Pointless Title Page
Waxing Poetic
Back in the Day
"He didn't think of Heaven or Hell, because he'd never heard of them."
- Stuart McLean, The Vinyl Cafe - on seven-year-old Roger Woodward's thoughts before falling over Niagara Falls
June 27, 2005
I haven't been around, I know. What with all the packing and cleaning I've been doing in anticipation of the imminent relocation of my domicile, I've been somewhat lax in updating this fella. Sorry for that.
There's more. A good friend of mine killed himself last Thursday and I've been trying to come to terms with that. I don't think I'm ready to get into it right here and now, but know that I'm going to be alright - just not at the keyboard for a little while, ok?
I also have to get the whole phone / DSL thing dis/reconnected, which means I'm going to be offline until probably the 5th or the 6th of July. So don't wait up, I'll see you in the morning.
June 21, 2005I have achieved a delicate balance between fatigue and inebriation this warm midsummer eve. At this moment, the air is reminiscent of a balmy autumn night in Kyushu - thick with the scent of rain and so heavy it is nearly perceptible to the touch. The city outside is hushed in anticipation of a coming deluge; one can sense the weight of thousands of eyes upon the layered skies. Barefoot and my cargos rolled up to the knee, I sit here in my slowly imploding home - I've spent the day collapsing my life into neat little packages for transportation to fresh ground - sipping sake and surveying the pressing clouds.
One of the truest advantages to packing well in advance of a move is that you have the time to sit and wax nostalgic upon uncovering an old photograph or dusty journal. It's nice to be able to take stock of your life as you simultaneously catalogue your belongings. I spent over an hour this afternoon reading through the box of farewell letters I received from my students upon my departure from Japan. Another fourty-five minutes was spent with a notebook dating back to 1993. I'm so thankful that I developed the tendency to sit and take pause of my surroundings before putting pen to paper - or finger to keyboard, as the case may be. So many things to be reminded of; so many faces swept away in the wake of years wandering the globe - had I not written it down, how could I have remembered it all?
Not being able to remember a moment strikes me as identical to the event never having happened at all - that period of a person's life has fundamentally vanished; should that be considered a waste? Any ramifications or consequences suspended, it could quite easily be argued that this is the case.
However. I am reluctant to wax philosophical, on account of the aforementioned fatigue quite probably sapping my ability to follow the thought through to its conclusion - but if you should happen to call, I'd be more than happy to discuss.
So let's leave logic by the wayside for a while. I am calm and at ease, and can find no fuel to kick my brain into overdrive - tonight I am content to just coast and let the night roll over me. If I were sober, I'd be driving. It's that kind of night.
Instead, we get the keystroke tarantella - which is also ever an exciting unknown. And on a night like this, I know the restless Muses are watching, coyly fanning themselves in the sultry candlelight, eager to whisper their sweet narcotic into receptive ears; tinctured words draped in lavender-scented breath that rolls slowly over the shoulder and into the face, words as anaesthetising as they are exhilarating.
Well, that might be a little over the top, but you catch my drift. I'll save most of the flowery filibustering for later - though I'm sure you are all well aware of my love for slipping twenty-dollar words into two-bit sentences. I just can't help it.
Here's an aside - as I was returning from the grocery store this afternoon, I spotted a box of books sitting in the lobby of my apartment. They pop up from time to time, and are usually just assorted bits of junk and other ephemera that people attach value to and can't bring themselves to chuck in the trash. Today, however, I found (of course I look, what did you expect?) a 4½-inch thick Japanese-English-Chinese Dictionary of Electronic Technology. I was so excited that I just had to take it. I think this sort of thing might be the reason that I have already packed over a dozen boxes and my place still looks pretty much the same as when I started.
Regardless, it's a sweet addition to my collection and sure to come in handy once I start studying Chinese for really-real. This is scheduled to happen right after I pick up Latin, but these plans are mutable.
The only reason I mention this is simply because I find it funny that despite my being in the midst of sorting through, purging and packaging the inventory of my life, I continue to bring new items home. I've said it before; I'm a packrat. That's why I've got boxes of journals, photos and correspondence to go through every time I move. Hell, I've still got the boxes I used when I moved back from Japan - that's the kind of thing we're talking about here.
A thoroughly satisfying tournament in Penticton this weekend. Despite being a team composed of assorted pick-ups with a core (well, 'kernel' might be a more accurate term) of Constantinople players, we managed to cruise our way into the finals with only a slight amount of difficulty. Sadly, I continue to bear an albatross about my neck, it seems - I have yet to don the laurels of victory at the end of a tournament. We did win a case of beer, though - which was kind of nice after a long day's play... and much better than a quasi-gilded tourney disc posing as a trophy.
Spent the better part of today chasing down leads on administrative positions throughout the city; upon editing my cover letter and resume for the umpteenth time and sending it off to the Brititsh Columbia Institute of Technology, I realized I had neglected to save the changes I had made and inadvertently sent them a copy of the cover letter I wrote for a position with the Certified General Accountant's Association of BC. I'm sure that's going to go over well with the HR department. I should contact them and let them know that I'm not trying to be a jackass, it just comes natural sometimes.
Still no changes on the employment front. I got a call from the folks at CGA-BC thanking me for my application and informing me they'd decided to go with someone cheaper and less qualified. I swear, sometimes it feels like I've landed right in the middle of a vocational No Man's Land - I'm far too qualified for most lower or entry-level positions, and too shy on experience for most managerial openings. The question is, how do I get out of this quagmire? Do I dumb-down my resume and hope the recruiter doesn't catch me out in the interview, or do I create some more specialized 'experience' and again hope I don't get busted?
This is all rhetorical diatribe, of course. A little hyperbole applied to personal experience is one thing, but putting falsehoods down on paper is an entirely different proposition. I kind of feel that failing to mention salient experience is more than a little white lie as well - it's the same subterfuge with a slightly different spin. I've got to figure something out soon, though. My safety net is fraying far faster than I had anticipated - or more simply, my savings and finances are running out way too damn fast for my liking.
Maybe it's time to turn to a life of crime. Seems to work for a large number of people.
This is just merciless. Now I'm jonesing for smokes in my dreams - the brief, intermittent ones I have between waking up all sweaty and twitching. And of course, cigarettes are everywhere: I kick over a rock, smokes. I open a drawer, smokes. I install a new stone fence at a Wendy's drive-thru (I don't know what it means, either), I get paid in smokes.
I am not, however, succumbing to the temptation even in my dreams, so I guess that's a good sign. I just hope folks can put up with my dour mood and taciturn manner for another few days - I've been as happy as a heart attack this week.
Anyway, I'm sure you're all tired of my broken record shtick by now, so I'm off for the weekend.
June 16, 2005Surprise, surprise, Jer is experiencing the joys of nicotine withdrawal yet again. This evening, I'm trying to quash the urges by conducting a little research into nicotine addiction and withdrawal symptoms (though it must also be said that I'm trying to keep myself from thinking about ein schones Mädchen, which is not helping with the whole 'not smoking' thing). Love the stat that states less than 3 percent of people quit by using willpower alone. Goddamn if I ain't gonna be one of those.
Get a load of the withdrawal symptoms I dug up:
- Irritability - check
- Anger - check
- Hostility - well, there's no one around, so no.
- Anxiety - not so much.
- Nervousness - nope
- Panic - maybe a little bit (every time the thought of never having a smoke again crosses my mind)
- Poor concentration - oh, yeah
- Disorientation - not at the moment, but earlier this evening, yup.
- Lightheadedness - uh, I'm drinking beer at the moment, so I'm not sure.
- Sleep disturbances - that's what caused this whole quitting thing.
- Constipation - nuh-uh (like you really care to know)
- Mouth ulcers - eew... nope.
- Dry mouth - why the hell do you think I'm drinking?
- Sore throat/gums - nope.
- Pain in limbs - yes, but only because I got kicked in the arm at practice tonight.
- Sweating - not so much
- Depression - yeah, but what else is new?
- Fatigue - feh.
- Fearfulness - nuh-uh
- Sense of loss - nope.
- Craving tobacco - good God, you have no idea.
- Hunger - always
- Coughing - not so much, but I know it's coming.
I always used to joke that smoking was like baseball: if you didn't start young, you'd never be any good at it. I guess I was a natural - I can't even begin to count the number of times I've talked myself out of quitting. The number of single-day (nay, several-hour) quitting attempts must number in the hundreds. Goddamn neural reward pathways.
I was trying to describe the feeling of quitting to a teammate earlier this evening, but couldn't really find the words. The list above provides some insight, but fails to highlight the fact that as a smoker, you know that all you have to do to make all these horrible things go away is have exactly what you're trying not to have. That's what makes it so goddamn hard - knowing that all of the suffering, all of the discomfort will be gone 10 to 15 seconds after taking that first drag. When you put it into perspective, it's obvious that nicotine is as addictive as heroin; how could it not be? At least you can't buy heroin at the corner store, or bum a hit off any stranger you pass in the street. Nicotine is much more nefarious in that respect - its omnipresence gives it that edge. June 15, 2005
Holy fuck, am I niccing out. I knew this was coming, but it still feels like I'm losing my mind. Adding to the aggravation is the fact that it is late enough that I can't call anyone to talk me down. I hate this part. I'm sure it's fairly common knowledge, but in case anyone out there is wondering, withdrawal is a bitch. Pure and simple.
I'm so twitchy right now I can't do this. Goddamnit.
Goddamn, do I hate jumping through hoops. I have just returned from a 3½ hour course in 'Safety Awareness'. The course is one of the requirements for admission into the Director's Guild of Canada and will ideally lead to my entry into the union and subsequent collection of overtime wages (as opposed to the flat rates I earn at the moment), with medical and dental benefits to boot. Yeah, it's not exactly my first career choice, but it's interesting enough and I get to perform a lot of hands-on work, which I've always enjoyed. Really, I'm just looking for an the most expedient method of eliminating any and all debt that I have accrued - and this seems the most viable option to date.
As much as it drives me bonkers, if taking a couple of mind-numbingly inane courses in workplace safety is all I have to do to get in, I think I can stomach it. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I could've walked in completely cold this evening, written the exam and still achieved a perfect score. Anyone possessed of a modicum of common sense could've done the same.
I tell you, there's nothing like a complete waste of time to make a man want a cigarette. Don't worry, it's not going to happen; I'm just at home, feeling ornery and rather twitchy at the moment. I'm sure I'll be fine.
Mediating my ire is the four-disc box set of Johnny Cash tunes I downloaded this morning - goddamn, do I love bittorrents. I'm currently listening to the Man in Black's rendition of Neil Young's "Pocahontas", mere minutes after listening to a cover of Lightnin' Hopkins' "Trouble In Mind", a song I think everybody should listen to at least once in their lifetime. I know it makes my life better.
Funnily enough, I've been singing Willie Nelson's "Midnight Rider" pretty much all day. I was stuck in traffic on my way to the waste-of-time course this evening and belting it out in accompaniment to Rock 101's bland blathering, much to the amusement of a car full of twenty-something-year-olds. I don't care - I love singing in my car and do so all the time. Whether it be along with whatever is on the radio or whatever pops into my head makes no difference to me (although I admit there are times I am forced to turn down the stereo on account of its being too distracting).
Just as an aside, is there anyone out there who can tell me why it is I unfortunately seem to be prone to bouts of incredible ineptitude when in close proximity to women I am attracted to? I surely could use some help - I can't help but think old Johnny Boy is addressing me in person.
I become such a maroon, it's not even funny. Seriously.
Have a couple of new photobooths up today - didn't get a chance to work on the page this weekend as I was preoccupied with a tournament up at UBC. It seems we are afflicted with the semi-finals curse: we play superbly all tournament, and then choke in the second-to-last round. It's happened to us several times now; I'm hoping we're just working the kinks out before Nationals this year.
There were some definite highlights to the tournament, however - taking down the number one seed and returning champions in out first game on Saturday was pretty sweet. Despite the miserable weather conditions (our other major stumbling block), we managed to come back from a 5-0 deficit and win the game 12-10. Suffice to say, the other team was noticeably displeased. Maybe now we'll garner a little more respect from other teams.
And yes, you're seeing the latest photobooth correctly - that's me breaking a smoke in half: visual metaphor of my decision to start reasserting my will over this infernal addiction to cancer sticks. I don't really want to get into all the whys and wherefores, but I will say that I was plagued by some particularly vivid nightmares last night, which are directly responsible for this decision. Don't ask me about them, because I won't tell you. Simply rejoice in the fact that from this day forth, I do not smoke - come Hell or high water.
In other news: I heard this on the CBC while stepping into the shower this morning:
"Families will bring the kids and the grandparents and make a week-long holiday of it. NASCAR really is a lifestyle in America."I'm afraid that I didn't catch the name of the individual making this statement, but I just had to get it out there. I mean, NASCAR as a way of life... Lawd ha'mercy. June 6, 2005
Where does the time go? How is it that all these days can just slip past without my even catching on? Every time I turn around another week has come and gone, it seems. I've got to be careful to not let too many more sneak by me, as I've only a few weeks of Employment Insurance left - I might just find myself up the proverbial creek before I know it.
I guess it's safe to say that I've adjusted to this lifestyle, as I am becoming increasingly busy despite not having any regular work - any shifts on movie sets that I pick up guarantee the write-off of at least a day, ultimate eats up three nights and one afternoon every week, and the remainder is divided between household chores, job-hunting, pining for girls and walking my sister's dog. I really don't know how and where I can fit a full-time job into my schedule.
I'm being facetious, of course. At the moment, I'd like nothing more than to toss my whole 'schedule' out the window, cross out 40 hours a week for gainful employment and then squeeze everything else into place. Hell, back in university, I was working fourty to fifty hours a week and attending full-time classes, yet still managed to find countless hours of merriment and debauchery. I sometimes wonder if three years of a lackadaisical schedule in Japan was seriously detrimental to my ability to prioritize and function efficiently.
Speaking of good ol' Nippon, a friend of mine has been accepted to the JET Programme and is set to spend the next year in rural Shikoku. I'm terribly jealous; I've been poking around online, looking at pictures of the town she's being sent to and reliving (vicariously, and to a minor extent) the giddy anticipation of adventures to come. More importantly, I'm going to be taking the vacancy in her apartment building - note that I am not taking her apartment, just the vacancy. Some jackass on the third floor decided that he wanted the corner suite, and the landlord agreed. Still, it's sure to be a welcome change of scenery. After spending three years in the same place, I'm looking forward to a little more sunlight in the mornings and a little less defrosting of my icebox.
Moving is going to be something of a pain in the ass, however. The first falls on a Friday, which is not only the worst day of the week to be moving but also coincidentally happens to be the day before Potlatch, a three-day tourney just outside of Seattle. Luckily, I'll be able to move a majority of my belongings into her suite a couple of days in advance - leaving only a few pieces of furniture to squeeze in before hopping in the van and driving for three hours in a mad rush to get to the fields in time to catch the opening night festivities.
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