Crossroads, Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden, Mentally checking out of work BEFORE you get a new job, and other illusions which appear to be fact.

Jeff O’Neil. Captain Scotty. Charis. Please get the fuck back on the air. I didn’t mind Neil Morrison filling in for you (for those from Toronto, the former Brother Bill), and the first couple of days of ‘The Worst of the Jeff O’Neil Show’ was bearable. No longer. I’ve now regressed. I did listen to the Team 1040 in the afternoons (Pratt and Taylor actually have a good show, so it’s not that bad). However, in the morning slot, the fare is not so appealing at times. Yup, we get Jim Rome.

My first glimpse of this ‘man’ was amusing. It was the Chris Everett remark made to the Jim quarterback of the same surname. Amusing for a moment, and that was it. But he has a radio show for himself? What the deuce? Now fair enough, I like sci-fi, and as such I would probably appear to him as ‘clown’ who dresses up to go to a Comic-con. I also like football. As in the variety that most North Americans would misname soccer. Someone so narrow minded and obviously shallow doesn’t deserve my attention. Until today. Pity about how thin this ‘worst of’ CFOX is spitting out is becoming. It’s worn out it’s welcome.

One good thing about Rome today. Big hit on Golf Guy. You know him. We all know him. He has a glove in his back pocket 24/7. He reads Golf Digest, but can’t break 100 without the repeated use of the foot wedge. Essentially, this person had no interest in golf, let alone sports until he got a hard-on for Tiger Woods, or realized it was an easy way out of the office early once per week. I always looked at golf one of two ways. You were either good, as in real good. My uncle, par example. CPGA professional. Otherwise, you’re like me and my old man. It’s an excuse to drink. We like to golf. We’re just not fakers. It doesn’t consume us.

Personally though, I’d rather ski. Golf’s lost it’s flavour for me. It was more a thing my dad and my grandparents did with me. That’s lost. But skiing kicks ass for me just as much today as it did twenty, even thirty years ago. A mate at work would rather golf because you can all year long here in Vancouver, but I’d still rather just ski 4 or 5 months a year. Especially if I live in the interior. And that possibility may become a reality, depending on how the new job prospect pans out. I want to say I have it, as I’ve never felt so sure about a job in quite some time, and it might be dangerous now that I’ve mentally just given up on caring about my current post.

I guess it could be worse though. I could live at Hastings and Main. I could be convinced that my current employer is looking out for my interests. I could actually think I’m making a decent wage. Or worst, I could think that I don’t deserve better. Sad thing is, some people I know at work do.

Pity.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

For that day when we all have the time.

A little over a month ago, I made a promise to myself. I’d increase the amount of posting I’d do here as so to bring me back to the standard of one a day. I kept running through my head, trying to hold onto ideas to post over the course of my mundane workdays to try and hold onto some useful nugget in which I could ramble with, and some days I could, and some I couldn’t. I was content to give it up as a bad job, and in all truthfulness, I would rather have something with punch to it, not just a jumbled thought to fill the space. A friend, ages gone by, told me these should be for me first off, and as such, I shouldn’t let the practice or opinion of others affect my posting. As such, quantity over quality. Still, it has been unsettling.

Roll back four years. In film school, I could post easily twice to three times DAILY. Now it’s a struggle to get three out in a week. As this machine called life crunches on ahead, the amount of time I have to actually enjoy has dwindled. People may laugh each time I say this, but there is a very specific reason that Battlestar Galactica resonates with me. And it’s not having the hots for Starbuck (DAWN!) The show is really a mirror to my soul. And hats off to Ron Moore and David Eick’s creative talents (and their host of writers). They’ve really captured the essence of the human condition. We ALL live in a story that is told again and again throughout time.

Think about it. I’ve lost most of my family. Of the ones that are still around, I’m a continent away, far from home. All it would take would be for my neighbours to dress as chrome toasters to make the analogy complete.

Which brings us to last week. I had just finished taking my airbrake course, the final step from leaving my current, dead-end job employer to one with significantly more promise for the future. Still, one obstacle remained. Taking the ICBC test (yup, I had to take the course to write a knowledge test… uggghhh). Now the hurdle wasn’t being prepared for the test, but rather getting to a location in time to take it. Now throw in one of the most physically grueling weeks in terms of workload, and now that possibility is threatened. Still, I persevered, wrote and aced the test, and now stand to just the waiting game to find out when fortune will finally smile upon me.

It is, however, sufficient to say that the human condition is not without limits. The last few months have been a culmination to this point, preparing, pacing, waiting until the door finally opens. And it’s toll hit Friday. And to put it bluntly, it does not pay to be the sharp, hardworking guy in the 21^st Century. I’m a firm believer in the Dilbert Principle. Only the incompetent get ahead. They need me to DO, not to LEAD. Me LEADING would impact management bonuses. As such, not only do I get my queue for Friday, I have to play clean up for others as well. Employment fairness has gone the way of the dodo. It became too much. I finally came face to face with reality. My job is killing me.

A doctor may argue my conclusion on a physical basis, but the will to live has been stretched too thin. Battle after battle with no hope of improvement has a very unnerving psychological consequence. The passion, the desire, the want fades completely away. I was becoming an empty shell, fighting a losing battle. And if there was no hope for change, it would be all over. Thankfully, it is not the case. But you couldn’t convince me of that on Friday.

“Because it’s not enough to just live. You have to have something to live for. Let it be Earth.” – Commander William Adama, Miniseries.

And there’s the rub. I haven’t been to a film in the cinema, well, since… I can’t even remember when. Shocking from the film student who saw three weekly, plus something on disc every night. What happened to that passion? I sacrificed what was core to my character just to avoid the cost. Mind you, it doesn’t help that 90% of the lot is shit, and the other 10% Dawn and I can’t agree on. Time and money, two resources in great scarcity, have been tearing me apart. Well no more.

Soon it will be that day when I once again have the time.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Yet more grumblings about how a crown corporation requires the educated to dole out money to take a course to prove one can read…

I admit it. I haven’t been active here lately. Even my filler seems forced. Though it shouldn’t be an excuse, my professional life has evoked the warrior within, and it has consumed my soul. A frakked up current work situation coupled with jumping through hoops for a new day job, along with slowly researching how to make an artistic passion a viable economic resource has in essence tapped me out. All that feels to be left right now is the hardened exterior. Not that this is a change for what most see in me, but for those who don’t know, there’s still a hint of humanity left in me.

It just hasn’t come up for air.

In a good while.

Case in point, the nearly complete misuse of this weekend. Only nearly in the absolute sense that I can’t talk ICBC out of the completely fucked notion that I have to take a 20 hour, 2 day, $200 course to ensure I’ve read about 30 pages of the commercial vehicle manual, regarding air brakes. Frak me gently with a chainsaw. Let’s just put it this way. There was a physical mock set up of a air brake system at the front of the class fully set up, and before the instructor arrived, I had already figured out 90% of the operational functions. Bah. We should rename ICBC to ‘Insurance Crooks of British Columbia’.

Still, the teacher does have some merit. He does break down the systems simply and accurately, so all can follow. And he did afford us one wake up call today, as also found in this CBC story:

Kamloops Oct 27, 1989: a runaway truck carrying steel beams takes a wrong turn off the highway and ends up on a steep grade with no brakes.

The truck hit 12 cars. The driver burned to death. Four other people were also killed. One was 4-year-old Corey James who was with a neighbour.

Corey’s father is Don James. Don feels the accident could have been prevented. He says the truck was unsafe, the driver —Travis Penner— was inexperienced. This was only his second trip through the mountains of British Columbia. His brakes were in such poor condition, they were practically useless. The brakes on the tractor part were improperly adjusted.

What was more shocking was that our instructor was privy to a first hand account by the first officers to arrive on the scene. They found the driver still alive, with the truck on fire. The driver was begging the officer to shoot him before he burned to death. The officer couldn’t do it, and witnessed the horrific death. It makes me wonder where the humane choice truly lies.

With that as an impetus, I can see why ICBC wants to push proper training. However, I do still digress. First, I really don’t think a weekend course can circumvent carelessness. Second, with all the motor vehicle accidents and increasingly rising insurance premiums therein due to carelessness in commuter vehicles as well as commercial, why is the air brake course the only one mandatory for licensing in this province?

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Words no longer in my vocabulary

Nothing like the price of gas to piss me off. Coupled with owing a load of green on my taxes this year, it’s a bright neon sign that says my days doing this ‘day job’ are over. A new career path, one which can couple back to the film industry, is in it’s infancy for me (for a hint, I’m an ELECTRIC on set… so I’m going to use some of that skill in the real world). One of the irritations right now is I have to play the waiting game (as it is an apprenticeship). Ugghh.

The waiting game does allow for a great deal of ‘out of the box thinking’. I see examples of the Dilbert Principle all over the place. It’s a good reminder that I really don’t want to be involved in an organization, built on a very simple principle, that favours spinelessness and desire to be a puppet over skill and ability. I know, the Dilbert Principle goes to great lengths to describe this as existing across the whole of corporate America, but this really feels like it’s taking the piss. And if it’s not, I really think it’s safe to say that evolution really doesn’t exist, as we are truly progressing backwards over the last 3,000 years. The ancient Greeks and Romans were more civilized and intelligent than the lot of this new populace.

This, however, really is the tip of the iceberg. Those who have had any significant dialogue with me know that my thoughts around our de-evolution, in my opinion, started in 325 AD when Constantine declared Christianity the official state religion. Full of contradiction and plagiarism, nothing else. Id est, let’s spread the word of tolerance, forgiveness and understanding at the pointed end of a sword, and more currently, guns and Patriot missiles. And, very representative of this viewpoint, is the word sorry, which Oxford defines thusly:

1. Feeling distress or pity through sympathy with someone else’s misfortune.
2. Feeling or expressing regret or penitence.
3. In a poor or pitiful state.
4. Unpleasant and regrettable: a sorry business.

Needless to say, my issue with the aforementioned word relates to definition #2 the most. I don’t regret anything. True enough, there are a lot of things I’ve contemplated changing in my life, as those who know me know I’ve fucked up huge on a highly consistent basis (I am a screw-up… try to keep that in mind). And maybe, just maybe, in younger, less mature days I may have regretted some. But now, nothing. If I piss you off, I meant it. Perhaps it was not direct intent that did it, but I did intend the action that indirectly pissed you off. If it still bothers you, get over yourself. I’m not on this planet to kiss other people’s ass.

Yet in my day to day actions at the ‘day job’, I hear that Gods awful word. Again. And again. And so forth. For banging into me. Getting in my way. Making my tasks far more difficult. And to the whole lot who love using that bullshit word, I have this to say. Bullshit. Just like the nature of the word, you intended the action that directly or indirectly pissed me off. Deal with it. Sure as fuck I have to. And if you do feel bad, remorseful, here’s hint to all you ‘S-word’ sayers. Be proactive. Do something to rectify the situation, instead of just saying your piece of bullshit to give you the false sense of satisfaction. And to those who cannot adapt, grow, and evolve, I just have this to say:

How very Christian of you.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Just one kick in the bollocks after another

Case in point. Today. And even aside from the fact I had to work at my ‘job’.

Take into consideration:

Liverpool lost to Chelsea in the Champions League semis.

UGGGHHHH (added insult to this… shit scum Man U. got through to the final).

Montreal went down 3-1 to the Broad Street Bullies.

UGGGHHHH

And just to make third time the charm, an until now, thought to be boxed model of chrome toaster (for conspiring to divide humanity) has now re-emerged, set to continue it’s traitorous ways. Where the fuck is an airlock when I need it?

However, there is a silver lining to the monsoon cloud hanging over me. Hint number one, there will soon be much less Fe in my life.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

P.S. Help my city grow.

P.P.S. Go to this radio station site and vote for my friend, Christine Todd.

The week that wasn’t.

I need a new job. My SDO is officially slam dunking me with enough work for two drivers a day. I do like the overtime, though it’s beginning to take it’s toll on my body. What really takes the piss, however, is that in our deficit of drivers, there is one, with lower seniority, who still gets rediculously light days. Meh.

What really sucks is that I barely can find enough time to fiddle on my Mac. D’oh.

I’m sure Peter is eagerly awaiting my response to our ongoing blahrgument as to whether or not second hand smoke is in fact really carcinogenic. I’m still flabberghasted about this one. SHS, just as FHS inhaled by the fag sucker, contains

Benzo[a]pyrene found in coal tar, one of the most potent cancer-causing chemicals.
Formaldehyde used to preserve dead animals.
Hydrogen cyanide used in rat poison.
Ammonia used to clean floors and toilets.

amongst other harmful agents. Just because someone found a legal loophole in a study that highlighted worst-case scenarios, this does not alter the harmful effects of these agents. So I suppose the pro-smoking, science is full of shit movement going on with our differently brained southern neighbours, we can look forward to teachers smoking in unventilated classrooms, doctors smoking around ill patients, and loads of people lighting up in elevators. This just highlights YET ANOTHER REASON why I’m so happy to be Canadian. We have bans on smoking in indoor (and patios in Vancouver) public places, and hey, I don’t feel the pinch of Big Brother. That’s all I have to say about this. Well, until someone starts debating with me that the smoker actually yields health benefits from smoking.

Moving on, I’ve been seeing more of these bumper stickers around the lower mainland. I think they’re brilliant:

Though I do agree with the action (though it exists more as the lack thereof due to Iraq) to bring bin Laden to justice, we must ALL learn to co-exist to evolve as a species. Here’s a hint. Use Canada’s relationship with Quebec as a base model.

I can’t wait until the Habs and Canucks (my original home and current home) begin this current season’s quest for the Holy Grail.

Dawn has become mildly addicted to the forum on the Canucks site. I do find it highly amusing how ‘wannabe’ hockey fans are debating pre-season games like it’s game 7 of the Stanley Cup final. Here’s a hint. Strap on the blades and play a season. Then start talking. As for the fortunes this season, I think Vancouver has potential to make some noise, Montreal has depth in their prospects, and Detroit is the only team I’ll go on record as being a division champion, as they play in the weakest division in hockey. 32 games of their schedule include Chicago, St. Louis, Nashville, and Columbus. Talk about paving the road for someone.

And lastly, 24 November is highlighted in my mind. Razor gets aired. It’s been killer that we have to wait this long. Even worse that season 4 starts in January. I just hope Space actually carries it on the same day as SciFi.

That is all.