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2 Weeks
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 587
And I mean, the longest 2 weeks in the world. I just realized it today - thinking - it was 2 weeks ago yesterday that I fled Nelson in a rumbledown jeep, blazing through floods and landslides on a wing and a prayer to...
Where?
Wherever.
And 2 weeks later here I am. Hope, the disasters, floods, meals at the church and matinees at the cinema. It seems like months, years ago even.
Followed by the trip to Vancouver, 3 days in the Hostel deciding, indecisive. And then - on the computer - looking for, finding a job - all - quite literally - in the same night.
My head spins. Work - a surreal fever dream, "The Cook, The Thief..." lived out in pantomime, imposter syndrome, wandering the Zombie land of East Hastings, Steve, the hostel, the memories crowd my head, make it seem like years have passed when really - it's only been a few short days.
Walking Vancouver, relearning it, I'm not sure I ever forgot, there are everywhere jogs for my memory, Seabus to North Vancouver today, thrifting - expensive, nothing I'm looking for, another white shirt for work, studying the menu...
Time passes.
The French Dispatch
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Film
- Hits: 765
Night off, take advantage of the big city to see a movie.
I liked this. Wes Anderson, he's a master of visual storytelling - embodying humor, irony, satire, nothing too "meaningful", but therein lies his charm.
The instantly recognizable visual styles, the amusing and irrelevant camera tricks, background "jokes", he is - after his own fashion - a genius.
A wonderful ensemble cast (the same players as always), 3 stories on diverse themes - love, art, crime, not every one as much to my taste, but all brilliant.
Worthwhile.
Bronze Axes & Albrecht Durer
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Found
- Hits: 938
Busy, busy, and no time really to get out and about on the world wide web. But a couple of interesting treasure finds I should share - not mine:
#1 - 13 Year Old Metal Detectorist finds Bronze Age Axe Hoard:
#2 - $30 drawing proves to be by Albrecht Durer and is worth millions:
Which gives one a taste, survive the winter, get a Jeep and lets get this ball rolling!!
1 Page Manifesto
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 674
Steve, Chapter book, serialized, out every day in Gastown trying to pitch his book, getting in with the university students, going for dinners, being feted.
He's doing well - but - not so much.
He's Anti-Vax, refuses, his intuition won't let him get it, can't get job as a result, and the stress is killing him.
He's not the only one. The Europeans, Travelers, they've all had the jab. The Canadians, not so much...
Steve's come up with a 1 page manifesto that he's selling for $1.00, flogging on the street, to drum up interest in future work.
He's committed to writing one a week. A full page. Different manifesto each week. He's spot-on with the price-point.
We chat, conversation, standard coffee shop brainstorming, no solutions, merely ideas, superficial, skirting the edge of more dangerous topics, don't discuss public health, common sense, modern medicine, science, everything else is fine. I've practiced for these conversations in the Kootenay's, I'm good to go...
Sometimes you just have to listen
***
This self-publishing, not the route I want to go, would require me to illustrate things in my distinctly bumblefuck inept style, but - seeing him do it, I realize it's an option I'd never seriously considered, it's an option on the table and I should work in that direction - just in case. The back-up plan.
***
Meanwhile, Hostel, people come and go. There seems to be a core of regulars - English Acid Dude, moving out - found a place in GasTown, sounds like a deal.
Steve, still here. "Krishna", still here, a few others.
The EuroTrash comes and goes, listen to the most grating accents, no conversations to be had there, don't even try and if they try do not - under any circumstances - reply.
Persian girl, been here a week, looking for a place to live, studying medicine, today's her meltdown. Sitting in the lounge, wrapping herself in her arms, foot shaking. Her boyfriend comes in looking for her - I point. She's in the throes of a full-on panic attack.
***
The restaurant - first "paid" shift last night - there's a formidable amount to know. Every style of wine - cabernet - pinot noir - chardonnay - cab-franc- shiraz - etc, etc - has it's own glass. And - to confound matters further - depending on the room you take your wine in, the glass will vary. Every dish has it's own separate mis-en-place.
Take in the atmosphere of the place. Almost all of the waiters effeminate to an extraordinary degree. I would say "All" - but - I have not yet met them all. They chat - conversations that I can only overhear - bow-ties, scarves, tight-fitting jeans, fitted shirts, brown dress shoes, I'm excluded as a result of my newness, more conservative dress, the cliques that have formed I can't be a part of, and even if I could why would I? Still, it's all - not merely new - it's surreal. This is it. Surreal.
I have perhaps a hundred bow ties. A dozen fitted shirts. Cuff-links, watches, all the accoutrements and accessories - all in lockers across the country. What did I bring with me? Nothing superfluous. A fitted white shirt with a collar that won't close. A pair of black trousers with a broken zipper. A wireless microphone and Bunsen-campfire fuel and bag full of balloons...
***
This morning, coffee, the same place in GasTown, the same as every morning, I can't shake the feeling that I'm a "Stranger in a Strange land" - I've had it for a while - not just me - but - just being here - weird - like "Imposter Syndrome" - not just the job, the being here, even in Nelson - my comfort was only ever skin deep, I'm missing something, can't put my finger on it...
The restaurant will close - Christmas to New Years. I've heard rumors, don't know the dates, but it somewhat throws a wrench in my plans. Do I find a place to live - before? Or after? If after I can abandon the Hostel for a bit, go to Edmonton for Xmas, visit family, friends, save money, or at least spend it with people I know -
***
Time passes.
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