A Tribute to Brilliance

(The following post is a speech I performed on March 21, 2007 for my Toastmasters club. It is limited to 5 minutes and was written in about an hour.)

I'd like to present a tribute to my favorite online personality: zeFrank.

He hit the web in a flash (pun intended) several years ago with a flash birthday invitation “How to Dance” he made for seventeen of his friends. Within days, it was forwarded to several million people. Ze followed that up with several more flash videos and small web toys until he started The Show on March 17, 2006.

Each three to five minute episode consisted of a close-up of zeFrank’s unblinking face talking directly into the camera with observations, songs, occasional games or challenges for his viewers, and videos of Ze’s silliness. The show was an instant hit.

His quirky sense of humor (a mix of dry sarcasm and earnest goofiness) and his ability to make extremely complicated subjects understandable won him thousands of daily viewers. The Show had a lot of running gags, including referring to viewers as “Sports Racers”, affectionately referencing “duckies” at any opportunity, "S-s-s-somethin' from the comments", “Ride the Fire-Eagle Danger Day” (Fridays), and following absurdist skits with the question "Are the new viewers gone yet?"

Not only did he make us laugh, he made us learn.

He taught us a lot about politics, including the complexities of the middle-eastern situation, how many times Bush’s administration completely changed their strategy (and stated that they hadn’t changed it at all), why the embargo on North Korea was only giving the rich more power, and exactly how many rights United States citizens had left

By no means were his topics low-hanging fruit.

In one episode he showed how deception in evolution could be used to explain, “given the complexities of the human brain, [how we developed] a conscious mind that could be so [incredibly] stupid?”

He encouraged us to follow through with our ideas because if we convince ourselves we don't have the time or resources to do them right, we’ll just glamorize them in our mind and never act on them. He warned us that we could get addicted to keeping those ideas like some kind of 'Brain Crack'.

Ze explained the theory that your brain has the ability to synthesize happiness to bring you back up to your baseline regardless of the circumstance that you find yourself stuck in; the stress and anxiety that you feel when you think that you have a choice does matter. It makes you less happy. He concluded by telling us to, “toss that receipt”.

He taught us how to “bust your cycle”, where you “take one aspect of your life that's more or less constant and purposely bust it” to “experience the world in a very different way” and get a sense of elation and new possibility.

The Show didn’t stop there either, ZeFrank constantly came up with vaguely on-topic short songs to go with some episodes. My favorite is “Hind-sight is 20/20”.

ZeFrank involved his viewers in lots of challenges, including the Earth Sandwich, the “I knows me some ugly MySpace showdown”, RunningFool’s “Human Baton” relay across the United States, the MySpace adoption program, the vacuum cleaner dress up, viewer-created song remixes and videos for Ray, and finally the "power move quack attack" where Sports Racers pitted their Power Moves against one another.

Sadly, Friday March 17^th was the final episode of The Show. ZeFrank closed most shows with the line, “this is ZeFrank thinking… so you don’t have to.” Well, as we say goodbye to one of the most beloved characters in the internet community, I guess we’re going to have to start thinking for ourselves.

The Final Episode

The Getaway

(Sometime last year...)

The night was ending predictably. The movie had been awesome (another random action flick) and everyone had parted with laughter ringing in the air. I had offered to drive two coworkers home and was about to drop off the first. We chatted about the movie, dropped quotes to responding guffaws, and listened to the radio. The night had a warm hazy feel to it. The light from the street lamps blurred and stretched against the car windows. Pregnant clouds hung low in the sky, promising a rain that hadn't quite come yet. I stared down the empty streets with curiosity, eagerly peeking into the paths and passageways of suburbia. Almost to our destination, we came upon a secondary school. Unremarkable in structure, the only distinguishing characteristic was what could be found in front of it. The stately serenity of the streets had been broken by a large group of teens.

I peered closer as they milled about, following the trail until my gaze reached the front of this unseemly pack. Several boys were striding menacingly towards one boy who retreated backwards, hands held in front and above his head open and facing forward. Simultaneously a sign of submission and a defensive position, I realized this boy was in trouble and slowed down to observe more closely. He was larger than the other boys, heavy-set and tall with brawny arms. His hair was un-kept, sticking out from his head in a curly mess.

From out of the milling pack sprang an incredibly odd object, moving quickly toward their prey. My eyes tracked quickly to catch up to it as I stopped the car. I realized this odd contraption was some form of go-cart, complete with a roll-cage, and that it was heading at top speed on a collision course with its victim. At this point I had passed the group, and had a decision to make. My first thought was to jump from the car and rush to his aide, getting the teens to back off through words, physical intimidation, or (as a last resort) physical violence. Simultaneously, I realized that playing to my 'strengths' would probably end with no small amount of bloodshed. With a surge of adrenaline, I barked orders to my coworkers.

"Paul, roll down the passenger window, NOW!"

Paul's eyes widened and he paused a moment with questioning eyes, noticeably trying to catch up with the situation. With a screeching of brakes, the car stopped so suddenly it fish-tailed a bit to the left. I slammed it into reverse. The wheel protested under such strain, but I managed to straighten the car out as I sped in reverse. Paul began frantically turning the lever that opened the passenger window. I watched as the victim narrowly dodged the go-cart, jumping aside at the last second. I moved closer to the curb, careful not to scrape it but knowing that each inch counted.

"Tim, open that door and shift to your LEFT!"

As Tim reached for the door handle, we came alongside the boy again. By this time the entire crowd was staring, mouths agape, at my car. This, obviously, was not in the plan. Somehow, amidst all this furious action, I managed to make eye-contact with the boy across all that distance. I stared intently back and cocked my head toward the rear-passenger door.

"GET IN!"

Everything seemed to move in slow-motion. My gaze panned across the crowd, looks of bewilderment on many faces, others painted with a furrowed brow. I watched as the boy dropped slightly, shifting his weight, turning to the left and bending that leg at the knee. A sprinting stance. His movement seemed achingly slow. One of the lead aggressors started turning his head, just noticing the movement right in front of him. But it was too late. The boy already had an insurmountable lead on them all. Several feet away, he practically dove through the car door, rocking the vehicle heavily when he landed.

"GO, GO, GO!" he yelled.

I stomped the accelerator to the floor and would have smoked the tires badly had my car not been a gutless Cavalier. As it was they squealed loudly, piercing the calm night.

"Are you all right, dude?" I asked, to which he replied, breathless, "Oh my god, THANK you!"

As I sped away from the school, a water-bottle arced in front of the windshield. I glanced to my right to see a young girl, mouth angrily moving, forming unheard obscenities.

"You're welcome. What's your name?"

He went on to explain that he was a small-time pot-head and tough-guy, explaining the appropriately scruffy nick-name. Now that his breath had calmed somewhat, I noticed the slight hesitation his speech. A sort of pause as he formed scrambled words into coherent thought. He obviously didn't have full control of his faculties, possibly some disorder or another. Either way, it was probably the reason that he'd been antagonized; high school kids are notoriously cruel, and the slow or handicapped are favored targets.

"Where do you live, man? I'll drive you home." He gave me the directions interspersed with "thank you" and "I can't believe that freaking happened". As we drove, I inquired as to why the situation arose. He replied stoically, "They're always doin' stuff like that. Assholes, man." I glanced in the rear-view mirror and caught his expression turn dark, "Shit, just drop me off at home. I'll grab my machete and teach those fuckers a lesson." He was mad enough to do it too.

"Don't be an idiot." Obviously not the response he expected. "Hard cold facts, dude. There were twenty guys back there, and I don't care if you're Chuck-friggin'-Norris, you can't take them all." The boy tried to protest, but I cut him off. "Do they know where you live?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then." I raised my voice slightly in order to really get this through to him. "I'm going to drop you off, you're going to go inside, lock the doors and call 9-1-1. And then STAY there. You got that?"

"Yeah."

I raised my voice a bit more. "What're you gonna do?"

"I'll go home and call the cops. All-right, dude." He sounded sheepish, and I didn't want to make him feel antagonized while coming off of the adrenaline rush, so I added, "Good man, it's the right thing to do. We've gotta be smart about this thing, I don't want anyone to get hurt here."

He seemed calmer as he replied, "Okay you got it."

The short drive passed uneventfully (he was only a block away) and he left the car with a thankful goodbye and a promise to pay me back some day. I wished him well and drove off. The car's silence was palpable.

I turned to Tim and Paul with a wicked grin, "Well... that was fun!"

Paying My Dues

I am officially paying my dues for last night's 3am blogging event.

I

am

exhausted.

Yet minutes from now I'm going to hop in my car and drive to the skytrain, which I will ride all the way to downtown Vancouver to catch a show with R and Crotch (I swear to god that's my friend's nick-name, used by those who cannot pronounce the actual name). The show is going to be awesome, The Turn are opening for Rallycar at the Roxy, but all my body wants to do is sleep.

*Dev glances at the case of red bull* ...I wonder what a third one would do to me...

There's been a lesson I've been waiting to learn. It's been in front of me for years, but I somehow managed to ignore it.

Despite my earnest hopes, to function, Dev needs sleep.

*yawn*

A Sunday Evening with Pepperspray

It was the end of a long, relaxing day. That morning begun around noon, following an eventful night, and consisted of waiting for my friend (who we’ll refer to as R) to call so I could pick her up. Daylight savings reared its head to skew our timing, but after a brief tour of a local mall, we met and spent the day chatting about music. When it was time to drop her off, so enthralling was our conversation that we were loathe to part, and continued for some time. Next occasion we are to chat at length, I will pick a better place to park.

You see, we were parked out front of a fairly… disreputable SkyTrain station, as it is the closest to my house. I have never had a problem, so I never gave it consideration I will from now on. It was shortly after 10:30PM that R and I heard a chilling scream from just outside the car. We paused, dead silent, minds racing. The scream… it was so similar to the playful scream I’d heard so many women utter that I couldn’t be sure. What should I do?

A long second passed.

In a flurry of action, R and I threw the car doors open and jumped directly into a cloud of pepper-spray. I immediately cover my face with my hands and duck behind the car, caughing, spitting, and squeezing my eyes shut. Useless with my eyes closed, I quickly put the Club on the wheel, pressed the automatic lock, and bolted toward where I heard the scream. I opened my eyes, taking in the scene. Lamplit shadows played over the concrete and brick surfaces of the parking lot. I glanced to the right to catch a glimpse of two men running away at great speed, silhouetted against the mall lights. One wears a black, padded jacket with a fur-collared hood. In front of me I saw R, cloaked in the shadow of the rail lines, reaching two asian girls. On the left, one slowly slumped to the ground, the other remained standing. Both held their eyes and cried pain. I ran toward them.

R told them we were there to help, the standing girl replied that two men had followed and then attacked them, unprovoked. I gathered the sitting girl (Dorothy) while R helped the standing girl (was her name Mei?) and began moving toward the corner store across the street, seeking a place to wash their faces. They were completely blind, stumbling over each step, crying madly and helplessly. R and I had to hold them up, slowly guiding them across the street. Arriving at the store, I quickly explained the situation to the clerk, who (correctly) suggested using milk for cleansing and asked us to go around the corner so that the pepperspray did not spread throughout the store. Purchasing the milk, I re-joined the girls and helped R splash it on tissues so we could wash Mei and Dorothy’s faces.

It was incredibly emotional, holding Dorothy, attempting to somehow comfort her (“it’s allright, it’s allright”). There was a heartbreaking moment when I glanced up from Dorothy to catch R’s eyes, seeing the worry, the concern, and the strength in them as she comforted Mei. I realized we couldn’t really help these girls with what we had on hand, so I called the 911. Emergency services immediately dispatched units to help us, and (incorrectly) suggested water to treat pepperspray-afflicted skin. The corner store’s clerk came by to drop off a carton of milk to help out, free of charge. I was hyper-alert, watching for both emergency services as well as anyone who stepped too close.

At this point I noticed a searing pain in my hands and asked R how badly she had been hit. I could see it in her face, a reddening of the skin around her eyes that looked too painful to bear. She professed to be in manageable pain, and I the same, so we returned to helping the girls. I traded my jacket to Mei as hers was badly coated in the spray.

A fire truck arrived first (I’m told they always do) and I flagged them down. The two men calmly came out of the vehicle with medical kits and started looking over Mei and Dorothy. R and I huddled together off to the side, sharing warmth. A Police vehicle arrived shortly after, and one officer took our information then briefly questioning me. I told him what I could (“we heard the screams and came over”… it sounds like a Dane Cook skit) but re-directed him to Mei for any details. It turns out two random guys were following the girls from the skytrain station, then peppersprayed them and I can only assume intended to mug them... or worse. They probably only ran off because R and I appeared right next to them so fast.
After the situation was explained, the Police officers (of which there were several at that time) made it a point to thank R and I. Handshakes were exchanged all around and we were told we could leave. We received a tearful thanks from Mei (R got a hug, I was too awkward). After airing out my car from the pepperspray that had been trapped inside, I began do drive R home. I couldn’t put her on the SkyTrain again as she suggested, it seemed incredibly callous.

There's an interesting tension that arises from conflicts such as this. So much adrenaline and so many emotions are running through you at once that when you finally let youself deal with them, they all come out in a rush. At this point you have two options, laugh, or cry.

Cry, and you'll be comforted. This is the expected response, and people know how to deal with it. A shoulder to lean on, comforting words, we all know the clichés. Surely enough, like most clichés, they work.

Laugh, and you'll get a whole different set of reactions. Ranging from raised eyebrows to unbridled hate, the responses are varied and unthinking. This is not the reaction you see on television and people just don't know what's going on. It's a release, same as any other, just a lot less socially acceptable. Oh, and by the way? If you ever find yourself in the same situation, try not to lapse into gigglefits in front of the police. It's just not appreciated.

Last night, R and I were absolutely enthused to find that we react the same way. Luckily we made it to the car before the gigglefits came, and the drive to her house was filled with laughter. We both knew how serious the situation was, we were just shocked at how similar our reactions were and how well it turned out. A quick cup of tea in her host family’s beautiful home and I went to my own house to spend a restless night.

Even as I write this, my hands feel like they’re on fire. They were doused badly when I used them to protect my eyes and received a further dose of the spray while comforting Dorothy and Mei. A friend has informed me that the pepperspray probably faded after a few hours, but it seems that as I did not properly wash the pepperspray from them (preoccupied as I was) some form of nerve damage has occurred. I’ll have to look it up.

Odd isn’t it, that the effects of the story that inspired me to begin writing are nearly preventing me from doing so?

Incidents like this one are probably going to get me killed someday, but if all are equally successful, it'll be worth it. As we drove home that night, there was a sense of elation in the car. We were heroes, though neither of us said as much. The combination of an adrenaline rush and the knowledge that I made a real, significant difference to someone made me happier than I’ve been in a long time. Truly happy.

First Hesitant Steps

Many who write have some fear of that blank white page. I know I do. One looks at it, studies it for hours, but it yields nothing. It is nothing. All it holds is that which we already had within ourselves.

Until now, I have only glanced at it briefly and moved on, dreaming of plunging into the icy depths, words spreading before me as a ripple. I have marveled in the intelligence and skill that others display on a daily basis and wondered what I could accomplish. It is my hope that this marks the end of that wondering.

For those reading, please be kind, for I am but an infant in this endeavor; these are but my first, hesitant steps.