I find my misfortune to be highly amusing sometimes. For example, who would have thought that something as innocent as going to Chapters to buy children's books would result in Vince and I getting sprayed with piss? I certainly didn't. So get this. We were walking down George Street heading towards the Chapters on the corner of Rideau and Sussex, when all of a sudden this abhorrent smell found its way into my nasal passages. It was a vile smell, the kind you would imagine attached to something being dredged up from the recesses of hell. With hand over mouth, I scanned the area to determine the source of the foul. I read 'City of Ottawa Sewage Waste' on the side of a truck, and then it hit me, quite literally. I felt moist misty speckles of something hit my skin and the smell got worse. A rather large exhaust fan on the back of the 'Sewage Waste' truck was spraying the environs with a rank fog that was no doubt a mixture of piss, excrement, toilet paper bits, vomit and beer. Awesome. Vince and I ran out of the thick as quickly as we could, but we hadn't been spared. We smelled our clothing and our skin and came to grips with the abomination we'd just been faced with. The City of Ottawa had just doused us with piss and shit. Needless to say, buying children's books for my co-worker's teaching trip to India was an unpleasant and embarassing affair: unpleasant for the clerks dealing with me and for the other customers in Chapters, embarassing for Vince and myself, who smelled like we'd just crawled out of a toilet bowl. The only positive thing I learnt from the entire situation was that Febreeze gets the smell of piss out rather nicely.
Fuck you, City of Ottawa. You win this round, but I won't be around long enough for you to piss on me again.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Campfire Kansas
I like the Get Up Kids. I really do. Yesterday, I was droning away in my office (yes, I have an office.. more on that in a bit) and Campfire Kansas came on my iPod's shuffle play. I was reminded that not only is that a wonderful song, but that right now, in the (hopefully not that linear) vector that is my life, this is not where I want to be.
So I graduated. For real. Well actually, not quite for real. I still need to go through the whole convocation ceremony process, but as far as requirements, classes and procedures are concerned, I'm good to go. I will soon be holder of a B.A. in Journalism, for whatever that's worth.
I also moved.I’m now living in the Outaouais region in a nice little apartment by the river, conveniently located in my grandparents’ basement. The rent is cheap (read: free) and the location is fairly convenient, allowing me easy access to anything of note in the National Capital region, all while giving me the opportunity to bike to work every day. This brings us to the aforementioned office. Through a combination of luck and the benevolence of certain family members, I got offered a casual position working for Service Canada. Yes, I’ve become a government worker. I partake in the 8 to 4 grind here and in the evenings I rule with an iron fist at the Freshmart, my father’s grocery store in lovely Chelsea Quebec. Needless to say, this keeps me rather busy.
And all of this for what? Have I grown to dislike Montreal? Am I willing to stand up on my desk, gazing down at all on the other side of my cubicle walls and proclaim “to hell with journalism, I am a public servant!”? I’m happy to say that both of the above hypotheses are complete folly.
No, the reality of it is that I need money. Living the student life has left me with some considerable debt that I need to take care of a.s.a.p. I’ve been fortunate enough to be presented with a situation that allows me to work extensively (for very decent pay) and absolves me of virtually any cost of living. Not to take of advantage of it would be downright stupid.
Yet despite the practicality of it all, I’m horribly dissatisfied. I now find myself living for my week-ends, anxiously awaiting the next two day respite before it all starts over again. I feel like I’ve gone off the rails and have gradually lost sight of what I was working towards. In the last few days, I’ve been questioning my motives for moving back here, for taking this monetarily fruitful, yet spiritually, emotionally and intellectually bankrupt detour. As much as I try to remind myself of the reason for it all, I’m just not convinced anymore. I feel cheated out of what should be a really exciting time in my life.
The only positive aspect I’ve been able to wrangle out of all of this has been a definition of ‘home’. Since I first moved to Montreal three years ago, I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to define that term. But now that I’ve moved back to the Outaouais region, a new kind of perspective has emerged. I’m here to debunk the theory of ‘home is where the heart is,’ at least in my own narrowly biased view of things. I’m living in a place where a great deal of the people I love most reside, yet I can’t help but feel alien and displaced. ‘Home’ is a feeling, this much is certain, but I believe it to be one that implies synergy and communion between a person and his surroundings rather than between a person and those he interacts with. On Sunday morning, I walked the streets of Montreal under the beating of heavy rain fall and I felt peaceful. The city spoke to me, offered me comfort, consoled my loneliness and granted me my very own tract of significance and purpose amidst its rumblings and shakings. Leaving the city in the afternoon, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d return and take the place that is offered to me. I miss 'home.'
I'm also having some trouble coming to grips with certain elements of change. It is obvious that very few things can be qualified as constant, even though we often have the audacity of labeling them as such. I'm finding myself being estranged from things I held to dearly, and the process has been a difficult one. Change breeds distance it seems. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it to breed proximity.
So back to Campfire Kansas. I've always had this little ideal of the perfect Summer and the Get Up Kids just totally nailed that state/feeling with this song. I wish all my summer evenings were spent lying down by a river with a good book, my head propped up against some rough tree bark, the whole scene tinted a sepia orange, everything drowned in the warm evening light. Every year, I cross my fingers and hope that this will be the one where I manage to approximate my ideal. Needless to say, I'm always let down. I need to learn to make the most of anything, I guess that's what the song's about.
That's quite enough for now. Once I figure things out, you'll hear from me again. But really, I'd like to hear from you.
So I graduated. For real. Well actually, not quite for real. I still need to go through the whole convocation ceremony process, but as far as requirements, classes and procedures are concerned, I'm good to go. I will soon be holder of a B.A. in Journalism, for whatever that's worth.
I also moved.I’m now living in the Outaouais region in a nice little apartment by the river, conveniently located in my grandparents’ basement. The rent is cheap (read: free) and the location is fairly convenient, allowing me easy access to anything of note in the National Capital region, all while giving me the opportunity to bike to work every day. This brings us to the aforementioned office. Through a combination of luck and the benevolence of certain family members, I got offered a casual position working for Service Canada. Yes, I’ve become a government worker. I partake in the 8 to 4 grind here and in the evenings I rule with an iron fist at the Freshmart, my father’s grocery store in lovely Chelsea Quebec. Needless to say, this keeps me rather busy.
And all of this for what? Have I grown to dislike Montreal? Am I willing to stand up on my desk, gazing down at all on the other side of my cubicle walls and proclaim “to hell with journalism, I am a public servant!”? I’m happy to say that both of the above hypotheses are complete folly.
No, the reality of it is that I need money. Living the student life has left me with some considerable debt that I need to take care of a.s.a.p. I’ve been fortunate enough to be presented with a situation that allows me to work extensively (for very decent pay) and absolves me of virtually any cost of living. Not to take of advantage of it would be downright stupid.
Yet despite the practicality of it all, I’m horribly dissatisfied. I now find myself living for my week-ends, anxiously awaiting the next two day respite before it all starts over again. I feel like I’ve gone off the rails and have gradually lost sight of what I was working towards. In the last few days, I’ve been questioning my motives for moving back here, for taking this monetarily fruitful, yet spiritually, emotionally and intellectually bankrupt detour. As much as I try to remind myself of the reason for it all, I’m just not convinced anymore. I feel cheated out of what should be a really exciting time in my life.
The only positive aspect I’ve been able to wrangle out of all of this has been a definition of ‘home’. Since I first moved to Montreal three years ago, I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to define that term. But now that I’ve moved back to the Outaouais region, a new kind of perspective has emerged. I’m here to debunk the theory of ‘home is where the heart is,’ at least in my own narrowly biased view of things. I’m living in a place where a great deal of the people I love most reside, yet I can’t help but feel alien and displaced. ‘Home’ is a feeling, this much is certain, but I believe it to be one that implies synergy and communion between a person and his surroundings rather than between a person and those he interacts with. On Sunday morning, I walked the streets of Montreal under the beating of heavy rain fall and I felt peaceful. The city spoke to me, offered me comfort, consoled my loneliness and granted me my very own tract of significance and purpose amidst its rumblings and shakings. Leaving the city in the afternoon, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d return and take the place that is offered to me. I miss 'home.'
I'm also having some trouble coming to grips with certain elements of change. It is obvious that very few things can be qualified as constant, even though we often have the audacity of labeling them as such. I'm finding myself being estranged from things I held to dearly, and the process has been a difficult one. Change breeds distance it seems. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it to breed proximity.
So back to Campfire Kansas. I've always had this little ideal of the perfect Summer and the Get Up Kids just totally nailed that state/feeling with this song. I wish all my summer evenings were spent lying down by a river with a good book, my head propped up against some rough tree bark, the whole scene tinted a sepia orange, everything drowned in the warm evening light. Every year, I cross my fingers and hope that this will be the one where I manage to approximate my ideal. Needless to say, I'm always let down. I need to learn to make the most of anything, I guess that's what the song's about.
That's quite enough for now. Once I figure things out, you'll hear from me again. But really, I'd like to hear from you.
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