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To you I'm an atheist; to God, I'm the Loyal Opposition.
- Woody Allen

If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.
- Dorothy Parker

When you see a good man, try to emulate his example, and when you see a bad man, search yourself for his faults.
- Confucius

April 19, 2005

9:59 AM: I've just listened to the announcement of the new Pope - Benedict XVI, a.k.a. Joseph Ratzinger. I am displeased, not least because he also carries the moniker "Dr. No" - and I sincerely doubt that is because he is a James Bond fanboy. He's rather conservative, and I reckon he is not only going to keep John Paul's legacy alive, he's going to take it to all sorts of new heights. Or lows, depending on your point of view.
However, Benedict XVI has also just turned 78 years old (Johnny boy was 20 years his junior when elected, in case you were wondering) - so it's likely to be a relatively short-term papacy. I'm already wondering whether or not this is a stalling tactic by the Catholic Church; although to what end I have no idea. It is odd that despite his being widely-considered the forerunner in the papal election and the most well-known of all the candidates it still only took two days to get him in the Vatican.
I'm going to take a shower and collect my thoughts, but I'll leave you with one more thing to contemplate - the new Pope was a Nazi. Discuss.

April 16, 2005

Phew. Helluva week. From bleak and uninspired Monday through flurries of application essays mid-week to over three thousand solder connections by Friday, it is now a sunny Saturday morning and I've finally got a few minutes to work on this thing. It's funny that a fella so long under-employed should suddenly find himself with a week of sheer chaos; and I've got to say it is a welcome change of pace. Let's just hope that this is me gathering speed for a good long run, and not just a brief burst of misguided acceleration before another extended period of self-defeating languor.
I should take a moment to describe a great shining moment of stupidity I experienced on Thursday. As many of you well know, I pride myself on being on top of any situation that arises - I reckon I'm one of the sharper knives in the drawer, if you know what I mean. Considering how much time I spend privately deriding the general populace for their inanities and addled existences, it was only a matter of time before I fell in with the unruly mob that is humanity.

I exaggerate, of course, but it's just for show. Really.

So I'm busily completing applications for the Foreign Services, and their website tells me I've got to complete a series of three tests before my application will be considered. Well, shit, I say to myself and click on the "SIGN UP" button - up pops the location, date and time for the tests. Double shit. They're tomorrow - and I'm supposed to head over to a friend's place for a short-term soldering gig. So I call him up and reschedule the whole affair and proceed to have a nice, restful evening at home in preparation for a day of tedious examination; prepared no doubt, by a bunch of bilgewater-drinking bureaucratic monkeys hidden away in the bowels of a bleak governmental monolith in Ottawa. But that's another story.
Thursday. Early. Too early, and I'm already out of bed, showered and halfway through the only cup of coffee I'm going to have for the day. I check the time, figure if I leave now I can pick up a cup of real coffee on my way to the hotel and walk down to the Skytrain station. I am just about to step on the train when I realize I've neglected to memorize and/or bring my Candidate Number with me. Damn. Thirty-one minutes later - fifteen to walk home, one to get inside and commit the number to memory and fifteen to get back to the station - I'm overheated, irritated and restraining myself from verbally abusing the jackanapes with his headphones around his neck, speakers facing up and outward blaring third-rate trance music throughout the confines of the cabin.
Mercifully, I've only got three stops to go and am soon back outside, enjoying the cool morning air. I figure there's no longer time to pick up a coffee and make a beeline for the hotel, arriving with a quarter of an hour to spare. There are signs all over the place for various conferences and events, but I can find nothing directing me to the Foreign Services test site. The only exam being held is the UBC Real Estate exams, which strikes me as a rather funny parallel.
So I walk over to Reception to inquire, where a young woman pores over the day's schedule and assures me that UBC is the only institution hosting an exam. I decide to double-check my information - yes, this is the Westin Bayshore, she tells me. No, there is only one Grand Ballroom, she says. She grants me access to the Business Centre so that I can log on to my application account and find out if the government has made a last minute change of venue; a possibility I find exceedingly unlikely, as federal departments are notoriously inflexible when it comes to that sort of thing.
I've got four minutes. The logon process is agonizingly slow, but I finally get to the Test Information screen and run through the info:

• Are there any links to updates that I might have missed? No.
• Am I in the right place? Yes.
• Am I on time? Yes.
• Is it the right day? Yes.
• Is it the right month? No.

The realization hits me and my head snaps back involuntarily. The tests are in May, not April. I missed this crucial piece of information not once (when first registering for the tests), not twice (when submitting the application), not thrice (when double-checking the location and start time before going to bed), but four times (when I returned home to collect my Candidate Number).
I'm going to have a hard time continuing to justify keeping "attention to detail" on my resume.

April 12, 2005

Man, has it been five days already? Obviously I'm experiencing a serious bout of time compression - because I could've sworn it has only been a day or two. I guess that's what happens when the entire weekend is spent under the influence. I wonder how I can afford to keep doing this sort of thing? Both physically and financially, of course.
Well, apart from riding a mechanical bull, I really can't say that I accomplished a whole lot since last Thursday. I hit the photobooth yesterday, and I think it pretty much captures my mood of late. I'm trying to figure out what it is about my psyche that causes me to spend so much time and effort on my little tangents, and so little on the important things. I mean, I know I'm addicted to distraction and have a proclivity to focus primarily on the present moment, but why is it so difficult to change this - particularly when I am aware of it?
But I don't want to get into that this morning. I've got a list of things to do today, and I'll be damned if I don't complete it. Besides, I have a hunch that regular bouts of intense introspection might just be part of the problem. I'm much happier when I am doing than I am when I am thinking, y'know?

And yes, I really did ride a mechanical bull this weekend. Pictures to follow.

Un peu plus tard
Let's talk about 'nice'. I get turned down a lot by women on account of my being a 'nice' guy. I've been hearing this load of horseshit for as long as I care to remember - and I don't accept it. If you think that being 'nice' means that I am weak or a pushover, then let me assure you: you are very much mistaken. That I try to be patient and understanding with everyone I meet and am prone to seek resolution of conflicts through conversation rather than exacerbate the situation through hateful comments or violence is something I consider to be a virtue rather than a flaw.
I get a lot of women telling me that they tend to hurt or take advantage of 'nice' guys, and that they wouldn't want to subject me to the same abuse. To which I say: "So don't." Why would you want to consciously damage someone you are seeing anyway? Doesn't that just make your own life miserable? I'm sure there are those out there who enjoy playing games and the associated power struggles, but I reckon those aren't the type of people I'm looking to have relationships with. And don't think that I am such a bonehead that I can't spot a User a mile off. Equally salient is the fact that I am quite capable of defending myself, thank you very much. That I don't play games is not to say I don't know how to end them - in fact, I'm rather good at it.
I'm not trying to convince anyone that they should change their mind about dating me. If you're not interested, just say so; but don't go telling me it's because I'm 'nice'. That goes over like a lead balloon with me.
And then of course there are those who tell me (after intervention by a mutual friend) that I looked 'angry' or 'scary' when they first saw me, and therefore didn't want to talk to me. Nine times out of ten when I ask for clarification on how I looked they'll say: "I don't know. Just not nice." I can't win.
I guess the moral of this little rant is that I don't understand women, and apparently they don't understand me either. I'm still not going to turn into an asshole though; I honestly don't know how, and don't particularly care to. So tell all your friends that there is at least one nice guy out there who ain't a chump.

More good news! I've received my first official rejection letter - I'm a bona fide writer!

April 7, 2005

Today has been one big "UGH" so far... and it's only 9:30. You know it's gonna be a rough one when the at the moment of waking, your mind greets you with a "Dude, you suck." Not really the best way to inspire me to get up and be productive. Well, April is the cruellest month, I hear.

*** TIME PASSES ***

Ten hours later. Not a very exciting day, but at least I've completed the first draft of a short story slated for submission to a mag down in San Francisco. I feel good about that, although the story still seems to be missing something. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I'll play with it for a couple of days. If I can't figure it out, I'll open it up to you lot for evisceration.
Apart from this, I've got a couple other magazines in mind, but can't decide whether to submit poetry or prose. It's a thoroughly captivating question, I know. The tension is truly palpable. Mark your calendars, kids.

Oh, yes. I picked up my cheque from the production office this afternoon. I wasn't nearly as pleased as I had anticipated I'd be. After working a whopping 54 hours last week, I came out a whole $156 dollars richer than if I hadn't worked at all. I am aware that it is a gain and that I should be pleased to be making advances (my phonebill will finally be paid... and I'll be breaking even), but I am forced to wonder what exactly my incentive is to work? I mean, I could've spent the whole last week doing nothing at all and not be significantly worse off than I am today.
I suppose this is an unhealthy attitude to have, but seriously: does that strike you as being a worthwhile endeavour? To add insult to injury, due to my EI cheque being reduced (on account of my having had an income last week), I had to pull more money off my line of credit in order to make rent. I am losing patience with this whole affair - and I wonder if it might be time to pull up stakes and just get the hell out of here.

"If I cannot dictate the conditions of my labour, I shall henceforth cease to work."
- Frying Pan Jack

Well, perhaps not quite so extreme, but you get the picture. I was struck by the realization today that living in Vancouver has not produced any measurable amount of joy that I can think of. Yes, there have been good times and there are plenty of good things here, but overall I reckon my life has been a little less than fulfilling. Looking back through the archives, it's fairly obvious that I am unhappy, and I'll be damned if I can figure out why. So why not leave?

I'm gonna go see Sin City first, though.

April 5, 2005

Ah, the joy of submissions - the moment of release upon dropping the envelope into the mailbox (or simply clicking the 'send' button) - is unparalleled. Just knowing that you have managed to send something out into the world, for better or worse, is a sensation that is actually rather addictive, somehow. Of course, I write this before recieving the first of what I am told is to be a multitiude of rejection letters, but this does not detract from the elation I feel. I'm wondering just what it was that I was afraid of for so long - the process is so simple: write something, and then drop it into a mailbox, digital or otherwise. Easy.
The great thing about this whole affair is that if I am rejected, there are countless other publications out there that might not reject me. It's like standing in front of a video game with an endless supply of quarters - I can just keep playing. Heck, if I'm lucky, I might just get a free game out of it... if you are still following this flimsy metaphor.
Apart from this, the last few days have been fairly dreary. The rain has returned and shows no sign of abating until the weekend. Had I something to distract myself until the weekend (read: "a job"), I might be rather excited about this; as it were, the days have been blending together for the better part of a month now, so it really makes no difference to me. It's going to be grey and rainy, and I'm going to have to keep busy. Might be a good opportunity to take a selection from the multitude of poem fragments I have and work it into something presentable. Heck, I should take two.

Sakes' alive - I have a couple of Colt 45s and I'm dozing off at the keyboard. Funny how the dozies seem to come and go - one day I'll be babbling away drunk as a monkey, the next I'll barely be able to string together a dozen sentences. Must be the dearth of diesel fuel I'm maintaining in the apartment.

April 3, 2005

Oh, yeah. I went to the photobooth. Last week. Whoops.

April 2, 2005

Engaged in a routine surfing session, I discovered that the Pope has been "called back home" as of this morning. Reading through various related news articles, I noticed that the word catholic was at times capitalized, at times not. This struck me as somewhat odd; subsequently resulting in yet another dictionary session. Witness the following:

catholic adj. [Middle French & Late Latin; Middle French catholique, from Late Latin catholicus, from Greek katholikos universal, general, from katholou in general, from kata by + holos whole]

1. COMPREHENSIVE, UNIVERSAL: esp.: broad in sympathies, tastes, or interests
2. capitalized a: of, or relating to, or forming the church universal
   b: of, relating to, or forming the ancient undivided Christian church or a church claiming historical continuity from it; specifically: Roman Catholic

According to this definition, it would therefore be perfectly acceptable to make statements such as: "the latest cinematic effort from catholically acclaimed director..." or "I have a catholic understanding of the workings of the internal combustion engine".
I'm not trying to be irreverent here, I just never considered the etymology of the word. It makes sense if you put it in historical context, though - the Christian Church takes hold in Europe and the Mediterranean; it is only a matter of course that it becomes known as "The Universal Church". This is complete supposition without a shred of supporting evidence, however. It's just the way I figure things.
Leaving all the language nonsense aside, I'm sure the next fortnight is going to be interesting. Filling Karol Wojtyla's (a.k.a. Pope John Paul II) shoes is no small task: widely considered to be one of the most 'activist' Popes in history, he is credited for playing a crucial role in the toppling of Communism, and promoting ecumenical dialogue between the Catholic, Jewish and Muslim faiths. Add to this that he was the first non-Italian Pope to be elected in some 450 years and that this is likely to become a trend; there are whisperings that we might see the first African Pope in the history of the Catholic Church; and let's not forget the little fact that this election will directly affect the lives of approximately one billion people.
Am I excited about all of this? Not really, but it is a relatively major occurence in my lifetime, so I kind of feel obliged to say something about it. Yeah, there were a great many things that Johnny and I disagreed upon (use of contraceptives, female clergy members, and homosexuality, to name but a few) - but I've got to respect any man who will forgive someone for putting a bullet in them. I'm also very interested in who will become the next religious leader of at least a seventh of the world's population. I almost wish I were a Cardinal so that I might have a say in the matter.

Otherwise, where the hell have I been this past week, you may be wondering? At work. Oh, yes - you read that correctly. I have been employed as a day-to-day production assistant on a low-budget independent film crew. The hours are long (one might say "punishing", as the average shift is 13.5 hours), the co-workers friendly and the locations amusing. I don't think I'd like to make a career out of it, but it's a welcome change of pace from the routine I've been living recently.
Basically, the job follows the same 'troubleshooter' vein I've been favouring of late - yet again, I have managed to land a position with little to no job description. I lug things from one place to another, run errands, change trashbags, chat with civilian passers-by, lock down locations, sit around, read books and flirt with cute Assistant Directors. I really can't complain; though I am hard-pressed to find the energy to do anything else, including work on my writing. This is the Down Side.
I doubt this marks the beginning of a career in the film industry for me: working 13 to 16-hour days just isn't conducive to maintaining a healthy lifestyle - not to mention keeping a place on my ultimate team (nationals in Winnipeg this year, whoo).
I can't really say that I've been wasting time, but I do feel a little bit lazy for not (a) pursuing my creative endeavours and (b) not applying to any jobs this week. Then again, I did work about 55 hours this week, so the adjective 'lazy' doesn't really apply... I'm just not doing the things I think I should be doing, is all. Par for the course, I suppose.