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Tuesday, week last, a trip over to the Island to visit the boy.
Nanaimo Via Horseshoe Bay - Over the Lions Gate, into West Van, the houses, pleasant, no external clues as to their astronomical value, neighborhoods that I remember vaguely from childhood, the "rural & suburban" Vancouver, Horseshoe Bay, a stark contrast to the industrial Tsawwassen Ferry, a smaller, tiny terminal, mountains, peaks, inlets and islands, it is the very picture of an ad for "Travel BC".
The ferry ride - long, Nanaimo, well, there's nada in Nanaimo, we check the thrift shops for my bag, no luck, lunch - an overdone burger at a well reviewed pub - my own review would be substantially more damning - the boy, the island life, makes it a little, a lot tougher to "treat" him to a decent meal as I would the daughter, a short, few hour visit - but this change, to the island, the pace of life greatly slowed - it's worth it to escape the East Side, if only for a day...
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I don't know why, file this under another of my mislaid memories. Monday, off thrifting, South Vancouver. I start on the Canada Line, ride down to Cambie and Marine Drive.
Now this haunts me - I can't figure it out, but that phrase - that intersection - has been with me since childhood. And since this is the start of my thrifting tour get out and check it out.
Nada. No memory cues or clues whatsoever.
I don't know why, perhaps - as a child, decades ago, I obsessed over a magic store located nearby. That's the only reason I can think. And here, in Edmonton, I asked my father, he has no recollection either. So - that must be it - if ever I was here it didn't make much of an impression, unremarkable in every respect, but a good jumping off point to begin a fine day of thrifting, during which I found 2 pairs of cufflinks for the boy (one, theatre, silver masks of comedy/tragedy, appropriate, the other a "SWANK" pair of female buddha's - TARA - arm outstretched in a blessing, silver again, huge, vintage 60's or early 70's, maybe an inch across, masterpieces, need only to find him a fitted lotus dress shirt with French cuffs and he'll be set... other finds, books, shirts, countless others left behind - it was a great thrifting day.
And still I wonder what once was at "Cambie & Marine Drive".
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So a couple of days away from work - I'll come back to that in another post - and I'm ready to head to Edmonton for Xmas. It's been a long time. And my flight - a WestJet ticket out of Abbottsford, I'm regretting the "deal" - (!!NOT) I got on the ticket when I realize I have to spend another $50.00 and 2 hours on the bus.
Meh. The day is largely given over to travel, a few trifles before I leave, I'd planned to get some 'shrooms from one of the dispensaries around town, but they're too obviously packaged, there's no subtlety whatsoever. I compromise and get myself a gram of "African Goliath", fill in the required "Medical Disclosures" - essentially for medical reasons & not recreation - and far be it for me to enjoy myself - and I'm off to the Station to catch my discounted flight ($650? TO Edmonton? Are you PAYING ME BECAUSE IF YOU ARE $650 ISN"T FUCKING ENOUGH!!!!)
But nope...
Anyways, a rainy day, waiting to get on the bus and then waiting to get on my flight to Edmonton and then waiting to land in Edmonton...
Only, get to Abbotsford and I can't seem to find my flight. Where's my flight? Chill. Don't worry. Notice that I'm not commenting on the Abbottsford International Airport - or countless hectares of rainy parking lot, filled to the brim with cars. I mean...
Another time...
So, can't see my flight, wait for the "Departures" screen to clear and load the next screen. Grab a coke, Grab some twizzlers, wait. Go for a smoke. Wait.
And, weird, it's like - this Abbottsford International Airport - the "Departures" screen doesn't update...
And checking my ticket - trying to find what's up, searching for it, for the flight, and -....
FUCK I'm departing VANCOUVER. YVR. "WHERE IS YVR??" I ask someone - but, maybe, not "asked" so much as pleaded or shouted and shook them in a panicked and insane realization...
Then a mad dash into the rainy evening again and hail a $200 cab into the Vancouver International Airport.
$250 spent on the nighttime tour of Abbottsford. Burn it down I say.
And how - how exactly - did I come to understand I was leaving from Abbottsford? I have no clue, only that from the moment I booked my ticket I was 100% sure I was leaving through Abbottsford, and - take this as a lesson for life - 99% of our certainties are most certainly wrong. Hang on to only 1 % - let the rest go - because - well, you need an anchor someplace or you'll go insane - and when you've found new certainties let the old anchor go as well and drop a new one in better harbors.
So, finally, 5 hours and $250 later and I'm at YBR, smoking, getting ready to get on my flight, take my "African Goliath" mushroom - 1 gram, a microdose, and head through security.
Chatting with the daughter, who tells me not to grab a glass of wine inside - "It's OverPRICED" she tells me, and - this microdose - whew - wow- the colors are great and I'm feeling the release of waves of anxiety and I'm gonna grab a glass of wine, even if it is overpriced. And - it is. $24.00 for a glass of what I was pretty sure was Jackson Triggs. $24.00 and tip option on the machine that starts: "18 - 20 - 25%", and - fucking hell, I don't have to say it. She should have told me the price, not that it was "OverPriced", maybe phrased it more as "Would you prefer a Jeep or this Glass of Wine", at which case I would have made a better decision...
This takes my mushroom glow off in a hurry, but it comes back when I wander away from the bar and eat a chocolate bar. Also overpriced but not $24.00 overpriced. Fucking amazing.
And - definitely not a tripping dose, but a hell of a lot more than a microdose.
Finally, plane is late, board plane, cram-packed, full to the brim, a late departure - but a mere hour and 7 minutes to Edmonton. I mean the flight. The whole fucking journey, well, that was an Odyssey, an ordeal, but it seems I can't go anywhere lately without it turning into a shit-show of one sort or another, so - relative to all other adventures this ones a trifle, I'm glad I'm here, warm, and a few days away to pray the weather relents before I head down to Nelson.
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They were filming a movie here - across the street in an alley - a couple of weeks ago. Lots of vans, booms, lighting, people gathered, actors, extras, pedestrians just watching.
It went on a couple of days.
And - the last couple of weeks they've been window dressing the building next to the Cambie - "The Tongue and Tail", making it into a fictional butcher shop. They've put decals on the windows, cleaned up and retiled the inside, brought in coolers, fridges, painted the butcher's signage on the building next to the alley - finally, now, they've filled the window with choice cuts of plastic molded to resemble meat - sides of beef, sausages, chickens, etc.
Every night, after work, there's security guarding the site - a "Teamsters" car parked out front, a security guard (or 2) on foot...
They've put more money into the "appearances" and the fiction of a butcher shop than most real butchers would put into a real butcher shop.
This is hilarious. And when the movie - or scene - is done shooting the building again will be vacant, junkies will shoot up in the doorway, use it as a toilet - but - for the moment - I'm living in a fictional gentrification of Gastown, an substantially upscaled neighborhood that will pass as a friendly neighborhood (or maybe not? I don't know what they're filming...) butcher - is this for a fleeting scene? Given the money spent on renovations I would expect a substantial portion of filming to be done here - maybe a new Canadian sitcom?
Wait and see...
**Update: Outside for a cigarette, street blocked off, booms and crew in place - looks like filming starts today. And I have to work a double and will miss it. Damn!!
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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...
Subcategories
Dating
OK. I've been on a few internet dates. I confess this with the same reluctance I would admitting to masturbating, adultery, or excessive drinking and drug use.
This is a list of some of my best -- AND WORST -- dates ever. Note that you gotta go on a lotta dates to get this kinda list, this kinda discouraged. And my online dating thing has been sporadic - an every few years kind of thing at best. Some of these dates go back 10 years, others are a little more recent. And to answer any people who might argue "It beats hooking up at the bar", well, you don't have to hook up at the bar, and at the bar you can see what your getting...
Anyways - apologies to the countless normal, decent dates that I went on but just didn't hit it off with. Memory is selective, it tends towards the extreme, and in this you will find the extremes...
Dear Osama
In which I write everyone's favorite advice columnist.
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