty years ago, never heard of Whitehorse, and haven’t left since," he says with a grin. I betcha it has something to do with a woman.

Interesting.

I finally got to my hotel which, according to my cabbie, is a very shi shi upscale accommodation. I thanked my jolly friend for the ride and tipped him 30% (why not) and hopped outside. Frick, it is COLD!!!

The driver yells, “Traveling in style, eh?” Well, not exactly. The “best” hotel in the Yukon is charming, yes, but stylish? No. The lobby is clad in natural unstained wood with a quaint bar/restaurant attached to its left. The restaurant garners hunter green booths and wooden chairs with rose coverings. It feels very much like I walked into a Western. Paraphernalia of the Klondike Gold rush scatter the walls and hints of wealth emulate behind the smiling faces in the black and white photographs from the past. It must have been a glorious time back then.

The server approaches me, all smiles, almost as if she enjoys her job. Could it be? I order my toast and sip my coffee quietly as I wonder what this new town has to offer me. As I get ready to pay the bill, my server informs me that it has been taken care of. Do they think I’m a moviestar or something? Do I already have a Yukon admirer who wants to woo me with toast and coffee? No, people are just THAT friendly here. A new comer like me arrives in the dead of winter and they probably just feel sorry for me! “Oh, we’ll buy her toast. That’ll make that poor girl feel better.” Maybe I’m just a charity case.

I attend my meetings and I find out that this lovely government employee, whom I am working with all week, is actually a successful romance novelist! Have you ever met one? Apparently, romance resides in the Yukon. It does seem romantic here, though. The majestic mountains, the snow, the bars…just kidding. Really, though, the scenery is spectacular and what better way to spend the winter months than to snuggle up with your loved one in front of the roaring fire. Sigh. Whatever. I’m stuck in a hotel room with noisy neighbours. Wah. No romance for me.

I wake up the morning and head off on a road trip with my guide. He takes me to Fish Lake. It’s shaped like a fish (clever) and is not only frozen, but also covered in a thick blanket of snow. Overhead, a few ravens fly by and boy are they ever magical. Now I see why the natives treat them like their elders or spirit guides. When you look at these incredible creatures, you have to treat them as such.

As I gaze around at my 360 degree view of breathtaking scenery, I hear multiple dogs barking, almost as if a pack of wolves is approaching. I turn to my left and there are DOG MUSHERS!!!! My dream come true. I feel like I am in the middle of watching the Iditarod. Spectacular. I whip out my camera and take as many shots as possible. All smiles, I head back into the 4x4 truck and yammer away at my driver who is a Yukon local and probably thinks I’m nuts to be this excited about a bunch of Huskys pulling a nomad on a sled. Hey, it’s interesting and so different from my life I once lived working at a Hollywood studio. I’d take dog mushing over studio driving any day.

Then my toes start to seriously freeze. My boots aren’t warm enough. Go figure, city slicker! I ask the driver to “please take me back to my hotel so I can switch my boots.” Yup, a rookie move, but it is what it is. I’ve never experienced cold like this in my life, so I’ve got to give myself a break.

I hop out of the car, change my shoes, run back into the car and he drives us off to our next location. More mountains! I whip out my camera, but where is it? Honestly, with all of my layers, mittens hats etc. I can hardly move. I’m like that little brother in the movie “The Christmas Story” where he is so bundled up in his snow suit that he can’t even move. Ya, that’s me! I search and search, but no camera!! I realize, with all of my layers, I must have put it on my lap and when I stepped out of the car to change my boots, it probably fell out. Heart broken! All of my dog mushing photos gone! Such a rookie move. Lesson learned. You must learn to work with your parkas people. Learn to move with your mittens too. Someone should teach a class. I suppose it was a classic city slicker moment. ☹

In any case, yes, my day was ruined slightly from me losing my uber expensive camera, but tomorrow is a new day and I will prevail with sites to be seen and stories to be told.

There was a long moment last year where I thought it was a bleak, bleak time out there for me. There was nothing to participate in with regards to a job in the film industry in Vancouverland. Sad. I would often wonder why I left my cushy studio job in LA for this life. Quelle domage, I thought.

I did numerous things in the meantime such as opting for a semi-stable job in real estate. What?? Well...it was a job that allowed me, cash wise, to go for drinks after work to drown my sorrowful depression and lament to my friends about how down-in-the dumps I was about my "situation" and I ain't talking about my abs...although, it would be nice to have a six pack. Too much effort.

I would say that working at a fluorescent light infested office job was better than living under my parents' roof, or better yet, under a bridge in tent city. Although, nowadays, you can buy a pretty nice tent for under $100.

I tried to take each day in stride. To mix things up during my mundane day, I'd go to a different sushi restaurant at lunch hoping for the best all-you-can-eat buffet under $10 and prayed that I wouldn't get the runs later. That was a tough one. I would also window shop my way through Saphora while asking for numerous samples, so I didn't have to buy the real deal. I would change hair styles and hats so they wouldn't recognized me. I would also do this at Holt Renfrew in order to get their free sample of Creme de la Mer diamond skin cream! Oh the shame!! Whatever. You know how expensive that cream is?? Even if I had millions I wouldn't spend that much on face cream. Sometimes I feel like Jennifer Aniston in that movie "Friends with Money" where she steals samples of face cream from the houses she cleans. Dear God. It was so close to the truth, I'm now ashamed.

It was FFN (fun for now), but I wasn't doing what I LOVED. I'd say about 90% of the people in this world aren't doing what they love, so why should I be one of the privileged ones who DOES do what she loves? Perhaps my destiny is to slug it out like the rest of 'em. Isn't that why they created "The Office" and why it is so wildly successful? People can relate to that office purgatory.

I have to say, though, I paid my bloody dues and now, within the last year, I am finally seeing some genuine success. I shall knock on wood, though, as my superstition gets the better of me. It can all turn on a dime, as we all know . Go ahead and blame this glass half empty attitude of mine on last year's fork in the road. We all need someone or something to blame, right?

The Banff World Television Shmooze Festival

The last time I was in Banff, I was a tour guide for international students on the red-eye Greyhound bus traveling from Vancouver to the Rockies during my summers off from University. It was one of those jobs that, in theory, sounded entertaining until I had to disguise myself as an uber-religious church girl in order to deter those Latin playboys from hitting on their tour guide prey. Ole!

Ten years later, I have returned to Banff for the World Television Festival, and there is only one thing in common with my last visit – red eyes. The late night shmooze fests were followed by my early morning “pitch of a lifetime.” This became my identity.

Standing in pointy heels 16 hours a day while trying to remember the names of 1200 people was a challenge. I even forgot what my own name was by the end of it all. I have battle scars on my poor heel-trashed toes to prove my ambitions were worth the effort. 500 plus business cards later and the who’s who of Hollywood North, South, East and West have become my new best acquaintances.

What I didn’t realize was that this festival has become one of the most remarkable entertainment events in North America. The new generation of Television’s future mixed and mingled with the seasoned veterans of TV’s decision makers. Writers and producers from all over the globe graciously introduced themselves to strangers, old friends and possible future colleagues. Given my personality, I was in my element. I offered my careful Canadian sensibility on what it was like living and working in la la land, how Vancouver has given me the same opportunities as its California counterpart and I gave thoughtful glances towards my ambitions for the future of television.

The thing that is always interesting about conferences is how to define the fine line between bragging and actually being proud of your own accomplishments. Everyone at any conference has made something out of nothing, so my word of advice is not to be shy about sharing your resume with the guy sitting next to you on the party bus. Most of the time, they’ll ask anyways.

I met one humble Canadian who was from the Maritimes. Right away, I knew this guy was a Canadian through and through. He didn’t look like he was a Hollywood shark by his way of dress, which happened to resemble that of a possible lobster tradesman. In the same tone, his accent was complimentary to the hometown quality of the Eastern townships, eh? Guess what? Don’t judge a book by its cover. Behind his humility and dress stood one of the most well known TV writers of our time. I actually was star-struck. How did I meet him? He was standing in the food line by himself and I thought I’d strike up a friendly conversation. He looked like a fish out of water, so I was really curious to hear what his story was. Oh, he was full of stories, alright! He practically writes them all for television! Had he been dressed in a flashy Hugo Boss suit, perhaps he would have been mobbed. In any case, I was lucky enough to meet such a kind and genuine person, who disguised his overstated career by his understated quality.

All in all, I had objectives at Banff to meet as many people as possible, and to share my hard work and accomplishments with those of the same mentality. I live life like I’m eighty, most of the time, as I try to diminish any regrets. So far, it’s working. Where will I be a year from now? Hopefully in Banff, feeling a bit more comfortable in my pointy-toed heels.

LA Cigar

Cigar houses are there for a reason, n'est pas? Why then are people so compelled to smoke these things on set? It is only ever the LA peeps who do so, and when I say "peeps" I mean people who are posing as LA prototypes. They are sitting there, fat, beard-worthy, wearing a movie logo jacket and Gucci blue-tinted glasses with a cigar hanging out of their American accented mouths. I'm American, so I should know. Now, in case you haven't been on set, there are actually hundreds of people in close proximity of each other, so if two or more people decide to smoke a cigar, it will infiltrate everyone from the background performers to the camera man to the make-up artist.

I just don't understand why it is deemed "cool" to smoke a cigar while working. It just screams LA, doesn't it? Any normal Canadian would wait until the day is done and proceed to their Anglo-Saxon posh man club in the downtown core where you can sit there with your other conservative cronies and smoke up until your house burns down. I don't have a problem with that, in fact, I'd like to join you! However, when it is three in the afternoon, and you are in the middle of a work day while surrounded by hundreds of people, what is the need to be a poser? Are these people insecure? Cigars embody a certain type of prestige, don't they? Having lived in LA for years, all I could do was chuckle at the site and cough at the smoke. I sighed in relief that I had moved away from the insecurity pumpkin patch, because you and I both know, these people turn into pumpkins after their Cinderella Hollywood success stories have diminished into the twilight.

IS THERE A MENTOR IN THE BUILDING?

Do people really know what they are doing in the film industry or do they merely fly by the seat of their sequined pants? I
wholeheartedly believe that most people, more often than not, fake it until they make it in any business, to some extent, but not without some help. My observation has been that when someone does make it, either by chance or by hard work, most keep their secrets to their success securely hidden in their back pocket, but why intentionally keep them concealed? How about sharing the wealth of knowledge to an unknown who is just trying to learn the ropes? What have you got to lose? Seriously. You aren’t going to be around forever, so why not pass it on? You’ll gain good Karma, I promise!

All I want is a mentor. Is that too much to ask? I want somebody to say, “HEY, why don’t I show you the ropes” or something along those fruitful lines that I so long to hear from the lips of anyone…um…somewhat normal. I’ve had a few crazy folks say they would help, but that always turns into an “I saw that one coming” kind of a disaster. I’m never totally shocked when something goes wrong, but it would be nice if I could say one day that so-in-so really helped me out in this business, without any kind of ulterior motive lurking in his or her dark alley of a mind.

Every so often, I think, “now is my chance to learn!” and I really become excited about the possibilities that could be excavated from the underground Hollywood vault I am about to discover! Maybe I’ll find the secret scroll to success ala “Kung Fu Panda” style! Yes! Po, from that incredibly delightful movie which was garnished with Buddhist afterthoughts and quests for personal growth, had that mentor I am longing for so desperately. He had two mentors, actually; a wise old Yoda-like tortoise, and a rabbit who at first hated Po’s guts, but learned to accept Panda Po for who he was as a…uh…person or, pardon me, as a panda. The hare saw Po’s faults, but used them as a way to enhance Po's character and, as a result, made him into a better panda. Brilliant! Does this actually exist outside of a cartoon? I never got a tortoise nor a hare to show me how to cross that finish line of success.

Sigh. There is still time, my child...right? Right??? God, I hope so.

Of course, I come across some, shall I say, interesting individuals in the film industry who are down right cruel. All I ask of them is, instead of being nasty or revengeful, try being helpful. The former is a mark of insecurity anyways. Is that what you want to be known for? If not, then extend your hand to those who ask kindly for your guidance and see what happens. I bet you’ll feel pretty damn good about yourself when it is all said and done.

There, Universe, I've asked for my mentor and if it means I must play the part myself, so be it. Just let me know, so I can start acting.

What is your Security Blanket?

Do you ever think "that could never happen to me!" and then realize that the "that" you are thinking of is actually happening to you? Whether positive or negative, I know you've had "that" thought. For argument's sake, I will take the negative rather than the positive, and go from there.

When I see the many drug addicts downtown as I sleepily saunter to work at 9am every morning, I think "that could never happen to me." In the same fashion, when I hop over the sleeping homeless man who is sadly trying to keep warm under a fire blanket in a somewhat sheltered stairwell in my parking garage, I think again, "that could never happen to me." Or can it?

How does someone get to "that" point in their life? I've been asking myself this particular question lately as the bleakest economic time I've seen in my life is hitting everyone, and it is quite accurately hitting me. Call me narcissistic, yes, but people, this is a blog and blogs are just that...somewhat shameless. I am hoping that by me writing about my own "that" in life, you might put your own life into perspective. You might, perhaps, even have a sobering thought that no matter what your situation is, it could be worse, like the man in the stairway who is barely covered by his security blanket.
What is your security blanket? Is it an actual blanket like the man in the stairwell, or is it a little something, dare I say, cushier? Could it be your nest egg that is slowly going down the drain? Is it your overpriced car? Maybe it is the $30K you've saved up for a down payment on a one bedroom condo in the "coolest" part of town which has subsequently dwindled away in GM stock...oops! I still have a GM credit card. Seriously. They took away my points, but probably because they knew I'd never buy one of those fuel hungry wheelbarrows anyway!
Whatever your blanket, at least you aren't the man in the stairwell. How do I know that? Well...you are on the internet, therefore you must have some form of shelter in order to read this blog entry.

I'm not saying our hard times aren't valid just because we aren't shivering under a blanket like Mr. Stairwell, but it does make you think a little, doesn't it? Whether you've lost your job or you are losing copious amounts of security blanket-esque capital, you'll most certainly come out of this eventually, you'll find another job and, hey, you'll even forget this ever happened, because humans are great at forgetting...

The Naked Truth Behind a D-Movie

The blundering bumble from a poorly written script is part of my ever challenging life of auditioning. What happened to my former life of Shakespearean Old English stage productions and comedic endeavors written by me? I'm not saying I'm a comedic genius, but I'd rather perform a stand-up show that flops, than a sexy maiden speaking poor English for a D-Movie production. Hey, they make money off of DVD sales, I get it, but really? Are you serious?

My cousin rehearsed lines with me one night and she couldn't stop laughing, because the script was so poorly written that it was almost not worth walking in for the call. It was one of these hot babes and violence deals. Ironically, I booked a role like this recently and I turned it down. I turned it down! In the past, young and desperate to act, I may have taken this role, but now...are you kidding me? I understand when the role calls for a certain type of action, and even though I might feel uncomfortable, I am the type of girl who wears a turtleneck instead of a bathing suit to the beach, and I admit, that is also an extreme reaction, so I have to get over this as an actress. Show a little skin? Sigh...fine.

One fruitful day back in Hollywoodland, I dressed in my confident get-up to prance around Bev Hills and as I walked down Rodeo Drive, I noticed a management company with a store front heading "Zeus Management" a pseudonym...highly unusual as these types of agencies don't usually solicit their business to the public, but nevertheless I walked in, uninvited. I was a cute 24 year old redhead, confident that I'd at least get a second glance, so me being uninvited was never an issue. I simply didn't care if they kicked me out.

The Greek man standing next to a wall of headshots, turned around and scowled at my unannounced arrival. He took my headshot and as I was heading out the door, he told me to sit down for a moment. Wow! Really? My uninvited entrance actually worked this time! So there I sat listening to his mumbo jumbo about what it means to be an actress in Hollywood. My excitement stemmed from my immediate response of "he is interested in signing me! Finally, an agent in Hollywood!" and then I slowly realized, as he kept speaking, that his actors were objects to him. He told me that acting requires you to accept roles you won't feel comfortable doing and I must take whatever role was offered, no matter how much nudity was in the film. WHAT????

Just to paint a positive picture here, he was obviously a fraud. My agent here is one of the best in the city and she said "If you feel uncomfortable wearing shorts and a tank top on set, I respect that. Never accept a role you feel comprises who you are as a well-trained actor." THANK GOD there are people like her. Mr. Zeus, above, didn't respect a single soul that graced his glamorous wall of working actors. Whether they knew that or not, I don't know. Some actors come from outer space and some come from a well-trained Shakespearean background with a degree and that single degree gets me further than an alien actress from the moon, I'll tell you that much.

Act like you have a Real Job

I took a not-so-long break from the art of acting, as I settled back into Canada. Acting in LA was more on the comedic side of things in more ways than one. It consisted of Friday night hosting at the Laugh Factory for South Floridian retired tourists wearing Hawaiian shirts and silver-grey ponytails as their "fancy" clothes to a swanky Hollywood comedy club. Oh yes, sitting ducks for teasing, usually because they sat in the front row, hoping to what? Become blinded by the stage lights? What were these people thinking? Sitting ducks, I say. Quack, Quack for Hollywood.

I had a swanky job at a Hollywood studio and used my lunches as a disguise for jaunting off daily to commercial and print auditions; a tedious adventure as I hoped to make it back to my office before forcing unsuspecting entrepreneurs to sign on the dotted line for whatever sordid deal we were conjuring up that day. It was a bit of a tedious endeavor...driving around in ridiculous Hollywood, auditioning and the other side of who I am, an uptight business woman? It doesn't make sense, does it?

Usually, my adventures would be for some silly AXE Body Spray commercial where I had to take a bite out of a fictitious chocolate man, a commercial which won a prize at Cannes, yet only paid their actors $1000 flat for the role. Those Robber Barons! After the audition, I'd frantically speed back to the studio as fast as I could, and role into my office in less than an hour. I had it down to an art, seriously. I knew every secret route in LA which would lead me to my destination sans traffic. I should write a book for LA visitors "How to Drive in LA like an Actress who Auditions on her Lunch Break."

Now I am back in Canadia, with a fantastic agent pushing me into great roles for "Supernatural" and "Smallville" on a regular basis. It has been very odd getting back into the swing of things. I thought I'd have some time to prepare mentally for these high-caliber roles and high-density auditioning. I'm seeing everyone I've ever wanted to be like in these tense waiting rooms. All are actors I've admired, hoped to audition against, and then I realized something; I AM one of those actors I wished to be for so long! Horrah! The time has come, so what is my problem?

Here is a taste:

At around 4pm, the night prior to my audition, my phone rings. I see the call display from my agent's assistant. I panic. I have an audition the next day around 6pm out at Northshore Studios in North Vancouver and I know that my whole night is now shot. Whatever plans I had are now cancelled or cut short (my boyfriend's favourite) and rehearsing for three hours happens to become my priority. Not that this is a bad thing, but it is the life of an actor. Its the constant battle between wanting these auditions so badly, and keeping a full time job to pay the bills. Which is more important? To me, my acting and TV writing is what I want to do for a living. It is what I trained for years at university for, twice, but I like the stability of an important job as a career woman in the business world, and that too is my reality.

However, receiving last minute phone calls for auditions causes unbelievable anxiety to the point where panic attack-induced worry causes lack of sleep, a dismal next day at my real job, and an audition you wish you had nailed better than you did. I am obsessed with rehearsing, though. I don't go to bed until I know that I can carry a decent audition through the terrible nerves I conjure up while sitting in the tension-you-can-cut-with-a-knife waiting room the next day.

I have refused to become a slave to just one career and I have a steady job that I actually enjoy to a certain extent. It is in the commercial industry where I network and conjure up creative ideas for commercials. I don't audition for commercials anymore, I produce them. How ironic.

One day, the clouds of anxiety will lift, and I will be left to wonder what all my stress was about when I was doing exactly what I wanted to do in the first place. Until the ultimate call of casts occurs, and I see my name lit up on the screen as a story editor, actor, writer or producer, I will not stop my pursuit. I may learn to relax, but I will not learn to rest until the satisfaction of accomplishment becomes better than just plane old satisfactory.