I used to think I was immune to the effects of chopping onions. I was dead wrong.
I'm in Peterborough for Thanksgiving weekend. Jay gave me a ride. We almost got into a mashup on the 401 - Jay had to stop really suddenly and avoided hitting the car in front of us by inches. The car behind us squealed its tires in the effort to follow suit. A close call.
Today I swung by campus early to pick up a textbook I still required (they never seem to end, the required texts). In Bibliography I held a first edition of Tennyson's In Memoriam in my hands, as well as an autographed copy of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's translation of the first seven books of the Odyssey. Talk about surreal. We also talked about Foucault's conception of the author. He seemed to prophesize the age we're living in now, where a free-for-all of meaning and information exists. It's interesting taking a look at property, legality and ownership alongside what we truly believe an author to be - it's popularly defined in both financial and ideological terms, but there are so many more layers to the identity of the author. I think, however, that Foucault sees the free distribution and obtaining of information - sort of a collective conscious - as the ideal state of a world embracing art. He posits that in the future, all questions will fall to this: "what does it matter who is speaking?" (Foucault's essay "What Is An Author?" is also a great read if you're interested in the ideas of both copyright and cults of personality.)
I finally got down to the passport office and handed in the appropriate documents with little trouble. Apparently I'll be able to pick it up on the 22nd of this month. They'll call me if there are any issues with my application, but it looks like smooth sailing for now. Funnily enough, after applying with my temporary driver's license and worrying that the office wouldn't accept it, I came home to find my new license in the mailbox. Figures.
I watched Topper with my folks, an old Cary Grant screwball comedy in which he and his wife lead reckless lives, die in a car accident, and can't rest their ghosts until they show a tight-assed bank manager how to enjoy life. Really neat effects for the time and some funny moments, but the plot is paperthin and ridiculous. It also stars Billie Burke in a supporting role (she played Glinda in The Wizard of Oz).
Autumn on Spadina
in the blood warmth of
the shrinking sun,
children at chattering play
the precision
of a heart clicking
into place, again,
again
in front of the mission,
the homeless begin
bundling themselves
(gone)
I like being home. It feels good to curl my feet up on the couch. Secure.
Showing posts with label passport. Show all posts
Showing posts with label passport. Show all posts
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Friday, October 5, 2007
It's felt as though my head has been on backwards for the better part of today. I couldn't take care of passport issues because I forgot to have Jay sign my photo, so it kind of threw things out of whack. Tomorrow I have to give it another shot while also attending class and making a trip to the bookstore. At the very least, Jay offered me a ride to Peterborough for the weekend, so I don't have to think about bus schedules.
I discovered that I'm not going to be able to apply for one of the grants I had my eye on, but then I found another to take its place. It would be easier to ask for money if I were applying as an incorporated non-profit organization. But I know hardly anything about owning a business. I'd need a board of directors, a lawyer, an accountant. How would I put all of that together without a budget? I don't have that kind of money. And besides, even if I did get a non-profit organization off the ground, how would I be able to make a living at running it?
That seems to be the biggest and baddest thought running through my head these days: how I'm going to make a living once I'm through with school. I want a steady income at a higher-profile job. The money isn't even all that important to me - I just want to be in a position where I feel as though I'm doing something more meaningful than selling a product I don't personally care about. I don't want to keep waking up early every weekday morning with eight hours of a ridiculous bottom line over my head. That's more or less what I've been doing job-wise since I started working. I'm going to have a ton of education under my belt when I'm through at U of T. It has to qualify me for SOMETHING worthwhile. I shouldn't worry about it, I suppose. I've never had a lot of trouble finding work, and I haven't done any research into what's available yet. I used to freak out about a career all the time, always under the idea that it was a FUTURE problem. One step at a time.
Sometimes I get the feeling I'd be a tragic character in some author's work on ambition. That's what happens when you read as much Can Lit as I do. It wouldn't sell very well, as I probably haven't had enough success yet.
I fantasize about what life is going to be like when I move back to Ottawa. My own place, new furniture, my movies and books neatly displayed on a shelf, a filing cabinet for my personal papers, the ability to sit down and write and design without even the slightest thought that someone is around invading my headspace. Erecting a home office setup where I can tackle event organization more effectively. Just me and a cat (and Andrea once in awhile). An adult paradise.
I'm reading Thomas Mann's Death in Venice, which is a pretty intense story about uncomfortable subject matter, equating artistic drive with taboo obsessions (it's about a writer who goes on vacation and becomes transfixed by a ten year old boy). It's short, so I'll probably finish it before going to bed. One more step towards what will happen next.
I discovered that I'm not going to be able to apply for one of the grants I had my eye on, but then I found another to take its place. It would be easier to ask for money if I were applying as an incorporated non-profit organization. But I know hardly anything about owning a business. I'd need a board of directors, a lawyer, an accountant. How would I put all of that together without a budget? I don't have that kind of money. And besides, even if I did get a non-profit organization off the ground, how would I be able to make a living at running it?
That seems to be the biggest and baddest thought running through my head these days: how I'm going to make a living once I'm through with school. I want a steady income at a higher-profile job. The money isn't even all that important to me - I just want to be in a position where I feel as though I'm doing something more meaningful than selling a product I don't personally care about. I don't want to keep waking up early every weekday morning with eight hours of a ridiculous bottom line over my head. That's more or less what I've been doing job-wise since I started working. I'm going to have a ton of education under my belt when I'm through at U of T. It has to qualify me for SOMETHING worthwhile. I shouldn't worry about it, I suppose. I've never had a lot of trouble finding work, and I haven't done any research into what's available yet. I used to freak out about a career all the time, always under the idea that it was a FUTURE problem. One step at a time.
Sometimes I get the feeling I'd be a tragic character in some author's work on ambition. That's what happens when you read as much Can Lit as I do. It wouldn't sell very well, as I probably haven't had enough success yet.
I fantasize about what life is going to be like when I move back to Ottawa. My own place, new furniture, my movies and books neatly displayed on a shelf, a filing cabinet for my personal papers, the ability to sit down and write and design without even the slightest thought that someone is around invading my headspace. Erecting a home office setup where I can tackle event organization more effectively. Just me and a cat (and Andrea once in awhile). An adult paradise.
I'm reading Thomas Mann's Death in Venice, which is a pretty intense story about uncomfortable subject matter, equating artistic drive with taboo obsessions (it's about a writer who goes on vacation and becomes transfixed by a ten year old boy). It's short, so I'll probably finish it before going to bed. One more step towards what will happen next.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Today was tiring, but it was a perfect example that every day has the potential to be something you least expect.
After finally rolling out of bed at around 10:30, I showered and got my shit together, determined to start tackling this passport business. I went downtown and found the office building. I went to the little camera shop on the ground floor and had my picture taken. I had to put baby powder on my forehead because there was too much of a glare (I'm that white). After positioning me like a Whose Line Is It Anyway? actor the photographer plucked at my hair - I had gelled it, and since my curls are a "defining feature" he had to accentuate them for the shot. The photographer may have simply been acting coy underneath that Russian accent and gruff exterior.
The prints were ready in half an hour. I look like a Sears catalogue model; one of my shoulders is hunched and turned slightly towards the camera as if to say "I was about to leave the room, but I was too captivated by your beauty, gorgeous creature whom I've just met." There's one errant curl sticking straight up off my head. I'm worried they'll be rejected because of the angle of my one shoulder. I've heard the passport office is extremely finicky about the photos.
I didn't find out for sure. I went to the office and told them I didn't have a lieu of guarantor form. They sent me to an employee who told me that starting Monday, anyone with a passport who's known me for two years is qualified to be my guarantor. If I wait until Monday, I can get Jay to fill in his info on the application and not have to pay a lawyer for it.
I headed over to the Eaton's Center, where I picked up a camera case, blank CDs, some envelopes, and the new Foo Fighters record. I passed by Indigo and noticed that Kevin Smith was doing a signing for his new book "My Boring-ass Life" at 7.
Usually when I become privy to such information, I try my best to disregard it. It doesn't matter what it is. I'm not a very spontaneous guy because I think about things too much. When I wake up in the morning (or early afternoon) I have or create a general idea of how my day is going to go. I'll usually make decisions later on in the day, but they're either very small or decisions I see coming on the basis of what I know I'll be up to. If I'm forced into doing something that I have little control over, or if my plans drastically change, I worry that I'll be very uncomfortable with the results. It's easier to stay at home and hide and eat and watch TV, and that way I know exactly what I'm in for. When I lived in the west end of Ottawa, I'd rarely go downtown to hang out because the bus ride was too long, or I would worry that I wouldn't have anyone to talk to, or that no one would pay me any attention, or that a show would suck and I'd have a miserable night and still end up having to get on yet another bus for a half-hour return trip home. When I lived downtown things were a bit different because I could make it home on foot from pretty much anywhere I hung out. I also felt more secure having people around me, being able to provide them with a place to gather. I'm a born facilitator; I don't respond well to being told what to do in social situations.
I'm a huge fan of Kevin Smith. Massive. And when I see an advertisement for an appearance he's making, a part of me thinks I'm expected to see him, as if it's natural. Now, if I were given a few days notice, I'd probably be all over it, and start making plans to attend. But having it thrown in my lap like that, I constrict. My immediate thought is "I'm not going to go. It won't be what I expect. I'll never be able to make an impression on him." As if that's really the point behind meeting someone you admire.
I had more time than I originally wagered I'd have, so I went to get my health card renewed. After waiting for about a half an hour I handed over my forms and received a bit of a lecture from the employee about my tardiness in obtaining a new card. I told him it wouldn't happen again, no sir. From now on I'll be punctual Pete.
After I took care of the health card business, I finally decided, fuck it. I'll go see Kevin Smith. I've seen him speak in person, but I've never met the dude. If I don't do it, I'll regret it. That's the feeling I wish I could carry around with me at all times - if I don't do it, I'll regret it. I have to loosen that spring inside me more often. So I marched back to Indigo (after putting a muffin and chocolate milk in my belly; one can't change their day's fate on an empty stomach). It was around 3:30 by this point, and there didn't seem to be a lineup, so I browsed for about half an hour. By then a line had started winding its way through the cooking and craft sections, so I bought a copy of the book and joined the queue. I spent three and a half hours in that line, reading Kevin's book, thinking about what I should say to him, shifting my weight from foot to foot, beating sensation back into my legs. Finally, at around 7:15, Kevin came out and delivered a short Q&A session. He was tired and had been up since 6 AM doing press work, and really wanted to try and get to as many people as possible by 9 PM. The line started moving.
By this point I had already decided what I was going to say. I was thinking of the biggest Kevin Smith fans out of everyone I know, and it hit me: my brother. His birthday is next week. It would be cool to get him a signed book, but I couldn't leave the line. So I called home to see if he was there. He was at a friend's, so I told my dad to have him call me back if he arrived home within the hour. He returned my call, and I told him to keep by his phone. When there were about three people in line ahead of me, I dialed him up. I climbed onto the stage, gave Kevin a "Hello Sir!", and handed him the book. I asked him if he'd mind wishing my brother a happy birthday. He said sure and took my phone. He said hello, told him happy birthday and that he'd talk to him longer if he could. In my excitement I said, "Say you're Kevin Smith!" and he said, "I think he knows." He returned my phone and I thanked him, patted him on the shoulder and walked away.
I still had my brother on the line. I asked, "Did you know who that was?" He said that he didn't. I told him it was Kevin Smith and he freaked. He laughed in a way I've never heard him laugh before. He told me that if he could do anything for me, to ask away. I don't get to do many cool things for my brother. We're not as close as we could be. But I knew he'd get a righteous kick out of that.
I came home, absolutely exhausted after waiting all that time, and crashed on the couch to watch some X-Files and listen to some SModcast. Sam emailed me, telling me I'd have his reference letter tomorrow.
Not entirely a bad day, simply because it was so unexpected. I can't be afraid of the things I can't foresee. I have to remember how positive the out-of-the-blue can feel.
After finally rolling out of bed at around 10:30, I showered and got my shit together, determined to start tackling this passport business. I went downtown and found the office building. I went to the little camera shop on the ground floor and had my picture taken. I had to put baby powder on my forehead because there was too much of a glare (I'm that white). After positioning me like a Whose Line Is It Anyway? actor the photographer plucked at my hair - I had gelled it, and since my curls are a "defining feature" he had to accentuate them for the shot. The photographer may have simply been acting coy underneath that Russian accent and gruff exterior.
The prints were ready in half an hour. I look like a Sears catalogue model; one of my shoulders is hunched and turned slightly towards the camera as if to say "I was about to leave the room, but I was too captivated by your beauty, gorgeous creature whom I've just met." There's one errant curl sticking straight up off my head. I'm worried they'll be rejected because of the angle of my one shoulder. I've heard the passport office is extremely finicky about the photos.
I didn't find out for sure. I went to the office and told them I didn't have a lieu of guarantor form. They sent me to an employee who told me that starting Monday, anyone with a passport who's known me for two years is qualified to be my guarantor. If I wait until Monday, I can get Jay to fill in his info on the application and not have to pay a lawyer for it.
I headed over to the Eaton's Center, where I picked up a camera case, blank CDs, some envelopes, and the new Foo Fighters record. I passed by Indigo and noticed that Kevin Smith was doing a signing for his new book "My Boring-ass Life" at 7.
Usually when I become privy to such information, I try my best to disregard it. It doesn't matter what it is. I'm not a very spontaneous guy because I think about things too much. When I wake up in the morning (or early afternoon) I have or create a general idea of how my day is going to go. I'll usually make decisions later on in the day, but they're either very small or decisions I see coming on the basis of what I know I'll be up to. If I'm forced into doing something that I have little control over, or if my plans drastically change, I worry that I'll be very uncomfortable with the results. It's easier to stay at home and hide and eat and watch TV, and that way I know exactly what I'm in for. When I lived in the west end of Ottawa, I'd rarely go downtown to hang out because the bus ride was too long, or I would worry that I wouldn't have anyone to talk to, or that no one would pay me any attention, or that a show would suck and I'd have a miserable night and still end up having to get on yet another bus for a half-hour return trip home. When I lived downtown things were a bit different because I could make it home on foot from pretty much anywhere I hung out. I also felt more secure having people around me, being able to provide them with a place to gather. I'm a born facilitator; I don't respond well to being told what to do in social situations.
I'm a huge fan of Kevin Smith. Massive. And when I see an advertisement for an appearance he's making, a part of me thinks I'm expected to see him, as if it's natural. Now, if I were given a few days notice, I'd probably be all over it, and start making plans to attend. But having it thrown in my lap like that, I constrict. My immediate thought is "I'm not going to go. It won't be what I expect. I'll never be able to make an impression on him." As if that's really the point behind meeting someone you admire.
I had more time than I originally wagered I'd have, so I went to get my health card renewed. After waiting for about a half an hour I handed over my forms and received a bit of a lecture from the employee about my tardiness in obtaining a new card. I told him it wouldn't happen again, no sir. From now on I'll be punctual Pete.
After I took care of the health card business, I finally decided, fuck it. I'll go see Kevin Smith. I've seen him speak in person, but I've never met the dude. If I don't do it, I'll regret it. That's the feeling I wish I could carry around with me at all times - if I don't do it, I'll regret it. I have to loosen that spring inside me more often. So I marched back to Indigo (after putting a muffin and chocolate milk in my belly; one can't change their day's fate on an empty stomach). It was around 3:30 by this point, and there didn't seem to be a lineup, so I browsed for about half an hour. By then a line had started winding its way through the cooking and craft sections, so I bought a copy of the book and joined the queue. I spent three and a half hours in that line, reading Kevin's book, thinking about what I should say to him, shifting my weight from foot to foot, beating sensation back into my legs. Finally, at around 7:15, Kevin came out and delivered a short Q&A session. He was tired and had been up since 6 AM doing press work, and really wanted to try and get to as many people as possible by 9 PM. The line started moving.
By this point I had already decided what I was going to say. I was thinking of the biggest Kevin Smith fans out of everyone I know, and it hit me: my brother. His birthday is next week. It would be cool to get him a signed book, but I couldn't leave the line. So I called home to see if he was there. He was at a friend's, so I told my dad to have him call me back if he arrived home within the hour. He returned my call, and I told him to keep by his phone. When there were about three people in line ahead of me, I dialed him up. I climbed onto the stage, gave Kevin a "Hello Sir!", and handed him the book. I asked him if he'd mind wishing my brother a happy birthday. He said sure and took my phone. He said hello, told him happy birthday and that he'd talk to him longer if he could. In my excitement I said, "Say you're Kevin Smith!" and he said, "I think he knows." He returned my phone and I thanked him, patted him on the shoulder and walked away.
I still had my brother on the line. I asked, "Did you know who that was?" He said that he didn't. I told him it was Kevin Smith and he freaked. He laughed in a way I've never heard him laugh before. He told me that if he could do anything for me, to ask away. I don't get to do many cool things for my brother. We're not as close as we could be. But I knew he'd get a righteous kick out of that.
I came home, absolutely exhausted after waiting all that time, and crashed on the couch to watch some X-Files and listen to some SModcast. Sam emailed me, telling me I'd have his reference letter tomorrow.
Not entirely a bad day, simply because it was so unexpected. I can't be afraid of the things I can't foresee. I have to remember how positive the out-of-the-blue can feel.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
I saw Andrea for the first time in a few weeks this morning, via webcam. It was gratifying to see her move. Her gestures, the corners of her mouth, the two strands of hair framing her face. She gave me a virtual tour of her apartment, stopping occasionally to respond to my comments.
The grant is almost complete, but I've run into a couple of snags. I don't have Pixie's DVD yet because I emailed her the wrong shipping address. I also don't have my letters of reference. These things aren't necessary, but they'd help with the presentation. Either way, this thing is going in by Monday.
I really should go downtown tomorrow and start taking care of this passport stuff. I'm just worried that I'll have to wait in line only to find out that I don't have enough of the right documentation. I haven't received my new driver's license yet. My health card is expired. I don't have a guarantor. I guess I should just head down and get it over with. I also need to pick up a case for my camera, so if I can at the very least come home with that the day won't be a total loss.
I received copies of The Man Who Shot Liberty Vallance, Wonder Boys and the second season of The X-Files in the mail today. Wonder Boys is one of my favorite movies, and I lost my original copy, so a replacement was in order. I also watched the extended version of Alien 3, which made the film a bit better, but it's such a nasty piece of work. Some reviews I've read of it have called the film nihilistic, and I think that's apropos. Everyone in the film but Ripley is so relatively despicable that you can't care what happens to them. And you'd root for the alien if it didn't look like such an early 90's computer-animated piece of shit.
I'll be attending Nuit Blanche this weekend with Mindi, and I'm planning to take lots of pictures. This page needs a little colour.
The grant is almost complete, but I've run into a couple of snags. I don't have Pixie's DVD yet because I emailed her the wrong shipping address. I also don't have my letters of reference. These things aren't necessary, but they'd help with the presentation. Either way, this thing is going in by Monday.
I really should go downtown tomorrow and start taking care of this passport stuff. I'm just worried that I'll have to wait in line only to find out that I don't have enough of the right documentation. I haven't received my new driver's license yet. My health card is expired. I don't have a guarantor. I guess I should just head down and get it over with. I also need to pick up a case for my camera, so if I can at the very least come home with that the day won't be a total loss.
I received copies of The Man Who Shot Liberty Vallance, Wonder Boys and the second season of The X-Files in the mail today. Wonder Boys is one of my favorite movies, and I lost my original copy, so a replacement was in order. I also watched the extended version of Alien 3, which made the film a bit better, but it's such a nasty piece of work. Some reviews I've read of it have called the film nihilistic, and I think that's apropos. Everyone in the film but Ripley is so relatively despicable that you can't care what happens to them. And you'd root for the alien if it didn't look like such an early 90's computer-animated piece of shit.
I'll be attending Nuit Blanche this weekend with Mindi, and I'm planning to take lots of pictures. This page needs a little colour.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
I just wrote about 800 words towards a story I'd put on the shelf. I feel as though I've got a character in it that will keep pulling my interest back. At this point the whole thing is a hodgepodge of 12,500 words that I've been writing over time, bits and pieces begging for a common plot. Perhaps it IS there, somewhere.
My Touch of Evil presentation went beyond swimmingly; Professor Columpar cited it as an example to follow for the rest of the semester. High praise. I missed the feeling of getting things out of the way. At least I know I'm still capable of pulling it off after a year without school.
I accomplished what is probably my quickest reading of a text in my entire university career today. "Angélique" by Lorena Gale had been all but impossible to track down for this week's African-Canadian Lit class, but I found a copy at around 12:30, took it home and had it read by 3 (granted, it was only a 70-page play. But I had it read in time, dammit). I also borrowed my first book from Robarts today, a biography of Marlene Dietrich. One more step towards being a fully functioning student.
I'm going to get as much of this passport stuff taken care of as I can this week. It's a fairly involved process. You'd think I was adopting a kid. I have weighing against me the fact that I don't have a guarantor, so I need to fill out an additional form that I have to pick up at the passport office. On the bright side, it'll get me close to the Eaton's Centre. I'm going to need a camera case if I'm going to take some pictures of Nuit Blanche this weekend.
It's been a long day and I didn't get much sleep last night. Ain't university grand?
My Touch of Evil presentation went beyond swimmingly; Professor Columpar cited it as an example to follow for the rest of the semester. High praise. I missed the feeling of getting things out of the way. At least I know I'm still capable of pulling it off after a year without school.
I accomplished what is probably my quickest reading of a text in my entire university career today. "Angélique" by Lorena Gale had been all but impossible to track down for this week's African-Canadian Lit class, but I found a copy at around 12:30, took it home and had it read by 3 (granted, it was only a 70-page play. But I had it read in time, dammit). I also borrowed my first book from Robarts today, a biography of Marlene Dietrich. One more step towards being a fully functioning student.
I'm going to get as much of this passport stuff taken care of as I can this week. It's a fairly involved process. You'd think I was adopting a kid. I have weighing against me the fact that I don't have a guarantor, so I need to fill out an additional form that I have to pick up at the passport office. On the bright side, it'll get me close to the Eaton's Centre. I'm going to need a camera case if I'm going to take some pictures of Nuit Blanche this weekend.
It's been a long day and I didn't get much sleep last night. Ain't university grand?
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