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Flat
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
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The week at work, bananas, crazy, busy, busier, never caught up, long days grown longer, the mid-shift sucking up my mornings and nights.
And the smoke from the fires - a month and a half early, choking out the morning, the evening half-slip of the moon a blood-orange-red in the sky, spectacular sunsets for those with the time to take the pictures.
By Monday I'm done. We're all done, drinks in town, I take it easy, a couple of pints of Guinness, got to be functional on my days off.
Tuesday, my reaction to the second dose of the Vaccine. I was warned it would be worse than the first. The first, a swelling around my neck, the lymph nodes grown over large, lasted a couple of days. This time, it's my upper lip, swells like a chimpanzees or orangutans, numb, large.
The day, attending to trifles. Eat tacos. Cover them in hot sauce, try and balance the diet. Clean out the fridge, eat - whatever, everything, all of it, I'm starving, not just for food but nutrition, I'm missing it all in my diet. Go thrifting - no finds, hit the antique shop - some treasures, but nothing that I want - or need.
(Locks, 1880's, love the detail on the faceplates that no-one would think to look at. But do I need them?)
The weekend past was great for garage sales - or - not great - but I found some necessary tools, and a boxing cushion and gloves which I passed on to the twin bus-girls at work. "Get trained" I tell them. "Foxy boxing - Sibling Rivalry - I've already started selling tickets.".
I don't think they were impressed. My daughter, she'd have been over the moon, but they're a little more sheltered.
The weekend provided the finds, there are none this week in the thrift shops.
Do the recycle, the laundry, the dishes, make more dishes, eat, eat, eat. I'm starving.
Afternoon, sleep off the heat of the day, strange dreams of garage sales, Jeff Bezos, Water Bottles...
Evening. Visit Stormy. Verify he's home, go to DQ to buy him an Ice Cream, return. Knock on the door. It takes him 10 minutes to answer. And he answers, the door closed, just enough for him to slip through, but the air!!! Who will know when he's dead? The smell, already it's as if he's died. And it must penetrate the neighbors suites...
Sit for a bit. He's out of it, was interrupted, answered with a clutch of scrolls half completed, he complains about the ice cream, about everything, the time I visit, and I've no patience for it, these days off are too rare to be here, in this heat, with him complaining about the ice cream that's melting in the front of his scooter, and I'm off...
Home, watch "Ong-Bak", "Rick and Morty", but nothing excites me. The job, the schedule, it's flattened me, I need out of myself in a big way and there's nothing that's doing it. I'm flat. Flat like I've been steamrolled, flat in that all the colorful bits of me, my curiosity, creativity, they're kaput.
Today much the same. A few of the farther flung thrift shops - no finds, or perhaps there were, only my mood has blinded me.
There are endless trifles to be dealt with, my benefits, chores, there would be - on less grey days - prospecting to be done, socializing, but I'm self conscious about my lip (in the morning, the entire face, but over the day it drains and disperses), and I'm flat. Without any ambition other than survival - 7 weeks to go, and 2 weeks to cross the summit - the August Long Weekend - this is becoming a long - the longest - summer ever.
I make plans. There's a party in the valley - August 21 - I get tickets. Me, the kids. Maybe they'll make it, maybe they won't - but it's something to look forward to regardless.
And I brood upon my writing - projects outstanding, art projects, there's a hundred ways to constructively fill my time - but I'm exhausted.
There's a rumor of a new waitress, she's due to start, train, if she starts - if - my schedule might get a little more reasonable, survivable - but that's a big IF. We've hired dozens in the past few years - few have had any skills. Fewer have lasted. Still -
This job - like the Italian place - it's the monkey's paw - you have to get someone else to take it before you can be free of it's curse - and I'm thinking that it's too late, it's done it's number on me.
Anyways, that catches me up, more or less, to the present.
Ong-Bak
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Film
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Movie night, watched "Ong-Bak" - Thai martial arts film about a villager sent to retrieve a stolen Buddha's head.
Largely "Meh", although with good fight scenes - but - overall could have missed it.
That said, the depiction of the ex-pats - English, Australian, Americans & other - living in Bangkok - was rather illuminating. Exactly what you'd expect, if you thought about it, only I'd never thought about it and so was intrigued to see it depicted from a local perspective.
Which made me question if I'd ever want to visit Thailand - I mean - given all the Westerners that have gone before - and the reputation they've blazed - maybe find a different holiday destination...but - where in the world have we not stained our reputation?
Garage Sales & Herkimer Diamonds
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1608
I'm on my way to a garage sale in Nelson-not-Nelson. It's Nelson, but it's somewhere else, I'm not sure, a combination of Hampstead & Portabello Road in London, every grown in-attractive neighborhood I've ever visited...
The garage sale, I'd followed the sign and parked, but I'd already been to this one, it's been picked over, still, rummage again through a few bins, find a few trifling finds...
Outside, there's a brick wall beside a sidewalk with vendors set up. I go over, look above, see the glitter of Mica, begin to dig and...
...uncover a vein of mica schist, silver and glittery, and falling out of it are these chunky Herkimer diamonds, big double-terminated quartz crystals, I fill my arms...
Now I'm looking for my jeep, only it seems to have disappeared and I can't remember where I parked it, up side streets - there's old cars stuffed in overgrown balconies, not my jeep, and I'm looking and looking...
Back to the garage sale, through the house, there's an exit on the other side, only they've closed it and I've got to find my way around...
Finding my way, finding my way, someone is digging in the vein that I exposed, the jeep, it isn't there, must have been towed goddamn-it, but there's the vein of mica to be dug, right in town, and I can't wait to get back and dig it all up...
(weird dreams. And there was another, something about bottled water and Jeff Bezos, but - thankfully, I forget...)
Smoky, Hot, Jeep, Work
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 619
The skies grow increasingly hazy with all the forest fires. You can't smell them - yet, but they're increasingly close.
Usually I'd pay my rent up early, get ahead on my bills, - but - what with the state of the world and all I'm just going to sit on it until the last minute.
The restaurant - Thursday, reasonable, Friday, Saturday, Sunday - bananas.
Stupid busy. Busier than we can handle, and they've had an ad in for staff for how many weeks now, without a single nibble.
The jeep, flooring it home from work every night - can't escape that place fast enough - only halfway, at Sitkum or Kokanee creek begins to stall. Power on, jeep off, drift to the side of the road, wait 5, 10 minutes, crank it again and I'm off.
Phew.
Except for Saturday night, when at 9 mile it does the same thing only it isn't restarting and I'm calling AMA for a tow.
Whatever it is it must be trivial.
Sunday, thumb out by the big orange bridge, not 10 minutes and l'm picked up by a retired gent out touring in his vintage 1975 TR6 - little sportscar, I'm squeezed into it, limbs akimbo, popping out every which way, he's in a loud Hawaiian shirt decorated with martinis and bright cocktails, a fine German mechanical chronometer on his wrist, just out for a spin, we chat - he's that comfortable air of someone who's done well in life, for whom everything has worked out and now he's in a position to enjoy it and by goddamn-it he's going to, and I'm along for the ride to witness his good fortune.
The most stylish ride I've had, and I'm not dressed for it.
Work, busy in the day, and then, contrary to expectations, and every year previous, we're busy again in the evening.
** shows up. **'s a regular, stylish, tattooed, pays cash, he's in the other "industry" - on the East Shore, and I remind him that he failed to pay his bill last time, to which he quickly counters "You must have overserved me...". I laugh. He's pretty sharp. But he pays the bill, the bill from today, from last month, and tips 100%, cash, and I'm gonna need this for the jeep, gotta love **.
Most of our customers are pretty decent.
Monday, my new balloons have shown up, I've been out of balloons to make animals for the kids since the beginning of the pandemic, you can't buy them in town & so I'd ordered a whole new batch off of Amazon. Chromes, looking for 260Q Qualatex, found these shiny off brands, and I blow one up - tough, near impossible to blow up, but they're perfect. Perfectly shiny, like fluid gold, silver, metallic colors, I'm pleased. I'll be producing Jeff Koons in no-time.
Now I need a pump.
To the mechanics, describe the problem with the jeep, then - too late for the bus, thumb out to get to work.
A lot longer for a ride.
Work, Monday, the afternoon, busy, then slow, reasonably busy, chug-chug-chug until 7:00 and WHAM!, the restaurants full, inside and out, they keep coming, table after table, we're the only place open for 30 miles, we're full, people sitting at dirty tables, demanding service, it's every service industry nightmare, fucking-the-fuck hell shit, can't keep up, they keep coming, it takes us 10, 20 minutes to get to each table, to figure out they're there, they're new, gong-show.
Bloody hell. I mean, bloody-fucking-hell. And I'm taking no complaints, we're hiring - you want better service? I don't blame you. Get a job here and raise the bar you fucking moron, can't you see we're short staffed? Grab a cloth, a rag, go wipe a table, clear plates, take an order? What? You don't want to? Then fucking shut-up, I don't want to either and yet here I am and YOU - YOU are not making it any better....
My patience is done, we're perpetually short staffed, everywhere on the lake is, but some places - they put up signs, they've reduced the section sizes, the menus, limited the numbers they serve - we've done none of this, we're in over our heads, every fucking day, and I'm getting tired of it.
Tuesday, day off - finally, there's no amount of Vodka can recover me from this. The mechanic calls, found the problem, camshaft sensor, need a new one, all-in $600. Oh, and there's this other thing as well....
The struggle, it never ends, no matter what you make, how hard you work you're never on top of it, and the skies fill with smoke, the end of the world, it's coming, it's nigh upon us, and I'm the hamster running in the wheel...
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