So, for the longest time, I couldn’t really pick a theme for this blog or this site. Which led me to writing about a weird variety of subjects, from raging wildfires, to politics, with a sprinkling of pop culture thrown in the mix. While this was a good exercise, it meant that my site was lacking direction. Not only did this make it harder to write, it also made it harder to follow and read as well. When you, the reader, visited the site, what were getting? Were you going to get a rant about the current state of American politics? Was I going to rant about an odd sporting event? Or was I going to babble about who would win in a fight, Wonder Woman or Green Lantern? I was struggling to find things to write, because my life has been somewhat unremarkable for the last few years. That’s going to change starting September 4th. I’m going back to school.

I just celebrated my 35th birthday, and I’m going back to college.

I graduate from the SAIT Polytechnic back in 2005, after successfully completing their Engineering Drafting and Design program. And the truth is, I was pretty immature at the time. I was 20 when I enrolled, and I spent a good chunk of my college days partying and playing video games (I actually took a week off of school when Halo 2 was released). Needless to say, I certainly didn’t live up to my potential.

With age comes a certain amount of wisdom. You get a sense of perspective, and if you’ve been lucky enough, hopefully you’ve picked up some humility as well. There’s gray in my beard, my metabolism is slowing down, hangovers last longer, and I look forward to getting up earlier rather than staying up late. And I love it! I look great with a little salt and pepper in my beard, I don’t need to eat four hamburgers in a sitting to feel satisfied, alcohol is expensive and overrated, and I get way more accomplished in the morning than I do at night. So even though I’m a little nervous about hitting the books again, I’m optimistic that I’ll enjoy the experience far more the second time around.

It’s going to be an odd experience, though. The oldest person in my class back at SAIT was 37, so there’s a chance I might be the oldest person in the class. I remember one of my classmates was 27, and he seemed like a paragon of wisdom. Looking back on it now, his advice wasn’t always the best and he wasn’t really that old. He still had the emotional tension that comes with youth. Soon though, I’ll be surrounded by a bunch of sprouts who’s eyes are wide open and whose bellies are full of fire, and even though I’m not sure I’ll be up to the task, there’s a chance I might be mentoring a few of them on life stuff, simply on the grounds that I’ve got more life under my belt. Not a whole lot more life, mind you. In the most extreme cases, 15 years if they just left high school. But fifteen years is still a considerable amount of time, and I’ve made enough mistakes to at least give out brilliant examples of failure.

And if I do befriend a bunch of youngsters, then there’s a good chance I might earn a ridiculous nicknames based on my age, like “Old Man C”, or “Gray Beard the Wise”, or “Papa Smurf”, or some likely variation of these names. I’m looking particularly forward to this.

So how do I feel right now? Tomorrow is the first day, and I start at 8:30 in the morning. I’m nervous. I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. I paced around the house for a good portion of the day. I made a bunch of food to prepare for the week. My new backpack (a birthday gift from my lovely fiancee, Kat) is teeming with new school supplies, ready to be used. But I’m terrified. What if it’s been too long? What if I fail? What if I don’t enjoy my program at all, and realize I’m throwing both money and time into something I hate?

This could be the case, but like everything in life, it’s smarter to tackle these sorts of things head on. I’m hoping I do well enough to garner some financial support from scholarships, but if that doesn’t happen, I’ll just have to work a little bit more next year. And although I might not ace every test, the likelihood of failure is pretty far off. There would have to be some sort of major life change, like a death in the family, or getting addicted to bath salts in order for me to drop my studies.

Still though, the last time I stepped in a classroom was over thirteen years ago. And if I’m calculating things correctly, it’ll be another five years before I finally get an engineering degree. I’ll be forty when I’m done school.

What I’m trying to say is this; Buckle up folks, because it’s about to get weird over here.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. I’ve got maybe an hour left before I go to bed and wake up a student. I think I’ll spend this time wisely by quietly panicking.

Dear Mom,

Note: Never once have I called my mom anything other than mom. Not mother, not mum (which sounds utterly preposterous in my head, as well as out loud), not mumsy, nothing weird. I’ve referred to her in the third person to other people, but always in the vein of “Oh, you know my mom, (insert full name here)”. I feel that, for this Mother’s day, I should point out the particular language I use when referring to my mom.

by now you should have received a package that I sent to you for Mother’s day. And, being the astute person that you are, you may have noticed that it is no longer Mother’s Day. In fact, this posting comes exactly twelve days after the day in question.

First and foremost, let it be known that I did not forget Mother’s day. Even though I was unsuccessful in calling you that day (I made the attempt at 10:34 pm Mountain Time), I still made the attempt. We did have a conversation the following day, in which I congratulated you for being a mother. To me. Which is important, seeing as how if this were not the case, you would not have received a package and you would not be reading these words here.

I should also state that this package is not late. Well, I mean it is late, it’s no longer Mother’s day after all. I should clarify and mention that this package isn’t late in the sense that I didn’t send it before Mother’s day. Although a cowardly man would allow the post office to take the blame for the delay, you certainly raised no coward. The delay was the fault of my own, and seeing as how you raised a man with integrity, I have no choice but to accept my own shortcomings. Truth be told, I could have sent the package priority and it would have arrived sooner, but that was like another $4, and it still would have been late anyways. So, seeing as how you also raised your boy to be fiscally prudent as well, I feel that I’ve made a choice that you would approve of.

Now, part of the reason I have written this letter is to clarify the nature of the gifts that you have been provided. By me, your eldest, courageous, and fiscally prudent son. Now, you will remark that there is some coffee, some tea, and some chocolates included in the parcel. The tea and coffee are both from Murchies, which is located in downtown Victoria. The chocolates are from Rogers Chocolates, which is also located in downtown Victoria. In fact, they are on the same street, and are roughly a block away from each other. You may have made the assumption that I went to Murchies, and then went straight to Rogers immediately afterwards. I assure you, this is not the case! It needs to be stated that I took two trips to downtown Victoria in order to procure your gifts. A thoughtless man would have snagged all three presents in a single trip, and you did not raise a thoughtless man.

Which leaves us to another reason I have written this letter. The matter of the chocolates. Rogers only crafts the finest chocolates, and the tin they were packaged in was exquisite, so I purchased it before a shift at work. This was a smart move, as I was able to acquire the chocolates and walk to work at the same time. Which only goes to show you that you raised a son with excellent time management skills. Once I arrived at work, I stored them in my locker and got on with my day. What I didn’t realize was the temperature of the locker storage room would well exceed the climate required to properly store chocolate. I’m quite afraid that the tin of chocolates may no longer be an assortment of pralines, creams, caramels, and truffles, but rather large brick of chocolate that tastes of pralines, creams, caramels, and truffles, depending on which part of the brick you bite into. This fault is mine and mine alone.

Anyways mom, I hope you had a wonderful Mother’s day, and I hope you enjoy your coffee, tea, and chocolate brick. I love you, and I’m looking forward to spending some time with you in the summer when I return out to more easternly pastures.

Sincerely,

your son,

The Illsutrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. I absolutely swear I took two trips. But to be fair, had I known there was a chocolate place so close to Murchies, I probably would have made one trip. Again, you raised a son with excellent time management skills.

Every once and a while, I’ll end up talking to someone about their new relationship. You start asking questions, and they’ll end up saying something stupid, something along the lines of “We’ve got the same taste in movies” or “They’ve got great taste in music” or even “Our Netflix playlist is almost identical”. I’ll laugh, and I’ll place my hand on their shoulder, and, looking them firmly in the eye, I’ll say these words, and let the words dance in the air before they sashay into their ears.

“You are complete knob if you think that’s how love works. I don’t care if you both like dogs, or salami, or reading thrillers. I guarantee that, if you’re lucky, you’ll be complaining to me about your new fling in less than three months. If you’re not so fortunate, you’ll be complaining to me about them in 5 years, after you’ve gotten married and had a bunch of babies. But if you’re idea of compatibility is based on what kind of cocktail you both drink or some other inane bullshit, you are going to have a really tough go of it.”

Now, I certainly wouldn’t consider myself an expert on love or compatibility (I firmly hold to the theory that attraction works WAY more by smells and pheromones than it does by any other factor), but what I do know is that even though having stuff in common can be a great ice breaker, having opposite interests can make the heart grow fonder.

You see, me and my girlfriend Kat don’t actually have a whole lot in common. We have one or two things in common, but for the most part, our hobbies and interests are wildly different. She loves the outdoors and camping, I love the inner city and the urban jungle. I’m engaged in computers and electronics, she spouts facts about prehistoric animals and dinosaurs. If I could, I would spend most of my time in front of a screen or a book. She’s rather be in a kayak or underwater scuba-diving. I’m a city-slicker, and she’s invested in nature and the outdoors.

Here the thing, though. You don’t grow as a person if you’re constantly in your comfort zone bubble. In order to thrive as a human being, you have to be willing to do things that you wouldn’t normally do. Not only will it make you a more well-rounded person, but it’ll give you a broader scope of the world in general. If you spend all your life in front of a machine in the city, you’ll end up a yuppie idiot. If you spend it outdoors all the time away from the hustle, you’ll have a really hard time being in crowded places and accepting people who aren’t like yourself.

Kat’s incredibly special to me, not because she’s anything like me, but because she’s often the polar opposite. Having someone drag me away from the screen and putting a fishing rod in my hand is a good things, just like when I drag her to a festival where we’re surrounded by thousands of people. I’m not a fan of getting up in a tent, but I can safely say that I like going camping now. Kat still isn’t a fan of crowds, but has a blast when we spend a few hours hiking around a busy city.

I often hear words about compatibility, and I might have something to add to that. Love is about wanting to grow outside of yourself into someone else. It’s about wanting to step outside of your little world circle and into theirs for a bit. It’s not static, but rather it’s dynamic. It changes and grows. And I’m lucky enough to have found someone who wants to change and grow with me.

Two years has flown by. Soon we’re going to be packing up our things and moving to Victoria. It means changes, challenges, and choices, but it’s a new adventure, and it’s one we’re both excited to embark on.

Thanks for being there, Kat. I love you a ton, and here’s to many more years to come.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Ok, so it’s been a while since I’ve written anything on the ol’ blog scape here. I’ve been busy.

p.s.s. Busy moving.

p.s.s.s. I did a tally of how many times I’ve moved in my life, and it’s an astounding number. It’s well over twenty five moves.

p.s.s.s.s. As a side note, I’m really excited about fresh seafood on the coast. Can’t wait to grill up some fish steaks!

p.s.s.s.s.s Also, my brother lives there. I guess.

My cousin, Richard Pruden, passed away in his sleep peacefully on May 18th, 2017. The people who knew Richard had this to say about the news.

“Richard Pruden? Died peacefully in his sleep? You must be mistaken. What you meant to say is Richard died trying to pull a double back flip on a dirt bike, while being set on fire, after a few tall ones. I’m certain his last words were ‘hold my beer’. That sounds more like Richard.”

About to go for a rip with his son Kori

Richard was a loud, boisterous, friendly, life of the party kind of guy. He wasn’t shy, wishy washy, or indirect. The few times I’ve met him he was usually handing me a beer, smiling a ridiculously large ear to ear grin, and telling me to lighten up. And even a sourpuss like me would have no choice but to lighten and smile right back. Richard oozed this positive energy that was infectious. It was impossible to have a bad time when he was around.

He’s the only person on Facebook who seemed to use it completely earnestly. He didn’t badger everyone with his political views, he wasn’t sharing memes, he wasn’t posting selfies; he was sharing what was going on in his life, and it was always hilarious. Camp stories, where he’s having to deal with neighbors who are masturbating too loudly, to tales of him and his children Kori and Kiyah (aka Chopper) fixing his bikes and getting into hijinks.

Richard and Kiyah (aka Chopper)

Unfortunately for me, the only reason I knew Richard at all is because of Facebook. Besides that, I could probably count the number of times I actually hung out with the man on my hands. Yet he was so generous and open about his life that even though we only saw each other at weddings, I still felt I got to know him a little bit. And that’s a whole lot better than not knowing him at all.

When I found out the news, I didn’t really know how to react. The only thing I could do at the time was try to live like Richard did, and I did so by eating four burritos in one sitting. Still didn’t feel right. So after two and a half weeks of sitting on it, I finally got the nerve to right about a guy I hardly knew, but will still greatly miss.

The only consolation I can provide is that maybe, just maybe, you only get so much actual ‘life’ on this crazy ride, and when you live as passionately and earnestly as Richard did, you’ll end up using it all up. It’s not fair and it still hurts, but that’s the only explanation I can come up with from losing someone as great as Richard Pruden.

He was only 41 years old, and he’s survived by wife (Joann), son (Kori), daughter (Kiyah), father (Richard Sr), mother (Linda) and step father (Rene). Richard also has two paternal half brothers (Mark and Mike), and a maternal half brother and sister (Derek and Ashley). My heart goes out to each and every one of them.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. If you can use up life by having a good time, then I’m going to live forever.

p.s.s. Heaven is probably going to have to tap a few more kegs.

Sometimes, you get yourself into a rut. Happens to everyone. Whether you’re producing comic strips or the cure to cancer, you’re going to have days when you’re on fire, and there will be days when you’d like to set yourself on fire. Lately, for me, I’ve been definitely leaning more towards self-immolation rather than self-congratulatory.

But that’s okay.

Usually after a life changing event, especially in regards to the loss of a loved one, you can be faced with some pretty challenging questions staring you in the face. Questions liked;

“What am I doing with my life?”

“Am I happy?”

“Am I living up to my potential?”

All of these questions may seem selfish, but when backed up against the death of a family member, especially a parent, then you’re only getting half the question.

“What am I doing with my life?” – in comparison to how they were doing.

“Am I happy?” – the way they seemed to be happy.

“Am I living up to my potential?” – would they expect more of me?

After my uncle’s funeral, I took a bit of a break from a lot of things. Sat back and had a good think about stuff. Walked the dog a little more often. Put the hustle aside for a second, and spent some time with my girlfriend. Read books. Played some video games.

Here’s what I’m getting at. Everyone expects something out of you, even if it’s small or seems like common sense. Most most people expect from you, though, is usually pretty understandable, and what they expect if for most other to respect their boundaries. But some people want you to behave a certain way, or dress a certain way, or even live a certain way. And this isn’t a bad thing either, I mean, I’m in a library and it’s quiet. That’s because people here expect you to be quiet.

Disappointment comes from an expectation gone awry. You went for burgers and expected a good meal. It was terrible, so you were disappointed. You went on a date, expecting this young man to be a charmer. He smelled badly and wasn’t interesting, so you were disappointed. You write a song on your guitar, and you decide to play it at a party. You get booed, so you were disappointed.

In every case, you’re banking on other people to perform to your level of satisfaction. No problem there, but what I’ve noticed is the most anxious people also seem to have the highest levels of expectation. I could be convinced there is an entire mental disorder that stems from a group of people who have their expectation of reality quite outside the boundaries of reality.

This brings me back to the questions I asked earlier; What am I doing with my life, am I living up to my potential? Most of my fears, worries and anxiety stemmed from the perception, in my own mind, that I wasn’t living up to the expectations of others. Here I was, getting worked up over expectations from other people, who truthfully never expected anything from me in the first place. My parents weren’t concerned that I wasn’t an engineer, or a doctor, or married. They just wanted me to be happy.

Here’s what I want you to understand. If someone truly loves you, they’re not going to be concerned whether you’re a star athlete, a successful business owner, or a best-selling novelist. They’ll certainly be proud of you if you are, but their love won’t be based on your achievements. Once you realize that, once that weight is off your shoulders, you’ll be surprised how much easier it is to live up to your own expectations.

At the very end of the day, your expectation of yourself is the only one that matters.

Let me get to the point of the title of my blog. Quality Over Quantity. On the crazy plains of the internet, in the digital realm, quantity wins over quality every time. I’ve toyed around with the idea of monetizing this site, and I’ve backed away from the idea because that path seems fraught with compromise on the quality to push quantity. Even today, I’m not always happy with the work I produce. For a while, I was a lot more concerned about keeping a schedule than putting out quality posts.

It’s been a year since I started renting the domain name, and it’s been about four years of me typing on the internet in the first place. This webzone is going to continue, but I’m going to be a lot less concerned about a schedule than I was before. Life is too short to worry about making up a fake deadline for a website I write my brain thoughts on.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Eventually, I plan on making a website that’s a bit more encompassing. Right now it’s just my scribbling.

p.s.s. See? You’re expecting a joke and now you’re disappointed. I’m like the Zen Master of flipping people’s expectations on their heads.