tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80307859294849665122024-02-07T23:43:37.057-08:00The Bryce AgeBryce Advice and Sage Wisdom from writer Bryce SageBryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-18527919916335982332016-01-07T14:16:00.002-08:002016-01-07T14:32:23.295-08:00Why Wonder? My Quest to Understand Depression Continues<div class="p1">
Over a year ago I finally decided to <a href="http://www.brycesage.com/blog/repost-how-robin-williams-helped-me-come-out-of-the-depression-closet/"><span class="s1">step out of the depression closet</span></a>, inspired in large part by the suicide of Robin Williams and other celebrities like him.</div>
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In that blog, I made a pact with myself to better understand my particular case of depression, before my symptoms got any worse. This crippling condition has affected many members of my family and although they’ve largely suffered in silence, I knew I <i>couldn’t</i>. I’m blessed or cursed with a big mouth and an even bigger, more obnoxious voice. I might suffer, sure, but I certainly won't do so in silence.</div>
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A part of me assumed the struggle would be relatively easy. Don’t get me wrong, I knew there would be setbacks and obstacles to navigate, but it'd be like a videogame. I'd just level up and learn some “coping strategies” to deal with them. Having scrounged up the gall to admit I had depression, I thought I'd done the <i>hard </i>part. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel to true spiritual enlightenment, and it was lined with rainbows, unicorns and a boyfriend resembling Chris Hemsworth.</div>
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To nobody’s surprise but mine, I would be in for a rude awakening. As it happens, I would have several rude awakenings over the next 18 months, and surely many more to come. Getting an accurate diagnosis and therapist that gets my particular kind of crazy (and my penchant for self-aggrandizing bullshit) was an ordeal in of and itself. She’s introduced many therapeutic strategies, from medication to meditation, designed to bust my bad habits, but I’m an old dog, very resistant to new tricks. Especially when they involve sitting still and not thinking about anything.</div>
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I’m not hyperbolizing when I say facing the many struggles of depression has been tough, and pretty near impossible. But I'm also confident in saying I think it very much <i>is</i> possible. I don’t mean to skirt around my story – I'll share my personal and largely ongoing story of depression in due time – but first I want to jump to the punchline.</div>
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<b>The cure to my depression? Art credit to Joey Matthews</b></div>
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The more I’d learn about what’s causing and fuelling my depression, the less depressed I’d feel. This gave me a hunch. What if a curious sense of wonder, the same thing that fuels my creative drive, is<b><i> the antidote to depression</i></b>?</div>
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Maybe you’re thinking this sounds like New Age mumbo-jumbo, so I’ll serve you up some pretty basic brain science to present my hypothesis. When depression tells us we’re "worthless” and "unlovable" or we feel the impulse to have another glass a wine to numb the pain to those ruminations, we’re activating parts of the limbic brain where instinctive, <i>subconscious</i> emotions originate, which is why depression or anxiety can seem so out of control.</div>
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But when we <i>wonder</i> or get scientifically curious, we activate the <i>conscious</i>, decision-making parts of the brain and we gain what the experts call "psychological distance"<i> –</i> that lets us better understand even life’s most difficult problems. It might not be possible in the middle of a panic attack or a night of binge-drinking, but when we have the courage to dig deep the next day <i>– </i>perhaps during that walk of shame <i>–</i> we can deploy our imagination to better understand what triggered the situation, and learn to avoid those situations. And the more we break our more self-destructive bad habits, the more self-aware – and resilient – we become, for when real shit happens.</div>
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This all gave me the idea for <i>1001 Ways to Wonder</i>, a web-series kind of like the science documentaries I’ve made for <i>The Nature of Things</i>, where I could routinely test my theory. Each week I’ll wonder about something, usually the sort of something that might normally drive me crazy, but instead I’d ask <i>how or</i> <i>why</i> it’s driving me crazy. Then I’ll head out to talk to the scientists, armed with my curiosity and my camera, to get the answers.</div>
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I know, for example, that a bad breakup or even innocuous rejection can trigger World War 3 trauma in my brain, but <i>why</i>? I've got a pretty bad case of road and dodgeball rage, but does that mean I'm predisposed to Hulk-like aggression? I've said depression and addiction run pretty deep on both sides of my family, so genetics must play a part, but are we talking leading lady or supporting role?</div>
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I don’t think you need me to tell you <i>why</i> we need something like this, so I won't turn this into a PSA. There'll be plenty time for preaching later.</div>
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Here’s the thing, I honestly think we can beat our depression – or at least come to healthy terms with it. But that requires opening up and talking about the things we instinctively want to avoid.</div>
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Welcome to <i>1001 Ways to Wonder</i> – now let's science the shit out of depression!</div>
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Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-61259528180381183132015-10-22T09:41:00.000-07:002015-10-23T09:23:51.068-07:00The Truth About Vitamins: What I Learned Making The Curious Case of Vitamins & Me<div class="MsoNormal">
We all <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">think</i> we
know vitamins – and we’re told they’re essential – but why do we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> need them? Can we get what we
need from our food or should we turn to supplements to fill in the gaps? These
were a few questions on my mind when I set out to understand the nebulous science
of Vitamins in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Curious Case of
Vitamins & Me</i>, my documentary for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Nature of Things </i>on CBC. You can watch it now <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/natureofthings/episodes/the-curious-case-of-vitamins-and-me" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Should be easy to figure this one out.</b></td></tr>
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Making this particular film was probably one of my most challenging experiences as a science communicator.
<a href="mailto:http://www.cbc.ca/natureofthings/episodes/survival-of-the-fabulous">My
first doc</a> for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Nature of Things </i>about
the biology and evolution of male homosexuality might seem like it explores a more <i>complex</i>
topic, but with only a handful of scientists studying various aspects of the
genetics, neurochemistry and evolutionary biology of being gay worldwide, it was relatively easy to connect the scientific dots and find mostly satisfying answers to the research questions.</div>
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The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.cbc.ca/natureofthings/episodes/the-curious-case-of-vitamins-and-me" target="_blank">Curious Case of Vitamins</a> </i>on the other hand tackles a much simpler question on the surface: do
<b><u>we take need to take vitamin supplements or don’t we</u></b>? As I’d soon discover, the answers
couldn’t be <i>less</i> black and white – which isn’t always great when you’re trying
to make a digestible, coherent and entertaining documentary. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM9rqff6G1Ti280J1OoioFS5JifxsRL_FBWWEhxrPxROs2Q4myERprsAZ8l6zjVgnFZ805jscDlWtodRNGoKOtfQ5a8xGWJxNx-shqs_ldZVoV61xhkTdT16WDm9go9zJqRlqKLLWyRLU/s1600/vlcsnap-2015-10-22-12h25m34s170.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM9rqff6G1Ti280J1OoioFS5JifxsRL_FBWWEhxrPxROs2Q4myERprsAZ8l6zjVgnFZ805jscDlWtodRNGoKOtfQ5a8xGWJxNx-shqs_ldZVoV61xhkTdT16WDm9go9zJqRlqKLLWyRLU/s400/vlcsnap-2015-10-22-12h25m34s170.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My favourite cereal <i>says</i> it so it must be true, right?</b></td></tr>
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For starters, I learned a lot of the vitamin information we all rely upon isn't even that accurate. Take the nutrition info
on the back of prepackaged food, a mandatory fixture in Canada since 2007. When it comes to essential micronutrients, <a href="mailto:http://www.healthycanadians.gc.ca/eating-nutrition/label-etiquetage/understanding-comprendre/nutrition-fact-valeur-nutritive-eng.php">food labels in the United States or Canada are only required</a> to include information on <b>Vitamin A</b>, <b>Vitamin C</b>, <b>calcium </b>and <b>iron</b> – so whether food manufacturers include data on the other 11 essential vitamins is only optional.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-QYI3rE8dWimrOnkx3kktX25UwIRi6ogLMYb6eeg3WpUYLcosMQArnc6fbrhcMKIGt-tPQbEde98pYdSFj_T4OIRdnHOaL-U3du9abbPZ2aVsCpvND7za_lIkVqQKVteAkyMJj_uEiM/s1600/vitamins_labels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-QYI3rE8dWimrOnkx3kktX25UwIRi6ogLMYb6eeg3WpUYLcosMQArnc6fbrhcMKIGt-tPQbEde98pYdSFj_T4OIRdnHOaL-U3du9abbPZ2aVsCpvND7za_lIkVqQKVteAkyMJj_uEiM/s400/vitamins_labels.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Nutrition Facts: Mandatory since 2007, but guess how reliable they are.</b></td></tr>
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Nutrition Facts labels provide information on percentage Daily Values – which
are based on <b>Recommended Daily Allowance
(RDA)</b> for each micronutrient, which were originally calculated way back in
1968 using data from World War II, when governments had to determine what soldiers serving overseas needed to avoid getting known deficiency disorders like Rickets or Scurvy. Scientists from the the <b>NIH</b>, <b>Health Canada</b> and <b>Institute of Medicine</b> reevaluate these numbers each year, but apparently rely upon surveys and opinions, or the "<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dietary_Reference_Intake#Standard_of_evidence" target="_blank">lowest rank of evidence</a>." </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Vitamin RDAs are based on data about this accurate.</b></td></tr>
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Even though scientists reevaluate the RDAs every few years,
manufactures actually base their numbers on figures over a decade old! In many
cases, the current RDAs are up to 50% higher than the Daily Values we consumers end up seeing. Take Vitamin C. If you follow the label, all we need to meet
the RDA is 60mg, when in fact the RDA for Vitamin C is currently 75mg for women
or 90mg for men, which is 50% higher! If we can’t fully trust food labels – or even the RDAs that inform them – how can we figure out if we’re getting what we need in
terms of essential vitamins? And
more importantly, do we need to turn to supplements to fill in any gaps?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>I head from San Francisco to Washington DC to get the answers (and indulge my costume change obsession).</b></td></tr>
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Most experts – including the Scott Smith, the lead nutritionist of NASA’s Space
program – seem to agree a balanced diet of colourful fruits and veggies is the
best way to get our vitamins, some scientists have observed modern fruits and
vegetables may not have the same nutrition as they used to be because of soil
depletion – <a href="mailto:http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/soil-depletion-and-nutrition-loss/">with
declines as high as 37%</a>! If we can’t trust we’re getting what we really
need – is it okay to take vitamin supplements, to compensate for these gaps in
our diet? </div>
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One leading nutritionist demonstrated that when we’re low on
certain vitamins, like Vitamin K, we ration it towards short-term survival
(blood-clotting in the case of K) instead of long-term health (preventing
hardening of the arteries). If this ends up being the case for the rest of the
Vitamins, maybe we should turn to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">multivitamins</i>,
as insurance?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>I learned broccoli isn't as nutritious as it once was - but should we turn to organic?</b></td></tr>
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Some experts believe <a href="http://www.medicaldaily.com/taking-too-many-dietary-supplements-may-increase-risk-some-cancers-330020" target="_blank">multivitamins provide no definitive health benefits</a> – besides maybe a placebo
effect – they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do little to
prevent cancer, heart disease or other signs of aging</i>. Then again, how do
you prove a vitamin assisted in the prevention of cancer or heart disease, you
didn’t get 20 years down the line? Modern research methods – the gold standard
being <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">randomized, double-blind,
placebo-controlled trials </b>– are often <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">too
time-consuming and therefore expensive </i>to perform for vitamins. And until the medical worlds at larges shifts the priority from reactionary measures to
preventive ones, this paradigm likely won’t change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>In the US, you'll find this delightful small print on most supplements.</b></td></tr>
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If there’s no conclusive evidence <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">multivitamins</i> are dangerous to our health, can there really be such
thing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">as too much of a good thing</i>,
when it comes to vitamins? Turns out individual vitamins consumed in excess <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can</i> be dangerous. <a href="mailto:http://www.medicaldaily.com/taking-too-many-dietary-supplements-may-increase-risk-some-cancers-330020">Study
after study</a> has demonstrated taking excess amounts of fat-soluble Vitamins
A (or beta-carotene) and E can increase the risk of developing lung cancer or prostate
cancer, respectively, by up to 20%! While the scientists can’t pinpoint the
exact molecular processes at work, the reality is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">we can overdose</i>. The RDA figures include Upper Limits for most
vitamins, and many have severe side effects if you consume too much. To put
this in perspective one tablet of Vitamin E at 1000 IU is roughly 3000% of the
RDA for Vitamin E. To consume this much natural Vitamin E, you would need to
consume about 120 avocados.</div>
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Now before you abandon your supplements, there might be some
exceptions to the rule. Take Vitamin D, an important micronutrient, essential
for good bone health. We need sunlight to activate Vitamin D and many food
products like milk are fortified with it to ensure we get enough to prevent the
deficiency disorder, rickets. But some argue <a href="mailto:http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-3182874/Gloomy-winters-killing-warn-experts-say-Britons-not-getting-Vitamin-D-sunlight-putting-risk-deadly-ailments.html">we
may not be getting enough Vitamin D</a>, especially for those of us in cooler
climates, like Canada. We need the sun to make Vitamin D – and scientists
recently discovered <a href="mailto:http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2015/02/150225094109.htm">we
need Vitamin D to make serotonin, the feel-good neurotransmitter</a>, which
might explain why so many of us get depressed during the winter. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9aXcQtvASy0LSWIok9KLL7QRY_POmnW4HXUBCy9ZaP3rJB4NoEhiy7Nq9A2q9BI-EMyuePTwzbUA6-7aT0zpZW9qJf_XPf7pl7aVjpGb9le11O2sLPBI88no5HkzMaOyag9kwGnAhUUc/s1600/vlcsnap-2015-10-22-12h23m23s169.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9aXcQtvASy0LSWIok9KLL7QRY_POmnW4HXUBCy9ZaP3rJB4NoEhiy7Nq9A2q9BI-EMyuePTwzbUA6-7aT0zpZW9qJf_XPf7pl7aVjpGb9le11O2sLPBI88no5HkzMaOyag9kwGnAhUUc/s400/vlcsnap-2015-10-22-12h23m23s169.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My blood test reveals my Vitamin D levels are less than ideal. Or typical for Canadians.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If we have different needs for Vitamin D based on our
geography, does that mean we have different needs for other vitamins – and if
so, what’s our recourse? Given how complex nutrition science can be, I think getting
better informed about our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">individual
needs</i> is the only viable answer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We took this approach when making the documentary, where I get my
blood tested for deficiency levels to find out if I really need to supplement
(available to anyone with a Health Card in Canada). These tests are certainly
not comprehensive nor definitive, but they will provide a more accurate portrait of
your current health needs – and might help you avoid the latest trendy products
getting the Dr. Oz stamp of approval. As G.I. Joe taught me, "knowing is half the battle." But ultimately the biggest lesson made about Vitamins is that we're only scratching the surface of what we know about them. And that I need to be a lot more skeptical in general as a consumer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFj12Zs5LWnYsnNS2zMYboD6jiBknUjTS6j44LQE9fgfa6jkITNG5_3AjFEDf1LEaQ6RjRwInLyYipaVKfhTQbtyBMT4Qu5prpxmQmU0pzoPJm5gtFejS6_tIY521kRyEFMCSlXihvJc/s1600/snake-oil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFj12Zs5LWnYsnNS2zMYboD6jiBknUjTS6j44LQE9fgfa6jkITNG5_3AjFEDf1LEaQ6RjRwInLyYipaVKfhTQbtyBMT4Qu5prpxmQmU0pzoPJm5gtFejS6_tIY521kRyEFMCSlXihvJc/s400/snake-oil.jpg" width="336" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>This is how most Vitamin supplements usually get promoted...</b> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mentioned this documentary was tough to make. The second major challenge we faced was figuring out what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my
place</i> would be in the narrative of all of this and how we'd integrate my light and fun energy. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Survival of the
Fabulous</i> was born from my obviously personal quest to understand what makes
me who I am, which provided a pretty convenient and authentic narrative through
line. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Vitamins</i> as a subject matter is a lot
more universal – and a lot more scientifically technical – so finding out a reason why somebody
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">like me</i> – who isn’t a doctor or a
microbiologist. I don’t have a PhD, I didn’t even study science in University. So why should audiences take somebody who just isn’t smart enough seriously? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiabT8nl2AdASXfiVcOtO9-GzNfr3xMd05w1SaKp6hR9VyTh9qFO6mqiceJgWaCzizD2-U7cSXmhnXXhiDpyfg-m-bW5xEI4fPjkVdmleMUEwbGLb2o7ROHEktH1gGG2Bt59wXXSnC0kps/s1600/vlcsnap-2015-10-22-12h25m57s174.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiabT8nl2AdASXfiVcOtO9-GzNfr3xMd05w1SaKp6hR9VyTh9qFO6mqiceJgWaCzizD2-U7cSXmhnXXhiDpyfg-m-bW5xEI4fPjkVdmleMUEwbGLb2o7ROHEktH1gGG2Bt59wXXSnC0kps/s400/vlcsnap-2015-10-22-12h25m57s174.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Dr. Patrick teaches me how Vitamin D synthesizes serotonin - and how to make science cool.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As it turns out – it doesn’t really matter. Sure it helped
to tie in the fact that I used to be a chubby Hermione Granger know-it-all who
transformed myself <b><a href="http://thebryceage.blogspot.ca/2012/12/from-chunky-to-hunky-four-phases-of.html" target="_blank">From Chunky to Hunky</a></b> – and now is obsessed with fitness and
nutrition. But the reality is <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>science should matter to us all</u></b> – whether you’re a medical practitioner, a university
professor or the every day, average person.<br />
<br />
My personal shtick as the keener layman who loves to explore science <i>is </i>my way in. Because I don't understand science the way doctors and geneticists <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do naturally</i> makes me better
equipped <b><u>to ask the questions the rest of us might be thinking</u></b>. The dumb
questions that might seem obvious, but force us to think outside the box and
really, truly understand something dense and complicated.<br />
<br />
In a sense that makes
me the Jennifer Love Hewitt of the documentary world. #TheScientistWhisperer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-52170079076004433052014-09-01T10:32:00.002-07:002014-09-01T11:00:03.418-07:00How Robin Williams Helped Me Come Out of the Depression Closet<div class="MsoNormal">
The unexpected death of Robin Williams got me thinking – once again – just how tragic depression really is. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdSJfQkjcdseyKYHaEtf3BJQjwfUzouVuK_gMrJ7Jn0wtBhSnlxOc6GNf9EpgitniOJlRTDm71nvGNB15Bj6FIduqXVAf8rOw_7ywYAxWK-KXqo2ZoyzOi8OySsnktw8uuYnu1FpW9l7c/s1600/Robin+Williams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdSJfQkjcdseyKYHaEtf3BJQjwfUzouVuK_gMrJ7Jn0wtBhSnlxOc6GNf9EpgitniOJlRTDm71nvGNB15Bj6FIduqXVAf8rOw_7ywYAxWK-KXqo2ZoyzOi8OySsnktw8uuYnu1FpW9l7c/s1600/Robin+Williams.jpg" height="223" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>It's frustrating that it takes a celebrity suicide to open our eyes and get us talking.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It fills the heads of its victims with crippling despair,
distorted thoughts of self-hate, even the most intelligent, seemingly
(outwardly) fulfilled sufferers can’t ignore. Oftentimes it targets our
society’s most sensible, talented, passionate creators and producers of
society. And worst of all, it's a tragically invisible disability many sufferers can't talk about.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the Facebook/Twitter/Instagram generation
of faux happiness, we’re conditioned en mass not to talk about our bad days,
because heaven forbid we be the party buzz-kill.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well that’s too bad, because it’s my party and I’ll cry if I
want to. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, if you haven’t guessed it already, I very much suffer
from bouts of depression likely fueled by bad genetics and a shitty childhood and
a few poor life choices. And I want to get this off my chest if I’m going to understand
and hopefully beat it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD62y4Ik2AXN9TxMQ4nPZAnXecNmc6c_82RxRPAyrLh6JU835rf6SBfWyRv9nhSYxnUyivmQ5Dq9vSaCXVTb16fLq-rBp48KDaL_7WdSEc2398A5pYNnwBhz1LYCvGSHeUx4XTskeocYg/s1600/Depression_diagram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD62y4Ik2AXN9TxMQ4nPZAnXecNmc6c_82RxRPAyrLh6JU835rf6SBfWyRv9nhSYxnUyivmQ5Dq9vSaCXVTb16fLq-rBp48KDaL_7WdSEc2398A5pYNnwBhz1LYCvGSHeUx4XTskeocYg/s1600/Depression_diagram.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Psychiatrists still don't fully understand the causes of depression, so here's my two cents. </b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First off, a tiny confession. I almost published a version
of this blog post about a year ago, after the tragic overdose of <i>Glee</i> star Cory Monteith. Ostensibly this
talent had the life: as the star of a popular show with a loving girlfriend and
a hopeful future. But that’s the picture that’s always painted – especially
when you have agents, managers and publicists operating the paintbrush.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then of course I got cold feet. I can’t remember why. I probably
got chicken-shit after my mood took an upswing. I certainly didn’t want to
shatter the illusion people may have that I’m totally fun and confident, that I’m <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">actually</i> somewhere on the
spectrum, bordering on the edge. Eek. Don’t invite that Negative Nancy to the
party.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A year later the news of Robin Williams’ death arrived
around the same time I’d sunk to an oppressive low of self-defeating thoughts. Then
I watched a <a href="https://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability" target="_blank">Ted Talk</a> about the Power of Vulnerability by author and leading
social worker <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Bren</b><b style="background-color: white; text-align: center;">é</b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> Brown. </b>I slurped
up her <a href="http://brenebrown.com/my-blog/" target="_blank">Kool-aid</a> it finally dawned on me. If I truly wanted to beat this, I’d
need to open up and be damn honest about even this kind deep, dark shit if I
wanted to see positive change.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYaAs-o4DIt_ydey3xYDdBaVkyWTbqeTMelLroxb5mD1JC0PDykr3z6Eoi2CaYxqiZBC2Ew0UHxppydFucjjkcrIv3qRca-1nemPms0qSooYG_fU4voAVPBx9zdV38RgORFPx8U6F3Bl8/s1600/brene-brown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYaAs-o4DIt_ydey3xYDdBaVkyWTbqeTMelLroxb5mD1JC0PDykr3z6Eoi2CaYxqiZBC2Ew0UHxppydFucjjkcrIv3qRca-1nemPms0qSooYG_fU4voAVPBx9zdV38RgORFPx8U6F3Bl8/s1600/brene-brown.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Bren</b><span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>é </b></span></span><b>Brown's Power of Vulnerability in a Coles Notes Nutshell</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe you’re thinking: Wow, how more self-centred and
self-indulgent can a narcissist get? A celebrity figurehead dies tragically and
somehow he once again finds a way to relate it back to himself? Here's the thing, I routinely struggle with seemingly irrational bouts of
negative thinking, and I very much work in the TV / film wheelhouse, a bumpy
road of feast or famine where uncertain circumstances only trigger or
exacerbate the symptoms. Maybe it’s just my hyperbolic nature, but
their deaths struck a major chord.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew something might be up when I finally started to get
my act together – and I’d still manage to spiral into crushing pits of despair.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Survival of the Fabulous </i>gets green-lit but that must be a fluke. I got into the CFC Writing Program, the
third time applying, I’d still manage to convince myself that I must be a
fraud, they’ll figure it out soon enough. Even when I ostensibly attained my
personal Holy Grail – an attractive, wholehearted guy who
actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">liked me back </i>– I’d still
have thoughts that it’s an illusion, he doesn’t <i>really</i> like me, I’m still
unlovable – and surprise, surprise, cue the downward spiral into Depression
Alley. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Recently an investigation of my family tree for my
documentary revealed an alarming, interesting find. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Multiple cases of depression and more horrifyingly</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">suicide</i>. My uncle jumped from a high
rise about a decade ago. Two great aunts killed themselves via rat poison and
shotgun. Apparently another lumberjack actually felled a tree so it would
intentionally crush him (okay that one might be an urban legend).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhijN6FTojW-2g0qpsV0dg8Ozkh3INusQ58HJq2q1Ri_m0KpraMPXD0d0VTsmchUI5rQvhojyHKxii8JROQUW3OS8NXBKzxC2FM90lx0eTsxV7T4E4PbBmLcAlKHQ_Ndpe4BLwzZuzZ3Q/s1600/BS_SOTF_Family+Tree_v8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhijN6FTojW-2g0qpsV0dg8Ozkh3INusQ58HJq2q1Ri_m0KpraMPXD0d0VTsmchUI5rQvhojyHKxii8JROQUW3OS8NXBKzxC2FM90lx0eTsxV7T4E4PbBmLcAlKHQ_Ndpe4BLwzZuzZ3Q/s1600/BS_SOTF_Family+Tree_v8.jpg" height="347" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>All those black and white portraits are untimely deaths.</b> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It just so happens depression, alcoholism and drug addiction have reared their ugly heads all over both sides of my immediate family, so it’s certainly hereditary to some degree, so are my demons naturally going to grow up into all-consuming, suicidal Devils?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I sometimes wonder if contemplating the contemplation of
suicide even counts. It’s true I probably <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">am</i>
too much a drama queen to go out in a quiet fashion. I mean at the very least
I’d want to recreate a kill sequence from my favorite <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Final Destination</i> and make a trashy posthumous reality show out of
it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to think I’d dodged the addiction
bullet. I’d never smoked a cigarette in my life. I didn’t start drinking until
well into university and I’ve never used it to dull the pain. Maybe my family
of felons and addicts acted as reverse role models – and saved me from a
predestined path of self-destruction. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But let’s call a spade a spade. I may not be addicted to
booze or blow, but I certainly do have an <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://thebryceage.blogspot.ca/2013/03/i-have-confession-to-make.html" target="_blank">addiction for validation</a></b>, which I’ve chronicled extensively on this blog – and will
recap more in part two of this uber-fun depression series, where I try to get
to the bottom of why people like us suffer from depression. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiI_sYAg6cJmGm4g6deRMIUquYgp5Bonr9XouNjIMFVRwNzLvSpbM91C6pAGzvrTb9QeC_1eEjUQdXnmIsi29fcYARHJUfXXJesjKZcKojXn84hmU-F_04cxSLwVt5geyKorXI0KmPYLw/s1600/CycleValidation2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiI_sYAg6cJmGm4g6deRMIUquYgp5Bonr9XouNjIMFVRwNzLvSpbM91C6pAGzvrTb9QeC_1eEjUQdXnmIsi29fcYARHJUfXXJesjKZcKojXn84hmU-F_04cxSLwVt5geyKorXI0KmPYLw/s1600/CycleValidation2.jpg" height="273" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Some addicts "choose" booze or blow. I prefer the Boys, Body Dysmorphia and Validation cocktail</b> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the longest period of denial I tried to convince myself that
I was in no way like the aforementioned <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tortured
Artists</b> of the world. I don’t go on partying binge-fests that result in
blackouts and shaving my head. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some of my friends and family even know I have oscillating super-highs
and depressive lows. But they think there’s no cause for concern because I’m
really just an attention-seeking <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Drama
Queen, </b>too shallow to raise alarm bells. I’d even convinced myself and got
really good at concealing my brooding darker side. If you only see me as a vain,
vapid pre-law school Elle Woods<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i></b>that’s because the more confident,
more shallow and all-around funner Bryce is clearly more likeable than the real,
tortured deal.<br />
<br />
It turns out this is Comedy and Depression 101, as <a href="http://www.cracked.com/quick-fixes/robin-williams-why-funny-people-kill-themselves/" target="_blank">this fantastic article</a> by David Wong about Robin Williams illuminates why funny people kill
themselves. The seemingly obvious jist of it? Depressed people use jokes as shields to hide their abused
souls. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not crying for help with this post. In fact, I was going
to keep all this to myself. Or maybe sugar coat it for a psychotherapist. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I want to understand the nature and nurture of
depression, figure out how it manifests. Maybe even some of the readers out
there – you know, all seven of them – would find it helpful to know just how common
depression really is, and that it’s okay, in fact necessary, to be candid about
it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once I better understand this depression business, I’ll
formulate a strategic battle plan, so I can beat the shit out of it. The one
thing I do know is it’s life-long war, and one that would require a daily
regimen of patience, willpower and commitment.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8MIOkaeMuQDNelS6uRzx2Z2xtwqncJ-PlFd-OExcufeyc0pM4OYEIimJD0Y7klbN9j_lhlJm7srCa45O5bgKG65GmyfOAO8ZTYVHJbX_UPLHSrfZQIzgyaKAQ7ACgd9gxFFgpGGNemQ/s1600/MopeytoCopey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8MIOkaeMuQDNelS6uRzx2Z2xtwqncJ-PlFd-OExcufeyc0pM4OYEIimJD0Y7klbN9j_lhlJm7srCa45O5bgKG65GmyfOAO8ZTYVHJbX_UPLHSrfZQIzgyaKAQ7ACgd9gxFFgpGGNemQ/s1600/MopeytoCopey.jpg" height="240" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Teaser: <span style="text-align: start;">if I could go from </span><a href="http://thebryceage.blogspot.ca/2012/12/from-chunky-to-hunky-four-phases-of.html" style="text-align: start;" target="_blank">Chunky to Hunky</a><span style="text-align: start;">, I can slay a few pesky mental health demons.</span> </b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s a bit terrifying that it’s 2014, and we still don’t
know the answers. Doctors prescribe anti-depressants like they’re
one-size-fits-all cure-alls and psychiatrists disagree whether we should even
take them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But spoiler alert: I know seeking help <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> possible – and it very much can and does work with time. But
it’s an ongoing battle and when symptoms are their most severe, the motivation
to seek help wanes, making the vicious cycle continue and the need to talk
about it all the more important. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It truly is a tragic shame that Robin Williams and other
formidable artists like him never found their answer. But I will say thank you
for giving me the courage to speak up. </div>
Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-971500363407468492014-04-02T10:44:00.002-07:002014-04-02T11:44:32.665-07:00My Battle with Elle Woods Syndrome <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8GbEC3QcqwXsPZvFgbr5NNIWFxz0V0SiCR4L2lZeBqnvD8u2g_gJO87i1EmXvHJnI9tvJQ72HbLRQ-8AauaFDzfxbmylyxs9UjKmDDoXCNXOrvAcJiD5FLKjqHpoTw12guS3-AcyDtpM/s1600/sagewisdom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8GbEC3QcqwXsPZvFgbr5NNIWFxz0V0SiCR4L2lZeBqnvD8u2g_gJO87i1EmXvHJnI9tvJQ72HbLRQ-8AauaFDzfxbmylyxs9UjKmDDoXCNXOrvAcJiD5FLKjqHpoTw12guS3-AcyDtpM/s1600/sagewisdom.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
If you’ve held court with me for more than five minutes you’ve
likely heard me bring up or quote <i>Legally
Blonde</i>. Maybe you’ve even wondered why any self-respecting writer and
filmmaker would cite <i>Legally Blonde</i>
as one of his most cherished films.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8F4VBzj7Hdz2okU_4i94dAu1myLjXXLod9V0_uXuTh_0H3HnCWZ19Y1GAMgFIMK9uSlxuPU-dvHHuspbMaq5S9Qz6VFXyndSNVYD2gA0GGsjxc-CDfVg31s02XWlTlmn1tA87NseuHeQ/s1600/LBposter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8F4VBzj7Hdz2okU_4i94dAu1myLjXXLod9V0_uXuTh_0H3HnCWZ19Y1GAMgFIMK9uSlxuPU-dvHHuspbMaq5S9Qz6VFXyndSNVYD2gA0GGsjxc-CDfVg31s02XWlTlmn1tA87NseuHeQ/s1600/LBposter.jpg" height="400" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Story of my life, circa 2001-2013</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Part of it is the genuine truth – it’s a brilliantly written
comedy with endlessly quotable dialogue and timeless themes. The other reason
is perhaps more <i>metaphysical</i>. When I reference <i>Legally Blonde</i>, I’m really subconsciously testing to see if you’ll
judge and write me off as vapid and/or shallow, much like the narrow-minded law
students of Harvard U did Elle Woods. (If you need a reminder, think Bel Air
bombshell in Barbie pink amongst stiff intellectuals in muted, ill-fitting
cardigans). I’ve come to identify so much with the protagonist of <i>Legally Blonde</i>, that she’s literally
fused into the DNA of my identity, like a parasite, but with blond highlights.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In ironic other words, I’ve developed a meta-disease only
Abed Nadir would know how to diagnose. It’s called <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Elle Woods Syndrome. </i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Elle Woods Syndrome
(EWS)</b> can be defined as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the perennial
need to cast oneself as the fish-out-water outcast in an intellectual milieu</i>.
Usually it involves emphasizing one’s seemingly vapid, shallow and/or douchey traits to lower expectations of one’s ability to perform – so
that one can emerge as an underdog-turned-dark horse. The environment should be
one where geeks, nerds or intellectuals thrive, so that the stereotypical babe or jock you'd expect to be popular is rendered the outcast,<i>
reverse-bullied </i>by the usually dejected.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGMAn4yLR47Oieztxe81SJciNX-zKpf1Bzj9g-nallDpaB3kpbXdrsO4m3xQOqILqWRRscNIeKoK_EhfOK_C1hu4XFlYiTzjYaDiyAKDCDHgfMnjNA5avwJUMX_QF97eqVpJaRLU_ZlrU/s1600/ElleWoodsSyndrome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGMAn4yLR47Oieztxe81SJciNX-zKpf1Bzj9g-nallDpaB3kpbXdrsO4m3xQOqILqWRRscNIeKoK_EhfOK_C1hu4XFlYiTzjYaDiyAKDCDHgfMnjNA5avwJUMX_QF97eqVpJaRLU_ZlrU/s1600/ElleWoodsSyndrome.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>E.W.S.: psychological phenomenon affecting dozens of valley girls and hot jocks with untapped potential.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I likely contracted EWS shortly after watching <i>Legally Blonde</i> for the first time during
my tenure at Ryerson University. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know what you’re thinking: I didn’t go to law school to
win back my ex-boyfriend (<u><a href="http://thebryceage.blogspot.ca/2012/12/from-chunky-to-hunky-four-phases-of.html" target="_blank">sadly this was long before I was hunky enough to have a boyfriend</a></u>) so how could I relate to Elle Woods? As a gay man starved for attention, even (or especially) when closeted, I always stood out and I did sort of decide to go to film school on a whim, when I realized genetically engineering
dinosaurs likely wouldn’t be a possible career path. So the next best thing would
be to tell my own geeky sci-fi stories, right?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFked1dxvfURlUKg0tmssmYICV5mbSj_iiHrszB6ijVd1SGVg5kzZtNrhXKe4uGNx7X6Q-5KmI6WJO2rTzD3Dmvg1d0edSMVZp1Ohp9W4Mnh4O3vgiBOk2hq2P76VJoo3DHRcsp0RLm1E/s1600/ElleWoodsSyndromeWriter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFked1dxvfURlUKg0tmssmYICV5mbSj_iiHrszB6ijVd1SGVg5kzZtNrhXKe4uGNx7X6Q-5KmI6WJO2rTzD3Dmvg1d0edSMVZp1Ohp9W4Mnh4O3vgiBOk2hq2P76VJoo3DHRcsp0RLm1E/s1600/ElleWoodsSyndromeWriter.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Elle Woods Syndrome is also known to afflict gay writers with delusions of grandeur.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So this freshly and flamboyantly gay science nerd, lover of
popular culture, wearer of muscle tanks outside the gym and hopeful creator of <i><strike>Anaconda
2</strike></i> <i>Anaconda 5</i> arrived at Ryerson film school. While it was sadly no Harvard (or even the Canadian equivalent of an Ivy League), we did have a pretentious film school in “Image Arts” chock full of stodgy hipsters in muted,
ill-fitting cardigans, who wanted to make important art films. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We had snobby, opinion-recycling <b>Vivian
Kensington</b>’s, social-climbing <b>Warner Huntington III</b>’s or Femi-Nazi <b>Enid Wexler</b>’s,
all nonconformist conformists. They hated me on first impression impulse
because I stood out and not in a good way (at least that’s how I projected it
in my head and later <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Burn Book</b>). Once
I decided to embrace my life as Elle Woods – and centre of attention – this
track became a self-fulfilling prophecy and full-blown EWS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I set a precedent of making people think I was vacuous
bumble gum, so I could later prove them wrong. I’d spend my scholarship money
on bleach-blonding or perming my hair (a la Justin Timberlake<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>circa the N*SYNC days). I’d wear excessive costumes during my
pitches or muscle tanks to my lectures. And I saw links to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Legally
Blonde</i> everywhere. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcos5EGER4PEim57Az1roaQzIGwkWtTl3wYGSuoOgAeJIoX-oSSexencXFynz06MqWPKNqgYfaXiKKjckAQqeBoojmX9pnhXN_ygDxp1UAjRv_QrVZMwtpngovVIFUnHloDHa7yM27iMQ/s1600/elle-woods-harvard-video-essay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcos5EGER4PEim57Az1roaQzIGwkWtTl3wYGSuoOgAeJIoX-oSSexencXFynz06MqWPKNqgYfaXiKKjckAQqeBoojmX9pnhXN_ygDxp1UAjRv_QrVZMwtpngovVIFUnHloDHa7yM27iMQ/s1600/elle-woods-harvard-video-essay.jpg" height="276" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Like Ms. Woods, I'd overcompensate with razzle-dazzle.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We had this ruthless film history professor who pinned our
eyes open to watch awful Russian films. She made us introduce ourselves via film
clips we believed “best characterized” our cinematic taste. After the usual PT
Anderson and Coen Bros suspects, I decided to show Elle Woods’
cross-examination of Chutney Windham. After prerequisite scoffing and
eye-rolling from the film snobs, the scary professor actually called it a
“wonderful example of the village idiot” which I didn’t understand. (I’d later
realize our Russian Professor Umbridge was my first Professor Stromwell in a
long line of Yoda mentors).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1gJQ4OrrtfEK1-_njCvKHc8Dc4K-ON91nPAJ8i4FkzUahDxxdJiIAgJzkQhLewBl8fYc3fZLGR69kVd8BW3we-ljgwv5R_9XihjZzfsuqoPB9WowqDM1Ioq9kelNXCpA_-kjAWJTAAzA/s1600/stromwellLB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1gJQ4OrrtfEK1-_njCvKHc8Dc4K-ON91nPAJ8i4FkzUahDxxdJiIAgJzkQhLewBl8fYc3fZLGR69kVd8BW3we-ljgwv5R_9XihjZzfsuqoPB9WowqDM1Ioq9kelNXCpA_-kjAWJTAAzA/s1600/stromwellLB.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><u>My</u> Professor Stromwell mentor came in a slightly harsher form.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I once pitched a high-concept, high-budget sci-fi short in
lab-coat including mock science-experiment for our thesis film (think the
equivalent of the prestigious summer internship). In my head, all those
ill-fitting cardigans thought I was a hopeless long-shot, but once the list
appeared and my film I was selected, this is how I reacted: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/3_Bt7dpiyrw/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/3_Bt7dpiyrw&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/3_Bt7dpiyrw&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once I’d contracted EWS, it only festered, especially after
I shed my soft-fleshed cocoon and morphed into a douchebag butterfly. Wherever I
went, I’d do everything in my power to stand out. Behind the scenes in
television production, I was the fit editor who refused burrito lunches with the other tubby editors. Videogame and comic
book conventions, where I should be networking, I’d instead be posturing as a
nerd-jock in <b>cosplay</b>, so I’d be taken as seriously as the booth babes - only I
was neither as hot nor as paid to be there.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUnpsnQPSmjYumP_y0fDa88WKE4000KZWSXfHouy8OJjztSbhF7A-v6EJAPWivkjLYXea23DLrmwveMuqcdb8ismT6RNcjxjtxT1cJToOfbKWY_q1wIXM9gVcNyGgMdaiVic6VFgdVTwI/s1600/Brycecostumess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUnpsnQPSmjYumP_y0fDa88WKE4000KZWSXfHouy8OJjztSbhF7A-v6EJAPWivkjLYXea23DLrmwveMuqcdb8ismT6RNcjxjtxT1cJToOfbKWY_q1wIXM9gVcNyGgMdaiVic6VFgdVTwI/s1600/Brycecostumess.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>What Elle Woods and Bryce get up to when they should be studying.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During my residency at the<b> Canadian Film Centre</b>’s television
writing bootcamp, something in me changed. I’d desperately applied to this
prestigious program two times before, beginning to fear TV writing was only
“for people who are boring, ugly and <i>serious,</i>”
that I must be none of those things. But another voice told me I really fucking
wanted it. So through perseverance, better scripts and the sometimes reliable need for validation, I
finally got in. Immediately it felt like I was back in film school: the
outgoing pop-culture guru amongst mostly introspective writer-sorts. I was all
ready to prove I write my bubble-gum “genre” TV, while rocking a form-fitting
Henley, and probably be judged for it. They even made a 25-cents jar in our writing room for every one of my <i>Legally Blonde</i> references. But each time I added a quarter, it began to dawn on me:<br />
<br />
I was <i>stuck</i> in <b>First or early Second Act <i>Legally Blonde</i></b>, forgetting Elle Woods <i>herself</i> went through a huge <b>transformation</b>. Sure she went to law school to win her boyfriend back, but there she discovered her untapped potential as a bonafied lawyer. Her original motivation was misguided, but it led to an experience that fundamentally changed her.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mt420H8bzpPXnFLLokYSnJ2Z40J1VxJR-3eCsy81xfQXUICjywqdPjESBRQ7sX3492CdoOG0WdpXD9Qp3M6ORd5pvUUoWXyFSLVLCjYTq7E63qfSTcnKWaAhCobNg26weqtQyAqZFo0/s1600/lawschool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mt420H8bzpPXnFLLokYSnJ2Z40J1VxJR-3eCsy81xfQXUICjywqdPjESBRQ7sX3492CdoOG0WdpXD9Qp3M6ORd5pvUUoWXyFSLVLCjYTq7E63qfSTcnKWaAhCobNg26weqtQyAqZFo0/s1600/lawschool.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Elle Woods triumphed in the court room - proving everybody including herself wrong, but where was I?</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
All these years of embracing an Elle Woods identity, I’d completely missed the point. I was trying so hard to be outcast as different or even <b><i>inferior</i></b>, I could never be accepted and never really grow.<br />
<br />
But luckily at the CFC I was working with or for
the best of the best. All of my mentors were Professor Stromwells with noses that could detect bullshit (and/or the bells and whistles I’d used in the past to hide
thin writing). I was forced to dig deeper and to <i>stop being so </i><i>shallow</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Taken through the ringer at the CFC, I arguably
discovered my inner potential for writing drama – something I thought myself
previously incapable. I’d always been content with writing derivative
knock-offs of <i>Jurassic Park</i>, <i>Anaconda</i> or <i>X-men</i>, but with a little elbow grease, I learned why I really want to write and what I really have to say. I have no delusions that I’ve somehow
morphed into a genius writer – I still and always will be learning and
developing my craft. But I can say that writing <i>Anaconda 5</i> is no longer at the top of my career goals.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWg94DrQdOnE325KXpwljM29STvjcYvKW6czjardy6J3h6prcDlTnW7iRXcrHg-l54k6-2oMJ7P_RZAZYCQEaCouTbo5i-n_D3STcE1J-XXNY6GUwdxtGDmWBfIZ4NvyBAJ7PdGb6_uo/s1600/LegallyBlondSTC+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWg94DrQdOnE325KXpwljM29STvjcYvKW6czjardy6J3h6prcDlTnW7iRXcrHg-l54k6-2oMJ7P_RZAZYCQEaCouTbo5i-n_D3STcE1J-XXNY6GUwdxtGDmWBfIZ4NvyBAJ7PdGb6_uo/s1600/LegallyBlondSTC+copy.jpg" height="241" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>I'm not the only one to realize the didactic potential of <i>Legally Blonde</i>.<br />My Professor Stromwell called it right!</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The funny thing is, throughout my CFC residency, nobody ever really judged me on all
those shallow archetype things – in fact they were embraced and championed as
part of my “unique voice.” So look at that, Elle Woods was right after all.
Being true to yourself never goes out of style. </div>
Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-58281211574490814202014-02-23T17:22:00.001-08:002014-02-23T18:08:06.862-08:00My Dark Days of Dodgeball: Or How I was Forced to Learn a Lesson in Congeniality<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLu5rhHuXaB-sO807Q2sNXmsiRvRkDjFYniXSrSqVwrp6n8W1KiDKLUXuTxFR458A_U5JzP-6kkkuxJD-fCGaWETRgjUmmu6UaITpX0GrfSmBp-QjMdJhz9fW_3zSyNlnrH5hQfsVaykk/s1600/TalesofBryce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLu5rhHuXaB-sO807Q2sNXmsiRvRkDjFYniXSrSqVwrp6n8W1KiDKLUXuTxFR458A_U5JzP-6kkkuxJD-fCGaWETRgjUmmu6UaITpX0GrfSmBp-QjMdJhz9fW_3zSyNlnrH5hQfsVaykk/s1600/TalesofBryce.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
Besides storytelling, strong female badasses and videogames,
there is probably nothing I'm more passionate about in my simple simple life than Dodgeball, the glorious sport of "violence, exclusion and degradation," made famous and rules defined by the exquisite <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0364725/?ref_=ttqt_qt_tt" target="_blank">Dodgeball: An Underdog Story</a>. It's a sport which defined key character building moments of my last decade and led to my one and only concussion. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/qUpzAw5Kw7M?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now before you go thinking this is my spirited pledge for
turning Dodgeball into an Olympic sport, you should grab the kleenex, because this is rather, a very tragic confession of
my descent into disgrace and depravity. And to all that have been hurt along the way, my deepest apologies...</div>
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<br /></div>
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The narrative of my connection to dodgeball is a long
and storied one. It all began almost a decade ago when I captained a team of
underdog artistic oddballs assembled from my Documentary
Media MFA program at <b>Ryerson U</b>. We academic wannabe athletes called ourselves <b>Dodging
For Columbine</b> and we were as terrible as you could imagine. We were mostly fat
or scrawny, some with glasses, and all who threw like girls, except the girls
themselves, who were mostly lesbian cannons that should be playing major league
baseball.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrenXdkg6_i1eyMzmRIKDEkQRsyN8KD0TITdb3vzH1-Sd9iZEn-kO-k-geW83DRaOyPb8vdwKj3-eQOpvux45PydfvXH5gVFDBOPbMIgGbGKyZRQnkqiVAHwWf5sjlc7uAwpPFFbvFd28/s1600/dodging+for+columbine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrenXdkg6_i1eyMzmRIKDEkQRsyN8KD0TITdb3vzH1-Sd9iZEn-kO-k-geW83DRaOyPb8vdwKj3-eQOpvux45PydfvXH5gVFDBOPbMIgGbGKyZRQnkqiVAHwWf5sjlc7uAwpPFFbvFd28/s1600/dodging+for+columbine.jpg" height="199" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Our team sucked but at least we were clever. </b> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We competed against undergrad jock douchebags, all of whom
were better than us in most every way. And no team was better looking,
more athletic and more douchey than Natural Selection, a cartoon squadron of
mega-hot jock bullies who stepped right out of my nightmare wet dreams to
antagonize us on the court. But these were villains you loved to hate so hard
it was like the living inspiration for Ben Stiller and his Purple Copras.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNld8GyN6lUee6MaNlNYNiZJZDxzMK5sdCYSXH2OSxBzcuVuGISJNjU40NRahS_PS6HAxsOSNuiraQimCvfi9VdyVAjfhTHdPCCCNQic4JB6S4xvNQDycX7YxiGrW7ffhMDv8GpqhcSYo/s1600/NaturalSelection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNld8GyN6lUee6MaNlNYNiZJZDxzMK5sdCYSXH2OSxBzcuVuGISJNjU40NRahS_PS6HAxsOSNuiraQimCvfi9VdyVAjfhTHdPCCCNQic4JB6S4xvNQDycX7YxiGrW7ffhMDv8GpqhcSYo/s1600/NaturalSelection.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Aptly named in every sense.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I must give Natural Selection credit for fueling a fire I
never knew I had inside. I’d never played a team sport in my life (unless you
count Reaching for the Top), but thanks to their routine, skin-thickening
decimations, I learned that while I may not ever be able to throw like a man or
a lesbian, but I can dodge, I can strategize, I can survive a dodge-ball catalyzed concussion, I can sure as hell shit-talk like the best of redneck trash, and well, I can also lead. </div>
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<br /></div>
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We meagre documentarians went from wanting to change
the world by finding the cinematic cure to world hunger to having a taste for human bloodshed. After finally learning how to dodge, dip, duck, dive and dodge, we rose up to challenge even Natural Selection a few times (though we never won). And we were
once put on probation when a fistfight broke out between out two teams. I kid
not, and I realize that this memory should not be fondly remembered, even if it is.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now fast forward a few years to the <b><a href="https://twitter.com/GayBallSociety" target="_blank">Gay Ball Society</a></b> and
the first ever Toronto-set LGBT dodge-ball league. At long last a place where
you could meet fellow gays while playing the greatest sport known to man.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimaihAXbweEgV7PEICb6t4AsFuQyX0mJFaLYudoF2vAZS3DN4S0MncwbQcL16Ve85UC-dtwvCa8ytCa_8SSYBTD6XesWmzT2CncMZuqbu68VPu7FoUP-PYoNebm5zkfyJy-UOa1B2Dhw4/s1600/CherryPoppers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimaihAXbweEgV7PEICb6t4AsFuQyX0mJFaLYudoF2vAZS3DN4S0MncwbQcL16Ve85UC-dtwvCa8ytCa_8SSYBTD6XesWmzT2CncMZuqbu68VPu7FoUP-PYoNebm5zkfyJy-UOa1B2Dhw4/s1600/CherryPoppers.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>We took the fun out of dodgeball!</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During the first year, I captained a team called “<b>Cherry
Poppers</b>”. Well actually, I should say, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">became
</i>the captain after I helped orchestrate a mutiny when I realized the first captain
wasn’t intense or competitive enough to lead us to victory. The rest of the
team seemed to agree, and quickly, week to week we became the team to beat. I
had no delusions of being the best or even close to the best player on the
team. We were stacked with power <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">cannons</b>
and strategic <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">snipers</b> that already
gave us an edge. But those like me, who weren’t the most athletic were game and
motivated to perfect our throwing, dodging and catching until we were feral
animals that dined on bruises, broken egos and bone marrow.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmyaKqhqGM7JFvOsEE7nEnvwQJFpYLv2QDL1Q0UObpCoqhIMiKQG8JvFNg-PsAFEkc_u_sBugIqUpH7C10F4mZZud6OUti5tOYo6ChADyPg93dbEVY5D80BB9DhH8pBUGUVAMRz6FR-g/s1600/Firstplaceribbon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmyaKqhqGM7JFvOsEE7nEnvwQJFpYLv2QDL1Q0UObpCoqhIMiKQG8JvFNg-PsAFEkc_u_sBugIqUpH7C10F4mZZud6OUti5tOYo6ChADyPg93dbEVY5D80BB9DhH8pBUGUVAMRz6FR-g/s1600/Firstplaceribbon.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>There's no I in team, but there is an I in win.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We left many teams in our dust as we outplayed, outwitted and
– forgive this unnecessary <i>Survivor</i> reference – outlasted our way to the top
and won the first ever <b>Gay Ball Society</b> championship. The fact that nobody
liked our team and that, as one witness recounted, we “took the fun out of dodgeball”
didn’t matter, right? Because obviously they were jealous they weren’t on the
winning team.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We savored victory and let the cockiness go to our heads. Or
at least I did, moving into the second year and a brand new team. I was captain
again – this time fairly and squarely – and our team was christened “<b>Red Hot
Chili Peckers</b>”. Similarly to last team we had a nice balance of cannons and
snipers, and I quickly instructed the noobs on how to be <b>catchers</b>, <b>collectors</b>
or <b>dodgers </b>if they couldn't throw. And once again,
we were the team to beat and the team to hate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNw3UphJhyphenhyphenb_NesJ8LBE3jAelA7MpI-KuUjpgmWMn5fp5q61EwbY_kJFxpMtvxW60QQAgzpxev4KYffsROc2s8cYqvCo0mRRDXh1R1JrXaZk94yquF_su-3dmBMklbYqWmTxnzh428vP8/s1600/RedHotChiliPeckersLogo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNw3UphJhyphenhyphenb_NesJ8LBE3jAelA7MpI-KuUjpgmWMn5fp5q61EwbY_kJFxpMtvxW60QQAgzpxev4KYffsROc2s8cYqvCo0mRRDXh1R1JrXaZk94yquF_su-3dmBMklbYqWmTxnzh428vP8/s1600/RedHotChiliPeckersLogo.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Take that, Natural Selection!</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is until complaints that we were mean and
intense on the court started to come in. I was given warnings to dial it back a notch, because
other more sensitive players teams weren’t as competitive and therefore weren’t
having fun when they had to play against us. A little birdie from another team told me the one thing our team is missing is a thing called "<b><i>poise</i></b>". </div>
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<br /></div>
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It’s not that I ignored these amber alerts, it’s
just I <i>preferred</i> to win, and aggressive passion is just part of my nature
right? I can’t be blamed for something I can’t control. Riiiigggghhhhttt?! </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlkGUJhG-cjtfY5t6VCMZxvADAol1JAR0tH9H5fAQFROV0WowQGM1XCAJkCgmnCQH3WIj22O5oEvEJAyjAFbIaydB6jPeJqb-mwh3WfHegSR1crinzWAFcUHax82rsyXrLRn9NTAMgz2M/s1600/White-Goodman3-villains-villains-7481011-1280-1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlkGUJhG-cjtfY5t6VCMZxvADAol1JAR0tH9H5fAQFROV0WowQGM1XCAJkCgmnCQH3WIj22O5oEvEJAyjAFbIaydB6jPeJqb-mwh3WfHegSR1crinzWAFcUHax82rsyXrLRn9NTAMgz2M/s1600/White-Goodman3-villains-villains-7481011-1280-1024.jpg" height="256" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Little did I know, I was fastly becoming this guy.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Alas, after seemingly endless victories, we finally lost our composure during a key
play-off game, and just like that we were finished. We came in 7<sup>th</sup>
overall while inspiring a Cinderella Story we'd never live down. The same team, which ironically tried to teach me <b>P is for Poise</b>. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. But it’s okay right, it’s just about
having fun, and I’d already won (my first ever) first place ribbon last year. I didn’t need victory!</div>
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<br /></div>
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But then the administrators of the league
pulled me aside after the final game and informed me I would NOT BE ALLOWED TO
CAPTAIN in the following year. Why you ask? </div>
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<br /></div>
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Because apparently I’m “too intense, too
competitive" … and perhaps, worst of all, I have a reputation for running my team
“like a slavedriver”. A flurry of emotions consumed me: Fury. Guilt. BETRAYAL, from my own people. My gay tribe had rejected me. And no amount of blasting “<b>Let it
Go</b>” could make the pain go away. </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/moSFlvxnbgk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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But really, <i>me<b>:</b></i> a Slave-driver?! I sent
long-winded inspirational slash instructional emails to my loyal teammates. I encouraged the <strike>weak links</strike> lesser-skilled players to improve their game. I freaking designed a GODDAMN LOGO FOR OUR TEAM SHIRTS. And this captain was a SLAVE-DRIVER?!</div>
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I was about to start a witch-hunt when a wise friend told me, "I’m pretty sure that’s what
Hitler said before the whole holocaust thing"</div>
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And suddenly it dawned me. </div>
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Maybe I did take the spirit of competition <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a touch</i> too far. Maybe I <i>was </i>a fascist son of a bitch.
Maybe I <i>did</i> drop one too many F-bomb-laden shit-talking attacks. </div>
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Dare I say it, but had I, Bryce Sage,
former fat-geek underdog morphed into one of the extreme supervillains I used to dread? Forgive my hyperbolizing, but yes, I think I had. </div>
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After being summarily demoted, rank pulled and forced to face my
shame head-on, I’m now playing as a civilian on two different teams, in two
different leagues one gay and one straight. And I’m doing everything in my
power to manage my anger and my liberal dropping of F-bombs and C-units. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg29cC14ImjxcIp5jseXHsX6u0ZBu3zmAd3u-Hck97rnghFYCs3h3lQnzOYT14Oy517t3ZOHomjnLtfN4oqQRcy-YrBE5G_2UmSp6YsD_Ua386_wHQKkI4o2jmE5r39a5Lq5hTfeT6vcvo/s1600/miss_congeniality_002_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg29cC14ImjxcIp5jseXHsX6u0ZBu3zmAd3u-Hck97rnghFYCs3h3lQnzOYT14Oy517t3ZOHomjnLtfN4oqQRcy-YrBE5G_2UmSp6YsD_Ua386_wHQKkI4o2jmE5r39a5Lq5hTfeT6vcvo/s1600/miss_congeniality_002_1.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My new life goal for 2014.</b></td></tr>
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I’m ready and raring to embrace this whole “poise” thing,
too, however fake it seems at first, and win the coveted “Miss Congeniality”
sash by end of season. I’ve promised I’ll wear an evening gown if I’m actually
crowned, which I know is competitive bribery and probably goes against the
definition of congeniality. But c’mon. Baby steps.</div>
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Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-32826830943062494522013-12-27T09:08:00.000-08:002013-12-27T09:52:50.872-08:00Why I wish I read THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY ... 10 Years Ago<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8GbEC3QcqwXsPZvFgbr5NNIWFxz0V0SiCR4L2lZeBqnvD8u2g_gJO87i1EmXvHJnI9tvJQ72HbLRQ-8AauaFDzfxbmylyxs9UjKmDDoXCNXOrvAcJiD5FLKjqHpoTw12guS3-AcyDtpM/s1600/sagewisdom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8GbEC3QcqwXsPZvFgbr5NNIWFxz0V0SiCR4L2lZeBqnvD8u2g_gJO87i1EmXvHJnI9tvJQ72HbLRQ-8AauaFDzfxbmylyxs9UjKmDDoXCNXOrvAcJiD5FLKjqHpoTw12guS3-AcyDtpM/s1600/sagewisdom.jpg" /></a></div>
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I recently had to catch up on a literary classic -- and by classic I mean one written before the 21st century. You know, one of those books you should've read in high school, but only pretend to know by name? Well, had I read this particularly cautionary tale by Mr. Oscar Wilde (the eminent 'mo of his Victorian day), I might've shaved a decade of adolescent learning off my life. </div>
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For those of you like me, who barely knew Dorian Gray by name, I highly suggest you rush out and buy or download <u>The Picture of Dorian Gray</u> <a href="http://www.classicly.com/download-the-picture-of-dorian-gray-pdf" target="_blank">for free</a>. This isn't a classic you need to add zombies to make entertaining; Wilde is as witty as <u>Mean Girls</u>. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvYqeZVqd_IbX7TN-l9XKVdX1qbc14vA-zn9y6hkyEC17Qj0GFlvdXRJ487Mipr8cJJ3Qnal-hSApgoivgGmfm6IgVp-k_dAt5Yls_EMUNIEf1d7JuJxw2WCjYRXQTnWsdiozbthExAnQ/s1600/ben-barnes-dorian-gray-movie-poster-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvYqeZVqd_IbX7TN-l9XKVdX1qbc14vA-zn9y6hkyEC17Qj0GFlvdXRJ487Mipr8cJJ3Qnal-hSApgoivgGmfm6IgVp-k_dAt5Yls_EMUNIEf1d7JuJxw2WCjYRXQTnWsdiozbthExAnQ/s320/ben-barnes-dorian-gray-movie-poster-02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>You've probably never seen the movie either, it's even more obscure.</b></td></tr>
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That said, here’s my Spark Notes. It’s about this high-society guy so hot everybody wants to be him or be with him. When a painter captures his hotness in portrait form and his sassy and sinister best friend / devil on his shoulder <b>Lord Henry Wotton</b> puts bad advice in his head (i.e. "<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 11pt;"><b>the people who love only once in their lives </b></span><b><span style="font-size: 11pt;">are really the shallow people</span></b><span style="font-size: 11pt;">”), </span>Dorian makes a Devilish deal to ensure the painting ages instead of him. Essentially free of his conscience, Dorian becomes a sleazy, self-absorbed narcissistic hedonist who leaves a trail of heartbreak and suicide in his wake. Until, spoiler-alert, he goes insane, stabs a few people--and then the painting--effectively killing himself.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAfC8FzUeungiY2aAKeMhkxxlHCiCPn0YQ5dv-pdXiRPDqXrzk2sDwclN9yg2zc6meBzpJM2ScdhZWCEqnP1A0odXE7mEtoYinkamoicODI0_Lt9B_zZ-gE4prYV0wgjzQq5PjJH4EbmM/s1600/jamie-dornan-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAfC8FzUeungiY2aAKeMhkxxlHCiCPn0YQ5dv-pdXiRPDqXrzk2sDwclN9yg2zc6meBzpJM2ScdhZWCEqnP1A0odXE7mEtoYinkamoicODI0_Lt9B_zZ-gE4prYV0wgjzQq5PjJH4EbmM/s320/jamie-dornan-02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Modern-day Dorian Grays, and, no, they don't need magic paintings.</b></td></tr>
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It's not very difficult to draw comparisons to today. Dorian’s basically the 19<sup>th</sup> century
equivalent of a modern day player douchebag. He's gorgeous, likely grew up in the Hamptons, never
had to work a day in his life (unless you count modeling), and gets everything
in his life served to him on a silver platter. He even has a name readymade for a CW show. Now we may not have magic paintings that can keep us young, but with convincing botox and mad science <a href="http://www.tasciences.com/ta-65/" target="_blank">telomerase-enhancing pills</a>, we're getting pretty close. </div>
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Hollywood movies have taught us that, at least in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">heterosexual </i>world, extreme cases of hot assholes who coast through their formative years on their looks generally get eclipsed by smart
geeks with robust senses of humor. Eventually these super-hotties get their
comeuppance when their looks fade and women become wiser of their disingenuous
ways. Or they eventually learn that even though their good looks can get them laid (or <a href="http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/parenting/better-looking-students-get-better-marks-according-to-a-new-us-study/story-fngqim8m-1226780250597" target="_blank">better marks</a>, <a href="http://scienceblog.com/14974/who-knew-good-looking-people-get-better-jobs/" target="_blank">careers</a> and <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-443754/Ugly-defendants-likely-guilty-attractive-ones.html" target="_blank">criminal court verdicts</a>), relying on them can be pretty soul-crushing.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL8xn4nlx82GyceZpqBgu3lGI3tS2GPhRkfWacC5G5vzoq96ItGMNbYzxPF_1kJC2HhDCn8JBipimwlVO2Mw8It6rOS7wxDdGrEt4GOYAfrDs0J23BDAxgQwjMG7z4AV_QIVxP0W1D48g/s1600/ryan+gosling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL8xn4nlx82GyceZpqBgu3lGI3tS2GPhRkfWacC5G5vzoq96ItGMNbYzxPF_1kJC2HhDCn8JBipimwlVO2Mw8It6rOS7wxDdGrEt4GOYAfrDs0J23BDAxgQwjMG7z4AV_QIVxP0W1D48g/s320/ryan+gosling.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Even Mr. Gosling learned that being a hedonist douchebag eventually gets old.</b> </td></tr>
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But if there is one place where this retribution is so delayed it
sometimes never even happens, it's the gay world. And this is speaking from experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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If
you’re young and beautiful you’re immediately ushered into the elitist scene as
the belle of the ball – maybe even made the live-in of a richer silver fox
“daddy.” (AKA our Lord Henry Wotton). Adolescence into adulthood (the critical
period of life where most people learn to stop being shallow, self-absorbed
narcissists) is thus postponed. You may not ever need to go through it, depending how
good your genes are – and how much capital you’ve got to spend on Botox and steroids.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">That’s right, we may not have a magic age-defying mirror, but we do
have plastic surgery!</b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-vAXlD1whRd-Mq11uhj1ZHAfTqXbfCSL8uevVgcl4papKooAukqTYVSZ5OhnCeW6stvQftj8UVwmLCIpBbmC0IW3h0bXVTWYhVIkiVhtdC1h-t0d-u3N2pXcl3_1dFXpvAP3REkirto/s1600/male-plastic-surgery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-vAXlD1whRd-Mq11uhj1ZHAfTqXbfCSL8uevVgcl4papKooAukqTYVSZ5OhnCeW6stvQftj8UVwmLCIpBbmC0IW3h0bXVTWYhVIkiVhtdC1h-t0d-u3N2pXcl3_1dFXpvAP3REkirto/s320/male-plastic-surgery.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Dozens of ways to become your own Dorian Gray!</b></td></tr>
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Let’s examine some other lessons to learn from Dorian. Take the Grindr meat market – a dating app that reduces
human beings into savage animals – where we select our sex partners for their
pretty faces and six-pack abs while callously rejecting the fat, femmy or
ethnically diverse, with not a second consideration to how these guys might
take said rejections. Sound a bit like when Dorian Gray rejects once-fiancé
S<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">ibyl Vane and she ends up committing suicide: "<b>Y</b><b><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">ou have
killed my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don’t even stir my
curiosity."? </span></b><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Okay
maybe we’re not that bitchy, but you get the point. </span> </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlf8sO-U0ECRGEWMC3UxOWmvJEJ4EOr6e66ZtcmKg-I6MIe2g36SJWMJ7ag6us2aXRB3XqoBXxYs8biUWdAak83KOIQPZQbIomEhotbkjRQcF9RApz7Qz7g1HXYFJvSLmYkjwQvDx5U8/s1600/grindrdouchebags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlf8sO-U0ECRGEWMC3UxOWmvJEJ4EOr6e66ZtcmKg-I6MIe2g36SJWMJ7ag6us2aXRB3XqoBXxYs8biUWdAak83KOIQPZQbIomEhotbkjRQcF9RApz7Qz7g1HXYFJvSLmYkjwQvDx5U8/s320/grindrdouchebags.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Douchebags of Grindr: if only they read <u>The Picture of Dorian Gray</u> </b> </td></tr>
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And what about our canonization of mean-spirited Über-cunts like <b>Cersei</b> “I’ll have you strangled in your sleep” <b>Lannister</b> and <b>Regina</b> “that is the ugliest F-ing
skirt I’ve ever seen” <b>George</b>? We love these bitches so much, fellow homo <b>Ryan Murphy</b> made a whole show about them for us with <u>American Horror Story: Coven</u>. Well guess what, before there was Regina George or
<b>Fiona Goode </b>there was <b>Lord Henry Wotton</b>, who had delightful one-liners like:<span style="color: #444444;"> "</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>I choose my friends for their good looks, and my enemies for their good
intellects" </b>and "</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>Mrs.
Vandeleur</b></span><b style="font-size: 11pt;"> was so dreadfully dowdy that
she reminded one of a badly bound hymn-book". </b><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">So why do </span>some of us love these bitches so much? Probably because deep down we're incredibly insecure Dorian Gray-types, so we like to put others down to make ourselves feel better. Why is this beginning to sound like an after school special?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-XvyXSIChQrhPpWm_lUrnC4Q8EZvWIOZZrce2rL3k_pFgZ0RvVgmXI1RcoxSIWBsNfFM6tdQDm5Pv0T3ki40bUgT-sHiYrCCkL4uKG1mlGDB2HDU8GTDnpxv5KxHhh5E7ewJhtTvnd8/s1600/bitches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-XvyXSIChQrhPpWm_lUrnC4Q8EZvWIOZZrce2rL3k_pFgZ0RvVgmXI1RcoxSIWBsNfFM6tdQDm5Pv0T3ki40bUgT-sHiYrCCkL4uKG1mlGDB2HDU8GTDnpxv5KxHhh5E7ewJhtTvnd8/s320/bitches.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Bitches: Why do we love them so much? Probably because we identify with them.</b></td></tr>
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Needless to say, visit any gay scene and you're sure to encounter more than a few vain, self-absorbed<b>
Dorian Grays</b> and their enabling, sassy <b>Henry Wottons</b>, and it's a vicious cycle with loads of collateral damage. Sure to call members of the gay community shallow and superficial isn’t
new but speaking as one of these self-absorbed, Dorian Gray Biotches, I think it bares repeating.<br />
<br />
I think I'm ready to atone for past sins, and this isn't just my bitter, dried-up cynicism talking. Even if I had read <u>The Picture of Dorian Gray</u> in high
school, I probably would’ve rejected the wisdom it had to offer. I still wanted
to be older, so I didn’t know what it was like to dread age and I wasn’t even
out of the closet, so I didn’t know what it was like to appreciate beauty. </div>
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But
now, as somebody who spent the last decade chasing twinks at Buddies, dropping
snarky one-liners to friends and foes alike, and leaving a wake of victims in
my douchey wake - basically trying to be or be with Dorian Gray - I'm ready for some change. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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And thus I pledge 2014 to be the year I try to become<b> <u>Miss Congeniality</u>. </b></div>
Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-81433202471309707802013-07-17T08:02:00.005-07:002013-07-17T08:39:49.693-07:00"Has anyone ever told you you look like..."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLu5rhHuXaB-sO807Q2sNXmsiRvRkDjFYniXSrSqVwrp6n8W1KiDKLUXuTxFR458A_U5JzP-6kkkuxJD-fCGaWETRgjUmmu6UaITpX0GrfSmBp-QjMdJhz9fW_3zSyNlnrH5hQfsVaykk/s1600/TalesofBryce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLu5rhHuXaB-sO807Q2sNXmsiRvRkDjFYniXSrSqVwrp6n8W1KiDKLUXuTxFR458A_U5JzP-6kkkuxJD-fCGaWETRgjUmmu6UaITpX0GrfSmBp-QjMdJhz9fW_3zSyNlnrH5hQfsVaykk/s1600/TalesofBryce.jpg" /></a></div>
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Okay in typical <i>me</i>
fashion I’ve neglected the blog and this time I’ve left all six of my readers
hanging - I’m only half-way through the <b><a href="http://thebryceage.blogspot.ca/2013/04/12-steps-for-getting-over-validation.html" target="_blank">12 Steps For Getting Over a Validation Addiction</a></b>. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Now, instead of moving forward with the rest of the list, I
must first do a couple stand-alone posts to <i>show</i>
why someone like me can’t just get over this Validation Addiction overnight. <i>Yeah, yeah.</i> I’m really just creating
false suspense, much in the way network TV drags out major story developments
with boring filler episodes. However, I argue bad habits are like Roman
cockroaches, and they can’t be killed in a day or a single blog-post split into
two and spread out over four months.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>So time for a Case
Study in Validation Addiction: </b><b><i>How one <s>neutral</s> <s>comment</s> vicious insult can rain on your
Pride Parade.</i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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So let’s set the scene. It’s Pride 2013. A weekend of
slutty, shirtless free-for-alls, where douchebaggery is at its most fervent.
Plastic gays have spent the better part of the year pumping iron and indulging
their eating disorders to ensure they’d fetch top prize in the meat
markets that ensue. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Normally a mild-mannered slightly above-average former fatty
would dread these affairs and the toll they can take on your ego and self-esteem.
But I'm transformed and making up for lost time. </div>
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And I was coming off a week of both insane
creative and physical validation. My documentary adventures a resounding
success and in the can. Plus I’d had the chance to train and diet like crazy to ensure I look the part. Heck, the night before, I even
took in so many rape-stares during the army-themed Boot Camp, my Validation
meter was full to the brim. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Of course later that afternoon it was time for Aqua, the
sole event set in broad daylight when the unforgiving noonday sun reveals every
unsightly flaw, every missed patch of manscaping. Any expectations for validation are dangerous at best. But my
Validation Meter was full, so why should I feel the need to posture or peacock?</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0-dUxG5usoT5qWrhf1OGiFWsmJZ3fsMrN6INK8AxwxNVeota5Fy-nOGvFsq01P3G8kpTv-hHSluvLLzh1h-UD6_95ZJRcnm-5Or1_9I6hXwt7A4Wo-DQyKjQNMwzVNhNnY48QK3va2Os/s1600/Aqua_2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0-dUxG5usoT5qWrhf1OGiFWsmJZ3fsMrN6INK8AxwxNVeota5Fy-nOGvFsq01P3G8kpTv-hHSluvLLzh1h-UD6_95ZJRcnm-5Or1_9I6hXwt7A4Wo-DQyKjQNMwzVNhNnY48QK3va2Os/s320/Aqua_2013.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>Aqua: A dangerous place for a Validation Addict</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Alas, by the time I arrived, I was dwarfed by prettier
Gods amongst men with broader shoulders, more chiseled pecs and rows upon rows of abs. Wherever I turned, there were guys hotter than me.</div>
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Okay I just had to regroup. I could find the most flattering light to
stand in, next to someone fatter than me, so I'd be hot by contrast. Hold
it out until the Magic Hour of sundown when vodka-diet-redbull-goggles had kicked in. But it was a lost cause. It didn’t
matter how much fake confidence I tried to muster, I got about as much attention as the
ladies washroom. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until finally I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen all party
with a dude, a <b>Random Asian Stranger</b> I didn’t recognize. Finally, I knew this was my opportunity. I’d be introduced to Random Asian Stranger and
he’d stroke my ego with a compliment. Sure enough, Random Asian Stranger pulled me in to whisper something flattering into my ear. </div>
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<br /></div>
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“Has anyone ever told you look like…” he started but trailed off, drowned out by the circuit beats. </div>
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No big deal. It must’ve been <i>Guy Pierce</i>. Or <i>Ethan Hawke</i>. I've gotten those before. Either way it didn’t matter, I should’ve just heard “<i>a
celebrity that’s hot</i>” cause that was the obvious punchline. But <i>no</i>. I was
insecure and needed my validation loud and clear. </div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EO9aW7IeIzSKsTiS-Cu8QF_2C06kuhj01NlPbkFAKB0zQe0xx2cN_D0kIDwOlO0qu-73AdA_jU57dNk0WRE2P2odQjwSgrFIPqVxWv-Wgz59C271lw7tffwjNpLsbnPQ-mYA312MTHU/s1600/CELEBRITYLOOKALIKEGOOD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EO9aW7IeIzSKsTiS-Cu8QF_2C06kuhj01NlPbkFAKB0zQe0xx2cN_D0kIDwOlO0qu-73AdA_jU57dNk0WRE2P2odQjwSgrFIPqVxWv-Wgz59C271lw7tffwjNpLsbnPQ-mYA312MTHU/s320/CELEBRITYLOOKALIKEGOOD.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Celebrity Recognition as Flattering Compliment</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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“Sorry I didn’t hear you, what did you say?” I forced him to
lean in and say it again.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This time he raised his voice. <b>“Has
anyone ever told you… you look like Mitch from <i>Modern Family</i>.”</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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I really felt like a stake was stabbed through my heart. No,
I wasn’t just compared to a ginger – an association I've used a decade's worth of tanning beds and bottle-blonding to avoid (no thanks to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXWa9ZIFsH0" target="_blank">South Park</a>) -- but <i>this</i> ginger.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCHE4DdR2OssT-qgRTUyuIBxpwOIwKG_QiNqBgbtvN_JSt7oxWyiXU8_NNDrMJmd3Z1FgLeqAsDhqJ2_QnSsPFfjia5_680nIo_GLRfmNmmFN80Hdb6VmqgBMFEGX65Q1e4I6P2eRS2I/s1600/CELEBRITYLOOKALIKEBAD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCHE4DdR2OssT-qgRTUyuIBxpwOIwKG_QiNqBgbtvN_JSt7oxWyiXU8_NNDrMJmd3Z1FgLeqAsDhqJ2_QnSsPFfjia5_680nIo_GLRfmNmmFN80Hdb6VmqgBMFEGX65Q1e4I6P2eRS2I/s320/CELEBRITYLOOKALIKEBAD.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Celebrity Recognition as Insult.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I was speechless with no sassy comeback prepared. Not that it mattered, he was long gong, parading off to destroy another poor, vain douchbag’s self-esteem. </div>
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First of all the comparison was ridiculous, <i>right</i>?? I mean, Mitch from Modern
Family?! <i>A scrawny, red-headed chubby-chaser?! </i>Okay yes, I've got a little ginger in me, and under scorching sunlight my hair can take a slightly reddish hue. So if you must compare me to a famous redhead, how about <b>Trainer
Bob from the Biggest Loser</b>?</div>
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I didn’t even know this Mean Girl hater-bitch, let a lone
understand his motivation to cut me down. Maybe I rejected him somewhere in the
digital realm. Maybe he was on one of the losing teams we absolutely destroyed
in Gay Dodgeball. Or maybe, just maybe, this guy <i>didn’t actually mean it as an insult.</i>
Maybe this guy really <i>likes</i> gingers, somehow
seeing my ginger resemblance as a positive thing. No. Not a chance.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyway, we’re losing the point. Which isn’t that some stranger had the gall to compare me to a ginger. </div>
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<br /></div>
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No, it’s <i>why</i> I allowed the opinion of a stranger get under my skin. </div>
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I found my friends and told them I had to leave the party <i>at 6pm</i> so I could prepare
for the next day’s documentary shoot at the Parade. Which of course was total bollux, because I was already
prepared for the filming, but the excuse probably sounded better than "some random guy unintentionally struck a nerve with an impossibly low blow, so I'm gonna stay in to nurse my wounds". Thus I stayed in on a Saturday night slaying fungus-infected
pseudo-zombies with my <strike>real</strike> virtual friends Ellie and Joel. And they never had the audacity to compare me to Mitch from Modern Family.</div>
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So why is it that I can survive a network screening where my blood ends up on
the floor, when my <b>creative reason for being</b> is questioned, and somehow not
take it personally, but then one harmless remark can leave me crippled? </div>
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Well it's because I can still be a vain, self-doubting guy who cares way
too much about what others think of me. I can also have warped delusions of how others perceive me. Not that one shouldn't care what <i>certain</i> others think - lest we swing to the arrogant end of the confidence spectrum - but one should probably raise the bar above the random drones they meet at shirtless dancing parties.</div>
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The good news is I did survive the character assassination attempt. I somehow sucked it up and reported to work the next day. I even took Random Asian Stranger off my Kill-Bill black list for Planned Vengenace once I’m
rich and famous. How's that for progress?</div>
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Which all means to say, that I must be one step closer to curing my need to be continually validated by others, <i>right</i>?? </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_W2FZTlL1fPWGvAi5e1Gy2eRDKkUsTE2vTSK0Nf0IaRRr-BjiyKHQ_K-OsXsBZkTdWs2OckzCdP7HgELJOWX0yx04j_-39DdD28qZIdKdxjSI0vK6DF6_dlBRHrMEeyNdTlErM86wRCQ/s1600/mitchell-and-cam-modern-family-14955211-490-324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_W2FZTlL1fPWGvAi5e1Gy2eRDKkUsTE2vTSK0Nf0IaRRr-BjiyKHQ_K-OsXsBZkTdWs2OckzCdP7HgELJOWX0yx04j_-39DdD28qZIdKdxjSI0vK6DF6_dlBRHrMEeyNdTlErM86wRCQ/s320/mitchell-and-cam-modern-family-14955211-490-324.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
DISCLAIMER: Dear Jesse Ferguson, the Weasly Brothers and all Gingers of the world (or people that know/love Gingers): No offense was intended by this Post, which is an historical account from a Former Ginger who now recognizes he's a Blond-Ginger Hybrid.<br />
<br />
And Gingers, do have souls, for the record.<br />
<!--EndFragment-->Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-62050166606527855792013-04-11T16:05:00.001-07:002013-04-11T16:10:35.472-07:0012 Steps for Getting Over a Validation Addiction Part One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqmniNntp-GgxVrWG9M0uzPjoltSquSY0LAd4kMGkJINVYgSmMPGl_Hnb82NuHXO_h7YPZqpKZuvdP62ettaC-h9Kqj8Rwz-FsQO4U6lEmro5THdQl8dTA-ft3vGEEQZE-P_MM9eiADw/s1600/BryceAdvice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqmniNntp-GgxVrWG9M0uzPjoltSquSY0LAd4kMGkJINVYgSmMPGl_Hnb82NuHXO_h7YPZqpKZuvdP62ettaC-h9Kqj8Rwz-FsQO4U6lEmro5THdQl8dTA-ft3vGEEQZE-P_MM9eiADw/s1600/BryceAdvice.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1">Last week I confessed my <a href="http://thebryceage.blogspot.ca/2013/03/i-have-confession-to-make.html" target="_blank">Addiction to Validation</a> and promised my 12-step routine to get over it. I also outlined a potential <b>Magic Pill</b> solution, whereby an Ultimate Catch can teach you to love yourself by loving you. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQK6IzIEpH0Ha3sq3MWy6p65nhgPrrQ3mZ9ETZUdsEQ0ZuMsNaMa464h-hwYl6hZ3LyenpmcyQUh94Xxe79Ps6Q5yecvrF8RYnTlL6hKRQhwPu5kAO69U3OA4LQirDgEkAyv54pMwy2Y/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-04-10+at+2.55.04+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQK6IzIEpH0Ha3sq3MWy6p65nhgPrrQ3mZ9ETZUdsEQ0ZuMsNaMa464h-hwYl6hZ3LyenpmcyQUh94Xxe79Ps6Q5yecvrF8RYnTlL6hKRQhwPu5kAO69U3OA4LQirDgEkAyv54pMwy2Y/s320/Screen+Shot+2013-04-10+at+2.55.04+PM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>That's right. Ignore the writing on the wall. He really <i>does</i> love you.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1">Problem is too often this seeming <b>Ultimate Catch</b> is more likely a seasoned <b>Player Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing</b>. He finds an unsuspecting and undeveloped soul with limited self-worth to satiate their own need for a relationship power fix. When the player kicks the played to the curb, we enter a dangerous Stage Three Validation Cycle, fueled by broken dreams and cynical disillusionment. All it takes is one douchebag asshole to forever corrupt a naive soul, making them believe true connections don’t really exist. This jaded notion can lead to a Validation Addiction so virulent it could be lifelong. These wounded warriors can become the Players for Life we fear - forever praying on lost souls like you or me. Be weary of these these hope-crushing, insecurity-fueling Incubus slutbags. Fall pray to their dark temptations and you could become one yourself. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd0DoTBaVZRTIzO4jp403b8OgR6XKKhoGcjyO_MAs19nRrkwXPaF08TXRxMTpkCrhdh94YIC0HvTZeiddNHAqMS75V3oD7hPvT9Mi4CeOqNVZlN2a6Lmldl0ObbHxWJWrFCE-rc04nvnw/s1600/cycleofValidation3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd0DoTBaVZRTIzO4jp403b8OgR6XKKhoGcjyO_MAs19nRrkwXPaF08TXRxMTpkCrhdh94YIC0HvTZeiddNHAqMS75V3oD7hPvT9Mi4CeOqNVZlN2a6Lmldl0ObbHxWJWrFCE-rc04nvnw/s320/cycleofValidation3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Stage Three Validation Addiction comes with high risk of becoming a Player For Life</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1">Cautionary tales aside, this blog post is, after all, about hope for change. Luckily I have the wisdom to avoid that villainous path and I’ve chosen to call a spade a spade and beat this addiction once and for all. So let's get that soul cleansed and learn how to <b>Validate Ourselves</b>!</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><b>1.</b> <b>STOP HAVING SEX WITH STRANGERS! </b> </span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Whether you use Grindr or random bars to find your hookups, there is simply nothing to gain from having anonymous, meaningless sex. Besides of course nasty STIs, heartache and/or soul-rot. If you’re ambitious, or fancy yourself the entrepreneurial spirit - especially if you’re even remotely artistic and creative - chances are you could be doing something more productive with your time. You could argue it will train your aptitude in bed, but the empirical reality is that great sex requires an intimate connection, typically formed after repeat, and therefore increasingly more meaningful encounters.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOh5Cpl6k0kq3uc_7ZqPpqycUj6cpu8Nm8vB3lmtNCX18wxT7NFVNrQ0b4BqsbzSbZMgwcJQBiPFeIoUqv0HLXLfRezg0oNXTqXJ82LAD7KAdi9XbgnWZE741Ea0WKWqUTS3vxKMd6Y8w/s1600/chastity-belt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOh5Cpl6k0kq3uc_7ZqPpqycUj6cpu8Nm8vB3lmtNCX18wxT7NFVNrQ0b4BqsbzSbZMgwcJQBiPFeIoUqv0HLXLfRezg0oNXTqXJ82LAD7KAdi9XbgnWZE741Ea0WKWqUTS3vxKMd6Y8w/s320/chastity-belt.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Strap yourself in one of these if you have to.</b> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Obviously not all sex is bad. As Steven Pressfield says in <i>The War of Art</i>: “you can generally tell by the feeling of emptiness you have afterwards”. This is to say, quality sex with an intimate partner is rejuvenating, even inspiring, and comes fully endorsed. If, however, you’re a Validation Addict like me, you probably try to justify Meaningless Sex encounters as Meaningful. You’ll probably have to go cold turkey for a little while. Consider it like Lent in the Bedroom. The sexual frustration is good for you.</span></div>
<div class="p3">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="p3">
<b>2. STOP RANDOM DATING COMPLETELY (AND AVOID THE COMPLACENCY TRAP)!</b></div>
<div class="p3">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Stop going on lames dates with guys a decade your junior and justifying them as more than what they are. "But I'm not looking for sex or hookups, so it’s <i>different</i>, <i>right</i>?" </span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Wrong. </span>An addiction to meeting new potential romantic connections (that you never see again 93% of the time) is the same, if not worse than meaningless sex, because it eats up way more<b> Productive Time</b>. If you’re not just using a “dinner/drinks date” as an appetizer before getting off, you’re probably on the hunt to fill that missing hole in your life. A hole that can’t be filled by another guy (or gal). If it <i>can</i> be filled by a guy, then welcome to the <b>Complacency</b>. And guess what happens to relationships based on Complacency? </div>
<div class="p3">
<br /></div>
<div class="p3">
That's right, mid-life crises, temptation for better things and inevitably broken hearts. And guess what those lead to? As yes, <b>Stage Three Validation Addiction</b>. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHigIix4HtebSPI6hgaj8SbOXviP6DNCZo9bC2IDyl8ra8-qljLyF-Bypv5EcRK2CZpyZOsAQ1QGJ7HQOSL17Zefs1IXYf-C0_ppNgliCL-0fMLHFyVkIKpdW9Qv_IdlYh9hyN5NmGroc/s1600/Complacency.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHigIix4HtebSPI6hgaj8SbOXviP6DNCZo9bC2IDyl8ra8-qljLyF-Bypv5EcRK2CZpyZOsAQ1QGJ7HQOSL17Zefs1IXYf-C0_ppNgliCL-0fMLHFyVkIKpdW9Qv_IdlYh9hyN5NmGroc/s320/Complacency.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>They say 94% of Complacent Relationships End in Heartbreak or Broken Dreams </b></td></tr>
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To pull off this extreme form of moderation, you may need to delete your online dating presence for good. Not only is E-dating a real waste of time sifting losers from monsters, but <i>incompatible</i> personality, sense of humor or sexual chemistry just can’t be detected on the web anyway. The reality is the vast majority of online daters aren’t amazing “catches” that are "just <i>so</i> busy, this is the only way they can can meet other quality guys". They’re people just like you, with a warped sense of priorities that feel a burning need to be validated by others. </div>
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<span class="s1"><b>3. FILL THE GAP IN YOUR SCHEDULE WITH PRODUCTIVE TIME!</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Okay, so you’ve cut two dangerous temptations from your life: hookups and crappy dates. Give yourself a serious pat on the back. If you’re a Validation Addict, this probably opened up a massive gap in your schedule you can now fill with <b>Productive Activity</b>. Writing new scripts or a chapter in the next YA blockbuster bestseller. Brainstorming new business ideas with your mentor friends (but not fellow validation addicts). Learning a language, building your portfolio or taking up the violin all count. </span>So if you think you're creatively blocked, then go workout or spend your time un-cluttering the workspace for future, focused working sessions. Take on new instructed classes if you require some kind of dictator to keep you from slipping off the path. This is all time better spent than an evening without a real connection, that likely won’t be remembered a week later.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>If you're using the laptop to access hook-ups site, it doesn't count.</b></td></tr>
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Unfortunately, <i>p</i><i>otential</i><b> Productive Time</b> clearly does not equate to <i>actual </i><b>Productive Time</b> which is always governed by a unique combination of <b>Discipline and Willpower</b>, things you almost surely lack. Here your restless mind tends to wander, routinely drifting back to dangerous feelings of low self-esteem and a tendency to procrastinate. Don't worry. We'll work on that. </div>
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<span class="s1">4. <b>DEVELOP YOUR DRIVE WITH DISCIPLINE AND WILLPOWER! </b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">If you’re trying to stick to a productive routine, nothing helps by trading bad habits in your life for <b>disciplined</b> good ones. This means keeping up with your daily iron-pumping workouts, while avoiding cheats on your diet, to help achieve or maintain your Adonis figure. </span></div>
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But wait a minute! Doesn’t this just enable your vanity? That preoccupation with looking and feeling good that inevitably leads to <b>Validation Sex </b>and <b>Broken Routines</b>? Well not if you've removed <b>Sex With Strangers</b> from your timetable! The reality is, <b>Discipline</b> and <b>Willpower</b> love company (just like misery). So if you apply this kind of measured routine into your life, the drive to produce work and resist cheap validation will begin to come just as naturally for you. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9DhZ3ZRc_PCbfuCGCAqIZgXJJ6b3feEOcJsKOBTg7NLpbquNLTyvlsV7O6oOU2XsZ1_LLttdY_k7BmfOiohhkZL8-gKMUXvBJ-OmSeiyDc3h8F6BTlkJ4HJxbxVqxN2RmxCe4MEtr9vs/s1600/BeautyGivesPOwer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9DhZ3ZRc_PCbfuCGCAqIZgXJJ6b3feEOcJsKOBTg7NLpbquNLTyvlsV7O6oOU2XsZ1_LLttdY_k7BmfOiohhkZL8-gKMUXvBJ-OmSeiyDc3h8F6BTlkJ4HJxbxVqxN2RmxCe4MEtr9vs/s320/BeautyGivesPOwer.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>It's okay to use beauty to motivate Drive. Meaningless sex isn't the only thing its good for.</b></td></tr>
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<span class="s1">I’ve discovered <b>Beauty Gives me Power </b>and not just in terms of confidence. I get my best ideas when I’m working out and are endorphins are flooding my neo-cortex. </span><span class="s1">If eating well and training hard makes me feel so good about myself, why the hell would I slip back to square one, by eating my feelings or skipping the gym? </span>Don’t listen to friends or family who tell you to "relax" or say its okay to “live a little”. These are your <b>Negative Influence</b> <b>Friends</b>. They probably gave up in their own quests for self-validation and they probably don't enjoy that you're better looking then them. Now, what to do about them? </div>
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<span class="s1">5. <b>RECOGNIZE THE NEGATIVE INFLUENCE FRIENDS AND CUT THEM LIKE CANCER!</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">This might be the toughest band-aid to rip-off of them all. The friends that love you <b>The Way That You Are </b>will want you to stay that way and won't like when you change. They might enjoy your fun spontaneity or delight in the tales of your <b>Boy Crazy Drama</b>. In the worst case, they may enjoy making you the butt of all their sassing jokes, so you get used to seeing your insecurities as normal. Deep down, they're almost surely as insecure and unhappy as you, so the idea of you developing <b>Discipline and Willpower </b>they lack will only piss them off. Unfortunately, </span>being addicted to Validation, you likely prefer these kind of friends, because lifelong masochism attracts you to abusive relationships, even in platonic form. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Negative Influence Friends. </b></td></tr>
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<span class="s1">I'm not saying you must create drama by publicly dumping all your <b>Negative Influence</b> friends on Facebook. Allow actions to speak louder than words. Hang out with your <b>Positive Influence</b> friends (if you have any) more than the negative ones. Say no to a party night of binge-drinking because you'd rather stay in and work on your book. I know, the <b>Fear of Missing Out (FOMO)</b> will probably make this task nigh unthinkable (we'll fix that soon), but it is necessary if you want to avoid situations that make you prone to bad habits. </span>Replacing bad friends with good ones probably sounds tough. But <b><i>if</i></b> you've successfully begun to take advantage of your quality friends and started to put in Productive Time hours, your Negative Influence Friends will naturally become resentful and probably cut themselves out of your life.</div>
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<span class="s1">6. </span><b>EMPLOY YOUR POSITIVE INFLUENCE FRIENDS IN THE WAR!</b></div>
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It's easy to identify these friends in your inner circle. They're the busy ones that have real lives and real jobs and aren't partying 3-4 nights a week. You probably didn't see much of them before because you were too busy focusing on your amazing sex-life or finding the one. Well it's time to surround yourself with these motivating forces. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>Positive Influence Friends.</b></td></tr>
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But it's important you spend quality time with these buddies and stop inundating your Positive Influence Friends with tales of your depressing dating and/or sex life. Giving play-by-play commentary of that time you hooked up with the 17-year-old high-schooler and almost got charged with statutory rape (ah, good times). The problem of continually regaling your sexual exploits to your friends, you’re not only tainting your shared experiences, but validating the collective view that you’re a massive sleaze-bucket (and not the Oscar-winning Writer you’d like to one day be). The more air time you give these sordid affairs, the more you satiate your insecurity monsters instead of slaying them. Keep this stuff to yourself. Better yet, stop getting into the experiences you know, deep down, are bad ones.</div>
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Instead make a conscious effort to enlist your good friends in the war against Validation. Your good friends (the ones that never condoned your self-destructive lifestyle to begin with) make great <b>Agents of Accountability </b>in the <b>War on Validation</b>. You can brainstorm with these kind of friends, or engage in other kinds of Mutual Productive Time (as long as that doesn't turn into Mutual Masturbation). You can even sign Contracts with financial penalties for cheats, if your willpower is really that bad. The point is, when you’ve made a pact to make positive change in your life, don’t be ashamed to admit it. Your friends can keep you on track.</div>
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And whew! That brings us to the end of this week's lesson. <i>I know, I know:</i> we've only made it half-way and we still have so far to go. The thing is, you need some time to digest these first main points. Plus I'm super long-winded and this blog entry is already too long. </div>
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In any event, you'll cure yourself of the addiction in Seven Days Time. </div>
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<br />Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-20691716877243817772013-03-31T10:00:00.000-07:002013-03-31T20:31:28.897-07:00I have a Confession to Make...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqmniNntp-GgxVrWG9M0uzPjoltSquSY0LAd4kMGkJINVYgSmMPGl_Hnb82NuHXO_h7YPZqpKZuvdP62ettaC-h9Kqj8Rwz-FsQO4U6lEmro5THdQl8dTA-ft3vGEEQZE-P_MM9eiADw/s1600/BryceAdvice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqmniNntp-GgxVrWG9M0uzPjoltSquSY0LAd4kMGkJINVYgSmMPGl_Hnb82NuHXO_h7YPZqpKZuvdP62ettaC-h9Kqj8Rwz-FsQO4U6lEmro5THdQl8dTA-ft3vGEEQZE-P_MM9eiADw/s1600/BryceAdvice.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">Okay. First a necessary precursor: </span>It’s been over TWO months since my last blog post. I could say I was busy shooting the documentary and writing my book. Both excuses are based in partial truth so therefore might sound valid. But let’s also be clear: they’re also <b>Bullshit</b>, just like all excuses known to man. The unfortunate truth is I have an addiction, the satiation of which kept me from releasing this next post, which is actually the topic of the very post itself. How’s that for bitter irony?</div>
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<span class="s1">Writing these blog posts is kind of like an exercise in cathartic release and psychotherapy. Once I use the digital page to exorcise one of my demons, I can’t exactly fall back on my word? That would make me Queen of the Hypocrites. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>If you've slept with any of the gentlemen pictured here, this blog post is for you!</b></td></tr>
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<span class="s1">So perhaps, subconsciously, I needed to go through one last cycle of tempting bad habits. Re-downloading <b>Grindr</b> (after I'd pledged to Never be a Hookup Whore ever again) and meeting up with 20-something prettyboys to gorge my need to feel young, hot and desirable. Getting lazy and eating muffins at Starbucks so that I could get fat again (by my standards), so I’d have an excuse to look down on myself, and blame the problems in my life on not being goodlooking enough. I know it all sounds crazy, but these are the <b>Symptoms</b> of a much more virulent addiction. And it’s one I plan to beat. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">So faithful and patient readers. Without further ado, I have a confession to make.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Q5VB_OQi98XM1I8APv7a98Ir2Sl6fJR7WuflzIwLs8SdVybC4-9COyX0Sjnp47J_Ibl6L-DNxiL2rGU1x_aZ34pGEVvau3m1D3j430IITam84-_fk3iFy2iMBwL-aFmNuaQfQ2IyJl8/s1600/Graduation2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Q5VB_OQi98XM1I8APv7a98Ir2Sl6fJR7WuflzIwLs8SdVybC4-9COyX0Sjnp47J_Ibl6L-DNxiL2rGU1x_aZ34pGEVvau3m1D3j430IITam84-_fk3iFy2iMBwL-aFmNuaQfQ2IyJl8/s320/Graduation2.jpg" width="264" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Bryce Pre-Addiction. He didn't smoke, party or do drugs. But he also never had sex.</b> </td></tr>
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I’ve always put myself on a self-righteous pedestal because I lived my adolescence on the straight-and-arrow. I got straight A’s in the 90s. I didn’t drink or go to parties because I was too busy trying to be <b>Hermione Granger </b>and <b>Alex Trebek's </b>love child (okay Hermione wasn't born when I was in high school, so the idea of her sleeping with a man in his 70s is kind of gross, but you get the point). I’ve always resisted the boozing, drugs and even smoking that tempt mere mortals. </div>
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But then I came out of the closet and you all know what happened there. That’s right, I excavated my deep insecurities and transformed into the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZ4LFr80a-1JRqRwfDFpZ7Zq6AcgT1rPu1-8YqUBhUnDJ4fz5X1fa_-YKqxvdxu4jS9rdBcaK5kSvGD4hnl4bz6PE0Z58An9kBVHr57F-IS1yEySScRnW3QX-tp6hRMzvovI5Wa50Grg/s1600/DDOUCHEBAG.jpg" target="_blank">delayed douchebag</a> you love (or love to hate) today. Problem is, remember how I <i>said</i> I’m trapped in the third quadrant? The phase where one <b>Makes Up For Lost Time</b> where you trade your self-respect and dignity for a six-pack and high-school hookups. Well here is where I discovered an addiction to <b>Validation (of Sexual Desire). </b>A drug worse than cocaine. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjogqZUtrxlo8xLBHjL9yuT9N_XPRUPO25MPaDE8zSst3opKoFFNZa_ikvPRRQCHYRumP6mxN9mXqanUStX0A3OdrhF27aVcBkgZ0JTNBtNe2b3gIOD2s3j0iGdmxGZ6Fp_WEMS0Zf50Rw/s1600/CycleValidation1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjogqZUtrxlo8xLBHjL9yuT9N_XPRUPO25MPaDE8zSst3opKoFFNZa_ikvPRRQCHYRumP6mxN9mXqanUStX0A3OdrhF27aVcBkgZ0JTNBtNe2b3gIOD2s3j0iGdmxGZ6Fp_WEMS0Zf50Rw/s320/CycleValidation1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Stage One Validation Addiction: Former Fatties will know it well.</b></td></tr>
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Anybody cursed with an addiction for validation knows it's pretty simple. <span class="s1"></span></div>
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You look in the mirror and hate what you see. So you go to the gym and pump iron until someone tells you "<i>you're hot</i>." It will start with friends, family and colleagues, but their empty compliments mean nothing, because they're not having sex with you. But eventually you'll start to get attention from randoms in the bar. Or you'll put up hot new pictures on Grindr. And just like magic, you'll start having sex with guys you could never have sex with before. You might wake up feeling empty or shameful you didn't do something more productive. But luckily there's always another sexy hookup to make you escape those shameful thoughts! </div>
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Unfortunately, in <b>Stage One Validation Addiction</b>, you will be plagued by unrelenting <b>Self-Doubt. </b>As you break your routine (and lose your sense of discipline), this can subconsciously lead to <b>Shame-fueling</b> <b>Binge Eating</b>. If it's really bad you might actually get fat again, but, either way, that's what you will see when you look in the mirror. You might think the easy cure is simply getting validated. You could tell me I have a great body and mean it - but guess what, chances are I’ll forget by the next day, when I reach the next hurdle in life. When you’re truly addicted to validation, you keep raising the stakes, eventually adding <b>Body Dysphoria</b> and <b>Perfectionism</b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Stage Two Validation Addiction: PLAYERS FOR LIFE suffer from this.</b></td></tr>
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In<b> Stage Two Validation Addiction</b>, your self-sabotaging Stockholme Syndrome loses its grip, and you realize <b>Upper Echelon Grindr Hotties</b> can only be attained by going to ridiculous extremes of dieting and exercise. You'll believe you've <b>Raised your Standards </b>and adopt a truly visceral <b>Body Dysmorphia</b>. So when you look in that mirror, you'll still see the <b>Fat Monster</b> you always hated. And thus the <b>Cycle of Validation</b> starts anew, as per above. <span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The fact that I decided to pursue a career in <i>entertainment</i> makes my validation addiction cripplingly two-fold. It’s sexual and creative! Basically I either need you to say you desire me or you think I’m brilliant! A daily bout of writer’s block can fuel a sense of creative talentlessness. To escape that feeling, I might try to score a (meaningless) date or hookup. If I fail in that, I'll blame my inch of pinch-able fat. If I succeed I might beat myself up for not being productive. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The thing with an addiction to validation, there isn’t a set paradigm for curing it. How many validation rehab clinics have you heard of? A 12-step regime or Validation Anonymous? Sure you can spend hundreds on psychotherapy (and believe me I have), but chances are that will only solidify the idea that you're crazy, and make you dependent on <b>Therapeutic Validation</b>. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Holy Grail Cure for Validation: If either of these Chris' falls in love with you, you can skip my next blog post.</b></td></tr>
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<span class="s1">The easy cure for an <b>Addiction to Validation</b> is a deeply fulfilling long-term relationship with a smoking hot <b>Ultimate Catch</b>. That's right, to become an Ultimate Catch, you must earn the love of an Ultimate Catch. He or she will accept you despite your insecurities because in their storied wisdom, they can see your unearthed potential. Because they’ve got a 9 face and 9 body, you’ll actually trust their esteemed judgement. You’ll become the effortlessly confidant hunkosaurus Rex pretty much overnight.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Alas (and this is a good thing), we live in a world where you have to love yourself before you can truly be loved. They call this <b>Self-Validation. </b>Now in lieu of magical, meaningful love from Mr. or Mrs. Perfect, chances are, you’re on your own in the big fight. The good news is once you beat this independently, there’s no going back, grasshopper. But if that Ultimate Catch above turns out to be a Player Douchebag and dumps you, welcome to Validation Addiction!</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The bad news is I’m extremely long-winded and a bit of a tease. You’ll have to wait until <b>next week</b> for <b>Bryce’s 12-Step Routine to Beating Validation Addiction</b>.</span></div>
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Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-64324500066200496832012-11-27T11:46:00.003-08:002012-11-27T11:46:59.347-08:00What I Learned at the Creation Museum!<br />
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When I decided to go on a road-trip to the States, I knew I had to make a stop at the <b><a href="http://creationmuseum.org/" target="_blank">Creation Museum</a></b>. Now why would an openly homosexual lover of science and truth step foot in this house of horrors parading the events of Genesis as history and fact - while busting “myths” like Darwin’s evolutionary blather? Well I <i>am</i> making a documentary about the biology and evolution of homosexuality, so it’s important as an openminded researcher to see what the other guys have to say.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Contrary to popular wisdom, I didn't burn up after passing the gates.</b></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Okkkay, I’ll admit I really just went to scratch my itch for ironic curiosity. This museum had millions poured into it and to be fair, it looks as fabulous as the best of the Smithsonian exhibits in DC. It has dioramas of Eden - where all manners of creatures walk with Adam and Eve, yes <i>including dinosaurs</i>. It also has a to-scale mock-up of Noah’s arc through which you can walk. There’s a time tunnel that visually simulates the six days of God’s creation and explains how the universe only starting aging - after Adam’s sin of course. And it has plenty of colourful and informative timelines dismissing evolutionary thought as Man's Word. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><b>Hey, today's the 6006th birthday of our existence!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><b>Take that, Darwin.</b></td></tr>
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</span>Sure it’s absolute asinine crazy-town, but maybe if I was raised in a Christian Fundamentalist commune and I only had a double-digit IQ, I might’ve actually been coaxed into believing this stuff was true. The thing is experiencing this museum and seeing droves of pregnant Amish women with scores of impressionable kiddies absorbing this dribble sent real shivers down my spine. Sure I’m there for fun, but these families are to learn about history and science, as told by the Bible. And because the exhibits are so well-produced - and therefore both cool and informative as all museum edutainment should be - these kids are for more to take this crap and lies as fact, informing their world view. How scary is that?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><b>Hey impressionable kids! A model Noah's Ark you can actually explore! Don't worry it could fit the dinosaurs too!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>At first I thought they were employees working for the museum...</b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So the big question then is how should a guy like me respond? Do you stand for freedom of speech, and tolerate Ken Ham and his church of anti-gay, anti-evolution fantasies, no matter how threatening they may be to human rights? Or do you turn to activism, lobbying against this sort of propaganda, because it’s being used to corrupt innocent minds?</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><b>One of the burning paradoxes of history...</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><b>... explained!</b></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A lot of my friends cautioned me (and my controversy-seeking drama queen) against voyaging into redneck territory like Kentucky’s Creation Museum, but here’s the thing - it’s not really dangerous territory. The more anti-gay the homophobe, the more oblivious they are to you actually being gay. I could be spitting rainbows, wearing painted on skinnies and blasting Britney from my jeep and these bigots wouldn’t be the wiser, unless I was recreating a barebacking scene from Sodom and Gomorrah. The thing is extreme-ist Christians are trained to take things at face value. Critical, skeptical thinking are tools of the Devil, but they’re the tools you need for reading between the lines and detecting gay people.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><b>I personally wouldn't trust the word of a prop scroll over a dozen textbooks, but then again, I'm a heretic!</b></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The curious thing is they’re not just neutral or tolerant, they’re actually <i>open and kind</i>. They’re courteous, conversational and genuinely interested in what you have to say, because those are the other tenants of being a good Christian. Sure they might’ve made a stoning exhibit out of me if they knew a card-toting homosexual was walking in their midst, so long as they remain blissfully ignorant, I’m perfectly fine they occupy this nook of backwoods Kentucky. Part of being open-minded and a sort of liberal storyteller means accepting all world views and walks of life, even the scary, delusional ones. </span></div>
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Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-57081819609212543242012-11-20T20:00:00.000-08:002015-12-19T11:50:01.969-08:00What to Bring on the Trip of a Lifetime<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLu5rhHuXaB-sO807Q2sNXmsiRvRkDjFYniXSrSqVwrp6n8W1KiDKLUXuTxFR458A_U5JzP-6kkkuxJD-fCGaWETRgjUmmu6UaITpX0GrfSmBp-QjMdJhz9fW_3zSyNlnrH5hQfsVaykk/s1600/TalesofBryce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLu5rhHuXaB-sO807Q2sNXmsiRvRkDjFYniXSrSqVwrp6n8W1KiDKLUXuTxFR458A_U5JzP-6kkkuxJD-fCGaWETRgjUmmu6UaITpX0GrfSmBp-QjMdJhz9fW_3zSyNlnrH5hQfsVaykk/s1600/TalesofBryce.jpg" /></a></div>
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It's not very often that you set out on a cross-country journey to do some proverbial soul searching and <strike>hook up with</strike> meet and connect with as many <strike>sexy guys</strike> diverse and interesting people along the way. But for a journey like this one, you must of course be prepared for anything. So here's my necessary checklist of travel items.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVjmxWNBy_bKFNKP8Cool72J0s2SCxDrCkjpaMGDCVpf3seTriglxiv7j7Ug78iXhHoUu33pj0YbmUB8tsZ3mB4KE-4GWCKe1CL47yToQN_ZwNXfP3hWbsBIuCbBRzQbxpPhkUY2CtfMw/s1600/IMG_20121117_142611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVjmxWNBy_bKFNKP8Cool72J0s2SCxDrCkjpaMGDCVpf3seTriglxiv7j7Ug78iXhHoUu33pj0YbmUB8tsZ3mB4KE-4GWCKe1CL47yToQN_ZwNXfP3hWbsBIuCbBRzQbxpPhkUY2CtfMw/s320/IMG_20121117_142611.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>MacBook Air</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is a <i>writing</i> adventure after all. I plan to get up at 8am sharp, write for 3-4 hours, then drive and I can't do that without my trusty MacBook Air. If you're reading this Apple - and I get famous - you're welcome for the free product placement.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUKtEOXQtIwsw9xsR52TMNbMmEMy4xKR-NFDHXthmrGjiMecgIQe1PEP8jkIcX6Mes46HgvjakAkZqucc5R_pnzol0R0qYHGSUnpUMMSbDSW624de_iB77_8ucE-YncVZtEcKUDdW-orY/s1600/IMG_20121117_142642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUKtEOXQtIwsw9xsR52TMNbMmEMy4xKR-NFDHXthmrGjiMecgIQe1PEP8jkIcX6Mes46HgvjakAkZqucc5R_pnzol0R0qYHGSUnpUMMSbDSW624de_iB77_8ucE-YncVZtEcKUDdW-orY/s320/IMG_20121117_142642.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b> Bookkeeping</b></td></tr>
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The boring part, sure, but when we crazies inevitably get into trouble, sponsorship letters from the network and travel insurance are our guardian angels. And dear Revenue Canada, as this is all research for <i>my work</i>, I'll be keeping my receipts.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh08znT6Qmw9MX_pTrfKqvSSPnPiqFsbFKCdyBncgoM37sHwrahO7B6snZ9HOm7pnzui2Mi4ErZ6dMzT58hFiIVXFyS5Zd2KMOr9RGoXD6z7ZQU-LjgH3fPlqBXOssYFlF67FK_hdudvkg/s1600/IMG_20121117_143026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh08znT6Qmw9MX_pTrfKqvSSPnPiqFsbFKCdyBncgoM37sHwrahO7B6snZ9HOm7pnzui2Mi4ErZ6dMzT58hFiIVXFyS5Zd2KMOr9RGoXD6z7ZQU-LjgH3fPlqBXOssYFlF67FK_hdudvkg/s320/IMG_20121117_143026.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Artistic fuel</b></td></tr>
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Some artists need drugs; some writers need validation that they're hot. My creativity is tied to my unrelenting quest for beauty. Plus it helps me get laid. You know what Elle Woods said about endorphins.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDnpEjV0dJGmbUgJjmZwBj5tEMhm3_MA-sy0CQPK1beTGc0zCjIaAJydrLdc1xkZNAQ0vWDGYmSAIU8FvMCh-TvrMXmn7mzfLDLN5Um0ipkld28J9DNijIhXp-_F4_AXC5LGr87VK5DU/s1600/IMG_20121117_143012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDnpEjV0dJGmbUgJjmZwBj5tEMhm3_MA-sy0CQPK1beTGc0zCjIaAJydrLdc1xkZNAQ0vWDGYmSAIU8FvMCh-TvrMXmn7mzfLDLN5Um0ipkld28J9DNijIhXp-_F4_AXC5LGr87VK5DU/s320/IMG_20121117_143012.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Overpacked Tickle Trunk</b></td></tr>
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Fitted Lannister T's and Gryffindor ties to prove my <i>geek cred</i> to incredulous power-nerds at conventions and comic/gaming circles. Suits for the meetings I manage to land in LA. As any gay man knows, a multi-faceted wardrobe for all occasions is critical for blending in everywhere.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-9lcZH5agIqqj4gDqqK0ueyqqLU1y5SFntkyAx2sMU1nbXQGzTQQvBSEG6n9g6_2sMFWmPNN2Z3TnJfCMP2PXnL9hU0KpQlUCzldaGf49Aj9FrAN-ergtPVuy1IeCbVLy8tMfjxgz6k/s1600/IMG_20121117_142815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-9lcZH5agIqqj4gDqqK0ueyqqLU1y5SFntkyAx2sMU1nbXQGzTQQvBSEG6n9g6_2sMFWmPNN2Z3TnJfCMP2PXnL9hU0KpQlUCzldaGf49Aj9FrAN-ergtPVuy1IeCbVLy8tMfjxgz6k/s320/IMG_20121117_142815.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Inspirational Goods</b></td></tr>
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Part of the creative process is exposing yourself to new things and cribbing them for your own expressive needs. Some people like nature walks and jazz festivals. I do all my best inspirational work playing Mass Effect or Bio-Shock. They're also a healthy antidote to avoiding the Siren's call of country bumpkin fresh meat when I inevitably get addicted to sexual validation (see above).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKbf5fpT0t6VRTUUpNEAe6IlQ4At20MGIX07AdeNzqkMqgjdxhVHsv5etpkfN-GBv-k8sD8FPcdle59hVP6BEB2005Ac6K1s85Bb4fpMpjCrJfJnpiv5zWqSS339iudGA9tsEuttQyHk/s1600/IMG_20121117_142747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKbf5fpT0t6VRTUUpNEAe6IlQ4At20MGIX07AdeNzqkMqgjdxhVHsv5etpkfN-GBv-k8sD8FPcdle59hVP6BEB2005Ac6K1s85Bb4fpMpjCrJfJnpiv5zWqSS339iudGA9tsEuttQyHk/s320/IMG_20121117_142747.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Support from my Loved Ones</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For those lonely nights in when I'm fighting my grinder cravings and Commander Shepherd can't keep me company (cause I don't have an HDMI cable), JLO's adventures taming killer snakes and Sigourney's epic Russian accent will keep me company. Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com1Cleveland, OH, USA41.4994954 -81.695408841.3092209 -82.01126579999999 41.6897699 -81.3795518tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8030785929484966512.post-16920561000408857122012-11-16T10:49:00.002-08:002012-11-16T10:56:15.413-08:00Welcome to THE BRYCE AGE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLu5rhHuXaB-sO807Q2sNXmsiRvRkDjFYniXSrSqVwrp6n8W1KiDKLUXuTxFR458A_U5JzP-6kkkuxJD-fCGaWETRgjUmmu6UaITpX0GrfSmBp-QjMdJhz9fW_3zSyNlnrH5hQfsVaykk/s1600/TalesofBryce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLu5rhHuXaB-sO807Q2sNXmsiRvRkDjFYniXSrSqVwrp6n8W1KiDKLUXuTxFR458A_U5JzP-6kkkuxJD-fCGaWETRgjUmmu6UaITpX0GrfSmBp-QjMdJhz9fW_3zSyNlnrH5hQfsVaykk/s1600/TalesofBryce.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m a writer/filmmaker finally embarking on a real blogging effort. Here I’ll recount my cross-country experiences making my feature documentary, </span><a href="http://www.survivalofthefabulous.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">SURVIVAL OF THE FABULOUS</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> for CBC’s </span><a href="http://www.cbc.ca/natureofthings/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Nature of Things</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, which we’re shooting in Canada, the US, Italy and Samoa! I’ll also document my pratfalls (and hopefully successes) bringing my first-ever book to life: </span><a href="http://www.geneered.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">GENEERED</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, a YA series based on a sci-fi short I sold to Space a few years back. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqFKQs3O4sECPD3zRrUQeYHoycYIh1eBJOFcQV4jQwqe29D6L8APzQh_RwJ1r4SB_NM43nGhnpxdG945Yn8uziECzaTHY9wCJikhyphenhyphenKxhP1LkJO7NqnN0OI7uf1dGNLVxnTAzSAgDigWg/s400/geneers-natL.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Cast of <i>Geneered</i></b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqFKQs3O4sECPD3zRrUQeYHoycYIh1eBJOFcQV4jQwqe29D6L8APzQh_RwJ1r4SB_NM43nGhnpxdG945Yn8uziECzaTHY9wCJikhyphenhyphenKxhP1LkJO7NqnN0OI7uf1dGNLVxnTAzSAgDigWg/s1600/geneers-natL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now a little about me: I used to be a chunky, </span><i><a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=uglivious" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">uglivious</span></a></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> super nerd all through my teenage years and consequently didn’t lose my virginity until the age of 22. Although I missed out on the quintessential high school life of dating and getting invited to parties - instead hosting charity teacher Jeopardy tournaments or staying in for marathons of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Star Trek Voyager </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tomb Raider </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- I luckily discovered I was gay and entered a world where bullying, shallow discrimination and popularity contests never go out of style. After a few insecure years of pumping iron and trying every diet in the book, I transformed myself into a hotter jock. Having survived the life of the insecure loser and discovered a small taste of popularity, I now apply my newfound wisdom into writing, where I can live the high school experience I never had.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWxwM-Vux9prFEfrTFwLz9NtuAyOCnYKP2Kb35dOnjgxXJTYtE0NHIu2avJ28EyQ_ekZwCaIpDcea08CNuTXAW0IImEwyR9SCYfY9lTvZbfLTVg0Fhu-QFXqcKCE9Zch73GkfoovFZ9eg/s1600/Bryce_Before_After.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWxwM-Vux9prFEfrTFwLz9NtuAyOCnYKP2Kb35dOnjgxXJTYtE0NHIu2avJ28EyQ_ekZwCaIpDcea08CNuTXAW0IImEwyR9SCYfY9lTvZbfLTVg0Fhu-QFXqcKCE9Zch73GkfoovFZ9eg/s320/Bryce_Before_After.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bryce's Transformation</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></span></span></span></span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Needless to say I’m obsessed with personal change, character growth and evolution and this blog is gonna be all about that. As I continue to mature, adapt and transform, I’ll chronicle my journeys in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u><b>Tales of Bryce</b></u></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, where I’ll recount PG-13 versions of my misadventures in achieving my dreams. I’ll also give </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><u>Bryce Advice</u></b></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> along the way for insecure nerds and geeks looking to physically and spiritually transform into hot jock douchebags. But don’t worry, life isn’t all about getting a rocking eight-pack. It’s also about having chiseled pecs - and oooookkkkay, confidence. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u><b>Sage Wisdom</b></u></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> is where you’ll find my thoughtful pearls on everything from the creative power of beauty to assessing what roles your friends will play in the inevitable zombie apocalypse. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The cool thing is I’m launching this blog when I’m actually embarking on a bonafide JOURNEY, as I drive from Toronto to Texas and out west to California, to stay for a month as I meet producers, and scope out Tinseltown as my eventual final destination. If I don’t get a shotgun beatdown by homophobe rednecks in Kentucky, I’ll document my pratfalls along the way. Just remember, I AM popping my social networking cherry, so if I instagram pictures of my food or obnoxiously tweet quotes from @OnceUponATime, just bare with me! </span></span></div>
Bryce Sagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18087348431006375383noreply@blogger.com0