post Valentine's day happiness

Alton Nichols, 91, married his girlfriend, Betty, 84, after ten years of being a widow. She had never married before and the two of them have found each other in late-life bliss. Now, for those of you repulsed by Harold and Maude's "kiss," I challenge you to think about how beautiful this Mid-York relationship actually is.

Love. Happiness. Metamucil. Depends.


I wish them the best of luck.

Waking Up to My Original Alarm Clock

Elizabeth Russell bought me an alarm clock in 1998. In 2000, it began to work. I'll never forget it, either, because it startled me in the middle of the night. I thought it didn't function when, at 2 a.m., it decided it would. I now use it to pace my sleep and to get me up and at 'em every morning. It is an odd, lil' alarm clock.

And it's funny, too. I've left it in various places I've visited and forgotten to turn it off. I love hearing stories from friends and family that say, "Holy, Crap! Bryan. That blue elmo-thing went off and I had no idea how to get it to shut up." I ask them, "Did you throw it against the wall?"

Yes, I wake up to a silly, screaming stuffed blue thing, and such spastic hollering makes me happy.

Something to Think About

This is an entry on happiness that should be posted, because diverse thinking is a good thing. It is funny, too, that I feel I need to justify the following article -- but I know this world. I submit this post to create conversation amongst others.

Bry

Why Republicans are Happier

February 10, 2008 by philo
The Washington Post reports:

Most studies show that wealthy people are marginally happier than poor ones. People with pets or children are no happier than those without. People with active sex lives are — surprise! — happier than those without. No single morsel of happiness data, though, is more intriguing than this: Republicans are happier than Democrats.

A 2006 Pew Research poll found that 45 percent of Republicans describe themselves as “very happy,” compared with only 30 percent of Democrats (and 29 percent of independents). This is a sizable gap and a remarkably consistent one, too. Republicans have been happier than Democrats every year since the General Social Survey, conducted biannually by the National Opinion Research Center at the University of Chicago, began asking about happiness in 1972.

Why are Republicans happier? The Post considers several hypotheses: (1) Wealth: Maybe Republicans are richer. But the effect is robust even controlling for wealth. (2) Power: Republicans have been winning the Presidency. But Republicans are happier even when Democrats are in the White House. (3) Religion: Republicans are more likely to go to church, and church-going correlates strongly with happiness. So, this explains some, but only some, of the effect. (4) Marriage: Republicans are more likely to be married, and marriage correlates strongly with happiness. Again, this explains some but not all of the difference. (5) Ignorance: Maybe Republicans know less, and ignorance is bliss. I don’t know the data, but, in my experience, among PhDs, Republicans are far happier on average than Democrats. So, I conjecture that the difference will remain after controlling for education.

I’ll propose another explanation: I think it’s likely that happy people are more likely to be Republicans, while unhappy people are more likely to be Democrats, for unhappiness gives one an incentive to seek change, and happiness an incentive to resist it. But the causal link goes in the other direction as well, for Republicans stress freedom and individual responsibility, which lead people to feel in control and take action that changes their lives for the better, while Democrats assign blame to institutions, which makes people feel powerless and discourages them from undertaking ameliorative courses of action.

Perhaps the most intriguing point has little to do with explaining Republicans’ greater happiness but much to do with the pointlessness of Democratic policies from a utilitarian perspective:

Once in power, Democrats tend to focus on issues that, according to the science of happiness, have little effect on our contentment — income equality, for instance, and racial diversity. Neither is linked to greater happiness. Countries with large disparities between rich and poor are no less happy than more egalitarian ones, studies have found. And the happiest countries in the world tend to be homogeneous ones, such as Denmark and Iceland, not the ethnic melting pots that liberals celebrate.

Warm Ears make me Happy

It doesn't matter how ridiculous you look in Central, New York. The key is to keep your ears warm. I noticed this today on the bus from where I park my car and to where I take my classes. The smartest people have the best head gear for standing in the wind. I was jealous of one kid who obviously shops with Nanook of the North for his Fur Hoodie and thick, knitted head cap. He was, by far, the warmest individual battling today's arctic temperatures.

I did alright myself, though. My sisters gave me this hat for Christmas and it did its job. I can't complain and that is what this blog is all about.

Laughter = Happiness

If laughter is the first stop on the road to happiness, I hope these pictures will help you complete your journey.

Before:






After:








I have been enjoying my Gene Simmonsry today.
See, I got out of the shower, saw a large pile of bobby pins, and was inspired to do pincurls. From past experience, no matter how hard I try, I can't ever make my hair do anything, so when Gretchen (sister) and I were uncurling these babies today, we made sure to use lots of hairspray. I haven't tried to do anything with my hair since I've had it short, and I think it shows. Because it definitely stayed. I wish I had a fro all the time.

Because Emily Newton IS the ESSENCE of Happiness

Last night, I was trying to cut a thirty page paper down to fifteen, while reading a feminist history of the prom, when my phone rang. The wind chill is expected to be 17 below zero, and even with my fire blazing, it's chilly.

It was Emily Newton from "clown school" out west. She was a graduate from 2007 and a member of Improv 4 Quarterbacks. Emily needed a HUGE favor because she's assigned the task to sing in front of others and she is terrified. She claims an inability with her voice, but my perspective is that not all songs can capture her personality. Emily sang me a bluegrass-esque song about black lungs, a tune which very easily could be a part of "Oh, Brother Where Art Thou." It was wonderful to hear her voice again, but especially to hear her SING. She asked, "Do you think it could be a sound track for a melodrama?" And I answered, "Your song could be the backdrop to my life's movie."

Emily's college promotes physical comedies, community writing, and colorful performances. Above is a photo Emily sent me last Fall from a festival of spirits where she was an owl.

I am so lucky to have had her call.

Pop Culture!

Remembering when stupid pop culture things are makes me happy. Even if I don't watch them. Just knowing that I remembered that the Grammys are tonight makes me happy. The Grammys are on tonight at 8 on CBS (I think. I can't know EVERYTHING). There's going to be this cool thing with the Foo Fighters. They have this song called The Pretender (I don't think it's that great), but what's awesome is that they had lots of people send in videos on YouTube to audition for playing a new part for the song during the Grammy performance. Most people are on violins. They have 15 people who will be playing. Then another three are competing to be the featured artist. You can vote until 9 tonight I think. It's at www.youtube.com/mygrammymoment. Should be sweet.
Another reason to be happy: I haven't forgotten about this blog! I'm back!

A Brief Glimpse of Utopia

When I worked at the Louisville Nature Center, I took afternoon hikes through the Beargrass Creek State Nature Preserve to stretch my legs . Allowing myself these afternoon opportunities provided a routine and, therefore, slight changes in events would mark themselves into my memory forever. One such event was when a horde of cedar waxwings stopped along Beargrass Creek while migrating north for mating season. There were hundreds of them and each had their unique colors of grey and yellow with and 'maske,' black eyes.

Yesterday, when I came home from the gym, I'm quite sure that there was a cedar waxwing perched on my roof. I'm skeptical, however, because as soon as I got out of my truck to get a better look, he flew away. If it wasn't a cedar waxwing, it doesn't matter. Why? Because it made me remember that day of hiking through Beargrass Creek when waxwings were everywhere. For that moment in time, I was witnessing utopia.

Puppy Dogs Make Me Happy

Two years ago, I became a surrogate father to a baby named BABY. One of my incredible student's, Lacey, needed a temporary home for her dog and knowing what a great dog it was, my home became Baby's temporary dog house. Traveling here and there, anywhere, on many occasions, Lacey would stay at my house with Baby and, in return, I had a sitter for my dog, too. Lacey was a reliable Baby sitter at all times, but finding housing for her didn't work out as planned.  Baby is still visiting me.

Being a dog owner has taught me what a lousy father and husband I'd be. I'm never home, I'm on the go more than I'm at a stop, and I tend not to sit still except for when I'm asleep. At night, Baby and I talk about Lacey and how much Baby is loved in both New York and Kentucky. Ah, but my schedule is crazy in this new life and during the week, I need my parents to watch Baby for me.  It's family doggy-care (which I think they love).

Last night, I picked Baby up and, par for the course, she hasn't left my side. All 115 pounds of her furred-lumpiness is on top of me during my every move: even right now as I type. I feel fortunate to have such a great, loving dog in my world.

Yet, two nights ago my mom called and said, "I want to kill Baby." I asked, "Why?" 

Being a big dog, Baby takes Godzilla dumps and when she has to go, she has to go. Her piles are huge -- Clydesdale. Midnight at mom's, Baby went. Mom, on the couch asleep in pajamas was startled from her snoring by Baby who had to go downstairs -- only Baby had already gone. Mom did the mortal-scolding thing and this makes Baby a sad puppy.  Baby goes outside, but refuses to go in because she feels ashamed and scared. It's raining.   She won't come in. Mom puts on boots and goes outside after her. It takes a half hour. I laugh. Why? Because it's Baby. And Baby is what she is. A Baby. A big, beautiful baby. And I'm glad it wasn't me!

I didn't realize it at the time, but Baby arrived during the exact moments when Juliette Catherine Alanis Madonna Potatohead Scrappy Doo Houdine Olivia Dennis (Juliette, for short) was filling up with fluid and fighting cancerous tumors. Juliet's last month was agony and she hated to move from one area to another. It was too painful. On the day I knew it was time, I drove home as a pitiful mess -- the goodbye was extremely rough. Baby, though, was there for me. Thank God for Baby. She pinned me onto a chair so I couldn't move and acted as she always does, "Pay attention to me! Love Me! Oh, Love Me! Pay attention to me!" I don't know what a life is like without dogs and I'm glad for this.  They truly are man's best friends.

Twiggley Smiles and The First Book to ever make me HAPPY.

I had many rituals when I visited my grandmother's house. One was to read several books she had lying around over and over again. Miss Twiggley's Tree by Dorethea Warren Fox was my favorite. It's about an eccentric woman who lives in a tree house with her dog and bears. She's the town whack-job and a source for their giggles and gossip. That is.....until it rains.

The book was reissued a few years ago and I bought my sisters and favorite libraries copies (this was during a period in my life when I made money and could spend it). Every time I revisit the MISS TWIGGLEY'S TREE I smile. I didn't realize my taste for oddity was something I developed at a very young age. It's a quirky, little book and I'm proud to know it.

Now, if I only could pull my ranch house into a tree and lure "me" some bears. It seems like a great life to me.

This Out of Season Entry Makes Me Happy

Last Fall, post-apple picking, I adapted a blueberry crisp recipe to make a dessert. I actually made three trays and froze two. Basically, I baked apples with cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar. I then covered the apples with a vanilla cake mix, sprinkled it with butter, and baked it some more. It's not an apple dumpling, but it is a fast alternative.

Last night, around 8:30 p.m. when I got home, I ate apple crisp for dinner. I had two spoonfuls left and I nuked them, put them on top of vanilla ice cream and smiled myself into slumber.

It's February and I should be eating sweet tarts, but I needed to finish the Fall cuisine first. I no longer have apple crisp in my freezer and so I lay it to rest until next year. In the mean time, I can smile because, gosh darn it, yummmmmmmm.

Sumac Sunshine for an otherwise gray and brown day.

I've been training myself to find life and energy in the mundane. I began the habit while driving along ubiquitous highways where I tried to imagine what the world would look like if an artist on an acid-trip was given a paintbrush to color it. Ah, it would never happen, so we must look for the natural colors, instead.

I've become acute at spotting Sumac. I use it on holiday swags to add hibernal zest, but I prefer it as it peppers tan shades of branches over white snow. The red becomes hope for the Spring ahead and, like a cardinal bird, it splashes February with newfound optimism of the Crayola Box yet to come..

Thank you, Sumac, for making me happy after Mr. Groundhog reported, "Six More Weeks, You Scumbags!"

Megan Green Sent Me This Happy Link!!!

I'm not the only mortal thinking about happiness in 2008. The TED initiative (Technology, Entertainment, Design) is further along than I am and on their site they have video themes from creative and innovative thinkers sharing their thoughts.

Here, I've linked to their "Happiness" page. By clicking on the "TED" logo above, you will get to several videos where individuals share their notions of happiness. Perhaps there will be a day that I'm that tech-savvy, too.

In the meantime, I'm happy about Megan's suggestion and share it with you.

Happiness comes from carrying on traditions

Several years ago, a student brought me an Altoid’s tin. She was enthusiastic, overjoyed and thrilled with her red, white and silver container, because inside, she told me, lived her special Russian friend. It was a tiny penguin, ordered online from the USSR, and it was sent to her with more packaging than a little penguin desires. The bird was fingernail size and held the tender loving care of a Soviet artist who meticulously crafted such a talisman. Such artistry makes me happy.

As a boy, I used to love the tiny figurines my grandmother collected in Hamilton, New York. Born in the Ukraine, my grams had an eccentric quality that included decorating mouse holes with drapery, sculpting roses out of laxative gum (post chewing) and designing butterflies out of the wine spilled on her shirts. My Grannie Annie also had drawers full of small, leprechaun-like pip-squeaks from all over the world. At Christmas, grandma would cut a holiday branch (heaven forbid she kill an entire tree) and decorate it with glass ornaments, tinsel and popcorn. Underneath the bifurcated wood, she’d place her figurines: skunks, reindeer, fox, rats, elephants, kittens, unicorns, squirrels, etc -- all positioned in a circular equation of celebrated life. All her friends were the length of an eyelash and made of glass and plastic.

Three years ago, in a novelty shop in Elsinore, Denmark (Helsingor), I stumbled upon a tray of similar glass midgets and my heart leaped out of my chest. Remembering the penguin of my student and the glass zoo of my childhood, I made my first purchase of a few microcosmic glass gnomes: a rooster, a frog, a turtle and a swan. I also purchased a simple gift -- a smile.

Since then, I’ve added additional dwarves here and there. Of course, given that this is Bill Gates’s generation in cyberspace, I’ve also learned that I can purchase an entire army of glass buddies at the click of a computer mouse. On line, for $600, I can have almost every type of lilliputian icon ever designed by Russian artists. There have been days where I’ve really had to restrain the temptation of swooping them all at once (the entire midget universe could belong to me). Yet, I have fallen in love with the adventure of stumbling upon such pocket-sized mites, and with each one comes a story.

When I moved to NY, I was most happy when I realized this stupid collection traveled undamaged. There is a walrus I found at the Kentucky State Fair with Abe Hawkins. There exists the minikin elf I found in St. Augustine, Florida -- the oldest city in America. There is also this one, bizarre creature I call the “mouse sperm” which has the head of a rodent and the tale of a pollywog. Regardless, all of my nubbin half-pints have become the micro-cosmos of my imagination and I believe in the power each one represents to my heart and soul.

There was a day in Kentucky, a couple of years ago, when my sisters visited and found my secret stash of glass creatures. They noted the collection looked much like Grandma’s and we mourned, together, that none of us acquired her little friends at the estate sale when she died. It’s odd, perhaps, but the moment my niece and nephew saw the display of glass animal oompa loompas, I knew there was hope for this world. I will always believe in the hope their eyes showed: the karma, the spirit, the youthfulness and the magic. There’s a galaxy of truth in such expressions.

Such silliness equates

Coffee, Newspaper & the Happiness of Sunday Morning

One morning a week, for sixty minutes of the day, I wake up knowing I will SLOWLY drink coffee and read the Sunday paper. There's nothing better than gliding into a day this way. Instead of popping out of bed, into a shower and out the door in a fifteen minute rush, I can "chill" with sipping serenity.

It's Sunday morning -- Super Bowl Sunday -- and I'm drinking coffee and getting ready to read the paper.

It doesn't get better than this?

Today's Featured Video

Cool improv makes me happy. There's this group called Improv Everywhere. They have a regiment of agents in New York (I am now one) who go and doing improv... everywhere. Their video, featured on YouTube today is really cool. At the exact same second, over 200 people froze in Grand Central Station. Hilarity ensues.

Should ice storms make us happy?

When I arrived to work yesterday at 8 a.m., I thought something was odd. The weather was pretty iffy and traffic was driving very slow. There also was a lack of school buses on the road. Of course, when I arrived to work (I am out of coffee and I knew the office wasn't), I found out everything was closed down (except for SU -- we were interviewing).

The day went on and off again with rain, freezing rain and snow. It was rather nasty driving in the slush of things, but the trees were absolutely beautiful. Everything is covered in ice and the way night lights hit every branch almost made me slide off the road in awe. I was mesmerized by the lighting and not the lane I should have stayed in.

Ice can be rather awful, actually, and shoveling the driveway last night was heavy, if not impossible. The mixture of snow, sleet, ice and rain made for ridiculous lifting. Even so, it is beautiful in the trees -- sort of an arboreal popsicle land.

Happiness is in such moment.

Happiness is a pair of Red Sox!

Today I put on a pair of red sox. When it comes to men's fashion and accessories, there's not much a guy can say that says, "Hey, I can be professional, but I have a quirky side, too. That's why I love my red sox. Aaron Ray loaned them to me last year and I never returned them because they are simply great.

There was that loud mouth, talk show guy from the 80s who always wore his red sox. He pre-dated the talk show bonanza and although I forget his name and I believe he was suffering from long cancer in his later years, I always remembered his foot stockings. You want to make millions? Design a line of men's socks that allow a character to be a character. Ties are outward, but socks are inward and on days I need to be a little more professional than others, I find happiness in my cherry tomato, yarn feet hidden beneath a pair of long pants and dress shoes.

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

xmas07

xmas07
Originally uploaded by bripc

Good Bye, '07, Hello '08. Great. Another Year.
Let the Games Begin.