Objective Perspective

Sometimes you choose a path and stick to it, and you need to live with the consequences.

But taking that step back for a more detached look doesn't necessarily make anything feel better.

I miss my friend.
-Cril

If I could read your mind love
What a tale your thoughts could tell
Just like a paperback novel
The kind that drugstores sell
When you reach the part where the heartaches come
The hero would be me
But heroes often fail
And you won't read that book again
Because the ending's just too hard to take

Gordon Lightfood - If You Could Read My Mind

New York Bullet Points

It's been the better part of three months since I've written anything personal here. There's a lot to talk about, I guess... But there's even more to digest. And I guess that's what I use thing blog-o-thing for, isn't it? Makings sense of my silly little world by cramming it into comprehensible words. I'd rather not write in a way, but at the same time I have to. There's a lot building up in this cranium of mine, some small and some not-so-small. So to wedge this door open, just a smidge, I'll start by using bullet points. Those always help, right?

I've been living in New York. Here are some short little glimpses and observations into life in this particular big city.

• There aren't any benches here. I mean, there are, but they're all in parks. Back home there'd be benches and whatnot just along the street, so if you fancied a quick sit to tie your shoe or just a pause from your march, you were able to take a seat without being on the wet and dirty pavement. It's like the city wants everyone to be in a rush to go somewhere - there aren't really very many spots where it encourages people to do the opposite.
• And those parks that are home to said benches? Yeah, those are pretty far and few between. It makes me realize what a total green-space fetish we had back home in Canada, where there was a park every few blocks and every house or apartment building has a lawn. Hah, lawns. What an absurd concept here - the amount of space we dedicate to our yards is almost the same as the house. I miss grass and trees, I really do. But I never realized just how over-the-top insane we are for the stuff.
• I was in the supermarket, and Hotel California came on the radio. I paused my iPod so I could listen, and as I was standing in line at the register when I was a bit confused at how odd my internal voice sounded while singing along in my head. But it wasn't in my head - there were two or three other customers quietly singing under their breath. It was a neat moment. Not a chorus...  But a quiet chorus of unification. It made me smile, to notice how we all seem to be connected and similar in tiny ways.
• It's difficult to go a day without seeing someone in the streets that's very obviously talking to themselves. Some are certifiably over-the-top crazy, others are just expressing a train of thought for their own ears to pick up on. This crazy... Is kind of infectious, though. It's okay to bob your head with your music, or lip sync along, or murmur to yourself. Almost liberating, in a way. Who knows, maybe I am a bit insane and it's finally breaking through the surface.
• Sires. All the time sirens. Back home, any sort of flashing lights resulted in many a rubber neck on the freeway. Here? It's so disgustingly common (in all shapes and sizes - police, fire, paramedic) that it's just one more part of the everyday hustle and bustle. I swear, though, that the drivers like to switch the siren on and off as if they were a supastah techno DJ spinning records. I can't remember the last time I've heard a standard siren without it being cut on and off rapidly. 
• I kicked a rat. Not intentionally, of course. I was walking home and saw a rat in the street ahead of me and as I got nearer, it decided to run across the sidewalk. The problem for the rat, though, was that its trajectory lined up perfectly with my mid-stride foot. So he got a bit of a punt. As I later told my friend, "New York city: where everyone is someone else's bad karma."
• I saw a hobo man with a gangrene-infested leg begging for money get into a fight with a hippy hobo chick on the subway. He accused her of trying to steal, she accused him of being disgusting and giving the homeless a bad name. Many an insult was hurled, until she got off. Fighting hobos... It's a thing. A sad, sad thing.
• You haven't really experienced the meaning of 'community' until you've seen two people walking in opposite directions round a corner, fist bump eachother and keep going without exchanging a word.
• People here walk fast. Those that don't get passed. 
• Jaywalking is a way of life. The pedestrian crossing sign plays second-fiddle to openings in oncoming traffic. Sometimes those two things coincide, and sometimes they don't.
• The winter has been pretty wussy so far. I think I've actually only buttoned up my jacket only 2 or 3 times. The temperature seldom gets worse than just below freezing. So far, so good. I get a nice little chuckle on the inside as a cold-hardened Canadian among a sea of commuters bundled up like eskimos against the feint, damp snow that melts upon hitting the pavement.
• One night, earlier in the fall, I was walking home after one of my evening classes. Hanging out in a pub by the open window at street level was a bunch of folk musicians hanging out and playing. I paused for a bit and listened. It's this kind of thing that makes me appreciate how special New York can be, even at 8:30 on a weeknight.
• People here... Are very passionate about their city. I've never witnessed anything like it before. I've met so many that have lived here for 30+ years and have no desire to ever leave. I went to one small theatre script reading, and before it started the actors introduced themselves. One woman said, "I'm so glad to have been born and grown up with my best friend and lover, New York City." I've never seen that kind of patriotism for a city before. Hearing it said for Vancouver or Calgary would just make me laugh. But here... It's a totally different beast. It's hard to describe. So do I Heart NY? I don't know. I don't think so. Yet, at least. But there's no denying that there's something special about this place.

Hrm... I've gotten this far, and I'm not quite ready to stop yet. Quick, more bulletpoints!

• I saw RadioLab Live. It was pretty awesome, even though I think I was sitting in a weird spot off to the side where the sound wasn't too great. But they had great visuals and made most of their sounds right there on stage with a small band of 3 musicians. The theme was "Apocalyptic", with the keynote story being about the end of the dinosaurs. They had some huge dinosaur puppet costume... things, which while somewhat cheesy, were actually really convincing. The other two stories were kinda so-so in comparison. Still, a cool experience.
• I saw Rod Stewart live. It was pretty... Something. Let me put it this way - it was quite the spectacle. Lights and shiny props and costumes and big numbers. Unlike RadioLab, it wasn't somewhat cheesy. No, it was full on cheesy. The man is kitsch incarnate. I don't know what I was expecting, exactly. That's what he's all about. The spectacle, the attitude. He disappeared behind the stage two or three times during the show and came out with a new wardrobe each time. I guess what really sucks was the realization that he's not so much a singer or artist as a performer. He's a professional. Gets on stage and does his thing. All the songs felt rushed and soulless. But everyone around me seemed to love it, so... I'm probably the odd man out (which is pretty likely, considering I was one of seven people there under the age of 40). That, and the couple next to me who talked to a friend via Skype video chat THE ENTIRE TIME didn't help. On the positive side, the opening act was Steve Winwood, who I rather enjoyed and wasn't that aware of before. 
• Thanksgiving. In Ahmurikuh. My roommate, who was spending this holiday away from home for the first time, was planning on having friends over and having a big proper shinding. But eventually the friends cancelled one by one, until it was just us two. I think he was a bit bummed about the whole thing, so I suggested we make a big meal for just the two of us. So we went to the store and got potatoes and stuffing and gravy and corn... And turkey. Ah, the turkey. So it was very quickly apparent neither of us knew what to do with an uncooked turkey, but he was still pretty set on having some with the meal. So we decided to get something pre-cooked. And the only place to get that from was the deli. Where they sell it as sandwhich meat. But before it gets sliced, it comes as a big hunk of bird. No bones. No light meat, no dark meat. Just a big hunk o' pre-cooked, pre-seasoned bird. And when it's sold this way, per pound with absolutely zero wastage... It ain't cheap. We bought their remaining half of a hunk o' bird for SIXTY DOLLARS. It was a large hunk, mind you, but still. The meal came together and we ate leftoevers for a solid 4-5 days before it was all finished off. But yeah. Most expensive turkey ever. I tell myself I went along with it because I could tell my roommate really wanted turkey, and that's the best we could manage under the circumstances. But at the same time... It was hilarious. We knew how absurd it was to buy $60 of deli lunch meat and "carve" into it and eat giant cubes of bird. It was fun. And you can't ask for much more than that, I think.

Okay, that's enough bullets for one night, methinks. I'm well aware that the text-to-bullet ratio is pretty absurd and paragraphs would have been easier to digest. But this is what I did, and I did this. And it was only about 30% of what I had written down to write about. There will be more posts over the coming few weeks. But for now, sleep beckons me. It feels good to open the gate for the bigger things that will follow.
-Cril

Just another night in New York City
Snow comes down, looks real pretty
Cant believe but suddenly there you are
Talking with strangers sittin' cross the bar

Trans-Siberian Orchestra - Christmas Nights in Blue

Sit, Float, Play

The rock blinked, as rocks tend to do.

It was spring, technically. But it was so early spring that that the harsh winter wind was still whipping along the surface of the ground, beating against the purple stone and flowing around his two grey stripes. Today he decided to do what most stones do: watch. The world around it, not much more than a collection of hills, the occasional tree, and a string of far-off mountains, all seemed anxious today. They were under the spell of this wicked wind that hinted at a seductive new season which would breathe green life into the valley once again. Anticipation, the rock concluded, was in the air. Well, not just in the air, but it was actually the air.

The stone had no idea how long it had been where it was or where it came from, and at the moment had no particular desire to care. It’s not that it didn’t have the time to remember—it had plenty of that. The stone just knew he was where he was, which was in exactly the same predicament (or rather complete lack thereof) as everything else around him. There was so much to look at, so much to witness as the world simply churned onward in the relatively still valley. It didn’t really matter so much what happened—sometimes the winters were long, sometimes the springs were short, and sometimes life was just like all the other times. But one thing stayed the same, and that was that the rock watched and thought about the world. You could say that he took joy in the nature of nature and his nature. He was constantly tossing around observations across the surface of his mind. Ideas and thoughts rippling out, like what a person might do after picking up a smooth stone at a lake’s edge. Skip, skip, skip, making elegant ripples across the glassy reaches.

Before long it was summer, and with it came the heat. To the stone, this warmth made the world feel still, but in a very full and rich way. The rock shivered to think of the emptiness that the approaching winter would bring. There would be no grass or flowers in bloom to watch then. Just the wind, taking a joyride up and down the valley. It’s as if it didn’t even care for anything but its own amusement.

The heat, though, posed its own problem. Grass fires were over quickly, we’re temporarily uncomfortable, and watching a fire unfold was a mesmerizing display of destruction. But the stone feared for it’s closest neighbour, the tree, who surely must find such things absolutely terrifying.

The stone knew he had little to fear and that all things were temporary, but the tree was a much younger being living a much more delicate lifestyle. It depended on the rain and the wind and the warmth, any of which could pose a problem. The rock admired the tree’s staggering height and could only imagine what he could see from up there and the knowledge that awaited anyone of such stature. But more than anything, the purple stone was jealous of how the tree would waltz and dance with the wind. To have that sort of freedom would be truly incredible.

The rock blinked, and it was almost autumn. As if triggered by his own ponderings, the wind shifted, now with a faint hint of cool change on its warm breath. Along with it came the grey clouds, heavy with rain. The tree will love this, the stone knew. He watched as the downpour started far up the valley, and swept down as a large dark curtain that blurred out the background. The rain was warm, and the blustery moment, in its own very brief way, was most incredible.

But the wind and clouds had conspired to blow in much more than some late summer showers. There were brilliant strokes of lightning. Not warm and illuminating like the sun’s rays, but instantaneously there and gone. Like fractures in the sky, the lightning jabbed at the ground below. Nearer, nearer. Brighter, brighter. The rock watched many storms before, and was very well acquainted with these violent surges of light.

You can never become comfortable with the feeling of a close strike. It’s like an invisible force that drives down into the tiniest cells of your geology and simultaneously tries to push itself out. And this is precisely what the rock felt just happen.

Except that never before had this brought darkness with it. Suddenly, the stone couldn’t see a thing and he was fairly certain he was not blinking either. This was most peculiar indeed. The purple rock concluded that his dear neighbour, the tree, had been on the receiving end of this particular lightning strike, and it seems as though a branch had fallen on top of him, blocking out his entire view.

And as a creature who watches the world, he found this quite troubling.

---

The leaf found himself decidedly not hanging at the height he was accustomed to. One moment ago he was on the branch where he grew up and basking in the warm summer downpour. And while that’s where he still was, it seemed that with a sudden and bright ferocity the branch had taken a bit of a fall to the base of their large tree, resting on top of a rock.

The leaf found this all rather worrisome. He missed the days of seeing the world from higher up in the tree, and was apprehensive about what life would be like now. He wasn’t fond of being so close to the ground, and it could already feel that its usual flow of sustenance was tapering off.

For a few days the leaf could feel its stem weaken and whither, which brought on more new anxieties. And one evening, the leaf shuddered as a cool wind approached, plowing down the valley like a tidal wave. It coursed around him harder and harder, until he was ripped clean off his branch and thrust into the sky.

And as the night wore on, the leaf closed his eyes, not wanting to look as the wind beat and blew him around. On occasion he’d be set down on the ground just long to feel a sense of relief, before being whisked away again. It was like a cruel joke, and it didn’t take long to become desensitized to these pauses. He’d look around at his new surroundings yet refuse to feel at rest, as he knew he could be pulled skyward at any second. He worried about where he would go and where he would end up, not knowing what the wind had in store for him.

Eventually, though, the leaf learned to take great pleasure in flight. Sure, it was always unsettling that he wasn’t in control of his destinations or tumblings, but there was a pleasure to be had in soaring far above the landscape, and gliding on an invisible cushion of air. By this time, of course, his colours had long faded away from the once rich green to a pale yellow. He didn’t have much flexibility left, and was stuck with the same bent posture as he tumbled along the breeze. The most concerning thing was how his edges were starting to fray and chip away. Landings became particularly unpleasant, with flakes that would snap off with surprising ease and blow away on their own journey.

But he came to cherish this uncontrollable voyage, and he loved the journey for the journey’s sake. He saw mountains and gullies he had never known, and their magnificence was somehow amplified through his twisting in the air. He knew his form was imperfect and the time he had left was not infinite, but the beauty in the moment was undeniable. He wasn’t sure if either the future was coming towards him or if he was flying towards it, and he wasn’t sure what that end-point entailed and what would be waiting for him there. He didn’t know what other colours he might change to, or even if there were other colours he could change to. All there was for him was floating. And watching. And waiting for whatever for the next destination, wherever it may be.

And so it was that the sun rose and set many times over, and just before the next rise the wind seemed to taper off in the darkness. The leaf drifted downwards, but instead of coming to rest on a bed of grass or loose gravel he touched down on a wavy and flowing mirror that reflected the very sky he was borne from. And with two silent ripples the leaf was gently caught by a stream. The cool morning water was alien at first, and then oddly relaxing. And so the leaf sat perched on the surface of the water as it continued its journey downstream. The question of where it would lead to was rather disconcerting, but the leaf knew he would find out the answer either soon enough or eventually. So faded, cracked and brown, the leaf floated onwards.

---

It had been a long night. For all of the scritching and scratching and sniffing at the dirt, there was a surprising lack of ants to be found at this bend in the creek. Yesterday and the day before they had proved to be plentiful, but the hottest week of summer seemed to be burned into the armadillo’s memory, when there didn’t seem to be any ants at all. He got very hungry that week and looked everywhere for food. He even checked a little bit upstream and downstream from his den to no avail. It was a most trying time, and he vowed it’d never happen again. So every night, he scoured around the bend in the creek with renewed vigor. It was tiring work, but being well fed always is.

Being well hydrated, however, was pretty simple (and this is why he was so happy with his burrow near the bend in the creek). It bothered him that there wasn’t much food to be found, but decided to at least alleviate his thirst. He scampered through the grass, and paused briefly before hopping down the short embankment of soft soil that led to the stream of water, where he walked in up to his front paws and drank. It probably tasted good, but the critter was preoccupied.

He was in the middle of realizing that it was nowhere near as hot as the hottest week of summer and that he should be able to find ants (even though he was having problems finding ants), when an unanticipated movement caught his intention. He jerked and almost curled up in reflex. He’d never been surprised here before, so he concluded that whatever it was probably couldn’t be good. He focused his blurry eyes to find that it was just a rather weathered-looking leaf floating downstream. He knew that had it been a Bad Thing, that Bad Thing would have certainly been close enough to do something Bad before he would’ve noticed. He made a resolution to be more careful in the future as he unfurled himself to saunter back to the safety of his burrow.

A trip back to his nest was not far, technically, but he’d have to walk on the ground the entire distance between where he was and where he wanted to be. Ground that, perhaps, was home to a certain six-legged and oh-so-delicious snacks. As tired as he was after his long night, his nose was inevitably pulled to the ground as he started sniffing his way back. He’d pause and dig and pause and dig, but only be occasionally rewarded for his expert meandering skills. But he knew he had to get whatever food he could, lest he find there was nothing left to be got.

He was practically on the doorstep of his hole in the ground (a 'holestep', if you will), when he looked up from yet another uninspiring patch of dirt, jumped in the air, and landed wrapped up in a tidy ball. It was quite an impressive feat to witness, as the quietly sitting fox could attest to.

A moment passed. The armadillo wondered what it was, exactly, that he saw. In a moment of self-evaluation, he was pretty sure that he was no longer at the creek and so it most likely was not a floating leaf that was watching him on his search for a meal. Confused by the stillness, the armadillo unfurled ever-so-slightly to peer out at the red and white furry creature. And in exact correspondence to the amount the critter unfurled, the fox seemed to tilt its head to the right in curiosity. The armadillo balled up again after noticing he was still indeed being watched by the sitting animal. He thought the fox looked confused. The armadillo decided it was rather confused, too. Was the fox confused at his own confusion, perhaps? What was going on?

The armadillo was still in his ball, trying to sort out what was going on when he heard the fox draw near and start sniffing. This was how armadillos like himself found ants… While he was pretty sure that he wasn’t, in fact, a delicious ant, he began to wonder if he was food for this creature.

He balled up tighter.

Nothing happened.

He stayed balled up.

More nothing happened.

The armadillo’s mind wandered to his burrow, knowing it was close by. He slowly opened up again, to find a smiling fox expectantly standing before him. As soon as they made eye contact, the fox lowered his head to the ground, leaving his tail wagging in the air. The fox chirped and hopped to the left, all the while watching the armadillo.

He finished unfurling and watched as the fox hopped around twice more, never turning away. At one point, it hopped forward and nudged the armadillo with its nose, causing the armoured creature to flinch and hop backwards. Figuring that any momentum is good momentum, he scuttled away into his burrow as fast as his tiny feet would take him.

He reached the deepest, farthest-back spot of his shallow hole and waited. The fox peered in, and once again they locked eyes. But instead of a toothy snarl, he saw a rather goofy looking grin. He noted how terrible that tongue must be for slurping up ants. But the fox just waited with its grin, and barked again. It backed up a few paces, and sat down so that it could barely maintain eye contact. It’s head tilted to the left and let out another yip.

The armadillo figured that he was well within reach of the foxe’s impressively long arms and that while home may be comforting, it isn’t that comforting when you have unexpected guests that can barge in at any moment with their many teeth. If the red animal was hungry, he wouldn’t have waited this long. And if it was truly as goofy as the armadillo expected, it would have gotten bored and left by now.

So he gathered up his courage and his leathery armour (which was always on his back anyways), he slowly started to climb out to greet the stranger. On his way out, he remembered times when he found ants to eat. Those were good times. He missed those times.

The fox yipped with joy and danced around at the sight of the decidedly un-balled armadillo. It nudged him with its nose and wagged its bushy tail. And with that, they spontaneously started cashing around each other. The fox would dart one way, and the armadillo would scuttle after. As the creek babbled on and the grass swayed, the two hopped back and forth in the orange light of dawn. But when the armadillo realized he’d now wandered farther away from his den than ever before (which was not that far), he paused and peered homeward. The fox gave an inviting yip, motioning in the opposite direction.

Once, some time ago, the armadillo found a colony of ants nested in a log near the bend in the creek. And oddly enough, chasing after this red, fuzzy interloper seemed to be much more exciting and fun than that discovery. And even though it was far past his bedtime, he concluded that new burrows could be dug wherever he went. With that, he set off after his new companion, not quite sure where he was going or what to expect. But it’d probably be exciting. And maybe there would be a few ants along the way, too.

First Impressions and Depressions

Yesterday:
Started off with Visual Literacy, which is kinda lecture-based, with take-home projects every week. It's about breaking a literal/linear thinking style, and thinking more creatively. It's something I know I need - his description of the course and saying what it's for really struck a chord with me and all the creative issues I've been having for... A long time.

The next class I had was called "Design for Good", which is a bunch of projects, some for social change/improvement, and some for non-profit organizations. The prof seemed like a really nice woman, and said a big focus was on what is actually perceived from your work, versus what you intend to be perceived. Seemed kinda okay, and I can appreciate the desire to do something positive with your skills... But at this point I'm really craving career prospects, so I think I might ditch this one. It doesn't seem as helpful for my portfolio. The assignment for next week is to do a presentation that doesn't use any words to communicate 10 things we want to see more of in the world, and 10 things we want less of. Meh...

After that, I had a class for Cinema 4D, which is like... 3D After Effects/animation. I wasn't a fan of the prof's work too much. He seems like a cool guy and has lots of big clients, but I just see small/niggly things in his work that makes me feel like he isn't quite a total pro. And his work is just a lot of shiny animation stuff for broadcast channels and commercials, which didn't interest me too much. But nevertheless, I'm excited to learn the program, and really looking forward to the course.

Last class I had was for Information Graphics. The prof is a HUGE designer for Conde Nast (a big magazine publication house), with a good sense of humour, an awesome portfolio, and a true love for his field of information design. The difference between him and the illustration prof I had for the ACAD equivalent is night and day. I'm really excited to see how the course unfolds.

This morning:

This morning I had a "portfolio" class. It's basically a two-semester class to create miscellaneous projects to round out your body of work with personal-ish projects and prepare an actual portfolio. I'm really excited for this last part, because I feel like ACAD gave me NOTHING in that regard. This particular class is taught by two people, an older Russian lady and a younger American dude, and focuses on finding your personality and core values, and incorporating motion with print. We did an exercise where we answered ~30 personal questions on small sticky notes, and put them up on a wall. I now need to take all those miscellaneous answers and try to map them out in a way that makes sense of them all. It's kinda weird... Way more touchy-feely than I'm used to.

I have another portfolio class tonight with Paula Scher, a famous designer at Pentagram. The thing is, she needs to evaluate my portfolio to decide whether or not I can be a part of the class... So I might not get in. If that's the case, I'll stick with the previous case. If I do get in, I'll probably go with this one just because of who I'll be learning under. But we'll see how it goes.

This evening:
I didn't make the cut with Ms. Scher. It was incredibly nerve-wracking and simultaneously exhilarating. I mean, I got to sit in Pentagram while she looked at portfolios of the some 30 students that showed up to attend a class that could only accommodate 18. And I sat there, anxious as all hell, hoping I'd get in and wondering what it'd be like to study under her for two semesters. What my portfolio would look like. What I'd be able to tell people when interviewing. Then we were told to come collect our portfolios, and mine was in the pile that meant "you can go home".

Which caused a bunch of ugly beasts to rear their ugly heads. Again, I find myself smacking into the wall of my competitive nature. This time, though, it came with a little bit of new clarity as to why I don't like that part of myself. I realized that the high I get from doing well or "winning" in a competitive situation is pretty mild and short lived. The low I get from failing, meanwhile, is pretty devastating and lasts a while. For a time this summer, I found myself wondering how silly it may have been for me to not know my grades. And I think this reinforces my decision to not know. There's more value in me just being happy with my work for what I've produced, rather than looking at a number that either makes me mildly/temporarily satisfied or incredibly frustrated with myself.

Similarly, I find myself wondering... What the hell am I doing here? I'm not just not one of the better in the class... I'm in the lowest third of the students that attended. I mean, damn. I know I'm not the bottom of all students in the whole school, but I guess I thought that, maybe, the scholarship meant I was of a certain skill level that I'd at least be in decent standing among the students at SVA. I mean, hell, in theory I've had a year more of education then anyone else there, right?

I mean, why the hell did my prof from ACAD send me here in the first place? Is it some sort of cruel joke? Why would he send me if I'm so obviously out of my depth? I feel so clueless. It kinda illuminates this twisted idea that I got the scholarship because I'm so far from being at a professional level that I need another year of school yet before maybe I'll be ready.

Sigh, now that last paragraph was a pretty angry knee-jerk, self-destructive reaction to wondering what's going on and what I'm doing here in the first place. I know that the prof that got me this scholarship went out of his way to do so, and essentially asked for a personal/professional favour to get it for me. And I know he really cares about his students, and he wouldn't have done all this if it wasn't going to be worth while.

But... Why me? Why am I here? He told me that SVA is looking for students "of a certain profile" for this scholarship. What profile is that?

I feel like there's so much pressure to do well, and I want to do well, but I'm completely out of my depth, and maybe I've tricked people into thinking I'm capable of more than I actually am.

What am I doing here?

Regardless of the answer to that question, the fact of the matter is that I am indeed here. In New York. Going to a prestigious school. Taking a bunch of cool courses with a bunch of awesome professors. That seems to strip me of any right to whine or complain about any circumstance.

But it doesn't seem to strip me of my quandary.
-Cril

Escala feat. Slash - Kashmir

The Smells That Filled the Air

New Yorkers. Various surveys and general conceptions about these people is that they're super rude. And, well, they aren't. But I will say that there's a lack of warmth. Everything is to-the-point, boiled down. The absolute bare necessity of what's required for any given transaction. I've run into this several times over the last week as I try to sort out various school things, from everything regarding paperwork to asking for advice. It shocked me at first, but I'm slowly adapting to how there isn't a smile or hint of sympathy or desire to make make small talk. Being a mega introvert, I'm not a big fan of the small talks either, but I guess growing up where I did I came to expect it as a part of everyday life. Just trying to make a little joke here, or ask someone how they're doing, or trying to make any kind of human connection to make the interaction seem more than input/output between to fleshy robots.

So when I went to an academic adviser, stating my plea of being new at the school and jumping right into senior-level classes and not sure what to expect, I was greeted with... A series of rapid-fire questions aimed to quickly ascertain what I was doing in that office. Did I get the course recommendations from the department head? Yes. Did I have them processed, so I'm registered for class? Yes. Did you have an issue with registration, you ARE in the right classes, right? Yes. I proceeded to ask a few questions about how classes are usually run, what I can expect, etc. I was coldly informed to ask my professors or fellow students.

It was kind of tough - on a most basic level, all I was looking for was some sort of assurance or comfort. Maybe even *gasp* some sympathy for my position. But instead I got none of that. Query in, answer out. Not a smile or personal connection to be had anywhere inbetween.

Not rude. Just... Cold. I don't think it's strictly a Canadian thing, either, because that couple of other locations in the western United States that I've visited seemed a bit more friendly. It's just... Different, is all. It's just that this city has a different pulse than what I'm used to. But quite frankly, I kinda hope that I don't adapt. I like it when people try to create some kind of connection, no matter how small, to those they interact with. It makes the world seem like a slightly more welcoming place, as if we're all on the same side.

It shows on the street, too. People are a lot more likely to bump into eachother, ignoring "personal space". Mind you, this is pretty understandable in a city that's so crammed full of people that mostly shove themselves onto subway cars at the same time each day to make it to or from work. It's cozy, people.

And then there's the opposite end of things. When I was staying up in Harlem, I was really blown away by the social culture there. People, everyone, just hanging out in the streets. Talking, arguing, discussing as if there wasn't anyone else around. Seemed like the average volume of human interaction was twice as loud as what I'm used to. I was really blown away by the people having really heated fights in the middle of a crosswalk, talking smack to eachother. There's such a thing as "airing your dirty laundry", and then there's "a live broadcast of your dirty laundry on national television". It's pretty mind-boggling.

Ok, let's hold up for a second here. Noticed how I was oh-so-subtly talking about the "people of Harlem"? I'm talking about the black community of Harlem. There's a saying I heard recently that went "If you have to say "I'm not trying to be racisct", that means you're being racist." I'm not going to put in some sort of disclaimer, this are just my observations. The black population of Harlem were very different from the other cultures I've seen in areas of Manhatten and Brooklyn. Not better, or worse. I'd like to think that I'd treat them all the same regardless. But make no mistake, I'm talking about black people. As a Caucasian, am I allowed to do that? Or should I sheepishly skirt around mentioning specific skin tones in relation to the cultural differences I happen to witness? I mean, it's not like I'm even saying ALL BLACK PEOPLE ARE LIKE THIS, WITH NO EXCEPTIONS! I'm talking about an overall impression that I got from seeing the people in a particular neighbourhood. Hopefully this doesn't make me too terrible of a person. Anyways, where was I?

There are the accents, the grammar, the euphemisms that are associated with urban black culture. Back home if you were to start talking in this rapper-esque-slang, people would roll their eyes and maybe even chuckle. And I mean, yeah, of course, you know that people actually behave this way. The same as how a Frenchmen speaking English will sound, or how people from the deep south might call you "honey" or "darlin'". Of course it's an actual behaviour, where else where we would we get those stereotypical tendencies that we parody?

Yet seeing it in person... Made me realize how utterly sheltered I was in a way. To witness those actions not as an attempt at cliche humour but as an authentic, sincere means of communication was a bit of a wake-up call. "I know people actually did this, but... People actually do this!" It was a weird realization to have, to see something like that removed from the context of parody. Makes me realize how removed we can be from reality, and how, like it or not, your every day life is likely a parody to someone else. How the way you talk and walk and act can be turned into a lame joke for someone else's amusement, regardless of your own intent. It's pretty wild.

Seeing the way the black population of Harlem acted was really a serendipitous lens for me to peer through to see my own native culture. I realized how private and quiet me and my fellow Canadians are. How... kinda bland and passionless we are in everyday life. We're a nation of borderline prudes, hiding away in our picturesque houses with lawns and driveways that are all elements of personal boundary to space ourselves from our neighbours.

"Neighbours"? After living here for two weeks, it kind of makes me realize how little of that word we really comprehend. Back home, it's like we all live our lives so that we can box it up and tuck it away, so that it doesn't make a mess and spill over into anyone else's box. And here, people live shoulder-to-shoulder and aren't concerned with keeping their life neat and tidy and out of view. They're concerned with their lives, and living it without the boundaries that come along with being constantly surrounded by other people.

It's kind of a beautiful thing to see. Loud to hear, but beautiful to see. I'm not sure if I want to live in a place of such volume for the rest of my days, but I can't deny the heart-on-sleeve passion that that way of living is done with.

Look at me. Formally analyzing and privately writing about other cultures as if I'm trying to make sense of it. I'm such a polite little Canadian.
-Cril

We fell asleep and began to dream
When something broke the night
Memories stirred inside of us
The struggle and the fight
And we could feel the heat of a thousand voices
Telling us which way to go
And we cried out is there no escape
From the words that plague us so

And we were drawn to the rhythm
Drawn to the rhythm of the sea
And we were drawn to the rhythm
Drawn to the rhythm of the sea

Sarah McLachlan - Drawn to the Rhythm

Summer in the City

Ok, so apparently this New York thing is actually a thing. I made it through customs, survived the flight, got to my apartment, and everything! I'm not quite sure if it's all sunk in yet or not. I still seem to be in this mode of 'one thing at a time', and the reality is that I might just be stuck in this frame of mind. Maybe there won't be a huge "Ah-ha! Yes, I am now in the Big Apple" kind of moment.

I landed, got a cab, and went to my (temporary) apartment and was let in. I got settled, sent out some showing requests for apartments and pretty much went to bed, skipping over supper and everything. The next day I spent the entire day out and about in Brooklyn, using a McDonald's as a sort of home base, where I'd buy something and then setup to browse Craigslist for accommodations. I sent out some 27 requests, I saw five, and signed off on one in the Bushwick. It's $1000/mo plus utilities for a pretty decently sized room in an apartment I share with one other dude. It'll be a 40min commute in, which looks pretty close to what it was to go to school at ACAD. The housing apartment was brutal - it's definitely a seller's market. If a listing is any more than a day old it's already sold, so you need to bring cash and be ready to sign the second you find something you like. But I eventually did, and I take possession on the 1st. Until then, I'm in a bit of a limbo between places. Oh well, it'll work out.
The next day I slept in, and then puttered around the island for a bit. I went to campus to pay tuition (with the largest check I've ever written in my life), walked to where my bank is, sauntered through the Mid Manhattan Public Library (which was quite gorgeous), then took a train to Central park. I walked about half way up it... And while it is certainly a pretty area and quite stunning given its surroundings... It was odd. Odd to see grass and trees fenced off, and odd to see people everywhere, and odd that the only wildlife was squirrels, pigeons, and the occasional duck. But given that a couple weeks ago I was in the wilds of the British Columbia, I guess it shouldn't be a surprise. It was impressive, yes, but also a bit bizarre.


The next day, I slept in and went for a short walk around Harlem, and grabbed some groceries on the way back.

The next day (today), I slept in, ate, showered, internetted, napped, internetted some more, ate, and now I'm here.

I think what's happening is that I'm having a rough time transitioning from the GO GO GO mode of moving/leaving work to the 'not-a-single-obligation' mode right before school. I'm realizing how tired I am and how much sleep I have to make up for. Also, I think I'm a bit overwhelmed by the city. People, advertisements, and buildings everywhere. I'm sure I'll adapt, and things just feel that much more intense because I'm so fatigued from the stress and late nights that lead up to my arrival. Alas, orientation is tomorrow, and I'm looking forward to being occupied.

In the mean time, a couple of odd points:

• I'm currently staying in Harlem. So far in Harlem that I pass the Apollo Theater (yes, that Apollo Theater) on my way to and from the subway. The culture here is so shockingly different compared to my sleepy and polite Canada. There are people yelling and laughing and arguing everywhere. It seems like the average volume is cranked up a lot higher than what I'm used to, as people live in the streets, and live to the fullest. It's quite something to see. To be brutally honest, it's like your average person is what would be considered a total caricature back home. I mean, yes, of course, there are people out there that act like that. But to witness it in person where everyone is a caricature is a pretty strange thing.
  
  I know, I know. This makes me sound like a very sheltered, polite Canadian. And it's true. It's just remarkable how different realities can exist like that.
• HUMIDITY. Oi, the humidity. The first day I spent here, when I went apartment hunting, it was raining. Usually, in Calgary or back home in BC, that'd mean that it's cool enough that you can throw on a rain jacket and go about your day. But it's so hot and muggy here that the idea of anything aside from a t-shirt is pretty uncomfortable. I went and bought my first umbrella not so that I could just keep dry, but so I didn't have to put on a jacket. Truth be told, it was rather amazing to be in warm rain like that. I kinda look forward to it in the future.
• I spent a little bit of time going through the available courses I could take, which I'll decide on when I speak with the department head on Tuesday. But I was like a kid in a candy shop. "Oh, I could take this, and this, and this..." Learning really is a pretty awesome thing, and it made me wish I was filthy rich so that I could just keep going to school. Anyways, I know it'll be a lot of work in reality, but it still makes me kinda excited to get started.
• Clothes are cheap and food is expensive. It's kinda weird.
• At one point I got off the subway to the sound of Summertime being played by a small ethnic trio. Two percussion and one trumpet. It sounded so good, and the context of where I was hearing it made it that much sweeter.
• The subway! It's hot on the surface, and as you go down inside, it gets hotter and muggier. Then you sweat and wait and sweat some more, and when you get onboard the airconditioned train, it's the best feeling in the world.
• As I mentioned before, I have a little bit of entertainment spending money from an auction at the family reunion. Restaurants might be a bit of a lost cause, given that every other one is noteworthy in some way or another. Standard tourist traps like the Statue of Liberty or Empire State Building don't interest me that much. Perhaps some museums at some points... But my main interest is definitely concerts. We'll see what my class schedule is like, but Rod Stewart will be here in the winter and Jack Johnson in September. I'd love to go see them, if I can snag a ticket.
• The city is super accessible with the help of a Google Maps-enabled smartphone. I might need to get a standard subway map at some point, but as a whole, I've found it really easy to get around.

So, yeah. Go, go gadget adventure.
-Cril

Oh, Your daddy's rich
And your mamma's good lookin'
So hush little baby
Don't you cry

One of these mornings
You're going to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky

But until that morning
There's a'nothing can harm you
With your daddy and mammy standing by

New York Street Band - Summertime

An OD on Nature

 So last weekend I was at a family reunion for my mom's side of the family. We had rented a massive group campsite for us to all share, and this raised some initial concerns; I really don't like camping. Between a boyscout-filled childhood of going on camps run by others' strictly-regimented schedules for specific activities and my hatred of camping in the rain (nothing irritates my skin the way being inside wet clothes does), I was pretty hesitant. I'm really not sure when the next time was that I went camping, but the memories of waking up in a tent that's wet along the sides is something I absolutely would rather not re-experience. But I went, and while it rained the first night the rest of the weekend was warm, sunny, and sickeningly wonderful.

The family reunion was incredible. I got to reconnect with cousins I've met maybe two or three times before, and I got to be in a family setting as a full-fledged adult. We sat around and joked, had good food, discussed, tossed frisbees, hid from the hot sun, listened to the howling wind going over the wings of gliders doing loops over the campground on their way to the nearby field strip... And complained about how loud the trains were (personally, I didn't mind them too much). One day, we went and walked a trail that ran along the old Kettle Valley Railroad, through old stone tunnels and wooden bridges overlooking a rushing mountain river. We performed Eidelweiss for my grandmother on ukulele after secretly rehearsing for a few months prior, which brought her to tears. Later one night, me, my uncle, and my sister played our ukes altogether, working through a couple song books. Occasionally, I'd sing along in a terrible, over-exaggerated Bob Dylan voice which everyone particularly enjoyed. That's right - campfire Bob Dylan ukulele covers. The real kicker is that due to the fire ban, we were actually using a fake propane campfire. Ah, good times.

A couple days before heading out to the reunion (an 8hr drive away), my uncle had a great idea to buy some travel mugs from Costco, which I could then laser with my own various art/illustrations, which we could then auction once everyone was together for my New York expedition. Now, I love my uncle dearly, but this was a very last minute idea and I had yet to go home and pack for the trip the next day OR for when my father would come to pick up some of my belongings to put into storage. I was pretty skeptical, but... It all worked out for the better. Really better. He helped with the production, and the mugs turned out well. We went to auction them and... Got a lot more than my even most optimistic guess would have been. So mad props to my uncle. He was the one that did the auctioning, too, and worded it that all proceeds were to go to entertainment purposes only. I now have enough for two or three concerts, I hope, which I really look forward to.

With all of the stress about getting ready for New York, this trip was a very abrupt and surreal switch in gears. Like jumping straight from cruising speed in 4th to full reverse. I could practically hear my inner transmission saying "SCREW THIS, I'M OUT" before abandoning my mental engine bay. For some reason, that's accompanied with a mental image of a physical transmission parachuting to safety with middle fingers raised. I should draw that.



Anyways, I got do do a bunch of neat things on that trip. One of them was visiting Silver Lake, which was nestled in the mountains. There were maybe a dozen of us at the lake in total... It was so quiet and peaceful, and the water was gorgeous. Me, my brother, and sister all took some kayaks out for a bit. We went to the stream that flowed into the lake and got out. The stream itself was so wide and shallow, barely getting up to our knees. We walked around and found quicksand in a few spots, (intentionally) getting in up to our thighs. This allowed us to lean forward in a Michael Jackson Smooth Criminal-esque fashion, which was a lot of fun. Then we decided to head back, and instead of heading back through the safe/shallow route, we decided to go in a straight line across the mouth of the stream where it entered first. My brother, the tallest one, headed across first saying "It's all good, just keep moving" as he went in up to his waist. I followed, and just like he said, you just had to keep moving because your feet would disappear into the sand seconds after it was put down. That is, until, the bottom quickly dropped off and we found ourselves with nowhere to put our feet. Let me tell you, it's a freaky thing to be at a decently strong flowing point without being able to put your feet down and knowing that you can't really swim that well. It's similarly a freaky thing to realize that not only are you still wearing a life jacket from kayaking, but that it works like a hot damn, picking you up when you feel like you should be sinking. We reached the shore, laughing, and my adrenaline pumping. Scary stuff. But I could've stayed there exploring that little stream and sand bar for ages.

The next evening, me and my brother cashed in $5 worth of quarters at the run-down campground arcade. One racing game wouldn't accept out money, an Aerosmith light gun game would only let you shoot on half the screen, and what games that did work sported woefully antiquated graphics and twitchy gameplay. We played a few rounds of air hockey, though, with the air vents clogged and the paddles missing their felt bottoming. We laughed ourselves hoarse at the terrible game play, at how the paddles would get stuck to the tables and how the puck would refuse to coast. We then went to spend our remaining change at the pool table, complete with HUGE scratchmarks, a missing ball, and over-chalked cues (which, of course, didn't stop us from applying more chalk. I mean hey, that's just what you have to do when playing pool, right?). We were terrible, but again laughed ourselves silly at the abysmal conditions and our total lack of skill.



On our last night at the reunion, one of my younger sisters suggested that we sleep underneath the stars, and I was instantly intrigued. The problem, though, came from the severe thunderstorm watch that popped up as an alert on all our phones. This made me pretty skeptical, given my total disdain of getting wet. But as the evening went on, we watched the storm pass by us to the west. And by the time midnight arrived, we dragged all of our sleeping gear and set it up in the middle of our large campsite. And then... My word. I think that everyone should spend one night under the stars, far away from the light of any nearby city. At one point in the night, you'll awaken and realize where you are. And you'll then crack open your eyes, which are so sensitive to light that you will be completely stunned in the light of the Milky Way. I've never experienced anything like it, and I never thought you could outside of heavily processed, fancy photography. The stars were so bright and the Milky Way so rich. I don't have words for it... I think it's truly a memory that will stick with me. After living in a city for so long, I had no idea just how much I was missing out on when I looked to the heavens. Do it. Do it even once. You'll never forget it.

I booked two extra days off after my reunion. On the first one, my brother, dad and I went on a kayak trip on Harrison lake. Our destination was a Rainbow Falls, which was only accessible by water. We set out and the water was boggling incredible. Smooth as glass. The most vivid turquoise green you've ever seen. The air was crisp, and everything was so silent as we departed that morning. We were the first ones at the beach, and the first ones on the lake, and could easily carry a conversation while we were each 10-15ft apart. On the way out, a curious seal popped up from time to time to keep tabs on us, and we passed with a curt nod to another kayaker heading in the opposite direction. And after a solid hour of paddling, we made it. The sun was still on its ascent when we beached and traveled inland through the forest and along a well-trodden path.

Eventually we reached our destination, and slowly made our way over the field of large, wet, slippery rocks to the base of the waterfall. It was so frigid - the mist in the moving air was totally chilling. We put it off in hope that the sun would eventually come around to where we were, but eventually we gave up and climbed into the cool green pool at the base of the fall. We crept up and took turns standing directly underneath the falling water, with our backs to the rock itself. We whooped and hollered - it was a truly exhilarating experience. We then traveled a bit downstream to where the sun was shining, and sat down on the rocks to warm up in the late morning light. We toyed around in the creek at the foot of the falls, feeling the current and moving rocks around to divert the flow of water. Just like old times.

As kids when we lived up in Northern BC, we'd cross the road by our house and spend hours mucking around in the creek. One favourite activity was damming up a pipe that ran underneath the road. We'd wait for the water to pool, and then quickly destroy the dam and rush to the other side of the road, to watch the water come roaring out. I remember one time we dammed up that pipe and forgot about it after waiting for a time. We were inside when a rain storm broke out, and our blocked creek started to overflow out onto the road, and our dad had to put on his big rubber boots and go out to unblock it. We had to watch from the safety of the tiny dining room window while the water burst out the other end of the pipe.

I think those days have instilled in me a fascination with moving water in creeks/rivers, judging by how much fun I had at the foot of that waterfall and earlier in the mouth of the creek leading into Silver Lake. I could've stayed there, exploring and mucking around, for a long time. Makes me feel like a kid.

Alas, we did leave. After my father and brother did some fishing from the dock, we shoved off on our return trip. The wind came and went, which in conjunction with our sore arms from the departure journey made the return trip feel pretty difficult. I looked in awe at the sporadic houses that lined the shore, many of them multiple stories and obviously expensive. They felt so out of place poking out from amongst the tree line and facing the green water. Doubly so, considering that they were only accessible by water. But eventually we made it back. We went into the nearby tourist trap lake town and had ice cream while waiting for pizza to be cooked from our favourite joint, before we took them back home for a late lunch. Then we all crashed away into an exhausted sleep, and the remainder of the day slipped away from us.

The next morning, the last day I had booked off, I got up at 6am and left for a drive back home with my father. We talked in spurts, about where he vacationed as a kid, where he worked, and his education. Apparently he has a double major on top of his teaching certification, which he has a master's-equivalent for. We listed to recordings of Randy Bachman's Vinyl Tap, commenting on the music and voicing how some music seems to be made just for the enjoyment of other musicians. We got stuck behind construction, passed semi trucks, gawked at the scenery, and stopped for lunch at a Dairy Queen. That's when I took over driving, which turned to be an amusingly contradictory combination of instructions from my father, who has always been The Driver of the family and a notoriously difficult passenger/back-seat driver, especially in his own vehicle. Eventually we made it back into town, where we shared an exhausted supper with my sister at Denny's before going to my place to load up a score of boxes for my dad to drive back home and put into storage and the family house. And then they left, and I was left in my mess of a (now slightly less populated) room.



And with that, my weekend had ended.

I was really surprised. I collected a true treasure chest of memories I hope I never lose. Sleeping under the stars and standing under a waterfall... I've never experienced anything like it. Truly incredible. And as I go through my possessions and try to throw things away that I no longer need, I find myself doing so with significant hesitation. I'm such a sentimental fool; each artificat I discard has a memory of some sort attached to it. I feel like I'm throwing away the key to unlock those memories... As if I'm effectively throwing away those memories themselves. That scares me, a lot.

So here I am, writing about a family reunion and laughing myself silly with my brother, and stars kayaks and creeks and a drive with my dad. I hope that someday I come back to this post and read it and remember everything as vivid as it can possibly be, after the tide of time has washed up and down my mind, making all the corners smooth and colours faded.

I'm so freaked out right now with everything. I leave for New York in a week and a half, and there's so much to do. It was really good to go out and experience nature and peace before I dive head-first into one of the biggest concrete jungles there is. I'm worrying about everything there is to worry about and I'm becoming too paralyzed to get anything done. All the while, the clock ticks to when I board that plane. Don't get me wrong; I know this will be an incredible experience... But I don't feel ready for it. Then again, I probably never will. It's now or never.
-Cril


Edelweiss, Edelweiss
Every morning you greet me
Small and white clean and bright
You look happy to meet me
Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow
Bloom and grow forever
Edelweiss,Edelweiss
Bless my homeland forever

Me n' My Family - Edelweiss

An Open (And Unsent) Letter to My Classmates

After spending four years with a group of people, I've come to the harsh reality that I might not see many, if any, ever again. And among the ~40 people in my program, a lot of them I think I'll genuinely miss getting to be around. The times when these people have reached out to me with bits of encouragement and helped me see my own strengths have really made an impact on me. I found myself thinking, "Wouldn't it be great if I could do the same thing in return?" And while it may take some work to build up that kind of courage, I at least thought that it deserves to be written down. Who knows. Maybe I'll find the strength sooner than later. No one minds a compliment, right? Especially from someone they might not see again. But I digress...

Danielle - You struggled in spots, but you fought through it and worked hard. I have lots of respect for you. Also, you have the most incredible hair I've ever seen. Seriously, I thought that was the stuff of magazine photo shoots, and not every day at art school. And it meant a lot to me that you'd send me songs you'd think I'd dig.

Matt - I loved the way your face lit up when you laughed. You have a good eye for technology and make some well-detailed, tight work.

Alyssa - You have such a sweet demeanor. I was blown away at how you came into your own during third year, and I'm wildly jealous of your touch for handwritten typography. Thanks for saying hello to me in the cheerful and warm way you do. It felt good to talk to you, including that one time at that one party where we talked about religion, philosophy and relationships. I'm glad I had someone to listen to Christmas music with on those late, cold, December nights in the studio.

Marta - I'm impressed by your confidence and how easy it was for you to laugh out loud.

Kate - I admire your good nature, intelligence and articulate...ness. You have a pretty good sense of humour to boot, and certain flavour nerdiness that was unfortunately lacking in most of our other classmates.

Gail - You're a sweet soul, and I envy your understanding/welcoming attitude. I admire your determination, not just with the coursework but also the cultural mountain you had to climb. It was cool seeing your dad at graduation, especially knowing your deep personal history you had shared with us all. You wore your heart on your sleeve, and I like that. You strike me as being very trustworthy.

Justine - You're always striving to push your concept farther and harder, and it shows in your work. I'm jealous of your ability to concentrate on what's important and strive for excellence.

Liz - It seemed like you had a rough go of things over the last four years, but you never said a negative word about anyone. I hope things work out for you, wherever life takes you.

Nikki - You laugh and smile a lot. You're an uplifting person to have around.

Laura S - I can tell that you were always analyzing and thinking about things behind your gentle presence. I appreciate your work and your insights.

Mike K - You can be kinda quiet and shy, but you should know that you're a solid guy to be around.

Kristin - You're a sincere person, and give off a really welcoming and safe aura. Thanks for welcoming me into your home for that project we worked on as partners - I really enjoyed that time spent together. Thanks for saying kind words to me when I needed it. Trust yourself and you'll go places - you've got some good skill and make some solid stuff. I liked being around you. Your daughter is one very lucky girl to have you.

Edwin - Man, I'm SO glad we got to be wingmen in New York for a while. I had lots of fun, and you're a positive, meek and patient guy. I like that combination and see qualities in you that I want to have. And going to school when you have a family at home to care of? Double respect.

Wes - I was (and still am) continually blown away by your infallible self-confidence.

Hannah - I can't put my finger on it, but you're a really cool person. Sincere and upbeat, and not afraid to do your own thing. I really don't know what it is, but I always appreciated your presence.

Rhannon - You have a great smile, and it seems like you're a really aware of other's moods. You're a sensitive person, but have a mature sense of when to act on it or not.

Fiona - You're mature and thoughtful, and have one hell of a great laugh. Thanks for inviting all(!!) of us into your home.

Natalie - It was fun hanging out (and doing nothing) in the empty drop-in tutoring sessions, and rather amusing to watch you get hit on by approximately every dude that came through the door. I liked that you weren't afraid to laugh. Even to the worst of my jokes or anecdotes when we were trying not to die of boredom.

Sara K - It seemed like you always had a smile on your face, and didn't hesitate to offer up words of encouragement/reinforcement.

Jun - Man, your background is so inspiring, I feel like someday I'll read all about it in a book. I don't think I have the guts to travel the long path that you did.

Kristy - It seems like you became pretty self confident over the last year, to the point of maybe becoming too self confident. If that's what makes you happy, though, who am I to object? But underneath everything, I know there's someone there that's sensitive and intelligent.

Ryder - You have enormous amounts of passion and talent, but you remain so soft spoken and meek. You have a commendable outlook.

Mike S - Man... Get your life together. Seriously. Man up and commit to something. Anything. When you do, great things are gunna happen. When you ain't so mopey people (myself included) like to be around you, and you have some good skill under your belt. You're a good man. I don't care what they say about you.

Maria - In addition to your mountains of multiple raw talents, I like how you're always trying to look at the bigger picture and pursuing something that's good on a truly substantial level. You work hard, and it's pretty crazy to see you find your passion and be willing to devote more years (and years abroad at that) to further the skills you need that will let you form your own voice for improving society. It's a commendable pursuit. I like your intelligence, honesty and how you're an incredibly driven person with a can-do attitude. I think you'll go places. You know, aside from just Scotland.

Dylan M - Ah, sir, you feel like a kindred spirit, and I feel really bad that it took until fourth year to figure that out. At the same time, I'm glad we got to work on those two projects together in the last year. You're a man of honesty, sincerity, unshakable integrity, and you have no idea how much of a relief it was to find another introspective soul in the class. I'm really glad that you were able to stick it out through the whole program and that you found your passion - I have no doubt you're headed for big things. But I'll remember you most for your incredible intellect, sincere demeanor, and dare I say, honour. I look up to and envy you in more than one way, and hope that I can be even a fraction of the person you are. And as much as I wished our paths could have crossed more often, I can only hope that they will do so again in the future.

Dylan S - Man, you told me that you wouldn't have made it through without me, but I almost wonder if it was actually the other way around. Do you realize how polar opposite we are as personalities? And yet we somehow gravitated towards eachother and stayed there for a long time. Thank you, sir, for making me laugh and planting in me a new appreciation for music. While I can't stand your work ethic, I truly do admire your insane skill and ability to make the people around you feel good. Jamming in the studio(s), abandoned or not, will forever be cherished memories, and the highlight of the whole four years. I'm glad I had you to watch my back for a time. And while I think we're drifting in very different directions and our plans for a shared studio may never materialize... You already left your mark and permanently changed who I am, and for the better. I'll miss you, and I know you'll find yourself washing up on the shore of Big Things. Leave some room on your coat tails for me, eh?

Some of these people I maybe had one or two conversations with ever, some I spoke with everyday, and then the rest fill out the entire spectrum between. Some people leave more of an impact than others, and I tried to mention everyone that did just that. Most of the people I mentioned were no less good people. There were few other people, though, that remind me of the words "If you can't say anything nice." But those people are few, and as a whole my class consisted of damn fine people that I felt lucky to study with and know. I hope you all go out to tackle the neck of the world with your fangs out, and that you'll all find your own little slice of heaven in this big ol' mess. Safe travels,
-Cril

So this is what you meant
When you said that you were spent
And now it's time to build from the bottom of the pit
Right to the top
Don't hold back
Packing my bags and giving the academy a rain check
I don't ever wanna let you down
I don't ever wanna leave this town
'Cause after all
This city never sleeps at night

Imagine Dragons - It's Time (Acoustic)

Post-Secondary Post Mortem Part III: Plan, Eh?

In January school resumed for me and my classmates' last semester of our degree. People were getting kind of squirmy about being done, and already a bit nastalgic of the time spent there. We were all watching the end approach with a lot of anxiety and excitement, with a bit of dread mixed in.

On one of the first classes I went and talked to the professors about any feedback for my book comparison guide, which they seemed pretty pleased with. There wasn't much to fix aside from maybe the pacing of my promotional video. But that's always a tricky process - in that kind of work you're always tied to the soundtrack, which is a tedious task to sync up with. But I digress.

Like a massive piece of clockwork, the semester gaining momentum as product foundations were laid and initial concepts and ideas were being drawn up. One class was based around creating an entire magazine from scratch - some marketing feasibility, a name, a concept, and the content. Words, photography, layout, the whole nine yards. Fortunately, this was a group project and I teamed up with Dylan, a classmate that I had done an advertising project with the semester prior. Super great dude that I have tonnes of respect for, and I was actually regretting not being able to work with him more over the last four years. We decided to make a technology magazine that was a bit of a cross between Radiolab and the Verge. In reality, we told our professors is was Wired meets the Atlantic for simplicity's sake (after all, it was a magazine project). And while some students were hardcore enough to get all-original written content (made by themselves or others), we had the thankfully were in agreeance to curate the articles from other locations. After we had our project strategy figured out we started in on our name and logo. We decided on the name 'Defrag', and to make our logo we went around and got 100 people to write out the name and then overlayed all of them. When we showed our professor, who was pretty much the senior professor of the program, he seemed to be really excited an intrigued by it. We had a lot of fun working together, even though it was a pretty brutal grind at times. I don't like looking at my grades, but my partner later informed me that we got an A+ for the project.

But I'm straying a bit from what I'm trying to say. Not long after showing our professor, he came and approached me one morning in the studio before class had started. We were starting to thin out by this point, with most people not coming into class until later in the day, if at all. I was always at my desk before the start of class though, so when he came around I was alone in the studio. He sat down and told me that he had been reviewing my work and thought that I could really benefit from going to the School of Visual Arts in New York for a year. While the official scholarship had already been given to a student that had applied for it, my professor said he was in touch with his colleague at SVA who's head of the design department about getting additional scholarships for both Dylan and I.

This was pretty mind-blowing stuff, for a couple reasons. First is that it was unusual to get that kind of interest from a professor, let alone having them go so far out of their way to help you with an opportunity. Second was that my work was of high enough calibre for something like that. Third was NEW YORK.

I immediately went walking around campus with Dylan as we discussed it. It felt good to have someone in a similar predicament whose opinion I valued to talk to. Then I talked with my aunt and uncle and a couple of close friends. The unanimous consensus was that I was going. Not I should go, but that I will go. No question, no shades of grey.

Fast-forward a few months, and I am indeed going. It's been a rough process full of paperwork and waiting, but the ball is rolling. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't excited; I've rambled on before about how I wasted several a crucial part of my life before I started school by doing nothing but working and playing video games for a few consecutive years. And I feel like this is the one chance I might have to redeem myself, and have a legitimate life adventure. Really, it is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I'm at a stage in my life where I can do it. It's incredible to have the chance in the first place, and it seems like a little bit of the extraordinary has wedged itself into my beige life. It seems as if that very wedge is larger than I am.

But something this big isn't without its caveats, no? One of which involved getting a visa to enter the States. In order to be let in, I had to account for every penny of the $57,000 I'd need in tuition and living expenses. That's a pretty hefty chunk of change, and more than whatever 'safety net' I've been working to preserve in my savings account. No, this isn't safety net sized money, this is canon money and it's up to you to supply your own helmet for this explosive one-way journey. There ain't no money left for any kind of safety measure, aside from that stupid helmet which won't do much if you've just been fired out of a cannon.

And so I've done my due diligence to start my journey along the road to emptying my savings account and shooting head-first into debt. It's more than a little scary. I'm currently waiting to hear back from the government about my student loan application, while investigating getting a line of credit through my bank. There's the kicker - I'm working to get just the right amount of money I'll need, and there won't be any breathing room. This scares me a lot more than I'd like to admit. If I had car problems or a sudden dentist appointment, I had a little bit of savings left to take care of it. And now... I'll have enough to cover my best-case scenario, and not any more.

$57,000 is a lot of money. Will it pay off? Will there be an opportunity that arises from this that'll make it all worth while? Or should I be thinking of this in another light, from the perspective that I'm putting it towards a once-in-a-life-time opportunity and I shouldn't be expecting any returns? My uncle has told me that even if I never received the scholarship, I should still do it regardless. I've even had several relatives offer me support financially if I need it. Especially now that I've graduated and done so under my own power, I've becoming convinced that I am indeed an adult, and I need to act like it. This means that sometimes I need to figure out as much as I can on my own before troubling others for help. And that also means that, like all adults, I need to go to debt at some point in my life. I think this instance will is about as good of a reason as you can get to do so.

The second big change of wind that New York has blown in is a violent and sudden shift in gears for how I thought I'd be living by now. Over my last year or so of school, I was so convinced that my life would change after I stepped out of those campus doors for the last time. Think about it; I'm going from ~70hrs of work a week down to a mere 40. It's almost as if I've sprung a whole different life that I can dedicate to living.

This would manifest itself in a few different ways. Sleeping in on the weekend, eating a supper that doesn't come from a can, playing some video games, watching movies, writing. Getting home before 11:30pm. And most significantly, not living on a student's budget. Maybe I could eat out, and see a couple movies in theater. Get a macro lens for my camera, get a new computer (with some new games to match). And just generally not have to sweat every. Single. Purchase. I could exhale and realize that debt isn't lurking over my shoulder waiting to pounce.

And I got a taste of this, too. One week I ate out, subscribed to Netflix, and bought some new clothes after clearing out some old ones that didn't fit me so well any more. I spent $120 on clothes. I started to feel bad until I realized... I didn't have to. I'm working full time, and this is just a couple purchases that weren't that extravagant. The guilt wasn't necessary. Let me tell you, that realization was positively toxic. "Wait... I can actually do things that normal people do? It's okay to eat out now? WOW, THIS IS AWESOME."

But the joke was on me. For a long while between that initial discussion with my prof until just this last week, I was in a sort of limbo where I wasn't sure if I was going to go to New York or not. Sure, I had made a decision, but there are a lot of pieces that need to be in place for this to work, not least of which was to have my application by the school. I hadn't heard back, and I've become a pretty skeptical person that doesn't like to get excited unless he knows that something will actually go through. So for the last semester of school and up until recently I had been living in a state of limbo where I was expecting to be back in school in the fall but that I wouldn't get to New York. Essentially, I stuck bouncing between only the negative repercussions of the two possibilities.

When I went out to buy those clothes, that's when one of the walls fell down and I thought that maybe I was all done and money wouldn't have to be such a pressing issue any more. And it's rather depressing to admit that shortly after I had the realization of relaxing about money, I had put that wall back up. And that's where I am now, back to pinching pennies. But the aftertaste still remains, and I'm still spending a little bit here in there, more than I probably should but where I know it really matters. Going to dinner with friends I might not see for a long time (if ever) or going to the zoo with my family that's in town for a few days.

Again, though, it's been a violent transition to be ripped away from this vision of being 'done', and back into the reality of doing yet another year. Admittedly, just existing in New York will be even a more harsh reality (comprised of the different parts of clearing out my possessions, moving out, going to New York, and meeting entirely new faces). But in the mean time...

I should be done, damn it. I could be done.

What a torturous notion. Above it all, what I think hurts the most is the idea that I could be staring out my window at my car parked on the street. That I'd be driving to work, and I'd have something to fill the monstrous hole the accident last summer had left in my chest. I'd be catching up on all the music I've discovered that can only be fully appreciated if you're listening to it while behind the wheel. My initial plan was to get a Scion FR-S, and seeing one on the road makes me feel excitement dipped in a thick gooey coat of somberness. It's farther away now than ever before. Yeah, it'll be another year before I'll be out of school, but how long will it take to build up some savings again to afford something like that? Man, that really hurts.

So it's trading one kind of living for another kind. The adventure you wish you could have versus an everyday thrill and satisfaction. It's a tough thing to choose between, but I tell myself that there will be plenty of cars waiting for me some time in the future. I only have this one chance to go study under some of the best professionals in one of the biggest cultural hubs in the world.

Over the last year I declined to get another car, instead opting for public transit. Between the initial cost of purchase, insurance and gas, I saved quite a bit. Add in the million repairs my stupid car would have needed, and piles up pretty quick. I thought I was going to use those saving on a car. I guess I was saving for this instead. But telling myself doesn't seem to make it suck much less.

"Wah wah, I'm going to New York and I can't stop whining about how crappy life is!"

Okay, yes. My personality tends to put a rather bittersweet flavour on how I percieve what's going on around me. You know what? I'm EXCITED to see what the next year brings. It's going to be tough in a bunch of different and unexpected ways, but I can't wait to see what happens and how things go and which way my life is going to go as a result.

At the same time, I'm just really exhausted from keeping a tight budged and I just really miss driving.

But New York, man. Wow. I guess you don't need a car to travel down some pretty wild roads.
-Cril

And it's such a night, it's such a night
Sweet confusion under the moonlight
It's such a night, such a night
To steal away, the time is right

Yeah, I couldn't believe my ear
And my heart just skipped a beat
When you told me to take you walkin' down the street
Oh yeah, you came here with my best friend Jim
Here I am, I'm stealin' you away from him

Oh, but if I don't do it, you know somebody else will
If I don't do it, you know somebody else will
If I don't do it, you know somebody else will
If I don't do it, you know somebody else will

'Cause it's such a night

The Band & Dr. John - Ophelia