Pierre's Circle of Madness

Day 3

Day Something or Other, you know, the one in which I actually type this bullshit: there’s nothing more pleasing to the eye when you see a guy in a suit, who, wile slightly older, has clothes that fit him just so and has a superb ass as a consequence.

Resuming Day 3…

The third day was refreshingly uneventful.

I’m still not sure as to whether that was uttered with some degree of irony.

Moving on…

After consuming food so much more foul than McDonald’s that it is also worthy of its own slew of damning documentaries – I mean, what else would you expect from an establishment that boasts continental breakfast and sushi at the lower level of a hotel – we went to the CN tower. The view was nice – I felt like Jasmine on a magic carpet ride, if only for a lack of an Aladdin. At the foot of the structure, my godfather asks me to covertly take a picture of this man who is allegedly following us because he is a cop. What under God’s –  or whichever deity or conglomerate thereof who wishes to lay claim to the heavens above – blue sky would have any interest in the activities of a fat man and a gay man? Unfortunately, this answer still evades me: perhaps this is a sign that I forsake the pursuit of all pleasure and devote my life to the study of Scripture.

In any case, time flew, and before I knew it, it was time for interview number two. Located in a building downtown on the twenty-fifth floor, I knew immediately that this company took it’s shit very, very seriously. And then there was the receptionist. Now, I do not know what the hell was the deal with that company, but it seemed that each time that woman answered the phone, she greeted the caller with a different company name – I’m sure she was the receptionist for at least ten different companies. Hmmm, perhaps a cost-cutting measure… In any case, I was surrounded by other applicants dressed in suits in a fancy office as we had our group interview in a boardroom. I, on the other hand, had a few days growth on my face and did not even have a tie. Eh heh.

Then came the time for the individual lesson plans. The other applicants obviously prepared a great deal as they had props and introduced regular and irregular verbs, superlatives, and things that I was not even aware of. Superla-what? At that point, I started to feel insufficient in this game of hard ball in which the stakes were high.

At the end of the interview, we waited ten minutes as the interviewer excused herself to review our applications. She then came back with sealed envelopes that would let us know if we were invited back for a personal interview. Like myself, another applicant came in from out of town… but this guy came in all he way from Florida. We both requested in advance that if we were to be selected for a personal interview that it happen right after the group interview since we were leaving shortly after. We all took our envelopes and went down the elevator, said goodbye to each other, and then I scurried into a corner to read my letter.

I was the only one to go back up the elevator. Phew, that was close!

I left the second personal interview feeling that I did better than the first interview. It was definitely a challenging interview: she gave me ten minutes to prepare a five minute lesson in which she pretended to be a high-school student, and then two minutes to prepare another one in which she pretended to be five years old. But apparently I did well because after that we started discussing things such as scheduling, visa requirements, and other finer details that I’m sure she would have opted out had I not be still in the running. She said that I should hear from her by mail or phone within one to two weeks.

And then we went home, me screaming for my life as my godfather tailgates almost every single vehicle in his path. Getting home at two, going to sleep at three, and waking up at quarter to seven, needless to say, was not fun at all.

Of course there shall be no rest for the weary nor the wicked nor homosexuals seeking employ across the world. The night prior to, I proposed that my godfather and I visit Niagara Falls as it would be a nice thing to do together and its something in the great outdoors, both things that my godfather would enjoy.

Being in the same vehicle as my godfather always proves to be an epic tale in and of its self, involving some joy, humor, and good times but much more screaming, crying, confusion, and involuntary bowel movements; how can it not be such when the passenger knows more than the driver where we are going. Driving to Niagara Falls requires even less faculties than driving to Toronto, and yet my godfather was able to, despite all odds, make that hour-and-a-half drive there and back akin to proving Fermat’s theorem from scratch. Are we there yet? Do we have to go to the States? We can’t go to the States: this car is a rental! Are we in the States yet? Do we have to go through customs? Where are we? I think we should have turned there. Are we there yet?

Responses, in order in which their respective questions have been asked: no, we are not, we have barely left the hotel; no, we don’t have to go to the States, for the Falls are situated on the border; see previous; see previous; SEE PREVIOUS; FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND PURE, SEE PREVIOUS; I don’t know, it’s not like I live here; no, keep on going straight; and no, we are not there yet.

Continue to breathe normally. Even though oxygen is flowing, the plastic bag may not inflate.

Ninety cruel minutes later, we arrive at Niagara Falls. I didn't even know there was enough water on this continent to keep those Falls going 24/7… or maybe it’s just there during business hours. They were quite larger than what I imagined them to be. It was also quite colder than what I would have liked it to be, as my frail hands took pictures in silent protest. And yes, I am happy to say that seeing the Falls from the Canadian side is much better: all the tourists were on this side, it was more developed, and there were more pretty hotels who aimed to steal foreign money.

The drive back was even worse. I looked in earnest for a pencil to gouge out my left eye. It was long. There was traffic. I was crabby. We checked into the second hotel, and this time a small typhoon was generated from my departure. Where am I going? Oh, to a market and then off to see a friend. Yes, this market is very far, and I like to walk very fast, said I, half out the door.

Kensington Market is a quaint part of town in which one may procure all the kitschy retro clothing, fine cheeses, fresh meats, and other delicious foods within a few street blocks. Immune from inflation, it is still possible to purchase a beef patty for ninety-five cents, the same price that I paid for one when I was a little wee lad ten years ago.

And then I saw Sabeen. We used to work together until she decided to move to Toronto, where she delivers customer service to the French population for their mortgages, many of whom do not even know the actual word in French and insist on spelling University in French as they send mail to Toronto. We went to Yorkdale Mall, which is up there somewheres, and proceeded to find her a pair of boots, attempt to out some workers and clients and critique on clothing priced unduly in excess of their worth or lack thereof. It was a real pleasure to see Sabeen and to hear what she’s up to. It seems that right now she’s not exactly sure of where she’s going and thus becoming a little frantic as a result. Hopefully, she will find her way and that it makes her really happy.

We then went back downtown. We went to the Village for all of 59.5 seconds and then decide to get a bite to eat. But then a higher force decided that there shall not be a singular point of banality on this trip and consequently thrust upon us two very weird people. After smiling at us and saying hi in a manner indicative of ridicule, interest grossly made manifest, or consumption of mood-enhancing drugs, they invite us to sit with them as we feast upon sustenance made to appear as if actually safe for human ingestion: McDonalds.

Dramatis Personae

Myself
Sabeen
Rama
Randy

Randy said that he had ADHD, that he is gay, that everyone thinks that he is gay, that he has mannerisms, that he is straight, that he has two girlfriends right now... and then a boyfriend, that he is not straight or gay but asexual, that he is out of control sex-addict and is trying to recover. He changed his shoes while we were eating, talked about how white people have greasy foreheads, how he has one himself. Then, Rama, his friend leaves, at which point he says that he is really straight and that he is putting on the gay act because he is madly in love with Rama but doesn't trust himself with her because he's a recovering player and she's his best friend. Rama, on the other hand, is thoroughly convinced that he is gay and shakes his head when he tries to hide it, just smiles neutrally when he does something horrible embarrassing and causes Sabeen to become aghast.

I eat my French fries with continued mild amusement and continue the discussion with how men in gay porn always have CK underwear.

Randy reveals that he is in a predicament because he loves Rama but there is something wrong because she is missing something. I mention that it was perhaps a penis, so she can perhaps get herself a strap on, but that may not offer her anything so I suggested that perhaps they can find a strap on with a dildo on the flipside, if such things even exist. Randy said he was very confused, to which I replied as to whether he was vacillating between top and bottom. He then wondered how the strap-on would work if there were two bottoms (a dong) or two tops (Eiffel tower with a third). Rama says she is only friends with Randy because she can't get rid of him, to which I suggest Niagara Falls.

And then we said goodnight.

I found the whole experience severely entertaining. Sabeen said that they were probably trying to mock us, and for all it’s worth, I did not give a shit. The whole way through he tried to get a rise out of me, but in the long run it was he who was at my mercy, for I’m sure he had no idea how myself and my sense of decorum have properly parted ways quite some time ago. It was definitely better than talking about the weather.

Well, it has been ages since I have typed up a blog entry and there is much to tell. So let’s start with the trip to Toronto. The mission: to go through two interviews in an effort to secure a teaching position in Japan. Seeing that my godfather has never went to Toronto, he volunteers to take me, thus saving me a tons of moolah.

Driving to Toronto is so easy that all you need is a heavy foot and about six hours patience, a little over four if you think little of speed limits. We get to Toronto at twelve-thirty at night, just for me to make a mistake when it came to directions and consequently have no idea where we were going. After navigating through ill-lit streets lurked by ladies of the afternoon and evening, providence directs us right onto the street we want to be on and we arrive at the hotel shortly after. All is well… until I realize that I have lost my wallet.

Have you ever been made so nervous that at once, your gastric system gives way, making trips to the bathroom both more frequent and undesirable? Such is what happens when you realize that you are in a foreign land, or at least somewhere else, with no wallet. The snooty hotel clerk did not help things much when he realized this, either.

Anyways, we check into our suite because the place was booked but we had reservations still so they pt us up in the only thing available; I assure you no complaints were issued to this effect. However, my sleep was less than fitful, the amounts had less than optimal, and thus my mood was less than ideal when I woke up later on that morning. Jacques, no, I do not know where we are staying tonight, I do not know how long the interview will take, I don’t know how I will contact you or meet up with you later on, I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know where the interview is but I know I have to be there in forty five minutes so if you would be as kind as to excuse me, I must depart.

Believe you me, there was wake produced from that take-off sequence.

In Montreal, civic numbers increase pretty rapidly. In Toronto they increase slower than a tortoise going against a current of molasses uphill on Jupiter. Such was my dismay when I realized it took me twenty-five minutes to go from six-hundred to a thousand on Yonge Street. However, with God willing – and a taxi – I got to the interview on time.

Interview number one was quite well done. It was for Nova Corporation. They had two presenters, one which presented while the other took notes on we lowly subjects. While a little long and geared to those who did not use neither their blessing of sight nor sharpness of mind to actually read the information on the company’s very own website, they did do a nice job of keeping us engaged lest our minds devolved to that of an amoeba.

After break, in which I initiated the process of getting a convenience card so I can have access to my money, I went through the personal interview. His name was Steven, he was in his forties, and he asked me eighteen questions in record time and then used the answers to these to frame more questions. Fine, give me a run for my money on a metaphorical level as well. He then pretended to be a child so I can deliver a teaching lesson similar to the one demonstrated to us during the group interview. He said that he would get back to me in a week via post.

What, what, what? Mail? Why mail? I asked someone who had an interview at the same time as I did, and he said h would be hearing something by the end of the week via telephone. What, what, what? Immediately, my mind started making inferences on which mode of communication would be most conducive to my career in the far away land of Nippon. However, after conversing with a few people who promptly told me I was full of la merde and to just shut up and wait, I decided that I have no reason to doubt myself and that time shall tell. Who can say where the day will flow….

I'm going with Linda to Black and Blue and I'm so terribly excited!

So Christian on Nip/Tuck may be gay? Well, that's some tasty food for thought!

Have you ever been so overcome with inertia that you don't want to do anything at all?

The guy from Telus called, and it's probably to finalize the job offer. But I don't want to work there. I don't even want to cal him back to tell him that I don't want to work there. Instead of seeking a second job, I'm just going to buckle down with the CIBC and save like a fool. I finally have money in the accounts and I intend that the balance get only bigger.

I don't want to blowdry my hair even though if I don't it means that it will be that much harder to flat iron and I do not intend on leaving my house with the curly, public-like hair I was born with.

I don't feel like going to work, but that would somewhat infringe upon the saving-money shindig. But I can always call in sick...

Eh, I'm just bitching. What else is new?

So I have really been looking into Tokyo as a place to live for a year, the world of capsule and love hotels, Shinkansens, expensive yet wonderful shopping in the Ginza, Shibuya, and Ikebukuro, prefectures, bento boxes, scramble crossings, gogals, and the like. But everything is going to be so expensive there: it's really going to be a lesson in finance management.

Eh, time to snap out of it. Perhaps with a gallon of coffee I shall do just fine.

This just in: I turned down the job and he didn't sound pleased. Oh well.

Someone give me another drink, my mother is asking me for more money per month...

So yeah, I have not updated the blog in quite some time. Things have been going more or less okay but I don't know why it's so bloody complicated to get a job at Starbucks Chapters. Okay, umm, forget the job: just a bloody interview! Well, the first time I applied and then it turns out that they were leery against me working there because they were wondering how I would affect the dynamic, seeing I'm so "bubbly" with someone else who works ther eby the name of Jonathan. Was a little affronted by that, but whatever, they said that they would let me pass a second interview after I said in my defence I know how to separate personal and professional.

I need to wipe the Nair off my body. Please Hold.

Ok, so I took a shower and did my hair as well. Shoot me.

So that second interview was supposed to be on last Wednesday, but when I learned about the tragedy at Dawson, well that was postponed indefinitely. I hope no one passes a moment of time in which they wonder as to whether their friends are still alive. But Ryan is okay, thank goodness, and he's doing okay. And that's that because I don't like to talk about it too much. They were supposed to call Thrusday but I received a call Friday, which I returned by passing by on Sunday just to be told that I should try again Tuesday but she's not in today.I mean, I really would like working there because it is close to work, I have always wanted to work at Starbucks, and I know the staff pretty well. At the same time, I seem have to gotten more distant from the staff, and it's partly because I feel they think me a flake. But then the morning comes, it's rainy, and I need bread. Life goes on.

So instead of going to Korea, I have my sights set on Japan - Tokyo, to be precise. And I want to be there by the end of January. Now, I don't know how I am going to pull that one off, seeing that i am spending like a mad cow on crack - well, that's partly why I WANT A SECOND JOB - but somehow I'm going to make that one pull through! I was kind of losing my motivation to go, but after a few hours spent at working looking up prefectures, Shinkansens, prefectures, and Narita airport, baby I'm ready to go and from the rooftop shout it out, I will. I just know that when i go, I will be missing a few people here to bits - you know who you are. But to all of you, I know that one year away won't disrupt much if not anything at all, and I take comfort in that.

Shit, this is becoming a rant.

Linda and I went to O.Noir on Saturday where we eat in pitch darkness, the waiters are blind, the food is wonderful, and etc.

Okay, I'm done. Something thoughtful to come perhaps when I am at work.

The flames lick my flesh, sear the muscle, and melt the fat away. Only bone remains: it's all I need, anyway.

A few tips on how to reduce mental overhead:

• Eat
• Sleep
• Talk with friends
• When someone is not telling you something, don't try to find out what is being withheld nor why it is being so. If you were supposed to know, you would have been told.
• Deeper ontological understandings can be quite useful. However, if such an understanding requires burning the mental midnight oil as one calculates in parallel processing several scenarios carried out to at least five analytical levels each thus eroding at your ability to track oncoming traffic or whether fries are desired as a side-dish just to arrive at a conclusion which is of no consequence in the phenomenal realm, then perhaps such energy would be better spent sapped in front of the television or masturbating to porn.
• Try to avoid writing, uttering, reading, or listening to orations of the above length.
  
• The problem of other minds refers to how it is impossible for one person to know with complete certainty the mental processes of another. Instead of wasting energy on a parabolic curve of diminishing returns trying to infer what's going on in the mind of someone else, try to have one of your own.
• Set your goals not so much to understand the past as to know the present and control the future.
  
• Be good to yourself. Respect yourself. Love yourself.
• Consume Starbucks beverages ;)
  

Such is what happens when you give a child of around eleven years of age sangria. Who would have known that she would become such a fan of "strawberry juice"? We gave her a few sips until we realized that she was becoming more vocal than usual, admonishing us for eating baby squid by virtue of its alleged barbarity. Meanwhile, my godparents, my mother and I are in hysterics, ourselves being oh so slightly disinhibited ourselves. She was so hilarious that I think I'll bring her as a party favor for future special gatherings.

Ryan and I had an interesting conversation which is still processing as my gastric system is processing food from aforementioned dinner. It seems that I have a lot of wants which go unfilfilled. Wants which I'm too fearful to fulfill. Makes me wish that I was oblvious to wants. But would that just be a cop-out for me to avoid realizing them to begin with?

Or I just need to stop giving a fuck. Maybe I'll just content myself with playing God Moving Over the Face of the Waters.

OMGWell, here goes the first blog entry since my arrival in Vancouver. It has been fun, but I believe I am prepared to pick up Catherine and head back home – terrorists, please hold the incendiaries.

Waking up at Sunday at three in the morning was no special pleasure, especially seeing that I went to sleep at midnight the night before and was sleep-deprived the day before because I was at work. But catching the airplane was no big ordeal, and everything went relative flawless until approach into Chicago’s airport.

Have you noticed the gay man’s tendency to wear low-rise pants to the point that their penis is basically jutting out of their pants?

This is the third time that I have seen this guy pass by the café that I am in: I believe he is quite lost…

I speak of the pants because I have been seeing it quite often. In fact, I just saw it right now. The penis belonged to the flattering pants of a slightly older man who apparently takes care of himself. While the package view can definitely lift one’s spirits, I’m wondering as to whether such pants are a blessing or a fitful member of TackyNation.

So it was on approach into O’Hare we close in onto Lake Michigan… and then turn away from it.

Here we go with the older man wearing the butt pants again. This is a different specimen: the pants are nice on this one. I almost smile as he looks here, not because I’m interested, but because he probably has no idea what kind of anarchy I am pulling behind this screen.

Do I really not want to talk about the subject at hand?

So then the American geography section of my brain acts up because Chicago is west of Lake Michigan but alas we are going away from it, heading east. Ok, I guess we’re entering a heavy holding pattern, but why… To answer my concerns, the pilot comes on the speaker, saying that there was a plane that had issues with its landing gear and that it had to be removed from the runway, which now must be shut down until further notice. Well, that’s just rich. Now everyone is slightly concerned, including the older (and I do mean older, here) man who is sitting beside me, who almost fell asleep on my shoulder, who was a little too kind and chatty, and who was heading to San Fran (well, big surprise there!)

This guy’s not too bad looking. But why do a significant amount of gay men have that skin brulée look? Oh dear, matching velour jogging outfit alert!

Well, thankfully there are able to remove the plane from the runway and we land without incident, and given current events, that is something to be thankful for. Another thing to be thankful for was that the connecting flight was just a hop, a skip, and a prance away. Another thing to be thankful for was that it was a Boeing 777! This was exactly according to design, and the flight was absolutely wonderful! I tell you, there is something to be said about being on an aircraft that can transport three hundred people in a nacelle strapped to two engines that barely make an extra sound as they whir up to take-off thrust. Having my own personal television was also a joy.

I arrive in Seattle, greeted by my aunt, uncle, and little rat sister. I missed her a lot, but we weren’t able to talk much as my aunt and uncle were strictly dropping me off at the bus depot so I can male it to Vancouver. The bus ride over was relatively uneventful, apart from jackass sarcastic customs officer. Why do people in authority feel the compulsion to act like complete, utter, and abject assholes? I mean, who died and left maggots up your ass?

Anyways, after much transit, I finally reach Vancouver, where I am greeted by Litia and Jen, who I was just so happy to see and who were in turn so happy to see me. We briefly took a tour in Chinatown, had some wonderfully cheap buns, and then went to La Casa de Gelato, a place where they serve not one, not two, more than one-hundred, but not quite three, but yes, oh yes, two-hundred-and-eighteen flavors of gelato, and not all of them good.

OH GOD YOU WERE CUTE! COME INSIDE! TAKE ME AWAY FROM THIS BLOG ENTRY! OH BUT PLEASE COME INSIDE!

(runs away to chase said cute man, but he walks to fast. returns sullenly into café of origin.)

(stops fantasizing and returns to reality. realizes he should have ordered a larger drink, perhaps with caffeine.)

But most of them are, and the place had some of the most interesting combinations I have ever seen!

Later festivities throughout the day included seeing a quick tour of Vancouver and.. and. and.. Louis! It was so wonderful to see Louis again after a little less than two years, but the passage of time did not seem to change him one bit. Like in Montreal, he now manages a Starbucks store, but he plans to change that soon by moving to London.

While he was at work, we went to the Richmond Night Market, where one can find all kinds of kitschy Asian items, bootleg Asian electronics, tea leaves, food at dirt cheap prices, and garbage whose stench and provoke hands-free bulimia. Just think of it as Chinatown, but outdoors, and larger. We then went to this Japanese (I think) resto-bar which featured cheesy karaoke, Tiny Toons clips on a projector, and overpriced but tasty food. It was a nice place, but after being up for one whole day straight, I grew tired and just wanted to go to sleep.

The next day. Oh, the next day. Well, I was so mega-tired from the day prior that I woke up at ten, which is relatively late for me, considering that I am on vacation elsewheres. Litia, Jen, and I met up with Louis and his friends for some breakfast in where I believe is Kitsilano (wow, that was in the dictionary!). After making an adventure of getting Louis’ pants hemmed, we went to Locarno beach, but not before meeting up with Kieran! Remember Kieran! He used to work at Starbucks Faubourg as well, but he moved out west when he became betrothed. Louis said it was like a mini-Starbucks Faubourg reunion, from managers to shift leads to employees to customers

    I’m having lunch at an all-you-can eat sushi place, where I am only paying $10.95
    for the most tender fish you have ever had at the cheapest price! All hail!

So there we were at Locarno, where the weather was gorgeous and the view was wonderful and far-reaching and sun brilliant and us caught stupid without swimming trunks. but oh my god, if I were to live in Vancouver, there is where would find me each and everyday before work. In fact,  I’m kind of tempted to transfer to the Vancouver office and live here right now, but hey, let’s be a little realistic, shall we?

    I’m still thinking about it.

    In front of me right now is the reddest salmon I have ever seen!

And that’s the thing about Vancouver: there is so many things to be done outdoors for free over here. Whether it’s walking along the Sea Wall, sunbathing on Locarno, letting it hang loose on Wreck Bay, or just walking around town, it is all free and such a joy to do. But I’m getting ahead of myself here…

After the beach, we headed home andbefore long Suzy Q came around and that was hurrah! It’s a little ironic when you see more of you friends out of town than in the city where you all live, but if anything, that just set the venue for more fun things to occur. We went to a local sushi place….
       
        … and then to a local bar…
   
                … where we proceeded to get shitfaced… … …

It’s called Cambie Islad. It’s located beneath a hostel and thus many internationals frequent the locale. It’s on Cordova in Gastown, a block up from where Litia works. It sells pints for $2.75 and pitchers for $8.25.

is further description really necessary at this point?

At the locale, already present, are some of Litia’s really cool friends, including Mitch (he’s cute in a youngish, BC way; in pictures), Ashley (also in pictures; well-educated in how “love butterfly” sounds so gentle in Spanish compared to German; was caught holding hands with former underneath table as was caught by under-table camera deployed especially for this occasion), Jessica (also in pictures; was also in Abnoram Psych, poor thing), and Connor (the most plastered-looking of all; he looked that way because he was indeed the most plastered of the whole lot; very, very good-natured and chill and easy-going, but took a cab home under the pretenses of going to the bathroom – maybe he just forgot to specify that he was going to the loo at his home…).

I have never seen so much beer on my life. And nor have I ever drank so much of the stuff in my life. It… just… never… stopped… coming… We started off with five pitchers for the twelve of us, but then people kep on buying in batches of two and sometimes people would buy at once. I tell you, there were never less than five pitchers on that bloody table and we were compelled to drink them all because there are sober people in China.

And praytell, what do you think happens to Pierre after he gets into chugging contests and drinks his blood volume of cheap, chilled, wonderful Granville Island beer, Krystle and Ryan, do keep quiet? He pukes! He pukes in quantity, in the smelly bathroom of the bar where the urinal is basically water trickling down a wall, an idea so unsanitary yet so sexy that it’s surprising gay bars in Montreal have not caught on. He pukes first in the sink because there is an occupant in the single stall. He pukes ten minutes later in said stall, said sink is still clogged from puking prior. H tastes the sushi he had before, and he was able to tell that I was fucking fresh sushi because it tasted fresh as it came up for a second go.

Never… again.. I say…

And then it was all a blur from there. Well, not really, but it’s so standard to say such a line and I needed a segue. After falling asleep on the table and having numerous ugly pictures taken, eyes bloodshot but hair still kept, we finally taxi it home… at one o’clock in the morning? Yeah, that’s one thing with Vancouver: things close mighty early here. And we were shitfaced quite early on as well. So odd..

We were supposed to go to Whistler the day after. However, certain gastric and noxious realities gave us no choice but to sleep in until around eleven o’clock in the morning, making Whistler no longer an option. Tuesday was somewhat a slower day, but still delicious, as we went to Granville Island, a market so wonderful that if we were to have it in Montreal, I would never see the need to eat out again! They had fresh fruit and fish and bread and cheese and pasta sauce and ravioli and all kinds of other things. So instead of going out for dinner, we elected to buy foodstuffs from said market including garlic, asiago, and parmesan butter; bonconccini (sp?); this really odd yet wonderful and creamy soup; brie and Roquefort; salad with all the fixings; and bread and have dinner at home.

This dinner also featured one of the most hard-earned half-liter of kiwi sorbet known to man! Of course, such a wonderful creation could only be purchased at Casa, as it is affectionately referred to –

Vancouver has so many gelato places! I tell you, if you were to summarize Vancouver, it would be a meal featuring sushi, an Americano, and gelato!

- but upon obtaining the half-liter of the creamy goodness, Litia realized that she had effectively locked herself out of her car. I, being the one with the long and hair legs, elect to speed-walk to Litia’s place where a spare key is to be found, which was supposed to be only half an hour away but in all reality is actually fifty minutes away. I wonder if one can charge a tariff for gelato carried by foot over large distances... The meal was superb, however, so I guess all is well that ends well.

The next day Litia worked at the day camp and then at Starbucks in Gastown, effectively making her unavailable for the day. However, Jen was more than kind enough to take me around town, starting with Stanley Park, a natural park that somewhat juts into the water a few square kilometers in area. We rented nasty bikes to bike around the Sea Wall, a wall that keeps the island intact. The route was rather picturesque, and many pictures were taken to capture the moment.

After that, Nat’s Pizza (a pizzeria where Jen used to work at) and gelato (surprise, surprise…) I then proceeded to drive Jen crazy by asking her to walk around a great part of Vancouver while taking pictures ad nauseam. The City of Vancouver has a two-hundred-some-odd fetish of putting interesting bear structures in well-circulated areas, and I did my best to take pictures of every single one that we passed. We also passed by Canada Place, where some of the major cruise ships dock upon their arrival into Vancouver. Those cruise ships are nothing short of massive, and yet, I have a feeling that there are bigger ones yet. I started thinking about what a joy it would be to work on one, and I honestly think that after Korea, I will see if I can work on one so I can see the world, save lots of money, and have what promises to be a wonderful time. I’m kind of tempted to look into it now, so if in three weeks I’m working on a cruise liner, do not be utterly surprised. We also proceeded into Gastown, which apparently is Vancouver’s historical central core, so its rather touristy and quaint.

After parting ways with most gracious Jen, I walked through Cole Harbour, where there is nothing but wonderful condos that I will probably be able to afford only through the financial assistance of five husbands, two mistresses, a sugar daddy, and an inheritance from an estranged uncle, twice removed. If I do manage to sell myself to the devil and a few other horny old men, consider this utterance as an advance housewarming party invitation (it will be B.Y.O.B., by the way). finding myself on Denman, I go to a sushi place which I noticed while at Nat’s and order some sushi delight.

Now Vancouver is a purely magical place when it comes to sushi. The fish in the sushi just melts in your mouth, and you can separate the fish with your tongue! But the true wonder is that I had eighteen pieces of spicy maki all for slightly under eight dollars! At this point, I can’t help but wonder how the economy is able to survive with such pricing but hey, I question not, and I eat what has been most graciously served to me. All hail.

If Thursday, August 10th was just another day in the calendar, then it was indeed a good day and thus it shall be told as such. Instead of going at it with Jen, I decided to hit the town on my own so I can have full discretion as to where I would be spending my time. For that reason, it was a very good day. I headed into Chinatown first, where of course there is an array of delicious goods to be consumed at wonderful prices. However, a real special treat was walking in the Chinese park where there was a pond, trees, and fish. Being in that park meant partaking in peace and solitude; it did me well, considering what day it was.

After Chinatown I passed through Gastown and the Lower East Side again, where both my life and camera were in mortal peril as I passed near where many of Vancouver’s homeless congregate. Litia was right: there is no Montreal equivalent when it comes to the Lower East Side, and I did not stay for very long. From there it was Granville Street to Granville Island to wonderful and delicious yet expensive smoked salmon jerky to the Aquabus to Yaletown where all the (gay) yuppies are at…

But then the terrorists try to bomb planes out of the sky with liquids and gels, we become frightened out of our minds as we equate planes with flying coffins, and CNN has alas more ground-breaking news to report.

Reality takes us back to Litia’s place, where I meet her loving mother and her cute younger sister and brother. Eventually we make way to Richmond, where there was more wonderful sushi to be had, with makis so large that I could not  eat them without embarrassing myself. Louis met up with us a little later on, and we hit up the gelato place again.

There’s not much to be said about Friday. Saturday I bussed back to Seattle, where I was questioned more than usual, perhaps because my being unshaven lent itself to me resembling a terrorist. Sunday Catherine and I flew back home, with the flight attendant on the flight from Dulles being tall, handsome, and gay, but of course I did not flirt with him as much as I should have. Maybe I am not engaging in as much detail as before because it’s almost a week later. Or maybe because there’s not much to tell. But I will say that I did have fun.

To you. Call it irony on certain levels. Or luck on many more. I would have never imagined at all. I'm happy. But I wonder if I can be happier. And sometimes I'm sad because. But only sometimes.

To you.
I'm never wrong.
Was right about you.
All along.
But it was so wrong with you.
That was so wrong.

To you. Call it irony on even more levels. That was weird. And long ago. Time passes. We talk. More time passes. We talk. You change even more. And yet, the same link still persists.

Looking for a beauty that never fades...

Beauty is all around us....

He emerges out of the metro station, surrounded by men! Muscular men with tanned bodies, dripping with sweat, the epitomes of handsome debonairs, the kind of men that he lusts after and yet feels that he will never have. To have only one night ripe with wanton abandon - I sumbit to thy will, the will of your body as it finds pleasure in mine. Of what should we make of the trifles of conscience, morals, risks, dignity, and self-respect when they can be tossed aside if only for a singular moment of euphoria? Yes, only heaven knows why we love life so, when at the same time it becomes so easily traded for a night.

But what of the the fatso? The dirty old men? The femme? The disabled? They're disregarded, they're considered bankrupt of beauty... He sees these people down the street, he sneers at them in contempt, they are paupers with nothing to offer on this market.

It's only a simple walk down the street. But every sensation provides its own reward, each footstep with the reward of sensation, each gaze with the reward of a fresh sight, each person passed by having been attributed with their own mind, their own mental states, their own problems...

... and their own joys. Or do they even know the true meaning of true joy, he asks himself. Is it all a sham, a farce, predicated on illusion? Everyone is so happy, but what have they sold for it? The questions drive him crazy, each one the head of a hydra, with two spurting forth where there was once only one, all of them hissing, inspiring screams of terror as they close in on their prey.

The car honks, breaks screech, the street proves not to be the best place for soul-searching as he's almost hit by a car. Would death have offered an answer, if not just peace...

No. He composes himself and crosses the street. Death will not be the answer, and perpetual mourning and complaint poses not an alternative, either. He realizes that beneath the smiles there is most likely sorrow, tension and contradiction on some level. Beauty is parading on stilts of deceit, but it is ultimately deceit that may indirectly promise him the best feelings he will ever know... Looks like those rejects were onto something when they ask what si good without that bad...

He ends his walk and goes back in the metro. A man sits down beside him. All of point five seconds is all it takes. They start talking. The man says he's in town from the Outgames to see a few friends. The man asks for his number, saying that he is beautiful. Maybe he's being told something he knew all along, or maybe he's being told something new. Or maybe the man is just fulfilling the requirements to eventually get him in a corner and fuck him raw. But is this what he even wants to begin with?

He gives him his number, gets home, types up a blog entry, takes a shower, and heads to the fireworks.

I mean, what else would you expect when you have a drink that is one part white wine, one part beer, and a pinch of sugar for taste?

Monday evening Linda (from work) gives me a call seeing if I would like to join her little drinking party later on after work. Of course, I consent, and a few hours lter I find myself slapping asses, encouraging girls to break up current make-out sessions so that they may partake instead, skinny-dipping, and projectile vomiting.

All in all, it was a marvelous soiree. Sometimes I wonder as to whether I have a drinking problem, given the enormous amounts of alcohol I have been consuming on random days. I mean, getting drunk on a Monday night? But you know what? When being in good company is in and of itself a special occasion, let the corks fly!

... I'm so happy because in 11 days I shall be leaving on a jet plane - a Boeing 777, to be exact - to Seattle, and then busing it to Vancouver, and seeing Litia!

I'm so excited to see you, Litia, and I love you to bits as well!

This will have no thesis.

I'm such a  contradictory bitch. I know what I want and then through what I say I destroy possibilities of actually having it. Or did such an opprtunity present itself to begin with?

This is why I don't want to like anyone. And this is why I don't want anyone to like me. But this is not to say that a) and b) happening would not make me happy. In fact, it would be so wonderful. but I'm just so aggravated with that not happening easily enough. Sometimes, just to be rid of such tensions, I'll just say things that completely demolish everything. If only to resume normal synaptic firing.

Let's just hope that Montreal's Meterological Sound and Light Show (a.k.a big-ass nasty storm) that swooped over my roof Thursday night does not portend future romantic endeavours.