Archive for February, 2014

Guestblogger Jennifer Kruidbos writes about how to let go and go for broke in The Last Year of Earthly Things.

Why we need to get comfortable creating bad stuff if we want to create good stuff

The last year of earthly things is about doing more of what makes you really freakin’ happy. Like really happy. Happy as this guy:



So I’m sharing a big secret I figured out: You have to do what makes you happy even if that means you suck at it (or think you suck at it, or don’t think you suck at it, but other people think you do).

If there is something you love to do, you have to do it.

For instance dance:

elaine gif

Or sing:

bob dylan

Or write:


There’s a good chance that if you love something (movies, yoga, essays, books, music, reporting, making memes) then you probably are pretty good at figuring out what is really good and what is rubbish.

You can see and smell the difference between something that is so powerful, authentic and artfully human that it moves people to tears, versus something that makes people tear up because it smells worse than a used diaper wrapped in burnt rubber. There’s a great little video all about this, so if you’re bored reading my article, this is probably a better use of your time:

What I am interested in is our relationship with the so-called amazing examples, the archetypes. Archetypes epitomize the ideal in a specific domain. They are amazing and inspiring, and what you are doing (and what I am doing) is burning rubber in diaperville by comparison, which is just fine EXCEPT when it makes you stop doing, making, creating, all those things that make you freakin happy OR when you are doing it in a way that you are trying to copy. In other words, you are trying to be like her:

All hail Queen B

All hail Queen B

When your version looks like this

We so excited

We so excited

just don’t worry about it. Stop comparing and trying to be like Bey. Don’t worry that you’ll never be as sexy as Beyonce. Rather, enjoy the inspiration. (I feel sexier knowing that Beyonce exisits.) But stop with the guru worship. The reason why you see the beauty in someone like Beyonce (or Hemingway, or whomever you admire) is because you have that greatness in you and you’re seeing a reflection of it. So enjoy it and let it light you up and then put it out there bit by terrifying bit!

And don’t waste too much time making fun of other people’s diaperville creations because while you are busy making fun of them, they are likely trying new things and growing and getting better. Then who will be laughing?

A personal anecdote…

From a very young age I wanted to sing on stage. I wasn’t born with the same incredible talent as many of my musical heroes.

i wanna dance GIF

So my desire to be good and observation that I was quite untalented meant I didn’t do anything musical. It felt terrible.

But dozens of years later, the desire to do what I love would not go away, so I took one small timid, awkward step towards it in the form of a voice lesson, then another and then another. Now I play keyboards and sing back up in an alternative rock band and it is SO MUCH FREAKING FUN! I know I still sound like diapers some of the time, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m always getting better. The same story goes with being a yogapreneur but that’s for another post.

Why get vulnerable and real about the fact that most of what I make I consider to be quite mediocre? Because recently a few people have asked to have coffee with me and ask how I have built up a decent sized office yoga business in 18 months etc. I’m thinking in some small way, they may see me as closer to the inspiration side than the diaper side of the spectrum, so when they go and try to do what makes them happy and have a hard time and feel like they suck, I want them to know that most days I have a hard time and think I suck too… but it doesn’t matter because the joy of doing it and moving towards what feels really good is worth it. And I actually see my self getting better really slowly. The progress feels like molasses most days, but at least it’s happening.

My old writing style was to write and share a couple years after going through the challenges because it is so much easier to look back when things are going great, but I think it is a lot harder, and thus a lot more valuable to share honestly from a challenging vantage point, especially in the age of “Look at me and my awesome Facebook life” (example: blogger Veronique Grenier addresses how parents only show off the celestial, tender parts of parenting, when the reality is a lot more frustrating. In her blog, Les P’tits pis Moe, she refers to her kids as being in the “Terrible twos and fucking fours”).

The cool part is that the more you do what makes you happy and the less you care about how crappy it is, the more you are freeing other people to do what makes them happy which is really important in a world where there is pressure to be a certain way.

Letting go of a strict definition of success has freed me. Are there areas in your life where you are holding back because of your need to meet the archetypal standard or you’re uncomfortable with starting in diaperville?

(Sorry if I offended any of the 70 people who live in Diaperville, Wisconsin with this post).

– Jennifer Kruidbos



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If this were the Last Year of Earthly Things, how would you spend your time? What makes life worth living? Ty Recks reflects on a favourite past-time: porn.

It’s been a long, hard road for porn. It has come a long way (innuendo). I remember it like it was yesterday. It was yesterday. I was watching porn in my room. Flashback: October 12th, 1999 – my first ever porn search. I’m 12 years old and I type “boobs” into yahoo. My results are staggering: 700 pages of boobs. Suddenly, my three strategically placed playboy magazines throughout the house are meaningless. Why should I look at Jodi Ann Paterson’s luscious boobies over and over when I have 700 pages of newbies? (New-Boobies). That was the death of porn magazines for me, I’ve never looked back.

Welcome to the internet

Remember in that movie when that really epic thing happened? And that sweet music was playing? Internet porn was like that  for me. Exactly like that. The rise of an era. The beginning of an empire. So much so, that it’s not “internet porn” any more. It’s just “porn”. Or “my homepage.”

It’s the year 2000, a new millennium, my searches are getting more profound, more specific: big boobs, nice boobs, hot boobs, blonde girl with big nice hot boobs. It’s an onslaught. It’s the year 2000, a new millenniYUM (inuenndo). I think I’ve master(bat)ed it (inuenndo). We have 3 computers in the house, all only take 12 minutes to download one picture of boobs, some boobs are keepers, I cleverly changed the name to “batman.jpeg” to thwart my prying siblings. I’m a genius, on top of the world.

No one will ever know

YouTube comes out. YouTube. It rhymes with boob so naturally I video search boobs. Holy fuck. It’s like my whole first paragraph but everything is jiggling. That cleverly titled folder of “batman images” on my desktop gets dusty – I don’t need photos any more – I have videos.

School became a popular ground for discussing new videos, webpages and stars to discover. We were like archeologists. Exactly like archeologists. Except we touched ourselves more. We were like Indiana Jones (on a completely related note, check out ‘Indiana Joan in the Black Hole of Mammoo‘). It didn’t take long for porn to take over my computer, I could type any letter into my search bar and something porn related would pop up. It was beautiful. YouPorn, Spankwire, YouJizz, PriceIsRightGirlsNaked.com – I was unstoppable.

The computer soon became my best friend, he’d seen me do some shit, he kept all of my secrets. I did feel bad for him those days when I almost got caught “doing homework,” my brother would walk into my room and I had to turn my computer off without a moment’s notice. “What are you doing?” he’d ask. “Nothing dude. Just looking at the computer,” I’d reply. So clever. “Yeah but it’s off?” “I know. I was just looking at it.”

I'd be her Short Round

I’d be her Short Round

To be honest, not much has changed. Sure, The Price Is Right Girls have gotten a bit older but it’s okay – that’s life. The only big difference now is that we have internet access on us at all times. Which means I don’t have to sit in grade 9 math class thinking about what porn to watch when I get home. I can sit in grade 9 math class and watch porn. Sure, I’m not allowed to go back to Westmount High School, Loyola High School, Rosemount High or St. George’s any more but that janitor was an idiot for letting me in the first place. We have the power people of Earth to watch porn, not only whenever we want, but wherever we want. No wonder I take 14 toilet breaks a shift at work. Whose fault is that – mine? Or Bell’s for giving me an unlimited data plan for 60 dollars a month?

And “Opening New Tabs?” Golly. Don’t even get me started. You know how they say the key to writing a good story is to: edit, edit, edit? “New Tabs” has allowed me to edit, edit, edit my porn selections. And GIFs? Shit. Give it a quick gander, open it in a new tab, have about 15-300 opened at the same time and then, as they say: edit, edit, edit. You’ll weed out the bad ones and be left with the best porn videos of the day. We live in a beautiful world people.

Google glasses: now that's going to be amazing

Google glasses: can’t wait

Now, if you’ll please excuse me I have a date with my old pal Internet. Who knows? I may start off Googling boobs, may take a peak at Spankwire’s top rated of the month or maybe even venture over to Egotastic and see if any celebrities have shown a boob or two lately. The fact of the matter is boobs. It’s like that famous guy said once, “Forescore and seven years ago …” blah, blah, blah “… I like titties” or something like that. I’d look it up on the net, but then I’m wasting valuable time and we all know, them tabs ain’t gonna open up themselves. Happy Porning my friends. Happy Porning.

Do me a favor bloggers, when I die, please delete my browsing history. Nobody needs to see and of that. My password is “boobies.”

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Guest Blogger Series!

I WANT TO BLOG ALL THE THINGS. But I can only blog some. I am rather chuffed to announce a series of guest blog posts, helping me scratch the hard to reach places of The Last Year of Earthly Things. The theme is: that, what I just said. The Last Year of Earthly Things. What did you think it would be about? Dating? Pornography? Psychology? No! It’s about what we should do with this year. How can we make it count? Under that pretext, I will be including guest blogs on vaguely related topics such as: dating; pornography; and psychology.

There will be words, and pictures of boobs. There will be ups and downs, questions and answers, pictures of boobs, and pictures, of boobs. These words will form sentences and will be about things. Accompanied by pictures:

Blue-footed Boobies. Bloobies.

Blue-footed Boobies. Bloobies.

Words and pictures to help and document The Last Last Year of Earthly Things.

First guest blog up tomorrow.

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MAD SCIENTISTS have engineered a brain-to-brain interface.



In 2012, Brazilian neuroscientist Miguel Nicolelis gave a mad cackle as the neural activity of one rat was transferred into the brain of another rat, causing it to press a lever. A year later, researchers Rajesh Rao and Andrea Stocco rubbed their hands together fiendishly in an underground laboratory thousands of miles below the University of Washington as the motor impulse of a human was transferred through diabolical brain control devices into a second human. (NOTE: SOME DRAMATIC DETAILS ADDED).

I interviewed neuroscience student “Lori” (her science alias) about the significance of this experiment. What does it MEAN?

LYOET (Last Year of Earthly Things): This is amazing! What do you think about it?

Lori: Right? We might finally know what it’s like to be the bad, sad man behind blue eyes.


“Suddenly I really want to eat cheese . . . “

I remember reading Nicolelis’ findings (the first rat-to-rat interface). That was amazing and from what I understood, we’re still not quite at the same level with human experiments. With the rats, not only did the electrical signal stimulate the motor cortex and result in the decoder rat pressing on a lever, the information about which of the two levers to press to get the reward was also delivered. That’s mind blowing.

It’s less impressive for this human-to-human experiment because guy 2 is essentially sitting with his right hand on the keyboard and the TMS is set up to stimulate the part of his motor cortex responsible for his right hand. So inevitably when the electrical input is received, he hits the key, but the information itself wasn’t delivered. You know what I mean? I think it says in the article that all he felt was a twitch in his right hand.

So yeah . . . still amazing though and I can’t wait to see what’ll happen when they start experimenting with the reward and affect pathways.

"Get out of my mind!"

Mind blown

LYOET: What do you think are some of the end possibilities? Remote control of soldiers? Remote control of animals? Having mind-meld sex while experiencing the other person’s emotions?

Lori: I’m tempted tho smirk those ideas off and say we’re nowhere near that . . . but then they go ahead and do these things, it’s absolutely amazing and surprises me every time.

I was thinking more in terms of surgical aid for analgesia and stuff . . . Gender-swap experiments would also be amazing. But they first have to see if they can transfer affect.

Gender Swap Day at the lab

Gender Swap Day at the lab

LYOET: OK . . . but back to the sex mind-meld. Surely that’s what’s interesting here.

Lori: I don’t know. If you were on the surgery table, I think you’d agree that surgical aid would be more beneficial. That being said, yeah, if they can transmit motive, which they did not do in this human-to-human one (but they did do with the rats), sex could become much more interesting.

But just putting on a helmet wouldn’t allow you to know which buttons to press. You’d have to train and it would be different with every single partner. You’d first have to train to decode the stimulus so that you know that when you get X stimulus, you need to press this button to get the reward and when you get Y stimulus, you need to press the other button.

LYOET: Because . . . like . . . imagine feeling your AND the other person’s feelings at the same time. You’d be having sex with them. And yourself.

Lori: More can be less.

LYOET: You don’t want to have sex with yourself?

Lori: I feel l like it might be too much. I think it could kill you. Ok, maybe not. But it would be very confusing.

"Is that . . . a finger?"

“Is that . . . a finger?”

And although I’m not completely against the possibility of having sex with myself, this wouldn’t really be the case. It would be the case of me experiencing what someone else having sex with me feels like. It’d different. It’s not MY experience, it’s still the other person’s. For sure it would be interesting, but maybe not in all cases.

LYEOT: So what you’re saying is, you think you would die if you had sex with yourself? Like you would just blow your own mind? Kind of tooting your own horn, aren’t you.

"Anal? Sure honey, no problem! . . . Wait. What am I saying? GET OUT OF MY MIND."

“Anal? Sure! … Wait! No! GET OUT OF MY MIND!”

Lori: Hahaha I did say that might be overwhelming, but now that you put it that way, I’m putting it back on the table. You know yourself best. So yeah, having sex with myself would be wonderful. And I could die.

LYOET: I appreciate your honesty. Thank you.

Lori: Do you not agree? This isn’t masturbation we’re talking about. We’re talking about you being able to control someone so well that you get exactly what you want in exactly the right moment. I don’t care how good the other person is, you know yourself best.

LYOET: Oh wait. So YOU’RE talking about being able to control the other person like a giant human dildo. I was just talking about having their experiences of YOU transferred into your brain. What you’re actually afraid of is taking control and fucking yourself to death.

. . . You’re a frightening person.

Horny . . . to DEATH

Horny . . . to DEATH

Lori: Yes. That is what I’m afraid of. I understood what you meant though. As I said, the transfer of affect would really be someone else’s experience of having sex with me. Not my experience. What if I don’t want to know exactly what the person is thinking at the moment that I’m about to reach climax?

LYOET: “I hope she cums soon. I think I have lockjaw.”

“I’m hungry. I wonder if I still have that quiche?

"Oh God . . . try not to fart."

“Oh God . . . try not to fart.”

Lori: Haha exactly. What if this person is thinking about the A- they got on an essay and they suddenly feel pissed off? That may interfere with my orgasm.

LYOET: Can you imagine if in the future, when you watched porn, you could feel what the pornstars were experiencing? That would have to be a good thing no?

Lori: Depends what kind of porn you’re watching. If I happened to be watching porn while having sex and feeling what the pornstars were feeling too, no, it would not be a good thing. Because I don’t want to be gangbanged.

Also, you’re delusional. Porn is great because of what YOU think the pornstars are thinking and feeling. If you actually knew what was going on in their heads, I’m pretty sure you’d lose your boner.


LYOET: Maybe it would just change porn. Maybe the stars would become the people who most enjoyed what they did.

Lori: Genuine arousal = satisfied audience. You may be right.

LYOET: So. The future is bright. Wouldn’t you say?

Lori: Human dildos, amplified orgasms/death through orgasm, and genuine pornstars. Yes, it’s looking good.

But for now all we have is a guy with his right hand twitching on a keyboard.

Lori is a neuroscience student at Concordia who plays god in the small frightening world of several lab rats, using their absurd and existentially baffling lives to study schizophrenia for the greater good of superior beings beyond their ken. Maybe, in the end, we’re all lab rats, the experiments of some god like Lori. The playthings of an incomprehensible intelligence we will never understand.


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