A wise man once said:

"We pay for life with death, everything in between should be free".  That man was Bill Hicks.  He died fifteen years ago today.  Comedian, philosopher, tortured soul, prophet.

Have been scribbling my musings in notebooks for long enough.  It's time to merge onto the information superhighway with my blinker on.  Facebook?  I have resisted that self imposed eradicator of privacy up until this point, so, no.  Twitter?  I dig the brevity by but as long as Ashton Kutcher draws breath, no.  So here we go.

I don't pretend to think that any of my wannabe Gonzo journalistic experiences will be worth dedicating to anyone.  However, if anything I write helps squeeze your third eye, well, that would be rad.

In the meantime,  RIP Bill...

My Problem

So what is my problem, anyways?  Admittedly, I am a series of contradictions.  An idealist, frustrated to the point of apathy.  I've got my whole life ahead of me but time's running out.   Mellow like The Dude, intense like The Joker.

Take Critical Mass.  Looks like a prefect fit:  relatively apolitical, a bit of a fuck you to John Law, urban safari with like minded folks, a positive and mellow vibe embodying all the best of Vancouver.  I have participated in several Masses and have always enjoyed myself.  I have to admit, I do feel conflicted when I'm corking traffic and wind up blocking in a cab driver trying to make a living, a confused senior citizen or minivan driven by a frustrated parent with a load of kids.  I have a hard time saying 'fuck you' to these people but my actions say exactly that.  They are just trying to get where they are going.  Just like me.  My feel good activism seems a bit empty.  I should be allowed to ride where and how I want without being hassled.  But do to that in a way that tries to send a message ends up hassling others.  

For me, Critical Mass represents a problem.  A problem I want to be part of so I can work on a solution...