Saturday night, paid, Cash tips for the previous 5 days work, 2 days off now and what to do?
Pay some - not all, of the bills. Make provisions for the week ahead. See the daughter for brunch, but - given that I was up at 7:00 AM drinking coffee in the pissing rain and trying to roam further into West Van - towards Stanley Park, past Granville, I'm soaked and not so much in the mood by 12:00. And - the brunch menu, fine, but I was hoping for the more inspired dinner menu items, which weren't on offer at this time. Damn. So, uncomfortable, wet, disheveled, and paying for a meal that I really should have waited for to get - what I wanted - the Michelin-Starred food.
Brunch was fine. But for me, too early, too wet. And my shoes, they're wet, all the time, wafting up odors that I'd so heartily condemn from others, now myself, and I need to find me some galoshes or hip waders, there's an awful lot of winter - here - "the damp season" - left.
I discover - happily - that 2 of my bunkmates have left (Phew) and the one remaining is a Cellist from Azerbaijan *(Yeah, I had to look this up as well). he left Azerbaijan to further his studies, there being no competent or informed instructors there.
He has a concert today - North Van, and indicates his Cello in a fiberglass case.
I make him promise to play for me upon his return.
And he does. He's been playing 16 years, largely self taught, on a $3, 000 Cello that he would describe as garbage, he wants a proper Cello, $300, 000, $400, 000 dollars, cheap, but - God Willing - and his playing - for me - uneducated rube - is fine, splendid, Bach's "Ava Maria", begins quiet, then louder and I listen, appreciate, in front of the mirror in a tiny room, query him about Pablo Casals, Yo-Yo Mah?
I am enthusiastic. He is great? No?
I mean, so often, from me, it's faint praise from the damned. I know nothing of this, only that I like it and he did well. He, on the other hand, is not so kind, damning, he counted "23" errors - I'm not making this up - and, yes, I noted some missteps but - WTF - I'm not the expert and given a half hour's play you'd be hard pressed to come up with 2 or 3 things I did right...
There would be no things that I did right, and his errors could easily be assigned to playing before (what he imagines as a critical) audience of One.
This inspired me only in the fact that we are so often we are our own worst critics, no one else notices the same failings that we feel damns us...
And that, the Cello, played properly, can move anyone. Any instrument, for that matter, but the Cello is getting the press at the moment...
So, Sunday night, eat like a pig, quite possibly my last chance this week, double down on the donairs across the street, disgusting but I'm famished, catch up with my Father, Son, news of Steve from the Hostel, talk to Chris, the chef from Balfour - and he's telling me about the great liquor shortage in Nelson - supply chain issues - I'd better stock up while I still can - shelves there are bare - panic buying - Christmas is around the corner...
I fall for it. I mean, it's true - out there - but I've seen no sign of any sort of supply chain disruptions here. All the liquor stores are admirably stocked. And - given the job - finishing late every night - I've been drinking substantially less. No need, have to be in tip-top form to enjoy the full ration of anxiety that every day and evening brings afresh...
Download "The Green Knight" - which looks good - but - given how quick I've polished off the Vodka it doesn't stand a chance
***
Today, thrifting, find a couple of ties, nothing else, really - although - I have to say - whenever - whatever squalor I subsequently find myself in - is substantially going to be remedied by the richness of the thrift stores here. I mean - I'm not in buying mode, not at the moment -but - there are treasures here for sure.
Dollarama - I'm out of a certain sort of disposable pen I'm fond of, perfect for line drawing - but I can't seem to find it here. This is the real problem with the supply chain. Not liquor, still lots, too much of that, but cheap, good quality fucking pens. Nonetheless I take a chance on a four cartridge plastic fountain pen, disposable, at "Dollar General" - and - surprisingly - it works quite well. The line is a bit thicker than I'd like - for illustrating - but it's got a consistent flow - and could somebody please explain to me why a "Dollar General" fountain pen works better than a Mont Blanc, or any of a dozen other higher end fountain pens I own? Please?
***
Lunch, Chinatown, I find a perfect little restaurant. Brightly lit inside - it should be painted, made into a painting, the tablecloths, lighting, decor - all perfect, all evoking the richness of a displaced culture, evoking - it's hard to say - I have a feeling that I've been here before, although I never have - not in this lifetime, but it is somehow all very familiar, and I'm a little haunted by it. The food, well - that will probably haunt me as well, largely inedible, somehow I made all the wrong choices on the menu, nothing was what it seemed it should be, disgusting...
***
A short nap back at the hostel, and now to the fifth floor of the library, drinking a coffee, where I'm writing you now...