Woke up to heavy rain today. Had a few coffees, phoned computer people (always the worst -- they're so unforgiving when it comes to technical terms. I'm not the expert!). I actually telephoned Mircosoft! Finally convinced the UVic people to run some diagnostics for free. I hope I can salvage my writing over the past four years. If I can't, well, it's probably for the best.
Lots to do lots to do. Move, get ready for tour, deal with my skeevy landlords who keep on finding ways to increase the rent and cost of using the jamspace. If the cost goes up any more I'll probably find a way out. OUT!
I've been listening to a lot of country music lately, this has warped my outlook indefinitely.
Lots to do lots to do.
I bought a massive duffel bag off of J. at the corporate store she works at. It zips up into sections to control the size of the bag. It is black with a Hawaian style flower pattern and it cost hardly anything. I also bought razors because I'm going to grow sideburns and a fu-man-chu for the tour. And we're opening for Randy Bachman in Vancouver. Very strange and delightful. Five more sleeps until we fold our songs into the geography that is Canada.
As I played in front of the mirror this morning I pulled a muscle in my back. Fucked me up. I went down to the Dallas beach cliffs and jumped along the rocks. Bumblebees swarmed my red T-shirt, but I'm no longer afraid of them, they're quite enjoyable. It's like little particles of the cliffs dart out to greet me. When I leave Victoria I'll miss those cliffs.
Packed up a load of junk and threw a lot out yesterday and watched a terrible movie called THE JOY LUCK CLUB. Great premise, but HOLLYWOOD PICTURES produced it so it was overly sentimental. Some good story telling though, probably more to do with Amy Tan than anyone.
I purchased three albums. The Corb Lund Band's MODERN PAIN, Bod Dylan's NASHVILLE SKYLINE, and John Prine's self-titled debut. All really good. The Dylan one is going to take a long time to digest. . . his albums can be very surreptious when he wants them to be. John Prine is good ol' country, and Corb Lund, who I believe played in The Smalls is a country bluegrass thing. Pfun and pfunny.
Tomorrow is all about trying to rake interviews out of journalist's in Calgary and Onterrible.
Five days until I leave the garden city and trek across my land in a van I'm not allowed to drive. Nooch. My plan is to get in the vehicle and go to Montreal and see what happens along the way. I'm already balancing my friends along the way into two categories: those who I said I'd call and will and those who I said I'd call and won't. I'll have to make a list with fun factor points.
Found a new home in a nice cool basement suite. I was already missing my current residence but now that the heat is here the house is unbearable. It's a top storey loft-style apartment and I'm pretty sure it could incubate eggs in thes summer.
My Internet connection is buggered so that's why there's no updating, so fuck off.
Woke up on the floor and chatted and drank coffee with J., went out for a Polish breakfast -- over-easy, white toast, hasbrowns and grilled veggies -- by myself, next stop: the video store to return WAITING FOR GUFFMAN, FIRE WALK WITH ME, and the first season of TWIN PEAKS. Then I went to the beach, hiked along the rocks, fearless of a swarm of bees circling my body like little fighter planes. I sat on the rocks and stared at the birds, boats, clouds and mountains, stashed my hoodie in the bush and found it without any eerie stains, saw a bumper sticker on a rusty old truck that said "Men Who Change Diapers Change The World". . . now I have a 12 pack of Lucky Lager and a documentary about a Scrabble championship.
TWIN PEAKS was an interesting first season -- quite good. Though sometimes the "weirdness" just feels like "art for the sake of art." The gender stereotypes could have been twisted and churned. The series did have me captivated, and Kyle MacLaughlan is quite the actor.
This morning I realized that I needed good coffee. So I went down to Wellburn's Grocery and got whole beans and ground them at home. The coffee can't leave its room for two weeks. Unless it aplogizes to tea.
Show last night: The H4rkness, a guy who plays solo along to a CD that he mixed -- don't judge, it's pretty good -- opened for S-L to a crowd of about 11 people. Guh. I don't mind so much playing to small crowds, but I don't like the transporting of gear, particularily the drum-kit, setting it up, taking it down, and sitting in an empty bar waiting to play to no one in particular. This scenario is usually great, even beautiful , but last night I wasn't in the mood. Whatever. We played really well, just a couple of flops in the usual places. I'm already thinking of what we can do to ease the flops into flips. I skeeved ten bucks off the H4rkness -- the money pulled in from the door should've gone to him, as he's on tour, but I'm living on hand-to-mouth right now and needed the money. Also I don't think it's too rude to ask for at least 10 bucks for my time.
After the show Pete, Mike and I -- no Dev :( -- went to Willow's Beach in Oak Bay. I knocked down every sandcastle (me saying: "More like Coke Bay," *punt*), every driftwood aligned sign, while Mike and Pete discouraged me. I was terribly negative.
I saw one of my most hated ex-co-workers the other day, in front of Welburn's. Steve was his name, and he had a large rottweiler, Sheba, who's friendly to people but rude to dogs.
Steve, Sheba and I used to drive around in a truck together, going from one house to the next mowing lawns and gardening. Should've been a great job. Steve was average height, had long greasy black hair tied in a pony tail, a salt-and-pepper beard. He wore plaid, black pants, and a ball-cap with a net on the back. He lived with prostitutes in the ghetto, had a daughter addicted to junk.
I felt sympathetic for him, at first. Then he started bumming money off me for smokes. Then he wouldn't train me, or if he did, he would always correct me on something and tell me a new way to do it. So I'd mow the lawn one way, he'd tell me all the weird shit that he'd never seen anybody do, then tell me a new way, then another new way. In the truck all Steve did was complain about the boss, how the boss didn't know how to run a company, how the boss didn't do whatever, and I knew that when the day ended, he'd be off complaining to someone about me. Usually I rolled down the window and ate to tune him out as he went on.
Sheba was a good dog. She had a thick black and brown hide. If her leash got tangled up around a post or something, she could maneuver and untangle herself and then prance around looking for pets. But if another dog came up, she'd try to kill it. After I left, Steve got fired. . . he'd contracted Hep C (doing blow with hookers) and he owed the boss a shit-load of money. Plus he was fucking one of the boss's tenants so he could have another place to crash and he was involved with minor-organized crime: when it got dark, he drove the company truck downtown and picked up stolen bikes. Eventually he was caught and the truck was impounded. Steve had a lot to complain about, but he was basically given a truck, a cell phone to use at all times and dental was on the way.
So J. and I were exiting Wellburn's and I saw some skeevy looking dude with a dog on the sidewalk. He started shouting at me, "Hey. . . hey. . . hey . . HEY! I know you! I used to be your boss! Come back here, I used to be your boss! I KNOW YOU! Come back here!" His dog started barking. He was never my boss. Joy and I kept walking.
Damn! I want a daily gardening job where I go to different houses on a daily basis and weed or whatever outside for a few hours. None! Nothing on four websites. Bah! This use of technology baffles me. I don't need too much work, just a little to pass the time. More like to ass the time. Bugger time with a routine whalloping.
I even woke up this morning feeling oddly refreshed after a very relaxing sleep. Now there's nothing to do.
My hair is longer than it's been in five years. It wouldn't be so bad except long hair no longer suits me. It needs to be short. . . but I'm rather poor, so I'm going to cut my hair at the end of the month, either by the barber, or I may spring for a stylist.
I have a new idea. It spins off from another idea I had, the VICTORIA INDICTMENT ANTHOLOGIES VOLUME ONE AND TWO. A few one-liners about the typical archetypal jerks in Victoria: "Mr. Beardy Beard bearding up the place, lank-girl who purges with her too skinny dog."
My new idea: 500 DOE-EYED MOTHER-FUCKERS ON COOK STREET
Love that area of town, but the people there have got to stop thinking it's Melrose Place.
A day, a night, and an afternoon in Vancouver. Went out for all you can eat sushi, walked the downtown a few times. Big city.
The transit system is rather efficient, but decide before the bus (#601) leave Vancouver. It leaves at odd times and will have you waiting for hours at strange interverals, like the Ladner Exchange.
Woke up early, went to Moka House, bought a coffee (one penny short) found a secluded spot at the beach and tanned for awhile before working up a sweat along the rocks, ate a pizza pretzel and a salmon salad at a table outisde of The Market on Yeats, came home, mixed a few big-gins, watched KIDS IN THE HALL with Joy, signed the document for a one month's notice on the suite.