The Big Noob

Author's Foreword: The following is a rather extensive entry and is NOT approved by the The Big Noob Blogging Association of the Americas (BNBAA). It's another one of Brad's pseudo-creative venting sessions. Read it if you'd like. Pass on by if that suits you. I feel better for writing it, so my job is done. We will be back to normal status next week. :) Cheers.

An author by the name of Herman Melville once wrote an allegorical tale about a unstoppable white whale. This whale was the ghost that haunted his dreams and the monster that nearly took his life. When the story came to a close, every one of his shipmates had been lost.

I feel the story was not only about defeating the whale, but more about the "thrill of the chase". I have always seen Melville's Moby Dick as a metaphor for all the events in life that are out of control. Over the course of my life I, too, have battled such a beast. My beast, while not tangible, also resides in a magical land (of fairy tales and metaphors).

I guess to best explain we have to go back to the start. Let's Tarantino it and go backwards in time through this journey.

For as long as I can remember, I have been synonymous with bad luck. Ask anyone around me... If something can go wrong - or simply NOT go right, it would be to me. No matter the situation, I always plot my journey through the path of MOST resistance. I will spare you the details of any certain time or specific event, so you will just have to trust me on such.

This phenomenon, over the past, has provoked countless hours of conversations and speculations. My best friend and co-worker, Ryan Sims, (whom you are all very familiar with) has watched this phenomenon track me every step of the way. He, too, has experienced the places where I have come face to face with my metaphorical whale. In memorandum of these events Ryan coined the phrase "a brad day". Where some might call their day bad, mine goes down in history as a 'brad'.

Last year, Ryan and I attended SXSW (South By Southwest, to the layperson) in Austin, Texas. Our grande scheme of transportation involved a road trip. No planes; just the road, the rubber and good times. Upon our journey we faced countless obstacles that nipped at our (my) heels trying to squelch our fun. In the car, stuck in the middle of Oklahoma, an epiphany hit us like lightning. For so long there was no explanation for my bad luck and how it would follow me. Those days are now of old, and I can forever give a face to that which pursues me.

"It's a bubble", Ryan exclaimed. "Every time we go far away from home, all is okay Brad! It's only when you are near home that you are in the bubble of bad luck." He was right!! It was a bubble that I was trapped within. It had formed its boundaries around me and did not want to let me go from its surface tensioned walls.

Its powers would always become evermore apparent when I would try to physically escape its boundaries. If I were at home or work going thru my daily rat-race-like tasks, it seemed to stay at bay. I was a hamster in a cage, not hoping for an escape. This appeased the creature. No reason to stir up such complacency. Those were the bubble's silent days.

So patiently it would sit, waiting for my next maverick move. It was during those times it would strike with full force! Anytime I ever made grandiose plans to better myself IT would be waiting. Upon reaching the edge of its geographic boundaries, all hell would break loose. Things break, days fall apart and the worst case scenario lands right at my feet.

Our recent move to Boston was only escape that has been successful. It was quite an uphill battle, but I was, for once, able to press through the thick skin of this bubble and break free of its hold in the midwestern United States. I had finally escaped. How do I know this? Since our relocation last fall, life has begun to fall into place. I feel that I am moving forward again and not just wading through molasses. Every action has an equal reaction; just like life should.

Ryan and I had also speculated that said bubble has since been trying to locate me. It can NOT leave its foundation, but it has always been trying to carry itself aloft like a virus; hoping to re-infect its prey and admit me back into its comfortable, yet apathetic, cage.

Over the past few months, I have thought less and less of Mr. Bubble. Life has been grand.

Last night I got a phone call from a great friend back in Missouri. He told me of an early birthday present. Seconds later I was sent a link via IM with a reference to his Flickr library. Upon clicking the link, I was staring at a photograph of a plane ticket from Springfield, MO to Boston, MA. The date of departure read February 4. That is tomorrow!! With such a great birthday surprise Lee will now be flying to New England for the first time to hang out for a mere 36 hours - then zipping right back to Missouri. Great news!! But something had changed. Something was wrong. Fear washed over me like warm, girly scented bubble bath water.

Within minutes of the end of our conversation, things started to go wrong: My cell phone died, my TV would not turn on, I lost power to my apartment, I dropped (and broke) a glass and, now this morning, the engine on my vehicle has decided to give up the ghost and cease to be. This was only the largest of the waves. Smaller ones continued to lap at my broken soul throughout the night.

So now for my theory...

You recall me stating that my bubble cannot move, right? It is grounded, by its roots, 1700 miles southwest of Boston, Massachusetts. It cannot physically reach me; but I fear it has found a way to escape by way of those that travel from it. Lee's upcoming trip to Boston has seemed to initiate a ripple event. It has tried for many months to locate me, but I have been off its radar. I often sit and think of it late at night, wondering if it misses me. It now seems that it does.

By some unexplained phenomenon, it has created an extension of itself that will come in contact with me the moment I connect with someone from back home. The beast has stooped to using my friends against me. Plotting. Thinking. Seething. Waiting for the time that one of them would carry it straight to my doorstep.

Today has been an extremely rough day. I now know that I may only have hours until this monstrosity once again stares me straight in the eye - enveloping every breath I take.

My bubble has yet to realize one thing. This time it is war! It does not stand a fighting chance. Not this time. Not like this. Not now! My day has been on a downward spiral into a dark, uncharted chasm. This WILL be the pit where the my final battle of good and evil will take place. For one final fight, I will face my foe. It will fight back with fierce and cataclysmic events, but will soon be forced to realize it cannot stay. I broke free once and I will do it again. What the bubble doesn't understand is that the rules are not his own. Rules controlling such a phenomenon have been set forth by only Ryan and myself. The laws that gave it life, will now take it away.

Soon, I will post this rant, stand up from behind this desk and will take my first step towards the inevitable. There is no time to wait. This step may turn out to be one of my last, but I take it, nonetheless. If this beast claims my life, fear not my faithful readers, for each one of you now knows where you can find my Funeral Mix.

This bubble has become My White Whale; and my battle begins.

Call me Ishmael.