Um, Happiness is the Mystery of it All.

Is it modern art? Is it a frost-bitten orange? Perhaps it's a Christmas ornament that failed to find its way into the attic or basement.

No, it's none of these. This is a microscopic photo of sperm trying to fertilize an egg. It's not that I wish to blog about such a thing, but there seems to be an odd trend where sperm and egg stories fly my way. I pick them up because I think the two are highly metaphorical. Metaphors entertain me and make me ponder in happy thoughts.

The first time I thought about the relationship between sperm and egg was in Ruth Stone's poetry class when she declared to her wanna-be-writers in a raspy, prophetic voice, "Sperm? Sperm? You want your sperm to penetrate my egg? No! My egg swallows your sperm whole. It sucks it in and devours it."

Soon after, I read an article about how sperm ejaculates as a pack of wild dogs, street gangs who travel in groups and battle together to get to the egg. There's a war because vaginal fluids rush to wash the pollywogs away. Olympic teams need to work against each other to be the winner. Some of the army even turn their backs and wag their tails to rudder the secreted liquids away so that one Mighty Man Hank can get to the prize. It's survival of the fittest and eugenics.

Ah, but how masculine is that way of reading conception? Last night, in a research class, the professor discussed sperms and eggs and made the point that as science gets closer to their truth, subjectivity is always there to distort interpretation. How we see the world is socially constructed and therefore personal bias enters all we know. Interpretation of data becomes engendered, encultured and distorted. The sperm and egg narrative is a symbol of how we understand our truth.

I like to know details, but I question why others who like to know details, too, use their knowledge to springboard their own agenda. Narratives move forward regardless of whether or not we are able to collect data to help us in the tale.

Today, I'm fascinated by the miracle I am. Of all the millions of could-be "Bryans," I resulted as is.

Ah, When it rises above 40 Degrees!

For the last thirteen years, my motto has been "anything above 53 degrees is okay." In Kentucky, that's when I defrosted, went outside, ran and felt like spring was coming. Of course, that was a rather regular temperature, too.

I've had to adjust a bit in New York, and because today it went slightly above 40 degrees, I felt refreshed. So, my new motto is anything above 40 degrees sparks a renaissance in humanity. I feel like putting on shorts it's so warm!!!

When it dips below 32 degrees, it requires an extremely creative mind game to find the passion to move. But, above 40 --- heck, we might as well be in the Caribbean!

Chill and stay cool.

Bryan

Yoga

I like yoga. Yoga is such a positive experience. My mom, sister, and I all went and did yoga together at Yoga East. Very relaxing and strengthening at the same time.
Sorry I haven't posted in a while. That's another reason to be happy! I haven't forgotten about this blog!

Check out the fiveawesomegirls channel on YouTube. It's a requirement that they say why each day is awesome when they make a post. I want to do a project like that with 4 other people. What a good idea. Right-o

Blogging Happiness.

This one is easy. Keeping this online journal allows me to focus, if only for moments in my day, on what I love most: writing and sharing ideas. More importantly, I love the community it builds of those who check out this space in an endless galaxy of information. In other words, it keeps me connected. For the time being, blogging is keeping me happy (if not overwhelmed by sticking to my resolution to do so). So far, so good.

Happiness is "Venting"

I was doing laundry yesterday morning when I noticed that my economy-size, family tub of laundry detergent had a cap at the top with a note which read, "twist to vent." I twisted it to vent, and the detergent came out a lot faster and more smooth.

I had a terrible dream where I was in a Psychology Statistics class where our entire grade was based off of one examination that would be run through a Scan Tron machine. I studied hard and thought I did well, but I forgot to turn it in. When I caught up with the Graduate Assistants running the tests through the Scan Tron they allowed me to turn it in late. I missed 50% of the questions and they told me, "It looks like you're a failure. You will not pass this class."

It scared me to the point I woke up. I knew what it was about. It was about test anxiety and the fact that I've spent the last twenty years as a reader and writer, not as a mathematician. I am not about numbers and suddenly I have to be. I know this dream brought me to my perfectionist demons -- who am I to conquer statistics?

That's why I really really was glad I found the "twist" to "vent" valve on my laundry detergent. It is my new therapy, and whenever I have a panic attack or grow frustrated, I'm going out to the garage and twisting. That will be my new approach to venting in 2008. I hope this makes me happy.

Happiness is the Music of Adolescence

Chloe Regan, class of 2007, created an "art space" at the J. Graham Brown School for student artists, perfomers and audiences. During her art opening, Daniel Lobb, class of 2009, performed a song he wrote for all who attended. I've made an .mp3 of this song and when it pops up on my i-Tunes (I'm a random listener), I get happy.

Today, Daniel's song popped onto my i-Pod and I couldn't help but be happy. I decided he deserves kudos on the 2008 Happiness blog....not only for his musicianship, but in support of a fellow artist, Chloe, and in celebration of what great minds can do when they find one another. In this video, many Brown School students' art work is also show, as well as attendees in this performance.

For me, this song captures youth in an amazing way, especially the preciousness of "discovering" the beauty in the opposite sex. Perhaps I'll blog one day about the girls, young women, and women that caught my eye. If you're a feminist out there, I apologize for my sexist gaze, but for my male readers -- I think you'll understand. Daniel did and wrote this song

Q, R, S, Tea, U, V

When you shovel six inches of snow in the morning, tea will warm you up. When you want afternoon cookies, tea compliments the snack beautifully. When you want to impress guests, serving tea in a ritualistic fashion is irreplaceable.

When Amy Parton, of the punk band KING KONG fame, and I traveled England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales and Denmark before studying Shakespeare at Cambridge, we stopped to stay with a family-friend of hers in Northern London. Every afternoon, Barbara served us tea. Okay, she served tea during all waking hours of the day, but sitting in her beautiful English garden sipping hot herb was spectacular.

So tea. Simple tea. Liquid serenity.

~makes me : ).

Tapping Into Passion = Happiness

Michael Turner began "spitting" out spoken word poetry as a senior in high school. He told me he wanted to research poetry and I asked him, "Do you write?" He answered that he did, and the rest is history. Michael recited the attached poem. As a teacher, he taught me that students are more amazing than they even realize and that stopping to ask him a simple question was all it took to tap into an artform. There are so many untapped resources in the world and when we take the time to inquire about them, a simple question might deliver discoveries that we're only beginning to understand

"The How of Happiness" by Sonja Lyubormirsky

So, I'm running my fingers along this weeks NEWSWEEK (which is a ritual that I enjoy) when I come across an article called "The 'How To' of Leading a Happy Life" on their Psychology/Tip Sheet page. The article was written by Jennifer Barrett (p. 60) and I thought, hmmm, reading about the psychology of being happy makes me happy, too. So, here's a debriefing of what I learned:

*an outlook on life is not genetic, even if depression, mania, etc. might be.

*Sojna Lyubormirsky of the University of California, Riverside, suggests that 40% of our happiness IS within our control (but that leaves 60% out of it!!! Well, 50%, she allows 10% for circumstance.)

*Lyubormirsky proved that individuals who commit random acts of kindness, send letters of gratitude or keep positive journals about the world for more than six weeks did have increased happiness levels.

*She suggests not over-thinking and stewing on matters that are bringing you down. Instead, say, STOP, and allow only a brief period each day to "stew" over things (designate a time). Otherwise, move on. She suggests learning coping skills...write them down and keep track of how you overcome pessimistic thoughts. She also recommends savoring ordinary experiences (ha ha ha, my blog?) and finally she writes one should cultivate optimism.

Recent brain studies are showing that the brain can be altered. Now, you have to understand, too, that I'm not necessarily a fan of true happiness...I mean, I think GODZILLA MEETS BAMBI is hysterical, accurate and true to life's cause. Yet, while we have life, I am interested in laughing --- so, now I wonder, is a sick sense of humor a bad thing if it makes one happy?

Improv4Happiness

Last year, Brown School students presented with me at the Louisville Writing Project winter conference. In particular, members of Improv4Hope, spoken word artist, Michael Turner, and funny bones, Emily Newton, showcased their talents. All the performers added much happiness to 2007 and today, in 2008, I am recalling their debut at the University of Louisville.

It was pouring that morning. Margee Luken had her mother's car and became lost on campus.  Trying to find her way, she hit a parked car (with a man sleeping in it). It was not a happy time for her, so when she finally arrived what did she and the group do? They made the incident into a musical and performed it for the audience of writers and teachers.

Here are a couple scenes from the conference with some traditional warm-ups. Everyone deserves improv in their life. The "quarterbacks" taught me this during my last year at Brown and whenever I think of them I grow proud and happy.

Do You Believe In Miracles?

My brother-in-law, Mike, is on cloud nine since Sunday's football game where the Giants won in overtime. My nephew, Dylan, said, "Everyone in Syracuse will hear him scream if they win the Super Bowl!"

Mike's followed the Giants as long as I've know him and like most fanatics, his Giants support is a religion full of rituals, superstitions and prayer.

Yesterday, Mike was happy about the Giants miraculous win in overtime, which made me happy for him about the Giants miraculous win in overtime, which resulted in happiness while I went to Price Chopper to get groceries, thinking about Mike and the Giants with their miraculous win. I can't say I watch the NFL because I don't. I will watch the Super Bowl this year for Mike, though -- unless, of course, I bring bad luck. In this case, I'm sure I'll never hear the end of it and I'll end up dead and buried in the snow. That wouldn't make me happy. That would make me dead and cold.

In Preparation for MLK Day and What Louisville Taught Me Most.

Last year, senior A.J. Clark worked with his church on a performance to raise awareness of diabetes in the black community as a part of his senior culminating project at the J. Graham Brown School.  Magazine Street SDA sent several students to our school and each of them were amazingly spiritual and hardworking.  I have a huge place in my heart for Magazine Street students and their families, but also for the Brown School with a mission of diversity and encouraging the unique potential of every student.  Founded in 1972, the school's inception could only result after leaders, like Martin Luther King, guided the way.  A.J. and his partners created a program called "Miming for Jesus" and in their motions and movement, they let the gospel speak through them.  Here, the Magazine Street SDA student choir is featured.

Rewatching the video I shot last year makes me proud.  In my opinion, this exemplifies the universe in so many ways.  Those of you who know me can easily attest to the fact I've never been religious.  Yet, I've always been spiritual and that is why today, this short clip, and the hard work of students at the Brown School will always make me happy.  The community of Magazine Street Church is something everyone deserves to experience.  

I believe in so much more because of them.

Happiness comes from Musical geniuses

I'm a musical quitter. I tried my hands at the piano, but quit. I picked up a trumpet and attempted to become Louie Armstrong, yet quit, and my family knows how short-lived my singing career has been: they have videos and audio to remind me of how un-American idoled I am. I wish I could sing. I can't.

Even so, I love music.

As corny as this may sound, my exposure to some of the "great works" was because my sister, Cynde, was in colorguard for the CNS Northstars. Because of that, I learned titles of some music as bands played on the field. I didn't grow appreciative of classical music until the last few years. Scanning my truck's radio, I started to hit "pause" on radio stations that threw instrumentals my way.

This is why Jon Powers, class of two g's and a dollar (2001), makes me happy. In the mail, yesterday, I received a collection of classical music burned on cd's for my musical education. Each CD arrived with notes about what I'm hearing and I now have a new course to take this semester: Beethoven, Bach and how such musicians title their work.

My mother plays the piano and organ, passionately. My dad's gift of an electric synthesizer for her birthday has sparked a rebirth in her fingers. I did not inherit such talent (although, I've often referred to the computer keyboard as a place I love to dance with my phalanges -- grown content that music can be made there, too).

The classics are CLASSICS for a reason. Such life-work keeps me in awe. I listen to learn and learn to listen. Happiness comes from sound, too.

Need I Write More?

To get funky, click here:

Get, Funky.

I think this is pretty self-explanatory

Happiness is history, generations and cheap beer.

Entering a new semester, I'm finding myself with the ritual of Friday nights at the American Legion in Clay, New York, for a fish fry and a pint. My grandfather, Spencer Ripley, served in the Navy during WWII in the Pacific. Although he seldom talked of his experience, it was a piece of who he was. His service allows my mother a connection to the local post. I enjoy this land of blue haired progenitors and find comfort in their presence of stories, retirement and commitment to the Greatest Generation ever.

And the beer is cheap. I can buy two beers and a white russian for less than $5. How wonderful is that?

On Friday nights, I think about the work I'm doing with my University studies, the work I did in the classroom, and the work my grandparent's generation did in the world that allowed my life to be carried out this way, today. I'm humored that many in the academic setting scorn war and military, and seem to forget that it was a young population of men and women who helped Europe save itself, ended Hitler's Eugenicist campaign, and kept the Western U.S. from Japan's desire to control the Pacific. Many of the people who are anti-military spend their days looking at theoretical research on our modern popular culture. Such work is the result of WWII, and our education is because of their strength to fight for what the American democracy is supposed to be about.

I try to make sense of the world all the time. Drinking and eating huge fish portions with those who subscribe to AARP makes me happy. In fact, I look forward to it. I feel I am joining a historical chapter that is much larger than anything my generation has ever known.

The Brown School Muse, Happiness & Poetry

I wrote my first poem in college under the guidance of David Bosnick. After, I worked with Dr. Art Clements. I found my way to Ruth Stone. In graduate school, I went to Jeff Skinner for fiction, and by that time I was hooked on reading and writing poetry on my own. I'm not EMO. I'm not high art or academic. When I sit down, I become Dr. Seuss meets Walt Whitman. I don't know where it comes from, but it makes me happy.

I've been writing with and for my students since I began teaching. By 2003, I started writing acrostic poems for every graduate of the Brown. It felt right to do that. The summer before, an English teacher at another school made fun of students trying to write acrostics in their State portfolios. She said an acrostic could never be proficient and I disagreed. I went home and wrote one with her name. It's been a hobby of mine since that day.

I've also fallen in love with what I call poetic drivebys. I write on anything I can find and when I'm bored I doodle only to leave my scripted games for others. At times, I deliver them to fast-food drive thrus only to say, "I don't want a Value Meal, I just wanted to drop off this poem." It's silly, but it makes me smile. It's ridiculous and I imagine it's something for the employee to talk about later. (Alex Shulz of 2004 has begun doing random poetry on sidewalks with chalk -- Go, Alex!)

I'm providing a link to a blog I've begun (you can get to it on the right, too), callled "Poetic Doodles." I've put my 2003 to 2007 acrostic poems aboard that space, and will add other poetic doodles when the time allows.

Since poetry, at times, makes me content, I thought it should be attached to my Happiness blog.

Happiness is the Journey - Even the Crappy Parts

Yesterday was sort of a 'mittwoch' meltdown for many people I know enrolled in the Ph.D program, including me. Perhaps it was the onset of a new semester, the reality of financial risks, and the voyage to the unknown that created a day of angst. I received an email from the director of the Louisville Writing Project checking in on me and she said, "These days are the hardest part of the journey towards where you want to go." I emailed her back, "Yes, because getting the degree is crossing the river Styx."

In the underworld, travelers forget their former lives because the powers that be pull such history away. Styx is a foul river and drinking directly from it causes death. Here, the world of the living meet the world of the dead and the world of the mortal meet the world of the immortal. Only a few who journey in these parts make it to the Elysian Fields. Most end up like Sisyphus, punished forever in a bouldered-state of Ground Hog's Day with Bill Murray.

I can't think of a better metaphor for this academic process, and when it popped into my head, it made me smile. Yes, I'm in one of those crappy parts of the journey, and I'm hoping to keep a little sense of who I am. I don't want to forget where I've already traveled nor why I want to cross the River and, hopefully, return with more knowledge than I had before.

It smells here. It is dark. All around me I see sadness and worry. Angst and fear rule the day. I float in a world seeing Tantalus tempted by fruit and water just out of his reach. This world is not real -- it is not like the public school teaching world I once knew and all the life that I found from it. I am walking among ghosts and they are all judging me, trying to suck the life out of me through their eyes. They are Harry Potter's Dementors.

Yet, everything is evolving at exactly the right time --- and for this, I must be content and patient. Happiness comes from traveling the bad parts, too.

The Road Paved With Good Intentions make me Happy.

A couple of years ago, Charlie Stevenson was asked to fix a miniature dirt bike for Scott Roser. When he fixed it, he road it to my house and said, "Bry, take it for a ride."

I was stoked. In the back of my mind, I saw myself as a full-tattooed Hell's Angel and I knew this mini-road trip was going to be the beginning of amazing things. I crouched down on the tiny bike, learned the gears and handles, but failed to ask one question, "Where're the breaks?"

Those mini-bikes can fly, as I did: down the driveway, out into the road, up the sidewalk of the neighbor's house and into their front porch. Charlie thought I was dead, but really I was stimulated by endorphins. I felt real good, even though my arms and legs were a bloody mess.

That night at the Rover (an Irish bar in Louisville), Charlie laughed at me. His wife, Alice, laughed at me. And of course, I laughed at myself.

I thought about this event yesterday while driving to SU and started to laugh again. Symbolically, I couldn't think of a better metaphor for my life. I turned into a giant scab, humbled by the fact that I couldn't drive a kid's toy -- let alone a real motorcycle. The whole event struck me funny and it will always put a smile across my face.

happiness is warmth

happiness is warmth
Originally uploaded by bripc

Winter is back and snow is falling again. Temperatures will be in the single digits by this weekend. Last night, after my first STATS class, I came home with a numerical headache of facts, formulas, probabilities and measurements. My mind became twisted. I'm a person who likes stories, ideas, creativity and free thinking and my brain doesn't work in the ways of linear textbooks. Yet, to survive this semester, I have to adjust how I learn(these textbooks, by the way, are expensive: they're small, but obviously with formulas worth much more money than a good piece of fiction -- a $100 more per book).

So, I came home, unpacked my bags, and built a fire in my wood burning stove. It didn't take long before the heat battled the chilly air and my tiny abode warmed up. When it got toasty, I decided to put the Statistics books aside and to read one of the fiction books lying around my house. The fire from the stove and the fictional tale in my lap returned me to comfort. Happiness is curling up on a couch with a good book and a warm fire.

Some Good Old Fashioned Elbow Grease

I did load-in for a show today for Walden, and I spent several hours heaving around things that weighed near and/or over 100 pounds and avoiding a hernia. I also had a time with trying to screw some boards to some other boards. I haven't had rigorous activity in a while... exercisin' releases them endorphins so I'm happy now. I'm already sore today, though, so I think I'll be feelin' the pain tomorrow

Bry's Hoody of Happiness

Bry's Hoody
Originally uploaded by bripc

So, Keef Williams, Class of 2007 texts me and says, "I want a Syracuse Hoody." I tell Keef, "I never got a Louisville Hoody." So, we're trading. I began my hoody search at 11 a.m. yesterday and finally, at 3 p.m. I found his request of an Orange, XXL sweatshirt. It took me so long to find this that I decided I wanted one, too. Why? There's nothing like a hoody wrapped around the head on a cold, winter day (which, by the way, arrived again last night --- more snow). Growing up, I lived in hoodies and there was a period of time, too, when I slept in them with the cloak around my ears. Ah, blessed be the comfortable man who is happy.

Comics and Middle School Music

I like weird sound effects, first popularized by Batman, and seen in today's funnies:

Sploot? Pure genius.
Currently listening to Weezer's Green Album. What memories. People make me sad when they tell me they no longer have a place in their heart for music they liked ten years ago. You can't be serious when you say that Good Charlotte, the Spice Girls and Raffi don't bring you joy anymore.

----------------
Now playing: Weezer - Buddy Holly
via FoxyTunes

cbs-sunday mornings and AARP happiness

cbs-sunday
Originally uploaded by bripc

I think it was near my thirty-second birthday when I stopped sleeping until noon on Sundays and/or broke the tradition of strong coffee and great bagels at Nancy's in Louisville. I replaced these days of rest with a pre-mature negotiation of easy news with Charles Osgood.

On Sunday mornings, I begin my day watching CBS News Sunday Morning because it treats me like a geriatric gerbil who needs a calm, slow deliverance of global reality. Best of all, however, they end the program in anticipation of the work-week ahead by offering a nature scene of ducks, prairie dogs or whales, simply being ducks, prairie dogs or whales in their natural setting and sounds. A wind rustles against the microphone and all the horrid details of war, crime and getting old is traded for National Geographic scenery of a non-human world.

It's beautiful and good for the soul. CBS News Sunday Morning's theme song hovers in my mind for the next seven days until, once again, I will find myself on a Sunday morning dreaming the life of a retired American.

Would Ellen Be Happy When She Learned Her Son Was Alive and Well?

briellen
Originally uploaded by bripc

Ellen Degeneres makes me happy. Brian Valentine does, too, even if he spells his name wrong. I always say that Ellen is a male version of Brian, but then I get confused because she should be a female version of Brian. They're both just good kids.

These two photos don't make their resemblance that apparent, but truly they are mother and son. I wrote to Ellen last Fall to see if we could get on her show. I billed it as "Ellen, this is the son you never knew you gave birth to." She didn't bite.

Even so, Ellen makes me happy when she does her faces and acts all goofy. Valentine is simply a genius with perspective. I love his angle on the world and how he sees things -- a story teller, indeed.

Gosh, I wish Ellen would write me back. I think an exchange between her and Brian on national television would be something for everyone. It could be a reunion episode that would make people cry and that audiences would talk about on subways, buses and at the office coffee machine. Together, they could listen to their ipods and dance a duet I bet. That would make everyone happy.

I admit, these two photos don't look maternal, but if Brian and Ellen were in the same room everyone would see she must be his mother, or at least an Aunt.

Richard Stine is a Happy Artist

Richard Stine is a Happy Artist
Originally uploaded by bripc

Kayo Wicks bought me a book of Richard Stine's artwork around six years ago. He is brilliant and clever; his drawings/paintings /sketches are profoundly hysterical and hysterically profound. I love how he unites the visual with the textual and, more importantly, how he makes our species think. 

You can google "Richard Stine" and hit the images button to see some of his work OR you can visit his website and delve into the capitalistic reality that in order to survive, an artist must sell sell sell.

Let creativity rule the world, I say, and watch the world succumb to bliss.  Clicking on the piece to the right, "Man struggling with an inability to express himself in words" to see more of Stine's work, or click the link below:

Richard Stine

Stereotypical Gender Details

I like the little stupid things every once in a while- painting my nails stupid colors and whatnot. They've been such foreign concepts to me for so long. It's nice to just give in for once.

race car happiness

race car happiness
Originally uploaded by bripc

I'll be brief, today. A few years ago, Alice Stevenson came to school laughing hysterically. She founded a website that tickled her and she made me sit down and watch this tiny little race car. I did. I failed the test. From time to time, I'd hear the race car coming out of Alice's classroom and when I'd check on her, she'd be giggling. The race car is a tiny piece of happiness that revisits us again and again, and it resurfaces in our world whenever it can. I post the link below to, hopefully, make your day. Don't laugh though. That's the object.

http://www.savageresearch.com/humor/insanityTest.html

Warming the Globe So We Can Play Once Again

I know we both wrote about the same thing today, but oh well.
We must really be screwing up the planet when it is not only 70 here (the temperature is supposed to be 40), but in New York as well. What is up with that?
These are bittersweet times because I want to be happy about the beautiful weather, but I am unhappy about why it's like this. I will admit that it's nice to get a break from the winter gloom and get an injection of bright sunlight and cheery weather. It's amazing how weather can affect your mood.

-Morgan

You've Got to Love Dogs & Nature.

Baby
Originally uploaded by bripc

The problem with global warming and seventy degree temperatures in a NY January is the instinctive trigger to find a little Spring in your step. Taking advantage of the abnormal warmth, I decided to give Baby, the dog, a bath and rid her of her winter smell. I heaved all 115 lbs of her golden fur into the tub to scrub her down - a feat Odysseus must of felt while slaying Penelope's suitors. As soon as I let her outside to dry, however, I noticed she was rolling in a pile of leaves towards the back end of my yard.

Ah, possum. Oh, Beautiful, decaying, winter thawing carcass and the instinct of the canine breed. Baby returned to my house coated in rodent tar and sticky with intestinal goo. The smell won the prize and earned her another bath. Now, I suppose such an incident should cause strife and turmoil in a postmodern world, but I find comfort that nature always runs its course. Whereas I was jumping the gun for the arrival of daffodils, Baby, too was enthusiastic to premier a fresh perfume of roadkill to celebrate the unusual weather. Although I had a frown on my face (understatement) Baby was rather proud of her Pep E. Le Pew olfactory accomplishment.

It is natural to be reborn on nice days. This January resurrection made me happy.

Rediscovering

Rediscovering things that you once loved or appreciated and had since forgotten about. I had forgotten how much music existed to be played in my house. I have been playing every instrument I can get my hands on, and have been recording a lot of it.
Finding the things you used to like is funny- it's as if, by liking them and then forgetting them, you leave yourself a present for later when you realize how much you've missed them.

Happiness is Childhood Art

"Majok" by Angelo Kir Ngong
Originally uploaded by bripc

I spent the final hours of Monday evening working with men from the Syracuse Sudanese community while they painted their sculpted cows at Feats of Clay in Manlius. They will sell their artwork to help raise money for academic studies in America. As young men, it was common to use localized clay to create figurines that would become their toys, and tonight, the spirit was youthful again as immense concentration went to painting and telling stories. This throwback to childhood made me happy, especially for them. Art calms the human soul.

My sisters bring me happiness

My sisters bring me happiness
Originally uploaded by bripc

2008 is the year of my sisters and that makes me happy: Cynderballs/Cynde, the oldest, middle-man me, and K.C./ Casey/ K'Dot'C'Dot / Karyn/ Kenneth Charles, the youngest. Growing up in Westmoreland, then Clay, New York, and also spending weekends in Sherburne and Hamilton visiting grandparents, my sisters and I were destined to create a bond -- one that wasn't obvious until we grew much older. I suppose most our memories are from the back seat of a station wagon fighting over who was touching who, but so much changes over time. Now, as adults, it is my friendship with my two sisters that has persevered adolescence, our twenties and now our thirties. Through their eyes, I can see how much we've aged and how precious the growing process really is. This entry is a celebration of everything we once were, and all that is yet to come.

Found In Syracuse

Found In Syracuse
Originally uploaded by bripc

As Americans, we sometimes fail to realize how our lives are drastically different from the global realities of severe poverty, violence and uprooted survival. We simply change the channel, select a different song on our IPods and/or head off to the gym or mall. That is why I've cherished my work in Louisville with the Sudanese community and why today I find happiness from Felicia R. McMahon's book, NOT JUST CHILD'S PLAY; EMERGING TRADITION AND THE LOST BOYS OF SUDAN. Her understanding of the Dinka and DiDinga arrives from a playful approach of song and dance. Yesterday, she and several of the men she works with participated in a book signing at Barnes and Noble in Fayetteville, New York. The music, the laughter and the enthusiasm for life was captured in every minute of their presentation. These DiDinga men were appreciative of their American community and brought to the audience a more complicated understanding of what it means to have life in our powerful nation. They bring immense perspective to my life and the worries, frustrations and complaints I have. Their story helps me to realize how fortunate I really am.

To Be Happy, Eat Wegman's Subs

roast beef sub
Originally uploaded by bripc

Perhaps one of the best reasons for living in upstate, New York, is the Wegman's Grocery store chain. There's a European feel to their stores and they have the best delis and bakeries. Shopping at Winn Dixie and Krogers in the South is like shopping in a Port-o-Potty. I don't mind getting groceries at Wegmans, nor do I regret the nights where I pick up one of their roast beef subs with provolone cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and honey mustard on a wheat roll. Even when I pull into their parking lot, hit black ice and slam into a car in front of me as she's cut off by another car, the damage is minor when biting into a Wegman's sub. The sandwhich a cure-all. It's a dinner to make anyone smile on a semi-bad day.

Happiness is a warm blanket.

warm blanket
Originally uploaded by bripc

When Central, New York, blows icicles from the sky, this Bry knows how to stay warm. You need a good blanket to wrap yourself in. This blanket was made for me last year as a going away gift by a parent of one of my students. Last night, I cuddled myself tightly in its wrap while the dog laid upon my feet and the single digit temperatures didn't harm either of us too much. I'm glad for my blankies.

I'm happy about the Best Treadmill Show Ever

I'm happy about the Best Treadmill Show Ever
Originally uploaded by bripc

Serendipity worked her '08 magic and ever since the new year began I've been fortunate to run at the gym during The Price is Right. Hands down, it is the best show to run to because it is full of adrenalin, comedy, anxiety and triumph -- everything that running involves. I haven't watched the show in years, especially since Drew Carey took the helm, but it still remains a perfect show for college students, retired citizens and housewives. It also is an easy way to run an hour on a treadmill without realizing you're actually jogging in place. So, here's to The Price is Right and all the happiness it brings.

Be Happy About The Everything Bagel

The Everything Bagel
Originally uploaded by bripc

What's the opposite of nothing? Everything. My favorite morning bagel. Sesame Seeds. Poppy seeds. Onions. Salt (And a little mustard), and I am set. The perfect way to wake up and begin the day, because everything is evolving at exactly the right time.

Be Happy About '08 Resolutions

08 Resolution
Originally uploaded by bripc

I've been running faithfully and working out since August, and I know January first is the day to commit to new habits. I'd like to say I will eat better and exercise more, but I know that I do as much as I can to fight my genetics. The rest is history. So, this year, I want to celebrate the good things in life AND this includes a love for being fat and on a perpetual diet. Always battling weight has become a part of who I am and now I wish to give it a shout out. If it wasn't for being fat, I wouldn't run as many miles a week as I do, nor push weights. If it wasn't for being fat, I wouldn't have my whacky sense of humor. If it wasn't for being fat, my personal history would have been on a completely different path. So, here's to girth, 2008, and the symbolic, Sisyphus battle of getting rid of it unsuccessfully. In reality, it is not a bad thing. It is the thing that it is and I wish to rate it as my number one celebration for 2008. ~ Bry