I'm moving out of Victoria, at least for the time being. My last day here will be November 31st, looks like.
The reason? Basically, I'm only able to tread water at this point. I work far too many hours, and spend far too much on insulin and rent, to make any sort of headway. Every month, I make around negative one hundred dollars, in the grand scheme of things. If Charles Dickens were around these days, he'd write a book about me.
It'd be one of those books that only people who really loved Charles Dickens would know about, the hipster literati, if you will, but still. There'd be a book about me.
Anyways, If I want to make any sort of headway, something has to change, and that means getting my butt out of here. Staying in a crappy situation simply because you enjoy your surroundings and don't want change is bone-ass stupid. Sometimes, you have to take the unpleasant route in the short term for success in the longterm. Or, as my mother put it last week, "You're not getting any younger".
Thanks, mom. You know how to cheer a fella up.
So, the goal has shifted from "make next month's rent on time" to "finish up your goddamn degree and start making some money". And how best to do that? Move down to the nice rainy hills of Sooke while I work towards getting thaat degree. Actually, it'll be three degrees, by the time I'm done. In any case, it's probably the smartest move I've made in at least two and a half years. If not more.
But damn, I'm going to miss Victoria. I was walking down in James Bay the other day, as the sun was dipping past the hills, and wistfully sighed every time I walked past one building or another. A book store I've yet to visit. A cafe I've yet to sample. A restaurant I've missed out on the pleasure of dining at. An alleyway I've yet to pee in.
And so on, and so forth. There's a lot to Victoria, you see.
I've lived in Victoria for more than five years, and I haven't been sparse on trying new things. I've eaten at dozens (if not a hundred) different restaurants, had coffee or tea at just as many cafes, and gone book hunting all over town. I've been to more bars than I can count, and still have just as many more to visit still.
Compare this to Sooke, where, were I to go to a new restaurant every week, I would be making laps in less than two months. There are two bars. There is almost nothing in the way of live music. In fact, the only real "music" there is in Victoria is the guy who blares Metallica out of the stereo of his pickup truck while he drunkenly swerves to the bassline. Or the Eminem coming out of the stereo of the car Mr. Metallica is trying to arrest.
To add insult to injury, the place basically shuts down past 10 pm, which doesn't bode well for a career insomniac. I know from experience that the only thing you'll meet on a 3 am walk is an angry bear. You can't get a good cup of coffee at 3 am unless you make it yourself.
I grew up in Sooke, and was absolutely thrilled to leave the place. Not that it isn't beautiful - it's a gorgeous little town. But even though I grew up there, it was never really home. But now, I'm going back.
And yet, I'm looking forward to it. Because I'll finally be able to get back into school, and work towards the day when I can actually afford to live in Victoria. And visit all those cafes that remain unvisited, and dine at all those restaurants that remain undined. Someone else can deal with the alleyways.
November Playlist:
God. Would you believe I haven't done a playlist in months? What the hell is wrong with me? Anyways, here's my playlist for November. It's a bit dark these days, with a heavy dose of blues and what I'd call "Musicality".
- Dan Mangan, "Jeopardy"
- Geinoh Yamashirogumi, "Mutation"
- Imaginary Cities, "Ride this Out"
- Black Mountain, "The Way to Gone"
- The Cave Singers, "Haystacks"
- Radiohead, "Give Up The Ghost"
- The Mountain Goats, "Michael Myers Resplendent"
- Hey Rosetta!, "Bandages"
- Laurena, "Permafrost"
- Arcade Fire, "The Suburbs"
Dan Mangan: "Oh Fortune" (2011, Arts and Crafts Records)
I've been a bit lax in my music reviews lately. Not because I haven't been listening, but mostly because I've been, well, lazy. But I digress.
Dan Mangan's latest offering has a wonderful little notice in the fine print, which reads "If you acquire it for free, and you enjoy it, please to a live show and bring a friend. If you paid for it, you should still come a show - but know that you are exceptionally wonderful".
How nice. While it has little to do with the album itself, it's something I like to see.
This is new territory for Mangan - it's no longer music built around an acoustic guitar. Gone are the country/folk phrasings of Postcards and Daydreaming, or the horns and radio-friendly indie accessibility of Nice, Nice, Very Nice. This is an album with a heavy dose of strings, organs, and atmospheric omnichord bits. Mangan also takes a stab at the electric guitar this time around, most particularly on "Post War Blues", an album that is about as distinctly "un-Mangan" as I can imagine.
It's also not very good. But it's the only song that I really dislike on the album, so maybe that's something. The other big stab at electric guitar works, "Rows of Houses", is actually really good - probably my favourite track on the album, in fact.
The album opens up with an honest to god waltz with "About as helpful as you can be without being any help at all", and then progresses into a moody piece called "how darwinian". The long-standing Mangan fan is probably going to be a bit confused by the first few tracks - it's not until the fourth track, "if I am dead" that we begin to hear that folksy Mangan-type song we all know and love. And we don't hear something that has any sort of cheer until we get to the fifth track, "Daffodil", which has an old-timey feel I definitely like.
Actually, the album really warms up after "Daffodil", with many great folksy songs that return to Mangan's roots while still being experimental enough that he's not just treading old ground. The title track, "Oh Fortune", is a great example of this, with a train-chugging riff that has an old-time rock and roll sound combined with that west coast indie feel we all love.
In all, it's a moodier version of Mangan. He's always had sad lyrics - this time around, the sounds tend to match those lyrics. Really, it's less rock and roll, and more blues. Less whistling, more wailing. And so on, and so forth. Try listening to the album-ending "Jeopardy" and trying to remain cheerful ("Where did I go?/what is this sorrow? where did I go? what am I doing?")
Bottom line? This isn't nearly as happy as his earlier work, but it's still a work that is absolutely creative and worth listening to. Rather than having you tapping your feet to infectious pop ballads, you'll be sipping coffee and thinking about lost loves and those who have left us. It's an album worth checking out, whether you buy it or find it for free. And in either case, do what the fine print says, and check him out live.
And bring a friend.
Dan Mangan's latest offering has a wonderful little notice in the fine print, which reads "If you acquire it for free, and you enjoy it, please to a live show and bring a friend. If you paid for it, you should still come a show - but know that you are exceptionally wonderful".
How nice. While it has little to do with the album itself, it's something I like to see.
This is new territory for Mangan - it's no longer music built around an acoustic guitar. Gone are the country/folk phrasings of Postcards and Daydreaming, or the horns and radio-friendly indie accessibility of Nice, Nice, Very Nice. This is an album with a heavy dose of strings, organs, and atmospheric omnichord bits. Mangan also takes a stab at the electric guitar this time around, most particularly on "Post War Blues", an album that is about as distinctly "un-Mangan" as I can imagine.
It's also not very good. But it's the only song that I really dislike on the album, so maybe that's something. The other big stab at electric guitar works, "Rows of Houses", is actually really good - probably my favourite track on the album, in fact.
The album opens up with an honest to god waltz with "About as helpful as you can be without being any help at all", and then progresses into a moody piece called "how darwinian". The long-standing Mangan fan is probably going to be a bit confused by the first few tracks - it's not until the fourth track, "if I am dead" that we begin to hear that folksy Mangan-type song we all know and love. And we don't hear something that has any sort of cheer until we get to the fifth track, "Daffodil", which has an old-timey feel I definitely like.
Actually, the album really warms up after "Daffodil", with many great folksy songs that return to Mangan's roots while still being experimental enough that he's not just treading old ground. The title track, "Oh Fortune", is a great example of this, with a train-chugging riff that has an old-time rock and roll sound combined with that west coast indie feel we all love.
In all, it's a moodier version of Mangan. He's always had sad lyrics - this time around, the sounds tend to match those lyrics. Really, it's less rock and roll, and more blues. Less whistling, more wailing. And so on, and so forth. Try listening to the album-ending "Jeopardy" and trying to remain cheerful ("Where did I go?/what is this sorrow? where did I go? what am I doing?")
Bottom line? This isn't nearly as happy as his earlier work, but it's still a work that is absolutely creative and worth listening to. Rather than having you tapping your feet to infectious pop ballads, you'll be sipping coffee and thinking about lost loves and those who have left us. It's an album worth checking out, whether you buy it or find it for free. And in either case, do what the fine print says, and check him out live.
And bring a friend.
Insomnia
The last week, I've had incredibly bad insomnia. There have been days where I've had to be at work for 7 am, and found myself staring at the clock at 5 am, having not slept at all, wondering what the hell I was going to do.
When I do sleep, it's in bursts, and filled with weird, incomplete dreams. A few days ago, I dreamt I was lying in my bed, trying to sleep. And when I woke up, I wasn't sure what part was the dream, because I was so damned confused I couldn't make heads or tails of reality itself.
Such is the life of a chronic insomniac, I suppose. Your dreams consist of being awake, and while you're awake, you dream of nothing but a good night's sleep. There's a song title somewhere in that.
Flash forward to last night. I was groggy, and ready to lie down. I had tuesday off, and was planning on spending it being productive as well as starting to clean up the apartment (ha!). I went to bed for a "quick nap" at around 9 pm, and set my alarm for 1 am, for some reason, so that I could get a little bit of "pre-cleaning" done.
I woke up at 1 am, as planned. And then decided that this was stupid, because it was the first time I'd had more than two hours of uninterrupted sleep, and I needed the sleep more than the "pre-cleaning". This was probably the smartest, most coherent thing I've done all week. Which is sad in its own way. So I went back to bed.
And slept for the rest of the night. It was heavenly. If that is at all what being dead is like, I don't know what everyone's complaining about. I could go for some more of it.
It all ended at 7 am, however. Because my cell phone alarm went off. I hit it, and went back to sleep.
It went off again at 8 am. So I hit the button, and threw it across the room. Only for it to go off again at 9 am, waking me up yet again. Finally, I rolled out of bed, turned off that alarm, and realized that somewhere during the night, I had actually set half a dozen independant alarms, each set to go off at a different hour.
I have no recollection of doing this. We're talking some serious Fight Club, Tyler Durden stuff here. And if you haven't seen Fight Club, ignore that reference, it means nothing. And please, go see Fight Club, you fool!
That isn't even the most impressive insomniac thing I've done this month, however. A few weeks ago, I had to be at work for a 3 am shift, and had only had an hour of sleep before waking up at around 2 to walk to work. Somewhere on the gorge, I actually fell asleep while walking.
And woke up a block down the street, wondering where the hell I was, and why was I fullly dressed and walking? And why was I covered in hobo blood?
Okay, I made that last bit up. But the rest of it is absolutely true.
I have to be up at 5 am tomorrow to get to work on time. And I am wide awake right now. I have a feeling tomorrow will be an interesting day.
When I do sleep, it's in bursts, and filled with weird, incomplete dreams. A few days ago, I dreamt I was lying in my bed, trying to sleep. And when I woke up, I wasn't sure what part was the dream, because I was so damned confused I couldn't make heads or tails of reality itself.
Such is the life of a chronic insomniac, I suppose. Your dreams consist of being awake, and while you're awake, you dream of nothing but a good night's sleep. There's a song title somewhere in that.
Flash forward to last night. I was groggy, and ready to lie down. I had tuesday off, and was planning on spending it being productive as well as starting to clean up the apartment (ha!). I went to bed for a "quick nap" at around 9 pm, and set my alarm for 1 am, for some reason, so that I could get a little bit of "pre-cleaning" done.
I woke up at 1 am, as planned. And then decided that this was stupid, because it was the first time I'd had more than two hours of uninterrupted sleep, and I needed the sleep more than the "pre-cleaning". This was probably the smartest, most coherent thing I've done all week. Which is sad in its own way. So I went back to bed.
And slept for the rest of the night. It was heavenly. If that is at all what being dead is like, I don't know what everyone's complaining about. I could go for some more of it.
It all ended at 7 am, however. Because my cell phone alarm went off. I hit it, and went back to sleep.
It went off again at 8 am. So I hit the button, and threw it across the room. Only for it to go off again at 9 am, waking me up yet again. Finally, I rolled out of bed, turned off that alarm, and realized that somewhere during the night, I had actually set half a dozen independant alarms, each set to go off at a different hour.
I have no recollection of doing this. We're talking some serious Fight Club, Tyler Durden stuff here. And if you haven't seen Fight Club, ignore that reference, it means nothing. And please, go see Fight Club, you fool!
That isn't even the most impressive insomniac thing I've done this month, however. A few weeks ago, I had to be at work for a 3 am shift, and had only had an hour of sleep before waking up at around 2 to walk to work. Somewhere on the gorge, I actually fell asleep while walking.
And woke up a block down the street, wondering where the hell I was, and why was I fullly dressed and walking? And why was I covered in hobo blood?
Okay, I made that last bit up. But the rest of it is absolutely true.
I have to be up at 5 am tomorrow to get to work on time. And I am wide awake right now. I have a feeling tomorrow will be an interesting day.
More Bad People Stories:
Last year, around this time, I was working at Future Shop, selling headphones to the moderately wealthy. Life was fairly good, because I wasn't too bad at selling headphones to the moderately wealthy. In fact, I was pretty sure I was going to be kept on once the season ended, because I was making a couple hundred dollars of commission every day I worked there.
This translates into "a shitload of headphones", for those at home keeping score. And my technique was pretty simple, too - I'd just talk to the customer about music, find a band we both liked (easy peasy), and then loan the customer my awesome headphones and play him a song on my ipod. It worked like a charm... and my return rates were lower than most any other salesman in my department.
But then, at the end of the season, my hours were cut short and I was told I would not be permanently hired. Basically, they kicked me out the door.
I wasn't too bummed by this, because, well, it wasn't the best job in the world or anything. And also, they kicked me out the door just before people traditionally return christmas purchases, meaning I got to keep much more of my commission from boxing day sales than those that were kept on.
But I was perplexed, as a few of the people that were kept on made considerably less than me, including one guy who only made one or two sales during boxing day. This guy was allergic to making sales, and actually at one point started telling a random customer about Milton Berle's over-large penis because he got nervous during his sales pitch.
I wish I were making this up.
This begs the question. Why the hell did they keep that guy, and can me?
I found out a while later. Apparently, I was anti-semitic, and made several anti-semitic comments to a jewish co-worker. And, as far as these things go, this is entirely true. And my jewish co-worker was canned because he made anti-native comments to one of his co-workers.
That native co-worker? That would be me. I'm part native, and he knew it. And I knew he was jewish. See, one day, we were sitting in the break room, having our lunch and shooting the shit. We started swapping insults, that got progressively worse. We shared the same sense of humour, and we just let it go away. I told him that his nose was so goddamn huge because air was free. He told me that he locked his bicycle up so that it would force a chug such as myself to do an honest day's work rather than steal shit. I told him that if things had gone right, he'd be living in a ghetto in warsaw with a number tattooed across his forehead. He told me that if things had gone right, my blankets would still have small pox.
And so on, and so forth.
Yeah, harsh words, but if you were there, those words translated more into "hey, look at all this racist shit people say about our ethnic groups. Isn't that bullshit? Let's poke fun at that!"
Of course, whitey got involved, and decided that since we weren't insulted, she was going to have to step in and get insulted for us. She got so insulted, in fact, that she went to the managers and complained. After all, how dare two of us make inappropriate comments in a break room at a quiet level, out of ear shot of customers? How dare we make jokes?
So, I got canned, as did he.
Naturally, I went on welfare payments and stole her bike. I traded it to my new jew friend for some firewater and smoked salmon. He sold the bike at his cousin's brother's deli for far too much and spent the money on a nice brisket.
Apparently, neither of us learned anything from the incident. Which is as it should be.
This translates into "a shitload of headphones", for those at home keeping score. And my technique was pretty simple, too - I'd just talk to the customer about music, find a band we both liked (easy peasy), and then loan the customer my awesome headphones and play him a song on my ipod. It worked like a charm... and my return rates were lower than most any other salesman in my department.
But then, at the end of the season, my hours were cut short and I was told I would not be permanently hired. Basically, they kicked me out the door.
I wasn't too bummed by this, because, well, it wasn't the best job in the world or anything. And also, they kicked me out the door just before people traditionally return christmas purchases, meaning I got to keep much more of my commission from boxing day sales than those that were kept on.
But I was perplexed, as a few of the people that were kept on made considerably less than me, including one guy who only made one or two sales during boxing day. This guy was allergic to making sales, and actually at one point started telling a random customer about Milton Berle's over-large penis because he got nervous during his sales pitch.
I wish I were making this up.
This begs the question. Why the hell did they keep that guy, and can me?
I found out a while later. Apparently, I was anti-semitic, and made several anti-semitic comments to a jewish co-worker. And, as far as these things go, this is entirely true. And my jewish co-worker was canned because he made anti-native comments to one of his co-workers.
That native co-worker? That would be me. I'm part native, and he knew it. And I knew he was jewish. See, one day, we were sitting in the break room, having our lunch and shooting the shit. We started swapping insults, that got progressively worse. We shared the same sense of humour, and we just let it go away. I told him that his nose was so goddamn huge because air was free. He told me that he locked his bicycle up so that it would force a chug such as myself to do an honest day's work rather than steal shit. I told him that if things had gone right, he'd be living in a ghetto in warsaw with a number tattooed across his forehead. He told me that if things had gone right, my blankets would still have small pox.
And so on, and so forth.
Yeah, harsh words, but if you were there, those words translated more into "hey, look at all this racist shit people say about our ethnic groups. Isn't that bullshit? Let's poke fun at that!"
Of course, whitey got involved, and decided that since we weren't insulted, she was going to have to step in and get insulted for us. She got so insulted, in fact, that she went to the managers and complained. After all, how dare two of us make inappropriate comments in a break room at a quiet level, out of ear shot of customers? How dare we make jokes?
So, I got canned, as did he.
Naturally, I went on welfare payments and stole her bike. I traded it to my new jew friend for some firewater and smoked salmon. He sold the bike at his cousin's brother's deli for far too much and spent the money on a nice brisket.
Apparently, neither of us learned anything from the incident. Which is as it should be.
I am bad people
I love making fun of people. Especially when they're in on the joke. Unfortunately, sometimes uninvolved witnesses don't understand it's all fake, and think I'm just being an asshole. I mean, I am an asshole, but I hate it when I blow my cover.
Observe.
DAVE: Hey! I'm working with Jean today!
JEAN: Hey Dave. It's gonna be a fun night,. We're going to rock this place.
DAVE: Jean, did you know that you're my second favourite person named 'Jean' to work in this deli?
JEAN: (Rolls eyes)
RANDOM CO-WORKER: "Second Favourite"? Dave, she's the only person named Jean that works here.
DAVE: I know. But she's just not 'number one' material, wouldn't you agree?
JEAN: I hate you, Dave.
See? It's funny. Two of the three of us had fun, pretending to hate each other. But the third person didn't get the joke... and went to the managers about my "attitude".
Another exchange between "jean" and I:
JEAN: Hey Dave. You know how Hitler died, right?
DAVE: Well, actually, he died of a cyan-
JEAN: Quit being a smartass for a second. Hitler died of a heart attack.
DAVE: No, he died of Cyan-
JEAN: Shut up. He died of a heart attack. You know, when he saw his gas bill?
DAVE: (Pause, and then) BWAAAA HAAA HAA HAAA!
JEAN: Thought you'd like that. We're bad people.
DAVE: Yeah. We are bad people. Don't know why I'm laughing... I just found out last month that my grandfather died in a concentration camp, after all.
JEAN: Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I said that! I'm so so so sorry!
DAVE: Yeah.... he fell out of a guard tower.
JEAN: (Pause, and then) BWAAAAA HAAA HAA HAAA!
RANDOM CO-WORKER: You're both bad people.
Moral of the story? I only hang out with the fun people at work. And then get in shit.
Observe.
DAVE: Hey! I'm working with Jean today!
JEAN: Hey Dave. It's gonna be a fun night,. We're going to rock this place.
DAVE: Jean, did you know that you're my second favourite person named 'Jean' to work in this deli?
JEAN: (Rolls eyes)
RANDOM CO-WORKER: "Second Favourite"? Dave, she's the only person named Jean that works here.
DAVE: I know. But she's just not 'number one' material, wouldn't you agree?
JEAN: I hate you, Dave.
See? It's funny. Two of the three of us had fun, pretending to hate each other. But the third person didn't get the joke... and went to the managers about my "attitude".
Another exchange between "jean" and I:
JEAN: Hey Dave. You know how Hitler died, right?
DAVE: Well, actually, he died of a cyan-
JEAN: Quit being a smartass for a second. Hitler died of a heart attack.
DAVE: No, he died of Cyan-
JEAN: Shut up. He died of a heart attack. You know, when he saw his gas bill?
DAVE: (Pause, and then) BWAAAA HAAA HAA HAAA!
JEAN: Thought you'd like that. We're bad people.
DAVE: Yeah. We are bad people. Don't know why I'm laughing... I just found out last month that my grandfather died in a concentration camp, after all.
JEAN: Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I said that! I'm so so so sorry!
DAVE: Yeah.... he fell out of a guard tower.
JEAN: (Pause, and then) BWAAAAA HAAA HAA HAAA!
RANDOM CO-WORKER: You're both bad people.
Moral of the story? I only hang out with the fun people at work. And then get in shit.
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