Sunday, November 16, 2014

Jarring Whisp

Sometimes... You think a ghost has finally passed you by. It's as if you always knew it was there, but by making eye contact it suddenly come one step closer to forming a body of flesh and bones. So eventually you learn not to trust your instincts. Even though you can feel the whisp of an attic's breath over your shoulder, you restrain yourself from turning around. And slowly those breathes become more shallow and sporadic. Out of the corner of your eye, the ghost's once white sheen has now dulled to a cloud of dust caught in the sunlight. So you ask yourself, "was I imagining things all along?" And then...

BOO!

Back from no where, a body with bones and tears in tow. Dust to flesh, ash to breath. You suddenly swing from self doubt to plain old disbelief that you could possibly think things had faded away. There's an undeniably, very real ghost in the room and you aren't quite sure what to do about it.

Someone dropped back into my life this week. Or rather, they dropped something off. I thought this person had moved on, but instead has presented me with a perplexing token of their persistence. One that didn't even ask for a response. I thought we were done and moved on, another (bizarre) chapter closed. But apparently not.

So where do you go from here? Maybe, just maybe, I'll try once more to ignore that stale attic breath breezing over my shoulder. Wait for light to fade back to dust.

And then there'll be another unwarranted token to rejuvenate the cycle. My complacency and hope of the most anti-climactic resolution possible will no doubt be a reoccurring theme. But I swear this is the last time. I don't know how to fight ghosts, whether it be to their face or through an intermediary, but I'm sick of something lurking over my shoulder or beyond a doorway. Some way or another, one of us needs to find peace. It may as well be me.

Yadda yadda Ghostbusters.
-Cril

Nine Inch Nails - 8 Ghosts I

Monday, November 10, 2014

Nine Hundred Forty Four

So I bought me a red, 1986 Porsche 944. It has about 160,000km on the odometer and is in pretty good shape for its age. And despite the pretty decent price I got it for, it was a stupid, stupid purchase. For many reasons.

It's old. It's finicky. There are many, many problems and quirks with 944's that make them... "High maintenance", to put it lightly. It's a front engined rear wheel drive car, which is quite possibly the worst combination for driving in snow. And that means, yes, I plan on driving it all year. Whatever mechanical problems it has are going to rapidly manifest themselves through Calgary's long, cold winter. Chances are, I'll be left stranded somewhere. It should also go without saying that being a fairly old import of a (relatively) niche brand, parts and service will be stupidly expensive. And there are many parts that are broken or are in the process of breaking.

But on the other hand... As soon as I got behind the wheel on my first test drive, I knew it was something special. It felt so solid and planted to the road. The steering wheel communicated everything that was going on, in a way I've never experienced before. It isn't high on power, but that didn't prevent it from immediately being the best car I've ever driven. And that's because it's a proper driver's car, I'd imagine.

The main thing, though, is that it's a total bucket list item. Yeah, I know a 944 is a full 33 increments away from a 911, but it's still a Porsche. And that's something I've wanted and dreamed about for 15 years. When I was looking at cars and it was rapidly apparent a new FR-S wasn't an option on the table, I wasn't particularly thrilled with any of my options (it was mainly between a Civic SiR or an RSX Type-S). But when it occured to me I could buy a 944, I was instantly excited again.

As a close friend pointed out... I don't have any kids to worry about or any major commitments. If I'm going to buy an impractical (seriously, you should see how big the "back seats" are) and unreliable car, now would be the best time to do it. Not to mention that after saving and doing the responsible thing for so long while I've been in school (and, quite frankly, since I started working full time after highschool)... It feels good to make a lunge for something that I really want, logistics or pragmatism be damned.

So it wasn't a rational purchase. No, it was a very, very emotional one. Which is a bit of a first for me.

I think what really pushed me over the edge were the pop-up headlights. That kind of cool-factor cannot be denied.

All this unraveled over the course of about a week of hectic test drives, phone calls, registry appointments, and insurance calls. By the end of the week when I finally had the car in my position I was feeling absolutely bagged and I couldn't figure out why. Eventually I realized that so many interactions and appointments with strangers every single day had really sucked a lot out of me.

Lo and behold, after I had finally sorted out my paperwork and acquired my plates and squirming through dinner with my room mates like a twelve year old desperate to get away from the supper table, I finally was able to go out for my first drive in my car.

And all of the sudden, I felt whole. Not just replenished, but more than I have been in a long time. More than the excitement of my first drive in a long while. I was driving a Porsche. Me. In my Porsche. It's like I'm finally setting off to experience the things I've always wanted to. As if there might be hope for me yet.

Despite all the hassles of the week and concerns about work and the gnawing anxiety about the reliability of the machine I now found myself driving...

All was right with the world.

-Cril

And above me if there is nothing and no one knew I really care
It's just a now, a now I prefer, not the future and not the past
So put the chairs to one side and let us dance
It's a strange kind of peace

It's a kind of peace, it's a strange kind of peace
It's a kind of peace

Faithless - A Kind Of Peace

Sunday, November 02, 2014

Wheels and the Deals Thereof

So I've been car hunting this weekend. Cruising the classifieds and such. I'm currently in a bizarre state of one part excitement and two parts anxiety.

Excitement: I can't WAIT to have a car! There's so many to choose from! I want them all!

Anxiety: I need to get a good deal. I sure can't get something that'll go to hell on me... It needs to be reliable and economic. This is a pretty substantial investment. And it also needs to be fun, too. This is hard work.

In some pathetic way, the anxiety part of things makes me want to bury my head in the sand and simply... Not get a car. Which is dumb, I know. It's ridiculous how those questions and concerns can totally overshadow my desire to get on the road again. It'd certainly be easier to run and hide from the whole ordeal, but I'm getting pretty sick of riding buses.

I saw three cars today. The first was an RSX Type S, which had been modified to have a retardedly obnoxious exhaust. Seriously, I don't understand why people think that loud thrum sounds good. It was also lowered. I get the point of that, but for most road-going cars... It's kinda nice to be able to drive over a curb and into a driveway without making a scraping sound. On a side note, I asked the owner to direct me on a good route through the area for me to try out the car. He sent me on a loop of the community with no less than six playground zones. Never mind highway speeds, I never even got out of third gear. Poor, abused car. Questionable modifications, ripped leather seats, too stiff and low, subtle hail damage... Ugh.

Next I drove a Porsche 944. It was sublime. Immediately after pulling away from the curb I knew it was something special. I've never felt so connected to the road before... It felt heavy. Not as in overweight or slow, but as in solid. The steering was ridiculously communicative and the car seemed undeniably planted on the pavement. It was a bit unnerving, though, given that the car was made in 1986. Even though it had relatively low mileage and was in pretty good shape, I was still hesitate to really push it. Despite the wonderful handling, I feared I was driving a structure of rickety matchsticks.

Last I tried out a Civic SiR, which is something I've been eyeing since I discovered their existence 5-6 years ago. It actually didn't disappoint - it immediately felt chuckable, and the engine had a lot of pep to it. I liked it a lot more than the RSX, actually. It had some undeniable spunk. The gas pedal was pretty stiff and it was odd using a shifter attached to the dash, but it felt tight and responsive.

Oh decisions, decisions. Right now it's a battle between the last two. The 944 is more fun/exciting, and the SiR makes the most practical sense. No matter what I choose (if they're not taken by the time I make up my mind...) I can't go wrong. And I can't go right, either. See? This stuff is tricky. But as much as I want to put my head in the sand, I'm pretty sure that's not a particularly effective way to drive around.
-Cril

Zubot & Dawson - My Acoustic Bed

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Huh?

So some dude just tried to steal my bike. I was standing at the window that looks out into the fenced in yard, when a shady-lookin' dude (complete with baggy jacket, shaved head, and tattoos on half his face) came into the yard and went into the corner by where my bike is kept. I went out the front door and said, "What are you doing with my bike?". He asked if he could have it. I said no, and placed my hand on the handlebars. He then fell over slightly, and got up close, and mumbled something about cutting through the house. Again, I said no. He jogged away. I put the bike back and was going to phone the cops when I heard shouting. The neighbours in the row of houses behind where we were chased down the same guy to prevent him from making off with one of their bikes. The culprit ran off, and I called the cops. An officer showed up, talked to me briefly, then went to the neighbours. Strange, very strange. Either the guy was drunk/high, running from someone/thing, or both.

And how was your Sunday night?
-Cril

The Seatbelts - Bad Dog, No Biscuits

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Back to the Fruiture

I just had a chat with Frank about Apple products, and I feel invisibly compelled to jot down some quick ideas swirling around my head. A number of years ago I wrote at great lengths about my investigation into purchasing some serious Apple hardware and my various hesitations and reservations about the brand. Once upon a time I was vehemently opposed to all things Apple. Maybe I'm getting old, but I just don't quite care that much any more about who stole what feature or whatever the talking points of the time were.

Apple makes great stuff. Pretty, well-engineered, advanced. They know what they're doing, and gosh darn it, they're good at it.

For a while, I believed that the brand personality rubbed me the wrong way. Apple felt like a smug hipster that always had it all figured out and knew it was the hottest thing on the block. These days, though, I frankly don't pay enough attention to it (or other tech companies) to know or care.

Right now there are three big boulders between me and the entrance to the Holy Shrine Church of His Holiness Steve "The Holy Man" Jobs (note: one of medium-sized pebbles along the way is a general befuddlement at Jobs-worship).

First is money. Apple is a creator of luxury electronics. Nicer materials, slimmer builds, and various extra fancy features and small details that make you say "Ohhhh" and "Ahhhh". Unfortunately, I'm not a luxury person, and tend to be a bit more usability-oriented. To me, a wonderfully pulsing power LED and 4lbs of added lightness is an impressive touch, but not worth paying an extra 50% for.

Let me put it this way, because my life loosely orbits around the wonderful world of cars. Say someone presented me with $45,000 for a new car. I could get a brand-new Mercedes-Benz is C-Class, complete with all the leathers and ride comforts and infotainments and fancy stitching for $43,000. Or I could buy an FR-S, with its stiff suspension and tiny back seats, and pocket the remaining $15,000. It'd be no contest, because at the core what I want is a vehicle that gets me from A to B and is fun to drive.

In some cases those extra features make the price worth it. After all, the sorting, ranking, and play count tracking in iTunes is the reason I haven't been able to stray from the iPod. But for the most part, I value main functionality over frills and details. The value proposition for the finer things in life just ain't quite there for me. What can I say, I take after my father. A meat and potatoes kinda guy.

The next big rock in the way is that the core functionality between Mac and PC platforms is... Remarkably the same. I'm of course referring to my experience with the platforms and what I generally use computers for (hint: design crap and internet crap). A few years ago, the inability to handle gaming would have been an instant disqualifier. Now, though? Photoshop runs just the same on either platform. Differences in OS stability or user interface are downright negligible. For the past year I've been frequently switching between doing work on my Windows laptop and various iMacs, and the one biggest difference between the two... Has got to be the keyboard layout. And it's not that one is better than the other, it's just the fact that they're different. I haven't quite come across any make-it-or-break-it features between the two. And as simple day-to-day user, the more minute or involved differences don't manifest themselves to me.

The last big hurdle has nothing to do with hardware or corporate policy. No, the last big dumb rock in the way is, well, me. And Apple fans. Yes, those vocal diehards that I feel don't quite know what they're talking about despite their zeal for the subject. All they know is that Mac = Awesome and PC = Flawed, because the commercials told them so (seriously, props to whoever was behind that ad campaign. You've made quite the impression). I know it's incredibly petty, but I think the biggest grudge I hold against the brand is that underlying tone of snarky disbelief I get when someone exclaims to me "...you use a PC?!"

Screw you. Yes, it is a PC. And it runs the same programs as yours, with all the same features and capabilities. I know it seems hard to understand, but I can (gasp!) do the same things that you can do with your luxury laptop, and at a fraction of the price. If I can graduate near the top of my class using a Lowly Lenovo, I think it's safe to assume that it's not so noticeably inferior. It doesn't hamper my creative process or prevent me from kerning my type just so.

It's a tool. Like a hammer. You know how a hammer works, right?  Surprisingly, it doesn't matter if the handle is wood or covered in authentic Tibetan cow hide. The ability to drive a nail remains more/less equal.

Yeah, I know I wear cheap Wal-Mart shoes. And yet I still manage to make it to work on time. How does that work?

I make it a bit of a game for my own amusement to ask assertive Apple purists what they prefer about the Mac platform over the alternative. I usually get a mix of "it looks better" and "it works better". When I ask for elaboration on the last point, there's usually a mix of "uhms", "uhs", and an assorted list of nonessential, features and a loose claim that "windows machines break all the time" (which, oddly, they never seem to be able to expound on). As for aesthetics, yes, absolutely, OSX is much more attractive and streamlined than Windows. But does that mean that the only thing preventing a perfectly level playing field is a pretty, pretty special glossy Windows skin?

Again, I don't care so much for how a tool looks as much as what it's actually capable of. Make my hammer pink and reflective for all I care, because eventually you get used to appearances and it's what emerges from the workshop at the end of the day that really counts. And being a price conscious guy, well, if the shiny pink hammer is the best value I'll go for it.

I'm pretty sure the main reason designers use Macs these days is simply because that's just what designers use. It's a culture that feeds into itself, for better or worse. I just don't get the rabid sense of superiority about it.

Who knows, if I wasn't such a computer nerd growing up and wasn't assaulted by everyone's vocal (and borderline insulting) disbelief at my choice to use a Windows machine, I probably would have long ago joined the Apple herd myself.

I feel that as I mature I realize some things just don't matter, and along with that I've realized how pointless and relatively petty the whole debate is about Mac vs PC. Apple makes good stuff. Microsoft makes good stuff. They're both so good that, to my eyes, they're pretty the same animals but of different colour. More than anything I just guess I'm just pissed off at being looked down on under the assumption that my particular choice of tool clearly directly corresponds with my capability as a person.

But hey, what good is getting older if you can't be irrationally bitter about some things? And who knows, maybe in a few more years I won't care about this either.
-Cril

Please could you stop the noise, I'm trying to get some rest
From all the unborn chicken voices in my head
What's that?
I may be paranoid, but not an android
What's that?
I may be paranoid, but not an android

When I am king, you will be first against the wall
With your opinion which is of no consequence at all
What's that?
I may be paranoid, but no android
What's that?
I may be paranoid, but no android

Radiohead - Paranoid Android

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Valiant Hearts

Being an adult is taking three weeks to beat a 6 hour game that, when you were younger, would have taken you one sitting. But being an adult is also the ability to appreciate a heartfelt tale, even if it wasn't full of action.

I just finished playing Valiant Hearts, and it pretty much gutted me. In a nutshell, it's a simple puzzle platformer about the first world war. To write a full-length review that'd do it justice would simply take too much time and yet be somehow inadequate. So in the spirit of the game, I'll keep it short.

The art is incredible. It's like you're playing through a comic book, and not in a "look at all this awesome stuff going on" kind of way, but a "let's be immersed by visual storytelling" kind of way. Even though you could say the visual style was fairly basic, the set pieces were magnificent and small details brought the world to life. To argue that this needed "better graphics" would be to admit a lack of taste. Some settings were light and beautiful, and others were just as horrifying as they needed to be. What more could you want?

I want to say that parts of the game were frustrating. Usually I get quite irritated when the only way to beat a section of a game is through trial-and-error. Here though, it felt oddly appropriate.

The story was very educational, yes, but also emotional. I have a lot of respect for the writers for the amount of ground they covered without diluting the impact of the experience. It all just felt right.

I applaud Ubisoft for taking on this project. I'm sure it was a brave undertaking, but it turned out to be exactly what it needed to be. This will sit high on my list of examples of "games as art" for those who don't really know the medium or understand what it's capable of. Because how could something that makes you deplore the world and simultaneously rips out your heart be anything less?
-Cril

Ludovico Einaudi - Two Sunsets

Monday, October 06, 2014

Make It 'til You Fake It

So there was this place I got an interview at. As a matter of fact, it was the first place I had cold-called and got through to the person I wanted to speak to. I went to see him, and despite him not having not long to look at my work and my being incredibly nervous and slightly sweaty, he seemed to like my stuff. Said that he'd like to bring me on for a freelance project, and if that went well a 3 month contract, and if that went well a proper job.

I mean, yeah, I'd love a full real job, but I figured I'd take what I could get. So we played phone tag for a while, until eventually I was put in touch with the company's chief creative director in Toronto for a short phone interview, where he offered me a part time/contract-type position. Cool! I finished up my other interviews before accepting their offer. By this point, it was maybe 1.5 months after I started cold-calling/our initial contact. Thus is life. In any case, I told them I'd start in a week.

At this point I was bracing for impact. In the past, starting a new job is generally the one thing I can do that'll drape me if a soft blanked of excruciating anxiety, whereupon I feel the slight desire to projectile vomit out my nervousness. Good times.

Lo and behold, the first day of work rolled around and... It went fine, actually. I was a little jittery, sure, but as a whole I was pretty collected. I went in with the attitude that, "what's the worst they can do, fire me?" and proceeded to do the best I could. And if that isn't good enough, well, I'll just do more cold calling.

And I was fine with that. I think that by this point my nerves have hardened somewhat. It might be more than a little bit related to being cross-examined by border agents, walking into classrooms where I didn't know the profs or students or classrooms, moving in with people I'd never met before, and having lots of failed interviews that never went anywhere. That's right, I think that in some perverse way looking for work prepared me for getting work. Either way, it's good to know that I'm now able to man-up a couple rungs higher on the ladder than I've previously been able to do. Nerves of steel I have not. They're probably closer to damp spruce. But hey, that's better than the soggy newsprint it was a few years ago.

So, yes, I survived that first day of work. I sat on a meeting, did some simple layouts, a basic animation, and even joined in on a conference call for feedback with a freelancer. At the end of the day when I was inquiring to my boss about what hours he'd like me in, he told me that three days a week would be pretty good, and if I'm really desperate for more he'll make something happen. He just wants me to be honest and give it to him straight. And whatever I do, just don't go looking for other work.

I think that means I did pretty well.

On the way home I was giddy. Yes, I could relax a bit now that I was out of this scary, new environment. But more than that, damnit, I was glad to have worked a day as a professional designer in a professional design studio. Finally. I've been worrying and anxiously waiting for that day since I found out I was accepted at ACAD. Every day, "I'm doing this, I'm going to school and working hard so that I can get a proper position and start a career as a professional." Well okay, I may not have a full time position just yet, but I've managed a pretty big step in the right direction, thank you very much. I think I have half a calf through the door, never mind a mere foot. To say that I felt/feel like a weight has been lifted is a disservice. I felt a tangible, physical sense relief sweep through me.

Damn, what a good feeling. Finally.

And then, of course, the doubt set in. I was given a project to develop a mural for inside the office, and my point of contact was none other than the Chief Creative Director in Toronto. Holy crap. I'm not ready for this. I'm only suited for basic masking in Photoshop and making boring things move in After Effects. Worse yet, the CCD was expecting to see my concept pitch book within a day and a half.

I knew it. I should've known I wasn't cut out for this work. It was all too good to be true, and now I was about 36 hours away from being fired for incompetency. They'd find out I'm a sham, and I'd feel like an idiot for trying. And I might eventually build up the courage to try again, but it'll be difficult.

But fortunately for me, not to long ago I had watched a certain TED Talk by Amy Cuddy about body language and confidence. And while that was all well and good and quite interesting, what I seemed to take away from it was "fake it until you make it". Surely enough, that dumb little mantra that I've so often rolled my eyes at was the only thing that got me through the day until I got that concept book submitted. It was a real grind, but the only reason I finished up that book was because I decided all I could do was put on my best impression of a designer that was capable and knew what they were doing. I was a bit of a mess when I got home that night, but I survived one more day.

The next morning, my boss told me that the CDD was really happy with my work. He didn't really end up using any of what I've done, mind you, but I was glad I was able to impress the big guy in the company. It's only been two weeks, but I've got a desk and keys and a company email address and my own extension. I'll even be working a full week this week to cover for someone on vacation. And I'll be doing it again for someone going on paternity leave for a week.

Of course, I'm still petrified that I'll screw something up and that this is all temporary. The money is too good. It's only a matter of time before I really screw up something good. It's funny; I've been worrying about this opportunity for so long that I have a hard time believing it. I guess it's just in my nature to be a bit paranoid or skeptical. I'm definitely a believe-it-when-I-see-it kind of person. Hell, I was afraid to entertain the notion that I'd actually go to New York until I finally made it through airport security. But because employment like this is going to be an ongoing schtick, it's a lot harder to draw some finite line where I know I'm safe. I want to tell myself that line lies at the threshold of becoming a full-time employee, but I know that skepticism will lurk in the back of my mind even then. I'm sure I'll settle into it eventually. For now I'm still just a bit too worried to totally lean back in my seat.

That's alright, though. I'll just keep faking it and get paid to fake it. I can keep going like this for some time, I think.

There's been an unexpected side-effect of all this, though. I've come down with a severe case of consumer lust. I want a car. A computer. An apartment. New phone. Messenger bag. Games. Clothes. Everything. It seems like the exact same instant a single stitch has been pulled my pauper-like frugal fixation, the whole damn shirt just evaporates into a ball of thread I've happily tossed over my shoulder. I want it all. It's dumb and it annoys me to no end how impatient I've become for the wealth of the material world. I'm not making a ridiculous amount of money by any stretch of the imagination, but for a single guy it should be more than enough to live on. And yet there are student loans to pay off and retirement to save for and all that nonsense. Proper adult stuff to worry about. I've gone for so long pinching pennies that I'm dying to get up out of the cardboard box of frugality that I've been living in, stretch my arms out, and casually  point to the world before declaring, "Yeah, I'll take one of those and one of those. Heck, why not one of each?" I want it all. Do I need it all? Absolutely not. But I want it.

I bought a (not cheap) pie that other day on my way home for work, and I didn't even feel bad about it.

I've become a monster.

But for now I'm a monster professionally employed as a designer. I'm even referred to as a member of "the creative team". It makes me smile every time.
-Cril

I’ve tried to cut these corners
Try to take the easy way out
I kept on falling short of something

I coulda gave up then but
Then again I couldn’t have ’cause
I’ve traveled all this way for something

I take it in but don’t look down

Imagine Dragons - On Top of the World

Sunday, September 21, 2014

G'DAE, Mate

So I sold my mandolin.

It was a gift from a dear friend, who bought it for me a couple years ago. It was a used beginner model (a black Epiphone, worth only $200 new), with okay-ish sound, stiff fretboard action, and tuners that wouldn't quite stay put. I wasn't too attached to the instrument itself, but it meant a lot to me as a gift.

So I sold it. I almost got back how much I spent on it, too.

Then I took what little spending money I had left from New York, added in various graduation present money from family, a chunk of my (meager) savings, and my used mandolin money... And I bought a brand new, high-end mandolin. An Eastman. Made in China, yes, but all by hand. It has a beautiful matte finish. There's no paint, and under the right light the rich pattern of the warm wood grain looks like it's glowing. There's a fine white stripe on the contours. The strings press down nicely.

Of course, I researched the model to death before I even tried it out. The reviews were consistent: it's a great quality instrument for a (relatively) modest price, that will be a great companion for beginners and intermediates. It's even alright for advanced players too. Sounds right up my alley, right?

Well, I tried it out in the store and it sounded pretty good. But then I tried the other mandolins, which impressed me far more. Alas, I didn't have the $1200 or more to spend on those and I felt confident in my research, so with a little bit of hesitation I pulled the trigger on the Eastman. I even had an unopened one brought in from another branch, so I didn't end up with the showroom model.

Upon getting home with it and taking my first strum, though... All my doubts vanished. Away from the other customers trying out guitars and ukuleles, I could hear the lush tones of the Eastman. The highs were higher, the lows were lower, and the mids were... Middletastic. Seriously, it makes a glorious sound. What bums me out is that I'm going to get used to that sound before long. I wish I could hold on to that sense of wonder I got from truly hearing it for the first time.

The mandolin is the one instrument I've wanted to really know how to play well for quite some time now, so it seems appropriate to spend all my gift money on something like this that I'll hopefully have for the rest of my life. I even bought Mandolin for Dummies, which I'm slowly working my way through in lieu of actual (and even more expensive) lessons. I'm trying to take things seriously by playing at least 20 mins every day.

I'm feeling good about it it. I've been slowly learning how to do some basic picking, and it's a truly odd mix of frustration and fascination. One moment I'll put all my effort into playing, only to receive slow and clunky results. A day late (or sometimes even just an hour), my speed and accuracy has noticeably increased. It's not great, mind you, but it's improvement. I think everyone at some point should learn a difficult physical activity like that. It's pretty amazing to fight your body to make it do what you want only to get mixed results, and then unexpectedly find success almost as if it was always there, lurking out of the corner of your eye.

And then you show your wonderful instrument that you've been labouring over to a friend who doesn't even know a single mandolin chord but is a pretty kickass guitar player, and inside of five minutes he's become more proficient at it than you are. Maddening and amusing at the same time.

Anyways, here's to finding a new companion, learning something new, and making music. All at the same time.
-Cril

Here comes the man with the mandolin
He'll cheer you up 'till your ship comes in
Lovable old fellow playing an old tune
He comes 'round every afternoon
Raggedy old minstrel, wearing a big grin
You'll love the man with the mandolin

Glenn Miller Orchestra - The Man With The Mandolin

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Pennies and Anvils

It's hard to take advice from some people, you know?

There's a friend from SVA who's still in New York. After finishing school, she applied for work at a bunch of places and ended up getting an interview or two. Within a month she managed to snag a pretty good job at a fairly high-profile company after being referred by a friend. I was so happy/proud of her. It's a killer opportunity any designer would be lucky to have.

And then there's me. Applying and cold calling and interviewing until my fingers hurt, my ears are bleeding, and my mouth is drier than a mathematics lecture. And try as I might, I just don't have much to show for it, nevermind a high-profile job like hers. It's tiring and discouraging and draining on the self confidence.

Being a decent friend and good person, my friend tries to keep me motivated. Tells me it's a long road. Try to be confident in the interview. You just gotta keep trying and not give up.

If it were coming from anyone else, I wouldn't have a problem with it. And it's not that she's doing anything wrong, either. But because she got that job so, dare I say, comparatively easily, it's hard to take. I wanna say, "gah, she doesn't know what she's talking about! She clearly hasn't suffered through what I have, and therefore doesn't have any wisdom to offer me." It's a long road. I need to stay confident in my interviews. I just need to keep trying and not give up.

Stick those words into the mouths of any other person and I wouldn't have a problem. It's dumb.

I don't begrudge her success. Not even a little; I'm ridiculously happy for her and really admire her good fortune. She's very talented and obviously deserves to be where she is. No, there's no begrudging of her success. Instead, I'm just becoming bitter at the lack of my own.

Sketch054


Shortly after she got her job and was basking in the glow of her new employment, she remarked to me how she told our portfolio class prof about her success, who promptly invited her to come in for the next school year and talk to the other students. My friend said that if there was one thing she'd like to tell the students, it would be how they should embrace what makes them unique. How showing your interests and personality is what sets you apart from others and catches attention.

Bitterness demands I roll my eyes, even though the point has merit.

I started wondering what I would say if I got a job and was invited to come in to speak to the class (and yes, this is an exercise in utter fantasy due to the slight distance gap between me and the school). I think it'd go something like this:

As a designer, I lack two things. Self confidence in my work and natural talent. I'm not very visually-inclined and as a result design does not come easy to me. If you're anything like me, I have some advice for you. When you're working on something and can't get it right, keep beating your head against the wall. Eventually, there'll be blood. Keep banging your head against the wall. At some point after the start of bloodloss, you'll stand back in a stupor and find that you've made something worth while. When it comes time to get a job don't wait for opportunities to show up, and instead just start knocking on doors. Knock until your hand bleeds, and then knock some more. At some point, your bloody stump will get you ten minutes of attention from someone in charge. Chances are they'll tell you to (politely) screw off. Go to the next door and repeat the process with your other hand. Eventually, someone might even think your two-stumped bloody hulk is interesting and give you a job.

So, yeah. Bitterness is one hell of a drug. Even if I had had better luck with the job search I think the core of my message would remain the same, except with less jaded gore.

At some point I mentioned my doubts and fears to my friend. She told me,

"i think you're better suited to things that are more straightforward... to be honest... design is such an abstract...thing"

Oof. It's funny how I can shrug-off her positive advice and roll my eyes, but that little tidbit slipped from her hand like a penny and landed with the force of the rooftop anvil. Pretty devastating stuff. That's probably because it has more than a couple grains of truth to it that speak directly to my own insecurities and hesitations.

And after all, she graduated near the top of the program and got a high-profile job right out the door. She probably knows what she's talking about, right?
-Cril

I wake up, it's a bad dream
No one on my side
I was fighting
But I just feel too tired
To be fighting
Guess I'm not the fighting kind

Where will I meet my fate?
Baby I'm a man, I was born to hate
And when will I meet my end?
In a better time you could be my friend

Keane - A Bad Dream

Tuesday, September 02, 2014

Wake me up when my September starts

Well it's September, and you know what that means: back to school. Except it doesn't. And I'm not even talking about the teacher strike in BC, even (Dear government, please get your act together). No, for the first time in five years I'm somehow not going back into the classroom/studio.

I wish I could say that it felt more strange than it does. In reality, it's all just anticlimactic. It's nothing much more than an unintentional and slightly audible sigh that prompts the inner dialogue "I guess that's it, huh?" In the past, I usually would have spent the last week in some form of an angst-driven fidgeting marathon. I'd go for along walks or, when I had a car, a day trip out into the countryside in search of calmed nerves and fresh air.

Instead I'm working part time, with plenty of idle twiddling of thumbs and the ability to watch the first leaves fall. Yes it's much more relaxing and calm, but it's also its own version of unsettling, but for darker reasons. I'm still worried about finding a job, for many reasons. To validate my choice of (now completed) education, to get a steady income to buy a computer and a car, to be self-sufficient enough to move out and find more permanent accommodations.

I'm excited to start living and all that jazz. It's kind of a funny plot twist that I was so anxious to get a job and now I still haven't managed to land anything. The job hunt keeps following me around, and I can't get rid of it. Maybe I'm not trying hard enough. It has been really nice to take the last couple of months a bit slow after the anxiety-binge of five years of school and part time work. But I know I've had too much of this low-pressure time, and I feel like I'm slowly starting to become stagnant and complacent. That is scary as hell. I need to get my ass in gear. I need to get a proper design job.

Sketch046

My parents and grandparents have all sent me bits of cash as a graduation present. I think I'm going to buy a new mandolin (a proper one this time, something that'll last me a good long time) and get serious about playing it. I want to do this for three reasons. First is to learn something new. Second is to fill in the gap caused by the phantom back-to-school anxiety. Third is to, well... Start living. This is one of those things I've told myself I'd start doing once I finished school (ie, getting a stable job), along with cars, computers, cooking, and other various undertakings (that don't necessarily start with the letter C). Most of those things are hinging on the full time job I still don't have, but I feel like getting this instrument will help seal that fact that I am, indeed, done with school.

I'm glad I'm not going back to class this fall. I've had enough education, thank you very much, and I'm looking forward to the next phase of my life. I'd be lying, though, to say that I don't miss the excitement, familiarity, and productivity of school. And the sense of purpose and direction. I'm still searching for those things, I guess. I'm excited to start something new, I just need to find a track to hop onto. I don't necessarily want to be going balls-to-the-wall fast like school was, but a little bit of momentum would be pretty nice.

I'm doing more cold-calling tomorrow.
-Cril

This song could be the one
To help you understand everything I’ve done
Maybe it’ll move you and you could see
I’ve been taking all my time to make the best of me

The proper lighting can make or break a room
So let’s bring a wall of LEDs in to illuminate the doom and gloom
We’ll let the sun brighten up the space
We’ll take time to make sure that every single thing is in its place
Then I’ll change your mind

Barenaked Ladies - The Fog of Writing

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Unemployment and Phone Jitters

I'm feeling uninspired at the moment, so I'd just like to do a no-frills recap of the job hunt.

It sucks.

Kidding. Mostly.

Basically, I applied to the few job postings I could find in the city and followed up with one or two classmates that said they might have something for me to check out. Neither of them went anywhere. After much hesitation, I finally decided to do some cold calling in order to dig up some sort of lead. It took me about a week to put together an "A" list of studios in the city and find specific creative directors to contact, along with their contact info. It should've taken me two days.

Finally on a Monday morning, I decided it was time to pull the trigger. I sat down in front of my computer, with phone in hand, and promptly spent the next two hours squirming and procrastinating. It was really strange; I could tell that there was some very reactionary, instinctual need to not touch that phone. I mean, yeah, I generally don't like calling anyone as a rule. But this hesitation was 10x worse and felt like a physical object lodged in my nervous system, preventing me from dialing. And the thing was that I knew I had nothing to fear. Worst case scenario, I call these people I never met and they decided they don't want to speak to me further. That's it. I had some fear of people I've never known not liking me. And even if that happened, there's a solid chance I would continue to never meet them. So... What's the big deal?

It was just one of those things where there's a severe disconnect between the logical and instinctual parts of the brain. On one hand, it's kind of fascinating to see what happens when you push yourself to such a limit that you have such a tangible reaction you can't control. On the other hand, it's also a giant pain in the ass because it keeps you from doing something you want to do.

Sketch031


Eventually, and with the friendly prodding of a friend called Maria via chat, I picked up the phone and dialed the first place on my list. I got the receptionist, who told me that the person I wanted to speak with wasn't currently in. I asked when they'd be available. She told me. I thanked her and hung up.

Well that was easy.

Then I went through the other 12 places on my list over the next 45mins. I only got ahold of 2 people I wanted to. I've interviewed at one place with encouraging results (they liked my stuff and want to give me a freelance project. If that goes well, I might get a 3 month contract. If that goes well, I might get a proper job). The other person I got ahold of sounded slightly annoyed and wanted me to email them my portfolio URL and cc the HR person. I figured that was just a brush off, but he emailed back a week or two later saying that he'd like to meet with me some time after Labour Day.

Not bad. That means that over one hour of work, I managed to get ahold of 15% of the people I wanted to speak with. Of those, 100% agreed to see me. While I still don't quite have a job, that's still not bad.

And yes, I know that I currently have a lead that might turn into a job. I'm a bit hesitant to be hopeful, though. Even if things do go well, I'm still looking at another ~4 months before I have a full time position. But it's something.
-Cril

And there's no desert sun that is hot enough to feed your fire
We shipwreck like fools only to become the ocean's choir
And the sun dies until it's reborn
But there's no road that ain't a hard road to travel on

Got lost on the way, but you found the road again
Stay true to your friends, 'cause they'll save you in the end

Sam Roberts - Hard Road

Monday, August 18, 2014

Drinking All the Heat

So this week. It was a thing.

I had my first interview on Friday at a marketing firm. It went well. Long story short, the creative director liked my stuff and said there's the possibility of a freelance project. If that goes well, there might be a 3 month contract. And if that goes well, there might be a job. So I'm a bit conflicted; I'm excited at having a solid prospect on the horizon, but I'm a bit scared that I'll maybe maybe have a job in 3-4 months. That's a ways away. But at least it's something. 

My biggest stress right now is that I'm still couch (er, guest room) surfing with my friends. Don't get me wrong, they're some of my favouritest people in the world and I love being a part of their home and they haven't been anything other than incredibly gracious and generous. But I know that they aren't particularly looking for another member of the household to take up space and eat their food. I'm antsy to get work so that I can get my own place. The last thing I want to do is overstay my welcome or take advantage of their hospitality. 

_MG_5683

On a bit of a whim I actually went out to Banff/Lake Louise with them for a day trip on Saturday. I was supposed to only be at their house for breakfast, and then they talked me into coming along. I had a good time, I enjoy spending time with them. The scenery itself was breathtaking, but the throng of tourists was vomit inducing. I guess that's what you get for visiting a tourist destination on an August weekend.

It's scary that the summer is almost over. I feel like I don't a lot to show for it.

I don't have much else to report at the moment. I'm feeling slightly uninspired and apprehensive.
-Cril

I was in a prison with imaginary bars
I was riding shotgun in imaginary cars
One was filled with wind twisting through an iron mouth
One was made of trees with no keys to shimmy out 

When the sun fell down and fell asleep
Drunk from drinking all the heat
It made a splash onto the sky
The stars stayed up 'til morning

Imaginary Bars - Great Lake Swimmers

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Dear Mister Fantasy

So Robin Williams died yesterday. I can't say that I'm a huge devoted fan of his or anything. Yes, I saw Aladdin and Hook more than a couple times as a kid. Yes, I thought he did a great job in Good Will Hunting, Insomnia, and Jakob the Liar. Even seeing him in Hamlet was a pleasant surprise. I never made a point of searching out his movies though, and never passionately watched and re-watched his material. But like almost everyone in western society, we knew and recognized the guy whenever he appeared on the screen. Laughs, and at the very least a few chuckles, were sure to follow.

And consistently, too. In the same way we know that Pixar will make good movie, Coldplay will put on a good show and John Stewart will tell it like it is, we all knew that Mr Williams would simply be funny. In a way his ability to do so was almost magical. Connecting with people in a way that you can make that smile is no small feat, and he seemed to do it every time no matter the circumstances. "That relentless energy, brilliance, and comic genius..." we'd remark, if only in our heads. I could never fathom what it might be like to always be "on" in that regard, as if being ready to crack a joke is the equivalent of a bomb being armed.

So, unsurprisingly, it was a bit of a hit in the gut to see the man die at 63. If it was a stroke or car accident, we'd just shake our heads at how fickle life is and curse at how cruel the universe can be. As if it was the one getting the last laugh, in a twisted way. But instead Robin Williams killed himself.

Sketch024


You can't be mad at the guy. It'd be selfish to lament how much entertainment you'd be missing out on as a result of his selfish act. Yeah, I don't think anyone out there will claim that there's nothing wrong with suicide. As someone who's been graced with the ever-roaming presence of depression, though, it's hard to fault the guy. And yeah, maybe he was relatively wealthy and well off, but our problems are all relative. What I'm stressing about right now can't be too far off how those at the top and bottom of the food chain are feeling. The guy had his demons. And it just so happened that this time they got the best of him.

Because he was such a brilliant comedian, though, I think we hold him to a slightly higher standard. He had the holy calling of being one who we turned to in order to distract ourselves from our individual demons and darknesses. And because Robin was so consistently good at this calling, we placed him so much higher on the pedestal. A therapist will only help you believe that life is okay and worth living. Mr. Williams made us believe that it's worth laughing and smiling about.

We trusted him, and borrowed his belief that the world is a better place than it actually is. But apparently he didn't quite have that belief. We were borrowing something that didn't exist. In a way, maybe you could claim that he lied to us all. You can get angry and cynical about it, taking The Watchmen route. As the Comedian put it, "It's all a joke."

But instead, though, it just makes me profoundly sad. The underlying plot is not glorious or dramatic or incredible. It just turns out that sometimes the world sucks so much that the man who made so many smiles didn't have any left for himself when he needed it most.

As a user commented on one of the many online related stories, "I don't want to live in a world where Robin Williams commits suicide."

Well Mr. Williams, wherever you're at now I just want to thank you for the laughs and smiles, and I hope you're having a few of your own. You deserve 'em.
-Cril

Dear Mr. Fantasy play us a tune
Something to make us all happy
Do anything, take us out of this gloom
Sing a song, play guitar, make it snappy


You are the one who can make us all laugh
But doing that you break out in tears
Please don't be sad if it was a straight mind you had
We wouldn't have known you all these years


Steve Winwood - Dear Mr. Fantasy


While writing this out at the dining room table of my uncle's house that I'm watching over, I pretty quickly knew that Dear Mr. Fantasy was the right song to use. So I typed out the whole post, and then went to the Googles to collect the lyrics. And every single link resulted in a blank Chrome page stating "This website is unavailable." Checked the internet connectivity. Working. Searched for other songs. Working. Searched again for "Dear Mister Fantasy". Not working. Tried incognito, Firefox, and Internet Explorer. Not working. Went to a lyrics site. Searched for "dear". Worked. Searched for "dear mister". Worked. Searched for "dear mister fantasy". Not working.

WHAT. THE. HELL.

I was at the point of seriously considering that I had someone contracted the world's most obscure and oddly specific virus, when I realized that my cousin is an absolute fan fiction fiend. So much so that my uncle has to use a word filter to block out relevant sites, lest she completely disregards her homework in search of unofficial Harry Potter short stories. It's probably safe to say that "fantasy" was one of the words on that filter.

Many thanks to the steadfast Mr. Frank for copy/pasting the lyrics through a chat window at stupid o'clock.

Sunday, August 03, 2014

Like a Child

Kids are incredible.  Since I've been back from New York, I've spent a couple weeks with my sister and brother and law, and with two very close friends of mine. Both couples have a kid just over 2 years old. The common problems apply of course; a strict schedule, a lack of free time, disturbances, messy meal times and "don't touch that"s. I can tell just by looking at them that the parents are left pretty exhausted. Yeah, a lot of it is due to the fact that the kids need constant supervision just for safety's sake. The other half is probably for the house's safety's sake. Lots of objects end up being placed on higher, out-of-reach shelves, lest they end up being placed in strange locations and in various broken pieces. I've come to appreciate how tiring this constant vigilance is. But at the same time, I'm in a unique position where I get to play observer and appreciate the pure mayhem a child brings with it everywhere.

What I'm getting at is... Due to the constant and relentless nature of these disturbances, the parents have become grizzled veterans, regarding the various range of 3-foot-shenanigans without much interest. But I find it fascinating. It's incredible to watch a tiny, new mind explore the world around it by pushing and pulling and prodding everything. It's almost as if you'd be dropped into a completely dark and unfamiliar room, where the only way you can comprehend your surroundings is to experiment and interact with every item you stumble across. These kids are trying to figure out what the world is made of and how it works. And they can't learn it from Wikipedia. Only first-hand knowledge will do. And when working with a very limited knowledge base, the results are fascinating.

Writing with forks. Plugging a USB cord into a speaker. Hats as seats. The list goes on and on and on.

There are two parts that I find amazing to the whole process. First is the sheer range of ways an object can be interacted with. A toddler can get into trouble with any, any given item. I guarantee it. When we look at a cup, all we can see is a container to drink from. The only variable we can comprehend are the different liquids we can drink from it, and even those are usually just limited to what we have in the fridge. But when was the last time we thought about filling it with screws and hurling it across the livingroom? As a rational, self-aware human being, we probably don't have any remote need to get the results from such an experiment. But do we always have that insatiable curiosity and willingness to... try? It makes me wonder what possibilities we're missing out on because so much of how we see the world is through assumptions.

The second part of why this sticks out to me is how the kids react to the whole process. Often it's a mix of total concentration and boundless joy. All from something simple. Sometimes it really sucks that we have to grow up, and we crave more complex forms on entertainment. We need thousand-dollar computers to run games made by teams of programmers and designers just to kill an afternoon. But give a child a set of measuring cups, and they'll be content for an entire afternoon. They'll stack them, bang them, throw them. And they won't just be content to do so, they'll be thrilled. I admire that appreciation and fascination with the small things. I think the older we get, the more we take for granted.

Sketch005


I had an incredible professor at the School of Visual Arts called Richard Wilde. He was even the chair of the design program. In the last class of his foundation and experimentation course, one of the final points he stressed to us was to try and see and perceive the world as if through the eyes of a child. It's only been over the last month that I've been able to really appreciate that outlook. Because to kids, I think, the world is full of nothing but possibilities, with little indication of what should happen. Instead, the world is this crazy amazing place where everything is crazy and anything is possible.

Kids, man. They got things figured out. More than they know.

---

This week I took my friend and her kid to a dealership so that they could pick up their car from being serviced. It was a Toyota dealership, no less, and on the showroom floor they had a 2014 FR-S. While waiting, I got in and sat for a few minutes. I ran my fingers over the stitching in the steering wheel, fiddled with the cup holders, and tested out the action on the shifter. A bit heavier than I'd like, but still very satisfying. The car felt low and light and tight. It felt like a good fit.

Gah. I'm so close, yet so far, you know? I'm done school and now I just need a job. It might take me a year before I can afford a car, but when I get those keys... I'll be able to check off a major goal that's been a solid 6-7 years in the making. I can't wait. But I have to. I just hope it won't be much longer, is all.
-Cril

Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the egg man, they are the egg men.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob.

Jim Carrey - I Am the Walrus

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

And I'm getting older too

I've recently re-started drawing/sketching every day. It's been a long time since I've last done it consistently, so we'll see how long this lasts. It definitely feels good to be back at it, though. It's a good feeling to produce something every day, even if often it turns out to be crapthings. It feels good for the soul to churn something out each day regardless of whether or not you want to.

That sense of "I not only have self-discipline, but I can use it for constructive purposes" is a reassuring feeling to have when my career prospects feel otherwise dark. And, therefore, my capabilities as a visual artist... designer... thing appear to be in question. I mean, almost all the people around me are quick to offer words of encouragement and assurance that it's not all hopeless. But being unemployed and not able to land a job... Just eats away at your innards. It's an ugly process of self-doubt. In my head I can always debate if I'll ever be able to make something worth while, but if I can manage to draw each day I at least know I'm capable of making something, period.

Sketch010

That being said... My drive to find work is waning as a result of a) it slowly feels more and more futile, and b) settling into that low-pressure do-nothing go-nowhere schedule of unemployment. Again, forcing myself to sketch every day is slowly helping me to turn into a total slob. Just gotta keep plugging. Right now the big problem is that there just aren't many (if any) job postings. So now it becomes not a game of submitting applications, but of creating applications that will merit enough attention to create my own personal job opening. And then I need to be good enough to get said job.

So I've created a list of ~15 places in Calgary that I'd love to work at. Truth be told, there's a lot more awesome design work going on in this city than I expected. Nevertheless, now I need to concoct a way to get the attention of the uppity-ups at these respective studios. I've been putting off this task with impressive zeal. I don't know what I need to do. I'm scared to try and fail.

This is all compounded by the fact that I've resumed working half time at my old job. Within the first few days of starting, I'm finding myself idly wondering, "hm, it sure would be easy to just go back to full time. I could be making a full salary right now if I wanted to..." There are a few factors at play for why I shouldn't do that, least of which is that I'm a bit uncomfortable being there in the first place. Additionally, I'm a bit too comfortable being there. I can see it turn into a quicksand trap.

Nevertheless, I have to get some sort of income to pay the bills. I know I'm having a hard time being productive on my own, so I'd rather go in and work than spend more useless time bumming around on the internet. The idea was to go to the office and work from 9am-1pm on Mon-Fri. The problem is that I get home and I find myself thinking, "I just finished work for the day. I deserve a bit of a break." And before I know it, I've wasted an entire afternoon and evening. I hate myself. I pushed so hard in school, and now I'm just crashing in a blaze of anything-but-glory. Slowly collapsing like a flan in a cupboard, as my favourite comedian once said of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

Something something Great Depression.
-Cril

I took my love and took it down
I climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
Till the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Fleetwood Mac - Landslide

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Chicken Mind Games

Sometimes you have a strange development in your life, and you find yourself tripping over a thought inside your brain. At first your reaction is close to "hey, that doesn't belong there", as if it accidentally fell off of one of the shelves in your subconsciousness. And then you bend down to look it right in the eyes, and realize that you don't quite know where it came from in the first place.

I don't feel like dealing in specifics here. Suffice it to say, I'm having these thoughts/notions pop-up (with alarming persistence) that I know don't quite belong to my rational mind. I find myself thinking these thoughts and being bothered by something they'd have me do. I'll agonize over them until, wait a second, there's no logic happening here. I thought I was done with this, I had settled it in my mind and weighed it down with reason so that it couldn't rise to the surface again. And yet here it is. What the hell?


So I find myself wanting something, even though I consciously haven't made the connection. Instead it's slowly popping up, always out of the corner of my eye, so that I never quite see it coming. It's approaching from the gut/emotional side of things, you see. It's an instinctual thought. My rational side had sorted things out, but apparently that's not good enough. NoooOooOooooOOOoo.

In a nutshell, my instincts are bothering me to do something my rationals aren't on side with. It's as if I'm playing chicken with my own head. My instincts are barreling down on me, and damn it, I have every reason not to budge from my trajectory.

But herein lies the issue. How do you play a game of chicken without using your instincts? Mine seem to be the opposing object careening toward me. Logic says that whatever my instincts tell me to do can't be trusted. Logic says a lot of things, though.

Either one side will win and the other loses (keeping in mind that both sides are part of me), or they'll crash together in a magnificent display of cacophonic mayhem. Regardless, it's looking like something is going to end up in a mess.
-Cril

Space boy, you're sleepy now
Your silhouette is so stationary
You're released but your custody calls
And I wanna be free

Don't you wanna be free?
Do you like girls or boys?
It's confusing these days
But moon dust will cover you
Cover you

This chaos is killing me

David Bowie - Hallo Spaceboy

Monday, July 21, 2014

Jealous Monk

I'm having a hard time convincing myself that returning to Calgary was the right decision. I mean, yeah, practically anything will be a step down from New York depending on how you look at it. But I thought Calgary was the right place to be, with some friends and family in the place where I put on a lot of maturity. Seemed like it was more home to me than in BC where I grew up. Felt like the natural thing to do. Like I mentioned in the last post, pulling into the city made me feel a bit uncomfortable.

I'm trying to stay positive. Things kinda suck right now, but I'm trying to believe that I made the right choice to come back. It's hard to maintain that view, though, when two of my closer-ist friends from ACAD keep telling me how much the city sucks and how they wish they were elsewhere. A classmate from ACAD and SVA thought I was crazy for wanting to return (for the record, he ended up landing an awesome job in NY). When I dropped in at my old workplace last week just to see people (and maybe check out the possibility of part time work), even my boss asked me why I bothered to come back to the city. Seems like I don't have many people on my side in the matter.


The other night I went to dinner with my sister and brother-in-law. He asked if I was set on finding design work or if I was looking for whatever I could get. After telling him I was aiming for the former, he remarked how maybe it'd just be best to go with whatever work I can find and not be too set on design. As someone who just spent the last five years going to school for design, that was a bit of a kick to the gut. Mind you, the guy hasn't really done any significant schooling and doesn't tend to stick to any one job for too long. I appreciate his input, but in this case I think we're coming at things from fairly different angles. Still, it was a brutal thing to hear. Essentially, "don't bother with your passion and selected profession. Your training isn't that important. Just go with whatever."

It doesn't help, either, that being unemployed slowly saps your soul away. Drop by drop, until you're staring at an empty cup. It's absolutely brutal. It's hard to foster hope and entertain the notion of success. You start wondering what's wrong with you. Why everyone else has gotten work except you. What are you doing wrong. Are you that bad. It certainly makes it difficult to write an honest cover letter; how can I tell an employer that I'm exactly the person their company needs, when I struggle to find any reason that I'm worth hiring. I know I'm not that terrible, but being rejected so thoroughly while seeing your classmates succeed really eats away at you. I know I'm not thinking straight. I guess I do believe some of that doubt, though, if my brother-in-law's comments stuck out to me so much. He must've struck a nerve.

Lately I've been starting a lot of sentences with "When I get a job..." I'll get a car, learn to cook, eat out, get a mandolin (and lessons), chip in with a friend for a cheap car challenge league, get a new computer, etc, etc. I'm close. So close. And yet I feel so far. I've been saying those things for so long, that it almost feels like they're supposed to stay hypothetical goals. Absurd, I know.

Those same two close friends/classmates from ACAD are in pretty similar boats to me right now. Graduated, lonely, unemployed, having a hard time finding work. I swear, this would be the perfect situation for us to band together and start our own kickass studio. Problem is... Clients. Or the lack thereof, rather. Maybe someday. It's an amusing notion, though.

In the mean time, as that classmate that scored a job in New York said, I just gotta "keep those knuckles up."
-Cril

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
About the time the door knob broke
When you asked me how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can't read too good
Don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row

Bob Dylan - Desolation Row

Friday, July 18, 2014

Wedding, Road Tripping, Deadly Falling

It's been an interesting set of weeks.

Due to some last minute shenanigans which I still haven't quite wrapped my mind around, my brother got married at the beginning of July. I was informed about the event about 6 days prior, when it was being planned. I was asked to take photos and play the uke for the bride walking down the isle, which I was happy to do. Then two days later (T minus 4 to Wed), I was informed by my brother that I was the best man. Cool! I was pretty proud to be asked. That meant I had to do a speech. Having to give it didn't bother me too much, but writing something I hadn't done before on such short notice was kinda hairy. Did I mention that on T minus 1 to Wed I was leaving the country with everything I owned and flying to the opposite coast? Yeah. It made for a very interesting week.

Things actually went rather well. The flight(s) went okay and I landed with all my belongings, and spend the rest of the afternoon helping set up for the wedding. I managed to memorize all the chords for the song I played, and although it wasn't overly fancy, I didn't stumble. I didn't get as many good shots in as I wanted, but I was still able to give my borther (and new sister-in-law) a decent set of wedding photos. The bride ended up using one of the pics as her Facebook profile pic, so I think they were pretty happy with them. The speech... Was alright. The skeleton of it was a bit wobbly in places and I didn't have enough time to rehearse, so I burned through it kinda fast and mixed up the order of some of my points. But I got a couple laughs, and one big solid "awwwww" from the audience, so I think it was a success. From a sheer presentation point of view, it was pretty weak. I know I could've done a lot better, but apparently it went well enough.

So to recap: things went well, but not quite as awesome as I would've liked. But given the circumstances (less than a week of warning + making an international move), it went better than I had expected.

Then I spent the rest of the week at my sister and brother-in-law's house, with their daughter/my niece. We hung out a bit, I slowly plugged away on my portfolio, even applied to 4-5 places in the Vancouver area. I spent lots of time with my niece, who's woefully adorable (loves books, talks up a storm, and likes Raffi). I also went kayaking a few times with my Dad, where we chatted while cruising the shores a silent lake, surrounded by clear water, sunshine, and wilderness. A pretty dramatic contrast to life in New York, I think.

Eventually my mother had a long overdue knee surgery, which went pretty well. Because my dad couldn't leave her on her own for a few days, I ended up staying in the area for another week before we could drive out to Calgary. More portfolio stuff, adorable niece, kayaking, procrastinating, staring in general awe at the scenery. We even went for some treats at my favourite bakery after a delightfully quiet kayak at Silver Lake. And eventually we hit the road for Alberta.

On the first day of the trip we did a straight shot to visit my Grandmother, who was a bit out of the way (but still in the general direction) of the final destination. That day of travel was pretty unremarkable, save for getting stuck behind and accident for an hour. Nevertheless, we made it to see my grandmother. There's something unsettling about the frailty of your elders. On the surface, yeah, it's about facing mortality or whatever. But there's something strange about seeing a person surrounded by photographs on the wall of their very full life. Here's someone that's seen a lot and done even more. And yet it's somehow life's cruel joke that after seeing and doing so much that a person slowly becomes less and less capable. It's sad. Here's someone that has raised a family, has great grandchildren, and relearned to live on her own after losing her husband. She shouldn't need someone else to remove bottles of 7UP from the plastic rings of a six-pack, damnit. That's just not fair.

But there were still some gems. As we sat in her tiny condo that evening after a modest meal of potatoes, broccoli, and microwave roast beef, she told me about my father's glory days. How he grew pot, and tricked his mother into growing pot, and got into trouble with the RCMP (or along with the RCMP, I should say. Apparently they got a bit rowdy late one night in a pub). It was funny listening to her tell those stories while my dad squirmed in his seat a bit.

On the way out of town the following morning, we went to a lake where my father once vacationed at as a kid. Apparently he once was out on a rowboat on that lake when a hefty wind blew in, and he was unable to row back to the family cabin. Eventually a cousin had to come and rescue him. My dad had told me this story, and had brought along the two kayaks for the trip so that we could explore the vacation spot from his childhood and "conquer" the lake. We did just that. When we were first putting the boats in, my dad went in first and informed me that the water was warm. I translated that to "the water is slightly less cold than you'd expect". Upon dipping my toes in, though, I realized that it was actually, surprisingly warm. It was a pleasant introduction to the lake. We spent an hour or so of the early in the morning always paddling around just one more corner. The lake was completely silent, save for the loons occasionally calling to each other. It was a beautiful sound. It was a very tranquil way to start a morning.

We then hit the highway, listening to a mix of Randy Bachman's Vinyl Tap (an awesome radio show for music lovers) and various podcasts while snacking on bagged popcorn, carrots, and dried fruit. Instead of taking the more direct route, we went the longer way so that we could see Head Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. This is a UN-recognized site where Natives would chase a herd of buffalo off a sudden cliff edge to kill them. Both of us heard of it but never been to it. That morning's early kayak probably gave us the adventurous mindset we needed to go off the beaten path to see something new. And we did. It was quiet and peaceful and somehow profound. The site had a beautiful and intimate museum. Outside there was a path that lead us to the cliff edge that was attracted hunters for thousands of years before it started attracting tourists. There was a wild deer up on the ridge, which was grazing and watching us. It seemed oddly appropriate. Looking out over the cliff edge, though, was a huge panorama of Alberta's grasslands. If it wasn't the for subtle bumps and curves in the plains, I could've sworn I could see the Earth's curvature. It was quite awe-inspiring. A few weeks prior I had stood at the top of the Empire State Building. A very different experience, to be sure. I think I liked this one a little bit better.

Then we hit the road again, and stopped in Claresholm for a late lunch. As we were cruising through town, we came across a truck selling BC fruit. I have a friend in Calgary who had been craving BC cherries, and all that day my father and I kept our eyes open for a fruit stand. Unfortunately because we hit the road so early in the day, the few we came across weren't quite open yet. And here in Claresholm, Alberta was a small truck selling the BC fruit that had eluded us all day. A serendipitous find if there ever was one.

After eating we completed our final stretch of driving. As we pulled into the city, I felt myself getting... Agitated. Anxious. Worried. I'm still not sure why. It could be one of several things... Feeling like a failure for not finding work in NY. Having to confront my relatives after informing them I didn't want to work at their business full time any more. The possibility of seeing someone I wanted to give space. The daunting sense that here, too, I won't be able to find work. Or who knows, maybe it's because I just miss the mountains of my home town.

That afternoon I presented my friend with our Alberta-bought BC cherries and promptly moved my belongings into her and her husband's guest room. I hope I'm not here long. Not because I don't like it here (that couldn't be further from the truth), but because I'm eager to find my own place and because I don't want to inconvenience my gracious friends. After dropping off my belongings, my father and I went to my sister's place to have dinner. My sister and her husband are currently borrowing me and my brother's N64, which we spent many afternoons of our youth delivering papers in order to pay for.

One of the few games they have is 1080 Snowboarding, which we fired up for a laugh. The thing is, though, that me, my brother, and our dad spent many hours playing together. Not multiplayer, mind you, but competing to get the best possible time for one particular track. One. Track. Deadly Falls, to be specific. We'd take turns in ruthless pursuit of find tenths of seconds to eliminate.

After trying out this particular level for old time's sake with my dad watching from the kitchen table for a time, he finally came and sat beside me on the couch so he could have a go. We swapped the controller back and forth 5-6 times, trying to see who could do the best. The game informed us that the best time ever on record was 1:08:41, and between us we could only get down to 1:16:xx. I have no idea where many years ago we managed to find eight seconds to shave off.

The thing is that after spending a full two days on the road with my dad, snacking, chatting, listening to music, kayaking, playing tourist, eating burgers... Those 15 minutes where we 'relived' our 1080 Snowboarding glory days put the biggest smile on my face. I remember one day when my brother and I came home from delivering papers to discover my dad in front of the TV, gloating about the hot new time he managed to set. He said that it couldn't be beaten. And if we could beat it, he'd buy us pizza (keep in mind that in addition to being teenage boys, my family was pretty broke. Pizza was a damn rare and alluring treat). I sat down and on our very first try, I slaughtered the ghost of my dad's record run. I slaughtered it until, that is, I got to the very final stretch and messed up on a small bump in the terrain. Me and my brother tried in vain for the next two hours to beat my dad's record. If it wasn't for the one hiccup on the last stretch of my first attempt, we would've had it no problem. But try as hard as we could, we never quite managed to get it just right. My dad bought us pizza anyway, and we kept playing through the evening, swapping the controller every few attempts. We continued playing 1080 Snowboarding for a few months after that, and I seem to recall we continued to beat and make new records.

When we booted it up the other day, the cartridge still has all the saved game info from all those years ago. All the maps and characters and boards are still unlocked, and all the maps have high scores. Including, of course, Deadly Falls. 1:08:41. The thing is, the game didn't have a feature to include a name or initials along with a high score. We have no idea who set that 1:08:41 all those years ago. My competitive side wishes there was a way to find out and see if it was me. But I think I like it better not being able to know. It just means that that score belongs to the three of us, equally. It doesn't matter who happened to be holding the controller at the time, just that we set that score together. And damn, we had fun doing it.
-Cril

Well we're gonna rock to the rhythm and the blues tonight
Rock, 'cause everything's gonna be alright
'Cause tonight we gonna rock to the rhythm and the blues
Yeah!

Buddy Holly - Rock Around With Ollie Vee


Saturday, July 05, 2014

I see a city and I hear a million voices

I had a friend that spent an entire month travelling around India. It must've been an incredible experience. Once she got back, she remarked to me about how no one really seemed that interested in hearing her to talk about the trip. Just like the stereotypical family vacation slide shows, those most invested in these stories are the tellers. Most people will be perfectly content to just get the gist of it. They don't care about the tiny details or poignant moments or introspective ramblings.

And now I've finally come to understand just how my friend felt after returning. Returning home somehow tipped me over the boiling point with this experience, and it feels like it'll all spill out over the edge of my head. And I feel like the only way I can save myself is to tell people about it, but no one wants to hear about it.

Let me clarify; there are plenty of people that ask me how it went, and I'm sure every single one of them would indulge me if I wanted to ramble on and on about even the most minute of details. But they're more interested in their job, their family, the movie they saw the other night. I can't even blame them. I just feel like I'm stumbling around, holding a huge glowing orb in a bear hug. My reaction is, "HEY GUYS! ISN'T THIS COOL?!" Everyone who sees me will give me about 4-5 minutes to talk about the orb before they move on with their lives. It's very strange.

Anyways. It's been a violent and odd transition back to, uh... 'real life'? I don't know what to call it. I'm back in the farming valley where I grew up. The silence is beautifully strange and almost shockingly relentless. I love it. But it somehow seems... Silly. Same with the empty roads and looming mountains and infrequent corner stores. I can somehow sense just the tip of what makes New Yorkers feel so passionate about their city. It's so intense in every regard that anything less just seems foolish.

So I'm a bit conflicted. On one hand, I feel at home. I love the silence and the lazy rain. The birds in the morning. The wide roads with curbed curbs with enough room for cars to park. The other day I sat on my sister and brother-in-law's back porch and watched a pair of humming birds dance around, making long climbs up followed by sharp dives. The neighborhood is so quiet that you could hear their wings buzzing on their descent. Earlier that afternoon, we sat on the grass in the front yard after running errands. Grass without fences or hours of accessibility.

But I still find myself wondering, "where is everyone?" How come everything feels so new? Why are the buildings so short and spread out? How come people only seem to speak one language? Who would anyone want to live like this?

I do. But let me tell you, living in The Big City is one hell of a drug. And while I can feel it in my bones that I'm in the right place, the place I belong, NY withdrawal is one hell of a thing. I was there just long enough to get a taste of it... I can't imagine what it'd be like for people that have lived their most their lives.

A friend said to me the other day, "Don't ever forget you did this. Don't gotta brag about it or nothing, but not a lot of people do what you did." Pretty profound words, and I certainly don't disagree. But knowing my memory, I want to capture as much of this giant glowing orb as I can before it fades away. And now here I am, sitting in front of my computer trying to translate it into words... But it's too big. Where do I start? Where do I even end? It's like the whole ordeal is just too big to be captured and put on a shelf for me to come back to later to look at.


So what do I write about? The small family of accordion buskers working their way through a subway car? The huge range of people I'd see every day? The richness of the architecture, the cobblestone roads, the smell of Little Italy at lunch? How the sound of the above-ground subway seemed so intolerable, but I eventually got used to it. The fact that there are five-times the amount of people that ride the MTA than there are total people in Calgary. The tiny little niche restaraunts, like that macaroni and cheese shop. Those huge bagels. Tiny fruit carts. Food vans. Food everywhere, none of it the same. Halal. Oh man, halal.

$2.50 for a tiny cupcake the size of a loonie, and $1 for a giant slice of cheese pizza. How simply declaring the words "two slice" at the counter would get you two of those pieces of cheese pizza. There's always a Chinese restaraunt within a couple blocks, and they're almost impossible to tell apart. Logging into a service like Seamless and being able to order in Chinese, Indian, Columbian, Mexican, Italian when you're in even the worst neighbourhood. The delivery guy would ride an electric scooter bike up the sidewalk and stop at the door.

People arguing (and sometimes fighting) in the streets. The way that people of a certain race/ethnicity would get on and off the train at certain stops. Getting yelled at for being a white guy walking past the projects. Watching a man answering his phone by stating "who dat is." No question mark or inflection. The playful exclamation of "you're a Canadian?!" Meeting people who worked on TV shows you've heard of, broadway shows you haven't, tech companies you love, and brands you can't escape.

Yellow taxis taking them everwhere. Blue Citibikes, too. Rolls of Royce and many a Bentley in the streets. A few Tesla Model Ss. Discovering a Ferrari dealership around the corner. A McDonald's, Starbucks and Bank of America every five feet, and a corner store on every... corner. Walking by that place where they filmed the part of that one movie. Taking a detour because they're currently filming a part for a new movie. Stars in the streets. Maggie Gyllenhaal, Tracy Morgan, and Guy Garvey.

The incredible street art, and little stickers on lamp posts. Giant murals. Public sculptures, and delicate train station mosaics. Delicate, spontaneous illustrations that make me feel inadequate. Landmarks and history. The vast interior of Grand Central. The chaotic, insect hive of Times Square. The strange, sacred respect for Central Park. How there's always so much litter, and no one recycles. How people will talk and joke so loud, as if no one else was around. Being able to spot tourists by how they board a train (hint: not waiting for people to get off).

The brands. Oh man, the brands. How massive a presence Nike is. Huge animated billboards. Ads in the bottom of airport security bins. Big unveiling and events. The huge advertising campaigns. Casually walking past a Google building. The pilot services/programs that start in New York before spidering out to the rest of the country. The strange duality of strangers; how they'll keep it short and to-the-point, but will open up and ramble on forever if you get them going. Crazies in the streets, talking regardless. Lots of medium to small-sized dogs. Rats, pigeons, squirrels. Relentless and assertive pan handlers.

Streets and avenues, each with ascending numbers. Parks with fenced-off grass. No where to sit, nowhere to pee. Subway elevators smelling like urine. Homeless people selling old magazines. News stands selling new ones, and an endless supply of tabloids. A magazine called "Black Entrepreneur". Being the only white guy on a (pretty corwded) train platform. The unbearable heat of an underground station. Warm, muggy days that drench you in sweat. That first cool, life-saving wave of air-conditioning as you board a train.

Fashion. Fashion everywhere. People dressed so strangely, that it must be fashion. Cheap hats, scarves, and ties sold on the sidewalk. Chinatown, where they sell the exact same thing. An infinite cycle of shops; one  that sells handbags and perfume, one that sells hats, scarves, and lame NY apparel, one that sells cheap electronic crap and toys. They're willing to haggle if you know how to work it. I got two of those cheap hats for $15, instead of $23. Seeing at least three other people in a day that are wearing the same cheap hat as you. Being asked to take someone's picture. Being asked to have your picture taken by someone with an old-school film camera to be put up on his site. Never seeing your photo make it up on his site.

Walls of trash bags out on the sidewalks. Garbage collection late at night. Everything still happening late at night, just slightly less of it. Always cars and people passing by. Jaywalking. Jaywalking as if it's the most natural thing in the world to do. Not looking at the crosswalk sign, instead watching for coming/going traffic before stepping out into the street. Cars pausing two feet away from you while they wait for you to cross the road (legally). Honking. Swearing. Sirens. So many sirens and lights that the space between your shoulders and neck has turned to steel; rubbernecking is simply no longer a thing. Silently grinning as the rich douchebag in the Lexus yells while he's being written a parking ticket. Grinning at the Honda Civic CVCC in the streets.

Realizing just how many of the songs in your collection mention or about New York. Also realizing that, right now, you're a part of what those songs are about.

-Cril

The first to put a simple truth in words
Binds the world in a feeling all familiar
Cause everybody owns the great ideas
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

Antenna up and out into New York
Somewhere in all that talk is all the answers
And oh my giddy aunt New York can talk
It's the modern Rome and folk are nice to Yoko

Every bone of rivet steel, each corner stone and angle
Jenga jut and rusted water, tower, pillar, post and sign
Every painted line and battered, laddered building in this town
Sings a life of proud endeavour and the best that man can be

Me, I see a city and I hear a million voices
Planning, drilling, welding, carrying their fingers to the nub
Reaching down into the ground, stretching up into the sky
Why? Because they can, they did and do so you and I could live together

Oh my God New York can talk
Somewhere in all that talk is all the answers
Everybody owns the great ideas
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

Oh my God New York can talk
Somewhere in all that talk is all the answers
Everybody owns the great ideas
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

Oh my God New York can talk
Somewhere in all that talk is all the answers
Everybody owns the great ideas
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

The desire in patchwork symphony
The desire like a distant storm
For love, did it come for me?
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

The desire in patchwork symphony
Oh my God New York can talk
The desire like a distant storm
Somewhere in all that talk is all the answers
For love, did it come for me?
And it feels like there's a big one round the corner

The way the day begins
Decides the shade of everything
But the way it ends depends on if you're home
For every soul a pillow at a window please
In the modern Rome where folk are nice to Yoko

Elbow - New York Morning


Sunday, June 22, 2014

On Current Accomodations

I'm currently staying in Bedford-Stuyvesant, which is a neighbourhood in Brooklyn. And not just any neighbourhood, either. You know when Jay-Z sings about growing up in the hood, and all those wonderful, upstanding activities that took place? Yeah, he's from Bedford Stuyvesant. Or Bed-Stuy, as it's commonly referred to. So when it came time for me to move a month and a half ago (during the final stretch of the semester), and I stumbled across an AirBnB listing that was affordable and not too far away, I jumped on it. Sure, it said it was in Bed-Stuy, but how bad could it be?

On my way to spend my first night at the new address I walked over, leaving my apartment around 9pm, and passed no less than four pairs of street cops just hanging out in the streets, keeping an eye on things. The walk itself was only about a mile. Turns out that my new abode was located inbetween between project buildings. Y'know, like, the projects.

So things are pretty bad, apparently.

Life in the apartment started off well enough. I got settled in, and the biggest shock was that my bedroom window overlooked an alley full of trash and each morning I'd be the only non-black person waiting on the train platform. And on weekend mornings someone in a neighbouring apartment likes to blare terrible RnB, in the evenings there are constantly cars with loud stereos passing by, and there are usually people in the streets yelling at each other no matter the time of the day. Okay, so, not ideal, but still not terrible. I can live with a little bit of ambient noise, right?

The apartment's owner is a vegetarian health-nut, and therefore there was a distinct lack of microwave in the tiny kitchen. Not that big of a deal.

Then I bought some ice cream sandwiches and threw them in the freezer, only to have them slowly start melting into midly cool, wax-paper wrapped chocolate and vanilla ooze bombs. Freezer didn't work, apparently. Okay, not the end of the world.

Between that and the limited fridge and cupboard space, I didn't have a lot of room to do serious cooking. So I'd been living off a diet of sandwiches and mac n' cheese, keep a few bare essentials in the fridge: cheese, butter, deli meat, a couple vegetables. Until a few weeks passed and those all began to go bad as the fridge, too, decided to quit.

I was now only eating non-perishable foods that could be easily cooked. Ramen, mac n' cheese, beans. I'd buy some apples and carrots, and do my best to burn them within a couple days before they went bad. Scurvy isn't fun, or so I hear. One night after dinner I was still hungry, so I figured I'd go make myself another pot of macaroni, when lo and behold, the kitchen lightswitch crapped out and I was left standing in the dark.

I went to bed a little bit hungry that night. Part of the problem is that I can't afford to eat out regularly, so I need to stick to my guns and stick to a store-bought diet. It's not convenient, sure, but all I could do was chuckle to myself at the misfortune and keep on pluggin' away.

A couple weeks passed, and the fridge and freezer was finally replaced. Huzzah!

No joke, the exact same day, the stove stopped working. I'm currently sitting on about $20 cookable non-perishable foods that I can't eat because I simply don't have a way to heat them.

And that was only the kitchen.

Some days the hot water simply doesn't show up for work, leaving you with a room temperature (or some days downright cold) shower. That's okay for the days when the temperature is filthy warm and humid, but other days it's always a bit of a gamble to know how quickly you'll want to get jump out of the tub.

And then there's the internet. It started off alright, and then it turned into an outdoor cat. Yes, I know that the internet is usually for looking at cats, but mine has become one. It comes and goes as it pleases. Sometimes it doesn't show up for days on end, and then it'll be suddenly there without announcing its arrival or any indication that it had even left. But, like any cat worth its weight, it's impeccably lazy. Web pages take a minute or two to load, if they even load at all.

I was feeling particularly bored the other day, so I decided to download a small indie game on Steam. A top-down racing game with weapons and zombies. It was less than a gig.

It took two days to download. My download topped out at 54.2kb/s. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that makes it slower than 56K dialup. It certainly felt like it, though. And it was definitely less reliable.

I've been doing my best to stay positive about everything, thinking "Nah, lots of people have it worse. Things aren't that bad." Then one day, the buzzer sounded and I headed down to the building entrance to see who it was (because, you guessed it, the intercom is busted). Lo and behold, it was three police officers, badges around their necks and everything, serving a search warrant for a shady-lookin' black man. They asked me if I knew and/or have seen him. I said no. I let them in the building, and they begun their search.

It was somewhere around here that I realized that I am, in fact, living in a dump. This is the kind of thing you'll recall for the rest of your life in the form of any sentence starting with "Man, I used to live in a place where..."

To be honest, the people in the apartment aren't too bad. Lots of cool people have been coming and going (it is an AirBnB place, after all). The apartment's owner is a stage actor and has lots of stage actor friends who come over and listen to musicals and sing along to musicals. Even when they aren't on. That kind of thing, to be honest, just puts a smile on your face. Sure, it's strange and unexpected, but in a "this is kinda awesome" way.

Aside from that, though, I'm kinda miserable right now. I miss my previous apartment, and I miss home, and I'm not too fond of where I am at the moment. That's probably fuelling my decision to return home in a big way.

But you can't argue with the fact that this is one hell of a place. New York, that is. I've lived in some strange places and spoken with strange people and seen strange things (did I tell you about the 2AM street brawl in front of my old address?).  I'll definitely miss it.

I'm hoping, though, that I'll still find lots to smile about. And high on that list will be a decent home made meal, made in a kitchen full of functioning appliances and everything.

Until then, I need to figure out how many stars to give this place on AirBnB.
-Cril

You know that I would love to see you next year
I hope that I am still alive next year
You magnify the way I think about myself
before you came I rarely thought about myself

Behind your veil I found a body underneath
Inside your head were things I never thought about
You know that I would love to see you next year
I hope that I am still alive next year

What's my view?
Well how am I supposed to know?
Write a review?
Well how objective can I be?

Mark Ronson (ft. Paul Smith) - Apply Some Pressure