April 28, 2004

Odyssey, redux

Listening to: Jeff Buckley, Grace.

Duke3d w3d file

I've given up hoping that I'll get my stuff back. That's a real fuckin shame, too, because I'll never replace that skateboard. It's was my priceless Girl. Shane's got it worse-- Fenders cost a lot more than skateboards do. Moreover, Shane was really good with that guitar; I sucked on my skateboard.

Meanwhile, Phase One of replacing my CDs is complete. I went out for a drive, because it's windy and cloudy and spitting rain, and found myself rummaging in the A&B Sound warehouse for CDs. Picked up new copies of Live Through This, Nevermind the Bullocks Here's the Sex Pistols, London Calling, and Rid of Me. I can't really afford this, as I'm under-worked and coasting very slowly toward my next paycheck. At least I don't have to fill my gas-tank: last night I met Tanya beside some apartments, because she had a few jerry-can's full of gasoline that she needed to get rid of. I don't ask where these kinds of things come from. I just partake.

Also last night: Shannon and I went out for a sandwhich. It was a dark, windy fucker of a night, and there were bags full of garbage blowing across the street and into the sides of buildings, occasionally exploding into little cyclones of black plastic and dry refuse. There were many tumbleweeds blowing in from the fields, too, each with their own shape and unique skeleton-finger road shimmy. Like desert snowflakes. While Shannon and I were sandwhiching, it began to rain quite heavily, which I always enjoy. On our way to the car we stopped underneath the awning of the Great Buffet of China on 22nd Street and had a smoke. Something about it was just perfect. Pink stucco walls, shuddering florescent tube lighting, rain leaking and occasionally blasting us in the face, the chain-link awning overhead shaking and glowing, and the gloomy lights of the late-night bingo hall across the parking lot.

We went back to Shannon's place. She showed me the penny her brother swallowed in a drunken stupor and had removed at St. Paul's Hospital. Then we went up to her room and looked through our pictures of our trips to the lake, and watched taped episodes of Keeping up Appearances and Family Plot.

One of these nights I'll stay home and sleep. I'm still reverberating from my all-night odyssey with Carla. Saturday night, we decided that we had to go to Midtown Plaza to buy pants and underwear. But we had to wait until 11:00am Sunday morning, and therefore occupy our time. Thus began an all-night odyssey of alleyways in the 'burbs at night, empty pitch-black fields, and parking lots behind a record store, a strip mall by the river, and a park; a club downtown; a playground where we met some radio DJs who promised to talk about us on their show; Denny's for breakfast; a few gas stations; the flea market that is set up in the Fairhaven roller rink on Sunday mornings; and the diner where our friends work.

I love the diner. Shannon being cute with her bobbed hair, sweetness, politeness, the mouth of a sailor, sitting at our table in her free time. Tanya taking drags from our smokes on her way into and out of the kitchen, being bitchy and succinct but endearing to her customers, yelling things to the cooks. And free coffee.

It was here that the sun rose. It's always when the sun rises that you understand how much time has passed. The sun rises and seems to sum up the night, the day before, the immediate moment, the breath in air, the blood in the vein, the hours to come. The sun rises and your body reacts, you feel whole, your system checks itself against itself and realizes it has changed. That's sunrise. That's waking up after having not slept.

Eventually I'll catch up on sleep. But maybe I don't want to. I feel somewhere between catatonic and cathartic. I like it. My dreams are wild, depressing, lucid, and I feel just the right amount of nostalgia (mysteriously) and excitement for what could happen at any minute. I remember, a year ago, I was somewhere between Saskatoon and Toronto, driving in a big fucker of a van on the highway with Shane, Karen, and Chris. Chris was probably changing his shirt in the back. Karen, in her tank top, would have been searching through her cassettes for Exile in Guyville. Shane driving, spitting sunflower seeds out the window. Me slouched in the font, drinking from a beer without much conviction.

I blame this on Ged. I got into this funk emailing him yesterday. Now I'm stuck. Now I'm hoping he gets the letter. Now I'm hoping he writes back. Most of all, now I'm hoping he's having the best time of his life doing his driving, Colorado thing.

Today I was invited to a book launch. I really want to go, because it will allow me to swank about with writers and artists in the community, who I should know by now anyway. And the author is so key. But I have to work! I have to work, dammit!

Waking up in the morning, freezing in a big blanket with two dogs, stormy sky, windy air, Jeff Buckley on the CD player is like nothing else. I recommend it.

Gotta go work for my money now.

Posted by Machine at 05:32 PM

April 24, 2004

Damn the Curve

I'm done finals.

I went to work today, and a big cardboard box rolled down the road and hit my windshield. No damage, but I had to dig another box out from under my jeep. It was bizarre. And the doors to my building kept opening and closing. It's definitely a windy sun-of-a-gun today. 70km/hour I think. That's faster than I'm allowed to drive.

Speaking of driving. I have an interview with SGI (motor vehicle insurance and licensing junk). Honestly, I don't get it. You drive into this, drive into that, and suddenly you gotta go in and talk to them. Apparently, they ask you to describe your driving career in one word. Shannon, who had an interview earlier this week, said "embarassing." I shall say, "unfortunate." As in, icy conditions resulted in two very unfortunate accidents. Or, "beer." As in, it was very unfortunate I happened to be drunk.

Juuust kidding.