I feel like this is old news already, but I just quit smoking after 15 years of playing dice with my lungs.

Like, I mean go off at any moment, bathe in 50 pints of mammals blood* and later be found at the playground of a daycare in only a mesh jumpsuit and fisherman’s hat, screaming at squishy toddlers about their anonymous bitch mothers and the price of mustard just quit smoking.

While every day is getting easier, I still feel like I’m on the set of a George Ramero joint, and apologize profusely to my loved ones.

That stated, I have learned some fascinating facts on my non-fascinating journey. I figure I glossed over them on my previous half-ass attempts because first-hand smoking advice seems to be from the cheery advocates who may as well be waving tambourines, or your D-bag friends who brag about how easy it was to go told turkey, even though they only smoked 5 cigarettes a day. (I love you, D-bags, but c’mon!)

Anyways, here’s what I extracted from the dicey internet doctors and compared to my own cessation/healing process – I feel like a living medical project right now, which is frankly kind of fun!

Please note that I am also not a doctor. But please leave me to any mythologies, as they appear to be working.

Non-smokers retain 50% more caffeine than smokers.

I laughed at this until I almost fainted on the second day after a bout of Americano’s and work-induced hyperactivity. I’m down to one coffee a day.

“Mood swings” in new non-smokers are the same as blood sugar drops in diabetics.

This is because your blood sugar levels bottom out without access to nicotine for the first 3-4 days. I thought they were just trying to be cute in saying “drink fruit juice” but it’s really anti-crazy serum. After day 10 I stopped being so vigilant about it.

“Smokers Face” became a term in the British Medical Journal in 1985.

Turns out your skin is 40% thinner as a smoker, due to some nasty free radicals that prevent collagen production in your face. My complexion started clearing up around day 14, and I’m no longer a 29-year-old with the jowls of a rotting Gollum.

Your nails change colour. Your F&#%ing nails!

I knew that circulation improved post-smoking, but actually being able to detect and watch this process unfold is both awesome and terrifying.

Smoking addiction, like alcoholism, can be partially attributed to genetics.

This can get filed in the same category as people being genetically predisposed towards lung cancer. First I’d like to say: in your face, cold turkey d-bags! Secondly: I’m glad I stopped now, because some sad stories force me to acknowledge that genes are not on my side.

Champix is a bad trip, Zyban is a slumber party with Aliester Crowley.

From experience, both work. But when faced with a choice between side-effects of “depression and nightmares” listed as number four, and suicide listed in bold as number one….you see where I’m going with this.

I lasted 3 weeks on a full dose of Zyban, and it was one of the worst periods of my adult life. It ended in a hospital after not sleeping for 72 hours, crying into the voicemail of my tattoo parlour, and opting out of Deerhunter‘s “best show ever” to compulsively wash dishes (which I hate).

Champix gives me chipper dreams like my cat melting into a red paste, my mother eating my heart while I finish my bowl of cereal (hi Mom!), and everyone I love abandoning me. But I’m not smoking, the dreams wane with time, and otherwise it’s business as usual. I’ll take it.

Some chronological common knowledge will see you through.

To the credit of innumerable iPhone app’s that coddle and nag me through my days:

• In 20 minutes after smoking, your blood pressure, heart rate and temperature return to normal.
• In 8 hours, carbon monoxide levels are halved and oxygen levels return to normal.
• In 24 hours, carbon monoxide is completely eliminated. New lung tissue starts to grow.
• In 48 hours, Nicotine is now eliminated from your system. Your sense of taste and smell returns. Damaged nerve endings start to regrow.
• In 72 hours, breathing becomes easier. Energy levels start to increase.
• In 2-12 weeks, your circulation has greatly improved. Your complexion is clearer.
• In 3-9 months, your lung function is now up by 10%.
• In 1 year, risk of heart attack decreases by 50%.
• In 5 years (from 5 – 15 years after quitting), stroke risk is reduced to that of people who have never smoked.
• In 10 years, risk of death from lung cancer drops by 50%.
• In 15 years, risk of coronary heart disease and death is now similar to that of people who have never smoked.

In closing – thanks for dealing with my crazy and/or tolerating my rants on a bevvy of social media outlets for the last few weeks. I feel better now, and I grant you the powers of martial law over my bod if you should catch me trying to sneak a cigarette.

Work-like things coming up next!

*I don’t routinely even eat mammals. Also, I know you wouldn’t have given a rats if I said “human blood.”

Me at a NYE party two years ago, classing up the joint (why yes, that’s baby duck). Against everyone’s better judgment, I earned my partner status shortly thereafter...

Like most of you, I’ve been making hay for the better part of a week in the ramp-up to Consumervus while doing all that glorious catch-up with new and old friends alike.

Most notably, we had our work party on Friday (pairing Delux on Ossington with a Little Italy dive bar) to cap off the end of a banner year within the company. I’m really lucky to have Pete, Carsten, Adam, Jorge, Jamie, Reg, Adi, Eric, Shawn, Aanand, Mike, and Justin in my daily life, and it was nice to toast the team alongside all the friends & lovely significant others that make up the whole fam damily. Thinking back 4 years ago, I’d slap myself if I knew my life was going to be this good.

Also like most of you, I’m laying down the psychological groundwork to usher in 2011 at the moment. While I don’t make resolutions, and for all intents and purposes a Christian calendar year shouldn’t mean anything to me, I need to benchmark goals and the passage of time in ways other than watching myself physically morph from a moderately attractive twenty-something to Sir Ian McKellen.

2010 hasn’t been a bad year (credit due to the aforementioned A-Team + some beautiful new friends), but it has been….educational. I realize that’s Kings English for “the suck”, but I think I’ve earned a gold star and a take-away lesson from everything that’s occurred in the past 12 months. I’ve tried to document a little of it for posterity’s sake.

WINTER 2010 – The S.A.D.S Sack.

As a general rule, I don’t fare very well psychologically in the winter as is. From what I can recall now, working life was in a strange transitionary phase and my personal life exploded against a wall. Maybe it was self-sabotage, considering I seem to suffer from the same ailment as 18% of the Canadian population.

I remember going to Quebec (and doing a bit of after party coordination) for CUSEC, as it was spearheaded by the lovely Andrew and Phill. It was a great event, but in the words of Phill “Montreal has no winter, only punishment”.

Sometime in February, I went through some harsh times both romantically and philosophically, and as a result didn’t leave my abode for much else than work. It was a sort of death for some of the more Piscean elements of my personality that I really cherished when I was younger. I’ve had to toughen up since.

On a bright note, the next two months were occupied by really loving and supportive friends, and working with some amazing new clients and a bluster of  activity on the work front. By the end, I could feel some sort of momentum building, so not all was lost.

SPRING 2010 – Hello/Goodbye

After being holed up all winter with rad cat, paperwork and cases of wine, I decided I needed to re-socialize myself. As formerly made mention, I managed to snag a hot loft on the east end with one of my high school confidants (and awesome chef – this is a double rainbow) Jonny after several years of living alone.

Work was going awesome, and I turned 28 – which turned out to be the onslaught of another existential funk, ironically spurred on by the realization that I’m getting too old for existential funks.  I tried to cope with this by being spontaneous and carefree, which I’m not very good at. It was like the emotional sack of Rome, and I’m still cleaning up the remnants of the mess I made and people I maimed.

Finally, my lovely and doting Grandmother (Grandma Campbell aka Grandma Pudding)passed away – and although it wasn’t unexpected (she was 96 and in a palliative care home), it hit me harder than I thought it would. She was very beautiful, graceful and had spent her entire life since age 13 living entirely for other people.

Throughout her life, until 1994, she was probably the only living example I had of someone who had found their soulmate – even though the pragmatist in me generally doesn’t believe in such things. She’s now buried alongside my Grandpa in a rural cemetary that feels like the brightest place on earth, and I can only imagine them giving their trademark laughs and holding hands in some sort of ethereal heartland together – even though this goes against some of my usual beliefs as well.

Really, this makes me think about everything and everyone that is truly good in life, despite how deeply I miss them both.

SUMMER 2010 – Happier void

I’m going to be real here – I don’t actually remember too much of summer.

We kicked off the start of pseudo-summer with a crazy amount of internal happenings at the company, and hosted a Ruby Job Fair (speed-dating style!) and special edition of RPN on our two-tier deck, complete with world’s greatest DJ, two bartenders, and three noise complaints due to all our geeky cavorting.  There were some good hiring stories,  and it was another touching reminder of how much I adore the Toronto developer community.

I later went to New Orleans with first shipmate Khug – we drank on the steps of the basillica as per local custom, gained 10 collective pounds thanks to a Muffaletta addiction, got heatstroke at St. Louis No. 2, fraternized with the lovely locals, and had a few hotel encounters with the largest.fucking.cockroaches I’ve ever seen.

We later jetted off to San Francisco for the wonderful Gogaruco conference and catch-up’s with old friends. And prime rib that came out of a Zeppelin.

I guess no news is good news?

FALL/WINTER 2010 – In Perpetual Motion

While I’m going to sound like a new age crone here, I’ve kept the death card of the major arcana affixed to the mirror of my bedroom vanity for the past two months. It’s not a negative thing – but each morning when I get up I do need some sort of signifier that everything right now is in a state of transition. The visual cue reminds me that transformation is optimal and healthy, even if the process can incite stress and struggle.

For all intents and purposes, everything is….awesome. Overworked, maxed for time, and super stressed? Sure! But realizing you have the ability to surprise yourself has always been one of the best rewards in life.

I have to speak vaguely about all things present-tense – it’s the nature of the beast, be it work or personal. But I feel like I’m entering a new love affair with  my work, my friends, and most importantly myself.

<FIN>

All reasons to feel good about the forthcoming new year – I hope you’re equally stoked and shedding your baggage appropriately.

As a footnote, it’s been nice writing here for the past few months in a medley of business and personal posts. There’s an E.B White quote I like that states “writing is a both a mask and an unveiling” – thanks for letting me shill both my competence and vulnerability with your encouragement instead of your judgment.

The wonderful and rapid-fire Mr. Joey DeVilla already beat me to the punchlines on how well the first Technologic played out at Unspace HQ – in my efforts to feel my way around a new event, my own documenting efforts regretfully fell by the wayside. That said, the videos will be posted on Vimeo shortly, and I’ll make sure to dust off my Canon for next months incarnation.

I want to thank Yehuda Katz and his lovely partner Leah for making their way north on a busy schedule to take part in the ribbon-cutting of this event. As Joey already stated, his talk has incalculable value in the developer sphere where we tend operate under the false assumption that “no one will get what we do.” I’m going to follow his talking points when swilling eggnog and giving status updates to the family over the holidays.

As everyone should expect, Reginald was charming and engaging with his “Bullshit” talk, and Pete did a great job showboating our freshly-minted music publishing app, which is the current pride and joy of Unspace. I’m looking forward to making lightning talks a permanent fixture moving forward, and hope some of you step up to bat next round.

Another hat tip is due to JF Catering for ensuring everyone gained at least 2lbs in a single evening. Also, a big thanks to Joey for all his help with MC duties. As some of you witnessed, I’m not the best public speaker just yet after years of working behind the curtain in different capacities. I’m working on it, promise!

Now I just need to get the last bits of January through March solidified and up on the website. We’re currently in talks with a handful of exciting special guests, but high-profile ladies and gents means that we’re opening our date books right into the summer of 2011. I hope to deliver something fun to your inboxes next week.

And for those of you who managed to score a ticket in the first 6 days of sale, thanks so much for coming out and sharing this event with us – we look forward to kicking your ass with next months installment.

Okay – so the follow-up to my last post comes before those “in the pipes” work updates, namely because I can’t summon the energy to accomplish jack today. Meg & Co. celebrated the birthdays of three wonderful men last night, showboating our love the only way we know how -  with a devious bartender, a dance party with a smoke machine, and a now-notorious DJ.

Coincidentally, today I discovered that hair of the dog really works (magic!) and I wrote a few pages. I find it’s often best to write about your life when you’re feeling really good about it, as it proves you still have something to say instead of just being focused on all the external elements.

Here’s the second half of my quasi-bio:

• My first entrepreneurial co-conspirator shafted me with $15,000 in debt when I was 21, and moved all his stuff out of our residence in the middle of the night during the infamous Toronto blackout. I want to thank him for this, because it was the moment I discovered I was not some infallible youth. I humbly went and worked at a call centre for 12 hour shifts for the next 8 months, eating cheese sandwiches and mumbling “I must do better” to myself. And I did.

• I’m fascinated by peoples ethnic heritage. I’m a mixture of Scottish and Irish on my maternal side, and Mohawk and Euro-mashup on my paternal side, since my last name is the result of French and English nobles getting freaky with each other over a century or two.

• My favourite question to ask when meeting a person for the first time is “would you rather be invisible or able to fly?” If I’m on a first date, there is only one right answer.

• Like most of you, I was a nerd in high school. In my case, it was less about computer classes and more about building scale models of Thomas Hardy’s Canterbury, obsessively working on numerous bands web rings and “street teams”, and re-writing Harold Pinter’s Homecoming to include the entire cast of The Young Ones. In summary, I ruined liberal arts for everyone.

• As many of you can testify, I coordinate a lot of parties and events. This isn’t my job, but I like bringing communities together in a literal fashion. I regard myself as a creative, but I reckon I’m doing a greater civic service by connecting people I consider brilliant together to co-conspire, whether it’s a think-tank, a charity fundraiser, or just getting people sauced and forging strong bonds so they can co-conspire later. There’s so little time in our lives, and so many great people. I aim to facilitate the blind date.

• I spent my teenage years worshipping the Manic Street Preachers, which meant stealing my unknowing Dad’s work t-shirts and spray painting them with situationist slogans. I later entered my Goth Stage, and spent my days fashioning Morticia-inspired countess dresses while waifing out to Dead Can Dance. Now I just look like a trendy working lady, save the Tura Satana-inspired cats eyes I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to part with.

• Right now I live with one of my best friends, and incidentally it’s his birthday today. His name is Jonny, and he’s the definition of those “quiet types” and is also a rare bird in the sense that he lacks all judgemental faculties with the people he loves – in the worst moments of my life, he’s said nothing. That’s so refreshing – he comes bearing ice cream and sits beside me, patting my leg and giving me a look of utmost understanding.

• Regarding residences, right now I live in a pretty fly loft that I adore. Sadly, someone is coming to survey said loft tomorrow so it can be auctioned off to a neatly-dressed married couple since I refused to buy it at this period in my life cycle. I wax and wane between feeling that this is a great vehicle for change, and wanting to key the Porsche next to our parking spot in the basement garage in defiance of all hetero-normative yuppies.

• I’m suspicious of fast compliments in the same way I’m suspicious of overtly sexual people. This immediately gets me dismissed as reserved when I really just appreciate the beauty of the slow reveal.

• If forced at gunpoint to cite my favourite extracurricular in life, it would simply be observing people. I’ve realized this makes me a psychological creepster – I actually buy a drink at prime ‘first date’ locations and eavesdrop on conversation, but please understand that there’s no malicious intent in this. Rather, there’s something beautiful about people showcasing their best attributes alongside their vulnerability.

• My hometown features a slot machine casino, and while I could view this as a 24hr sadness den, the eccentric old ladies in there just make me feel better about being alive. If I can reach the age where I can say “fuck It, I’m getting the electric blue rinse, spending the last dregs of my RSP’s and buying that leopard poncho” I’ll be the happiest octogenarian the world has ever seen.

• People get a little weirded out by my mafia knowledge database, and I suspect this is because its out of character. Which is your answer to why I love it – I’m afraid of jaywalking, but If you want to know how to smuggle cigarettes from Dubrovnik, I’m your lady.

• I’m not ashamed to say that my cat is one of the best things that ever happened to me. He’s 8, his name is Grr (also responds to baby bear), and he’s the most intuitive little friend I’ve ever had in my life. I tend not to like people who don’t “get” animals, even if that fact hasn’t been mentioned yet. Along with being able to appreciate the inherent curiosity of children (even if you’re childless by choice), I feel this is the best litmus test for a persons humanity.

• Finally, a primer of things that can only be discussed with me in person: my beliefs system, the wolves in the walls, weird English homes, my hatred of libertarianism, my brother, unconquered taboos, anything to do with drugs + sex + money, Hemingway, a peculiar albino astrologer, my written diary, the boots I bought in 2002, French films, my love life, Sophia Loren, and how MC Hamster met his untimely demise.

In summary, this is a pretty random dossier – but who isn’t random? Better this two-part mess than a tidy little package.

[That guy who keeps trying to follow you on Twitter - A masterpiece by my favourite power couple]

My saggy bio to your right dictates that I don’t like writing about myself in literal terms – I tend to to stick to external work, emotional esoterics and conduct selective self-analysis in a public forum. I recognize that this is both maddeningly vague when you don’t have a starting base, and a form of corporeal punishment in at least 8 countries.

My fear is that I don’t want to end up misrepresenting myself as a shill like the video above with a catalogue of carefully curated interests (and yeah – I realize I just sold you on three events in the last post, it’s not lost on me). That being said, I felt it was time I created a starting base of character-defining points, seeing as I get a rep for being aloof. In retrospect, maybe bullet points drive this home.

At any rate, this’ll have to be done in a few volumes broken up over time. If nothing else, it’ll help the CIA build a better profile of me.

• I’m 28 now, and not comfortable with it. I find this strange because I’m young and I’ve done a lot with the years I’ve been given, but I think I’ve entered an age group of psychological cliches. I fret about mortality more than I know I ought to.

• I write – like, a lot. Just not here, and the grammar is a magnitude worse. I think I’ve been writing at least a page every day for the last 13 years. I get a complex about this because I feel like only visual hobbies are respected anymore  – there’s an obsession with social proof, and I’m not ready to hand over all my evidence.

• I have a great family. My Mom is this benevolent, super-nurturing person that I hoped I’d become and didn’t. My Dad is this intelligent, funny and moderately morose guy that I mostly did become. My little brother is one of the best people in the universe, and that’s all you need to know.

• Pertaining to the above, my Dad used to say “Do you want to go to Bartley’s for ice cream?” and then do a trick detour to the cemetery to look inside the crypts (systematically screaming boo! from behind) instead. He also convinced me that a carnivorous blues-crooning rat named Mac lived under my bed, who would devour my ankles if I dared get up in the middle of the night. I’m still convinced that shredded wheat is made in worm farms, and it took me a long time to shake off the notion that snow mice shovel the driveway. I love my Dad for all of this, because it’s made me capable of being both naive and cynical at the same time.

• I’m terrible with money. Awful. But I mostly spend it on experiences for and with the people I love – I don’t deem myself materialistic. This is a good thing since I’m going to die on the street.

• I’ve always been a chronic daydreamer in the worst way. This means I can’t get a car or motorcycle license, and I can’t ride a bike because I’d cause an accident in precisely 20 seconds. But I wouldn’t change this for the world.

• I’m single, and I’m finally good with this. It’s akin to discovering you’re the cool person you always hoped you would be when you grew up.

• I’ve owned four companies, three of which were failed sole-proprietorships in the entertainment sector. I now associate the word publicist with dry ramen noodles and tears, the word tour with stale socks and secret service police, and I hug our ninja chartered accountant every time I see him.

• I take pictures, but not often enough. Same goes for playing bass, painting, crafts, silk screening, the gym, cooking, and reading Victorian literature, comics, psychology and religion textbooks. I dabble – I’m not comfortable stating anything else.

• My skill set is weird – I’m simply super-competent in a lot of areas, and I don’t feel like an ass saying this. “Jill of all Trades” had bad connotations when I was younger – but I’m a master of a lot of things now, so long as they require equal doses of pragmatism and creativity to come to fruition.

• I’ve been to 30 countries, and lived in two for what I’d consider a familiar amount of time. I’m torn because I don’t want to feel like my life couldn’t be complete without the ability to travel, but by the same token I know I would never be at peace with the world without it. That said, I love going anywhere, and I regard Toronto as my permanent home.

• I really love animals, and know that moving directly beside the Toronto Humane Society was a dangerous wager for me (but I have yet to return home with a shopping cart filled with animals). Watching triumphant kids march out with a box covered in air holes are among the best moments in my life here, and seeing abused and injured animals ushered in are by far the worst. It’s akin to living next to a children’s hospital.

• I love the people I work with so freaking much, and I look forward to going to the office (almost) every day. Our mutual friends are brought into the fold in the evenings, where everyone gets to creatively co-conspire together. How many people in the world can say all this? Too often do I forget that I’m basically the luckiest broad alive.

• I constantly lip-sync to music – this would be trivial if I wasn’t so certain that this quirk made me the most annoying person on earth – but I’m tone deaf, so this is all I have. Perhaps I’d be more tolerable if I knew the lyrics to songs that weren’t Wu Tang and ‘Lil Wayne.

• I worked a lot of strange jobs in my younger years. To name a few: I worked on a weird scientific research corn farm that actually employed someone on tornado watch (I did it for Radiohead tickets, and I almost died). I worked at a cafe that employed psychics (I did it for school textbooks, and I loved the owner). I worked as a fetish events door girl (I did it for rent, and the uniform was fun). I worked as the project lead for a rich guy who employed a team of 50 Indians to promote his fake band (God knows why I did it). Sadly, there are actually too many inane jobs to list here.

• I have a questionable obsession with Anaïs Nin. On my left arm, I have a tattoo of the symbol representing the goddess Ishtar (a morning star) – without going into too much detail, it represents the dichotomy of femininity that was partially inspired by her. Next month, I’m getting her words tattooed on my right arm in Spanish. It will read  “And then the day came, when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” If you wonder how I feel about life right now – well, there it is.

I think that’s enough filed under personal tonight. More exciting stuff on the work front is in the pipes, which I’ll post about soon – the rest of me can wait until later.

I spent part of my evening at AccelerateTO, a panel and mixer forged by the C100 to connect entrepreneurs and investors. While my personality unwillingly does a partial wall-hug at these frenzied free-for-all’s, I appreciate that they exist and thank the gracious hosts. A hat tip is also due for donating the healthy amount of admission proceeds to The United Way.

That stated, Chris Albinson (Panorama Capital/C100) issued a great mini-talk and brought to my attention a little gem called 48 Hours in the Valley. Twice a year, the C100 teams up with our government to take 20 Canadian entrepreneurs to San Francisco/Palo Alto et al. and helps them run the Silicon Valley gamut with a team of handlers. In evaluating the basic principles of each idea/entrepreneur, the program facilitates meetings with the must-know Angels, VC partners and essential organizations required to potentially get each project off the ground – all scheduled and conducted with ninja-like precision in 48 hours.

I’m late to the party with most things, so forgive me if this is old news. But unless you’re a complete masochist, hauling ass around the valley is never fun as a relative foreigner. This effort serves as an incalculable asset to some of my brightest and inspired developer/inventor peers. The program is a bi-annual effort, and I’ll be sure to post word of the next submission call here.

As a final footnote to the evening, it’s nice to see an investor dismiss entrepreneur apathy in a healthy, proactive way (simply stated, go hustle – there’s a billion dollars sitting in this room) while commanding every woman or man of means in the building to get up and write a cheque out to someone they like with ideas they believe in.

Being human is complex – being an entrepreneur is not. The simplest of set-ups and messages always win in the end.