So, apparently I'm going bowling tomorrow night. The occasion is Adrienne's 24th or 23rd birthday (I don't remember which). I don't even know what kind of a crew is going to rally behind this whole scheme beyond Julia (her sister), Shaun/Jesus, TJ and me. Just solid Rotoscoping Dept, Team A running crew rocking the public shoes rolling a big stone.
I don't know why, but I always enjoyed bowling. Even when there is no gimmick or smoke machines or black-lights. I do genuinely enjoy bowling. I suggest that there be somekind of role playing game be devised whereby everyone takes their turn and when they get into a fight, instead of rolling dice, they bowl. Damage/defense/whatever is determined by how many pins you knock down. Multiple lanes would be used by one game to speed up the process. I've never really played any form of RP, but I think I should patent this shit up.
I might be on to something here.
I mean, imagine if the people playing Magic: The Gathering in the laundro on Sunday afternoon joined forces with the bowlers? It'd be a whole new subculture. We could take over a whole neighbourhood or something. Drive the hipsters out of someplace with tinfoil swords and bowling balls. It'd be a whole new Golden Age until approximately 38 seconds later when the mainstream subverts it and it just becomes a shameless cashgrab trend.
Another thing I want to see is a helix-shaped waterslide going down the entire height of the CN Tower. Could you imagine the impact? 525 metres in height, 400 km/h, 7 g-force turns. It'd be a fun ride down, but you'd probably be hamburger upon impact. Needless to say, this one is still in beta.
Ohhh, what else is new? I think I'm going to New York City once G.Pat comes back to town in February or March. Shit. I haven't been to the good ole US of A since 2004 and I don't even have a passport yet. It should be a good time. Although G.Pat is a chaotic force that causes me to drink cheap wine and make statements that are more outlandish than usual, I miss the shit out of him.
The Neil Joyes Simulator '95 supercomputer is in the shop right now, but the last projection of the future I got out of it before 5.6 litres of slush got caught up in the exhaust duct is about the year 2018.
2018: I have been critically injured in ice cream-related liquid nitrogen accident and most of my body is encased in ice. Whatever remains of my head/torso has been placed in a special life support system with a mind-machine link connecting me to my electric wheelchair and giving me 24 hour telepathic access to the internet.
Anyways, I eventually manage to obtain a surplus Goodyear blimp that I found on craigslist to replace my electric wheelchair. This I can also control with my mind-machine link. It is here that I float around all day in my palace, gliding around the world forever, occasionally visited by friends who hang-glide in.
To support myself, I send robotic minions (also controlled via mind-machine link) to work various jobs to support the considerable burden of fuelling/flying a surplus blimp. Besides working, they also act as my surrogate self because they too are directly controlled by me. Gradually, my minions become more efficient and more numerous and more profitable to me. I eventually forget which entity I actually am and wind up as more of a hivemind than an individual.
And so began my rise to world domination.
After you die, you awaken as if your whole life had just been a brief nap. You're in a place that resembles a Greyhound bus terminal except, instead of being surrounded by anonymous travellers, you're surrounded by all of the people you have ever known, dead or alive, cherished or inconsequential, as well as all of the cats and dogs and squirrels and trees and flowers and vegetables you knew. And they're all eating sandwiches and drinking coffee and using coin operated lockers. And you're sitting there beside them on a hard plastic chair muttering, "Mymymy, wasn't that strange," as you look ponderously at the Departures monitor.
And then you hear your boarding call, gather your things and get in line.
Does anybody know someone who actually does this kind of thing?? I know Dave A-P's probably got the analogue electronics chops to hack something like this, but he's kind of disappeared off the face of the Earth...
So I was gliding back home along two strips of slick steel for an entirely too long five hours. I don't know what that place does to me, but Ottawa left me feeling so damn drained. The hollow sort of drained where its tough to sleep and equally tough to converse with anybody or think or marshal the energy needed to make dinner or whathave you when you're finally home. Maybe it was that my previous night's sleep had been little more than a glorified weed nap and every night I'd been sleeping on floors or loveseats or other surfaces not generally suitable for sleep.
Let me tell you, after sleeping all I've slept on Greyhound buses, couches and floors, my spine only delivers the messages to my brain with scorn, expecting a decent tip for the shit it's had to put up with all these years. Back in college, there would always be the "Test Your Back Here" people with their table set up in the B-building cafeteria, right beside the Rastafari hat vendor. I'm often wary of medical diagnostics. Deep down, I'd rather remain blissfully ignorant than realize just how fucked everything has become and how it's entirely my fault. Also, these people are in it for money and would probably give me a bogus read-out so I'd go and blow bankroll on sketchy backcracking.
Anyways, there are many types of drained and this was one of the less satisfying/interesting types there was. The party that had been going in my mind long before hadn't been realised in the real world. I tried dispatching people to and fro and still failed to make critical mass. Not that it wasn't fun drinking a 26 of Havana Club with friends, smoking mids and playing Cranium until small hours. Because that was fun.
I just wish I could have written that day to be a tv special of my life, circa 2004. A reunion episode. That the stars and planets and buses and people and raindrops would snap into position and followed the directors telepathic cues for the folks watching back home.
But now I'm back in the a-side of my reality cassette tape on repeat, rewind and repeat. Swimming in familiar psychic currents at work, hustling/hawking on craigslist, dreaming up the wheeled, heavy duty DIY room divider I want to build and talking about what to grab off of BitTorrent with some random lady at the laundro. Figuring out what's going to be pop rocks for my cola.
The new apartment is starting to come together. Recently, I've taken to repurposing milkcrates as shelving units in my abode. And easily accomplished once the neccessary screws, washers and anchors are obtained (oh, borrowing a powerdrill also helps). I'm not going to lie, I'm actually becoming somewhat obsessed with milkcrates by now.
I've always been something of a packrat. Throughout various stages of my life, I've accumulated things that interest me. In 2007, in the days that just followed the Age Of Majority epoch, I collected coasters while I was in the Yukon, since bars there simply handed out more coasters (maybe they cared more about their tables, since tables had to travel so much further up that North Klondike Highway) and the coasters were very often from breweries/establishments that were exotic to me (e.g. Yukon Brewing Co, Diamond Tooth Gerties Casino, Big Rock Brewery, etc).
Anyhow, I presently love the humble milkcrate. One can walk past many milkcrates everyday without paying it any mind, but I see exotic, never before seen colours (by exotic, I mean colours that aren't red, green, blue or black). And shelving. Plenty of shelving. I tend to see a lot of them because I so often walk/cycle through the alleyways of Toronto.
These alleyways are actually one of my favorite things about this city. See, in Ottawa, there aren't very many of these, but in Toronto, they're around in most of the parts of the city that were built pre-WW2 and they essentially act as a parallel transportation network. They're built in a predictable manner that generally stays in step with the streetgrid, but offer a better visual experience than the main thoroughfares. By this, I mean, that there is far less traffic/people and far better graffiti than on the main streets.
I guess its just because I came from a much smaller city and I only knew of one real laneway/alleyway in Hintonberg, but I like it and I'm not as over it as I am about most other things since I moved here. I mean, like, shit, right? I was so hyped about living in a big, dense city like Toronto in April '08, but now, everything just seems so completely normal. Toronto doesn't even seem that big to me. I'm used to riding 30 year old streetcars into underground tunnels to the subway by now. When I lived downtown, I got used to having half a dozen people beg me for money every time I went grocery shopping. I dismissed the CN Tower (as much as I like seeing it everyday on the horizon) as something mainly for the tourists. But the alleyways and the amount of activity on street-level is what I can't get over.
Since I moved a bit further west to a basement apartment at Dundas/Roncevalles/Bloor, I admit, I have missed downtown quite a bit. I'm further away now, caught between the newly gentrifying yuppie corridor of Roncevalles Village that sells designer strollers and gourmet dog food and the grimy street stem of Dundas West around the Nestle chocolate bar factory and the rail line that goes to Brampton that mostly still consists of building supply stores, auto repair shops and laundromats. Downtown is still quite close to me, only a 20 minute bike ride (my usual commute) or a 30 minute ride on the TTC. I miss being so close to my favorite bars and Kensington Market, but I can get over it.
Slightly tougher to get over than that is living at the intersection that I do. Traffic keeps moving on and on forever. Streetcars blow past like a terrible steel wind every 15 minutes, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Forever and always.
But I got used to it. Just as I got used to (or failed to get used to) many other bad or, at least, not great, things. Like sleeping in living rooms where people would wake me up while I'd have to work night shifts and things of that sort. I can sleep through pretty much anything that doesn't happen directly above my head. Unfortunately for me, the people upstairs are morning people. My landlady is a doctor at a local hospital and she has a kid and every morning on the weekend is basically elephants on the roof, hangover or not.
But still, this is the dream, dammit. Its my own place and I can fly my own flag and drill milkcrates into the wall and fuckall will stop me. I do wish there was more sunlight here, though.
So summer's come to bring the fucking ruckus and I got that ruckus bad sometimes. Most anytime the sun pokes out through the sky, the clock in my head just rolls back a bunch of years and I just drop into my adolescent mindset that's just fiending for blunts and brew and days spent running around town on missions with no particular objective. This is the essence of my summer. A far better thing, really, than other peoples' summers which seem to be about stabbing people.
This is the crazy bullshit we all exist around. What unites Torontonians isn't the sense we're all part of this microcosm of the world that's a multicultural utopia for all (that utopia might only exist in David Miller's head). Rather, what unites us, regardless of race, ethnicity, religion, whathaveyou, is the fact that 2.5 million people share the space with you. You're the feather in a warehouse of live handgrenades. And random people are all just waiting for some unknown pretext to explode in your face. You'll witness/experience some fuckedup shit and turn to the person beside you and say, "Man, that was some pretty crazy shit, eh? What is this world coming to?"
There are ways you can relax, though. I took a bike ride out to the east side the other day, since I rarely go east of Parliament St. I rolled far, all the way to about Queen E/Greenwood. Then I turned down to Lakeshore and rode this awesome bike path along the waterfront which goes past all this industrial grime and orphaned expressway pillars. It was a vast, long, uninterrupted stretch of path, a nice change of pace when you're used to riding in heavy traffic and full-stopping at a traffic ever 10 metres. This cruise controlled stretch meant that I didn't really have any need for handlebars (fact: I can ride without hands on my handlebars, provided there's no sharp turns at the fore or wildly uneven payload in my crate) and made me wish that I had a cooler that automagically absorbed any/all shocks from bumps (I'm thinking gelataneous supercooling material of somekind) so I could draw a crunchy tallboy of Tuborg and drink my way into the sunset, towards home.
Anyways, I'm still working at SimEx-iWerks, rotoscoping all day long. The day-by-day of things hasn't been anything too great, hence the lack of updates. I ducked out after work in the PATH tunnels to evade the dogshit weather and bask in some wi-fi internet connections, marvelling at how nobody's around after 6pm. Days at work have been passing by quickly enough when I have an adequate supply of podcasts and things to listen to.
I am, however, afraid of the carpel tunnel and having to wear one of those bionic wristbrace dealies. Its dangerous to show weakness. That's when the androids get you.
But never on time
And never in one piece.
I made love to the internet and begat this terrible, deformed lovechild. Enjoy.
I'm going to bed now. Good night.
LiveJournal is turning 10 and we're feeling nostalgic. What was your first LJ post about?
Eh, not a whole lot has changed since late 2002 besides having 800 times more pressure (money, work, etc) in my life. Accordingly, I have learned/toughened up enough to deal with it over the past seven(!) years. I suppose life is in some ways a lot quieter too since I've been out of school for two years which means the number of people I meet/hang out with is muchmuch smaller. Most people on my LJ friends list have fallen off of LJ (mainly around 2005/2006 when the whole post-HS-let's-keep-in-touch thing blew over) too.
I still like basically the same things and have the same mannerisms, only I've discovered/learned way more. I moved out of my parent's house in '07. Since then I've lived in a lot of different structures and lack of structures. I'm a lot more jaded too, I guess.
As a freelance somethingsomething, statholidays are not really very real for me (but then again, neither is employment insurance, tax returns or meals that aren't based on rice). But nonetheless, I enjoyed Sunday in the same ways I typically enjoy Sundays.
First, I slept in. Actually, I usually wake up whenever I feel like. At least, so it goes these days. Because controlling/managing your time is basically just as important as controlling/managing the space around you. Right now, my work situation is such that I can glide in in the afternoon and be all, 'What up, all' and Andrew Bodis will be cool with it, the interns will basically still worship me as their god and the people from the other company will be just as joyfully loud/cordial/vacuous. The sound system will play good music, my computer will work fine and my universe will be in balance.
See, us high-powered mutants are accorded these abilities.
Anyways, I drag myself out and end up at my usual Sunday afternoon haunt, Bellevue Square Park. This is the park in Kensington Market that draws damn near everyone in my environs: hipsters, hippies, yuppies, rusties, rastas, punks, street kids, whatever. I like hanging out here with a book or newspaper when the weather's nice. There's people everywhere, but they're beautiful/hilarious and I find the din soothing.
Sometime later, I ended up at Manic Coffee. To drink coffee, I suppose. And read some more. And write cryptic freeverse poems because I'm a pretentious pretentionface. This place used to bother me a lot (in spite of having the best capuccinos in the city) because everybody is so much cooler than me and sometimes my frumpy low-rent ways (ie not having ray-bans and an ironic mustache) would score me some unfavourable glances, perhaps.
But then I discovered the magickal cloak that is indifference. I think that indifference is one of the most empowering states of mind there is. The power to detach and just be in orbit of someone's tiny, little world and just be able to laugh at it all and just Enjoy Some Coffee Already from Spacestation Indifference. Me in zero-gravity, cross-legged relaxed, slurping at spheres of coffee with a straw. Just saying with a disinterested glance at the monitor displaying the 'real' world, 'Fuck it, yo.'
I hang out there for a while, unsuccessfully chat up the girl sitting beside me (I said something like, 'Hey, how's it going?' Her reaction was priceless: 'Do I know you??', 'No, I was just bored.'), go home to make dinner and end up at the office again to finish up a few things.
I had a shiny new Shakedown Trance Podcast to listen to going there/back. Probably the best episode I've heard of it to date. Trance music is really the best music to listen to walking alone in the city late at night. So crunchy and sweet it shines in my ears. I felt what people in cars have when they play music driving around late at night. Only my car is way easier to stab to death in the fucking futuredeath.
My favorite thing tonight was seeing an elderly Asian convenience store clerk wielding a big lead pipe and swinging it around like a golf club, running it across the pavement, sparks trailing it, to impress some other guy who was probably homeless. I love this city. And I love you.
I, the faustian friend
Squirreling away in the
My pittance, your disdain
Anyways. Not so much thinking as much about grad school now. Still got my application so it can be my plan Q or whatever, but circumstances have improved sufficiently. More details follow.
I'm going to try to keep this brief.
Recent times have consisted of a great many a thing.
First was getting my bike fixed. I very slowly succeeded in doing this at the Community Bike Network's DIY workshop. I looked pretty ridiculous and didn't really know what I was doing at first, but the lady who worked there was pretty cool and showed me how to replace the snapped-off shitty plastic pedals with some good solid metal ones. This place is on Queen West someplace (google that shit), but it has more than every bike-ish thing (whole bikes, parts, workshops, DIY repair facilities, etc) than you could possibly imagine. Once I'm in the money again, I'm gonna buy me a nice Krytonite lock since they got the best prices in the city I've seen.
Next up was having my iMac's internal hard drive fails on me. I was just surfing the internet and talking with people on MSN. You know, minding my own. Suddenly the drive started making strange noises and gyrations starting off slowly and building up. Shaking ever more violently until it reached a fevered pitch and shot out of the back of the computer and into the stratosphere. The stricken computer keels over facedown in front of my astonished eyes.
Actually it wasn't that spectacular. It just got really laggy and then wouldn't start up again. It hard crashed on start up the first time, then after that it usually wouldn't recognize that MacOS is installed. Verbose booting wasn't telling me much besides 'I/O Error.' It wouldn't let me reformat the hard drive either. I really wish manufacturing defects caused things to fail so spectacularly as the last paragraph. If I'm going to lose some data and send my computer to the shop, I might as well get a light show.
This would normally be a major disaster because I do most of my work from my home computer, but Gautam called and said he needed help on a corporate presentation. So I'm gonna make some bank there, working from the Bodis office at Queen/Spadina. I got a couple of other jobs coming up (all of this came barrelling in at me on Tuesday) and I'm hoping that I can work on those projects from this Downtown Elysium. Like holyshit, this place is awesome. The air tastes like the future, the ceilings stretch past the known reaches of time/space, the furniture is colourful like the fruitstands outside (minus the weird, dried fish smells) and the people who work there are very chill. Probably going to need to throw Bodis some money for co-locating, but the fact is they got an 8-core Mac Pro that doesn't generally do much after 6pm and I like working at night anyways. Also, I hate working from home.
Now, I gotta go see my landlord's niece to deliver some stuff that got lost. I'd tell this story, but its even duller/more convoluted than the other things I wrote about in this entry. Peace.
So, there's some shuffling going on at my dwelling. Dr. Kijazi's moving to BC in May so the room at the front's going to be vacant. In the nearer future (i.e. one week from now), Jay is going back to Japan, thereby allowing me to take over my dream-room (the one with the balcony overlooking the CN tower and my overgrown backyard). As a result, my current room is going to be on the market.
So, uh, wanna live in downtown Toronto, anybody??
( i posted this on craigslist tooCollapse )
- I still have to finish reading Watchmen before I can allow myself to see the movie.
- Ginko biloba! No way!! (I love nootropics)
- I'm 86 lentils.
- I'm supertempted by the prospect of going back to Dawson for another summer. There were so few worries there. The great magnet generally doesn't lie to me, but it isn't pulling me in any particular direction.
- Jay's moving back to Japan and I can have his balconied room. I'm seeing in my mind's eye that balcony with a canopy overhead so I can sleep outside.
- My body can metabolize lentils into pure serenity.
- I must attempt to sleep at a reasonable hour (i.e. before 5am) today
What's the best compliment you've ever received?
"Your mannerisms kick ass."
Couldn't stop laughing at this, even after the third viewing.
I wish I was friends with T-Pain...
With so many questions
For the questionable
I ask you this:
How will you mingle us,
The insomnia of an occupied mind
Inhabited by a repeated event
Climbing up the walls
Doesn't work so well
In zero gravity
So Barack Obama won. Deep down I knew it was going to happen, but I wouldn't admit it for fear of jinxing it.
This night has been strange long and strange enough to be story-worthy (i.e. where were you when suchandsuch happened). Arright. So I started by stumbling out of work with my burnt out, frayed brain and attempted to go watch all of this go down at the Bloor Cinema. Then Patrick Condon walks on out and is all, "Fuck it, too many people in there. You can barely stand." So I walk and follow him to Café Diplomatico.
On the way over, Patrick tries to convince that Mccain won. And sort of believed him. Then he goes into the happening of the night before. My friend Jay was visiting, in town for a couple of nights. Anyhow, Patrick goes on about this story about how he went to this fairly classy lounge (i.e. you can't wear running shoes, etc) and he got busted for public intoxication and was locked up the 11 District Drunk Tank. By an undercover cop. In the middle of the goddamn bar.
By his account the cops were mean and incompetent (they didn't read him his rights, they didn't know where they were taking him, they made fun of the fact that his last name is Condon) and generally lived up to the negative cop stereotypes. So he just got saucy with them. Calling them incompetent or scum or worse. He slept in the drunk tank that night and said it was apparently more comfortable than the room that he rents out of the house I live in. So I suppose we all learned a valuable lesson that night -- don't go out drinking on Monday night, the cops are far too bored.
At this time, about 9pm, I was convinced serious mischief was afoot. I could be easily convinced as such because the day was at once long (in that there was much work to do) and short (in that deadlines were rapidly barrelling towards me). But the night got disappointingly normal at this point. I just hung out on some patio drinking pints beside some nonfunctional propane heater (the idea of heating a patio annoys me, but that's another story), chatting shit. Patrick ditched almost immediately at this point without any real explanation.
After a while, Jay and Patrick head back and kind of ditch me. So here I am. Writing the first LJ entry in several months. Time to pass out. I'll write something more in a day or two.
A chewed up piece of cardboard, me.
By now the initial rush of moving someplace totally new is gone, gone, gone. But now I'm here and established, I need to jump out of this rut. Find more people to hang out with besides those I went to college with. Oh wait, I'm already past that point. And I'm past the point of the first sentance. See, the problem with writing from old drafts (read: 2 days old) is how quickly my own thoughts become obsolete.
Some days I don't really know who I am anymore beyond the more superficial parameters (occupation, education, etc). My self-image has become something like the scramble suit from A Scanner Darkly, some amorphous, apparently human blur. I have yet to determine whether this is just (relatively) quickly self-corrected and forgotten chemical imbalance or actually the sign of a greater emptiness.
I went to see Crystal Castles the other day at this random fest on the Waterfront (Beats, Breaks and Culture). It was pretty solid, even though the venue was better suited for a school play than an actual concert. There were these stupid park benches bolted to the ground and it was more crowded than the Yonge subway at 8am. But the show itself was good in spite of the lack of space to dance in or even see the band much of the time. Alice Glass is really hot and is an amazing stage presence, jumping around dancing for over an hour straight and then passing out, drinking two beer and finishing the encore by trashing the drum kit as the drummer played on it. If you haven't heard/heard of them before, check out the songs 'Crimewave' and 'Untrust Us.' I would expect great things from them in the future.
Beyond that? I guess I've been drinking with my Japanese ESL student roommate, cooking lentils, bombarding myself with magnetic fields and squinting a lot, all the while preventing my house (and possibly the houses attached to it) from being swallowed up by the face of the Earth. Oh, and reversing my sleep cycles when need be.
I really don't feel like writing about what happened in the last 6 months or so. It mostly isn't worth mentioning and its becoming something of a cliché for me to abandon this journal for a few months, then write in it again and have to go through all the bother of telling people what happened to me in a long-winded entry that people probably won't read anyways. Ah, fuckit. Let's connect the dots in haste.
Staffing agencies: lies
Employment in Ottawa: awful
Social life: moribund
Living in Orleans: bad idea
Living in Elmvale: also bad idea
Overnight data entry: erosion/quiet implosion.
Anyhow, if you haven't heard already, I left Ottawa again. This time telling fewer people with even less notice than ever. Like I said last year-ish, its not that I have anything against anyone (or at least personal grudges aren't the reason why I left), its just that Ottawa has this certain kind of psychosocial toxicity to me. Its hard to explain completely (maybe its negative energy put out by the swine on parliament hill, maybe its that I only just squeak by in financial terms when living on my own there or maybe its the sad, concrete boxes they house the civil servants in), but Ottawa just tends to make me fat, stoned and depressed.
Living at my parent's house for the last month or so didn't help except for to give me the opportunity to save up some money to move out here to Toronto. It was a snap decision to come here. I had a temp job offer, something real that wasn't underemployment, so I jumped on that shit. A last minute ride on the night bus, bobbing back and forth, in and out of consciousness all the way until I got to Toronto.
I set myself up for the first few nights in a hostel until I got myself setup to crash at my friend Will's place down off Lansdowne in the west side. It was while I was at the hostel that I fell in love with my new home, the west side of downtown. Kensington, Chinatown, Little Italy, the Annex. A densely packed-in place where people scarcely pay you any mind if you drive a car, where you can find nearly anything you want/need (in terms of groceries/bars/coffeeshops/restraunts/headshops, anything really and its almost always a locally owned business) within a ten minute walk of your place and there's always a 24 hour streetcar to cart your drunk ass home.
I suppose Ottawa has pretty some pretty walkable neighbourhoods too, like the Glebe and Hintonburg and Westboro and Centretown. But these places tend to be either too elitist or too cracked out for my liking. And none of them have nearly this much character or life on the streets anyways.
But that's not to say that living here isn't without its downsides, though. Sometimes I get pretty lonely because I have only a couple of friends in Toronto (and a handful in 905). Lauren, one of my roommates, is pretty cool, though. We hang out a lot around the house or the market. I'm supposed to go drinking with her and her friends this Friday at this raucous, dive-y looking place on Augusta called The Boat. Should be good times.
The second major difficulty is employment. My temp job is done now. I'm waiting on something like $700 to come in the mail (this was freelance, though, so I gots to save like $150-$200 for The Man), which could be good for living expenses for at least a month if I manage a modicum of financial restraint (a definite challenge when you're surrounded by awesome yet not-overpriced bars and restraunts). I got to talking with a random shopkeeper in Kensington the other day and she said that she was a location manager in a past worklife and that the industry is the worst its ever been. First 9/11, then SARS totally fucked shit up, then the Canadian dollar rose to be at par with the American dollar (which bodes ill for many other people in this province as well). Now we got this Bill C-10 shit on our plates.
Bill C-10 is a sprawling piece of legislation going through the House of Commons right now. It's what they call an omnibus bill, a great many budget-related measures that contains a section that would deny federal funding to anything the government of the day might construe as controversial. Canada's domestic film/television industry is highly dependant on federal funding and, should this bill come to pass, it would almost certainly have a chilling effect on the production industry. Fewer scripts would see their way to production, lots of people would lose their jobs (or at least be underemployed more often) and our broadcasters would be airing less Canadian content than ever, whilst plugging their CanCon quotas in with more mindless pap than ever. The sad thing is that this piece of legislation (considered a confidence vote) will in all likelihood pass because Stephane Dion is a spineless rat who doesn't want to face another election where his party will probably hemorrhage more seats than ever (and in case you forgot the maths on the House, the NDP and Bloc can't defeat this bill without the Liberals' support). Thanks for welding the coffin shut, Steve!
I'm not gonna lie, I sometimes feel a lot of anxiety over my job situation. I always worry that my current job (on the odd occasion they come up) will be my last. That after that's all done, I'll be stuck flipping burgers or data or whatever bullshit jobs will continue to be my present and future until I finally crack and go back to school to retrain for IT or nursing or a skilled trade or whatever it takes to Get Paid these days. My time at Algonquin College effectively shattered what little faith I had in public schools/colleges (and, while I was there, had a bad habit of undermining my will to live), but maybe if I tread real careful I could find a course of learning where the teachers aren't total fuckups who are completely detached from their field and actually like teaching. Who knows. There are a lot of schools here, after all.
Anyhow, things aren't really that bad. I'm pretty happy here, actually. Far more so than I ever was in Ottawa. I suppose I just got to get my hustle on harder is all.
I stopped crashing. I'm living a little more fixed now.
This time in the one of the most absurd locales yet. Orleans.
I wouldn't normally live this far out from the city centre, but the rent is an amazing deal and my room-mate's none other than <lj user="angry_walrus"> so I can manifest an invincible shield of indifference to stupid ass mallrats and long bus rides. The oversized megapark that nobody uses but the few dog-walkers is pretty ace too. I'm still looking for work, though. Full-time work, part-time work, freelance, whatever pays the bills. Right now, I'm working on call for a staffing agency that works banquet halls. Another freelance job, but this guy I work for seems cool and isn't crazy/erratic like my old boss.
He's got me checking coats at the Mariott tomorrow. It was serving drinks at the Crowne Plaza last week. Different people, different place each time. Its like the cashflow module of my life is in 'shuffle' mode now. But that would be too easy if things were like that. I'm actually quite bored. Not particularly depressed (suprising considering winter/xmas season is usually my least favorite time of the year), but still kind of bored.
I'm kind of waiting on a bunch of things to happen. Lately, Doublecross Productions is everyday coming closer to being real. We're talking with some local underground rappers about a music video, still trying to move on the nightclub promotional video deal and possibly try to do some kind of promotional or instructional video for a pool company in Kanata. I'm almost done coding up a website (dusting off my creaky knowledge of HTML/CSS), making new business cards and I've cut up two demoreels already.
So it's been a month of a lot of talking.
And a lot waiting.
Waiting for the bus. Waiting to hear back from other people in Doublecross. Waiting for short-term employment to be had. Waiting for potential clients to get back to us. Waiting for me to figure out LI tags won't just make a nice horizontal navigation bar. So I suppose its been hype, its been drama, insomnia and marijuana, casting my lot and my time on one side.
These past few days have been momentously uneventful. I found myself alone on Thanksgiving. So instead, I tossed that holiday and its expectation of copious food and drink and company and instead celebrated my own holiday, "The Festival of Diminishing Returns." Basically this was my justification to turn up my thermostat to 20 and get stoned all weekend because everything was closed.
I also got down to business on my demoreel. I should have something good to show off by Monday after next since my friends have me this lead on a production job. I'm kind of surprised there hasn't been an appreciable loss in my own skills. Anyways, I guess I'm reconfigured for this time of the year -- lethargic, yet industrious.
( introverted rambling/ranting about generational differencesCollapse )
I'm inside of another perception funnell. My perception of time is ever accelerating as departure day approaches. Cheap plastisized mechanics flip a little card over each morning. The universe's flash cards like mileposts on the highway.
But alas, tomorrow there won't be a back-porch with friends, sheesha and wine. I suppose I could just sit at home, drink red wine out of a bottle, smoke out of my pipe and talk to people I make up. Then I retire, grumbling to my room to write into a notebook which will probably just be lost three weeks later.
Things aren't really that bad. Or at least not as bad as they sound. Like I said, I am the better part decended down that funnell. Those cards seem to flip faster all the time. Sometimes, I manoeuver away from the gravitational pull of self-destruction.
Othertimes, my energies are just reflected back upon myself and I just spend...6 days...a week, alone, at home. Biding my time, reading Asimov. Plotting my return as if my world was the Galactic Empire and I was waiting on the periphery, creeping in to reconquer it with science, culture, knowledge, goddamnit. I am Terminus in a trailer.
Ok. What it is.
Uncertain course of action beyond three weeks. Some emailed answers would be quite good to plot this course. For I need to answer the question of destinations before Greyhound becomes rabid with haste and eats up 2-3 more of my money.
Things you have missed:
- I have been given a slum palace (nonwinterized trailer) by my benevolent fast food emperor for a pittance's rent. I imagine this will be the most opulent housing I can expect for awhile.
- zoo_lion is back in Ottawa now
- It is basically winter now.
- I got mail that wasn't a flyer. Thanks for the paper joy, ragdoll_suicide.
- Most social calls not occuring in bars now involve baking bread.
- I won't require a raised thumb to leave town. This reassurance is insulating like a glove.
- My sleep cycles once more feature REM sleep! And this time it isn't even my subconscious calling me a loser and a thief!
Must go now. Got kicked off.
I'm in Whitehorse right now and I'm on a serious timeline (must be back to work at 7am Friday, any ride is about 6-8h once I land a ride). I am fiendishly acquiring books and whathaveyou while I have ~1.5 days to do so. ID is still MIA. My ride up here (I hitched again) was quite good.
One vehicle. One way. Gas money paid. Hypersocial lapdog. Autumn onset. Alien terrain. Weblog update.
Maybe I was being a little stand-offish in the closing of the last entry. But I still do maintain that Facebook is a sinister, bloated machine that has already succeeded in cataloguing most of the useful information about nearly everyone. Myself included.
But I digress. The ugly face of worry and misplacement has reared its head in my midst. My paycheques are either on the floor of some postal sorting plant in Whitehorse or in some similarly non-useful place at the bank. And, what's more, my Ontario Health Card is lost.
Now, my physical health isn't an urgent priority right now. There's no hospital in town and out-of-province medevac is probably one of those perfectly reasonable things that fell victim to the tyranny of the Common Sense Revolution in 1990-whatever.
The real issue here is that it effectively halves my ability to go out and consume liquor because it was my only real piece of photo ID. The people at the government liquor store never ID me and are generally a pretty nice bunch. At the Midnight Sun, where I go out to see the funk coverband every Sunday, security knows me and doesn't ID. But the delightfully scummy Pit is a no-fly zone for now.
I suppose this is the universe's way of telling me either I shouldn't drink so much and I should focus my energies on getting that production job in Whitehorse or I should stop being a resident of Ontario. As for the paycheques...I can't say what possible message that could be...
Anyhow, I have a postal box in Dawson now. Try sending me something; its no more expensive than mailing to anywhere else in the country. Maybe my luck with Canada Post will change?
P.O. Box 1426
Dawson City, YT, Canada
Peace and dishevellment,
Lately everything has been moving in slow motion. Not only the geriatric tourists in their RVs. The migration of nearly everyone I've met on this long sojourn and the accomplishment of anything outside of the immediate 60-hour work week's tasking (errands, the writing of emails, etc).
The migration of people away from Dawson City is kind of a bit of a shock -- not but three weeks ago I was positively "peopled out" as the names and backstories and hazy memories formed intoxicated slipped through the cracks of my mind. I was having a good time though. I'm not exactly saddened by these goings as I plan to visit nearly everyone significant to me later on in the year(s) to come.
But I digress. I happened upon a camera crew shooting what was apparently stock footage outside one of the more notorious watering holes of Dawson City -- the Pit. Intrigued by the Betacam HD and the possibility of not being underemployed anymore I struck up a conversation with the two guys.
It turned out they work for a production company in Whitehorse and might be looking for someone to edit/do graphics/shoot for them. So I might have a new gig soon. Hopefully. If there's anything I've learned about money in the Yukon its that one can accrue an extravagent income from doing dull and dreary work (for someone mainly employed as a prep cook and dishwasher, I am quite properous) in the north. Just imagine the possibilities if I stop being underemployed (*gasp*, an apartment that isn't owned by my employer!).
Lucky for me, I've already got a trip setup to Whitehorse early next month and it'll be my first actual time off since my first week being here.
It's not that money is the primary motivation in my day-to-day life. Its just that, should I decide to live in the Yukon for any great length of time, I would like to have the resources to travel (preferably by plane) to wherever, whenever. Rent is pretty steep in Whitehorse but it should a nice change to visit a city for the first time in about two months. What with all the high rises and book stores and nightclubs that don't play country music.
The isolation here isn't so bad, people here are friendly, there's high-speed internet and I manage to feel isolated living in a big city anyways. Don't know how well I'll do once zoo_lion leaves.
Don't get the idea that I'm anchoring myself to anywhere. Because I'm not. I fully intend to keep travelling. In stints. In quiet times. But later.
Here is a list of destinations for that "later":
British Columbia: Vancouver, Salt Spring Island, Summerland (visit relatives), Nelson.
Ontario: Hamilton, Toronto (maybe to move to, not sure yet), Peterborough, Ottawa (obviously)
Quebec/Atlantic Canada: Montreal, Halifax, St. John's
Anyways, I hope those who are reading this are doing well. I love the hell out of all of you. And, as for much of the rest, I'm glad I'm dead to the world and regret the day I joined Facebook. I've got rum to drink...
Why hello there, LiveJournalians/aliens. I've been neglecting to report on my journey to the fabled alternate reality of Dawson City, YT for quite some time now. I would largely attribute this to:
• Computer fucking up
• Poor aptitude for navigating through time (i.e. preference for sleep over sunlight abrasion over brain)
• Working 60 hours a week
• Having to do real errands like express-posting my paycheques to Whitehorse and grocery shopping
Actually, the latter hasn't been quite as true lately. I was drunk most every night for the first week I was here. Then I realised how expensive that actually gets and halfway through realising this, the guy hired to represent my numerous flaws/vices/things that keep me away from 99% of everyone else in the country was struck down by vocational cryogenic stasis. He breathes a gelatinous gin-flavoured air substitute. He keyed out in his pod that it feels like peanut butter in his lungs. He's gotten pretty bored lately so I made him a custom sudoku game only I replaced the numbers with bottles and buds and bongs so I can sneak off and work most of my waking hours in kitchens.
But I digress good friends, times have been most tiring and most productive here in this most northern latitude.
I have been shooting video, but lately my computer has been only working well enough for me to log onto MSN and have it crash at the least appropriate time possible. I have a
second job now at this coffeeshop/fast food kinda place on the town's main street (which is also the Klondike Highway).
They want me here until the end of October or somewhere thereabouts. And sure this sounds like a pretty shit deal because Dawson City gets cold during fall/winter (like anywhere north of 60) but there are some serious carrots hanging over my head like free housing, retroactive pay after the season ends and possibly even plane tickets to Whitehorse (because there's no bus service to/from Dawson).
Besides that, I've been reading. A lot of Vonnegut and some Coupland. I'm going to see if I can get the suprisingly excellent public library to order me some books from elsewhere in the territory. I've been regenerating and nurturing parts of myself that were dead before and probably harming other parts of myself instead. Balance is an elusive thing. Say 'Hello' to a stranger. Your head can't be all tin foil.
I think today's my one week anniversary since arriving here in Dawson. The tractor beams pulled me from the Klondike highway and I can feel the cement setting here.
Being here and considering what I've seen and done and who I've talked to, I get the sense that the Yukon is about just doing your own thing. In the time since I arrived I've probably met upwards of 20 people, got a bed to sleep in, a wireless internet connection I can use at the schoolyard, some girl's phone number, a hit of acid, groceries, and a second job. I think I'm going to work on a library card, volunteering at the community radio society and getting a bicycle tomorrow. So I suppose I'm making good time here.
Anyways, for about five days in a row I got drunk every night after work with the other kitchen people. I decided to cut back on the drinking because its rather tiring/taking up the better part of my wages.
But tonight is the exception. The music festival is wrapping up tonight. AND its Soul Sunday, so I'm probably going to the Midnight Sun as this is a reliably good time and quite likely amplified by the after-party effect.
The city has sent in extra mounties from Whitehorse. An evening's wander (11pm, full-on sunlight) saw many a drunk and disorderly. Schemes for a sly toke by the river were preemptively dashed by the long, zealous arm of the law. But no matter. I still got a backporch to chill on and mountains to climb.
Anyways, I'll probably be proper up-to-speed with all of you soon, but I've got to be to work now...
Here's a videoblog entry I made on the 12th. Sorry I couldn't post it earlier, I've been working a lot as a prep cook in a hotel and access to internet/electricity has been sketchy. Anyways...
( onwardCollapse )
( transcript for the broadband impairedCollapse )
I'm in the Yukon now. The sky is the limit, but the mountains still give it a good run for its money. More to follow later. i.e. [Greyhound Survival guide, hitchiking, hosers, lingering daylight, bus randoms, et al.].
Dirt-like granules float atop my cup of bad, autobrewed coffee. Its not bad like when I drink coffee in my room and, maybe its the humidity, but it takes on this unsweetened burnt-caramel taste. Just bad to start with and end with with its dark slurry at the bottom of the cup.
Work comes and goes. Numbers change. Time passes, apparently. I'd say the post-college, disillusion-induced drifting apathy is petering out right now. Generic Service Industry Job #1 has whittled my hours down to damn near nothing, so I might need to flip the tape and troll down Bank, Merivale, Rideau, Baseline, resumes in hand. Wherever I can make money relatively fast with a minimum of thought/energy.
As for the Yukon, I still haven't heard back from Dawson City and I'm not going out there without a job already lined up. All the same, though,
The production company me Condon, Matt Wilson and Sean Augstman are starting up, Doublecross Productions, is attracting attention. Greekfest, Ottawa Pride Parade and the Lumiere Festival all want a promotional video shot/edited, which is awesome, but we don't shoot those until August and can't even talk to those involved until sometime mid-July. But anyways, we keep working at it, cold-calling people and whatnot. I have a souped-up G4 I have to setup with Final Cut, After Effects and whathaveyou. But I must cut short this entry since I have to get to my other job now...
I hang my high head up
And set my low head off
Bounce my concrete off
I spent a good part of last night in a dingy basement kinda-sort-of in the Glebe. zoo_lion brought me there to see AIDS Wolf. I think we were the only ones really moving to the music (except for that older dude who might have been on a psychedelic that seemed to have this distorted depth perception).
This was probably the most experimental music I had ever listened to. To quote their myspace verbatim, "we are AIDS wolf. we are a noisy and discordant punk band from montreal with improv tendencies. we have no shame." And it was true.
Earplugs were mandatory to avoid permanent deafness in spite of (or maybe because of) the limitations of the basement which happened to be within 50 metres of the main police station. My brain's audio hardware told me the input was peaking pretty severe, but I digress.
I think the best part of the show and seeing this music live was the mental images it gave me. One was of Godzilla on acid terrorizing a city with a building-sized axe like a reptilian lumberjack. The other was of an ill-fated airplane forever going down in flames, staying fixed in air and flame, but falling through an endless myriad of dimensions. Those two ought to meet someday.
Anyways, zoo_lion and I went back to his place in Vanier where we chilled upon waves of excitment, receding and cresting by the tides of hookah smoke until dawn, at which point I had to leave so he could actually sleep.
But while I was there he told me about a job in Dawson City, Yukon Territory at a hotel that pays somewhere in the neighbourhood of $12/hour. And now I feel torn between working with my friends from college to start Doublecross Productions and fucking off to the arctic for a seasonal spell (but still doing web design/motion graphics work for the guys in Ottawa) and then possibly journeying from the Yukon to Baja California with the money made.
I am no longer underwhelmed.
Okay, I'm going to forgo all appologies and attempts to finish the numerous partially written "I'm back" style entries. I will, however, explain where I've been and what I've been doing.
Something doing: setting the stage for some next-level-blow-up-factor-astronomical-ambition this summer. I have a demoreel of mine to finish (I'll post up a link for everyone to see when it's done), a somewhat-actual fully-loaded life to claim from the impound called Algonquin and the second graduation ceremony of my life so far. I predict it'll only have 25% of the disappointment of my last graduation and I probably won't even be heckled by a crackhead on my way home.
Anyways, long story blogged, I have less of a life than ever and I hardly go out anymore. But it's all so so so close to improving greatly. I already have a job besides alley bitch/warden of lobster death row and I'm already earning pretty decent money and I have a bunch of interesting projects to work on all summer with, outside of school, on my own terms.
Someone going: I went to Toronto recently to go check out Humber College for a postgrad program. I'm probably not going back to school in September. Even though Humber College looks downright futuristic compared to Algonquin, I really don't want to spend another year moving down some institutional track, like I've been doing the past 15 or 16 years of my life, which I haven't really been living yet. Right now, I need to travel, look for better jobs, move out on my own (or possibly in the spare room at Phil's place), work on whatever random projects my friends are doing right now, et cetera.
But anyways, I must go now, for I've very little time left to keep rambling, so I'll catch up further a little later. Peace.
I'm currently partaking in a full-burn navigation of myself to the end of the semester. The hours are falling so fast and so so very over it all. I haven't studied a bit and I'm still hitting the exams accurate and whatnot. Filling in the scantrons and shit didn't neccessitate cramming and somehow I knew that subconsciously from the start.
In fact, I've just been occupying myself quite randomly. Punching those timecards watching a nice, not cracked-out hobo play some blues guitar on his free #2 bus ride. Also, I read over all the interests I had listed in my LiveJournal whilst moving them over to Facebook (yes it sucked me in too) and realised that my life is quite good, having my jellyfish fascination/vendetta, payphones, graphic designings, dancing and whatnot. It made me happy in a timeneutral way. Like I was existing in the years 2002 through the present simultaneously. Multiple eras and numerous happenings, really.
Anyways, things are probably on the uptake tonight, tomorrow, the night after and on and on. Until at least I blow all of the my money on post exam food/drink/smoke. I got a little job interview at International Datacasting today and I hope to fuck I land that job because a lack of steady income isn't much fun. I don't like having to think so much about money, having not a lot of it. I hope it goes well...
Oh yeah, my semester is done. Party on and all that, call me tonight, I'm going downtown...
This has got to be the best wakeup I've had in a while. Being out of bed at 10:30 for a change makes me feel like a king and capable of walking on walls around the frigid November floors. In the mode and good to go.
I have to be less lazy and project more. Because thoughts are projectile and I've just been sitting on a stack of them that have just been gathering dust, stockpiled. But then again, what am I on about exactly? I never feel like I'm moving fast enough, far enough or brightly enough through life in general. But I do build myself up, such is decreed by the Department of the Nextlevel.
I know myself too well, but I still haven't lost the desire to write these entries, save for during the occasional hiatus. I'm just afraid that these are all just photocopies of the same six archetypal entries or so and I just cross stuff out, highlight and write-in as is applicable to the time/place/headspace.
Technochurch 2 apparently exists this weekend and people have been resurfacing from the dark abyss of my past. But I'm not like, "Leave me alone please," because these are people I actually want to see especially since we're all older, more advanced, new/improved, revised, etc. If I saw auras (which I don't), even through an IM window or a bus stop, I'd see them as being warm and glowing. Like the party Technochurch 1...
Oh yeah, I'll probably show off some of my work soon because its getting better than ever. Maybe I'll do the YouTube thing too. I have to shower and such.
So plenty of happenings and whatnot have transpired in the past while and its high time for an oldschool nonstop update in Nonstop Surround Psyche Stereo (where available) to have both sides of my brain wailing at y'all.
Lately I've been hanging out moreso with a 'none of the above' crowd on the scantron of my generally predictable life. Oh wait, I forgot, my life is no longer governed by mere shaded squares and lasers. A crafty saboteur stuck a crystal under the head, the beam refracted into a million directions and my linear machinemind explodes. Occasionally.
But that doesn't mean I don't enjoy the same old shit. Like toking between in my favorite chlorophyll array (aka six trees near my house), feeding my mind the aura of doubleplus-whoa-spaceout-floating-with-spherical-walls (aka listening to the song 'Weird Dead Keks' by Global Goon) and then chasing it with some electronic didactic and liquid frantic (aka sipping coffee at Bridgehead and having old internet teach me what I Need To Know).
My semester is flying by at a sickening speed. But not sickening like waking up on Sunday morning and feeling like an alcohol-based toxic waste dump that also happens to be somewhat sentient and capable of movement. More like I'm stuck on some mad sled rolling down a hill over ice at the rate of Entirely Too Fast, I hit a jump and I can feel possible impending doom as the g-forces of the event make your internals shift into uncomfortable situations.
There's another week ahead of me. So I'll just stand still. Focus hard at the end of the week, the objective, the payoff and the floor will just roll under me. Forever pulling me forward. Hopefully it'll pull me in a new job because the bakery laid me off...
So what's up now?? Been trying to run all my energy through and immense series of lenses into a tightly focused beam cutting through obstacles like Godzilla eye-lasers.
All this work ahead is just looming larger everyday. It's a good thing I've been liking school so far. I had a studio production called "Learn This" to shoot on Tuesday morning and it went pretty well. I was VTR operator this time. There wasn't a lot of tape involved in the show though; all of the field segments and element graphics came out of a Mac running Final Cut Pro.
The show itself wasn't that great -- the demo with the guest from Culinary Arts was some second year guy who was really awkward showing off all of the knives he had. Found him kind of creepy, but no matter. There weren't a lot of technical, editorial or aesthetic errors in that hard dragging 18 minutes of the show production. I designed all of the graphics on the show and it went over pretty well.
Overall, in spite of the stress and frequent sleep deprivation, this is the best I've felt about life in general for quite a while. Very motivated, putting in a lot of time behind the computers at school always exploring and learning new things.
It's not exactly enlightenment because it's all technical stuff, but it's expanding my mind and has kind of rebalanced me, even though I'm always seeming to be on the razor's edge and can't often sleep for intervals in excess of 6 hours. But it's fantastic, this world of motion graphics, lunchtime tequila and debaucherous parties with innocuous names.
Last little while's been somewhat up and on and all that. I've been getting a bit more work at the bakery. Sometimes I have nights of rocky rum and spacy mellow mornings. Money hasn't been flowing too strong, hence the sparse summering.
Sparse summering is a leading cause of bad daytime TV and aimless wandering. Disconnection from full-time preoccupations can lead to infinite loop boredom.
But anyway, school's back in a mere 8 days and I'm straightup psyched. So much action and possibility. Just what I need after a quiet and overall disappointing, but still acceptable summer. This final school should be great, I'll probably have more to write when it's all up next week.
I hope next week is at least half as random as last year's First Day of School. Twice as much partying would be nice too, though. Crews are shifting, occasions will come, ideas and energy shall return.
So once more I'm left behind for the summer. No big trip to someplace for me, for I haven't the time or money (though a trip to T-dot isn't out of the question yet). Most people are out and about someplace to festivals or vacations or whatever and I'm here. Usually, this would a disaster of boredom only compensated for by the opportunity to house-sit for Phil or somesuch. This time in lieu of housesitting, I have a dual-headed setup for my PowerBook, so I can work things proper and productive.
I finally moved to the third floor of my parent's house. I have a lot more space now, enough to spare for my aforementioned computer setup. It makes me a lot more motivated, having this little alcove on the third floor, with an escape ladder of haphazard shortness. The walls in the loft aren't really walls yet, just insulation covered in plastic.
By now, I'm really just waiting for school to start (or life to get more interesting, either-or), but I've been managing to keep this abhorrently dull part of the year nonshitty by trying to keep busy in my own hermit-like ways. I dusted off Flash for the first time in like forevs and I hope to be rockin some mad 2D animation skills in time for school, all raining down with dropping of the keyframes and shit. Shout out to Mr. Drake for teaching me that program in grade 10. [Something actually positive from high school days, +15 points!!]
I also made some Tofu Chocolate UltraPie (thanks for the recipe, _tarantulove_) last night, which was awesome even though I made the graham cracker base at the bottom too thin. But still, this proves that tofu can do anything. Maybe it could even bring substance to this run-of-the-routine, catching update...
Oh yeah, the substance, an obvious epiphany: computers and pie keep me in spirits high. No crackhead bike thief, high school era has-been or sketchy stuck-up coworker can stop me now!
Everybody's got to watch Jesus Christ, Vampire Hunter. Like times-10-bananas-guy if you're from Ottawa. More about cameras and happenings later...
Another night after fizzled out, laying down. I don't suppose much has been up besides trying not to shut down, burn out, so forth, so forth. I try to teach myself things about software and all, but not much has been learned. Am I not disciplined enough? Do my friends distract me too much? Do I really need the structure to learn? Probably yes to all three. Very yes? Perhaps.
Things aren't so bad I guess, just have to try to break out of the old. Like my middle finger could crumble stone. How's about a loaf of that shit straightup? In case of allergies, I could substitute it for rancid spelt loaf. That's burnt-out resilience and I won't quit the swagger.
Now where was I? I gotta take this summer, make it mine refined really fucking soon. Or just get another job...
Or just sleep right now...
So another Canada Day came and went. Met a whole lot of people, most of them out-of-towners. Saw almost as many cops as I did at the Bush protest, but no matter. They only busted ubersketchy bullshit going on about, buzzing about on past us at safe distance. Catching some beats and some beer, etc, etc.
Catching messages from the apartment block base. Stop. Bump into random people, not the cops. Coincidence makes me want to give the world props. Or just some similar bullshit with an out-of-towner who's mind may or may not be blown by combination of crowd volume, general psychedness and probably drugs/alcohol.
As in past years, I drifted about the downtown, meeting up and sometimes splitting up with friends. By the end of the fireworks, I didn't know what to do. So I went to Club SAW for their relatively low-key party (the fact it was outdoors on a rainy night post-fireworks didn't help it's case). Drank apricot beer and watched a couple of these guys in drag rapping in French under a tent with a shitty keyboard and usually one other instrument (guitars, drums, etc). This went on until the rain drove everyone inside to the Museum of Bad Art exhibit and pretty small dancefloor.
Not much happened from there and times have since swept me to a busy dishwashing shift at Juniper to a smoggy static lethargy holiday.
All day long, upbeat. Been chilling at the Ravenswing zine fair downtown and picked up a shitload of zines and buttons all are some manner of eyepopping/eyelocking materials.
This zine fair was like 8 times better than the one I went to before (even though I missed the cooking with ganja demonstration. There was just so much more interesting stuff about, more people down there (such as, but not limited to, the likes of Sam and Amelia and Lubke, some random girl that I remember from semester one was there too). Anyway, in general, it was good times and just what I needed.
Aw hell, this whole time of year is what we all need and I haven't a choice but to view the world fluorescent rose goggles (I wish I owned a pair for real). Weather's gourgeous, the World Cup is on (I'm rooting for Brazil), Canada Day is a mere one week away and I got money in the bank to support my partying endeavours. Warm regards upon this electronic postcard.
An anxious handraiser was in the crowd.
"Question: what do we all need to be content and expanding outward?"
The speaker thought to himself. The gears of his mind clicked about for awhile, as if it were an abacus. Coming nowhere close to burning out and overheating the gears, he composed eloquently, "Stimulating surroundings. We atrophy in our shells if we lack appropriate ambience. To be happy, we must learn to electrify our environs."
The handraiser initiates conversational interchange to stop the soapboxing, "Easier said than done, general dour skepticism. Elaborate on your whatever-step plan to slap out static."
The speaker was taken aback somewhat, but did convey calmly, "Isn't it enough what you see everywhere? The glorious day off's shining sight, the painless, chem-free mind expansion?"
The handraiser was despondant still, "That doesn't satisfy for don't got no way to rectify." He wallowed and walked off. All was well afterward, until the handraiser became a supervillain that attempted to erase reality. From that time on, the world asked him questions from afar.
The last entry probably should've been about WestFest, or something of the like, but I never got around to it. Instead, I shall write of a week being a tall order of disaster catering to people I care about. I won't go into details, since anyone that should know what's up already knows what is what.
On Saturday, I went to a party at Phil's, feeling dreary, probably feebly pulling down the mood of the party. Not that anyone would notice, though -- most were on enough drugs. And so another seemingly prescripted party went down around me. Parties at Phil's are predictable, as if they're a factory-made product. I don't even know why I stayed around for as long as I did; an early next morning forbade me from partaking in the same substances as the others. And, it would seem, 80% of the enjoyment is derived from the drugs.
With a small tolerance for deviation, my thoughts/words/actions are standardized. Or so I fear. So I throw myself behind books, wait for trouble/tiredness to pass.
So I been working, getting off my ass, sun greeting me to the new day. Then almost immediately throwing me into sweltering hot kitchens. I put out a kitchen fire the other day that broke out whilst making lemon curd [kitchen antipyro tip: Salt is a great substance for smothering fires fuelled by mostly butter and sugar]. That was one of the main highlights of my week thus far. Let's top it with a good movie or somesuch, yes/not yet??
Dealt with a bit of drama so far at the good old Harvest Loaf. People keep expecting me to know how to make certain things and then the two or three people who know how to make the item in question will just bounce to buy food in Chinatown or something. Eventually, though, I do learn how to make fooditem_x in spite of the disorganization (very few recipes are actually written down).
Anyway, the whole bicycle debacle actually turned out to be like 1/20th of what it was originally diagnosed to be. It turned out it was just a broken cable on the shifter-assembly-thingy. Initially, I had threatened to demand a refund if it turned out to be as bad as the original diagnosis had assessed it to be (i.e. send back the shifter and be out of transportation for 2-3 weeks). But my bike was good to go again in 15 minutes.
Maybe I was kind of a dick for getting angry that, but it took three visits to the shop over almost a week to get their mechanics to fix what was, in actuality, a very simple problem and their service is supposed to hold some kind of renown. Not to mention the fact that after sales tax, the bike was almost $400.
But enough dwelling on that, I'm chilling and rolling once more. Anyway, I should go now, leave Bridgehead, deal with some errands and try to get meself Final Cut Pro.
The birthday post (3/4 days late)
This was a great time. People showed up, I drank some rum, some crazy shit happened. My name in flames, loud-drunk ritalin fuelled conversations out front of Wink's at 4am. At earlier stages of the party, pictures were taken, but I haven't got them from Phil yet...
and now an excerpt of drunken ramblings from 5am:
Drag the odo, go far
Spread that vibe
Prepare to snap to jive
Or what or what?
Cancel and step back
Don't cut grass
Just sip your flask
Summer's been up and about for a long while
But I can't come up blank on the formula
I'm livin for real now, no more curricula
Give me variables, decisions in hi-fi
Dodge duck fast, work some style
Haha. I'm just fuckin with ya. There's nothing to be learned here.