BLOGasides: “Not Very Bunny” (An Easter Story)

BLOGasides

“Not Very Bunny”

(An Easter Story)


Preface: During our Easter brunch this year at the prestigious The Doctor’s House in Kleinburg, as I prepared to delight the family with some “Easter entertainment” during brunch, I magically disappeared before the show even began, leaving my family to think I’d dashed on the bill or ran off with the Easter Bunny. Now to “eggsplain” the mystery behind my unplanned disappearance…


     I was all prepared to give my best 5 minutes as the Easter Bunny, but of course my laptop crashed that morning, so I had no way of playing the audio file. It was at that point I made up my mind: I would find some living soul in Kleinburg that could help me. I ventured out into the attractive yet unknown terrain of Kleinburg Village, popping into every store along the way hoping to find a working computer. Alas, shop after shop, the townsfolk had never heard of a “computer.” Finally, glimmering in the distance like a mirage, was a Flower Shop with a flickering red light that read: “Open.”


I ventured in and the proprietor, an old Korean woman, tried her best to help me by plugging in my usb stick into what looked like Bill Gate’s first prototype of a “computer” to no avail. Now in full-on panic mode – all the while knowing I was missing out on a succulent 5 star buffet – the singular customer in the shop, a lovely lady with with her son, noticed my predicament (I had been joking around with her son: “Are you buying flowers for your girlfriend? Did you meet the Easter Bunny this morning? Etc”). She said, out loud, likely much to her chagrin, “We have a computer at home. We live close by!” After the shock of hearing one of the local residents actually owned a computer died down, I said, “Let’s do it!” and then she said, “Follow me!” to which I replied, “I actually don’t have a car!” to which she then retorted, “We don’t live that close…” Then she said, “What the heck, jump in!” and she, Cecelia, I learned after a hurried handshake, introduced me to her husband Michael; driver, and her four cute kids sitting in the back.


After a fun name game along the way where I purposely mixed up all the kids’ names much to their delight, we pulled into the driveway of what must’ve been the nicest house in Kleinburg. I started guessing what Michael must do for a living: doctor? Lawyer? Arms dealer?? As I walked into the front lobby, there was a single painting hanging on the wall, clearly depicted by one of their kids, but it wasn’t the painting itself that caught my attention; it’s what was scrawled on it: “Make Magic.” I stopped in my tracks and exclaimed, “This is a sign.” Despite it technically being a “sign,” I couldn’t help but think I was on the right track. I followed the sign further into their beautiful, sprawling home and then into Michael’s office. I made quick work: I inserted my usb stick into the computer (even the computer was big), pulled up my file, emailed it to myself, and confidently said, “It is done.” By now I was sure an hour had passed.

My intention was to bolt back up the road to the Doctor’s House, but Michael offered to take me back as he knew the predicament I was in. James joined us (“James Cameron”, another sign?) We sped up the winding road back to the D.H., and I jumped out and thanked them. Michael handed me his business card and I assured him I would contact them. After a friendly farewell, I sauntered in, clearly having been lost in the labyrinthine buffet, and the rest is as you remember it: At some point in all the craziness, the Easter Bunny made his debut, told some “not so bunny jokes”, scared a baby or two, delivered some hastily dyed hard boiled eggs, hugged a few people he hadn’t seen in years, then hopped off into some distant meadow where he’s happily hibernating till next year (mistakenly next to some hungry bears). And it struck me that that is what Easter is truly about; it’s about gathering together with family, sharing laughs, tears, and lots of chocolate; and about helping out a random stranger in need.

Happy Easter to all my lovely followers! – Cameron

Watch my “Not Very Bunny” Easter Bunny standup act: https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=1&v=8zDIcGLgxJI

BLOGasides: On Being 29

BLOGasides

On Being 29

12144732_10153787034818081_4293528380311575015_n

by Cameron Brtnik

4/15/11

     Getting older is not fun.

    NOW I’M THAT GUY: the one who I always despised. The guy who goes out to dinner with his wife or girlfriend of three years and asks the young looking waiter how old the he is. Upon proudly asserting he is only 19, his wife/girlfriend replies (with just a hint of flirtation): “Oh, you’re just a baby.” For some reason I always thought that was lame. I always thought I would stay that baby. But now, now I’m that guy…

No matter what anyone says, getting older sucks. Nothing is as good as it once was. I just don’t buy when (old) people say, “Getting older is great! With more experience comes greater wisdom!” Not to mention with more birthdays comes greater joint pain. I think the best part of life is attaining that wisdom; “The journey not the destination” and all that. Sure it’s great to give it, your wisdom, passing it on to the youth who will surely ignore it as you once did because you needed to learn it for yourself. And what would be the fun in following it? Sure you’d stay out of trouble, but you’d miss out on the best part of growing up! Wisdom, therefore, is contradictory, an oxymoron if you will…

     I feel shame.

I am no longer proud of my accomplishments. Possibly because I have not made any in a long time. I think the last time I felt good about anything I did was at age eighteen, the first time I traveled – to British Columbia, Canada – and made something of myself; I became a ski bum. I got a job at a ski resort and fell in love with snowboarding. I felt liberated, absolute freedom in the mountains, and felt like I could conquer the world… Since then, I haven’t felt quite as high: L.A., Carnival Cruises, China, all great challenges and experiences, yet not the same feeling of accomplishment…

     I feel off.

It may be a chemical imbalance; my family is evidence that this is probably the case. Or it could just be me. Or maybe it’s something I could adjust if I just changed my thinking. But that’s just it: No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to change my thinking. I’ve become stuck in a rut, and I’ve been here, or there, for years. I’m not sure what I can do…

     I feel helpless.

Perhaps it doesn’t help, not having any family around. I hole up deeper inside myself, and it becomes a self-perpetuating emotion, a form of self-sabotage, and it’s something that I can’t shake. When I return back home, I should seek help. I just hope it’s not too late. Like Saito recited in the movie Inception, I don’t want to “become an old man, filled with regret.”.

     I feel lost.

I’m sick of not knowing what I’m supposed to do in life. It seems as though everyone else has figured it out by the age of twenty five and set their lives on course to reach their goals. I feel like I was born with the career-oriented portion of my brain missing. I can’t figure out what exactly it is I want to do. I suppose there may be many other people out there who don’t know what they want to do either. But they decide on something: Something that they could be happy doing, not ever fully knowing if that’s what they were destined to do, if they will ever reach their full potential, both creatively and emotionally…

   I’m a teacher. 

I truly enjoy teaching, but sometimes lack the patience it takes to make sure every student reaches their full potential. I believe in helping each child individually, no matter how dumb he is or hopeless it seems. I think I should focus on teaching, but…

     I’m a writer.

     I think I really want to be a writer. I’d like to write for a magazine, sharing stories about my travels and experiences, or even write fictional short stories that I could submit weekly to a publication just to get by, and one day write that deceivingly simple word “book,” expecting my life will have been interesting enough by then for anyone to want to read about. But… 

 I’m a family businessman.

Deep down, even though I left the family business a decade ago, I’d  like to make sure my family’s restaurant continues on and remains a mogul in Toronto. I know we have a good thing, and I want to be involved in continuing its success, ensuring its reputation lives on throughout future generations. But I feel like…

     I’m a prostitute.

On prostituting yourself (Bruce Lee quote): “I realize that if you prostitute yourself in anyway, it won’t make you happy. That means anything; Don’t give anything for free!” This doesn’t mean you can’t be charitable, I’m all for that. But you must feel like it is a good deal for you. If you are giving for the betterment of the community or for children, that’s a good thing. But if you feel you are doing something for free, against your will, DON’T DO IT! It’s not worth it, I know. I’ve prostituted myself, and lost myself, my self-worth, along the way…

    I can’t remember what I wanted… I can’t remember what my morals were…I can’t remember where I was supposed to go…. It’s time to remember.

Cameron is a regular Blogger, Writer, self-styled Psychologist cbrtnik.com 

BLOGasides: The Big Comeback

comeback-baby-names-2-600x313

BLOGasides

The Big Comeback

Sep 22, 2016

     I’ve never had a comeback per se. Sure, I’ve bounced back from adversity, challenges, struggles, and disappointments. We all do. But to be honest, I always imagined a BIG comeback. Not from any one thing in particular, but from life itself. I am waiting on the day I turn it all around: My Big Comeback.

     What would I come back from? you silently ask. Well since you asked…

I would come back from all my mistakes, mess-ups, failures, and fuck-ups I’ve made – and I’ve made plenty – along the way. First, lets take a trip back to Junior High… An awkward time where I was shy, uncomfortable, and consequently an outcast. I was teased for being gay – perhaps because of my fashionable taste in clothes and boyband looks – and endured a daily onslaught of insults hurled at me in the hallways. And I was bullied because, well, I was an easy target. The bullies would slam me up against the lockers for no reason at all, embarrassing me in front of any onlookers. My mom used to have to wait for me outside after-school so that I wouldn’t be pummelled. I had low self esteem, and no confidence in myself. The pathetic part is I never fought back. I was too much of a pussy. I was scared, but looking back, I’m not sure what I was scared of….

I can see all the faces of those who bullied me now, and I picture My Comeback: Me, kicking in the doors to the entrance of the school, Backstreet’s Back playing on some boombox in the background while everything is moving in slow motion. The Bully, seeing me confidently walk in with my white Levis jean jacket, cracking his knuckles and getting ready for another beat down. As I approach him, I look him dead in the eye and say, “You’re a real dick.” As the initial shock wears off, both hands fling out to grab me…but I counteract by pulling his arms toward me, using his own strength against him, and watch, giddily, as he falls to the floor…all this taking place of course in front of every student in the school. As they point and laugh, Cory (I don’t actually remember his name but Cory seems like a pretty generic bully’s name) gets to his feet to throw a punch…but I catch his fist, midair, and uppercut his jaw, watching him stumble back on his ass in humiliation and the realization that I AM THE STRONGEST OPPONENT HE’S EVER FACED AND AM NEVER TO BE FUCKED WITH AGAIN. He even thinks he’d like to invite me to his birthday party, but I’d never accept, I’d never hang out with losers like him! And all the while everybody’s chanting my name “Cameron! Cameron! Cameron!”

As I snap out of this sycophantic fantasy, I realize this comeback comes twenty years too late, but only if I could go back….

Next came High School… A slightly, though not much better experience. I was used to the bullying by then, and didn’t pay them much attention. I made friends and had my own clique: “The Loners.” We certainly weren’t cool, but we had out own plebes we made fun of, like a natural food chain, everyone having their place, never to be messed with. I was a good student. I just hung out with the wrong crowd. I studied, did my homework, handed in assignments on time… That all changed when I met my best friend. He showed me a whole new world: A world of not studying history, but of studying ass. In the library, while everyone was checking out books, we checked out Sonya’s ass. They both had overdue fees. I’m sorry, that metaphor made no sense. Instead of doing homework, we shot pool in the local bar, never being checked for ID, and early on discovered our enjoyment of alcohol and the underbellies of society. Instead of handing in assignments, we rarely went to class, instead skipping to hang out in the lunchroom and watch movies on our smartphones. I’m just kidding, we didn’t have smartphones then, pagers were about be in vogue… I don’t know what we did in the lunchroom. But I know it didn’t help me with my final marks or report cards.

I can see all the faces of those teachers who failed me now, and I picture My Comeback: Me, strutting into class at 7:59 one minute before the cut-off deadline, and tossing my A+ project on top of the pile. Mr. Pelic’s eyes widening in surprise as he reads my above-grade level report on “Nature versus Nurture.” The bell rings at the end of class, and as the average students scamper toward the door to leave he calls out my name “Cameron, why don’t you stay behind for a minute,” and I do. “You know, I’ve read a lot of reports in my day and never have I read something with such..brilliance.” As I smugly reply that I was up all night writing it, Mr P, not believing I could’ve written such a masterpiece in only one night, shakes his head with pride. We both share a smile. I start studying and acing my tests, quickly becoming the top student in all my classes. Suddenly the word “genius” is thrown around and the other students are in awe of me. It’s clear that I have a bright future: doctor, lawyer, or even a writer… As I come to, daydreaming on the toilet again, I realize none of these things ever came true, but there’s still hope I tell myself, I can always make a comeback….

The girl I was crazy over chose another, more muscular guy There’s still a chance for a comeback a voice in the back of my head assures me. Another bomb at standup night – I pictured it going so well – We’ll get’em next timeI tell myself. I didn’t get the job I was sure I had in the bag. When I’m working for myself and making enough money to walk in, buy the company, and fire the manager, then I’ll show’em who’s boss!

     There will always be time, I tell myself. I can always make a COMEBACK.

By Cameron Brtnik

Cameron is a freelance writer based in Toronto who’s still looking to make that “big comeback”

BLOGasides: Being ITM or In The Moment

LiveInTheMoment
BLOGasides
Being ITM or In The Moment
Ready? Let’s be in the moment together…
    Ironically, I’ve always been a loner. I’ve always thought about things and done them my own way, setting myself apart from “the group.” You wouldn’t guess it upon first glance – I enjoy being around people, love being social, and relish being the centre of attention. But yet…I feel awkward around people. I can’t just have a relaxing, normal conversation about sports, or politics. It’s not that I don’t find either of those subjects interesting (although I could care less about “the game” last night), it’s just that I find them utterly inane; unimportant on the scale of things, fleeting and impersonal. Instead of prattling on about “the score,” I’d much rather talk about who “scored” the previous night. It’s so much more personal, interesting: human. To me who our next POTUS will be isn’t as significant as who my high school Year Book Club president was. At least that individual directly affected me – I knew him personally, and he got to choose which unflattering photo of me would be printed within its pages. And when truthfully, whether you’re voting for the Year Book Club President or the President of the United States, it’s all based on the same thing: politics, power and high school gossip.
     It’s not that I don’t enjoy a good political debate. I do..as long as I happen to be following the news that week. It’s just that I appreciate the NOW. Not the score from a game that happened thenight before; not who rose ahead in the polls today; but what’s happeningright nowin front of me. Like, for instance, if the lady I’m talking to has spinach in her teeth and I awkwardly point it out, or the smart-ass student I’m teaching pipes up with a funny remark, causing not only the entire class to erupt in laughter but the teacher too – that’s real to me. It’s about creating real human moments, things I canobservedirectly.I can tell what my best friends thinking if I suggest jerk chicken (he’s thinking, Hellyes!), not what a politician is thinking when he promises reform and better healthcare.
5-poor-listening-styles-3-638
     I think I live in the moment too much. I rarely plan things and that seems to be my downfall. It’s why I’m always late, why I’m always broke, and the reason I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I’m envious of everyone around me: I call these citizens “normal people” (NP from here on out). I envy their jobs, their lifestyles, and their generally relaxed demeanours under life’s stresses and pressures. They seem to defiantly move forward, while I obstinately pretend these things didn’t exist. I tend to defuse these social situations with a sly remark, a witty observation, a funny joke, all hiding the fact I’m morescaredthan the they are (though perhaps they’re thinking the same thing). In fact, most of the time I wish I was someone else – fat, ugly, poor or rich – anyone but me. But then I try and erase that thought, afraid that I’d lose my talents, abilities, personality, and anything that makes me,me.
     Sometimes, if I take a moment to reflect (which is rare in today’s day and age), I tell myself to acknowledge the awesome things I’ve done: the art, poetry and performances, to take some time out of my “busy” day to pause; to congratulate myself in an unrelenting, and at times unsympathetic world. It’s certainly healthy to do so; otherwise we’d all walk around doing things and forgetting why the hell we did them. So, good job me! Congratulations! You’ve survived another day – You got up, showered, brushed your teeth, dressed, made coffee, wrote a blog, went to work, taught a student something new, talked to a stranger, texted a loved one, watched three episodes of Narcos back to back, and did it all without offending someone too much and maybe even brightened someone’s day who felt worse than you.
poster-live-in-the-moment
     I may be a loner at heart (the reason for all my self-inflicted problems), but perhaps we all feel like loners in our own world. I feel “unique” in this world – I believe my mom uses the term “special” – but this is a feeling I think we all need to adopt in a world that, if you don’t display your uniqueness in some way, you fade into the background unnoticed and unappreciated..and that would be such a loss to your fellow creatures. So let your uniqueness shine! Even if your uniqueness is the cause of your depression, anti-social behaviour and other issues, show the world you’re different than the rest. Read up a little on what’s happening in the world so you can indulge in a conversation that covers the basics: polictics, sports, Hollywood gossip… But make sure you’re also in theNOW:notice what people are wearing, what nervous ticks they have, don’t be afraid to awkwardly point out the mustard stain on their jacket or ask about their personal life. It’s the stuff that makes ushuman, and not just a Blackhawks fan who thinks Trump is the best thing to happen in politics since that weirdo who headed up the Year Book Club. What’s his name again?
Cameron is a freelance writer and proud loner

BLOGasides: Spring Sneezin’

sneezing1
BLOGasides

Spring Sneezin’

Never do people not sound like themselves more than when they’re lying…or sneezing. Everyone’s sneeze is different – individual, like a facial feature or nervous tick. Most politely cover up in order to mask the God-awful, deafening blast about to be unleashed from the depths within… 
And some prefer to just let it out – akin to shouting, “I just peed my pants!” in public – much to the chagrin of anyone within a one mile radius of your muzzle. It’s the worst tip-off that would give away your position in war; or make your presence known in a sold-out performance of Swan Lake. It’s one of those things that makes us human, like uncontrollable hiccups, helpless laughter at a good joke, or subconsciously being judgemental of others – except we’re unapologetic about it. 
Sneezing acts almost like a natural stress-release; the louder the sneeze, the more negative energy your body rids of. It’s never pleasant when the man sitting next to you on the bus causes you to have a heart attack; or when your snotty child sneezes all over your freshly pressed blouse. And it’s certainly never attractive to watch as your husband’s face scrunches up and contorts into the hideous countenance of an unrecognizable beast; like witnessing someone who’s just hallucinated their long-dead father. 
Sneezing may be an unexpected, and often embarrassing, bodily function. But it’s one of life’s little pleasures; Something we can be unapologetic about: Something that makes each of us unique. So scream it – or should I say sneeze it – loud and proud! Gesundheit, and God bless you.
Next: “From Dusk Till Yawn”
Cameron is a freelance writer
cambrtnik.wordpress.com