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Waxing Poetic
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2005
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2004
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Res Ipsa Loquitur
A Life Misanthrophilic
Curriculum Vitae
Greyhound
Photobooth Resolution
Saga Dialect
Tea Set

Mes Amis
A for Adventure
Adralien
Constantinople
Unisexpocky

I like work: it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours.
- Jerome K. Jerome

The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter.
- Winston Churchill

May 24, 2005

Yet another birthday weekend of mayhem and madness draws to a close. If there's one thing guaranteed to make me feel older every year, it's got to be having a birthday that falls on a public holiday, providing me with a long weekend to get into all manner of ill-advised shenanigans. I don't think there is any need to get into all the gory details, though I freely confess that kicking off the four-day extravaganza at a whiskey house was probably not the healthiest choice I've made.
Picture this: your friend and humble narrator unable to stand without swaying significantly, at once professing his love for his fellow man and in the same breath insisting upon his ability to walk home. Oh, yes. I'm one of those "I love you, man... no, I'm not getting in the fucking taxi. It's awesome that you're so concerned, but I'll be fine..." type of drunks. Rumour has it, too, that were I any smoother with the ladies when inebriated, I'd be a laxative. Jeremy Giles: all class, all the time.

I suppose the question at hand is now that I've got three decades under my belt, how do I feel? Well, le plus ça change, n'est pas? I gave up on expectations a long time ago; the perception I had at the start of my last decade of where my life 'should' be simply isn't valid anymore. It's kind of funny to think my life didn't turn out as expected because it was my life that got in the way. Had you told me at twenty years of age that I was going to spend three years hanging out in rural Japan, I would've laughed in your face. I was going to be a Genetic Engineer, goddamnit, with an exciting career and loving family to boot by the time thirty rolled around.
Come to think of it, I probably would have found the thought of my speaking Japanese then as laughable as I find the thought of my being a geneticist today. It has always struck me as absurd that people should devote so much time and energy focussing on things that were or that might be; far better to take stock of the moment and appreciate the intrinsic value of now - because that is all one can ever truly know. And try to laugh about it if you can.

The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.
- E. E. Cummings

It ain't a day if I ain't guffawed, if you'll forgive the vulgar vernacular. Perhaps my favourite quote I've come across; and undeniably my watchwords for the better part of the last ten years. Seems strange to me that so many people have forgotten such a simple thing. Then again, a lot of things seem strange to me. For instance, what is up with whistling to call a cab? They're not dogs - and chances are the windows are rolled up, so the driver can't hear you anyway. I laugh every time I see some joker standing on a corner, two fingers in his mouth as the taxi drives right on by; although it is fair to say that I am afflicted with a slight case of schadenfreude.
So this evening, I'm kicking off my fourth decade with laughter in my heart and a glass of Glenlivet in my hand - I don't have a care in the world. I might not have the success I dreamed of in my youth, but I wouldn't trade a day of my life for all the success in the world. That's how it feels to be thirty.

May 19, 2005

"... for the truth is that you can have a well-governed society only if you can discover for your future rulers a better way of life than being rich in office; then only will power be in the hands of men who are rich, not in gold, but in the wealth that brings happiness, a good and wise life. All goes wrong when, starved for lack of anything good in their own lives, men turn to public affairs hoping to snatch from thence the happiness they hunger for. They set about fighting for power, and this internecine conflict ruins them and their country. The life of true philosophy is the only one that looks down upon the offices of state; and access to power must be confined to men who are not in love with it; otherwise rivals will start fighting. So whom else can you compel to undertake the guardianship of the commonwealth, if not those who, besides understanding best the principles of government, enjoy a nobler life than the politician's and look for rewards of a different kind?
There is indeed no other choice."

- Plato, The Republic of Plato

May 18, 2005

So they didn't even ask for ID at the voting station. Funnily enough, I arrived home to find this in my mailbox. How droll.
Less amusing is that our jackass premier got reelected. I can't wait to see what harebrained schemes his next term will bring. Thankfully, the opposition party now enjoys a more significant number of seats and will hopefully stifle some of the jackass' more draconian policies - although it must be said that the opposition also has a fairly high Nimrod Factor. I hate the fact that elections have become a process of electing the least of all evils as opposed to voting for a candidate that you actually support.
Let me just preempt any "sour grapes" emails by stating that most people I've spoken to about the elections feel fretty much the same way. Here in the land of the fringe party, there simply isn't anyone that Joe Average feels good in voting for. Note that the links are to some of the more well-known parties in BC - there are some real wingnuts in the 45 parties registered with BC Elections... but I'll refrain from directing anyone their way. Just take my word for it: they're bonkers.
Truth be told, I agree with Winston (above) completely. Not that I have a viable alternative to offer, it just seems to me that the democratic process tends to lead to kakistocracy.

I neglected to mention it yesterday, but I registered with a temp agency on Monday. The woman I spoke with told me that companies tend to shy away from hiring for a couple of weeks before and after an election, so I might not hear from them for a little while. I got a call from the agency this morning asking me if I was interested in a one-month administrative position out in Port Coquitlam (about a 45-minute drive from here) starting next Tuesday.
Perhaps the company doing the hiring is adamantly apolitical.

May 17, 2005

Election Day. Just heard on the radio that in order to register to vote, you are required to bring two pieces of ID that show your name, signature and address. It might be that I haven't had enough coffee yet, but the only ID I can think of that meets these criteria is my driver's license. I guess a passport would work, had you taken the time to fill in the address section in the back. Lucky for me that I currently have neither my passport nor my driver's license. I had to renew my license this month, but the woman behind the counter neglected to include my apartment number when typing in the address - I found this out after spending an hour on the phone to ICBC a week after my new license was supposed to arrive - and so got sent back to Victoria. If I'm lucky, it should get here sometime this week.
My passport is sitting on a piano in Nanaimo. Joyride (a.k.a. 'Show Goat') was out for Udderbowl, our second tournament of the season. I unfortunately had to miss Saturday's games, as I was writing the Foreign Service exams (which were easy). Not having my DL for ID, I had to bring my passport in order to register for the exams; as I left the exam centre directly for Nanaimo, my passport traveled with me. And then got left behind in the early Sunday morning post-party confusion. It should be back in my hands by Saturday - which is just a tad too late for the election.
Not sure exactly how this is going to pan out, but we'll see what happens. I wonder if insurance papers qualify as ID? Hmm.

I love Lego. Even when it's CG Lego.

May 10, 2005

I love Edith Piaf.
I have yet to encounter another voice so consistently able to reach me on such a visceral level - particularly on lonely (and far too common) summer nights like this one. Listening to the scratchy recording for the some-hundredth time, I am still just as moved as I was upon hearing it the first time. That's saying something.
I don't know if it is simply beacuse it appeals to my affinity for the aesthetics of the 30s and 40s, or perhaps my inherently romantic nature, but as far as I'm concerned, there's nothing better. Yes, I am aware that she didn't achieve fame in the English-speaking world until the mid-fifties, but you put on one of her songs and tell me which decade you find it reminiscent of.

Yeah, I'm drinking rum - and I'm much closer to the bottom of the bottle than I intended to be. It's been a day: 'round about six this afternoon I realized I hadn't had a face-to-face interaction all day. I pondered this as I whipped up a quick dinner and then jumped on the horn to see if I might while away a few hours this evening with a young lady who has piqued my interest recently. Alas and alack, she said she'd rather go grocery shopping this fine eve - the rum came into the picture soon after hanging up the phone.
It's been something of a glum week thus far; I've been fairly morose and am currently having one of those "what in the samhell is going on in my life" kind of nights. Not that I'm going to get into it here.

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien, qu'on m'a fait
Ni le mal, tout ça m'est bien égal
Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
C'est payé, balayé, oublié,
Je me fous du passé

Avec mes souvenirs,
J'ai allumé le feu
Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs
Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux
Balayés les amours
Avec leurs trémolos
Balayés pour toujours
Je repars à zéro

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien, qu'on m'a fait
Ni le mal, tout ça m'est bien égal
Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Car ma vie,
Car mes joies
Aujourd'hui,
Ça commence avec toi

- Edith Piaf, Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

May 9, 2005

The question of whether one should edit creative works has taken on a new dimension. I've had one of my poems accepted for publication down south (details to follow just as soon as I get them) but the editor would like to revise the ending. One word, specifically. I'm not sure how I feel about this - were it an article or a story, then I would have no qualms about it whatsoever; editing a poem is an entirely different matter. I put a lot of thought into every word choice when writing poetry - it's not like I'm just picking words out of the air haphazardly - and the idea of having a complete stranger alter one of them galls me a little.
The poem in question is The Occasional Beetle, and the editor would like to change the last word of the poem. To what, I remain unclear. I've been racking my brain all day, but have been unable to come up with a viable alternative. Words like "clarity" or "stillness" sound far too New-Agey for my tastes and I feel that it changes the feeling of the whole thing. I wonder if the editor thinks that the gift of silence is a bad thing, somehow. Any suggestions?

Ucluelet was fun. Picked up a photobooth on the way home Sunday night. Two guest appearances in a row - I'm on a roll!

May 6, 2005

What the heck has happened to my week? I swear it was only yesterday I was celebrating Cinco de Mayo with my sister... oh, wait. That's not all that funny. Anyway.
Heading out to Ucluelet for a friend's 29th birthday - a weekend of hiking, beaches and celebration seems like a capitol idea to me. I think it might even be whalespotting season; though I forget if the pods are migrating north or south at the moment. Not that it really matters, I suppose.

Sent a story down to City¦Space, a publication down in San Francisco. I'm still not completely happy with it, though. I feel that it's lacking punch, somehow. However, deadlines being deadlines, I didn't really have any more time to re-edit it. Here's hoping that the subject matter will at least catch the editor's attention - it sure caught mine.
Apart from this, I've been reworking the HTML for some of my poems and am curently considering a complete revision of the thought page. I've taken the time to go through quite a few of them and have realized that most of them are in need of some serious editing. I belonged to the anti-editing school of thought for a long time, believing that the act of editing a piece (poetry in particular) took away from the immediacy and feeling of the work. Now I realize that this really isn't the case - just because a poem holds meaning and significance for me doesn't necessarily mean that it makes a whit of sense to anyone else. There are a few poems that even I can't make heads or tails of anymore. Sure, there are some good lines, but that's about it. One good line does not a poem make.

May 2, 2005

Only slight modification to the layout this month - I'm still rather fond of the colour scheme and don't much feel like whipping up a whole new page this afternoon. Call it what you will: laziness, lethargy, or simply lacklustre; I don't mind. The rains have returned (right in time for the start of the summer season, I notice), I didn't get the callback for the job interview I screwed up (which is hardly surprising), rent is due and I'm going to tighten my belt for the next couple of weeks it seems. Harrumph.

Went down to Burlington, WA for a one-day tournament on Saturday; probably the most grueling tourney of the season. You're only allowed to bring one substitute player for each gender and are scheduled to play nine games to nine points in about nine hours. For those of you not familiar with the sport, this combination equals work. A lot of it. If you think about it solely in terms of duration, it's longer than a marathon... and you're sprinting pretty much the whole time.
Funny thing is, with careful hydration and constant munching on energy foods throughout the day, it is possible to complete the tournament and only feel exhausted at the end of it. I say "only feel exhausted" because a lot of people end up feeling a lot of pain instead - myself included this year.
It was about three-quarters of the way through Game 7 of the day when my left hamstring started to cramp up. I fell over (obviously) and managed to make my way over to the nearest sideline where I tried to stretch it out. Bad idea. The cramp migrated to my left quadricep, which siezed up so tightly that it looked and felt just like my fist. The pain was ridiculous, but with a little Tiger Balm, Gatorade and twenty minutes of focussed breathing it eventually relaxed.
I stood up and immediately fell down again, this time with severe cramps in my left calf muscle. More Balm, Ade and breathing and it too eased up in about fifteen minutes. My teammates (by this point finished with the game) had gathered round and we were all trying to make light of the situation - my system being flooded with endorphins probably helped, too - and I stood up a second time.
And fell down a third time. My right quadricep repeating the performance of the left, only with a little more feeling. It felt as if my patella were about to pop right out of place, there was so much pressure on it. My teammates loaded me up with Gatorade - I'm at about 3 litres by this point - and anything they could find that contained potassium in an effort to get my muscles to loosen up. Finally, mercifully, it too loosened up and I was able to hobble over to the nearest chair. I don't think I've ever experienced such pain for such a prolonged period of time; I have bruises on both quads, for Pete's sake.
Suffice to say, I was done playing for the day, but got to continue the self-abuse when I got home. I stopped at the corner store, bought three bags of ice, went home and filled up the tub. Nothing like an ice bath to finish the day, let me tell you. I almost died in there; and I doubt my testicles will ever forgive me. Still, that last little bit of torture enabled me to walk on Sunday, so I guess you could say it was worth it. The moral of the story is to make sure you are thoroughly hydrated before attempting insane feats of endurance... or don't attempt any insane feats of endurance at all. Take your pick.