White Like Empty Worlds

Dinner and a Movie

2007-01-06T01:19:00.000+13:00

Happy New Year

2007-01-03T01:39:00.000+13:00

Sydney on the big night.

He LIVES!

2006-10-12T18:31:00.000+13:00

This little Mac of mine now has a brand new brain; a clean slate, if you will.

He's come back from the shop, good as new; actually, just about the same as when he was new, 'cause he's got a replacement hard drive, which kind-of affords you that brand new notebook for school sort of feeling, crisp, clean digital reams unwrinkled, full of fresh promise... but all my old data is irretrievable from the former brain, which is very, very sad.

I'm trying not to think about it.

Safely Installed

2006-10-08T21:57:00.000+13:00

September has flashed past. Indeed, either flashed past or in the pan, I'm not entirely sure which, but I'm here in Sydney now, with almost five weeks under my belt, in a bit of a daze, but very happy to call here home.

I don't think that anyone that knows me will be surprised, and the revelation wasn't so much of a discovery as a personal assurance, but I'm such a big city boy it's not funny. Wandering around the streets here on my first day, my skin pricked up, my eyes opened wide, and I smiled with more excitement than I've felt since Hong Kong.

There's a theme here.

New Zealand was charming, but I think that for me it's for visits, not living in; Auckland especially; but Sydney now, here's a city I can sink my teeth into.

I won't be leaving any time soon.

Plans Revisited

2006-08-22T10:14:00.000+12:00

See, if I had been smart, I would have left Canada independently wealthy, and thus never have to work at all, and then I'd be able to write on most days; go and see music and theatre; adventure up the sides of mountains, and down into rivers and fjords. Ah, adventure.

Instead it's: no, no, restock the shelves, tell people what wine to buy; get up early....

That sort of thing. I'm not complaining, I'm just saying.

Next time: independently wealthy.

Everything I've Done, Up To A Point

2006-08-21T00:43:00.000+12:00

I toil.

I fret.

I get nothing special done.

I fret.

I sadden.

I ponder.

Eureka!

I don't need to stay anywhere I don't want to, not when I'm a world traveler; not when I live in a place without a guaranteed future; not when what I'm about right now is discovery. (It's amazing what you get used to, the rhythms you live your life by.) I am like the wind, I blow across oceans; shores; surfaces of all descriptions.... Maybe not gravel.

I rejoice.

I give notice.

I plan escape.

I pack.

Seriously. Now you're all caught up.

Don't Watch Hitchcock

2006-07-09T13:09:00.000+12:00

My lovely, zoological sister explained to me why the birds here (little birds, like sparrows) are so cheeky: they have no natural predators.

And they really are brazen. They fly into the coffee shops to forage. Actually, not just forage, demand. They bounce right up, cock their heads, and blink at you with tiny pebble eyes:

You! Big, clumsy thing! Gimme your muffin!

“I could squash you like a bug.”

Enough chit-chat! The muffin; I’d like it down here, so I may eat it.

They kind of scare me.

Back on the Blogging Bus

2006-07-08T17:03:00.000+12:00

The thing is, the longer you let it go, not writing something like a blog, the harder it gets to pick it up again without having something really good to say. It’s just like not writing your pen-pal for three months when you used to every two weeks: how do you explain the absence without some really good story, or insightful observation?

Answer: you get hopped up on the coffee, sit down and write 250 words without thinking, then post them to break the seal.

By the end of this sentence I’ll have written ninety six.

Hmm. Ah well, half is better than none at all. Adventures I have few of to share, but the observations are forthcoming. And maybe an anecdote or two.

Salut!

I Know, I Know

2006-05-19T21:39:00.000+12:00

But I've been busy. Promise.

First off, I'm employed again. Yes, at the fine wine shop -- like there was any doubt that they'd hire me. After seeing the other new recruits today, I had to suppress a wry smile: no wonder they let me talk them up a whole $2 from their regular hourly starting wage. I'm one day off from finishing my first week, and my re-foray into retail. (Retail is a world I have been divorced from since I left/was forced to leave Chapters, oh, 8 years ago.) It's not so bad. The best thing in comparison to hospitality being that you don't' have to multitask while helping people in a store like you do in a restaurant. Not by a long shot. I feel as if I'm working at a quarter speed for the whole shift. It's almost restful.

The search for work wasn't too strenuous. As Auckland is in a hospitality work deficit, the escape hatch remained a continuous option: I could always panic and run to the Waterfront, break my back working for an ambitious restauranteur. I'm so thankful that it didn't come to that.

It's nice to be working in my field. Wine wine everywhere and not a drop to, what? Oh, I think I might drink a drop or two, but the more exciting prospect is actually talking to people who are interested in buying the stuff and not just out to impress their dinner guests. One of the things I was told in Sommelier School was that 50-80% of your job on the floor of a restaurant is flattering a customer's ego: they're on stage, and so are you: the expectation is to make them look as formidably knowledgeable as possible, whether or not they know anything at all. Out in the shop, those same personalities let their hair down, they actually defer. I almost can't wrap my head around it.

I scored some brownie points on my first day, when I sold a $230 dollar bottle of Pol Roger Churchill Champange. "You did what?" the manager demanded.

"Well, she asked what I would drink," I said. "What am I going to do? Lie?"

She also bought another $200 worth of crystal stemware. I may have talked it up a bit... but who can say?

So, as menial, bill paying work goes, it's okay; and it doesn't look like anyone's going to be firing me anytime soon.

But the reason this blog has been languishing has nothing to do with that: I've been writing other things. Yes, shocking, I agree. I've been writing at a breakneck pace (compared to what I've been at these past few years, which is nothing to write home about). I've finished the draft of a story, for the first time in ages, and I've been fiddling with a number of other pieces that have been tickling my fancy. I think some intrinsic part of my psyche might have finally gelled. All I can really hope for at this point is that it keeps doing so. I rather like being a writer who's writing. Now I just need to find an editor that's editing, and a publisher that's publishing. How hard can that be?

(I was thinking of putting the story up here, but, as I said, it's a draft, so I'll be emailing it to certain folks first, and making a run-through, before I put anything up, all public like.)

And that's it for now, I guess. I'm charging my camera as I write this, so never fear, next entry there'll be pictures.

I do miss everyone back home.

PS. One of the reasons I think I'll get along just fine with my new employer is that they have a broad tolerance for music selection; and, two days after I started, they got a new disc player that accepts burned DVDs. In anticipation of tomorrow I have created a playlist. It is as follows:

Speed of Sound . Coldplay
Long White Cross . Pluto
Ride A White Horse . Goldfrapp
Don't Save Us From The Flames . M83
We Used To Be Friends . The Dandy Warhols
Car Song . Elastica
Summer Wine . Nancy Sinatra & Lee
Hear My Name . Armand Van Helen
Watching You . Rouge Traders
Weekend . Black Eyed Peas
Heartbeats . Jose Gonzales
The Blowers Daughter . Daimien Rice
Untitled . Interpol
Suddenly I See . KT Tunstall
That Song . Big Wreck
Beautiful . Goldfrapp
Slow/Angel . Kylie vs. Massive Attack

I've called the mix: What An Entrance.

The Rope Gives It Away

2006-05-09T23:39:00.000+12:00

My friend Leanne recently engineered a lengthy trip up through South and Central America. She left Canada right around the time that I did, and has now settled into Costa Rica for a little stay. Somehow, I get the feeling that she is having a far more interesting time than I am in New Zealand thus far.

Then again, it's only a feeling.

I Have A Telescope

2006-05-05T16:20:00.000+12:00

And binoculars; a map of the city; and my best first impression smile; still, no one seems to be in as much of a rush to hire me as I am to be hired. Stupid people with their stupid interview processes.

I'm learning to be suspect of any place that actually wants to take you on the spot. I mean, I know I'm good, but I'm not that good. Why do they need someone so desperately? The Beer Cafe needed people desperately all the time. Maybe better to take a couple of days, find something that seems a little more stable.

Contrary to what concerned parties seemed to be thinking: I am okay; a little stressed out and frustrated, but fine. It just takes a little while to get oriented in an utterly new venue. I faintly remember some of the same feelings, um, 11 years ago when I moved to the big TO. Hopefully, I've grown enough in the interveaning time to tackle them a little more effectively.

Thank God I have a computer and a library card.

So Much For the Positive

2006-05-03T21:44:00.000+12:00

Here's something to consider:

While yes, there are only 4 million Kiwi's on the two islands, North and South combined, there are 9 million New Zealand passport holders.

You might ask: Where did everybody go?

Good question.

I don't rightly know, but I imagine that it's somewhere that people make more money, because, although minimum wage is high (hovering around $12 and hour) more than half of the residents make less than $30,000 a year. I do know that 90% of the folks I've met here in the 25-34 age group, which is not many, are not Kiwi either: German; British; Swede; even Belgian; but not Kiwi. I'm beginning to realize why they make it so easy for us 30ish folk to come here: there's a void waiting to be filled.

That said, lets hope a void is open and ready for me tomorrow. The job that I left the Belgian Beer Cafe for, that was causing me increasing agitation as they weren't calling, turned out to be a bust. Completely unforseeably, I might add: the owner went in for emergency surgery, life and business got turned upside down, and the long/short of the story is: he sold it. The whole kaboodle.

And I wondered why I wasn't getting called.

It must have been sufficiently crazy for him because I only found out he was out of business by looking at the website. I guess when you don't feel fit, you don't see fit to ring up the new employees who quit their previous jobs to work for you.

I keep reminding myself to breathe; and uncurl from the fetal position on the couch.

So: tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow: resume, resume, resume. How does this happen? I mean, it's not like I intentionally look for booby-trapped employment, but I seem to have a real knack for turning out to be said booby. Is it a special skill that I can market? Could someone, perhaps, pay me for it?

Not likely, I know.

Nothing for it, I suppose: I'm turning back to alcohol. Tomorrow, every wine shop in Auckland's going to get a lovely CV with my name on it... and maybe a little "please help me" printed down in the corner.

Wish me luck everyone.

Oh, and send money.

Do I Look 29?

2006-04-28T12:34:00.000+12:00

According to all of the most recent studies, most notably one from Harvard, coffee's benefits heavily outweigh it's risks as a consumptive beverage (I don't know what can be said for it as a preservative or a back scratcher). This news is of great importance, as coffee -- ahem -- owns me.

That's right, I'm coffee's bitch; only now, more happily so.

To celebrate this fact I went to Starbucks yesterday, where I swam about in a vat of non-fat, frothy, caramel-spiked, something something of esspresso something, and did research on a poem that I'm trying to write. It was lovely; the beverage, not the research.

You might notice I also took a photo. I was procrastinating.

Thank you, everyone, for all of the birthday wishes. The day itself was quiet and lovely. I went down to the gym, saw some mezzo-sopranos sing at the library, after which Heather took me out for lunch, and we went to the bookstore for dessert. Then I went to work, which wasn't as lovely.

Which reminds me! I have quit the Belgian Beer Cafe. My mood can be evidenced by the picture below:

No matter what anyone says, I was not fired. No siree.

I retired in relatively good graces.

So Much To Do

2006-04-20T00:04:00.000+12:00

It has occurred to me:

There is a reason why no one finds enlightenment when they still have to shop for groceries.

Also, today is my birthday.

It's Nice In The Dark, If You Can Hear

2006-04-19T12:34:00.000+12:00

Heather took me to see Sigur Ros this past Monday at the St. James. Despite the fact that I was feeling rather under the weather (which is the product of a different, sadder, story) it was the most audibly dramatic Monday I have spent in New Zealand, bar none. Sigur Ros are an Icelandic band based out of the UK, and create these landscapes of sound that take you on picaresque journeys through emotional states. Cathartic, you might call their work.

I was quite caught up.

Mind you, afterwards I went straight home. 'Cause I was still feeling like crap.

Chapter 22

2006-04-14T13:18:00.000+12:00

In Alessandro Baricco's novel City, Professor Mondrian Kilroy is a secondary chacacter: a man who has devoted his entire life to the study of curved objects. Halfway through the book, he diverges from his feild of study, unexpectedly and with a single-minded exigence, one afternoon in a shop; long enough to write an essay on the back of a flyer.

In this book there is also a Western, the career arc of a professional boxer, a gaint and a mute, and along the way you encounter a lost shoe. Foremost, it is the story of a young genuis who is also "honest", which relates to the Professor's essay.

It came to mind as I was walking to the library, through Auckand University, so I've pulled it out and printed it here, though more consisely than it appears in the book.

ESSAY ON INTELLECTUAL HONESTY

1. Men have ideas.

2. Men express ideas.

3. Men express ideas that are not theirs.

4. Ideas, once they have been expressed and therefore subjected to public pressure, become artificial objects lacking a true relationship with their origin. Men refine them so ingeniously that they become lethal. In time men discover that they can be used as weapons. They don’t think about it for a moment. And they fire.

5. Men use ideas as weapons, and in doing so they detach themselves from the ideas forever.

6. Intellectual honesty is an oxymoron.

Later, he wrote a postscript:

In another life, we will be honest. We will be able to be silent.

Night Light

2006-04-13T18:58:00.000+12:00

I was trying to get some shots of the strange things people were doing in the apartments across from us, but none of those turned out; which is unfortunate, because beside being curious and invasive, they could also have been considered educational. As a consolation, here are some other nocturnal impressions of Auckland, taken from my balcony.

I'm a very lazy photographer, really.

Overhead

2006-04-12T06:40:00.000+12:00

The sky here really is quite something. No part of New Zealand is more than 100 km away from the ocean, so the weather just bowls over the whole country, driven on sea-winds.

The mood of each day is constantly up for debate.

That bridge is the one I'm going to jump off of with a bungee cord tied around my ankles, by the way. By doing so I get a card that gets me a discount on every other free fall activity in the nation. My goal is to be able to swan dive off a precipice into a canyon without batting an eye by the time I leave.

These are my ambitions now. Scary, hunh?

When You Smile

2006-04-11T15:37:00.000+12:00

The whole world something somethings, right?

I went reading in the park.

The Belgian Beer Cafe

2006-04-10T13:21:00.000+12:00

I work in a pub. A nasty, smelly, sudsy pub called the Ponsonby. It's very disorganized and no one cares about their job; and it's really hard to smile at nasty customers when no one ever tips you. But hey! I have pictures. Observe:

They sometimes give me a FREE beer after a particularly taxing shift. I am still unsure of how They (They are the Management, by the way) determine "taxing", 'cuase sometimes I do sweet bugger all for the entire day... and then I get a drink. We call this "Negative Reinforcement".

People come.

Then people bother me so I roll my eyes to the ceiling.

And then I focus on the prospect of something happier.

It's not a glamorous life, but I've gotten really good at giving beer head. Belgian beer likes good head, apparently.

Oh, those Belgians.

Today

2006-04-07T16:05:00.000+12:00

It's rainy.

And I have a toothache.

The View From Here

2006-04-03T22:49:00.000+12:00

To my mind, Auckland has a dubious quality, which is that it resembles a small version of Toronto at first glance; especially from the water. A nascent Mudtown: if industrialization in North America had taken more than a handful of decades, perhaps this is what it would have looked like, the tentative shoot of a adolescent CN Tower hesitantly pointing towards the clouds, office buildings barely into adult sizes proudly drawing themselves up to be seen above their fellows. Ready then? Snap a picture.

My dear friend, roommate and traveling companion Heather has posted some lovely ones on her web log, so you might as well click on that link to see a better representation of the skyline than I have at my disposal here. My pictures aren't quite as scenic in that regard. I'm more of an effects junkie. I say that in hopes of glossing over my fumblings with the advanced settings of my relatively new camera.

Mind you, the ones I'm showing you here are actually taken with my new camera phone, and they've come out rather well, the one above notwithstanding.

When we arrived in Auckland, it was a bit of a shock to the system, after the sensory overload of Hong Kong. Things sorta groove here. No one's in a rush, maritime like. Heather and I very quickly realized that we were going to need to adjust, and have to "work on our laissez-faire strut," was the comment. Thankfully, I have the sunglasses for it, but until the weather gets a little cooler, I don't think I have the threads for it.

The hostel we stayed in initially was slick, but pricey. After our first two, pre-paid nights were expended, we starting casting about for cheaper digs where we could languish until we figured out what the hell we were going to do with ourselves. We settled on a very cheap, initially unpleasant establishment in an old art-deco building called the DeBrett Hotel. It felt very Paris-bohemian, circa 1920, with all the expatriate gat-abouts lounging in common spaces, without direction, froumpt in the various rooms; only with a decidedly hippy undertone.

Observe our dorm:

It was enough motivation to find a place to live rather quickly.

The more time spent here, however, the less like a small Toronto it becomes. The gradual gradients of Toronto are nothing to the steep inclines of the roads here: absolutely everything is up a hill. The Sky Tower would barely come up to CN's navel, and the mood (though apparently rushed by New Zealander standards) is decidedly pokey to a North American urbanite. They're big on the sports (by which I mean sport, which is rugby), everything's a little more expensive, and the ocean is far different than Lake Ontario, after you get to know it.

The quality of light, and the smell of the place, are also acutely unfamiliar.

I've been focused on getting here for so long, now that I've alighted on the foreign shores, unpacked and cracked my knuckes, there is a certain lull idling in my engines of self-motivation. I hadn't really formulated plans past actually making it across the ocean. These past few weeks have found me establishing routine, and continuously staring; constantly beset by the inverted systems of traffic, but quite restfully un-contemplative. There's not a whiff of panic in the air. I feel like I'm on vacation, at least for the moment.

I'll step it up a notch in time. Right now, I'm wandering, and armed with digital powers of photography.

Observe, Auckland at night:

This Is Where You'll Find Me

2006-02-28T11:33:00.000+13:00

Yes, right here. Incredibly credible, my wonderful adventures. And pictures. There's going to be pictures.

Just wait until I have a modem at home. Any day now.

For you people new to this, you can click on the comments link on the bottom and leave your thoughts. Cool, hunh?