Wednesday, January 30, 2008

In which human ingenuity both stuns and terrifies me...

I'm not certain whether this represents the absolute peak of our civilization, or is a herald of the coming dark age. Yes, it's a cheeseburger in a can. What will those wacky Germans think of next?

In a related note, I've been scrambling to finish Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food before Erin wrests it from my cold, dead fingers. I highly recommend it, and it dovetails fairly nicely with my attempts to eat as healthily as possible of late. If only my bosses didn't insist on leaving a vast bowl of delicious Jelly Belly beans at my desk. Bastards. Thank the gods for Coke Zero and cheap Vancouver sushi.
In which a twelve-hour day makes Paul a dull boy...

Trade shows are lame. They take away from my time playing in the snow with the puppy.

For those of you sequestered in remotest Vancouver, you should know that Burnaby got a solid foot of the finest white powder in the last 24 hours. Notwithstanding the 45 minutes I waited patiently for the Skytrain this morning, snow remains the greatest thing ever, and I'll never stop loving this weather.

For those of you who hate snow and need to see the error of your ways, the key is to have a puppy. Despite having seen snow only a handful of times in her short life, Tempo sits eagerly at the window after every flurry and stares mournfully outside. Once unleashed, she tears madly into every snowbank, driving her nose gleefully into the frost. She emerges sneezing, bouncing, and wagging madly. She's obsessed with catching snowballs, which explode gloriously when she collides with them. She waits patiently for me, across the yard, to hoist a vast and fragile double-armful of snow, so that she can sprint furiously and careen headlong into me and witness the joyous results. Anyone who despises this weather simply needs to see Tempo at play in the snow.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

In which I'm shuffling on... desperately...

Burnaby ain't doin' it for me anymore. My folks have asked me to stick around for a few months while they complete renovations - all the better for my mom to have an extra pair of functioning eyes around a redesigned house. It's an arrangement that's worked well enough - financial benefits on both ends, and plenty of time to play with the Tempodog. But now I'm fairly desperately needing my own space, hampered as my social life is by both remoteness and lack of privacy. I've targeted March 1st as my move-in deadline for some place downtown or in Kits, but I'd REALLY like to find something decent (i.e. 1 bedroom) for less than a grand per month. I've been out of the market some time, and it looks like things have gotten nuts in my absence.

Anybody know anything about co-ops? Or hidden treasure apartment buildings where I can get a palatial loft for pocket change? I'm in dire need of pointers here. Of course, there's always the entirely probable risk that six months from now, I'll up and move to Sudan. But we'll cross that bridge as it comes.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

In which I still don't believe in karma...

You know I've been sullen over myriad unwelcome events of the young year. But when I tallied up my life scoreboard of the last few days, over an obscenely vast tureen of noodles at Kintaro's, I couldn't deny that this week was vastly brighter than last. To elaborate:

The vicious bout of long-undiagnosed pneumonia I had battled since at least December, which rose up and thoroughly crippled me two weeks ago, seems to have been decisively curb-stomped. I feel great, and I credit my absurdly simple new health regimen: LOTS of exercise, lots of food, and lots of sleep. And the military-grade antibiotics.

I had a hugely productive week at work, well-appreciated and remarked upon by the powers that be, after weeks (at least) of growing dissatisfaction with my unreasonable workload and unrewarding tasks. Meanwhile, the coworker who'd shunted the lion's share of her work onto me got a gruesome two-hour talking-to from the same elder gods, which left her in no doubt that her job is doomed if she keeps slacking off. I'm genuinely sorry for her situation (I fold instantly when confronted with sincere tears, which were in abundance), but the whole scene still showed me that my efforts are more appreciated than I previously thought.

Last and best, I discovered that I'll have a previously unexpected and entirely welcome visitor from New York in a few weeks - news that couldn't come at a better time. Joy! Details to follow.

There's been other welcome stuff, but I'm tired and that's all for now. Cruelly, criminally, I have to work tomorrow morning, so I still don't believe in karma - but I've still felt some scales tilt back towards the center this week. May next week be even better.


P.S. I was planning to write about politics and my love thereof, but sometimes a week well lived needs a little credit too. Politics will wait for tomorrow.

Saturday, January 26, 2008

In which Christian's pestering leads me on some unsurprising tangents...

In wondering why I'm so obsessed with finding work that fascinates me, Christian said of himself:

"My dream job doesn't exist. I'm not excited or passionate about anything. I don't have the skillset to do anything glamourous, and am honestly pretty damn lazy."

I'll set aside the obvious (and probably true) cliche that Christian just needs to find something to really motivate him. Instead I'd like to point out right now that I'm about the laziest sack of turds I've ever encountered. I procrastinate to a degree that would promptly level civilization if one person in ten followed my lead. I've been known to spend ten hours a day surfing Wikipedia instead of doing my paid job. I didn't start writing my honours thesis until twelve hours before it was due. I can (and do) waste time with the very best of them.

That's why I force myself into asinine deals like my current pay-per-blog imbroglio. I love to write, even thuddingly dull blog posts; I cherish how healthy I feel after I've torn around the Stanley Park Seawall on a disintegrating rented bike; I enjoy a hefty sense of accomplishment as much anybody else. It's merely that that alone won't get me off the couch at any particular moment. Lazy as I am, I still curse myself for days wasted and creativity unexpressed - just never enough to motivate me to do anything substantial. The end result is a predictable spiral of slothfulness, foul-tempered discontent, and ill health. So I rely on my (very) rare moments of proactive lucidity to create contracts that punish future inertia. I get jobs (like my current one) where people rely on me every instant - occasionally with more than their profit margins - because then I can't slack off. I make promises to other people that I'm too cowed to break. I enlist your help in forcing me to write daily. Stiff penalties either financial or social usually suffice to spur me to consistent action, while guilt alone at a wasted life rarely does the trick.

I've accepted my laziness, and now I spend my life defeating it merely by rank self-betrayal. It's worked well enough for me these recent years.

But there's one productive pursuit to which I've never needed any trickery to motivate me: politics. I've been thinking a lot lately, lamentably separated from the great game as I now am, about why that should be so. I'll write more about that tomorrow. Not that this is particularly gripping to you - but it's helping me shine lights into ill-understood chunks of my mind, so I'll be on this tangent for a wee while.
In which I briefly procrastinate to save some cash...

Tonight's post might come in after midnight - I'm going to a concert and ain't sure when I'll get home. As long as I post something more substantial before I go to bed, I've posted for the day. Them's the rules 'cuz I says so.

Friday, January 25, 2008

In which nothing has happened...

My perhaps-foolish attempts to hasten pneumonia's departure with daily workouts has yet to cause a resurgence of the dread disease, but it has left me sleepy as hell. I'm not getting home before 10 most nights and I'll be working much of the weekend (a one time deal, methinks). It's left me with tragically insufficient time and energy to undetake the wholesale reworking of the blog I've promised myself.

That and nothing has happened in my life since yesterday - except that I am the proud owner of a tent-like blue shirt emblazoned with an in-your-face Star of David and reading "SHALOM FROM NEW YORK!!!" Thanks Emily! Heehee... it's funny because I'm not remotely Jewish.

Oh, and it's bloody cold outside. The snow that fell last week in Burnaby has yet to melt. To non-Vancouverites, this ain't much of a shocker, but to us, it's vaguely paralyzing. I'll see you tomorrow.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

In which I'm pondering...

Christian asked me, in essence, why I'm not content with a job that doesn't fascinate me. It's a decent and sincere question, and I've been thinking about it in some detail - why do I love the work that I love, and why I am so fucking impatient with every other kind of labour I've ever been asked to do? His question has led me down some well-worn tangents, about which I am far too tired to blog tonight. But I'll have a good blather about it tomorrow, more for my edification than his.

But in the meantime, a counterpoint question to Christian, and everyone else who suffers through work the despise (or to which they merely acquiesce) - why are you content to sacrifice half your waking life just to support the better hours between 5PM and midnight? You'll be doing this work thing for a third of a century, and when that's done you won't get another shot. You can be amazed and energized by your day job, and still draw vast fulfillment from the rest of your life. Why do you think it's somehow undignified or greedy to demand both?

P.S. I need a more private place to blog. I think my coworkers know where this one is. I can't let all my posts be sexless sludge for fear of employer espionage. I'm working on it. Something new comes soon.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

In which I devour the meager fruits of my laziness...

After a hard day at work, and an ill-advised visit to the gym, I got a mite slothful on the way home and didn't pick up anything to eat. I'm paying for it now. The closest thing to a ready-to-eat meal that I could assemble from the contents of the kitchen was tortilla chips with dijon mustard, which, though a tolerable snack, is hardly the banquet I usually try to serve myself. It also seems to be making my throat close up, which might mean I should stop eating, but the taste has grown quite addictive. I guess I need to thaw some chicken.

In other news, I've stopped giving a rat's ass at work. Not that I slack off, but I'm no longer working the nearly-daily overtime I used to - 5:00 sharp every damned afternoon, I now call it quits. Some time ago I noticed that my extra effort wasn't actually making the pile of work smaller, so to hell with it. If I can work flat out for 8 hours a day and still not finish all the tasks gifted to me by the powers that be, then that's their problem, not mine.

Today's photoblog: the Good Friday Procession in Ciudad Colon, Costa Rica, Easter 2006.

Easter Procession, Ciudad Colon

In probably every small town in Central America, where the church is the core of the community, Good Friday sees an active reenactment of the walk through Galilee. Locals play the parts of the Romans, the Pharisees, and many others I'm too biblically-illiterate to name. I was charmed by the sincerity and earnestness of the display, but also somewhat unsettled by the genuine grief I saw. More than a few people weep openly as the procession wends through town, and a handful openly wail at the loss of Christ. It confuses me on levels both spiritual and logical, and I suspect it would even if I weren't an atheist. I don't comprehend having such an intense emotional connection to an event that predated me by millennia. Moreover, I don't grasp how a sincere believer can grieve the loss of someone resurrected three days later, whose death was the central tenet of their faith.

Anyhow, it's still a sight to see.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

In which I revel in geekery...

If you're as nerdy as I am, and much quicker of wit and defter of hearing, you need to spend some time at Zero Punctuation. It's a nearly-new Youtube compilation of 5-minute game reviews written, voiced and animated by an acerbically misanthropic Brit. It's profoundly addictive and worth every instant you can devote to it.

In other news, pneumonia is refusing to vacate the premises (my alveoli). I pray to Vishnu that it does so in the next 8 days of antibiotics, lest I suffer the indignity and uncertainty of a chest x-ray. Also, I've exhausted my sick days at work, so it's fairly essential that I recover before demolishing my finances.

P.S. This is written on Eva's computer, which I have briefly commandeered early in the evening before a prospective bout of Rock Band, merely in order to deprive Christian of my $20. Sucker.

Friday, January 18, 2008

In which I'm weeks late...

Since there are things afoot I dare not yet discuss in digital public, I'll do something I should have done weeks ago - a favorite movies list for 2007! I know I'm hideously late with this, but I had to wait to fill in some blanks before I could make some final choices. So here, devoid of detail or qualification, are:

10. Superbad
9. Charlie Wilson's War
8. The Bourne Ultimatum
7. Zodiac
6. Gone Baby Gone
5. Sunshine
4. There Will Be Blood
3. Ratatouille
2. Into the Wild
1. No Country for Old Men

Honourable Mention to Transformers, Knocked Up, Zodiac, Hairspray and Breach.

'Twasn't a bad year at the movies, all told. No Country for Old Men really took it in a walk for me, but Into the Wild is still incredible and There Will Be Blood is easily the best-acted film of the year. Besides, any year in which Michael Bay makes a movie that's actually a blast is a year where I'm both pleasantly surprised and straining my ears to hear ice crystals forming on Lake Hades.

UPDATE: Oh yeah, I forgot Juno. Throw that in some random spot below #2... my top ten is now a top eleven. Yay for inconsistency!

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

In which I realize I'm impatient...

I've been home sick for the last two days, scarfing drugs and playing videogames. Sounded nifty at first, but I'm now bloody bored. I needs me some proper entertainment, dagnabit, but lately I can't even sit still long enough to watch a movie. I'm not sure why I feel so propelled to get out of the house these days. Probably because I'm in remotest Burnaby, suffering in the wildnerness. Or perhaps I'm showing the first symptoms of my characteristic itchy feet again. Or maybe I just need to spend less time playing video games and start doing grown-up things with my time.

Nope, that can't be it. Probably that my life is not currently supplying me with my recommended daily allowance of fear and chaos and confusion. It's funny how addictive such things are. (Speaking of danger and youthful intemperance, go see "Into the Wild" if you haven't already.)

So I'll talk about US politics a bit. Short version: Clinton or Obama would both make good presidents, they both deserve it, and they'll both very likely beat whatever intolerable fool the Republicans nominate. Sorry, Edwards, you're good too, but you drew the short straw this time around; any other year, and you'd be a shoo-in. I'd be happy with either Hillary or Barack, so I'll give the tiebreaker to Barack's delightful speaking style. But I won't shed any tears if Hillary takes.

As for the Republicans - it doesn't matter who they nominate. Sure, there's an outside chance that McCain could beat one of the Dems, but if the Americans elect yet another Republican after eight years of the worst government they've ever had, then they deserve it. Choosing which candidate they should nominate is like selecting from among a variety of abrasive and spiky objects to be involuntarily sodomized with. There ain't no such thing as a principled Republican; not any more. The party doesn't stand for anything except gaining power, and it hasn't for a long time.

With that brief, detail-light diatribe out of the way, here's another photo!

Picture 093

Midtown Manhattan and the Brooklyn Bridge, from across the river in Brooklyn Bridge Park, kitty-corner from where I worked on my brief excursion to NYC last summer. Good times... and so very expensive. But the city's a photographic gold mine.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

In which I whimper and cough...

It appears that my manifold project - find scintillating new work, get creative, stop schizing out about my boredom - has been whomped in the 'nads by a mild dose of pneumonia. Bah - just means more blogging time (though I'll probably have to go to work tomorrow anyways). In the meantime, I'm trying to learn what sort of new doodads and spiffery have arrived on Blogger in recent years. I haven't blogged with adequate bandwidth in quite some time. Any suggestions?

In the meantime - photoblogging!

Picture 406

The airborne one is one of a pair of buskers Emily and I saw in Central Park, New York, in July. They were unremarkable but gymnasts, but fine entertainers, and they drew (I'm guessing) the better part of a thousand dollars and even briefly mocked my Canadianness. The motionless kid was a fine sport through it all.

My photoblogging will get more voluminous and sophisticated, now that I've purchased a TV with better colour than my laptop screen. I just need a wee bit more gear, and my editing and colour-balancing will begin in earnest, and you'll be flooded with photos of refugess and spiders. Cheers!

Monday, January 14, 2008

In which I return to the fold... with a familiar promise...

On a unique night last March, I fended off stubborn Laotian mosquitoes and greedily devoured a profoundly tasty French ice cream crepe, while reading Life of Pi and sitting on a balcony overlooking the moldering stone fountain in Vientiane's decrepit central square. When I finished gorging myself, I scribbled fervently in my resilient and well-traveled black notebook that my pleasant but unchallenging routine in Thailand had coagulated into a deep mental stagnation. My prescription: a daily dose of blogging, meant to haul my lazy brain up by the frontal lobes and force me to be creative. Ideally, this would kick the cognitive tires and It worked. The next six months (for diverse reasons not entirely dependent on blogging) kicked vast quantities of ass.

But now my brain has gone goopy again. I got back to Vancouver in August, and had a blast reconnecting with family and friends and generally lazing about. But dreaded monotony, a beast with which I don't grapple well, has reappeared most vindictively. I have a hectic but humdrum job that affords me no opportunities to use the skills I've spent many eventful years acquiring. I'm surrounded by friendly and decent coworkers who nonetheless consider my professional interests (chaos and war, mainly) to be quaint curiosities, and my hard-won skills to be amusing but quite trivial. In short, I've been shunted abruptly to the bottom rung of a career ladder which I have no interest in climbing. And, frankly, I'm getting a little tired of being patronizingly "mentored" in the ways of the world by people who repeatedly refer to me as "kid". Seriously, did they even read my bloody resume? I miss being an International Man of Mystery.

Anyhow, back to the main train of thought. Work doesn't truly suck, but it ain't doin' it for me either, and that's unlikely to improve. Few things in a typical life are worse than being sincerely unhappy with one's job. So, of course, I'm seeking work of a more challenging and (if I'm honest with myself) hazardous sort. But in the meantime, I have to kickstart my senescent neurons somehow, and blogging once again must do the trick.

So here's the deal. I'm going to blog at least a paragraph everyday, and any time I miss a calendar day, I pay $20 to the first person who calls me on it in the comments. It worked last time - got me blogging daily, and in turn set the old mental fires burning once again. Anything counts - political babble, personal laments, photoblogging (provided I offer texty goodness to accompany any pics). I claim exemptions in case of hospitalization, total technical meltdown on the part of Shaw Cable, or travels to any place where the web can't reasonably be accessed daily (that happens a lot). I think I still owe Christian $20 from last year. But seriously, I'm good for the money.

So I'll see you tomorrow.