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Starbucks - Jan 12
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1818
I've been meaning to escape the restaurant between shifts for a while.
Today I managed to do so. A quick jaunt to the Starbucks down the street, furtively swipe another fistful of gift cards, then a seat on a barstool at the window. The tables and chairs are all full.
I've a lot of notes to go through. Ideas are plentiful, time is short...
There's an idiot beside me on his cellphone, talking loudly as though he were in a nightclub, I'm unable to concentrate. He's talking about the courses he's taking in University, about the Jane Austin novel he's being forced to read, what he thinks of it (not much apparently, too much detail; did she really need to mention things like 'color'), about what he's doing after Starbucks and I want to smack him for being such a boor..... And at a table next to me, a table I can't sit at because it's occupied, a fat woman with a pram is dictating from her Acer PC in a monotone:
"Love is enduring...love is always there when you need it...true love is unfathomable but ...."
Her friend is writing all this down. And I think that maybe fat chick is dictating some sort of break up letter to her friend but at the end her friend says with astonishment "You wrote this?" and fat chick confesses "yeah, it's a poem I wrote when..." and I'm going nuts in this carnival of idiocy....
Eventually they all shut up and I have a moment to gather my thoughts. Briefly, because I want to get back to the restaurant, have my nap on the sofa in the basement, listen to the mice nibbling on the furniture, then back to work....
But the thoughts, they'll wait, have to wait, because it's late and I've 3 doubles left and am pining for a nap...
Day Off - Monday, January 11 - 10
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1693
Exactly that.
Up startlingly early, 6:00 AM. Surf internet. Attempt to nap as it seems, well...just wrong to be up this early on a day off.
Hit the thrift shops. No treasures today.
Home. Attempt to nap again; the vaguest outlines of a dream:
There's a glowstick on the counter with "Bioluminescence" written across it, I can see some spattered on the floor and carpet between the kitchen and the office. So I take it and break it and empty the contents into the compost, it will self-perpetuate I think to myself and sure enough the entire compost begins to shine with phosphorescence...
And there's a ring on the doorbell and I answer and it's a rainbow child selling gift vouchers and discount books...
I'm pretty grouchy, not exactly who I'd wanna be woken up by.
Hang about the house until 1:00, just in case. Eat some cherries, make a bowl of Vietnamese style soup with the dessicated vegetables in the fridge, rice stick noodles, veggie-beef bouillon, chili peppers, peanut butter. Trying to fill in the nutritional gaps left by my schedule.
I give up again, call my friend for coffee, he's not home, leave a message and head out to the Starbucks on 14 St.
But first I stop at Zowie's, lots of junk, no real treasures, nothing, at least, that I can't live without.
Now I'm not a Starbucks fan, they make great coffee and all but I consider them, consider any company that homogenizes the urban landscape as they have done, to be evil. Nonetheless I'm collecting Starbuck cards for an art project I'm working on, so with my "Grande" coffee I swipe a handful of the cards. "They're free" I tell myself, they have no value until they've been charged, and besides, once I finish my art project it'll make them famous....
I've already got it all worked out in my head, just need the right couple of nuts and bolts and I'll be off...
And I chill in Starbucks for a half an hour, reading Huxley, there's a dearth of interesting people, a doctor has his PC open across from me watching a how-to video on how to perform cosmetic facial surgery, there's close-ups and distressing shots of sawing beneath the flesh and skin...
At least I presume he's a Doctor, he could just be a sadist or serial killer reliving happier times.
But, when you think about it, serial killers and sadists generally aren't stupid enough or so shorn of social skills to watch videos like this in public places. Only Doctors.
Back home, another stab at a nap; again unsuccessful, the beginnings of a waiter's nightmare, then up to forage again for food - Subway, couldn't be bothered to cook TWICE in one day.
And now on the PC. So ends the second day off .... no grand trips to the theater (as Mondays are dark days - a bit of a waste, this, especially as the High Performance Rodeo is playing and there are a few that have piqued my interest...).. next week I tell myself.
You'll feel better in three days...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Conversations
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Every time I see him he's got a new remedy for me. Another secret natural cure kept from the world by "Big Pharma". There's the 100% natural vitamin C, made with rosehips. He gives me a jar "Take them. You'll feel better in three days...".
Or the Colloidal silver and gold. He's been taking it himself, swears by it, although he's started to turn a little blue and is beginning to resemble "Papa Smurf".
Safflower and Sunflower oils, equal parts or thereabouts, to balance your Omega three's and sixes; how many people could cure their cancer if only they knew?
Every time I see him there's a new placebo, panacea, nostrum, tincture or homeopathic remedy for me to try. The funny thing is, I've never told him I was sick. In fact, he's never seen me unwell; I haven't been sick for ages, which he naturally attributes to my following his advice.
"Take these." he says, and hands me a bottle. "You'll feel better in three days..."
Day Off - Sunday, January 10 - 10
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1706
It's almost done.
Set off for the flea market, equal parts bus and walking, remembered that I had forgotten my camera. I've been meaning to bring it with me, the HD movie feature probably will never be used but there are an infinite number of photographs to take, the broken ice and clear rivers within on the Bow, trees, a charming street evangelist who's doing a remarkable job of luring people into his shtick with posters and illustrations, querying his audience on their goals for the new year, I want to move in and listen but he catches my eye, thinks I'm interested, and so I move on.
The flea market, it's been a while, loads of treasures today, I find a vintage man's watch, probably 40's or 50's, plain, white face with silver markers, the makers mark faded away, "Automatic" has become "tomato", and the weathering makes it seem that it's the manufacturer and I think that it's probably Russian or German before I realize that it's simply worn. The Polish dealer wants $35, I bargain, get it for $30, he raises his hands as if he's being robbed but what can he do....He assures me it's working fine, Automatic, never have to wind, and I've heard that one so many times before that I disregard it, there's something about the case, the weight of it, the heavy crown, the fineness of it's simple design that evokes an old Rolex or Omega, and I'm curious about the lack of markings.
Nonetheless I set it and wind it, so far it's been keeping time, needs a new strap but overall not a bad deal. I'll be curious as to what the make is when I take it to the jeweler.
Other stalls, a old printers/silk screen box, with roller and screen, a ship's periscope, dated 1943, mint condition, he wants $85, I can't justify more than $50 although it would be perfect for the office, move on, more curiosities, finally an antique watchmakers box, 6 drawers, heavy wood case, I bargain, the dealer's inflexible, get it for $80.00. Which isn't a bad deal, isn't a bad deal at all. Now to get it home...
Fortunately I know the dealer, talk to him, he lives in my neighborhood, he'll drop it off.
Kill another half an hour, lured back again and again by the ship's periscope but I've already overextended myself; leave and make my way to the Higher Ground.
Another half hour passed, the clientele is boring today or I've chosen a bad corner to sit and eavesdrop from, think to call my friend but I can't, I'm too tired.
I walk briskly home, past a rather excellent busker on the bagpipes, sad, genius on almost any other instrument is so well regarded, but on the bagpipes ... he's got the whole "Newfie Chic" thing going on, dreadlocked hair and goatee, ragged and torn clothing and bag on the pipes, but there's something about them I find a call to arms...and I regret again having not brought my camera.
Then home, the part of the day I've been most looking forward to, the nap; 4 hours of interruptions; unable to sleep, close, closer, but never quite and I'm regretting the last few cups of coffee; a flicker of a dream; I'm across the road from the war in Afghanistan, to the north are high, snow capped mountains, peaks lost in the clouds, it's a spiritual landscape, I'm a reporter and the war, just across the road, is getting closer, random images intersperse themselves, dreaming but not quite asleep...
By 5:00 I've given up.
Dinner is a lump of pasta with sauce, I've overcooked it but eat because I'm hungry and profoundly lazy.
Then some abstracted procrastinations, dishes, laundry, make the bed so I don't have to wind myself in the sheets to keep warm, a trip to the store for some fags, I empty the watchmakers chest, it was last held by a mechanic and so is filled with odd nuts and bolts, some interesting tools, vintage razor blades, drill bits, glass cutters, a gold chain - ? - solid? heavy enough, no markings... mostly rubbish, some 30 pounds of it in all, sadly no watch bits.
And now I'm almost done. Catch up on my blog postings, watch a screener of "Men who Stare at Goats", so far only OK, a lousy cam version with people's silhouettes popping up every few minutes or so, but from what I've seen of the film it'll be just fine...then bed.
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