Forecast
This is what my weekend is going to sound like:
WHACK! WHACK! "It's not dying.... Run!"
Squish... slosh... "Ugh... my socks are wet and my shoe is stuck in the muck... Argh! Kern! Run!"
"What the hell is that?" *peering into the darkness* "Argh! Undead! Run!"
"Are you hurt? Let's sit over here and we'll see what we can do..."
"Who goes there?" *No answer* "Run!" *while running*: "Y'know... if the beasts on this world ever learn to answer "It's just us", we're going to be in alot of trouble."
"That's it... I'm going to bed." ZZZZZZZZZIIIIIIIPPPPPP "Whew... I love my tent. ZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzz"
Wednesday, June 11, 2003
Longing
I'm looking out the window of my office. I can see the Bell Centre, the IBM building, PVM, and Montreal Trust in the distance. The rain has driven the dirt streaks in angled directions on the windows. I can't tell if it's still raining, but a quick glance at the streets below tell me it's not. The haze in the air smacks of humidity though: there's more rain on the way.
I can't even being to imagine how much these buildings must've cost to put together. The rise from the ground, shiney monoliths, silent guardians, forming the downtown landscape and speaking of untold monetary potential. I can see the distorted reflection of my own building in a mosaic of windows and steel. Below, the parking lot is predominately filled with black cars.
I wonder at the money that most flow in and out of these businesses that produces these buildings, keeps them lit, supplies them with paper clips and coffee cups. I look at them and I see opportunity. I see opportunity for my company (Documentia Inc.) to work on something new, interesting, and challenging. And most of all: be handsomely paid for it. I see them as a stepping stone that could lead to my Dream Business of owning a documentation centre and publishing house. And maybe somewhere in all that, I could get myself a car again. Maybe buy a house. Maybe travel a bit more.
And then I shake my head and buy a lottery ticket.
I know I don't need materialistic things to make me happy. I know that having things doesn't lead to happiness and I can't take my toys with me when I move on to the great beyond. But I don't live in Amish country: I work in the city, I live in the city. I'm surrounded by expensive stuff all the time, surrounded by advertising that tells me that I'd be so much happier with a washboard stomach, tussled hair, and clothes that have an odd habit of flying off my body whenever a photo op turns up.
I can tune this crap out most days, and then other days I'm just filled with a longing for something I can't define. Sometimes I think that thing is stability, sometimes I think it's simplicity. Other times I think it's having a house like my parents have, or a car like my buddy has, or a life-partner like so many others have. I know all these things come with their own blessings and curses, but even thought it should be mowed once in awhile, the greenness of that grass can be difficult to ignore.
Then I smack myself upside the head, count my blessings, and admonish myself for idle soul prancing. My life's not so bad, really. I live in a nice part of NDG, my debts are low, my complications are mostly self-induced.
I think that it's the potential of what I could or should be doing that can sometimes be a tad overwhelming. Most of the time, it's enough to push me in the right direction. Sometimes, it stops me dead in my tracks.
Time to start walking again.
==============
I kid you not. Just as I'm about to hit Publish on this entry, the sun started poking through the clouds, lighting up the town, chasing away the rain. Were I religious man, I would ponder the theological meaning behind it all.
As a spiritual man, I'm content with just smiling.
I'm looking out the window of my office. I can see the Bell Centre, the IBM building, PVM, and Montreal Trust in the distance. The rain has driven the dirt streaks in angled directions on the windows. I can't tell if it's still raining, but a quick glance at the streets below tell me it's not. The haze in the air smacks of humidity though: there's more rain on the way.
I can't even being to imagine how much these buildings must've cost to put together. The rise from the ground, shiney monoliths, silent guardians, forming the downtown landscape and speaking of untold monetary potential. I can see the distorted reflection of my own building in a mosaic of windows and steel. Below, the parking lot is predominately filled with black cars.
I wonder at the money that most flow in and out of these businesses that produces these buildings, keeps them lit, supplies them with paper clips and coffee cups. I look at them and I see opportunity. I see opportunity for my company (Documentia Inc.) to work on something new, interesting, and challenging. And most of all: be handsomely paid for it. I see them as a stepping stone that could lead to my Dream Business of owning a documentation centre and publishing house. And maybe somewhere in all that, I could get myself a car again. Maybe buy a house. Maybe travel a bit more.
And then I shake my head and buy a lottery ticket.
I know I don't need materialistic things to make me happy. I know that having things doesn't lead to happiness and I can't take my toys with me when I move on to the great beyond. But I don't live in Amish country: I work in the city, I live in the city. I'm surrounded by expensive stuff all the time, surrounded by advertising that tells me that I'd be so much happier with a washboard stomach, tussled hair, and clothes that have an odd habit of flying off my body whenever a photo op turns up.
I can tune this crap out most days, and then other days I'm just filled with a longing for something I can't define. Sometimes I think that thing is stability, sometimes I think it's simplicity. Other times I think it's having a house like my parents have, or a car like my buddy has, or a life-partner like so many others have. I know all these things come with their own blessings and curses, but even thought it should be mowed once in awhile, the greenness of that grass can be difficult to ignore.
Then I smack myself upside the head, count my blessings, and admonish myself for idle soul prancing. My life's not so bad, really. I live in a nice part of NDG, my debts are low, my complications are mostly self-induced.
I think that it's the potential of what I could or should be doing that can sometimes be a tad overwhelming. Most of the time, it's enough to push me in the right direction. Sometimes, it stops me dead in my tracks.
Time to start walking again.
==============
I kid you not. Just as I'm about to hit Publish on this entry, the sun started poking through the clouds, lighting up the town, chasing away the rain. Were I religious man, I would ponder the theological meaning behind it all.
As a spiritual man, I'm content with just smiling.
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
Morning Temptation
Drew and I were walking down Ste. Catherine street this morning when I noticed a red Volkswagen cabriolet (with the top down) parked in front of a fruit shop. I caught my eye because of the For Sale sign (chant after me: Idon'tneedacar, Idon'tneedacar, Idon'tneedacar). As I leaned in to read the fine print on the sign, I noticed that the car was idling (and it wasn't the fine purr of a healthy engine, I noted).
"This car could be really cheap if I just drove away with it right now," I smirked.
"The guy could easily track you down," Drew pointed to the passenger seat. "He would just need to call you on his own cellphone."
Sure enough, the boy's cellphone and wallet were sitting in plain view on the passenger seat. In an open convertible. On Ste. Catherine street. Whatta maroon. I don't know about Montreal, but I know that it's illegal in Westmount to leave an opened convertible parked unattended on a public street (I know this from having to bail a friend out of this situation when he ran afoul of the Westmount police).
Y'see... it's times like these that I wish I kept my digicam on me at all times. I would've named this picture German design, human stupidity.
Drew and I were walking down Ste. Catherine street this morning when I noticed a red Volkswagen cabriolet (with the top down) parked in front of a fruit shop. I caught my eye because of the For Sale sign (chant after me: Idon'tneedacar, Idon'tneedacar, Idon'tneedacar). As I leaned in to read the fine print on the sign, I noticed that the car was idling (and it wasn't the fine purr of a healthy engine, I noted).
"This car could be really cheap if I just drove away with it right now," I smirked.
"The guy could easily track you down," Drew pointed to the passenger seat. "He would just need to call you on his own cellphone."
Sure enough, the boy's cellphone and wallet were sitting in plain view on the passenger seat. In an open convertible. On Ste. Catherine street. Whatta maroon. I don't know about Montreal, but I know that it's illegal in Westmount to leave an opened convertible parked unattended on a public street (I know this from having to bail a friend out of this situation when he ran afoul of the Westmount police).
Y'see... it's times like these that I wish I kept my digicam on me at all times. I would've named this picture German design, human stupidity.
Monday, June 09, 2003
An Unexpected Brush Against a Leg
I was out at MovenPick on Sunday night with Drew and the boy, Miss Piggy, her man (Kermit?), and their baby girl Maura, and Katarina ("I'm a Massage Therapist, dammit!"). MovenPick has good food, but it ain't given away by a long shot. I had one of those Asian Meal in a Soup doodads and a crepe and ice cream for dessert and it cost over $20. Yikes! It's been an expensive weekend foodwise.
As I was chatting with Miss Piggy, I felt an odd brush against my inner thigh. I had two thoughts at that exact moment:
1. That must be Newton (my cat) brushing up against me.
2. I'm not at home!
I yelped at that moment and looked down. Maura was crawling underneath the table, hunting a rogue balloon.
Inner monologues can be amusing.
I was out at MovenPick on Sunday night with Drew and the boy, Miss Piggy, her man (Kermit?), and their baby girl Maura, and Katarina ("I'm a Massage Therapist, dammit!"). MovenPick has good food, but it ain't given away by a long shot. I had one of those Asian Meal in a Soup doodads and a crepe and ice cream for dessert and it cost over $20. Yikes! It's been an expensive weekend foodwise.
As I was chatting with Miss Piggy, I felt an odd brush against my inner thigh. I had two thoughts at that exact moment:
1. That must be Newton (my cat) brushing up against me.
2. I'm not at home!
I yelped at that moment and looked down. Maura was crawling underneath the table, hunting a rogue balloon.
Inner monologues can be amusing.
Friday, June 06, 2003
Movie list
Thanks to the trailers at Quicktime.com, there's a whole whack of non-Hollywood films I want to see. The question is, will they come to Montreal and when?
The Cuckoo
Marooned in Iraq
Whale Rider
The Shape of Things
Shaolin Soccer
The Dancer Upstairs
Yes yes... I know it's Disney, but with my softspot for superheroes, the trailer for the Incredibles gave me a chuckle.
And this trailer for The Order looks great, although I couldn't help think about how funny it would be to have Tom Bosley as Father Dowling do a cameo in this film.
Does anyone else in Hollywood think of these things?
Thanks to the trailers at Quicktime.com, there's a whole whack of non-Hollywood films I want to see. The question is, will they come to Montreal and when?
The Cuckoo
Marooned in Iraq
Whale Rider
The Shape of Things
Shaolin Soccer
The Dancer Upstairs
Yes yes... I know it's Disney, but with my softspot for superheroes, the trailer for the Incredibles gave me a chuckle.
And this trailer for The Order looks great, although I couldn't help think about how funny it would be to have Tom Bosley as Father Dowling do a cameo in this film.
Does anyone else in Hollywood think of these things?
Friday Funnies
It's a beautiful day, so I decided to give myself a morning at the park instead of parking it at my desk. Ya, I know. It's a costly thing to do when you're a freelancer, but I prefer to see it as personal sanity investment (and I got to play in the kiddie park with Drew and her son).
I'll be going to storytelling tonight at Cafe Perk (I'll be telling an African myth about the first morning) and then off to the Old Dublin to see Brendan Nolan play a set. I'm not staying late though (y'hear?)... There's a guy that's going to be there who's a big wig with the Celtic Festival and I'm going to schmooze him to see if I can get a storytelling gig out of him.
So here are a few links that amuse me. Enjoy!
Knights of the Dinner Table: if you've ever role-played, you'll understand.
Talking Xylophone: it's verbally naughty and not worksafe (unless you have a headset) (thanks be to Toast)
Batman translated in French and Quebecois: lots of swearing in French, but listen to each one a few times. Even if your French is shakey, you'll clearly hear the difference between French in France and French in Quebec.
It's a beautiful day, so I decided to give myself a morning at the park instead of parking it at my desk. Ya, I know. It's a costly thing to do when you're a freelancer, but I prefer to see it as personal sanity investment (and I got to play in the kiddie park with Drew and her son).
I'll be going to storytelling tonight at Cafe Perk (I'll be telling an African myth about the first morning) and then off to the Old Dublin to see Brendan Nolan play a set. I'm not staying late though (y'hear?)... There's a guy that's going to be there who's a big wig with the Celtic Festival and I'm going to schmooze him to see if I can get a storytelling gig out of him.
So here are a few links that amuse me. Enjoy!
Knights of the Dinner Table: if you've ever role-played, you'll understand.
Talking Xylophone: it's verbally naughty and not worksafe (unless you have a headset) (thanks be to Toast)
Batman translated in French and Quebecois: lots of swearing in French, but listen to each one a few times. Even if your French is shakey, you'll clearly hear the difference between French in France and French in Quebec.
Thursday, June 05, 2003
All New Rights
While waiting for the bus yesterday, I noticed a poster for a July 5th Rally to be held in Lafontaine park to protest the lack of suiltable housing in Montreal. The rally will manifest itself as the construction of a Tent City (similar to the one that was recently removed in Vancouver).
While I recognize the need for affordable housing in this city (the city isn't nearly as vacant as it was when I first moved here), the poster stated something about people having the RIGHT to squat in abandonned buildings. Was the Canadian constitution updated and I missed a memo?
If I owned an abandonned building, no one has the Gods-given right to live there without my permission. If that were true, I would've moved into the old firestation at the top of Cote St. Luc (which is currently being renovated as a luxury condo) in a heartbeat.
The July 1st madness is coming up and I'll be hunkered down in my pad, avoiding all the moving madness.
Here's an idea Mr. Tremblay: do away with the whole July 1st Moving Day bit. Maybe people would be able to find suitable housing if they didn't have to pay a mover 130/hour to move all their crap on the same day. I've done that. Not doing it again.
The next time I move, it will be into a house. And if I have to move on July 1st, I'm putting all my stuff in storage for on June 15th and then moving it all in on July 15th. Believe it or not, including the storage costs, that plan turns out to be way cheaper than moving on the 1st.
Only in Quebec.... Only in Quebec...
While waiting for the bus yesterday, I noticed a poster for a July 5th Rally to be held in Lafontaine park to protest the lack of suiltable housing in Montreal. The rally will manifest itself as the construction of a Tent City (similar to the one that was recently removed in Vancouver).
While I recognize the need for affordable housing in this city (the city isn't nearly as vacant as it was when I first moved here), the poster stated something about people having the RIGHT to squat in abandonned buildings. Was the Canadian constitution updated and I missed a memo?
If I owned an abandonned building, no one has the Gods-given right to live there without my permission. If that were true, I would've moved into the old firestation at the top of Cote St. Luc (which is currently being renovated as a luxury condo) in a heartbeat.
The July 1st madness is coming up and I'll be hunkered down in my pad, avoiding all the moving madness.
Here's an idea Mr. Tremblay: do away with the whole July 1st Moving Day bit. Maybe people would be able to find suitable housing if they didn't have to pay a mover 130/hour to move all their crap on the same day. I've done that. Not doing it again.
The next time I move, it will be into a house. And if I have to move on July 1st, I'm putting all my stuff in storage for on June 15th and then moving it all in on July 15th. Believe it or not, including the storage costs, that plan turns out to be way cheaper than moving on the 1st.
Only in Quebec.... Only in Quebec...
Tuesday, June 03, 2003
Jolt
Okay... so I was concentrating on this document, right? I'm proofing a whole gaggle of docs and I can't leave work until they're done, right?
I've got the headset on, listening to my MP3s, when And She Was (Talking Heads) suddenly comes into play. It's silent for a second and then David Byrne shouts "Hey!".
I'm so glad these windows can't open. It would've been a long drop to the street if I had managed to jump out of the window with the shock.
I just can't get this concentrated. Time to look out the window for a bit.
Back to work.
Okay... so I was concentrating on this document, right? I'm proofing a whole gaggle of docs and I can't leave work until they're done, right?
I've got the headset on, listening to my MP3s, when And She Was (Talking Heads) suddenly comes into play. It's silent for a second and then David Byrne shouts "Hey!".
I'm so glad these windows can't open. It would've been a long drop to the street if I had managed to jump out of the window with the shock.
I just can't get this concentrated. Time to look out the window for a bit.
Back to work.
Tummy Rumbles
Ye Gods... I need some structure. I went home last night with the intention of cooking myself some supper. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the tube with my cat nestled snugly in the crook of my knees.
A few years ago, I had taken on so many activities, I was never home at a regular hour, so I got out of the habit of eating meals according to a schedule. Any dietician will tell you this isn't a good thing.
As it is, I'm having a Red Letter day if I manage to cook myself some grub in the morning and in the evening (although I can't even remember the last time that happened).
Even when I decide I'm going to cook something, I'm always short two or three main ingredients. What I need to do is decide what I'm going to cook during the day, stop off at the market on the way home, and then cook it that night. No TV. No computer. No distractions.
I'm not a bad cook when I decide to put my mind to it. As many people will attest, it can be unmotivating to cook for yourself.
I wish I could be more like Blork and make cooking more of an adventure.
Then again, maybe I don't want the theme song from Indiana Jones playing in the background when I'm trying to make a souffle. It just begs disaster.
Ye Gods... I need some structure. I went home last night with the intention of cooking myself some supper. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the tube with my cat nestled snugly in the crook of my knees.
A few years ago, I had taken on so many activities, I was never home at a regular hour, so I got out of the habit of eating meals according to a schedule. Any dietician will tell you this isn't a good thing.
As it is, I'm having a Red Letter day if I manage to cook myself some grub in the morning and in the evening (although I can't even remember the last time that happened).
Even when I decide I'm going to cook something, I'm always short two or three main ingredients. What I need to do is decide what I'm going to cook during the day, stop off at the market on the way home, and then cook it that night. No TV. No computer. No distractions.
I'm not a bad cook when I decide to put my mind to it. As many people will attest, it can be unmotivating to cook for yourself.
I wish I could be more like Blork and make cooking more of an adventure.
Then again, maybe I don't want the theme song from Indiana Jones playing in the background when I'm trying to make a souffle. It just begs disaster.
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